cw: married life <3 ; dilf noel and milf reader; fluff fluff fluff; some body description; smut; roleplaying.
𑣲 word count: 9,5k. ˊˎ-
wn: possibly my favorite the rivalry blurb so far 😭 i love these old bastards in love soooo much!!!!! please lmk what you think, i’m super proud of this one <3 love u guys
"even if you're hungover?" matt asks with a small raise of his brows.
noel nods. "yeah, yeah, i'm a man of routine. i never break the routine. and, uh— three pieces of toast."
"every day?" matt says, a little baffled.
noel shakes his head once and gesticulates with his hand. the way he always does. "can't begin to tell ya how much of a creature of habit i am. i eat the same things every day, i do the same workouts every day, i—“
"hang on a minute." matt cuts in.
"what?" noel asks with a small tilt of his head – the way that always earns a small ‘aw’ from you, followed by hands grabbing his cheeks while you say he looks like a cute puppy. thank goodness you’re not here now. not in front of the cameras, for heaven’s sake!
"'what?' i ask you what, you work out? since when?" matt teases.
noel sighed, fighting a smile from growing on his face just because he was commited to the bit now. “wife’s making me do it.”
matt clicks his tongue, shaking his head once. “the old ball and chain.” he adds dryly, despite having admitted a few times during drinks at the firehouse that he might actually like you more than he likes noel.
“yeah, yeah...”
"how did she convince you?"
noel tilted his head, taking a breath in and parting his lips as his eyes squinted. what looks like a man getting ready to speak is actually noel coming up with a story. one that's not fully fake, but he couldn't tell the whole fucking truth, could he?
the one hundred percent truthful story started at the night of your 50th birthday.
for noel, the cheekiness started even as you were getting ready. he never really minded waiting for you to finish getting ready, since it always came with one hell of a view.
that night, a black dress was cladded around your body. the same body you complained about once in a while – most times disguised as jokes.
jokes about that annoying little pouch that wouldn't really go away no matter how many spinach you ate, or that little squishy part of your arms the kids would absentmindedly hold onto as "team NG" strolled down the streets, post dinners in the middle of the high flying birds tour.
the same body that noel had always been mad about, even when he couldn't really admit it for numerous reasons – pride, stupid american versus british rivalry, thinking you're annoying, you thinking he's even more annoying, etc etc.
you two would laughed about your past years later. and during those years, he made sure that not a single inch of that body would go on without being absolutely worshiped. which is how it ended up becoming the body that carried his three children. christ, thist last one did his head in every damn time.
his shoulder was rested against the doorway just like the top of his head, tilted, as his gaze shifted from your back to your face in the mirror’s reflection more times than he could count.
looking at his expression in the mirror, you breathed out a little laugh at it. "you always do that." your tone fond, followed by the soft clasp sound of your earring.
he smirked, pushing off the doorway and slowly making his way closer to you. "do what?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"look at me like that." you replied, smiling a little wider the moment his hands settled on your hips, his chest softly pressing against your back.
"well..." he started, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on the side of your head, the tip of his nose burying inside your hair for a moment and immediately inhaling slowly, because when didn't he? then, noel rested his chin on your shoulder, finishing his point like it was the most simple thing in the world. "you could always try looking less sexy."
you chuckled, shaking your head and clasping the remaining pair of the gold jewelry. his smile grew wider at the sound, temple resting beside yours and his hands absentmindedly rubbing up and down, following the curve of your waist. "look fucking mental, yknow." he praised quietly, softly squeezing your sides for emphasis.
you hummed, hands reaching for his and shifting until his arms were properly wrapped around your torso. your eyes followed your own palms caressing his forearms in the reflection, while his blue gaze stayed in your face. it always did.
"will you still love me when i start my middle age crisis?" you joked.
he snorted. "'when you start?' what was last year's gardening all about?"
"hey,” you laughed, giving his hand a light slap. “you didn't complain when your tea always had fresh and organic mint leaves in it, you dick."
he chuckled, leaning down and giving your shoulder a playful bite at the same time his palms gave your asscheeks little 'let's go' pats, taking a small step behind. "you're all done?" he asked anyway.
"yup." still smiling, your hands went to the hair strands that framed your face, giving them one last tiny swoosh before you're off.
right. well, that's a part of the story noel could've told.
however, the rest of the night – to be blamed by the strong drinks and, allegedly, the way noel's hands stayed on his missus the whole night – was better left unsaid.
he's learned that after years of publicly being cheeky followed by an immediate swat of your hand on the back of his head. "the kids, dickhead!" with an exasperated tone to your voice that, in his opinion, sounded cute even when you scolded him.
you're right, though. the public information of what their parents were up to in the 90's it's enough as it is. you two surely can at least make an effort keep it more pg-13 now.
so, no mentioning in a radio interview how you two snogged in the car the whole way back. the alcohol running through your veins the same way your hand traced the outline of him over his pants, feeling it harden underneath your touch even though it took a little longer now. you smirked against his lips, fingers tracing circles around his tip, earning a needy groan pouring inside your mouth, while his chubby fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your thigh.
no mentioning how good you looked with his cock inside your mouth even after all this time. or how you looked even better now, if that was even possible. still cocky and still looking at him like he was sex in the shape of a man – a slightly chubbier one now, sure. but fuck me, he couldn't possibly mind when you looked like that. knickers still on, knees deep into the mattress and ass arched up so he could see them.
and your fucking eyes, god. the way they looked at him all droopy and needy whenever his fist would tighten inside your hair. how your brows furrowed in that pretty way whenever his free hand stroked your cheek before giving it tiny, mocking slaps. the way your eyes fluttered shut whenever his hips thrusted up.
and definitely not mention the way he dragged you back up and kissed you eagerly, tasting your smudged lipstick as you straddled his bare cock – moaning as you grinded your covered cunt over his throbbing length.
and, well, he knows a round two isn't as easy for a fifty-five year old noel as it was for the thirty-something-year old version of him. so cumming in his underwear and leaving his wife all high and dry on her birthday? would be a fucking crime, that.
what can you do? that's fucking life for you. nature doesn't make exceptions even for those who have given humankind a masterpiece like "definitely maybe".
that's why the real, real reason to noel's – and yours – new gym habits is only known to the both of you.
because as you were riding him – panties fabric shoved to the side, skins glistening with sweat, lips slick from spit and swollen from kissing – you started to slow down.
your jagged breathing mixed with moans, progressively becoming shakier as you slowly stopped. he kissed you despite the absence of friction, your tits staying pressed over his, heaving a little harder from the “exercise.”
all while his hands kept soothing you, rubbing up and down on the curve of your ass. you moaned softly at the tenderness, hands going up to his cheeks, that were softer now, and cradling him as you kissed him back.
he breathed out a laugh the second you clenched around him, breaking the kiss and making you weakly whimper against his mouth. "you okay?" he asked softly, hands still lingering, sliding over your asscheeks all the way to your lower back.
you slowly rocked over him despite it all, in a way that didn't take that much energy and still felt good. slow and gentle. intimate. a dazed smile grew on your lips at a low pleased hum he let out, feeling his hand squeeze your hip like a silent praise, the touch you know it means a "that feels nice."
then, the phrase left your lips.
"we used to be young, noel..."
he laughed properly at it then. his arms wrapped around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer, his flushed face burying on the side of your neck while he still twitched inside you.
you laughed too. "don't laugh! i'm serious." even though your hand squeezed his arm – still, gladly leaning into the embrace.
"we're still alive and breathing, aren't we?" the positive words he saved for you despite the historical grumpy-gallagher persona didn't stop you from carrying on your moaning. not the usual moaning for... this particular activity you're engaged in right now.
"i used to... be able to ride you. for hours and hours."
"hm. did ya." he teased.
"well," you started, kissing his cheekbone and feeling the corner of his eyes crinkle up underneath the tip of your nose, same way it did whenever he smiled. "hours and hours is humanly impossible, but... definitely more than now." you slurred lightly, honest.
he laughed, fingers curling on the back of your neck and bringing you mouth to his, shutting you right up with a confident kiss.
you moaned into it, eyebrows furrowing softly and ass arching upwards like a cat in heat at the feeling of his free hand gave it another squeeze.
"yeah?..." he teased barely above a whisper, not even fully pulling away from the kiss, pushing his hips up.
you moaned in response, breathy and already dumb with the feeling of his hand slowly moving you up and down over his lenght. you nodded slowly, lips parted and eyes all needy. his teeth nibbled your bottom lip slowly, the quiet words brushing your warm skin, "yeah?..."
you moaned, "f-fuck. yeah..."
he hummed, slowly shifting until you were the one with your back on the mattress now. his belly pressed against your stomach as he pushed his hips foward, feeling your nails dig in his upper back once his tip pressing against your cervix. he leaned in closer to your ear, lips curled into a smug smirk as his hips moved back and foward teasingly slow.
"think we still got a few good years left in us yet, love." his tone is low, mouth brushing your earlobe, softly bumping over the gold earring he's gifted you a few years back. he smiles against your skin, "gonna make sure my birthday girl enjoys 'em, hm?"
he's a right lazy bastard, but c'mon now. that's the least he can do on your special day.
that's why he kept thrusting into you, even though that felt like a workout at his age – a good one, at least. his mouth kept kissing your neck, moaning in your ear and babbling all the dirty things he knew would you loved, especially when drunk and needy.
his hand traveled downwards, clumsily finding your clit, rubbing in sloppy circles while he fucked you. hitting that spot that always made you wrap your legs tightly around his hips and pull him impossibly closer.
and even though you two came at the same time, noel knew he couldn't quite call it a night just yet.
since he couldn't physically go for another round this fast without the help of a little blue pill, his mouth dragged down your torso with slow, wet kisses until his lips found your swollen clit.
his hands remained firm on your thighs, spreading them open, getting even drunker on your taste mixed with his. his eyes stayed on you, droopy and red by now, but attentive as ever – the view made him kiss your cunt even greedier, sliding two fingers inside your entrance while lowly muttering "one more, can y'do that f'me, darling?"
smirking. of fucking course he was. couldn't not do it, not when you nodded in that way that always gave away how gone you already were, fingers tugging on the soft and gray locks that drove you truly mad.
his head was still spinning afterwards, smirking as he finally shifted upwards, settling close to you. over you, actually – practically flattening you beneath him in a way he used to be cautious about, but completely unapologetic ever since that one time you said it was "comfy. like a weighted blanket."
he immediately laughed. "y'calling me fat?" he had taken the piss, but still didn’t move an inch. mostly because he couldn't – your arms had already wrapped around him, keeping him exactly where you wanted him.
clingy little thing. just like this moment, with older bodies, softer around the edges but still interlaced in messy sheets – the same way they had been ever since the very first night.
well, first time in a bed, at least... the car was too remarkable to forget.
"love you," you mumbled into his neck.
his eyes were already closing, but there was a faint smile on his lips either way. "yeah, yeah."
you laughed, hugging him tighter.
a beat later, "love you too."
and then sleep claimed both of you.
the middle age crisis hit you hard, apparently. because the next morning – where you were supposed to have a hangover just as bad as his – noel woke up with the smell of body soap pleasantly filling the room and your hand unpleasantly tugging the curtains open, allowing the 7am sunlight to disturb his sleep.
his whole face scrunched up in a way you almost felt bad, immediately dragging a pillow over his face like that would shield him from... whatever was wrong with you.
but the kids had already gone off to school and you were far too motivated for someone that was fifty years old.
so you ignored him, of course. the mattress dipped as you climbed onto the bed again, freshly showered and suspiciously energetic.
"noel." your hand reached out, softly shaking his shoulder.
it earned you a grunt from him.
you shook him again, "noel, baby."
he groaned louder this time. you laughed at it, leaning down, hand reaching to move the pillow off his face – and instantly replacing the soft cushion with your lips, pampering his soft cheeks with kisses. "rise and shine." you muttered against his skin.
"fuck off." was the immediate reply from him. his voice still raspy from sleep.
you laughed again, straigthening your back and softly shaking him again, "noel!"
only then his eyes opened, still squinting at you. gym clothes. hair tied in a ponytail. most likely already wearing trainers. and smiling like a fucking psychopath.
"good morning..." you said sweetly, palm sliding over his shoulders. yeah, suspiciously sweet now.
"morning." he replied.
you smiled, a beat of silence before you gently spoke. "thought we'd go for a run."
he scoffed, eyebrows raising automatically and eyes closing again. the pillow was brought back to his face to muffle down his incredulous laugh. you immediately took it away again, laughing too.
"a run." he said, baffled.
"yeah."
"a run."
"that's what i said, yeah."
he stared at you. you stared back, head tilting just for charm. didn't really work, because he pointed toward the door. "get out." he rasped, closing his eyes again and shifting into a more comfortable position.
you leaned down despite his protests, giggling as you kissed his forehead. "you'll feel better afterwards..."
he smiled despite himself, but still didn't give his arm to twist. "i feel pretty alright now, actually."
you smiled against his skin, placing a kiss on the big bridge of his nose now. "you'll feel better."
"nah, fuck that."
another kiss, now on his left cheek. "please?"
"no."
a kiss on his right cheek now, while your leg slowly shifted until it was beside his hip, the other staying on the other side as you comfortably straddled him. "please…”
his eyebrows immediately furrowed, he's a weak man and he knows it. his hands slowly shifted until they settled over your hips, feeling the soft gym fabric underneath his palm. "that's not fucking fair."
you kissed his jaw. "please."
"no."
the corner of his mouth, humming softly. "please."
"not a chance."
"i'll do anything."
he breathed out a laugh. "you already let me do anything." hands squeezing your hips like he's making a point, not even bothering to open his eyes again
“no, noel… anything.” you repeated, tone dipping now.
now his eyes opened. and he blinked, head still a little fuzzy, feeling it get even worse with the sight of you breaking into a cheeky little smile, head tilting. charming bastard, he thought.
he sighed, “give me five minutes.”
── .✦
so, that's the real beggining of it all.
“well, i have high blood pressure and some gobshite doctor told her exercise is necessary, so.” noel replied simply to matt.
matt scoffs. “how dare he.”
“she says she ‘wants me to be healthy and have muscles so i can carry our grandchildren’. and ‘if possible not have a heart attack, please’.”
matt laughs. “grandchildren?”
“gonna take a while, innit. so far all i do is carry shopping and grocery bags. sometimes her when we’re feeling cheeky.”
“does she ever carry you?”
“god, no. i love her too much. don’t want ‘er fucking up her back.”
“that’s fair.” matt said simply. “you two work out together, then?”
“yeah, yeah. we do.”
“with a personal trainer?”
“well, we used to have one. now that we got the hang of it, ‘s just me and her.”
“you two are that disciplined?”
well… discipline isn’t exactly what noel would call it.
the first month was, in noel’s opinion, hell.
during that time, he only managed to drag himself to the home gym because of you. always you. for three different reasons.
sometimes, you’d gently encourage him. slowly and sweetly running your hands through his hair like it would physically remove the laziness from his brain. you’d kiss his mouth as he grumbled under his breath and remind him that he’d feel better afterwards, before disappearing downstairs in your trainers. he’d follow you not long after.
other times, you’d just take the piss. shrug simply and say “one point for me, then.”
it wasn’t even a proper competition. there weren’t rules or an actual scoreboard. it was just one of those silent, cheeky games that had somehow survived from the days you still “hated” one another. every missed workout became an imaginary point for the other. those were the days where noel's pride and stubborness made him go earn an imaginary point.
and always the gym clothes you wore. he’d be lying if he said that those fitted tops and leggings weren’t a great motivational tool. even when he had sore thighs or stomach from the day’s before sit-ups.
you always heard him coming, smirking to yourself as you stretched your muscles. “thought you weren’t training today?”
“changed me mind.”
you laughed, leaning in and giving him a small kiss. “did you?” you teased, smirking.
he’d only shake his head, not even pursing his lips to kiss you back. “cunt.”
and you’d happily hum. “mhm. a healthy cunt.”
during that first month and the second, a personal trainer was around. a six foot tall bloke with muscles that probably weighed more than noel himself.
also a bloke that had more chances of flirting with noel than you – you swear the day you laughed the most was when he teasingly called your husband a silver fox and it made him blush like a school girl.
the first day without the his presence started like every other one. your elbows were propped in the kitchen counter, half full mug of tea beside you and phone in hand.
while noel sat on the stool not far from you, taking a sip from his own half empty mug while watching a footie segment from yesterday on his phone. kids already off to school, both of you already dressed in gym clothes. routine, by now.
“huh.” you said suddenly, eyes on your phone screen.
“what?”
“shawn can’t come today. aw, poor guy. has a stomach bug.”
noel’s lips pouted in that 'eh, well' way with a shrug, unbothered as he took another sip of his tea. "reckon we can manage not to kill ourselves for one day, can’t we." he said. then, wiggling his brows, noel leaned closer, placing a kiss on your nose. "unless you're looking for an excuse to slack off."
you laughed, softly shoving his face away. "in your dreams, gallagher.”
an hour later, you were both in the home gym. the morning sun softly shining through. you were in the middle of your second set of squats, feet planted, focusing on keeping your weight back.
noel was leaning against the dumbbell rack, supposedly resting between sets of bicep curls, but mostly just watching you with his arms crossed over his chest – those fitted gym leggings really did him massive favors.
you dropped down into another deep squat, holding it for a second at the bottom. you peeked at him through the mirror.
then, an idea sparked inside your brain.
"coach?" you called out, your voice in exaggeratedly sweet tone.
noel’s eyebrows raised while a slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. cheeky thing. "yeah? what's your problem, then?"
your head tilted as you watched him come closer through the reflection, slowly getting back into a position that didn’t strain your muscles. "can you tell me if my form is okay? feel like i'm not getting low enough. need an expert to help me..."
"right," he murmured, straight-faced now, playing along instantly. his hands unhurriedly went to your hips, gripping them firmly and tenderly all at once. "let's have a look at you, then."
he took one step closer, smirking just like you were. his chest pressed on your back, your ass deliberately rubbing him as you slowly squatted down – his hands not leaving you as he slowly dropped down with you, palms heavy on your hips for guidance.
as you two moved upwards again, he got even closer. his crotch pressing firmly on your ass, making you smirk as you felt his already half hard length through the thin material of your leggings.
his hand went to your front, squeezing your tit over the fabric. "keep your chest up," his breath was hot against the shell of your ear. his hands slid down from your chest, and he smirked as an attempt to hold in a laugh at the sight of you doing the same by biting your bottom lip.
with his palms flattening across your stomach, he pulled you back against him, shamelessly pressing his crotch closer to your ass. "don't rush it. gotta hold it right there." squeezing your hips for emphasis, letting his fingers linger closer to your mound.
"but it's so heavy, coach…" you whined, tilting your head back like a purring cat would, despite the corner of your lips curling upwards. a genuine laugh bubbling up inside your chest, though you could already feel yourself already dampening your knickers.
he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, fingers curling around your hip at the same time he slowly pushed forward. “yeah?” he whispered, eyes watching you from the mirror, smirking again as they leaned closer to your neck. “wanna skip right to cardio, then?” he teased, nibbling your pulse point and smiling to himself at the sight of your head tilting with a small breathy laugh.
ticklish or aroused, he never really knew which. all he knew was that he fucking loved it. every single time.
"aren't you supposed to be keeping me focused?" you breathed out, smirking. then, your head turned just enough to brush your lips against his. "i'm a married woman, you know. my husband wouldn't like you touching me like this."
his brows raised softly at the same time hands shifted again, sliding up your ribs. “married?” he asked lowly.
“mhm…” you hummed sweetly.
“yeah? happily?” he teased, fingers slipped inside the bottom elastic restraint of your top, kneading your breasts in that way that always made you gasp.
you breathed out a laugh, shaky and needy, despite entertained. head tilting to the side, keeping your eyes on him through the reflection. “mhm… i love my husband.”
his pointer and middle fingers rolled your nipples, making you inevitably arch yourself more to him, his clothed erection pressing even firmer on your ass. “yeah? why are you rubbing yourself on me then, hm?”
you bit down a laugh before clicking your tongue in mock sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your hand reached out behind you, palming him over the fabric. “because you’re so, so hot, coach…”
fucking hell, later you knew he’d tease you about all this. taking the piss and saying you should screenwrite for pornos for a living. but right now, he only smirked wider, cock throbbing underneath your touch.
"fuck him, then." noel muttered, smirking as he leaned in to place a wet and slow kiss on your mouth, hips slowly humping your hand. "he's not here, is he? probably at home being a lazy sod."
you couldn’t help but laugh at it, head throwing back despite the heat growing in your lower belly. noel smiled too, before leaning in to nibble your soft cheek, not minding the salty taste of sweat.
"he's not a lazy sod…" you giggled, moving your hand away only to grind your ass right against his cock. "he's got” – you interrupted yourself with a teasing kiss on his lips – “high blood pressure. i'm doing this for him..." you added, teasingly fluttering your eyelashes at him.
"that right?" he said lowly, teasing. then, his hand moved, sliding down the front of your leggings until his fingers firmly cupped your clothed cunt. his other hand stayed on your hip, keeping you glued to him. "well, he's a lucky fucking bastard, then.”
you nodded, humming softly as your hand reached out again, fingers curled around the outline of his hardened length, pulling out a low moan out of him right against your mouth.
"you’re a rubbish trainer." you teased, still feeling him throb under your touch.
"i’m expensive, though." he replied, head tilting and voice dropping.
you smirked, now turning around, chest pressing against his. "yeah? how much?" you asked without breaking eye contact or moving your hand away.
"kiss’ll do."
you breathed out a laugh, leaning in and giving him a slow, nearly teasing kiss. "just a kiss, coach?" murmuring against his lips, your hand kept teasing his cock.
he let out a breathless laugh, one hand sliding into your hair until his fingers were buried in it. with an easy tug, he spun you around, guiding you until your front was pressed against the wall.
instinctively, your spine arched, ass pushing back against his crotch and a silent moan escaping your lips.
he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “yeah? could show you what i really want.” he murmured, voice low and amused.
with one hand still firm inside your hair, the other moved to the waistband of your leggings, tugging it down past your ass with your knickers. “don’t think your husband would like it, though.”
you let out a shaky breath as your leggings and panties were strained around the top your thighs, palms settling on the cool mirror as you arched youself even more to him.
noel looked down, letting go of your hair to shove the waistband of his own gym shorts and his boxers in an impatient motion to free himself. his other hand went to his mouth, eyes darting up and meeting yours through the reflection as he licked the pad of his fingertips before they dissapeared between your thighs.
his slick fingers smeared your own wetness and his saliva around your clit before sliding down to coat your entrance. you moaned shakily, forehead dropping against the glass.
he didn't tease any further. he only wrapped his hand around himself, guiding his cock until the leaking tip pressed on your opening. then, pushing in with a pathetic ease. you gasped immediately, fingers smudging the mirror and a warm shaky breath fogging it up as he buried himself completely inside you, smirking at your reaction.
while he pounded inside you, your head was just him, him, him – his voice speaking dirty things in your ear. his hands groping you anywhere he could reach, tugging your sports bra down until the cold mirror bit your warm breasts. all while his cock hit that perfect spot inside you.
the aftermath came soon after a few breathless giggles and wobbly legs, where his hands smoothed you back into place, even though the mess he had made still dripped down your thighs.
“think we can dismiss shawn from now on?” you teased, immediately making him break into that raspy laugh you adored so much.
both of you obviously laughed at the foggy marks of your hands and your tits on the mirror.
"that's... impressive, actually." noel admitted, wiping at one with the sleeve of his shirt.
it only smeared more, making you laugh even harder. "don't make it worse!"
"well, what d'you want me to do?!" he asked with a smile across his lips, flushed cheeks and an amused expression on his face.
that led you shoving glass spray and a cloth into his hands. “it’s your fault!” you justified. even though it was very much yours.
a few other months went by, and, annoyingly, the doctors were right. but eh, noel supposes it’s quite alright. his back didn't hurt so badly anymore, neither did his knees. climbing the stairs wasn't accompanied by the dramatic old-man groan he'd become famous for around the house anymore.
he refused to mention any of this, of course. you noticed anyway. quietly and proudly and fond.
another day at the dinner, he’s yapping. something about football and how he wished to bomb united's dressing room. donovan and sonny are talking too – basically repeating what their dad has been going on and on about for years, like two little adorable parrots.
you huff out a fond air though your nose, but you're not really paying attention. because ten minutes ago, you noticed how his bicep now makes the sleeve of his shirt a bit tighter around him. your hand settles there absentmindedly, noel carries on anyway.
eventually, he looks at you and asks you a question.
you only reply with a distracted "hm?"
his brows furrow, "are you listenin'?"
you shake your head, hand squeezing his arm softly and completely ignoring the question. "it's really paying off, yknow."
his brows raise in a silent smug "oh, is it?" and he smirks like he's just been gifted a platter of gold, involuntarily flexing his muscle underneath your touch like a daft twenty year old would while pretending to be cool about it.
the kids gag in response. collectively.
"oh, come on."
"mum, ew."
"seriously?"
later that night – without the kids around to shame you for flirting with your husband. how the fuck do they think they were made, by the way? anyway, the television downstairs had been switched off, the dishwasher hummed somewhere in the background.
the house is finally quiet, kids asleep in their rooms, and you’re wrapped up against his back, both lazily resting underneath the duvet. you’re spooning him, front flushed against his spine and one of your arms draped over his waist. he’s warm and smells like the fresh laundry detergent that lingered on his soft cotton shirt.
as you're almost drifting off, he shifts softly. and your brows immediately furrow at the slight difference in the way he fits you now. your hand settles on his ass, squeezing a handful of it like you're trying to check. "jesus christ, noel." you mutter against his shoulder blade, a little amused laugh in your voice.
noel snaps out of the relaxed state he had been slowly slipping in for the last minutes, immediately choking out a startled laugh, his body jumping under your touch. "fucking hell, watch the hands! what’s gotten into you tonight?"
"serious," you mumble, voice thick with amusement as your free hand pushes the duvet to allow you to see your hand groping his ass. "feels bigger than mine."
he’s still chuckling, that low and raspy kind, as he tries to settle back down. but his ears are that cute shade of pink, despite you not being able to see how his cheeks match the tone in the darkness of the room.
"fuck off," he huffs, trying to sound unbothered and failling miserably. "you're sexually harassing me, yknow." he jokes, but embarrassment is mixed with that deeply ingrained gallagher cockiness.
you laugh, not pulling your hand away, amused by how easily you can still startle him after all these years.
"right..." you start, pressing a lazy kiss on the back of his neck, inhaling softly once the tip of your nose buries inside his gray hairs. your hand moves from his ass to trail slowly up his hip, sliding under the hem of his soft cotton shirt. "can stop if you' want."
"do i fuck," he grumbles, still smiling and not pulling away. he shifts, rolling over onto his back so he can look at you. he looks caught off guard and amused – a little flustered, maddeningly handsome. "you're fuckin’ obsessed tonight. can't keep your hands to yourself."
"can you blame me?" you prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with an affectionate smile. you lean in, placing a tender kiss on his mouth while your hand slides up, brushing underneath the hem of his shirt as you softly caress his belly, feeling his warmth and his happy trail underneath your touch. "you're so handsome..."
noel swallows a rough little laugh, throat bobbing softly. "right." he rasps, his hips involuntarily pushing upwards, like the cotton covers will bring some relief to his needy cock, already stirring inside his underwear.
his hand comes up to catch your wrist. not to stop you, but just to hold on, his fingers brushing your knuckles.
you breathe out a tiny laugh at the gentleness, leaning in until your nose is pressed on the side of his neck. you hum softly at his scent, placing tender kisses along his pulse point.
"fucking hell," he breathes out in an amused little laugh. "trying to give me a heart attack?" he finishes in a whisper, breathier.
"just appreciating my husband..." you murmur, palm sliding down and finding him already semi-hard. he lets out a shaky breath through his nose at the touch, blue eyes fluttering shut for a second as your fingers curl around him over the fabric. you smile, kissing his jaw softly. then, you tease quietly, "know you like it."
"fuck, fucking love it," he rasps, his eyes opening just enough to look at you, completely glazed. "come here, darling. please." he pleas quietly, his palm settling on the back of your neck as he pulls you closer for a kiss, at the same time you're already leaning in.
as you slowly kiss, your hand slowly slips inside the elastic waistband of his underwear. you start slow, with rhythmic strokes, more appreaciative and caring than teasing – you moan softly inside his mouth as you feel him hardening even more under your touch.
your thumb slides over his tip, catching a small bead of pre cum. noel’s hips twitch instinctively, a soft involuntary moan catching in the back of his throat and his lips parting, still glued to yours. his hand behind your neck tightens softly as he whispers against your mouth. "love you."
you smile, kissing the corner of his mouth then his cheek while not faltering on your strokes around him. "love you too, my love."
── .✦
“at least she’s taking care of you.” matt says.
“no, yeah, she’s the best.”
“she could be, all due respect, getting all fit and leave you to be all… fat. on your own.”
noel laughs, “well, firstly. she’s always fit, she doesn’t need to try. and secondly, she’d like it. cause, for some odd reason, she likes me round.”
matt blinks, "that's..."
"yeah."
"odd."
"yeah, yeah. what can i say?" noel says with an unbothered shrug.
truth was, you loved whatever version of him to fucking bits. and he loved you right back. that's why taking care of one another had always been something as easy as breathing.
it happened in the late nineties. you took care of him through the withdrawls from coke.
some mornings he'd snap because the kettle took too long to boil, then apologize thirty seconds later with that guilty little wrinkle between his brows. you never took it personally.
sometimes, he'd wake up in the middle of the night, unable to breath and soaked in sweat. you'd calmly soothe him, tell him everything was okay until he drifted off again - sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours. you never complained.
he took care of you that one time you caught a terrible stomach bug in the middle of your new year vacation to greece – noel had no problem in spending the shift between milleniums beside you in a hospital bed, with rehydration saline dripping inside your veins and nurses speaking a language neither of you understood.
you had apologized, and he only shook his head and held your hand tighter, reassuring you that as long as he was with his favorite person, all is good.
you took care of him that one time a lunatic fan got upstage and shoved him right over the speakers, breaking three of his ribs. six weeks of taking it easy, the doctor said. you spent those six weeks helping him into jumpers every morning because lifting his arms made him hiss through his teeth.
the whole time, you pretended not to notice how embarrassed he looked every time you didn't let him lift a finger. or whenever you'd patiently wash his hair. or whenever you'd hand him the medication and a bottle of water before he could even remember on his own – even asking him if he wanted something to eat or tea as well.
one night, feeling your hands play with his hair and looking almost sheepish, he addressed it quietly. "never thought i'd have anyone looking after me like this."
you smiled so softly it nearly broke his heart, because of course he didn't. then, you shifted, leaned in and craddling his cheeks in your hands as you gave him a soft kiss. "good thing you married me, then."
he took care of you through all three pregnancies with the sort of devotion that bordered on superstition. the origin to that was even before you got pregnant with anais.
in the be here now gig in brazil, a local stage manager casually shared a superstition at the sight of a six month pregnant patsy across the room, telling liam that if a pregnant woman’s craving went unattended, the baby would be born looking like whatever food she’d wanted.
noel overheard and stared at the poor lady for a long second before slowly nodding. from that day on, it became a matter of honor.
because god forbid his missus – already carrying his child – wanted peaches at half eleven at night and didn’t get them. and god forbid the baby came out looking like a bloody pickle because he’d been too lazy to get it for his pregnant lady. or sausages. or crisps dipped in a milkshake. or a savory sandwich with french toast as buns.
some sounded criminal, yes. but a few others, strangely, weren’t half bad. which was exactly how he ended up putting on a bit of weight during every single one of your pregnancies.
“can’t leave you alone in this, can i?” was the excuse, already taking another bite. “gotta feed you and our baby.” he’d say gently, reaching out to your belly and softly rubbing it.
you’d laugh, breathless. “me… the baby… and yourself too, apparently.”
he’d shrug, completely unapologetic. “gotta be a team effort, innit?”
you took care of him once he got a vasectomy. even thought the idea sounded dreadful, it was only fair.
you made him tea, renewed ice packs that have gone too warm, carried everything for him and ignored every exaggerated sigh he let out just to make you laugh – he succeeded, he was a dramatic funny cunt after all. then, you’d lean down to kiss his forehead and smooth a hand through his hair. “you’re cute when you’re forced to let someone take care of you.”
truth be told, noel quite liked being fussed over. especially by you. the whole gym saga wasn’t that different from the mutual care-taking over the long years of your relationship.
the same way the previously mentioned unspoken score board was also similar to the early years, where all of this was just a rivalry.
in one particular occasion, your period came harsh the way you never got used to. as a woman in your fifties that got scared whenever a heat wave hit, you cherished every moment of a menopause-less life. even if it hurt like a fucking bitch.
you woke up from cramps before your alarm even rang, pressing the heated bag firmer against your lower belly. it was still warm from the night before – miraculously, it always was. and it made noel smirk every single time.
“those japanese blokes. technology. i’m telling ya.” would be the phrase he’d mutter every time he’d catch either of you filling it in the kitchen. nodding to himself with a satisfied smile on his lips, of course.
he came across them in a japanese shop while on tour. at first he laughed at the pink fuzzy material. but once the shop assistant had politely explained what they were for, he immediately stopped laughing and pulled out his card. two for you, two for anais. genetics are a bitch, his poor girls.
that morning, once the alarm woke noel up, he settled in the routine like muscle memory.
he took a shower, put on his clothes… and as he was quietly stepping into his trainers, he mentally celebrated a point ahead since you apparently had decided to stay in bed – trying not to look too pleased with himself.
he leaned down to press a kiss on your head, whispering “i’ll get going, alright?” before straightening up and making his way towards the bedroom door. the room was still too dark for him to notice you still curled beneath the duvet, eyebrows pinched together, one arm wrapped around your stomach.
“noel?” you said so quietly it immediately made his brows furrow, looking back in a heartbeat.
“hm?”
you seemed almost hesitant to ask, not even opening your eyes or making an effort to speak louder. “can you stay with me?…”
one thing about noel is that he loves the bossy, sharp and mouthy side of you. he loves the way you never let him get away with his own bullshit. he loves that you challenge him, that you laugh in his face when he gets too full of himself, that you always have something clever to say back.
but god, the sight of you like this – cute and cuddly and needy for your husband – made his heart melt every single time.
he looked down at the trainers he had just tied, then back at you. with a quiet sigh through his nose and without so much as a second thought, he nudged one shoe off with the heel of his other foot. “course i can, sweetheart.”
he watched your shoulders visibly loosen underneath the duvet and smiled to himself.
“bad?” he asked softly as he crossed back over to the bed.
you gave a tiny nod. “mhm.”
he clicked his tongue softly in sympathy, climbing back beneath the duvet carefully. immediately wrapping one arm before you instinctively shifted until your forehead found its familiar place beneath his chin. you let out a sleepy little hum, he kissed the top of your head.
somewhere downstairs, the coffee machine timer clicked exactly as programmed and the treadmill certainly waited for the usual two pairs of feet jogging over it. but inside your bedroom, none of it seemed particularly important anymore.
── .✦
“so if she likes you fat, you can loose weight, but not too much.” matt continued, truly amused.
noel laughed, nodding. “you have no fucking idea, mate.”
yeah, noel won’t publicly talk about the endorphin induced sex or the sex itself that has led up to this health kick. and he surely won’t talk about the only proper argument the two of you had since deciding to become healthier.
looking back now, it was a bit ridiculous.
it all started because he’d been sat on the sofa one day, early in the afternoon with his phone suspiciously angled away from you. your feet were on his lap, head resting comfortably on a soft pillow and eyes focused on a book page, love island quietly playing in the telly.
the sounds of noel’s tortoise paced typing made you look up. “what are you doing?”
his eyes darted at you, immediately locking his phone. “nothin’.”
your eyes narrowed. “you’re doing something.”
“am not.”
a beat.
then, you sat up straighter. “give me your phone, noel.”
“no.”
your brows furrowed, immediately pissed. “no?”
his mouth opened, then closed without another word.
“give.”
“love—”
“phone.”
he sighed, a little “christ” coming out under his breath, like you were the unreasonable one, before handing it over.
you expected him giving into twitter, mocking somehing liam had done even though you told him not to. or even, fuck me, porn – some daft mate of his sending a picture of a busty twenty something year old in their groupchat.
instead, his phone screen was settled in a conversation with one of his doctor friends.
your head immediately picked up, eyebrows furrowing in shock. “are you fucking kidding me?”
“darlin—“
“OZEMPIC?”
he sighed, scratching the side of his nose with his eyes closed. “maybe.”
“MAYBE?”
afterwards, all hell broke loose. noel sighed and rubbed both hands over his face, insisting you were making a fuss over nothing and that he was only asking questions.
you, on the other hand, couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the idea. you listed how he’d spent months building strength, that he’d finally stopped complaining about his knees every bloody morning, and that taking a dumb shortcut just because of his belly was stupid, stupid, stupid! – as you stormed off.
“you’re not gonna take it!” you yelled from the bedroom, then the door slammed. he could hear it all the way from the living room.
the rest of the day developed like a cold war, not standing in the same room for more than two minutes and the only words exchanged being "we're out of milk."
the kids shared looks and gossiped about it in the garden. while you went to bed far too early, leaving noel pacing around the house like he was deeply considering if it was too soon to walk into the bedroom or if he should just take the couch already.
he put on his best puppy face as he picked the first option. noel pushed the door open slowly, eyes immediately settling on you, expecting you to be asleep already – even though he knew it wasn't that easy for you whenever you were pissed. countless had been the times where something frustrated you while producting an album, where you ranted non-stop in bed at midnight, making him have to fight for his life to keep his eyes open and pay attention.
said and done, because he walked in and saw your eyes open, staring at the closet. if it hadn't been for the light botox you had done last month in your forehead, your brows would be angrily furrowed – in that soft way that got a small line to appear between them. he thought it was cute, and you always told him to fuck off while laughing whenever he'd say it.
he sighed softly, closing the door with a quiet thud. your eyes didn't follow him as he walked closer to the bed, and you didn't say anything either the second he laid down, feeling the mattress dip softly.
his body fit yours from behind, arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into a tight spoon position that always felt like melatonin to you.
he leaned in, mouth pressing on the curve of your shoulder in a soft kiss, hand gently squeezing your waist for emphasis. "i'm not gonna take it."
"good." you replied dryly, even though your shoulders just properly relaxed for the first time today.
a beat.
"i don't want you to have sarcopenia." you added quietly.
so quietly his brows softly furrowed in confusion. "have what?"
you sighed. "sarcopenia..." you repeated just as quietly. "it's muscle loss. ozempic can do that to you if you use it without properly needing it. which you don't."
another moment of silence. then, it was cut off by a small, fond and amumsed huff of a laugh leaving noel's nostrils, propping his head up to try to get a better look at your face. “did you google that?”
you blinked, eyes darting down to your own fingertips brushing off a small remain of boots’ fur stuck on the sleeve of your jumper. “yeah…” you admitted quietly.
his forehead dropped fowards from laughing, hands shifting you until you faced him, immediately pulling you closer – feeling your mouth curl into a sheepish smile pressed against his chest, hands slowly sliding up his sides as you held him back.
your shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. "i'm sorry. i got worried."
his smile softened immediately, pulling away and taking your cheeks into his hand, your legs already tangled. “don’t worry,” then, he leaned forward until your foreheads touched. "i'm not taking it."
"promise?"
"promise."
you finally smiled, breathing out a little satisfied huff. "okay."
he leaned in and kissed your forehead. "okay."
── .✦
“so what do you do at the gym, then?” matt asks.
noel inhales softly, shaking his head. “just lift some weights.”
a beat, his expression clear that he's thinking about it.
“sometimes we run. treadmill or outside.” noel adds.
“yeah?”
“yeah, sometimes we take the bike as well and just… go.”
matt clicks his tongue, head tilting. “aw.” he teases, despite genuinely endeared.
noel raises his brows as he nods, like it isn't a big deal. “yeah.”
“do you gossip along the way?”
noel snorts softly, “like two lovely fucking ladies.”
truth be told, noel didn't even like biking that much. he didn't really like being forced to apply suncreen despite his protests about london being cloudy all the time. although your hands on his face did feel nice, and okay, the lotion did smell good. it smelled like you.
but eventually, biking had shifted into a little getaway and sightseeing rather than cardio. he could feel his heart beating inside his throat afterwards from the effort, but it always calmed down a few minutes after sitting down in some high hill, with your shoulders touching and water bottles half empty beside the two of you.
he liked how you always brought along a trail mix, and how you always placed the raisins and the cashews on his hand even as you talked, distracted. you knew he liked them, as natural as breathing at this point.
he liked how you always softly said "this is nice..." while looking at the view, tipping your head to rest on his shoulder. even though it was the sight every time – you've stuck to the same path once realizing it was the best one.
one day, as you were taking a gulp of your water, noel cut in the silence.
“i’m gonna tell you something.” he said, looking at the view. in his peripheral vision, he saw your head turning so fast he thought you'd have a whiplash.
“what?” you asked curiously, tone dipping like it always did when it came to hot gossip.
he turned his face to meet yours calmly, already smirking. “but you have to pretend you don’t know.”
your eyes widened. “oh god, what.”
his brows raised, “promise.”
you sighed, nodding eagerly for him to just spit it out already. “okay, okay. i promise.”
he licked his lips, looking ahead again. smug from holding onto a good piece of gossip. “sonny told me donovan fancies a girl from his class.”
you gasped. “WHAT?”
he smiled, still looking ahead, still smiling. “told ‘im i wouldn’t tell you.”
your jaw dropped, hand flying to his knee and shaking it. “oh my god, noel!”
he laughed, ”yeah, and he’s a fucking gossiper lad, that one. showed me pictures from instagram and everything.”
you laugh, looking down at the small package in your hand, tipping it until the small nuts fell over your palm. “is she cute?”
“don’t know." he said with a shrug, eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion, same way it always did once he faced the generational differences. "kids take pictures covering their fucking faces with their phones nowadays.”
“oh my god, right?" deep from your soul, eyes even widening in agreement. "what is that all about?” you added, picking a few raisins and placing them in his palm, that opened without you even telling him to do so.
“i know.” he agreed with a shake of his head, shaking the raisins in his hand before shoving them inside his mouth. he had never really paid attention to that tiny thing he did until one day anais pointed it out, saying it's an universal dad thing. eh, guess so.
your eyes went back to the view, tongue clicking softly before you spoke in that soft tone you couldn't help yourself whenever it came to the kids. ”aw...”
he breathed out a small laugh, raising his brows in amusement before furrowing them softly, nodding. “yeah...”
your head tilted again until your temple rested on his shoulder. “our baby. growing up.”
for a little while, neither of you said anything else. the breeze carried the smell of grass and cobblestones. your bikes were abandoned against the wooden fence behind you while the morning sun softly warmed your skins. somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
you sighed contentedly. "we're getting old." you added.
he huffed, tilting his head until it rested against yours. "we are."
you turned your head to look at him. he did the same. you both smiled, leaning in to share a small kiss. one that felt like a silent agreement: with you, getting old isn’t that bad.
with a small smile, he pulled away first. only to fish his phone out of his pocket, then, standing up with a small groan. "c'mere."
you laughed, dusting off tiny stones off your ass and the back of your thighs as you stood. his arm extended with the phone in hand, his free one immediately wrapping around your shoulder at the same time yours hug his torso. your chin tipped up to look at the screen of his phone, now showing both of you in the camera's selfie mode.
you smiled, hugging him closer and shifting until your face was practically glued to his. unlike noel, who held that little smug expression he saves for photos.
you laughed immediately, eyebrows furrowing softly. "cmon, why are you making that face?"
his brows only furrowed more, winding you up. "what face?" he teased, free hand sliding down your waist and giving it that particular squeeze he knew made you ticklish.
you bite down a laugh, fingers sliding behind him and gave his ass a quick pinch.
he broke immediately, spine curving further away from you grip and lips curling up into a breathless surprised laugh. "little shit."
you laughed, tip toing to press a hard kiss on his cheek, hand going up to his jaw and squeezing it to pull him impossibly closer. cuteness agression towards your own husband, as one does.
── .✦
"biking's your cardio, then."
"yep."
before matt could finish his next phrase, noel cut in with a snap of his fingers and that little gesture he always does when remembering something. “oh, we’ve got a new punch bag now. that fucking thing, really gets a sweat out of ya. makes me feel like muhammad ali, mate."
matt laughs, “do you print out your brother’s face and glue it to it?”
noel laughs too, shaking his head. “she won’t let me.”
“huh.”
“yeah.”
a beat.
“it’s her exes face.” noel teases, completely serious. and as matt's laughing, noel shakes his head, finally breaking into that soft, nearly boyish smile. “i’m joking. he’s lovely.”
“now.” matt teases.
noel snorts, nodding. “yeah. now.”
“so that’s your cardio. biking and gossiping and punching a bag.”
"yeah."
“anything else?” matt asks with a tilt of his head, like he means "anything else, mr. fitness man?"
noel breathes out a laugh, raising his brows and tilting his head. “her, sometimes.” he adds smugly.
matt sighs, raising his brows and shaking his head, looking down at a paper sheet. mock dissapointed that he gave noel such a good cue. “dunno why i asked.”
IMPORTANT: this is Volume V of the Holy Mountain series. Please, read the previous Volumes before reading this!!
pairing: dilf!noel gallagher x f!younger reader
word count: 9.8k
wc: smut; age gap; unprotected sex; cheating; gaslighting; power imbalance; angst; blurry consent; physical violence
summary: the aftermath after Noel's departure and how reader tries to rebuild her life
author's note: this has definitely been the hardest Volume to write so far. I experienced so many blocks with it and there are some things that I couldn't squeeze in, but I think it was getting too long. It may be a bit melodramatic but I'm sorry, I was raised on afternoon telenovelas. Read the wc as there's some scenes that may be a bit triggering. Not sure if this will be everyone's cup of tea but I don't buy that whole "if it's love, it shouldn't hurt" bullshit, sorry not sorry. love hurts like a motherfucker. i don't mean to romanticise harmful behaviour either, but I also think society is trying to become too aseptic. Ok that was my rant of the day. Please, come to my DMs or ask to let me know your thoughts!!! the comments from anon readers are honestly giving me LIFE. Ok ILY girls!!!
life went on. sometimes it was still difficult to wrap your head around the fact that he had decided he hadn’t wanted to deal with you anymore. someone who had seen you cry in sadness and in laughter. who’d held you at night. who’d claimed you made his days better, that you were the loveliest girl on earth. who’d slept inside you. who’d taken your hand when you started shaking during your first airplane turbulence. who’d learnt your favourite flowers and would spring with bouquets for you unexpectedly. just… gone. he hadn’t even needed a goodbye. you hadn’t been worth a goodbye.
the first month was incredibly difficult. you ended up having to tell your mam about it as well - not the full story, of course. but you lost weight, cried every day and the dark spots under your eyes were alarming, so there was no way you could get away with murder. you begged her not to tell your dad, you couldn’t deal with the thought of him knowing that his little girl had been the mistress of a fifty year old man for a year and a half.
so this is what love felt like. you’d dated when you were in high school and uni, and then in your mid-twenties you had your only long-term relationship. you’d realised now that you’d never been in love with your ex boyfriend. even though it had been you who broke things off, it had still been a hard break up and you thought you’d mourned a great love.
but this was nothing like it. you couldn’t match your feelings to anything you’d felt in the past. previous relationships had been companionship. this was love. it burnt you from the inside and left you in ashes. and the worst part is that you were beating yourself over it. he was fucking married. when had you become so delusional as to think he’d leave his wife for you? that he cared about you? that he loved you like you loved him? you kept overanalysing your relationship and noticing there’d always been hints. you should have known. stupid, stupid, stupid.
you were almost thirty-two and had wasted two precious years away over a guy who hadn’t even had the decency to leave you in person and just tossed you aside, like you were a nuisance to him.
your best friend pretty much dragged you to therapy - she said you needed it. at first you were reluctant, but once you made yourself comfortable on the psychologist’s divan, everything started pouring. how he’d never asked for your availability. how he’d forbidden you from reaching out to him, always holding the power over you on who decided to speak and when. how he taught you to know your own body and showed you pleasures that had remained hidden from you until him. how he’d never say he missed you, but your body, your mouth, your cunt instead. how you always tried to mould yourself to whatever he wanted. how you never wanted to confront because you had such a limited time together you didn’t want to waste it fighting. how he never made any promises to you but still managed to behave in such a way you’d get your hopes up.
and how you accepted it all. how you never questioned anything, because you just wanted to be with him. you were not blameless in this situation. granted, he was a motherfucker and a heartless bastard, but you were a grown up woman. how did you let him play you like this?
therapy sessions were really opening your eyes and made you take a look into your own behaviour. why didn’t you value yourself? you were worth love. not whatever the fuck Noel had been willing to offer to you.
and you’d learnt it the harshest way. left from one day to the other with a broken heart. your therapist said you needed to learn from previous actions and work on your self love from this forgettable experience. easier said than done.
˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚
three months went by. you were slowly picking up the pieces of your life and putting them back together. you’d stopped making so many mistakes at work. you were again giggly, talkative. you were eating again. some of your usual customers told you it was good to see you “back to your old self.” you were even trying new recipes, excited to update the bakery menu and spruce things up a little bit. you’d started going to the gym and you were sleeping like a human being again, not just three hours passed out on the couch after drinking two glasses of wine. you were finding yourself, trying to leave him behind you, a closed chapter of your life.
tonight, your friends have dragged you to a quiz night in a downtown pub. lately you’d been going out quite a bit, enjoying yourself after the strenuous days at work, albeit going somewhat obligated. you were feeling more your age, even. living like a normal thirty-two year old.
and now you’re on your fifth pint of the night. everything is a bit blurry and everyone is so funny. you even accepted a spliff from a lad that was chatting you up over the bar and you are considering going home with him. you really need to get laid. you lost terribly at the quiz but you’re still having a great night. this weekend is already looking bright.
that is until you look up on your way back to your group and freeze on the spot when you see the telly screen. they’re repeating this afternoon’s football highlights. and there he is. on the stands. laughing out loud and cheering with his older brother and some friends. fucking bastard.
you’d been doing so well. yes, you barely listened to music anymore because everything reminded you of him, not only his bloody songs. and yes, you’ve not watched a single city match since he left you and you’d avoided the sports channel like the plague. but other than that, you were doing well!!!
and who does he fucking think he is? this isn’t his town anymore. what’s he doing here, having a good time, strutting like he owns every place he’s at, talking to the journalists as if he’s this sports oracle. you know what? someone should tell him he’s a proper cunt. he should be ashamed of himself instead of having a good time on a weekend, showing up on the telly like it’s nothing.
you down half your pint and go back to your table, quickly informing your friends as you grab your coat - “i’m fucking outta here.” a few of them try to stop you, telling you you’re too drunk to leave by yourself. your best friend approaches you and mutters a soft “y’ okay?” she also saw him on the telly. you nod and let her know you’re fine, just tired and calling an uber to go home. you kiss her cheek before you make your way out of the pub, disregarding the shout the guy over the bar gives you, asking where you’re going.
it’s fucking freezing and a light rain is falling, but you’ll not be deterred. his place is only like a twenty minute walk away. you’re tired of crying, of having to put on a mask for everyone for the last three months. you’re going to tell him everything you think of him. pathetic old man. cheating on his wife and then acting all morally superior by blocking you. you are drunk enough to give him a fucking piece of your mind.
by the time you get to the huge, fancy building, you’re completely soaked, having walked miles under a rain that turned heavier as you made your dizzy way through the streets, fighting against the chilly january breeze. it must be midnight already. your heart tugs when you glance through the thick glass doors, opening by themselves as you make a graceless entrance, heels muddied and preventing you from walking in a straight line. now that you’ve made it here, you can’t believe it took you so long to come. you’re going to take a shoe off and throw it at his stupid mop of hair once you make your way up to his flat.
you don’t realise that someone’s talking to you until he grabs you by your arm softly, preventing you from hitting the lift call in button. “… miss! miss? can you hear me?” he takes you out of your drunken rage and you turn to see lovely frank, who ran through the elegant foyer and almost slipped on the water you’ve dragged in.
“oh, frank!! hiii!!” you give him a big hug and almost fall on top of him but he’s quick to catch you, “mate, so sorry i didn’t bring anything for you today, but i wasn’t at the bakery. send me upstairs, will you?” you drawl into his arm as he makes you stand up straight again.
“miss… it’s so good to see you after so long. i don’t mean to intrude or anything... is it possible you’ve had a drink tonight?”
you let a loud cackle at his concerned look. you love this old man, he’s always so kind to you, but now you have more pressing matters, “y’ damn right i have! not too many, just five or six pints and a couple of tequila shots. doing alright. ‘s the lift coming? where are you taking me?”
you look at him puzzled as he takes you softly by the arm and drags you away from the lifts, taking you to the area behind the desk where he sits around whenever he or one of the other doormans are on a break. he sits you gently on his chair before he swallows awkwardly and looks around. he’s adjusting the lapels of his uniform jacket and looks up to you then, with a face that says he’d rather be anywhere else at this moment, “miss… i can’t let you go up.”
you laugh again, not understanding what he’s saying. it’s ridiculous. “what d’ ya mean? can’t let me up. y’ so funny. it’s me, frank! you know me! c’mon. cut the bullshit, let’s go.”
in your drunken state you try to get up again but it’s proving to be more difficult than you expected. but frank is quicker than you and lays your back onto the chair again as gently as he can. he looks like he’s taking a pig to slaughter. “miss… he removed your name from the list. you know how it is. i can’t let you go up if you’re not on the list, i’d lose me job.”
he has to be fucking kidding you. the nerve of that bloody motherfucker. he didn’t even talk to his doormans, he didn’t know frank’s favourite treats are jammy dodgers, that edward only eats gluten-free and that michael is allergic to all kind of nuts. but you do know. and you always brought sweets to them and also for their kids because they were always so nice and Noel always told you to stop bribing them with food to make them like you better than him. and he never talked to them, but now he talked to them to ban you from his flat? he is a right cunt.
it seems that you weren’t just thinking that but you are actually bellowing furiously as you find yourself again back in front of the lifts, dodging frank as he tries to stop you. “i know… i know, miss. this is such a bad situation. you are right, you are nicer than him. but he’s the owner of the place. and you know me and the lads care about you, right? you are the nicest person who’s ever lived here, not a stuck up nose posh like the rest. but you’re putting me on the line here, please, understand. why don’t you sit down again and i can bring you a glass of wa-“
“call him.”
“‘m sorry, what?”
“call him, frank.” you’ve stopped your drunken brawl and have stopped hitting the lift doors and are now staring at him dead in the eye. “tell him i’m down here. i want to see if he dares to tell you to my face over the phone not to let me go up.”
frank looks even worse than five minutes ago and pales at your request. he rakes his fingers through his hair in stress and closes his eyes, looking up before he opens them again, not willing to face you, “… can’t… can’t do that, miss. when he came back tonight he ordered me specifically not to disturb him under any circumstances.”
you choke on a laugh condescendingly and rush again behind the desk. you know where he keeps the doorman’s mobile phone to contact the flat owners. “fuck off. what, we’re gonna wake the old man? i don’t give a toss, let’s call him and put him on speaker!” you grab his phone and he starts struggling with you to take it away, always polite and careful not to exert any force over you nor touch you anywhere inappropriately.
“miss… miss!! god's sake, give it here, lass! can’t do that!”
he’s finally able to take it away from you, both of you heaving from running from here to there in the foyer.
“why not?! does he not have a mobile anymore?! doesn’t matter. let’s yell at him, the old man’s not deaf yet. the wind will take the screams up.” you have completely lost the plot and are making a drunken scene. “hey Noel!! Noooo-eeeell! NOOOOOEEELLWWJDW”
frank’s jumped over to your side and is covering your mouth with his hand, your screams now muffled beneath it. his eyes are terrorised, “miss! miss! ow, don’t bite me!! please, stop, someone’s gonna call the police!” you’re struggling with him as you try to keep on screaming and he turns you in his arms, hand still covering your mouth freakishly strongly, “miss! i can’t call him because… ‘cause he’s got company tonight.”
you stop your struggle then and come to a halt in his arms all of a sudden. you also stop trying to scream, and he waits five seconds before he drops his hand from your mouth, now sure you’re not going to start yelling again.
“what… what d’ ya mean?” your voice comes out soft and scared.
frank is wishing the earth would swallow him now. “miss… you know what i mean. i… he’s… he’s with a lady,” he swallows gravely before he looks down awkwardly at his polished shoes.
your eyes swell with tears. you… you did not see this coming. he’s brought someone here? to a place that was yours for a year and a half? is he fucking her in your bed? you’re going to be sick. frank notices that and is quick to grab the umbrella holder and place it in front of you, right before you empty the contents of your stomach into it. you feel rough hands grabbing your hair gently and pulling it up, making sure you don’t vomit on any of it. soft palms on your back as you gag until you don’t have anything in you anymore.
once he sees you are done, he takes you again to his chair and is quick to bring you a bottle of water from the back so you can drink. tears are running down your face now and you don’t know if you’re crying already or if they are from the exertion of throwing up.
“miss… may i tell you something completely out of line?”
you stare up at him and nod as tears continue to flow.
“how old are you, if i beg your pardon?”
you clear your throat before you mutter a shy “thirty two.”
frank sighs deeply, “… jesus christ. you could be my daughter. you even look younger than you are. miss… you know how my job is like. i don’t talk, i don’t make a noise. being invisible is part of my job description. but i’ve seen you and him for the last year and… don’t be mad at me. i’m telling this to you as if i were your father, and i could lose me job over it. but what Mr Gallagher’s been doing with you… it’s not right, miss. i don’t know what he’s told you or what your deal is but… you know he’s got a family down south. small kids and all. and in my long life i’ve seen men like him… all the same. they never leave their wives.”
he stops as he sees you’re crying harder now and his heart breaks for you. he takes your tiny hands in his rough ones before he continues, “…and you’re such a good lass. you are young and you deserve so much more. you are kind and generous and you should find a boy your age to settle down and have a family with. you’re better than this and shouldn’t be crying over a bloody old millionaire who has the world at his feet and treats you like a doormat. i don’t know what happened between you two, but i know you’re a decent girl. otherwise i would have seen Mr Gallagher’s bloody face splayed all over the tabloids on a cheating scandal after he told me to take you off the list, and i didn’t. you’re too good to be crying for him on this foyer.”
you stand up and throw yourself at his arms, and frank is quick to hug you as you sob into his chest.
someone blasted a hammer against your skull. there’s no other explanation for the excruciating headache you wake up to. mouth dry, eyes squeezing at the glimmering light peaking through your curtains. well. maybe the tequila shots you had yesterday have something to do with it as well. you drag yourself to the bathroom and soak under the shower as you recap last night’s dreadful events. unfortunately, you didn’t drown yourself in liquor and you remember everything.
what took place yesterday is possibly the lowest point of your life. Noel on the telly triggering some unnerving emotions within you, screaming at the top of your lungs in a fancy foyer, kicking a lift door repeatedly with your pointy heels until you effectively ruined them, vomiting in an umbrella bin as poor dear frank held your hair. god. frank. he called a cab for you and put you on the back seat, even made sure to pay in advance as there was no way you could be dealing with bank notes the state you were in. you need to go and apologise for the terrible shift you made him have.
you are a bit better after your shower and decide to make him some shortbread cookies quickly before you head downtown. nice way to spend your sunday afternoon off. but you need to own your actions.
that’s what you tell yourself as you get off the bus and approach the imposing, crystal-tinted building. it’s five pm already, frank should have started his night shift by now. it’s so sad that you know their schedules. as you sheepishly make your way in, you see his eyebrows raise up as he’s sending an old couple up. he turns the key in and presses the buttons before he salutes them politely and gets off the lift.
“glad to see you’re alive and kicking, miss.”
you blush and smile apologetically, “frank… i’m so, so sorry. i never act that way. i’m never drinking again, i’m so sorry you had to see that!!” you start tripping over your own words as you apologise and he chuckles, waving his hands to silence you as you come closer.
“don’t be sorry, miss, it’s happened to all of us. what are you doing here, if i may ask?”
you shake your head nervously before you hand him the box with cookies, “just wanted to come by and apologise, and also say thank you. you also need to tell me how much you spent on the cab so i can pay you back.”
“nonsense! i’m not taking any money from you miss, not with you feeding me and the lads with treats for the last year. i will take the cookies, though. i miss your sweets,” he winks kindly at you.
you feel very undeserving of the level of care he professes towards you, but you accept his terms. “you can always come by the bakery, y’ know. it’d be great to meet lydia and your grandkids.”
“we will be doing that surely, miss. i can’t go that long without these cookies. you’ve spoiled us. now that you’re here, please wait, i have something for you.”
you nod surprisedly as he quickly disappears in the foyer’s back room. what could he possible have for you? he comes back with a heavy carton box and puts it on the doormans’ desk. “about two months ago or so, Mr Gallagher came down and gave this box to michael to throw away. i know he shouldn’t have, miss, but he opened it…” he looks embarrasedly at you before he proceeds, “and it wasn’t in his heart to toss it. nor mine or edward’s either. we kept thinking we’d see you again, miss.”
you approach to the bruised box and open it slowly, and your heart is shattered again, if that’s even possible. it’s all there. your old and wrinkly manchester university jumper, your chipped mug, the pink fluffy robe with matching slippers he’d gifted you. your skincare products, your shampoo and hair conditioner. a battered notebook where you had written down some recipes you decided to keep there because Noel liked those dishes and you enjoyed cooking for him. old shirts of him you used to wear to go to bed. a huge bottle of perfume he’d bought you when he asked what scent you wore cause he’d said it drove him insane. the wrinkled silly notes you’d use to write to one another if he left to burnage or wherever in the morning when you were still asleep, “down with the common folk. looked so pretty in your sleep i didn’t wanna wake you, but i gave you lots of kisses. be back around four pm, can’t wait.” all the polaroids he’d taken in the months you’d been together. he knew better than to keep visual evidence of his infidelities but something in his gut had always told him that’d you’d never betray his trust. cunt. the irish countryside, his annoyed face on the beach, some risqué and delicate shots he liked to take of you in bed. even candids, you barefoot in the kitchen flicking pancakes over the pan and chastising him. you laughing in the settee that rests near his living room window. selfies of the both of you in cozy clothes. four books you’d left in the flat because he’d seen you read them and claimed he wanted to give them a try - he never did. all the kitchen utensils that he’d bought for you once you started spending more time at his. and the presents you’d given him, the anniversary record, silly tokens from street shops, a dog tag chain.
he decided that he could put everything you two had been together in a box and throw it away in a street garbage bin. sorry, no. he couldn’t bother himself to throw it, he asked a lackey to do it for him, he couldn’t risk getting his hands dirty. the entire year and a half. a period of time that had cracked your life in two, for him it had been something he was able to put away in just a box. disposable. you were so done.
you choke down your tears before you look up to frank, “thanks so much, frank. and thank the lads as well. i really want to keep these, if that’s ok.”
frank’s eyes are full of compassion as he nods and places the box in your arms, “we were sure we’d see you again somehow, miss. and these things seemed to hold sentimental value.”
“they do,” you smile at him.
“walk you down to call a cab?”
you nod and smile warmly at him as the box is held on a tight grip by your hands. you’d keep it. a reminder of something precious you’d had with someone who hadn’t cherished it. you’d go back home and put it away in your closet and years from now you would hopefully be able to look back at its content and think of fond memories. you were so done with Noel Gallagher.
˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚
August, 2019
it is scorching hot today so everyone is ordering lemonade. the uk has been going through a heatwave and you even had to go out earlier to buy more lemons and mint cause you ran out of them at the bakery. and with how careful you are with produce inventory, that says something. you really can’t wait for this shift to be over and relax under a nice, cool shower. you expected for today to be quieter but it seems that customers are not deterred by staggering thirty-six degrees. oh well, the busier, the better, as your dad says. you take a short five minute break from your tasks in the kitchen and sit down for a while in the back room, resting your feet from being standing too long decorating a black forest gateau someone ordered for a retirement party.
you check your mobile - lately you’ve been keeping it in your apron’s front pocket because your sister calls you a lot to discuss incoming orders - and you smile as you see a message from chris, your boyfriend. one of his students cancelled an appointment and he’ll pass by before going to a department meeting. that’s the boost you needed to go on with the rest of the afternoon. chris is a sweetheart and you’ve been seeing him for the last five months. thirty five, historian, professor at uni, you match so well with him. and you’re in that stage of the relationship when things are still exciting but you’re also learning the other person’s routine, and you’re all in for it. you finish your mug of iced tea and go back to the kitchen. you ran low on lemon drizzle mini cakes and you want to put a dozen in the oven so that you’re covered for the rest of the afternoon. people go for citric when it’s this hot.
you’re back in the kitchen, radio softly buzzing in the back as you work diligently, the two other cooks busy as well. you’ve stopped your chattering as you’re glazing the mini cakes and you always like to focus when you do that. however, being close to the salon where the girls are dealing with customers also allows you to listen in if anything odd happens. you are a bit of a micro manager, you won’t lie, but your antlers pick up when you see them going to the back of the counter and mumble on the low, giggling softy as they enter the order into the computer and one of them, cassie, speaks a bit louder, enough for you to hear - “who even orders black coffee in this heat?!” - as sam gives her a friendly push on her shoulder and blushes. why are they behaving like school girls? that’s strange. you go back to your cakes and focus on the task at hand, but about five minutes later cassie rushes into the kitchen, looking at the three of you working with a “stop everything you’re doing and hear this out” look.
you smile indulgently and drop your almost empty piping bag. sometimes you feel you’re still in high school with these guys, but you love them and they are such great, professional workers.
you gather around in the center of the kitchen before cassie half-whispers, half-screams “you will not fucking believe who’s sitting right outside!!”
oh. a famous person. it’s always good when a celebrity comes to the bakery. even more if they post an instagram story of them in it, it helps the business. you perk your ears as charlie presses on “who, girl, who? do i need to go and freshen up in the bathroom?” he jokes.
“you do, because he is bloody gorgeous,” cassie gushes excitedly, “it’s the oasis guy!!!”
you feel a bit lightheaded and you quickly grab yourself to the counter, afraid you may fall. it’s too hot in here. is the ac fucking on?
alan is pushing cassie for more details, exasperated by her, “which one, cassie? Noel or liam?”
cassie is a bit thrown off by the question. bless her, she lives in her own bubble. “i don’t know… i always mix them up, they look the exact same to me. but i thought he was the oasis guy and then i told sam back at the counter and she checked him out and she confirmed! i know he sings.”
alan sighs and shakes his head dejectedly, disappointed in his coworker and friend having so little mancunian musical culture, “they both sing, you daft bird. is he the one who sings wonderwall or don’t look back in anger?”
cassie is lost and a tad mad her gossip is not sufficient for the lads back in the kitchen. who cares which one it is? he’s a famous bloke, period. “I don’t know, mate! but he looks fit as fuck. and he’s reading a book and he just ordered a big mug of black coffee with a slice of victoria sponge and a brownie with sprinkles. that’s such a funny order.”
“that’s noel,” your voice comes o soft, a bit tired. the three of them turn to look at you, surprised.
“how would you know?” charlie asks, unaware of the hundred thoughts that are running through your mind as you speak.
“i just know. charlie, would you finish the decoration of these mini cakes? there’s only two left. i need a quick break.”
they all nod and you go to the back room again, not before smiling at cassie and saying “behave, girl. let’s not chase our customers out of the shop.”
what the fuck is he doing here? you lock yourself in the bathroom, lay down the toilet lid and sit on top of it, putting your head in between your legs. you really are scared to pass out. this is no mistake. he knows this is your shop, he came here on purpose. and that fucking order. you remember the first time he tried your victoria sponge and how he made a noise he usually only made when you were busy on your knees for him. how he’d told you that from then on he wanted one for his birthdays. you also remember how you used to make fun of him for liking treats with sprinkles so much “i didn’t know you had the palate of a four year old” you’d giggled as he was munching two brownies at the same time on the rooftop of his flat, not paying you any mind as he sucked his fingers. and how you’d use to nag him “it’s four pm already, Noel. no more coffee for you,” as he kissed your cheek and told you to fuck off and leave him alone.
what does he want? why now? it’s been almost a year since he left you. and you put him behind you, you are good now, in a loving relationship with an amazing man with whom you’re able to walk hand in hand in the street. this is so unfair. who does he think he is? this is your fucking bakery. you’re not passing out in the bathroom nor hiding out in the kitchen. your plan is the same as everyday - finish in the kitchen around three pm or so and then take over counter duties until closing time. and that’s what you’ll be doing. you’re not hiding in your own job. cunt.
you slam the bathroom door and make your way back to the bakery salon, quickly running by the kitchen to ensure everything’s sorted for the end of the day. you are good. you look great. he’s a bastard. let’s see if he’s so brave.
you leave the kitchen after helping alan with a buttercream mix that was not getting to the required consistency and then you make your way over to the counter, taking over sam’s duties and letting her go fix a few tables. you see him then.
tucked in one of the corner tables, secluded from most of the windows even though the bakery is a very luminous space. he’s halfway through the piece of cake and is immersed in a book. he looks good. the motherfucker. hair greyer, sunglasses over his face - he’s so stupid, everyone who wears sunglasses indoors is - white t-shirt tight to his frame and his necklace peeking out. a tremor rakes your entire spine before you shake your head and start reviewing today’s cash register. you’ll ignore him until absolutely necessary.
you keep working distractedly as sam and cassie flutter around from table to table, making sure the customers have all they need. a few people come in to get take out and you sense his eyes on you even though you can’t really look at him - there’s like a magnet pulling you to him and letting you know deep in your tummy that he’s noticed you are here now. you calmly cater to the clients’ asks and even chat a bit with one of them, a woman who always drops by on thursdays afternoons because she takes french lessons nearby. you loved to get to know some of the customers and be on a first name basis with them, know their schedules, ask them if they wanted the usual. that’s what this business is all about, not just the food, but the people. she takes her pastry and her iced coffee and leaves after waving affectionately to you, bumping into chris as he makes his way in.
“my love!” he salutes smilingly. god. you forgot he was dropping by. you quickly look around and see that Noel has taken his sunglasses off and has dropped his book, staring at him with an inscrutable face as chris makes his way over behind the counter and kisses you soundly on the lips, squeezing your hips. cassie is quick to approach you both - “uuuhhuh - lovebirds!” jokingly teasing you over the other side of the counter. you return the kiss and put some distance between you both - “cassie!”
“what? you’re cute together! hey chris! quick question for you, mate. i’m failing my microbiology class, do you know professor abbot? can you put in a word for me?”
chris laughs by your side as he pours himself tea in a to-go cup, “i’m in the history department, cass, i don’t know every professor at the university.”
cassie deflates at that, “shite. was really hoping you could pull some leverage for me or something.”
you look at her motherly even though you’re only ten years older than her, “have you tried studying instead of going down to the pub everyday with charlie and sam after work?”
“you’re no fun,” she frowns before she notices table three is asking for a lemonade refill and leaving you and chris alone for a bit.
“dropped by for a quick kiss and a raspberry muffin before the meeting,” he peppers kisses all over your face, finishing on the corner of your mouth, “we still on for tonight?”
you smile tiredly and kiss him softly on the lips, “of course, baby. good luck at the meeting!”
he presses a final kiss before he picks up his tea cup and the muffin and rushes back to the door, his heavy bag flowing with books, “looking gorgeous as always, button.”
you blush and go back to the pastries’ display, arranging everything even though it’s already very tidy. you don’t dare look at the corner table. sam passes by and teases, “so jealous of you guys. you’re sickeningly sweet, he’s so in love with you!”
you wave her off and pray that he’s not hearing your conversation, but who are you kidding. the bakery isn’t that big, he’s relatively close to the counter and sam and cassie are fucking loud. “zip it,” you retort jokingly. these girls. they love you, they saw you in such a bad place after your break up with mr mystery man that they couldn’t help but love chris once he made an entrance into your life. little do they know, mr mystery man is sitting just three metres away and staring at you blatantly, forgetting about any pretence of casualness.
the rest of the afternoon drags by. cassie leaves early for a doctor’s appointment. the lads in the kitchen are finished for the day and you tell them to go home, you can manage the orders if any customer asks for a sandwich or scrambled eggs something. only forty more minutes before you close the shop. it’s still quite busy, though. sam is cleaning some tables and you notice Noel’s cup has been empty for a while. he’s back to his book. having all the time in the world, apparently.
you take a deep breath and pray a holy Mary before you approach him. “need a refill?”
he looks up to you surprisedly, not really expecting you to wait on him after an hour of ignoring him. he visibly jumps at the dry tone of your question. you don’t make eye contact as he pushes the mug towards you, “that’d be great, yes.”
you swiftly take it from him and go behind the counter. your heart is going to beat out of your chest. has sam turned the radio off? you feel you’re deaf to the world and it’s just you and him, moving in slow motion in a secluded space, trying not to touch each other and implode on the spot.
you go back to his table with a hot, full mug, “‘tis decaf,” you inform him sharply and you look into his eyes for the first time in a year. it’s possibly the first time you see shyness in them.
“oh,” that’s all he says.
“it’s already five. caffeine isn’t good for the body after three pm,” you explain shortly even if he hasn’t asked anything.
“i know,” he mutters, “thanks,” a timid smile threatening to appear in his lips.
you don’t answer and go back behind the counter. your legs are shaking but you won’t let him notice. deep breaths. deep breaths. he looks… Noel. you don’t dare look back at him. it’s like staring at the sun.
around the closing time, there’s only two tables left. two old ladies having tea and him. you tell sam she can leave, that you’ll manage to close everything and that she should take some rest after this busy day. she is quick to do so and you’re left alone with your remaining customers. you approach the ladies to see if they need anything else politely, and they just ask for the check. you don’t go and ask him anything.
after the two ladies leave, you take a deep breath before you switch the door sign to “closed” and turn around, crossing your arms over your chest. you give him the coldest stare you can muster. he’s still in his table, his second mug of coffee half-drunk, book closed and sunglasses resting over it. he has the decency to look a bit intimidated.
“what are you doing here, Noel?” you sound exhausted, done with whatever this sick thing between the both of you is.
he gets up from his cozy chair, trying to approach you, but you turn around from him and start drawing the shades over the windows, so that nothing can be seen from the outside. you don’t know how this will end, but you’re not above smashing a buttercream cake on his stupid face.
“the place is lovely, always wanted to come here. it looks very you.”
“you did not come here to give your opinion on my bakery’s interior decoration, Noel,” you’re losing the little patience you have for him, “what are you doing here? either tell me or leave.”
he coughs and takes a few steps back, still following you around at a prudent distance as you clean the tables. you’re not looking at him but you feel the anxious energy flowing from him. he’s nervous. good.
“i… i… how are you, love? you’re… you’re looking… good.”
you turn around sharply and he jumps back, a bit scared. he’s never seen you being so cold towards him, this is a whole facet of you he doesn’t know. you laugh sardonically, “didn’t ask you, but thanks. i’m doing good, i’m looking good, i’m feeling good. ‘s that what you wanted to check? done. door’s that way for you.”
you go back to arranging a few cushions and a chair in one of the big tables and you feel him get closer to you. you hate yourself for it but your skin prickles at that, the same as when you hear his raspy, apologetic voice again, puppy eyes staring at you. “love… don’t be like that. i just… i just want to talk to you.”
he’s got some fucking nerve, this man. you’ve never met anyone as entitled as him. a happy song is playing softly in the radio in the background, here comes your man from pixies, and it makes this moment even more surreal and ridiculous. you laugh again, louder this time, and you throw your tea towel down at the table. “that’s rich. now you want to talk. always when you want to. ok, let’s talk! what do you want to talk about? about how you dragged me around for two months before disappearing? or how you told me you couldn’t see me and then brought your wife to the city? oh, i know! why don’t we talk about how i tried calling you to see what the fuck was wrong with you, only to find out you’d blocked me?!
Noel visibly flinches at your rant, shutting his eyes as if he were a boy caught red-handed doing something naughty. he’s having a regression as he’s back to stammering, “i… i… i deserve all of that. all of it. i was a prick. am a prick, present tense. i’m… i’m… i’m so sorry. for everything. you didn’t deserve it. i was a right cunt to you.”
you weren’t expecting for him to concede so quickly. you’re a bit taken aback, but you’re not lowering your guard. you stare at him and he notices you’re not saying anything, so he gathers some courage and continues:
“i… i… i did everything wrong. i regret it every single day. i didn’t know what to do and it all came out wrong-“
you don’t let him finish, incensed and angrier at him for being apologetic. you know cocky, arrogant Noel. not this Noel. and you don’t know how to deal with him. “you didn’t know what to do about what? if you were tired of me you could’ve just said so! but no, you had to go and fucking humiliate me while at it! are you sure you’re older than me? you act like a teenage boy Noel, get a fucking grip!”
he’s getting frustrated with the situation too, not being used to being called out like that. “i know! i fucking know! ‘s just… we almost got caught in london and i… i started spiralling. i knew what i had to do. what was reasonable to do. i had to end it, but i… i didn’t know how.”
you snort as you make your way behind the counter, cleaning it up for tomorrow morning as he follows you, but he doesn’t dare to go behind it. “you’re a rock star. you had a gazillion girlfriends. you’re telling me you don’t know how to dump someone? you really think i’m that fucking stupid?”
his hands rake through his hair, disheveling it nervously and making him look more handsome. he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days and has a rough stubble. fuck him. impossibly blue eyes look at you imploringly, trying to explain himself, leaning over the counter to get closer to you. “no, doll, it’s not like that! i… of course i’ve dumped others in the past, but… but this was… you’re different, you know that. this is different. what we have.”
you are going to kill him with a butter knife. “what we have? we don’t have anything, Noel!! there’s no us, there’s no we, you took care of that when you vanished from the face of the earth without saying a fucking word! stop it! stop saying i’m different! different how? different like the woman you slept with this winter in the flat you’d been with me, that place you’d always told me i should treat like “home”?”
he pales at that and chokes, “wha-, ho-, what are you talking about?”
you laugh again but you’re actually trying to contain tears now. he’s here and he’s daring to lie to your face. “that woman you slept with back in january. saturday night, city had beaten chelsea. ring any bells?”
he’s lost. “how… how do you know about that?”
you are way past being ashamed in front of him. you have no dignity and nothing to lose at this stage. you are doing great, for fucks sake, and he came here to dig up painful past that you’d so valiantly buried. “i got drunk that night and saw you on the telly. tried to take over your flat by assault and kill you by putting my heeled shoe through your thick skull, but frank stopped me because, oh yes, that’s right, you removed me from the fucking list as if i were a bloody black widow. when i asked him to call you he said you were with a woman,” you hiss.
“motherfucker. that was none of his business! he signed a fucking nda when i bought the place, i could get him fired!” he’s diverting and getting angry now.
“if you dare sack frank or any of the other guys i’ll strangle you with my bare hands, Noel. don’t try me. i’m not in the mood.”
he shakes his head quickly and goes back to business. “i… yes, i did bring a woman back home that night. but nothing happened.”
you scoff loudly as you refill the coffee machine.
“i swear it, it’s true!” he sounds like a child.
you close the machine lid sharply as you turn back to him, “you don’t owe me any explanation, Noel. The only woman who should know where you put your cock in is your wife, not me.”
he sighs and bites his lip. he always hated when you brought up his wife in non-sexual situations. “i… you… no, that’s not true. i want you to know that. i didn’t sleep with her. i… i couldn’t. like that last time we were together.”
you look up at him, “when you couldn’t get it up?”
he frowns at you now, “well, don’t twist the knife! but yeah… and… and i couldn’t. because i kept thinking of you there with me, not her. the place is all you, you’re everywhere. i… i asked her to dress back and leave.”
“that’s so gentlemanly of you, Noel, i feel like i’m falling for you all over again!” your irony is piercing right through him.
“no, it’s true! and what happened to me that last night we were together… i…. i… when i got to manchester i had decided i was going to end things. it was too risky. my daughter had almost caught us, we were seeing each other so much, i wanted to see you all the time, kept thinking of you while in london… it was getting to be too much. had it all planned, everything i was gonna say to you, i swear, had a whole speech. but then you came in and i… i just couldn’t.”
touching. you’ve crossed your arms over your chest again and you’re facing each other now from either side of the counter, but he’s still leaning over it, as if he is ready to jump over it to get closer to you at any point. “so, what? you came all the way here just to tell me that? that you wanted to leave me but couldn’t? i figured that out already, Noel, if you can believe it. i’m a smart girl.”
“no, no! i came to tell you i couldn’t leave you that day because… because i love you.”
“fuck you,” he’s got some fucking nerve. “you love me? you love me?!” angry tears are threatening to spill from your bright eyes. “i loved you, you fucking arshehole! i told you i fucking loved you and you acted as if you never listened to me! get out of here!”
you throw the tea towel at him and rush around the counter furiously. you don’t care about keeping a distance from him anymore. you want him out of your sight. you push his chest aggressively, shoving him towards the door with unexpected strength. he stumbles but is quick to get a grip as you keep pushing him, hands closing into fists and hitting him on his chest as tears fall down inevitably. “i loved you so fucking much and you left me alone! you tried to erase me from your life! you don’t get to come here and tell me you love me! fuck you, Noel!”
he’s taking it all. the screaming, the hitting, the crying. after a moment, he starts to wrestle with you, trying to grab you by your hands, arms, shoulders, as you keep hitting him and yelling. “stop, girl! stop it!” he manages to restrict you by holding your shoulders with an iron grip and hugging you into him, tears and snot wetting his white shirt. you cry into his chest. you’re so, so angry. one of his hands goes to your hair, caressing it softly to calm you down as he moves you both behind the counter. “that’s it… let it all out. you’re right. you’re right about everything. shhh.”
after a few minutes of violent cries, you stop sobbing and release yourself from his arms. his fucking scent. it’s like breathing fresh air after again after having lived in a basement for a full year. you look up at him and his eyes are also teary. you’ve forgotten how beautiful he is when he’s this close. his eyes are a deep ocean you could drown in.
he gets closer to you, invading your personal space. you have nowhere to hide.
“doll… i mean it. I love you. i tried to deny it. i told myself this was something casual, that it was just sex and fun. but i… i started missing you. thinking of you all the time. not just your body or the sex, which is bloody insane, yes, but you. that little laugh you do when i tell silly jokes. how cute you’re when you’re working on a new recipe and you’re all concentrated and don’t listen to a word i say. those little dances you make when you’re over the stove and how you sing when you think i can’t hear you. you can’t hit a note to save your life, by the way.”
you chuckle at that and cry at the same time, mad that he’s warming his way towards you.
he smiles hopefully at that, the first non-aggressive sign you’ve made towards him in the entire afternoon. it boldens him and he continues, “those kicks you give me when you’re asleep and i try to wake you. how unbelievably fucking sweet and good you are. so good, so fucking good to me i don’t deserve it because im a fucking bastard. how you ask about me kids though i know it breaks your heart to do it. i… i tried to ignore all of that. said it was temporary, that I’d get back to normal if i put distance. and it was worse. i’ve spent the last eleven months kicking myself for leaving you and missing you like hell. not a day has gone by without me thinking how i botched everything with the girl i love. i couldn’t go another day without saying it to you. i love you.”
he’s so close he could touch you, if he wanted to. you sort of expect him to do it, but he doesn’t. hes just staring right into your eyes after his speech, anxiously waiting for you to do anything, to say anything. you sniffle and you break eye contact, nervously looking around, anywhere but him. it’s too much. you sigh deeply.
“Noel, you… you can’t. you can’t come back after a year and tell me you love me. not now. i’m over this, i’m good now, i have my life, i have a boyfriend,” your shaky voice is heartbreaking. the floor is trembling beneath your feet.
his face hardens at that. “saw that. saw him come in,” he swallows gravely as he comes closer to you, cornering you into the counter end, “he good to you?”
you choke before your eyes meet again, “y-yes.”
“he treats you well?”
“y-yes.”
he lifts his hand and twirls a lock of your hair before putting it behind your ear, “your hair’s shorter… do you love him?”
you take a deep breath and close your eyes. “Noel… you can’t ask me that.”
he’s gaining the confidence he’d lost and you feel his scruffy cheek over your temple. his body heat is suffocating. his deep voice pierces through you, “why not? ‘s a simple question. yes or no. do you love him?”
his face rubs against yours, your deep breaths loud in the heavy atmosphere, idle music playing in the back as you’re being torn to shreds on the spot. “Noel… stop.”
his nose is against your cheek, warm against you before he leans back and stares at you, at your eyes, your mouth. “i don’t want to. i love you.”
he closes his eyes before he slowly leans towards you, lips softly resting against yours, giving you time to stop him, to push him away, to hit him again. new tears start to fall from your eyes as you breath into each other, lips barely pressing against the other as you feel he’s sucking the soul out of you. he starts pressing delicately against you, muttering soft “i love yous” as you close your eyes and chase his movements tentatively, a signal he takes to move forward and bring you into him by your hips, hugging you tightly and biting your lip gently. “my girl… you’re my girl.”
you nod imperceptibly and that’s all he needs before he falls with force over you and takes over completely, hot and sweaty bodies on a late summer evening pressed against each other, his tongue entering your mouth savagely, with the violence of someone who’s claiming back what has always been theirs. you whine into his open mouth and surrender. he’s all frenzy and passion, holding you impossibly tight to him as he devours you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. your clumsy hands grab him weakly by the collar of his shirt as his mouth descends over the line of your neck, licking the day off of you as he mutters against your skin, “missed you so fucking much. i love you so much, doll, i’ll show you.”
your moans, mixed with your crying, spur him on and he eagerly pushes you against the counter, hands travelling all over your body and caressing your bum and hips sensually. you’re set on fire. he turns you around and bends you over it, gaining a surprised whine from you as his quick fingers go to the button of your slacks and open them. “want me to show you?” his rough voice coaxes in your ear, his unshaved cheek brushing against your neck and erupting goosebumps all over your skin.
“Noel…” that’s all you can say in between tears as he drags your slacks down your legs and spreads you open, covered tits and face pressed over the counter as he takes himself out and drags his hard length over your clothed slit.
“fucking god… my perfect girl,” you hear him swear behind you before he pushes your thong to the side with his cock and penetrates you slowly. the pain is excruciating. it’s been so long.
your pained scream makes him go slower, but he doesn’t stop, not until he’s all the way inside you, pressing right against that spot you’ve missed so much. “my girl… you can take me,” he rasps in your ear again, fully pressed over you as he licks the side of your face, wet with tears and sweat. “you’re so fucking tight, you’re gonna kill me.”
you whine softly, the feeling entirely overwhelming. it’s too hot, too sticky, he’s too much all over you. he’s too much inside you. you missed him so much. you can only cry as he starts to move gently, slow thrusts pushing you against the counter as one of his hands caresses your waist, while the other grips your hair tightly.
he’s in so much pleasure it’s sinful, “you feel out of this world… i’ve missed you so much. i love you so much,” a litany of words leave his mouth as he pushes you harder onto the counter, thick cock barely leaving you, just pressing more and more into you, as if he’s wanting to carve your insides so only he can fit in. the pain’s subsided but not disappeared, and is now mixed with a sick rapture that’s driving you to the edge, enhanced by his praises. no one knows you like him. he knows where to touch, when to press, how to push. you’re butter in his hands. ruined. at his mercy.
you start wetting his groin and he fastens his pace, eager to make you cum. he knows you’re almost there. one of his hands goes to massage and squeeze your engorged clit, soaked from your arousal, as your moans become louder and more tears stream down your face.
“Noel… N-No… N-oel!” you cry as you hit your high, legs shaking and trembling violently against the counter, fire soaring through your insides as you fall. he holds you up and covers your body with his, soft pleas as he chases his own climax, “that’s it… f’me.. all of it… love you so much.”
he thrusts two more times before he falls on top of you, thick cum filling you as you both heave on the counter. his necklace chain is hot against the nape of your neck, and you feel drops of his sweat fall on you as he kisses your shoulder, tongue licking up to your neck from behind. your face is still pressed against the cold surface, hot tears wetting it as you cry and whisper softly, “w-why… why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”
Noel: What people don't mention is that they say "he went to meet Tony Blair" nah, it's not, I went to meet the Labour Prime Minister.
Liam: Just shit in the bog, man, just write—
Noel: Sh, sh, shh.
Liam: Hmm. (...)
Steve: And what did you think when [the invitation] came through?
Noel: Well, I'll tell you what I thought. I thought "I'm gonna meet the Labour Prime Minister". And I don't care what anybody who's listening to this radio program thinks about anything, right? I believe, fundamentally, in— I'm losing it here, aren't I?
Liam: Well, yeah—
Noel: I am losing it.
Steve: You're very close.
Liam: — but it's someone who's not got gray hair in the country, that's what it's about, someone who's got a face like a fucking brick.
cw: disgusting fluff horrible fluff terrifying fluff its so much, oral f!receiving, riding, fingering, dry humping, spit play, praise, sub/dom dynamics, use of 'daddy', slapping, not much smut .. sorry babies!!
wc: 22.2k
an: happy belated valentines day part two! would you all be my valentine and give this a little read because i knoww its been heavily anticipated. i hope you have as much fun reading this as i had writing it, this is both the best and longest fic my brain has thrown up soo .. happy reading <3
★2016
You’d blinked, and somehow, an entire year had gone by. You didn't even realise as it happened around you but somewhere along the way you’d begun officially calling Liam’s flat your home, your own keys in the bowl that you'd forced him to place by the door, “It’s convenient, Liam” You'd pressed it into him as you followed him around the home you could now call yours, “It’s bullshit I say - i mean, who needs some poncey little bowl to keep keys in” He didn't even turn around to look at you as you chased him around the house, his voice cracking slightly from trying to hold his laughter at your absolute onslaught of threats over, “Get the bowl or I get gone”, speeding up with a chuckle as you followed him, “I know just where my keys are”
But of course, you’d managed to overturn him. And now you had a credit card directly connected to his bank to take care of yourself, had properly immersed yourself within the Gallagher family - meeting Peggy, his other son Lennon, countless cousins when you eventually made your way over to Ireland. Your hands hurt from all the shaking, your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. But even Liam could see it in his face, you belonged here now. Everybody fussed over you in a way he’d never seen from them before, his kids grew more comfortable, his flat that once had been littered with beer bottles and empty takeaway containers was now, much to Liam’s smugness, full of your “Utter shite”, as he called it.
But he still loved the feeling he got whenever he rolled over in the morning to see you grinning up at him. Loved when you’d wink, eyelids heavy with sleep and whisper, “Morning handsome”, rolling over onto him as you attacked his face with kisses. Yes, it was sappy by Liam’s standards. But a man can enjoy a life with the girl he’d already begun building it with slowly over what was now almost three years of knowing one another.
★February 14th 2016
And now it was Valentine’s Day. What a day to be had, of course, the constant reminder of the time light finally shone on the darkness of his life. He’d never say that to your face, of course, but you both saw it in the way he seemed to carry himself lighter now, seemed to get himself back on his feet after so long just treading water.
Even the newspapers realised it too.
‘OASIS Frontman Liam Gallagher to spend yet another year with secretive ‘missus’, is this the year where the long running Gallagher curse strikes another relationship? Read Page 23 to find out more…”
Liam in fact hadn’t read page 23, and wasn’t planning on it. Not when you were in this happy little bubble which people often described as love. No longer hiding, the first Valentine’s day in which you could properly just be the two of you in the public eye without fear of disapproval from the media. And Liam planned on riding this wave for a long time.
You woke up early, probably around 5/6 in the morning - Liam effectively had you on the strictest schedule, “I’m getting old now, love” He told you last night when you suggested staying up a little late as a Valentine’s day treat, wanting to celebrate the night properly with him. But there he was, fluffing up his pillows and setting his phone on to charge, “Gone are the days where I can shag around until 2 in the morning”. You laughed, and pointed out the fact that, “Actually, sometimes we can pull it outta you”
“Aye lass, geriatric Gallagher isn’t quite here yet” You’d laughed back at him, already pulling the covers to the side to slot yourself onto his lap, arms winding around his neck as the two of you grinned at each other. Pure bliss. He never thought he’d have this again, but you felt so real sitting in his lap that he just pulled you towards him, laughing when you mumbled, “I’m very glad for that tonight”
And in true Liam fashion, he could never let what was practically his reason for still existing go needy on Valentine’s eve, so he dutifully made you come on his fingers, before shuffling back onto his side of the bed. Immediately conking out. You’d followed almost immediately, smiling down at his peaceful sleep, stroking his hair back with two fingers.
“Happy Valentine’s, grumpy”
You’d both explicitly said you weren’t going to get Valentine's gifts this year. Not that you really had over the last two - the first being a lonely drink in a bar, the second being, albeit, quite a nice dinner. You could say your present was him finally confessing but, with the way he’d sharpened himself up over that year, you could say you saw it coming. And that was what you were the most grateful for.
The flat was completely silent when you rolled out of bed, shivering as your bare feet hit the ice cold floor with a yelp, “Fuck’s sake!” Heading to the thermostat on the wall, seeing it at quite literally an arctic temperature. You cranked up the heating immediately, continuing on your quest to find Liam with a muttered, “Stingy old man” as you finally felt your feet start to thaw. And then, you set out on your quest to actually find said old men.
Liam was nowhere to be found, no note, no breakfast, his keys gone from the stupid little bowl. You smiled to yourself once again, wrapping your arms around yourself with a tutted, “Typical”. You made your way to the kitchen, nothing. Nothing in the cupboard. Hardly anything in the fridge. He’d honoured your wishes, it seems, and with a little smile on your face, you rolled your eyes. Poor guy was probably out stressing somewhere, but that was a problem for later when-
And as if on cue, the door slammed wide open. And there was the man himself, appearing bundled up in a parka you’d fought him over for it being, “Big enough for a sumo wrestler” And he’d fought you right back on that, “It’s fashion, love, not like you’d know”. And in his hands he was brandishing far too much for one man - a bunch of flowers wrapped in crinkly cellophane, half squished from where he had them pressed just over his heart, but still beautiful nonetheless, two coffees in one hand, and a carrier bag from Tesco which looked like it held one unwritten hallmark card, a six pack of beer, two cartons of cigarettes, and a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate.
“Morning love” He chirped. And he seemed very pleased with the surprised look you shot him from where you were currently trying to make his and your own cup of tea, scooping the teabags out as you quirked your lips, “You disappeared”
“I had errands to run” He said with a laboured sigh, like heading to the corner shop was some mammoth task, setting his collection down with a happy sigh. That was before he rounded the table, beaming like an overexcited puppy, tugging you into him. It was a hug that spoke of all the sappiness he could never say, squeezing you tight to his chest like he needed to thank you for still being here, swaying on his feet in some weird little dance that told you he just needed you to be casual about it. And you were. You smiled against his shoulder, propping yourself on tiptoes to peek over his shoulder at the slightly crushed flowers drooping on the table, “You got me Tesco flowers”
“Aye, expensive Tesco flowers” He muttered against you, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he pulled back with an expression that read mock offence for your flippancy over his efforts. “Happy Valentine’s, darlin’”
You smiled back up at his face, “Happy Valentine’s, grumpy”
He hated that nickname. That was publicly, secretly, he loved it. With a roll of his eyes he ducked his head to lock your lips in his for the softest kiss that spoke about 1000 words, holding the absolute weight of his love for you. You stayed like that for a minute, swaying still in his arms even as he pulled back away from you just to tug you back into literally the longest hug ever.
“Are y’not impressed with my initiative” Clearly very proud of himself for sneaking around you and still finding a way to ‘spoil’ you when the last conversation you had about Cupid’s day was a pinky promise to not buy each other anything.
You just stared at his little haul on the table with a soft expression on your face, before muttering, “Oh, what millions can buy”
— · ✦ · —
The day moved slow and fast at the exact same time, having spent the morning in the quiet together, chattering about nonsense while you sat there on the couch, him massaging your feet, you complaining about a picture the sun had managed to snag of you the other week. He just smiled and tickled the soles of your feet, "Aren't you a dramatic little madame” And he loved the way your face screwed up in laughter, slapping at his arm, “Liam!”
But, eventually you did make it out of the house, and he’d even changed his parka for the occasion, a very rare move, for which you congratulated him on your walk. You pinched the sleeve as you navigated the streets of London, having opted to walk rather than taking a cab, tugging on the fabric, “This is nice”, he’d nodded, hands in his pockets so his arm was perfectly bent to accommodate your hold on his elbow, “You’re right, you’re punching, angel”. You just laughed back at him, walked together in perfect tandem, you could see the vulnerability still written in his eyes, the apprehensiveness in his expression at the fear you may not take his joke in stride, but of course. You still continued to surprise him, “Coming from the man who called me the most beautiful thing he'd ever set eyes on when he was balls deep in me the other day”
That caught him by surprise, the way you still managed to make him laugh, the way you matched him in every way possible, “Well, arent you a cheeky little fucker”
The peace, however, was broken eventually. You were trying to scour the streets of London for a nice place you could take him to, “I’d better treat you, eh?” Youd smiled up at him, even as he led the way with the confidence of a man who'd known these streets for years, “After that romeo-esque gesture this morning” He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips as the light caught on his sunglasses when he’d turned to you, “Oh, and that's coming off your card or mine”
However, before you had the chance to snap something snippy right back at him his expression changed, jaw clenched. And there was, what you could only describe as a mob of paparazzi directly across the street from the two of you. It seems that you would never have a quiet valentines day as long as you were slumming it with Liam Gallagher. You'd made your peace with it, but you weren't so sure he had, you still remember that first time when they'd snapped pictures of you together in the park, the way he looked like his entire world was about to fall apart. And you didn't want to see him that way on valentines day.
So you did what you needed, subconsciously trying to defend his dignity from the flashing of the cameras. You let your hand drop, falling into a confident step beside him as you walked a respectable metre apart, dropping your head as you heard them clamouring desperately from the other side of the street, “Liam!”, “Over here!”
Liam didn't even look at them, but he did in fact notice the loss of contact. And without saying anything, he caught up properly to you, rough fingers reaching out to take your hand, locking your fingers as he kept walking. Not addressing the people across the street, but instead carrying on with you close to his proximity. It was nothing big, but it felt huge. A huge sacrifice, Liam finally letting other people in.
And then you were smiling the whole way through lunch. Liam frowned at you over his beer, “The fuck’s the matter with you” He accused, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his chest. You just watched him back, eyes sparkling with a mischief not shown in your otherwise innocent expression, wrapping your fingers around your rose glass with a knowing expression, “Nothing, eat your steak”
“Eat your fuckin’ salad and stop looking all weird”
— · ✦ · —
The real reason for Liam’s erratic behaviour was the event later that night. One he had been complaining about for weeks. The BRIT awards, “I mean, who hosts them stupid things on a night I’m meant to be spending with my bird” He’d fumed while sat with you on a couch, the movie playing in the background you’d been trying, very unsuccessfully, to watch, constantly interrupted by Liam’s inherent ability to keep his mouth shut, “I don't think they were particularly bothered about what you’d be up to, Liam” To which he showed great offence with a childish huff, crossing his arms over his chest in pure tantrum.
He’d been invited to present an award, Beady eye might not have been what everyone thought it could be, you personally felt they hadn't been given enough airtime, and it was one more thing you had to heal within him, but the Oasis legacy still lived on. Both brothers had been invited, but regrettably, upon finding out Liam was in attendance Noel had swiftly declined. You'd seen the way Liam’s shoulders had hunched in quiet defeat, but that was an issue you could address with him another time.
You were definitely nervous. I mean, this was the furthest thing ever from your scene, sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress, changing your earrings four different times, this pair a dangly one, which Liam had tried swatting at like a kitten. He was standing in front of the mirror, zipping up yet another parka - you’d have to count how many he had, this was the third wardrobe change today and you don't actually think you’d seen any of them worn before. “My going out parka” He’d muttered, catching your eyes in the mirror, nodding his chin at you, “Don’t smile weird, yeah?”
He was nervous, you could tell it in the way he stood, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed like it hurt him. You laughed at him, at least he was nervous rather than depressed, you could say this was the thing you were the most grateful for, being here for the small moments. “I don't smile weird” You muttered as you got to your feet, padding across the hardwood floor to wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your face in the space between his shoulder blades, hands resting on his belly just above his parka. “You smile like you've nicked someone's wallet”
His voice wavered slightly. You frowned gently, pulling away from him yet using your grip to coax him to turn in your arms, looking up at him, “You okay?” He just breathed, big hands coming to bracket your hips as he knocked his forehead against yours, “I’m shitting it”
His first official public appearance since the fallout of Beady Eye. Since his divorce. It was bound to rouse some feelings.
But you weren't one to worry, especially when you were both breathing into the space between the two of you, sliding his hands down to grip your ass and tug you against him, “Think we have enough time to give you another present before we leave?” He muttered, breath billowing against your lips, you inhaled sharply, chuckling up at him as your hands wound around his neck, “You already gave me a present” You reminded him, swaying a little bit as he smiled down at you.
He chuckled, leaning his head down to catch your lips in a kiss, hand sliding up to cup your jaw as he walked you back towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the soft bedding and his hands forced you down, following suit so he was knelt between your parted legs, hands sliding up your knees to the tops of your thighs, “Don’t hurt to have something take the edge off for both of us, eh?” His blue eyes met yours, smiling a little bashfully. You leant forwards, catching his face in your hands, your breathing already laboured as your thumbs stroked the slight stubble growing on his jaw. He seemed to relax almost immediately, nuzzling into your palm, nipping playfully at your wrist, “Yeah thats right” He tapped the side of your thigh, “Lie back gorgeous” His thumbs were already slotting under the hem of your dress.
And you did just what he said, hands sliding into his greying brown hair as you lay back, his hands wasting no time tugging your dress up, tugging your panties down, pooling around your ankles. His hands, warm and calloused from years of use parted your thighs, shuffling closer on the floor as he leant in, licking one languid stripe up your folds. He chuckled when you keened, hands gripping his hair tighter to tug you closer towards him, “Needy fucker” He whispered, breath billowing over your already embarrassingly sensitive clit, his thumb coming to press soft circles over the buzzing bundle of nerves, his other hand coming to spread your folds crudely as he licked into you once again, “Y’wanna know something?” He whispered. God, his voice was so raspy, you loved this about him, how fast he could go from being playful with you, to how filthy he could get in bed.
“Mhm!” Your voice came out high pitched, it made him laugh again, he let up the slow circling of his thumb to press a kiss to your clit, smiling as you whimpered slightly, before wrapping his lips around it, suckling softly as two thick fingers slid into your cunt, working you open so gently, like he just needed to take his time with you. Needed this to calm himself down. “I’m so glad it's you here with me tonight”
You tried to sit up, wanted to look at his face while he spoke to you, your hips shuffling to get away from his tongue working your clit gently. His hand moved to brace around your front, holding you down. You keened softly in disappointment, laying back on the bed, gasping as he used his fingers and tongue to work you closer to a gently sloping edge you were sure to cascade down, fingers curling crudely against the soft spongy spot inside you, “‘M glad its you full stop sweetheart”
His voice cracked slightly, you could see him as he knelt between your thighs, staring up at the ceiling with stars already threatening to burst behind your eyelid, shutting your mouth to muffle the pathetic whines falling from your lips, blinking away tears of pleasure as they sprung at your eyeline, “Y’the best thing for me”
“Happy Valentine’s, darlin’, thank you for being you”
— · ✦ · —
You cleaned yourselves up fairly quickly after he’d made you come twice on his fingers and his tongue, he’d laughed at the state of you when he knelt back on his haunches, pulling you up with him, kissing your forehead before whispering, “You look a mess” but at least he seemed slightly more confident.
The red carpet was the strangest experience of your life, even Liam looked out of place - rough rocker charm against the gentry here to receive awards for their musical contributions, here he was in a parka and jeans surrounded by people in expensive, well thought out garments. But it was all just so quintessentially him, you couldn't help but smile the brightest you had in your whole life as he took your hand and led you down the carpet. Groaning as interviewers eventually swarmed him, desperate for questioning the elusive rockstar Liam Gallagher.
He’d even dragged you in for his interviews. Here you were standing in front of some man in a suit who looked familiar but neither of you could name, stood there smiling with the power of 1000 suns in front of the largest camera you’d ever seen. You stood close to Liam’s side, sensing his somewhat agitated state, looking around like he didn't want to be caught off guard for even a moment.
The man flipped through his notebook, pointing at Liam with a pen and a friendly smile, “So, Liam, you've had a rough couple of years…” Liam’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw clenched as his arms crossed just over her chest, tilting his chin up at the man like he wanted to will him away with his mind. “So what I wanted to ask was, are you finally happy?”
That even caught you off guard. You watched as Liam’s eyes softened, darting to yours for one quick moment like he didn't know what to say. But you did.
“Well, that depends”
The reporter turned to you like he was surprised you even had a voice, shooting you a warm smile with a laugh as he leant forwards, “Oh?”
“Yeah” You said softly, squeezing Liam’s bicep as you leant your head there. He just looked down at you with on cocked eyebrow, “Depends whether anyone lets him finish his beer tonight”
And Liam burst out laughing. A raw, raspy thing that shook his whole body, so infectious that both you and the reporter just had to join in. Your eyes shone with the absolute glee of seeing him happy - it still hurts you sometimes that this happy, silly man you fell head over heels for could be the same man that looked like the entire world was out to get him exactly two years ago tonight. And every photo of Liam was so brilliant because it was real. Pure.
— · ✦ · —
You’d stayed out way longer than either of you had planned. You headed back to your flat at about 3 in the morning, he’d spent the night networking with you hanging off his arm. Introducing you before anything else, buying you drinks, keeping you close to him the whole time like armour. And you just let him, with a big smile on your face as you dutifully greeted and talked to people who you'd mainly forgotten the names of, but you didn't care. All you did care about was the smile on his own face, the laughter, the way he squeezed you tighter like he was having the most fun in the world.
He blinked slightly drowsily as he opened the door for you with one arm, laughing as you ducked under it to scamper into the flat and tug your heels off with a happy sigh. He made his way to sit beside you slumped on the couch, his arm making its way around your shoulder to tug you into him. You let him, of course, resting against his chest with your legs curled to the side, waiting for him to break the silence.
“Didn’t hate that” He mumbled gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he allowed himself to rest there, “You survived Valentine’s” You smiled up at him, patting his chest, “And I completely failed you with my lack of a present”
His lips quirked up at the corners as he tugged you closer to him so you were half sat on his lap, smirking smugly when you adjusted to seat yourself properly there, hands planting themselves on his shoulders as you stared into his eyes. “I still think it’s commercial bollocks” He mimicked you, echoing his words from a time which felt so long ago, squeezing your sides playfully. He laughed as you shrieked and his your face in his chest, shaking his head as his arms made their way around your middle, “Might do it again though”
— · ✦ · —
★2017
2017 saw the return of Liam Gallagher with his debut solo album, “As You Were”. You’d laughed at the title when he told you while he was making you a sandwich, sat at the breakfast bar still in your pajamas - one of his shirts - legs swinging off the stool, “Could that be anymore you?” You’d laughed, eyes sparkling as you’d rested your elbows against the countertop, “Oi” He pointed at you with the knife he was using to dutifully butter the slices of bread, “It’s a mega name”
“I didn't say it wasn’t!”
He’d been basically impossible to live with for an entire week. Writing in a little notebook he eventually tossed aside a computer with a muttered, “Can’t see that squiggly shite” That being his own handwriting. Smoking a full pack of cigarettes almost every single night out of the window. Pacing. Changing lyrics. Changing them again when he muttered that it just didn't feel right. But, he’d even recycled the little riff he’d played for you on the guitar that one time. That meant something. But still, when you went to do the laundry it even followed you there, six different lyric sheets screwed into balls chucked behind the laundry basket. It was so funny that you couldn't even bring yourself to be mad about it.
One morning you’d been trying to make breakfast, sat in your little domestic sphere. Moments like this, it felt weird to think of Liam Gallagher as a famous person, and not just yours alone, about to fry him up some bacon so he could eat his breakfast while he sat on the couch nursing a cup of tea. However, when you opened the fridge to get said bacon, a sheet of lyrics stared up at you. You stifled a laugh, “Why are these in the fridge?” Your voice wavered with your attempts not to burst into absolute laughter, holding the sheet up in one hand as the other kept the fridge propped open, meeting his eyes from over the couch.
He smiled his knowing little grin, shrugging, before turning back to hunch over the computer he was typing incessantly on over the coffee table, “Fresh ideas”
“They’re freezing”
— · ✦ · —
★February 14th 2017
The album had come out, finally, and the first show was booked. Which just so happened to land itself tonight, on Valentine’s day. Liam this time, unlike the BRITs, hadn't made some funny little quip about it ruining all his romantic ideas. He was far too worked up over it for that.
And there you stood with him backstage, the energy on an absolute high. You could hear the crowd practically vibrating with excitement just past the curtains, Liam was bouncing on the balls of his feet finishing off the very end of the cigarette he’d smoked down right until the end, chucking it on the ground. “Never gonna have a normal Valentine’s day, are we pet”
“Nope!” You declared with absolute glee, holding a heavy bouquet of flowers he’d shoved into your hands. “My assistant got them” He looked at you warily, he’d tried to stick to the promise of not getting each other anything yet, for the second year on the trot, he just couldn't help it, “So don't get too mushy about it”. You took them with a big smile on your face, holding them to your chest as you followed him through the venue to start the soundcheck, “Happy Valentine’s to you too my love”. He laughed. You smiled wider.
Yet here he was, stood like he didn't know whether to stay frozen or bolt away from it all. And he was unbearable, kept asking the most ridiculous questions as he looked down at you expectantly.
“Does the voice sound alright?”
“Yes”
Five minutes later.
“Definitely?”
“Maybe”
He scowled at you. You stuck your tongue out at him.
Again - “You think they’ll come, I mean its Valentine’s after all, maybe I should’ve just spent it with you … not been the best at this romantic shite for y-”
You cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips, cupping your hand over his mouth as you tilted your head, shutting him up just enough to hear the roaring crowd just 10 metres away from your backstage hideout. And you stared up at him for a moment, letting him listen before you brought your hand down, “Liam”
He swallowed, “Yeah?” And you just held his eyes for a moment more before laughing, “There are 12,000 people outside”
He finally got over himself when he was given the five minute warning, hugging you tightly against his chest as he kissed your forehead, “This is for you, baby”
And then he walked on stage. And all you could do was stand there and watch from the side stage as the crowd absolutely exploded at simply the sight of him. He was grinning, really grinning. The iconic Liam Gallagher swagger was back, and it wasn't forced anymore. No lying about his feelings now, no upset, no more wallowing. Just enjoying his life. Natural.
— · ✦ · —
The concert absolutely flew by, and you stayed there the whole time, still holding onto the flowers like it was a little piece of him you didn't want to let go. You couldn't, not with how happy he looked up there. But you did put them down just in time to see him running backstage like an excited kid, catching himself on you before he ran too far with a big smile on his face, gripping your shoulders, he was practically vibrating as he shook you excitedly, “Did y’hear all them?” He looked back like he wanted to catch a glimpse of them all leaving. You laughed and stabilised yourselves with your hands gripping his arms, “I think the whole country did!”
He pulled you into a hug without even thinking about it, leaning down to crash his lips against yours in an over-enthusiastic kiss, lips locking and teeth clashing as he walked you back against the wall, not even caring about all the roadies who were now flitting about trying to pack all the stuff up, “God, I love you” He muttered against your lips, not even letting you come up for air as he pulled you back into the kiss. This was the best Valentine’s gift you could ever ask for. Seeing him happy.
“Now let's get pissed!” And you let him tug you in the direction of the pub like he was some mad sniffer dog just seeking out booze when he needed it.
— · ✦ · —
★2018
Everything felt like it’d been leading up to this moment. Liam had a daughter, Molly. He’d seen her through social media mainly, little glimpses in photos he saw when he was scrolling on twitter, articles over the years, and from interviews with her mother that claimed Liam to be her father. He knew she was his daughter, but something in him hadn’t felt right with trying to reconnect after all these years of being absent. Until he’d met you and you moulded his life back together in your capable hands, he hadn't even been the best father to his two boys. How would it work adding yet another kid to the mix?
He lost so much sleep over it. Sitting up late at night on the couch, a beer in one grip, the other hand holding the remote which he’d used to mute the tv which was interrupting his thoughts. Sitting. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. It felt like he was back in the past when he’d sit alone thinking about how everything went wrong, why he didn't love his missus anymore. Why Valentine’s every year since he turned 30 had felt so lonely, why his band was falling apart, why he couldn't keep anything long enough for it to mean something, why he couldn't be there for his daughter. But he wasn't alone. And then he saw you, like his guardian angel, padding out of your shared room cocooned by a blanket as you sleepily made your way over to him, “Why aren't you in bed?” You rasped softly, sitting on the other end of the couch to him. You were so tuned into your relationship at this point that you could just tell when something was up. He'd told you about Molly, of course, but for some reason recently it'd been hanging over his head more often than not.
His jaw clenched gently, knuckles turning white when he gripped the beer bottle so tightly it could've shattered. But he still offered you a slight smile, free hand dropping the remote to push his knuckles against your knees, "I'll be there in a minute pet, don't neglect your beauty sleep for me”. You didn't move, just blinked at his face which looked so much older from the stress. But he still looked so beautiful illuminated by the flashing colours of the silent TV. “Molly again?” You spoke gently, reaching your hand out to cover his where it now rested on your knee, squeezing softly as he exhaled with a laboured sigh, “Yeah”
“You wanna talk about it?” And he did. He opened himself up to you yet again, you could say it still surprised you. But you were grateful for it every single time. You sat there for hours as you worked it through with him. Eventually he made his way to laying his head in your lap as your hands carded through his shaggy brown-grey hair as he talked and talked and talked. It was probably the most you'd ever heard him talk in one sitting. And you stayed quiet the whole time it happened, just bending every so often to press soft little kisses against his hairline as he spoke.
And you even stayed with him as he called Lisa. It took him a while to find her number, and had pulled a directory into his lap which you teased him about. But he didn't care much, dialling her number with shaky fingers as he put it up to his ear. He sat up against you, his back pressed to your chest as you wrapped yourself around him, leaning your head into the crook of his neck, scratching his bicep lightly with your nails as a form of reassurance. You didn't listen as he spoke, decided to give him that much privacy that he deserved, just staying there, holding him.
And then it was arranged. He finally had his daughter's number. And he sent her a message then and there before even talking to you.
Unknown Number: Hi Molly, it’s Liam, your dad. Give me a ring when you’re free and we can sort something out.
Simple. Polite. The most grammar he’d ever used in a single text message. And that was the first night in a while Liam had cried. Not loudly, he just threw his phone down on the couch and turned in your grip so he could press his face into your chest, his shoulders shaking as he silently sobbed into your shirt. You didn't want to cry too, but it broke you seeing him like this. So you just wrapped him up in your cocoon, cuddling him to your chest as his sobs finally broke into calm, deep breaths of sleep.
— · ✦ · —
★February 14th 2018
He rolled out of bed a little later than his usual 6am start. Having laid in bed with you for a while in silence broken only by soft music coming from both of your phones as he shitposted on twitter, and you scrolled your instagram feed with a quiet smile on your face. He rolled over eventually, tugging your phone from your hands to roll over you with a slight smirk on his face, leaning down to kiss your forehead, kissing a hot trail of kisses down to your cheek, and eventually the corner of his mouth, “Another Valentines” He whispered against your lips, brushing his just slightly against yours, “Glad you've stuck me out” He muttered, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, brushing your hair from your eyes. “Well, nobody else was gonna do it, were they?”
He watched you for a second as you blinked hazily up at him, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, brows furrowing as you yawned underneath him. Oh god, he loved you so much. “You sure you're okay with me not spending today with you, I mean … you can come with me if you want?” His eyes were vulnerable again, but you just shook your head up at him, hand coming up to brush his messy hair out of his eyes, “Nah, you need this, Liam” He nodded, leaning down to kiss you once more, muttering against your lips, “Y’can have me now, darlin’”
He wasted no time with dipping his fingers down to your warm thighs, parting them with one hand as he brushed them through your folds, chuckling warmly against your lips, “You’re this wet this early? Dreamin’ about me were ya?”
“Please, Liam” You looked up at him, and his heart could have broken simply at the sight of your cheeks already flushed, eyes wide with unspoken need, "Don't tease me”
He cooed softly as his hand came up to brush at your lower lip, thumb pushing through your lips to press down against your tongue, exhaling a shaky sigh at how easy your mouth opened for him, “But teasin’ ya is so fun, sweetheart” He whispered, pushing his tongue further down to the back of your tongue, smiling as you gagged softly around his digit. “Isn’t it, baby?” He pushed you as his other hand left your folds to take himself out of his boxers, pumping his dick twice as he rested his hardness against your folds. And he rested there for a moment as you nodded lazily around his finger in your mouth, lips closing around the digits to suckle gently as you looked up into his eyes. He let out the quietest groan, forehead knocking against yours as he began sliding his dick up and down your folds, the two of you just breathing softly into the space as he fucked himself against you, not penetrating yet, just feeling the warmth of each other close by.
“P-please” You eventually whimpered around his thumb, hand searching for his free one to grab it, warm and calloused yet still soft wrapped around yours, “Please what angel? Use yer words” He whispered, pulling his thumb from your mouth to slide them into your hair, tugging gently from the root to tilt your head backwards so he could press his lips to your throat, “Need, need you” You whimpered, squeezing his hand tighter, “Need me where, huh?”
His hand gripped his dick, pulling away from your warmth to pump it gently as he kissed down your throat, nipping slightly just above the vein pulsing up your neck, you whimpered in embarrassment as you shifted underneath him, tugging his face so his eyes could meet yours, your lower lip wobbling with that weapon you knew could make him fold, “Please fuck me, daddy” You whispered.
And he groaned. And then he couldnt take anymore, propping one bent arm above your head to stabilise himself as he pushed into your inviting warmth, both of you moaning in tandem as he eventually bottomed out inside of you, pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss as the tip of his dick pushed against your spongey g-spot perfectly, the sound of your needy little whimpers the sweetest song he’d ever heard, “God, youre fucking trouble”
“But I love you”
His hand tugged your head back so you arched perfectly against him as he began fucking into yu, the slow roll of his hips speeding up with each clench of your walls around him, forehead pressed against yours as he tugged your hair further just to see you squirm, “Happy Valentine’s, beautiful”
— · ✦ · —
You stayed in bed as he got dressed when he finally pulled himself out of your arms. You lay on your side as you watched him, wrapped up in the sheets still warm from his frame sleeping beside you, still carrying the scent of him. And you just watched. He was getting changed - specifically, changing his jackets. Parkas were strewn across the floor, a couple on the bed, one even hit you on the face as he sent it flying towards you as he dashed about senselessly, focused on just looking perfect for his daughter. He was so nervous. Was there even a Valentine’s you'd had together yet that he wasn't nervous? You were just glad to be here.
As he tugged on yet another parka you piped up from the bed, “That’s the fourth one”
He frowned, smoothing down the collar of his shirt as he pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, glaring at you in the mirror, “Third”
“Fifth”
His cheeks dimpled as he finally smiled at you, shaking his head as he tugged the parka off of himself, the action riding his shirt up underneath. To which you wolf whistles, “Looking hot”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth”
— · ✦ · —
By the time you got out of bed, wrapped in your silken robe you’d bought with his money, Liam couldn't lie he often loved ripping it off you whenever he had the time. But this morning he was far too worked up for any of that. He’d changed his shoes, hair, and sunglasses. Everything he could to feel perfect. All so he could meet his daughter. This moment felt even bigger than the last five minutes before walking out on Knebworth back in 1996.
He saw you emerge from the bedroom as he tied the fifth pair of shoes he'd put on for today. Every pair wasn't good enough, too scuffed, too loud, too overdressed. But tying this pair felt right, just as right as he felt when he saw your face, calming the nerves brewing in his gut as he smiled up at you. He rose to stand properly, eyes searching your face carefully as he spoke, spreading his arms out wide, “Do I look alright?” There was that vulnerability again.
You stopped. Because right now Liam wasn't asking if he looked cool. This was him as a dad, nervous to meet his daughter for the first time. It was so domestic, and you loved the fact you could be here for him at this moment. It made you smile. He made you smile.
You walked over, stopping just in front of him as your hands made their way up to his parka, straightening out one of the wrinkles just above the chest where he’d moved slightly, hands resting against his chest as you looked up into his eyes, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a kiss against his stubbled cheek.
“You look like her dad’
He laughed. And then, just before leaving, he tickled your sides, tackling you onto the couch as he showered your face with little kisses, cuddling you to his chest, overcome with so much love that it completely shattered all the nerves.
— · ✦ · —
Hours later, you’d curled yourself up on the couch, reading a book one of your girlfriends had recommended to you. Liam didn't have a bookshelf, you weren't even entirely convinced he could actually read, and despite your pushing, he’d declared it a “Complete waste of time”, and put his foot down. Oh well, now your books lay in a pile next to the couch. One day they’d have a home, but that wasn't today.
You made yourself comfortable, the flat was completely clean, smelling like cheap cleaning products which made it feel like a real home, clothes tumbling in the dryer, the windows open sending a soft draft your way as you turned the page. You didn't even look up as the key turned in the lock.
The door opened and he was quiet, you felt your stomach tense with quiet worry as usually he’d be rabbiting non-stop about the day he had. But he was completely silent, no swagger. But the air felt different. He came and sat beside you, letting you stretch your feet into his lap as his warm hands made their way to your ankles, circling little patterns onto the skin there. Before resting there.
Eventually, “She’s funny”
You set your book down on your lap, folding the corner of the page you were on over as you smiled back up at him, “Yeah?” He laughed, nodding his head as he squeezed your ankle gently, his cheeks flushed both from the cold outside and the joy of the day he’d been so anxious about working out perfectly, a big smile on his face as he allowed himself to sink further down against the couch, “Yeah she takes the piss” He said it with a sigh that said he never wanted to let go of today, was currently filing it in his memory to keep forever, his phone already chiming, her profile picture lighting up against the background of you laughing at something stupid he said. “Yeah she’s definitely mine” He picked up the phone, reading the text messages with the phone brought up close to his face to read it properly, smirk softening into a quiet smile as his blue eyes flickered across the words, analysing everything he saw on the screen, “My girls” He said it so quietly you’d think he’d never said it. But he did.
He spent the next hour talking about Molly. Going into immense detail about the exact ways in which she looked like him, same eyes, lips, jaws, “Poor fucker even got m eyebrows” He said, smiling as you handed him a cup of tea just to tug you into his side as he continued. Talking about the bands she liked, the friends she told him about, how she got on in school, what GCSEs she’d gotten, how proud he was of her.
He’d fallen asleep mid telling you some funny story about how a bird had shit and it just narrowly missed his shoulder, and the two of them had found it so funny they could hardly finish their drinks. And you found yourself watching him again. He fell asleep with a quiet smile on his face, lashes fluttering against his relaxed cheek as he snored softly, and you smiled right back, curling up into his side.
“Love you so much old man” You whispered into his ear, resting your cheek against his as you felt him shuffle slightly from your breath against his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you settled into his side, “So glad you had a good time” You muttered into his chest, listening to his calming heartbeat, the soft scent of his expensive cologne, the faint footprint of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes, “Happy Valentine’s day … I love you more than you will ever know”
— · ✦ · —
★February 14th 2019
Something was up with Liam. You didn't quite know what, but he’d woken up strangely … romantic. And you’d woken up horny, because his head was buried between your thighs.
“L-Liam?” You mumbled sleepily, your next words caught with a moan as you felt faint suction over your clit between your thighs, propping yourself up on your elbows. Liam emerged from under the covers with a big smile on his face, cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of your body, hair all messy. He’d let it grow out a little bit, now it was long, dusted with a little more salt than pepper this year, the sun last year had bleached the ends a somewhat blonde colour, and his jaw was dusted with slightly grown out stubble.
Holy Fuck.
“Happy Valentine’s, darlin’” The same routine. But you couldnt actually bring yourself to care as he hovered above you, leaning down into an enthusiastic kiss, hands sliding up to grip your jaw as he slipped his tongue between your lips, pulling the covers off the two of you to flip you over on top of him, “How ‘bout you pay me back darlin’” He smiled, patting your thigh before gripping it, tugging you forward so your cunt, bare from him fucking you into the sheets last night and collapsing into sleep together, rolled against his growing hardness, “Since that was your gift for today”
You chuckled down at him, leaning back so you could grab his own hard dick, pumping it once, twice, before planting your free hand on his chest to sink down onto him. You both breathed out mirrored breathy moans at the sensation of him bottoming out. But something in his face caught you, he looked … oddly smug? “What?” You breathed softly as you started rolling your hips against his, hands sliding down to stabilise yourself on his belly as you lifted your hips once, slowly lowering them, the stimulation making you hiss in a puff of air.
Liam’s eyes narrowed. He still had that glint in his eyes though. And then his hands gripped your ribs, flipping you so you were face down in the sheets, arm sliding around your throat from the back burrowing you against his bicep, tugging you back so your back pressed against his front as his hips slid against yours, fucking you harder than you were, “Nothin’, dont worry about it” He breathed against your ear. His hips sped up, snapping against yours as the crude sound of wet skin slapping filled the room as he chuckles, “All you need is for daddy to fuck you proper, yeah? What you worried about”
Well this was weird. But you couldnt bring yourself to think about it as he pushed your face down into the sheets, pinning you down with his hand planted on the back of your head as he fucked you harder, stars already threatening to burst behind your eyelids. Happy Valentine’s day to you
— · ✦ · —
After your little session that morning, he’d looked like he wanted to say something all day long. Eating breakfast at the dining table together, you crouched over a bowl of cereal, he had a piece of warm buttered toast. You’d been going through all the things you wanted to do with him today, just spending a normal Valentine’s day together, “How about that restaurant downtown? Not the one in London, I don't want you spending London prices…”
You carried on talking. He had his hand kept in his pocket the entire time. You hadn’t noticed, just kept pushing around the rainbow cereal you’d insisted on buying because “Isn’t it just so cute!” and he pushed it into the trolley immediately with a shake of his head.
He looked up at you. You weren't looking. But god you looked so beautiful in the morning light filtering through the window, your hair fluttering around your face. You looked like a little fairy. Wow, he was so gone. His hand tightened around the thing in his pocket, lips parted like he was about to say something. And then the phone rang. And you darted up to get it.
— · ✦ · —
The restaurant. Of course he’d taken you to the one you wanted to visit earlier. And he’d even insisted on getting a booth hidden away from the rest of any prying eyes. “Very secretive, Romeo” he laughed as he guided you to the table, nodding at one side of the booth for you as he slipped into the other, “Romeo is my middle name” He winked at you, sitting down and you immediately began twittering on again.
His hand stayed in his pocket the entire time. He nodded along dutifully to everything you said, hand clasped around the little object in his pocket, waiting for the perfect moment for him to pull it out and give it to you.
“Have you seen these prices?”
“Yeah, proper swindle aint it love” his hand was still caught in yours from across the table, he hadn't let go. Not that you would either, but usually you let him drop it after a while of him deciding it was ‘too mushy’. But it was Valentine’s day. And you looked so pretty. Oh god he was gonna do it, his hand tightened in his pocket, lips parting for the second time that day, “So, uh,...” He swallowed gently, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I got something I wanna ask you, darlin’”
You looked up from the menu, smiling softly with a tilt of your head as you said, “Go on then, why are you sat there like some-”
“Can I get you two drinks?”
The moment was gone, and with a sigh he pulled his hand out of his pocket to check the menu and see what beers they had on draft
— · ✦ · —
It carried on like that all day. On a walk, underneath the newly blossoming trees as the season turned to spring, you hung off his arm as you gushed about the flowers. His hand almost left his pocket again. And then a fan came up wanting a picture.
The cinema, maybe it wasn't really a romantic place, but there was some soppy little rom-com playing on the big screen in front of the two of you, the contact of your hand laced in his was almost electric as you laughed at the screen, shovelling popcorn into your mouth as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling from pure, unfiltered enjoyment, “You okay?” You mouthed over the sound on the screen, he leant in, pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Better than okay… about earlier-”
“Is that Liam Gallagher?"
— · ✦ · —
Liam was getting overly irritated. Once your itinerary was over for the day, the two of you still felt impossibly wide awake. You’d walked to the chippy, you bought a portion of chips and two cans of coke while he stood outside having a smoke. Hyping himself up. He’d gotten in an increasingly bad mood as the day progressed, every time you were interrupted together. It was now or never. He fixed his face, however, when you walked out with all your purchases cradled in your arms, he swiftly took off you, letting you lead the way.
You walked to Hyde park. It wasn't long, so neither of you felt like you needed to fill the silence, making your way down the battered dirt path to your guy's secret little location where a bench overlooked the water. It was so beautiful this time of night, the moonlight over the rippling waters, the slight hum of all the grasshoppers going to sleep in the never city grasses. You sat on the bench in silence together, he’d shoved the chips into your lap, not looking at you as you immediately began feasting, you hadn't realised how hungry you got. Liam kinda loved that. He knew he had to do it.
Liam sat back on the bench with a dramatic little sigh. You turned to him just in time to see him digging in his pocket, pulling out something small … black … square.
And then he chucked the ring box into your lap. You didn't say anything, stopped chewing your mouthful of chips as you looked up at him confused, resuming your chewing, hands reaching for the box as you opened it.
It was a ring. Quite literally the most beautiful one you’d ever seen, it was thin, white-gold with a big diamond nestled in the center, bordered by little gems glistening brightly around the outside. The moonlight cast light shadows of the ring across your face, and all you could do was blink, hands shaking as you looked up at him in complete surprise.
“Will y’marry me?” he asked softly, he got that vulnerable look again, hands planted on his jeans as he waited for your response.
“...”
You blinked. Looked down at the box. Looked back up at him, “...that’s it?” Your voice was shaky with untold emotion, pressing your lips into a thin line as you watched his face. He smirked gently, cheeks dimpling as he shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips as he pulled his sunglasses off, letting him properly see his blue eyes staring into yours, “Benn trying all bloody day”
And that was it. You started laughing until tears were streaming down your face, shaky fingers lifting the box so you could properly inspect the ring nestled on the plush velvet insides, sniffling. It wasn't pretty, this sight, Liam laughing his head off at you losing your absolute shit over him asking you to marry him, you had tear tracks in your makeup, were mid wiping snot from under your nose, “This is so bad” You laughed, a sound caught in a sob as he smiled at you, tilting his head, “Well?”
“You didn't even ask me properly!” You sobbed out a giggle as you wiped your eyes, unable to take them off the glittering little ring in the box that was now shaking violently from you holding it, “I just did!” Liam exclaimed with fake offence, hand coming up so cup yours where it held the box where your shaking hand couldn't hold it properly, “No speech?” You smiled up at him as he shuffled closer on the bench, lowering your hands to rest the ring box in your lap
“I love you” He shook your shoulders with the most serious expression in the world, you sniffled, nodded, “Better”
He stared into your eyes for a moment, hands squeezing your shoulders like he was scared to properly ask the question he had so brusquely just a minute ago, hand coming up to cup your cheek, “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”
You sobbed once more. It made him laugh, seeing your face all crumpled up with emotion as you nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choked out a tense little, “Of course I will!”
He didn't kiss you, just smiled wider than he ever had as he pulled you in for a hug, one hand cupping the back of your head as he cuddled you close, pressing rapid little kisses to your temples as you sobbed in his arms, “Thought you were gonna say no”
And he just laughed when you slapped him. And then you let him slide the ring onto your finger, the two of you just staring down at the glimmering rock now in its rightful place on your left hand. You could’ve swore you’d seen Liam’s eyes glazing over with the threat of tears.
— · ✦ · —
★2020
Somehow, you literally do not know how, but the two of you had managed to keep the engagement under wraps. And Jesus Christ was it hard, taking your engagement ring off when you left the house, leaving at different times to be seen as little as possible so the press couldn’t get the chance to speculate. But it was absolutely worth it.
Everyone around you, your friends, his kids, both of your parents were all assuming wedding planning would be romantic. It wasn’t. Actually it was actually complete chaos. Both of you were so excited, even the air itself in the flat felt lighter ever since he’d popped the question. But you’d been engaged for almost a year by now, and actually - neither of you knew how to plan a wedding. Despite the fact Liam had been married twice before already.
It was a sunday morning, and the dining table had completely disappeared. In place of the light hardwood top there were magazines. Venue brochures. Colour samples. Guest list printouts, cake categories. And you just sat there with a confused expression on your face, surrounded by sticky notes in rainbow colours because of course you couldn't just have one colour of anything, a few sticking to your jumper, a few on the floor. Some even had writing on them.
Liam wandered through in yesterday’s t-shirt, rubbing his eyes, still half asleep. He took one look at the table and stopped in his tracks, “...What the fuck’s happening in here?” You blinked out of your wedding induced trance, taking one look at him as you blinked, “You said we’d start planning”
“I meant eventually”
“You said we’d start today”
“I lied”
He ducked with a laugh as you sent a brochure flying towards his head, shaking his head with a tut as you let your head knock down against the table, banging it like you could infuse all the wedding planning wisdom into your head by sheer willpower.
Liam just picked the brochure up and, without looking at it, started using it as a coaster.
You even spent hours making a pinterest style mood board. Very elegant yet simple: cream flowers, candles, fairy lights. You set down the purple pretty stick you'd been using to construct it on a big white poster board, crossing your legs on the floor as you sit back against the couch, handing it up to Liam who was currently nursing a beer while staring open mouthed at a city game, “So?” You said excitedly.
Liam studied it, a smirk tugging at the left side of his mouth. There was a long pause, “Needs more pubs”. You frowned, turning also to look up at the city game on the telly, boring, blinked up at him, “Pubs?”
“Looks dead fancy”
“It’s meant to be fancy, Liam”
“Exactly”
“Alright” You muttered, leaning your head back against the couch with a sigh, shrugging, “What’s your idea then?”
He, without a word, leant over you, grabbing a black sharpie from the pile of otherwise rainbow coloured ones, taking the cap off with his teeth as he squiggles a stickman wearing sunglasses, writing in his horrible handwriting, “FREE BAR”
You rolled your eyes when he handed it back down to you, holding the poster board in two hands as you studied his graffiti with a slight pout on your face, knocking your temple against his knee as you sighed, “That’s not a moodboard”
“Best mood anyone’s ever been in”
— · ✦ · —
Later that month, the wedding was creeping up fast. So you’d managed to drag Liam on a couple of venue visits. Right now, you were touring an expensive country estate - Shilstone estate up in Devon. Liam had grumbled about it the entire time the two of you drove up there, well, it was only you driving, but he still had plenty to say about it, “Stupid name, shitstone”, “It’s Shilstone, darling”, “That’s what I said!”
The venue was gorgeous, sprawling green gardens, one walled, one terraced, there was even a pool - which Liam was very childishly excited about, the house was gorgeous, whitewashed walls with perfectly polished darkwood floors, high ceilings with expensive chandeliers, multiple open spaces to fit the hefty guest list you and Liam had been drafting - “You know too many people for your own good, Liam” You’d chastised as you sat in bed together one night, “Well it is just a draft I suppose” You muttered, tucking the list under the pillow. Liam had just smiled, snaking one hand around your waist to pull you into his side, he couldn't sleep without your warmth beside him anymore, “I’m a man in high demand”
The tour guide, however, was painfully enthusiastic, letting the two of you in, wearing a shirt and tie with perfectly pressed slacks, gesturing one hand wide across the light room you found yourselves in, “And here we have our eighteenth-century ballroom”
Liam just nodded politely. You know that look, you hid a smile in his arm as you pressed your face to it under the guise you were turning in his grip. He’s not listening. You let Liam pull you outside, following the tour guide while whispering together like little kids as you were shown around. The tour guide paused in the first of many gardens, “Our gardens are perfect, of course”
You snorted slightly at his accent, mimicking back his words in a very posh whisper to Liam, who squeezed your hand to stop himself from laughing out loud, “...Looks cold” He whispered into your temple as he lifts his arm to drape it over your shoulder, “It’s January, Liam”
“Exactly”
You reached the reception room, watching with lids growing heavy as the guide explained possible seating arrangements. You almost groaned internally when Liam leaned over to you, elbowing you gently, “Where d’you reckon chips go?”. You blinked, looking away from the guide as he walked all over the rooms, the guy was basically planning his own wedding at this point, “What?”
“Late night chips” You frowned, hissing out a warning, “Liam”
“People get hungry” He shot you an innocent look, a shrug, and then his trademark smug smile as he got you around the shoulders, tugging you over to where the guide was, almost perfectly, in the middle of saying, “...and then your evening buffet-”
Liam's eyes flashed bright, jolting you forward as he almost yelled, “There!”, and he pointed triumphantly at the table where he was already imagining bowls upon bowls of fries, smiling as he turned back to you, currently faceplanting as you shook your head in utter embarrassment, “Told ya”
— · ✦ · —
The next part was the most difficult, arguably even more difficult from the cake tasting, in which Liam had declared his dream cake was, “One with jam” you’d paused your own bite, staring up at him with a confused expression, to which he’d shrugged and said, “What? I like jam?”
But this part was the worst. The guestlist. You had a notebook, and Liam held absolutely no interest in the whole constitution. It went a little something like this.
“Family first”
“Yep”
You jotted something down, “Band?” You said softly, wondering if he’d want the backing for his solo shows there, he just nodded his head, drumming out a lazy beat on your leg where his hand was resting. You nodded, writing dutifully, mumbling “...friends” To which Liam had said yet another, “yep”
You hesitated while writing names down in complete silence. Almost automatically, you’d written an N just underneath his mother’s name. How were you gonna approach that one? You set the pen down, turning your head to look up at him, “...Noel?” Silence. He didn’t even look up from the telly.
“No”
“Liam”
“No”
“It’ll come up eventually”
“It just did”
You sighed in proper exasperation, sitting up properly on the couch as you set the notepad down on the couch, turning to look up at him, “I’m serious”. His eyes flickered softly, looking down at the couch as he picked a loose thread, turning it over in his hand, before throwing it to the ground, “So am I”
The look on his face made you give up eventually, shutting the book with a laboured sigh as you sat back into his side, reaching your hand to rub at his belly, “I guess we don't have to decide today”
“I just did”
— · ✦ · —
You’d just gotten home from getting ice cream when the phone on the wall rang. You had chocolate chips dripping down your fingers to your wrist which you licked up dutifully whilst you multitasked letting yourself through the door. Liam had the remnants of his vanilla, sadly, cone, which he immediately dumped in the bin the second his phone rang. “Hey I would’ve” But he cut you off with a cheeky look, shushing you as he mutters, “It’s bonehead” You rolled your eyes, trudging over to the couch where you began sorting through the invites set to be sent out tomorrow, sorting them into piles while you ate the rapidly melting ice cream.
Liam sat down beside you, phone pressed to his ear as he answered, “Alright?” You continued eating and sorting as Liam paused, letting Bonehead talk down the speaker at him. In your wedding haze you didn't even notice the way Liam’s brows furrowed, the way he sat back properly on the couch, crossing one leg over his bent knee, “What d’ya mean he knows?” A pause, “...How” A longer pause. It was long enough for you to slowly look up at him, long enough for Liam to begin pacing back and froward, casting a look to the piles of invites, “I haven't even invited anybody yet”
You started smiling. Ah. The news has clearly made its way back to the other Gallagher brother. Bonehead said something which made Liam pause in his pacing by the sink, gripping the sink with one hand, the other pinching his nose as he trapped the phone between his shoulder and his ear, quickly snapping out, “I didn't even invite you, you cheeky bastard” Down the phone, like shouting could convey the message to Noel who was obviously sat with Bonehead right now.
There was more talking, you looked down at the invites in your lap, slyly hiding the one with “Noel + family” Written on the front under your leg to bin later. You didn’t want to add any more stress to his face that literally looked like it was aging ten minutes every second, he pushed himself off from the sink, holding the phone out as he began gesturing wildly, “Tell him if he’s bothered he can send himself a bloody invitation.
You started laughing at his outburst, and Liam couldn't help but reciprocate, his fuming sounded less serious as a laugh barked up from his throat, pointing at you with a big smile on his face, “Don’t encourage him”
“I’m not!”
“You are!”
Bonehead started laughing so hard Liam had to hold the phone away from his ear.
Yet, despite all the complaints, all the arguments over colours, the tension surrounding the guest list. The wedding managed to not fall through. You cried. Liam cried. Then he cursed out the entire venue in his vows you hadn’t even expected him to write. Your first dance happened to a Beatles song. It wasn’t a storybook wedding by any means.
But you became Mrs. Gallagher on a Sunday. Sunday, the fourteenth of February, 2020. 7 Years to the date in which you became the sunshine in Liam’s miserable life.
— · ✦ · —
★2021
Not every argument the two of you have is really what you’re arguing about. Especially when touring puts a strain on your relationship. He’d been gone touring for what felt like an age, even if it was just two months. You’d gone through the flat sale on your own, put an offer in for a house with him on the phone mid soundcheck, you’d packed up the flat with help from Lennon and Gene who gave up their Saturday when their dad couldn’t come to help you.
But he was home now.
The night he came home had felt electric. Being newlyweds, it felt like you’d gotten that first year buzz of a normal relationship whose beginnings hadn't been ruined by the other partner being completely miserable. He fucked you against every surface of the new house that night, the first time he’d seen it with it being just your two, on the floor in the bedroom where the bed hadnt been made yet, snarling into your ear as he pinned you down with his large hands as his hips snapped into yours, “Just lettin’ me fuck you on the floor? Fuck, you havent changed have you? Dirty fucking girl”
He’d dragged you to the couch that was still covered in plastic, and with a growl he’d pushed you off him, forcing you down onto your knees to suck his dick. Hell yeah, being married was great. But not always.
New house. Boxes upon boxes upon boxes, you felt like you were going insane, nothing was where it was meant to be, your little flat you’d grown together over the years to include the perfect balance of him and you, not that there was much of him before you, was gone - had exploded now into a nice 6 bed just outside of London, gone was sharing one bathroom, ducking around each other in the morning so you could go for a pee and hold his hand while he brushed his teeth, now there was an array of bathrooms to choose from. It wasn't home yet, but home was wherever he was. And to him, home was you. Warm, safe, loving. The two of you can work through anything.
But that wasn't without the two of you going absolutely insane.
You’d challenged yourself to take on the kitchen, a massive space with granite countertops and french windows which opened up into a massive garden. You daydreamed about lace curtains fluttering in the evening light as you and Liam sat outside on a warm summer night - yet here you were, on your hands and knees, digging through a box. A box which, actually, upon opening, surprised the shit out of you. You picked up one kettle, and counted three others in the box, “Why have we got four kettles?” You called out to him, he was standing in the hall, under the guise of going to get the heavy stuff from the living room and arranging it himself, but he was actually just standing there on his phone. “Uh” He called back. And you couldn't help but get a little irritated at the amount of time he was taking to respond, “One might break”
You sat back on your haunches with a sigh, wanting to melt through the floorboards and just be transported back in time to your flat when all these boxes weren't looming over you, and the biggest design choice was where to put that bowl by the door, “But four?”
“Prepared”
Ikea came to add to the mess later that very same day. You’d wanted a wardrobe, one you had to build, and you’d insisted you could do it yourself to Liam, really! And he was a man that listened to his wife. But now you stood in the empty master bedroom, staring down at what looked like 2 instruction manuals, 15 large sheets of wood, and a million tiny screws. You reached for an instruction manual, flipping it open in confusion. But Liam shut it again, and as you shot him an exasperated look, he just shrugs his shoulders, “Don’t need ‘em”
“You haven't even looked” You threw your hands in the air, reaching back for the paper, “I’ve got instincts” He declared with a shit eating grin on his face.
“You absolutely do not”
“I absolutely do my darling”
Two hours later, the wardrobe was standing. Barely. Liam was sitting on the floor, staring up at it glumly. You’d noticed touring had taken a lot out of him, but at least your husband was still inside. You walked around it, staring down at it like a critic would a piece of art they didn't like, tilting your head, not taking your eyes away from it, “...Liam?” That snapped him out of his trance, head lifting so his tired eyes could meet yours, “It’s backwards”
“No it ain’t” He was on his feet in a second, coming to your side to examine the wardrobe in the same way you had. He barged you out of the way with his shoulder so he could look. You glared at him, rubbed your arm while you muttered, “Dick” Walking around the other side as you looked at him over the piece of furniture. He looked defeated. Jaw clenched in a way that could snap at any moment.
You were both tired,hungry, frustrated. And it all started in that room. You laughed as you took in his expression, trying to make light out of his obvious gloominess. Wrong decision.
“Oh don't laugh” He snapped at you, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at you. You covered your mouth with one hand, eyes wide and sparkling with glee as you tried to stifle your laugh, holding one hand up as you giggles, “Im sorry-”
“No you’re fucking not” Woah. He’d never spoken to you like that. You let your arms drop, all the humour suddenly gone from your face as you opened your mouth, trying to walk around the wardrobe. But he was already walking off down the bare, undecorated hallway, “I didnt mean it, Liam-” You tried to catch his arm and he shrugged you off, turning around to glare down at you, “Y’always fucking laugh at me, I get it, I’m a fucking idiot darlin’” He started walking away from you, gesturing around him, “My hard work pays for all this shite you want, but im the bad guy for not being able to build your poncey furniture”
You stammered slightly as you stood there, hand half outreached like you wanted to grab for him again, stopping just short of the kitchen as he banged about, making himself a cup of tea, “But it was funny!” You hated how small you sounded. You had never sounded that small around him and Liam fucking hated him. He wondered if a curse was following him, like the second he got married he was allowed to have fun for a while but then it all went to shit. But he was too proud to turn around and have a look at your hurt expression, “It aint funny” He set the mug down on the counter a little too hard, gripping the edges of the counter. You tried your luck once more, padding towards the breakfast bar as you sat yourself on the stool, smiling a little shakily at his back, “You built a wardrobe facing the wall”
“I KNOW”
You both sat there in silence for a second. Your face caught somewhere between shock and hurt. And you just sat there. The clock you’d hung yourself ticked menacingly behind the two of you. You blinked back the tears threatening at your waterline. Trying to stop your lower lip from wobbling, it would be pathetic to cry. He eventually turned himself around, scrubbing his hands down his face as he faced you, his face filled with a guilt that looked almost painful.
You blinked up at him, letting in a shaky breath, “This isn’t about the wardrobe, is it?” You whispered. He clenched his jaw, looking down at the tile, “No”
But Liam wasn't a complete arsehole, especially not to you. Without another word, he walked up to you, bending his frame over yours as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, big hands stroking your back as you fought back tears, “I’m so sorry” He whispers, his rough manchester accent almost soft now as he breathed against your skin, pressing a kiss to your collarbone when you let in a shaky breath, “Shouldn’t’ve raged at you like that” He breathed, pulling back to kiss your forehead.
You watched him cautiously now, watched as he walked like it hurt to go and sit on a box just across from you, keeping eye contact as you stared at him down. You needed to talk about whatever the fuck just happened.
He rubbed his hands down his face, looking like he’d just aged about ten years. And for a split second, you saw him. Not the Liam Gallagher you’d grown to love, not the man you built a life with over the past 8 years. No, you saw the broken Liam Gallagher you met in that pub 8 years ago, the man who looked like he was about five seconds away from drinking far too much or walking out into the road without looking. And it hurts you to see. So, instead of being upset, you leant forward. Listening. Liam hadn’t had anybody who was as willing as you to forgive him, and even love him for all his thoughts. So he started,
“I’ve been away more” He muttered. The tour, it felt like it’d driven a wall between the two of you. You hadn’t even discussed how the tour was going to work, and it all came so fast you couldn't make arrangements with the selling of the flat and moving into the new house for you to come along. So you just said, “I know”
He blinked. That small ‘I know’ was a lot more than you just acknowledging the fact he’d been away. You felt it too. “You don’t say anything”
“I don't want you feeling guilty”
“I already do”
A long silence passed in which nothing was heard apart from your breathing and the clock still ticking out a now calming rhythm on the wall. You pushed off your stool, walking over to him with a sad little smile on your face, plonking yourself next to him on the box, but didn't touch him. His frame felt rigid beside you. Not warm like he usually was. But you knew it wasn’t his fault.
“We’re just tired” You muttered, leaning your head against his bicep. Yet, even despite his coldness, he still found it within him to drape an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he breathed out, “I hate leavin’”
“I know”
“I hate comin’ back and feelin’ like I’ve missed stuff” You blinked softly, looking up at him, “You haven’t”
But he didn't look back at you, just shrugged as he looked down at his free hand laying idle in his lap, clenching his fingers into a fist. Unclenching them. “Feels like I have”
You reached for his hand, “We’ll work it out”
He went out. Walk straight out of the door after the two of you sat in a silence that was so thick with tension you could probably touch the air and feel it. You let him go. And you found yourself in the living room on the couch, the only piece of furniture you’d managed to put up today. And you waited.
Twenty minutes. Thirty. And eventually, the front door opened. You heard his sigh as he kicked his shoes off by the door, and dropped his keys in the little bowl you’d kept. You loved that sound. Loved hearing him come home, loved having him by. Loved that even after everything he’d been through he still trusted you enough to come home to you when he had enough time for himself, when for the first year, you were never sure. He appeared in the doorway. He had his hands full and it made you smile, reminding you of that Valentine’s day back in 2016, when he’d burst through the door with an armful of stuff from Tesco. And tonight was no different, he was carrying flowers in one hand, draped across his arm was a plastic white bag filled with food that smelled like a Chinese takeaway, and somehow, another houseplant.
You didn't say anything dramatic, didn't leap up to greet him. But as you sat there cross legged on the couch, you couldn't help but smile at the houseplant he was holding up like a trophy, “...Why?” You eventually asked. He grinned down at you. And just like that, it was like nothing happened, “It looked sad”. You laughed at him, sitting up properly as you watched him set the plant down, placed the takeaway bag down on the floor as he dropped a kiss on your temple, “You bought it because it looked lonely?” Your smile deepened as he set himself down on the couch, “Aye” He smiled, handing you the flowers. You looked down at them with a slight chuckle, holding them up like they were your very own trophy, “So these aren't apology flowers, I’m assuming?”
“Nope”
“And the chow mein?”
“Now, thats definitely an apology, I fucking hate that stuff”
He was back.
You ate the takeaway on the couch in dead silence, with your hands because neither of you could be bothered finding the forks in the mess. And everything was messy, sure. But it was yours.
“We’re fixing the wardrobe tomorrow” You reminded him around a mouthful of noodles you’d managed to shovel into your mouth, he just shook his head, and around a spring roll he murmured, “No we ain’t, the fuckers got character”
You slapped his arm and he yelped, you both laughed as you complained further about the state of everything. But at least the two of you were okay. He’d saved it. Saved you from leaving. Not that you ever would, but the thought was always present in the back of his mind. He's going to be okay.
But that didn't mean he couldn't take the piss out of the state of you trying to shove two pieces of broccoli around the noodles already crammed into your mouth.
— · ✦ · —
★14th February 2022
Quite literally, the least dramatic Valentine’s day you’d ever had was this one. And it was fucking chaotic. Liam had the bright idea to invite the entire family around to all spend Valentine’s together “Like sickening little baby birds all canoodling together” He’d mocked as he chased you around the kitchen table. At 49 years old he still acted like an absolute child sometimes. Somehow, you made it work. The holiday Liam had once dismissed as “Commercial shite” had over the years become something much more to his once cold heart. It was bigger than romance. It was family, noise, home, showing appreciation for the people who’d managed to make his life feel like living again.
You, Molly, Gene and Lennon sat in a now perfectly decorated living room, the kids swapping stories and telling you how they’d been since they last saw you. You never could’ve imagined yourself becoming a mother, no less a step mother at your age, but you’d began to love these kids like they were your own. And they loved you too, not as a mother, but not just their dad’s wife, someone they could turn to. It made your heart feel sickeningly tight and warm. And you loved all that shite.
What you didn’t love, was Liam’s appearance when he appeared in the doorway, grinning his shit eating grin. He had a fucking apron on. Your heart sank. Oh no.
“I’m cookin’ today kids!”
Everybody immediately objected, Lennon sat up straight from the floor where he’d been lounging lazily with a loud, “Woah woah woah!” Gene’s face fell where he was sat next to you, “Oh dad, please don't"
Molly even piped up, “You remember Christmas?” Liam had tried to cook a turkey. It was miserable, like eating rubber. You’d all put a smile on your face until Liam eventually stood up with a declaration, “This is complete shite”. You all burst out laughing because, really, it was fucking horrible.
You smiled from your end of the couch, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at Liam, he narrowly dodged it, opening his arms wide as if to say, “Hey! What the fuck?”
You just laughed. He tutted, rolling his eyes, “You’re all utter melts and I’m offended”
— · ✦ · —
Liam cooking was something that nobody wanted to be around to see, however the four of you decided to casually sleuth into the kitchen to keep an eye on him as he banged about. And it was an absolute disaster. The smoke alarm went off so many times you’d all just tuned it out, the high pitched little whine no longer auditory with how long it’d been going off for. He burnt the garlic bread, dropped all of the potatoes which you then had to rescue and step in for.
A bird even got in. A bird! You couldn't make that shit up. And it even managed to steal a little bit of chicken Liam hadn't noticed fell to the floor and was currently flapping about the kitchen as Liam chased it with a tea towel, “Oi! You little thief”. Molly was crying laughing while filming the whole thing on her phone, Gene and Lennon could hardly breathe as they watched the entire thing form the dining table. You just watched. Didn’t help, didn't step in. The chaos was somehow perfect. You loved it. But it was also funny seeing an almost 50 year old man lose himself over making a meal for 5 people.
Dinner came after four painstaking hours of Liam who'd only managed to cook chicken, broccoli, a little bit of poorly seasoned clumped together rice, some carrots, all of it doused in a sauce that you couldn’t quite name. The comfortable silence the two of you usually sat in was gone, filled with the sound of his children chattering, you joining in, Liam laughing loudly. He loved this, loved that he could have all his family here in one place. It felt so different from that time Gene came to visit him in the old flat, this felt homely, this felt perfect. He did actually owe it all to you.
You caught him looking around the table, watching as his kids laughed while packing up the remnants of Liam’s slightly burned cooking effort, the softest smile on his face as he leant in to whisper to you, “Not bad this” He muttered, reaching out to hold your hand. You held it back with your own smile to mirror his, squeezing his hand as your free hand reached to place itself on his knee under the table.
“Not bad at all” You agreed. And you waited until his eyes met yours, and you smiled at him.
“Happy Valentine’s, grumpy”
— · ✦ · —
★February 14th 2023
Your 8th Valentine’s together as a couple started with a bang. Literally.
You and Liam, well you specifically had woken up at 8 in the morning with a bright, fresh new fervor. Something had changed in Liam the second he turned 50. He’d cut his hair back into a short yet shaggy mod, his eyes felt deeper set than when you met him in 2014, his jaw more masculine, he kept the stubble that you adored, the one you loved rubbing against your cheek, burning the skin on the insides of your thighs when he went down on you after a long day. He looked bigger too, had filled out into a proper man’s body over the years, thick arms taught with muscle that didn't show itself but you felt it when his strong arm wrapped around your waist, the way you could feel the entirety of his body when you wrapped your arms around his middle for a hug. Yeah, 50 suited him well. Which was why, this morning, like many others, began with you riding yourself almost crazy on his lap.
“God youre fuckin’ mad” Liam groaned from underneath as the pace of your hips sped up, your eyes rolling back from just how deep he was hitting inside of you. You moaned in return, eyes squeezing shut as you reached forward to rub tight circles on your clit, walls pulsing around him almost violently as you managed to whimper out, “C-cant help it, y’look so fucking fit” You whimpered. And he grinned, of course, slapping your hand away as he replaced it with his own, rubbing rapid circles against your buzzing bundle of nerves, his other hand reaching around the back of your neck to tug you forward so you could make proper eye contact with him, “My needy girl, eh?” You nodded pathetically, he shook his head with a tut, the hand gripping your neck sliding down to slap your face once, twice, playful little hits that made your face sting and your walls clench around him, “Oh ho ho” He laughed at the expression on your face, caught in pure lust as you bounced up and down on him.
His hand caught your jaw, the other leaving your clit to hook a thumb into your mouth, tugging it to the side just to see you whine as he manhandles his face to your will. And he cooed at the sight of you, hips thrusting up to meet your own desperate bouncing of your hips down onto his lap to drive both of you towards the edge you were teetering very close to, “Y’mine, yeah? Daddy’s girl ain’t ya?” He whispered cruelly, chuckling as you collapsed against his chest. And Liam, so perfectly in tune to your emotions by now, just wrapped his arms around your shoulders, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you, arm locking around your neck from the back to keep you pinned against him as his hips snapped up to meet yours, “Yeah, just needed dick didnt you, sweetheart?” And he chuckles when you croon into his neck, soft pants billowing air against his skin now slick with sweat and perfectly warm as it lulled you closer to the edge, “Sit up baby” He whispered.
And you did. You've been with him so long now that you would do literally anything he asked the second he asked for it. He followed you, not slowing his thrusts down for a second as he sat himself against the headboard, one hand gripping your hip to keep you hiked up to he could fuck his throbbing dick into you, the other tugging your mouth open wide, “Y’gonna swallow f’me, angel?” And all you could do by then was nod, moans sounding from the back of your throat as you watched him smile. And then he spit in your mouth.
And that was it for you, you snapped your jaw shut with a breathy whimper, walls sloping down around him as your orgasm washed over you in rocking waves, he fucked you through it, whispering sweet nothings in your ear about how much of a good girl you were for him. “Love, I love you, Liam” he sounded just as ruined as you now as, with a groan, his own orgasm crashed down on him, his eyes screwing shut as he moaned against your mouth as he caught your lips in a kiss, mumbling drowsily against you as he fucked the two of you through your orgasms, “Love you angel, y’my bird yeah? Get get ri-rid of me, y’re it”
You pulled away from the kiss after a moment of calming yourselves down, him still buried deep inside of you as he pulled back, smiling up at you as his hand came up to brush your hair away from your face, gripping the back of your head as he whispers, “Happy Valentine’s day, sweetheart”
— · ✦ · —
You were currently driving the two of you down into central London to go and visit a cafe from the early days of your relationship. Liam had suggested it, upon feeling very sappy when the two of you were showering together this morning. He’d deny everything, of course, yet here you were. You were driving, since in the entire 9 years you'd known him he'd still never bothered himself with getting a license. Typical. So now you were his casual chauffeur.
You noticed, after a moment, that the car tailing you had been there for essentially the entire journey. A black car with tinted windows still hot on your tail. You blinked up at them in the rearview, shooting a glance towards Liam as you followed the satnav, “This one of your friends?” Liam checked the mirror too, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked, “They’ve been there since Finchley”
“You know them?” Your brow creased. “Nah” He muttered, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew exactly what might've been inside. Even you managed to figure it out when you pulled up to the curb and they double parked right across the street from you. The flashes the second you stepped out of the car confirmed your suspicions. Somehow, they’d summoned an absolute army of paparazzi staring at you from across the street, shouting nonsense as they snapped their large cameras at you.
“C’mon, Liam”
“Liam”
“This way!”
“Can we get one of you together?”
You let out a laboured sigh as you rounded the car to where he was waiting with a shit eating grin on his face, fiddling with your engagement, wedding ring, and the claddagh ring he’d given you for your birthday three years ago stacked on top of each other, fidgeting as you made your way to his side, “There goes breakfast” You mumbled as his arm made its home over your shoulder, steering you to walk with him, “Nah”
“What?”
“I’ve got an idea”
There was a game the two of you liked to play with the paparazzi, finding your own way to deal with them as they trailed you essentially everywhere you went. The game was simple, make something up which would get into the headlines. You decided to play around with them after the amount of turmoil he was put through in the papers in the first year of you knowing one another, trying to come up with the most baffling headline.
And it was his turn first.
It took him a while to come up with it, you’d been walking hand in hand for about ten minutes, completely ignoring the clamours from across the street as you swung your arms, the cold february sun starting to shine through the clouds was nice. It would've been peaceful. If you could've tuned them out.
Then suddenly, Liam stopped walking. He turned to you with an expression on his face like he’d just gobbed an entire sour lemon, and started waving his arms dramatically. You felt your face burn immediately, letting out a quiet, “Oh God” as he started up, “What d’you mean I can't buy another parka?” He fumed out loud, loud enough so it could be heard across the street, and you could hear the paparazzi excitement flare up with the rapid flash of the cameras. And you caught on immediately, resting your hands on your hips as you snapped right back, your frame from the back hiding the smile on your face, “Oh, because twenty seven isn't enough?”
Liam stifled a laugh, pushing his shades further up onto his face as he let out a groan so loud it bounced off the buildings around the two of them, “I wear them all though”
You followed him in fake annoyance, legs hitting the grown harder as you feigned a strop, “You wear three”
“I rotate”
“You do not”
The paps are firing away at this point, people walking past keep slowing down to witness what they're pretty sure is Liam Gallagher having a very public domestic with his wife. You stifle a smile, and point dramatically down the street like you're in some Shakespearean drama, "I'm leaving!”
Liam gasps as you start walking away from him, staying rooted to the spot as he watches you storm away, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yells, “TAKE THE KETTLES”
“I DON'T WANT THE KETTLES”
“YOU BOUGHT THE BASTARD KETTLES”
— · ✦ · —
Ten minutes later, the two of you were walking side by side like nothing had even happened. But the paparazzi still weren't letting up, apparently they still hadn't gotten enough material for the next gossip columns in their respective newspapers. You were outside your cafe that you were planning to go to now, but the way you looked at each other clearly meant that you weren't going to make it inside any time soon.
You squinted up at him in the sunlight, a cheeky grin on your face quickly schooled into an innocent expression as you declared brightly, “My turn!”
Before Liam could even react you were already moving, dropping down onto one knee right there on the pavement, digging in your back for a packet of gum. It was half eaten, half of it was actually in Liam’s gob right now after he’d nicked it in the car, “What’s yours is mine love, says so in that, y’know, marriage contract you signed that one time”, and you held it up like a ring.
The paps absolutely lost their minds. Flash flash flash FLASH FLASH. Each tim it seemed to grow brighter, and you just giggled up at Liam who looked like if his jaw dropped even more it would make its way to the ground. But he was biting his lip to stop laughing, kicking your shoe with his as he nodded, “Y’alright there?”
You cleared your throat, “Liam Gallagher” You began, staring up at him as seriously as you could possibly muster, offering him the packet of chewing gum. “Go on” He mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he sucked his cheeks in to keep himself from laughing.
“Will you accept this extra strong mint”
And he placed one hand over his heart, and dramatically exclaimed, “I thought you’d never ask”
— · ✦ · —
You never actually made it to the cafe that day. Instead the two of you bailed into the safety of a random kebab shop which you were sure the two of you frequented whilst drinking, and got a doner kebab each where you ate it on the bench in Hyde park where he’d proposed to you. Yet, like all the weird February 14ths you'd spent together, it ended up being the most perfect day that year.
The morning after you walked into the kitchen to see Liam sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee, reading the paper. Odd. But he was trying not to laugh, and that was definitely a good sign. Your plan had worked. You sat yourself in your usual chair right next to him, grinning as you leant your head against his arm, “What is it?” He didn't say anything, just tilted the paper so you could read it more easily, resting his cheek against your head.
A massive, black, bold headline stretched against the thin white paper as you leant in to read it.
EXPLOSIVE VALENTINE’S ROW
Below it there was a very tasteful selection of photos. A photograph of the two of you laughing during your fake argument, the next, the one of you ‘proposing’, the silver packet of gum glinting in the February sunshine as you held it up to him, and finally, another one, Liam stealing a chip from your little white carton when you eventually emerged from the kebab shop, and your arm raised high in the air like it was about to smack right down on your husbands back. That word still made you smile to this day. Husband. Yours. It took you a while to really shape him up into the man he was today, the man who was completely capable of being a husband. And you couldn't be happier.
You started laughing as you stared down at it, shaking your head as you pushed away from the table, “They’ve completely missed the point”
And without skipping a beat, he shook his head, folding the paper as he leant in to take a sip of his cup of tea, “...Worth it though”
Hours later you were still laughing about it. You were sitting on the closed toilet lid while Liam took his shower, peeking out every now and again when you let out a laugh as you scrolled through social media. Most of the fans had figured it out already. One comment simply said, “They’re definitely taking the piss”
You knocked on the clouded glass of the shower, Liam popped his head out dutifully as you turned the phone around for him to read it. And he just grinned proudly, “Smart bunch”. But then he looked down at you, sat there in your pajamas, and he tilted his head, sending a puff of air out of his mouth to force his dripping hair out of his eyes, then letting his big blue irises dart up and down your frame, “Y’know, love” He said, very serious, “You look a little too dry”
And you didn't even have time to properly react as he grabbed your hand, cackling as he dragged you clothes and all with him under the warm spray. Some 50 year old.
— · ✦ · —
★2024
Literally nothing could’ve prepared you for what happened today. Nothing. Quite literally the weirdest day of your entire life.
You and Liam had decided that you needed a holiday, or rather, he just wasn't touring this year, and so there were no exotic places for him to take you to. And so you landed in Fiji. It was nice enough, quiet enough for him who was getting on in his years, as you liked to tease him about when you began to see more salt in his hair than pepper, “Oi, you love my goldilocks you cheeky bird” And you’d just hissed an awkward sigh, shrugging your shoulder as you tried to figure out how you were going to fit yet another parka into his suitcase, “Well I wouldn’t say golden…”
But here you were, 6 in the morning, 3 suitcases already checked in, a mimosa in your hand and a cold beer in his as you made your way to the flight lounge. Perks of marrying a rockstar, now you are one of the elite. It's not what you married him for, but it was certainly convenient when you had to wait for a flight that had been delayed by an entire 3 hours, now you were just waiting out the final 30 minutes.
You lay with your carry-on shoved beneath your head, drained mimosa collecting condensation on the little glass table in front of you, watching as a droplet dripped down the side of the glass. Peak entertainment.
Liam was pretending to scroll on twitter while he watched everyone walking in and out of the lounge, half watching his phone, half staring at the door. It’s not like he expected anyone to walk in.
That was until he went completely still next to you. Everything changed in that moment. You followed his gaze across the room, across the lounge.
Noel.
Standing there with a coffee.
You sat up, you actually didn't even know what to say - usually you couldn't stop the words from coming out of your mouth but for some reason you were completely stumped, mouth hanging half open as you looked between the two. Liam didn't take his eyes off Noel. Noel didn't take his eyes off Liam. Holy shit.
You looked towards Liam, mouth suddenly dry as you took in his expression. He looked oddly like a little boy right now, like the man you never knew him as, and it made your heart squeeze as your hand made its way to his lower back, “You okay?”
Liam didn't answer, he didn't even look at you. Instead, he stood up, and immediately walked over. The only funny thing you could find within the whole scenario, was that Noel looked like he was going to shit himself.
Your stomach was tight with worry as you stared incessantly at them. Anais was with Noel, standing there smiling up at her uncle who she'd managed to keep a steady, yet distant relationship with over the years. Liam said something, and both Noel and Anais shot a glance your way. You lifted your hand in an awkward little wave. Noel’s jaw ticked as he turned back to Liam. Anais returned your wave.
The conversation lasted less than ten minutes. There was no shouting. No swearing. No dramatic embrace. They were just … talking. It felt a lot simpler than the threats Liam had muttered towards him in your bed whenever you spoke about it. Noel nodded once, Liam nodded back. And then they went their separate ways, like nothing had ever happened. Like if anybody outside of this airport lounge had caught wind of it it would have exploded in the biggest story of 21st century England.
You waited until Liam sat down, ready to ambush him with the millions of questions lined up in your mind. But upon seeing his face you held your tongue, he looked strangely .. peaceful? You just nudged him with your elbow, shifting his carry on so you could sit right next to him as you grabbed his arm, “Everything alright?” Cautious. Careful. You didn't know how easily Liam could slip right back into his old headspace. And he just shrugged, “Yeah”. Perfect. Liam was never a man of many words, which sometimes worked to your advantage, other times was just downright annoying, and you were buzzing to know what just went down, the man you’d been hearing about from an insider perspective for the last ten years was just in front of you, talking to the man who he hadn't in 14 years, you were bound to have some questions! “What did he say?”
“Nothin’”
“You’re a liar”
He smiled. It was a tiny little thing but you caught it. “We just talked”
You decided to let it be from there, staring at his blissful expression for a moment before you simply reached over and squeezed his hand once. He squeezed it back.
— · ✦ · —
★Summer 2024
Something was definitely happening, you could literally feel it in the air. You'd been married to Liam for too long to not know when he was sneaking about doing something. And doing something he was.
It started with the phone calls. His phone literally never stopped ringing. And you knew Liam was never that popular. Management. Lawyers. Old numbers that even you didn't recognise. New, unknown numbers, some even came with the declaration of NO CALLER ID. Liam took every single one. He disappeared into another room for hours every afternoon. The door closed every single time. You couldn't even hear what he was saying when you pressed your ear to the door - the bastard was sneaky, he knew his wife well.
You began to grow suspicious. You literally had no idea what was going on. Your conclusion eventually became one simple thing: He was cheating on you. You love him, but you know damn well he has a track record. You decided to test the waters when you finally walked in on his mid phone call when you came back from the shops.
The second you walked into the kitchen, carrying bags filled with what was probably a month's worth of shopping but you knew between Liam, Gene and Lennon it would all be gone in about three days, Liam immediately turned his phone face down. You felt sick. You rested the bags against the wall just next to the door, crossing your arms as you challenged him, “...Who was that”
He looked up at you with an expression so pure it could probably rival that of an angels, but you weren't convinced when he let out a tense little, “No one”
“Liam”
“No one important”
Your eyes narrowed, darting up and down his frame that he held so tensely you were scared he might snap, “Important enough to lie about, clearly”
“...Maybe”
You blinked. The nausea in your gut rose. Had you really spent all that time healing him, living with him, helping him achieve his own goals, just for it all to end in you being cheated on? You felt exhausted, leaning back against the wall, “What’re you hiding, Liam”
“I said its nothin’”
“Youve said nothing fourteen times this week”
“Have I?” And you felt even more confused as he smiled all knowing to himself, checking his phone as it started buzzing on the table, and immediately walked into the living room to pick it up. What the fuck.
But one thing about Liam that you were confident you knew, was that he was absolutely terrible at keeping secrets. One evening he was making dinner, the whole week he’d been humming Oasis songs without realising, yet he stopped whenever you began to notice, or ask whatever he was singing. He stood at the stove, stirring something red in a pan as he absent mindedly sang, “Slide Away” under his breath.
You slowly looked up from where you were going through your bills on the table, furrowing your brows as you stared at him.
It was like he felt your eyes on his back. He froze, slowly turning around as he muttered a quiet, “Shit” busying himself with cleaning up the side. But you were already smiling slightly, pushing away from the table as you made your way over to him “You were just singing Oais”
He didn't look at you as he stared down at the countertop, currently trying to scrub out an imagined stain on the worktop, “Have I not?” His voice was uncharacteristically high pitched as he shot you a wary side eye, “You haven't sung an oasis song in years”
“Have I not?”
“No”
He finally met your eyes, staring down at you as you stared right back at him, crossing your arms like you were waiting for him to finally fess up, raising your eyebrows when he opened his mouth to talk, “Fancy a biscuit”
You narrowed your eyes, “You’re hiding something”
— · ✦ · —
The rain had been falling since not long after dinner, pattering softly against the bedroom window while the rest of the house settled into silence. You were curled up against the headboard with a book, absently turning another page every few minutes, while Liam lay beside you with one of his own. That was probably the weirdest thing, Liam reading.
Or, at least, he was supposed to be reading it. You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes. He hadn't turned a page once. Every now and then he'd stare down at the book as if he meant to read it, only to drift off again, tapping his thumb against the spine before sighing to himself.
Eventually you lowered your own book just enough to look at him, "You alright?"
"Hm?"
"You've been on that page since I started my last chapter." He frowned at the book in his lap before looking back at you. "Have I?" You laughed quietly. "You definitely have." He let out a breath through his nose, shut the book, opened it again almost immediately, stared at the page for another couple of seconds before closing it once more. "...Can't do it."
You smiled. "Do what?"
"Keep my mouth shut." That made you close your own book completely, "About what?"
He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you, "I think..." He hesitated, as though saying it out loud might somehow make it disappear again. "...I think we're doin' it."
"Doing what?" He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before muttering, almost casually, "...Oasis." You blinked. "What?"
"Oasis." He finally looked across at you, "Looks like we're gettin' back together." For a second you just stared at him, "...You're joking." He shook his head, "No."
"...You're actually serious?"
"Yeah."
You searched his face for any sign that he was winding you up, but there wasn't one. If anything, he looked relieved, like he'd been desperate to tell you for weeks, "Oh my God." A grin spread across your face before you could stop it, "Oh my God, Liam."
Before he had a chance to say another word, you threw your book somewhere across the bed and launched yourself at him, wrapping both arms around his neck so suddenly that he almost disappeared backwards into the pillows, "Careful!" he laughed, grabbing hold of you before the pair of you toppled off the side of the bed.
"Are you serious?" You pulled yourself back so your hands could plant themselves against his shoulders, smiling with so much excitement it almost made him audibly coo at how happy he looked, "I've literally just told you I am."
"LIAM!" You hugged him even tighter.
"I can't breathe," he managed between laughs, trying without much success to loosen your grip around his neck.
"I don't care," you replied, laughing just as hard. You'd waited years to hear those words, and now that he'd finally said them, there was absolutely no chance you were letting him go. He shook his head, still grinning, "I think y'should."
You eased back just enough to look at him properly, searching his face one last time for any sign that he was winding you up. There wasn't one. If anything, he looked relieved. "I genuinely can't believe you didn't tell me," you said, still smiling so much your cheeks ached. "You've been awful at keeping this secret." He gave an indignant little laugh. "I've been brilliant."
"Brilliant?" You raised an eyebrow. "You started humming Oasis songs while you were making tea, disappeared into the garden every time your phone rang, and every time someone mentioned Noel you looked like you were trying not to smile." He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Right... I'd forgotten about all that."
"Exactly." You laughed, shaking your head. "I honestly thought you were cheating on me, you were acting so shady about the whole thing!" You smacked his chest, he rubbed it better with a pained little chuckle
"Nah," he said with a shrug, "this is better."
"Much better."
His smile softened as he reached across and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "There is one thing, though." The teasing disappeared from his voice just enough for you to know he meant it. "You can't tell anybody."
"I won't." He looked at you for a long moment, clearly deciding whether or not he trusted that answer. "I'm serious."
"So am I." The silence that followed lasted no more than a few seconds before your eyes drifted innocently towards the phone charging on the bedside table. "I'm just going to ring my mum..." His head snapped round. "You are bloody not." You dissolved into laughter before you'd even moved. "I'm joking!"
"You little shit," he muttered, unable to stop himself smiling as he picked up the nearest pillow and threw it at you. It bounced harmlessly off your shoulder, making you laugh even harder, "Worth it," you said, still giggling.
"Not funny.", "It's a bit funny."
He rolled his eyes, gave in, and laughed with you. Outside, the rain carried on falling exactly as it had all evening, while inside the biggest secret he'd kept in weeks no longer felt like a burden. It was finally out, and somehow that made it all seem real.
— · ✦ · —
★February 2025
The reunion rolled around so quickly you didn't even have time to process it properly. Time disappeared literally under your feet and for a few weeks it was 1995 again. Except now everybody was old enough to laugh about it.
The rehearsal room felt absolutely surreal. Old road crew, old guitars, old jokes flying about. It was absolutely electric. You could hardly move for sound equipment, microphones and guitars dotted around the whole place, a filming crew for an upcoming documentary. This was, not that you'd tell him, a million times more exciting than Liam’s solo tour prep.
Bonehead walked into the first rehearsal carrying a paper cup of coffee, made a beeline towards you, where you were currently sitting on a crate like you didn't quite know what to do with yourself. He sat next to you, took one look around. And saw Liam and Noel already arguing. Without missing a beat, he laughed, shaking his head as he nudged you with his elbow, “...Here we go again”
You smiled softly, turning to face him as you accepted the extra cup of coffee he'd brought along for you, “What?” You said with a soft laugh, the only thing you could hear right now was Liam’s voice booming around the massive studio, complaining about how Noel was so short that maybe they'd have to get a custom microphone so people could hear him on stage.
“I’ve definitely seen this before” But it all felt lighter. Sure, you weren't there when Oasis was a thing, but something about this to you felt completely right. It felt like all the work you'd put in for this relationship had led up to this moment.
The brothers continued arguing over absolutely nothing. Every day sounded a little something like this”
“No, the tempo’s wrong”
“It isn't"
"It is."
"It wasn't twenty years ago."
"Exactly."
"You're impossible."
"So are you."
And yet five minutes later they were sitting over two beers like old women, reminiscing about an old tour story where Liam had gotten so drunk he…
You tuned them out at that point, sitting on your phone as they began arguing again. Then laughing again. They definitely just had a bad rep from the press from 2009 because clearly, this was how they showed their love for one another
— · ✦ · —
The closer the shows got, the quieter Liam had become. He found himself more exhausted than he had in ten years, coming home late at night just to immediately collapse asleep in your arms, no word on how his day had gone, if the rehearsals were going good, nope. Nothing. Just came home to your sweet refuge and immediately slept.
You could tell he was excited, saw the way his eyes lit up whenever he was talking about it, saw how happy he was when Noel and the sons Liam had never gotten a chance to meet came over for Easter when you cooked them a roast, and quickly excused yourself to go and phone a friend so Liam could have his time alone with his family. You heard it especially in the way he began belting out Oasis hits in the shower in the mornings when you were still trying to catch up on the sleep he made you lose the night before.
He was so excited. But underneath it all, he was terrified. And you could feel it.
One night after he came home a little more animated than the others, he’d spent his time making you fall apart beneath his hands, and then you both lay there in your clean sheets, completely naked, skin to skin. His hands were dancing up your spine, drawing lazy patterns as you began slowly dozing off against his bare chest. That was until it rumbled to life beneath you. He admitted quietly, “What if they hate it?”
You cracked one lazy eye open, brows furrowing as you registered his words, “Who?” You whispered, voice hoarse - his fault - “Everyone” he mumbled, slightly insecure of himself. It was a look that didn't suit him, you let your eye flutter shut again as you nuzzled into his bare chest, “They won’t, baby - they waited years”
“Theyve spent years singing the songs you're about to play for them”
He sighed softly, but it felt like, from your reassurance alone, he began relaxing against the sheets, wrapping his arms around you to properly pull you onto his chest just so he could feel the calming weight of you pressed entirely against him, “Still” He muttered into your hair, big hands stroking your back underneath the sheets so gently it could've made you cry. You smiled against his soft chest hair, lifting your head to rest your chin just on his sternum, “You’ve walked onto blogger stages” You reminded him He smiles softly back down at you, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to your forehead, sighing contentedly as you burrowed back against him, shivering when your cold hands pressed against his back, "Doesn't feel like it”
Yet despite himself, he slept like an absolute baby that night. Not plagued with the fever nightmares about the entire world hating the reunion, letting himself, like always, be calmed just y your voice, your breathing, and the weight of you against him as he began to be gently lulled into sleep
— · ✦ · —
★Summer 2025
Backstage felt like organised chaos.
People were everywhere. Crew members hurried through the corridors with headsets pressed against one ear, someone called for a guitar technician from somewhere down the hall, and every few seconds another familiar face appeared in the dressing room doorway to wish Liam luck before disappearing again. Through it all came the distant thud of music from the stadium, followed every now and then by a roar from the crowd that seemed to vibrate through the walls. The room itself was louder than it had been all day. Old friends were talking over each other, cups of tea sat forgotten on every available surface, and someone had started reminiscing about a tour from thirty years earlier that had somehow turned into an argument about whose memory was actually right.
Liam drifted between conversations without really joining any of them. Every now and then someone clapped him on the shoulder or wished him luck, and he'd grin, throw back a joke, ask if everyone was ready, but you knew him well enough to see the cracks. He kept checking the clock on the wall without realising he was doing it, and every time the crowd erupted outside his head turned instinctively towards the corridor. Gene was the first to pull him into a hug. "Go smash it," he said simply, giving his dad's shoulder a firm squeeze. Liam smiled, patting him twice on the back. "Of course I will." Lennon wasn't quite as sympathetic, "Just try not to forget the words." Liam looked at him as though he'd just said something ridiculous. "I know the words.", Lennon folded his arms, completely unconvinced. "You forgot them in Dublin."
"I did not."
"You definitely did."
"I missed one line."
"You sang the second verse twice."
"It worked, didn't it?" Lennon laughed. "Whatever helps you sleep." Across the room, Molly shook her head fondly before walking over. She leaned up to kiss his cheek, smoothing an imaginary crease from the shoulder of his parka as she did, "You'll be brilliant."
"Cheers, love."
For a while longer the room stayed full. Conversations overlapped, someone found an old photograph on their phone that everybody crowded round to see, and another burst of laughter echoed off the dressing room walls. Then, almost without anyone noticing, people began filtering out. A stage manager appeared at the door with a quiet reminder that it was nearly time. One by one the room emptied. Someone called and they'd see him out there. Another squeezed his shoulder on the way past. The door clicked shut behind the last person. The silence that followed felt strangely loud. For the first time all day, it was just the two of you.
Liam let out a slow breath, staring down at the floor for a moment before adjusting the sleeves of his parka for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes. You watched him fiddle with the zip, flatten the front, tug lightly at the cuffs, then smooth a hand over his hair despite the fact there wasn't a single strand out of place. You smiled to yourself and stepped closer, "Stand still."
He looked up. "What?"
"You've been messing with that jacket all afternoon."
"I have not."
"You have."
He rolled his eyes but stopped fidgeting long enough for you to straighten the front of the parka yourself. You smoothed the collar down with your hands, brushing away a piece of fluff that wasn't really there, "There." He glanced down.
"Better?"
"Much."
As you reached for his hands, you realised they were colder than you'd expected. He'd hidden it well all day, but there it was. The slightest tremor, not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for you. You wrapped both of your hands around his and rubbed your thumbs gently across his knuckles, "Nervous?"
He gave a tiny shrug, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, "...Bit."
You smiled, "I don't think anyone would blame you." He looked towards the closed dressing-room door, where the roar of the crowd drifted faintly through the walls again, "Funny, innit?"
"What is?"
"I've done this thousands of times."
"And?"
"This one feels different."
You gave his hands one last squeeze, "You're going to be alright." He looked back at you and nodded, though it took him a second before he trusted himself to speak, "...Yeah."
Another cheer rolled through the stadium, louder this time. Someone knocked softly on the door. "Two minutes." Liam nodded without taking his eyes off you. Then, almost absent-mindedly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, "...Love you angel, wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you"
"Love you too- "
He cut you off with a stare, squeezing your hands even tighter as he looked into your eyes with the biggest amount of vulnerability you’d seen from him in years. “I mean it” He began softly, and you knew he just needed you to be quiet while he worked through this himself, “I’ve never properly thanked you for all of it, have I?” you shot him a sad smile, opening your mouth to say something, but before you could he was already pulling you against him, resting his chin on your shoulder. You reciprocated almost immediately, holding him right back as you pressed your head into his shoulder, “My girl, got me outta my slump, my life was fucking miserable before you” His voice cracked gently, you didnt say anything. He continued, “I thought i was done for, first Valentine’s spent alone, band gone to shit, mid-divorce” He laughed quietly at how silly it all sounded now that he had everythin he’d wanted for the past twenty years, “And into the bar walks you, in your silly little skirt and your- your fucking pink cocktail” His voice was strained now, squeezing you tighter with his hands on your ribs, resting his forehead dow on your shoulder, “And you asked me why I wasnt celebrating Valentines day” It shocked you how good his memory was, but you let out your own watery little laugh as he coughed out something which sounded half chuckle half sob, pulling you even impossibly closer to him, “And I am so fuckin’ greatful for you - my bird, you're my reason. You're why all this is possible”
A stagehand popped his head around the corner, “We need you now, Liam” He said quietly. And then it was just the two of you again. He pulled back, holding your hands one more time
He smiled, small and genuine, before letting go of your hands and turning towards the door. You watched him disappear into the corridor, where the light from the tunnel spilled across the floor ahead of him. As he walked towards it, the noise outside grew louder and louder until it became a deafening wall of sound, swallowing every other noise around it. Noel joined him by his side, Liam barged into him playfully with his shoulder
For just a second, before he stepped out into the light, he glanced back over his shoulder.
Then he grinned. He took Noel’s hand in his own, raised it over their heads.
And he was gone.
— · ✦ · —
★February 14th, 2026
The tour had been a success. That wasnt enough for it actually, it had been ‘Fucking mega”, in Liam’s own sophisticated language. It took you all over the world, you were there every single night backstage, rooting him on. You made friends that would last for life, saw places that you never imagined you would. But that wasn't even the best part of it all.
The best part of it was now. Not the concerts, not the afterparties. But back at home. Shoes kicked off by the door, parka strewn across the floor. Chinese takeaway boxes littering your cosy living room. The house was quiet in a way you hadn't managed to feel in months. And here you were, 12 years after finding him in that bar alone, here you were surrounded by a life that wasn't his and yours, but the two of you together, four walls that you called a home but really it was the person inside who made it that way. He wasn't sad anymore, every headline spoke rumours about possibly playing another concert next year, but he paid no mind to them anymore. The headlines didn't speak to him now, all that mattered was you here, in his arms, curled up with him on the couch as you watched yet another sappy movie.
You curled into him on the couch, he was staring into space. Finally, he spoke, a sharp laugh huffing from his nose as he muttered, “Funny, innit”
You turned your head to look up at him, soft smile on your face, "What is?”
“Spent years thinkin’ Oasis gettin’ back together was the thing I’d been missin’”
He looked around the room then, just once, taking inventory. Wedding photos. Pictures with Gene and Lennon, Molly’s graduation photo, the framed photo of your, yes, your grandchild - Molly had asked if you could have the honor of being Rudy’s step grandmother. You cried the whole way home to Lia,, he couldn't even calm you down when you got home, just help you in your bed for hours on end as you sobbed out all the love that had built in you over the years. His solo awards on the shelf above the telly. And finally, you. Everything you’ve built.
He smiled softly
“Turns out” He pressed the softest kiss to your temple, tugging you back down to curl into his side once more, “I already had it all long before that”
summary: alfie helps you throughout pregnancy, no matter the obstacle
content: dad!ab , angst w/ comfort , contemplations of abortion , poor mental health , pregnancy , physical insecurities
notes: another dad!ab repost !!! this one talks about the difficulties within pregnancy, and i feel like in fiction its always pretty smooth so i wanted to delve into the negative effects pregnancy can have on women within this
wc: 1,817
GOING TO THE doctors and having them confirm the pregnancy was one less weight off of your shoulders. You no longer had to worry about whether or not you were actually pregnant, you no longer had to worry about whether or not the tests were faulty, and you no longer had to worry about being unhealthy. The doctor had cleared everything over, telling you you were in good shape and everything was progressing as it should. The first few months were easy, besides the morning sickness and constant mood swings.
But that was then, and now you were in your second trimester.
You now looked pregnant, and most definitely felt it. You swore you'd never had such an appetite before. You were waking up in the middle of the night, sweating from being so warm, and begging Alfie to go and buy you whatever you were craving.
And he did. Now without complaint. At first he was hesitant, asking you if you genuinely needed a microwaveable mac n cheese at two in the morning, but then he saw the tears blossoming in your eyes and he got up, kissed your forehead and then returned within thirty minutes with your requested meal in his hands.
Some days were really good, where the only downside was the back pain, and you would even feel the baby kick when it wanted. The first time that happened, you were on the toilet and you screamed. Alfie came rushing into the bathroom, pure panic written on his face. When you told him you felt the baby kick with watering eyes, he let out the deepest sigh of relief known to man and dropped to his knees before you, putting his hand where you gestured to.
the bad days ༊*·˚
However, with good days, came bad days, and they really seemed to be getting the best of you. Sometimes, you'd just lie in bed for hours on end, only getting up to go to the toilet.
Other times, you'd break down in his arms first thing in the morning, stressing over every little possibility that could happen.
"What if this was a mistake?" You croaked into the darkness of your shared bedroom one night.
You were on one side of the bed, Alfie on the other, giving you the space you needed and wanted. You heard the bedsheets shuffling as he rolled over, barely making out your features through the thin slip of moonlight peaking through the curtains.
"Do you regret keeping it?" He asked.
"... I don't know." You sniffled, feeling like a horrible person for even contemplating the possibility of if you hadn't agreed to keep it.
"C'mere." He sighed, opening his arms.
You shuffled into them, burying your face into his chest and letting your tears roll down your screwed up face and soak into his skin.
He held you every time without hesitation, cradling you to his chest and not saying anything. Just letting you get it out of your system. He knew these weren't mood swings anymore.
Those passed along with the first trimester. These were your genuine emotions shining through and breaking you down.
You would cover your head and face with your arms, as if you were trying to block out the rest of the world and hide within yourself, but he pulled you out each time.
"I don't wanna die!" You'd wail loudly, and he'd double his strength around you while being wary of the baby.
"You won't, angel. You'll be okay. I promise you. It'll all be okay." Alfie would reassure you.
Every. Single. Time.
"I feel ugly."
"You're beautiful."
"I've put on so much weight."
"You're bringing life into this world. I don't care. You're carrying our baby. Your body is doing mental things right now."
"What if something bad happens?"
"Then we'll deal with it, if it happens."
"Please don't leave me."
"Reader, I will never, ever leave you. Not right now, not when our baby's born, not when our baby's a snotty little toddler that cries every night because they can't have cuddles. I will be here every step of the way."
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Alfie had put off a lot of things for you. But he didn't blame you for them, not one bit. He'd been invited to two brand trips with YoungLA, and had turned them both down. He was fully willing to go, but when he saw your crushed expression when he'd told you, he knew he couldn't leave you at home on your own.
He'd also had a lot of phone calls with his mum, mainly asking what the fuck he's supposed to do in certain situations and how to deal with this, that and the other. On the days when your back was killing and you couldn't be bothered to cook, you two would go and have dinner with his mum.
She was incredibly supportive, always greeting you with a great big smile and a hug. She knew what it was like, after all.
"You ever need a day away from him, you let me know." She would say at dinner, patting your knee.
Alfie didn't vlog much during your pregnancy, too afraid that he would start on a good day which would traipse into a bad day. He didn't want to subject you to any unwanted media attention while you were so vulnerable, so if he did vlog, it was only the parts where he was out on his own (not very much) or where you were actually playing an active roll in the clip and not being some sort of ghost figure in the background, walking around the grotto in one of his shirts.
The good days were the best days. You would prance around the kitchen, blasting music on the Alexa, looking simultaneously cute and sexy in just his shirt and some plain knickers. He would have some tv show that you were rewatching on in the background while you baked whatever you felt like doing.
the gender reveal ༊*·˚
You even baked your own gender reveal cupcakes, but had his mum fill them with the colour icing corresponding to the gender of the baby. The gender reveal was quiet and small, including a handful of your friends from college, a handful of his friends from sixth form, and family members you felt particularly comforted by and close to.
You'd always wanted a big, extravagant gender reveal party, but considering the emotional state you'd been in so far, you didn't want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of a group of people.
Thankfully the day went smoothly, and you burst into tears at the sight of pink sprinkles on the middle of the vanilla cupcake.
He hugged you tightly, lifting you into his arms as you latched your legs around his waist.
night time ༊*·˚
Going to bed had become increasingly more difficult. You would weak up in hot sweats in the middle of the night, your body overheating and overworking to maintain the healthiness of your baby.
Alfie would try to cuddle you in an attempt to provide comfort and a sense of homeliness, but you would always end up pushing him off, hating the feeling of being touched in your warm state. But sometimes all you needed was his embrace.
There were times when you would lay on his chest, letting him doodle with his finger along the expanse of your back, having you guess whatever he was drawing. Other times you would lie on your back, trying to relieve your spine of any pressure, and he would rest a hand on your bump, gently caressing it.
He kept the windows open, bought a fan and even changed the bedsheets into thinner ones for you.
If you needed anything in the middle of the night, he wouldn't hesitate to grab it for you. Whether it was food, a drink or if the fan needed the settings increased. He did it all.
preparing for the baby ༊*·˚
He'd bought all the furniture needed. A crib, a changing station, a new wardrobe and chest of draws, and even a plush rocking chair for you to sit in in the case of late-night feeds. He turned that day into a vlog as you'd walked into the living room with a pep in your step and declared that nothing would ruin your mood.
You'd sat with him whilst he built it all, complaining to the camera about how complicated this all was for no reason. You laughed at him, handing him certain nuts and bolts when he asked for them or the parts of the furniture.
The clothes were all down to you. He took you out, card at the ready while you went through the aisles of the store, getting borderline emotional at the thought of your baby girl in all these dainty little clothes.
"Get her a nike tech. Have her rocking up to the function like one of the mandem." Alfie suggested jokingly, camera on you
as your eyes scanned the articles.
You glared at him over your shoulder, "No, Alfie. She's gonna be a dainty little princess, not 'one of the mandem'."'
"Ey, you never know, girl. She might grow up and think 'fuck the pink, I wanna rock black and grey’!"
"Then she can do that when she's old enough, but for now—“
Oh my God, look at these little shoes!" You exclaimed, picking them up.
Alfie gave a deadpanned look to the camera before switching it back to you, filming your awed expression as you held the shoes up, showing the viewers.
The toys you started buying after the baby shower, not wanting to buy doubles of anything. You refused to buy anything that she might accidentally swallow or consume. He once held up a dainty kitchen set with miniature wooden food.
You snatched it off of him and put it back.
"It's literally got a choking hazard sticker on it." You shook your head, tutting.
"I'll show you a choking hazard in a minute, girl." Alfie smirked, grabbing your waist.
You slapped his stomach lightly, "Don't be dirty in public."
He moved his streaming set up to the dining room so the office could be the nursery. He let you decorate the room however you wanted, standing around in case you needed help. You adjusted everything so it was perfect, laying a heart shaped rug in the middle of the room and tucked the drawer and changing table under the slanted roof. The crib went where Alfie's desk was previously, slotting in perfectly.
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Your good days majorly outweighed the bad, giving you a nice boost in morale. Without Alfie, you really wouldn't have been able to do it. You would've given up and ended up rotting in your bed and not looking after yourself.
pairing: PreFame!Noel x Fem!Reader
wc: 3.3k
summary: It's the first time in months you've had the whole house to yourselves. Noel's planning to make the most of every minute.
cw: fluff & smut, established relationship, virginity kink, corruption kink, praise kink, fingering, possessive behavior, consent is sexy
An: i feel like this is a pretty weak comeback... sorry guys 😭 this is all i've got.
i was actually planning for this to be a lot longer, but i kind of ran out of motivation, so this is where i'm leaving it for now. maybe i'll make a part two at some point... (funny how i always say that and then never do. sorry. pathological liar.)
anywayyy, love u all 💗 let me know what you think!!
He can taste the salt of the popcorn you'd shared halfway through the film on your lips, which, against his, still keep that habit of hesitating before opening fully, a second too long that Noel has learned to wait out without rushing, letting you decide how much; he notices how you press first, as though kissing were still something you had to get right before you could lose yourself in it, and only after, when your tongue brushes his with that shyness you've never quite managed to shake, does something in his chest loosen, a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying. He likes the way you breathe against his mouth when the kiss drags on, uneven, like you hadn't quite worked out how much air you'd need; he likes even more knowing that clumsiness belongs only to him, that no other bloke has ever had the patience to stay there, teaching you without letting it show that's what he's doing.
Your teeth clash once, clumsy, and you laugh against his mouth, apologising without words; he lets the laugh in, lets it become part of the kiss, because out of every girl he's been with before, none of them laughed like that, with that touch of embarrassment you shouldn't even have anymore, being his girlfriend of months now, and that he, deep down, doesn't want you to ever quite lose.
His hands, which had stayed still at your waist since you'd shifted from the far end of the sofa to end up like this —closer, more tangled together— start climbing slowly up your back, feeling every vertebra beneath the thin fabric of your top; he pulls you a little closer with his palm flat between your shoulder blades, and it's then that he leaves your mouth to move down to your neck, dragging his lips along your jaw first, unhurried, savouring the time he has —tonight, at least— with your house empty and no clock telling him when he's got to leave before your parents start on about the endless list of reasons why you shouldn't be seeing a bloke like him.
When he reaches that spot right beneath your pulse, he bites down gently, barely a graze of teeth that he knows exactly, because he's spent months learning the map of your skin inch by inch; and there, mouth still pressed against you, his mind wanders without permission back to that night at the pub, the first time he saw you laugh at something he hadn't found particularly funny, the way the mate who'd introduced you had to say your name twice because Noel wasn't listening, only watching the way you pushed your hair back from your face, a gesture that even now, months later, still catches in his chest a bit when you do it without thinking.
You laugh suddenly, a short, spontaneous sound that escapes before you can stop it, and you pull your neck away a little with an instinctive shrug.
"Stop it, that tickles," you say, though it doesn't sound much like an order, more an excuse to catch your breath for a second. Noel smiles against your skin, feeling the vibration of your laugh under his lips, and for a moment he just stays there, smile still in place, savouring how easy this is with you, how little it's ever taken to make you laugh. But he doesn't stop; he brings his mouth back down to the same spot, this time with more intent, licking slowly before biting again, a little firmer than before, enjoying the way your laughter fades bit by bit, replaced by something else, something that interests him far more — a longer sigh, less restrained, and something tightens inside Noel when he recognises it, because he's spent months keeping the exact sound you made that first night you made out in the back of your friend's car locked away in his memory, that moan that slipped out of you without meaning to against his mouth, one you seemed shocked to have even made, pulling back for half a second with your cheeks burning before he drew you in again like nothing had happened. But that night —and several after— alone in his room, hand wrapped round his cock, he couldn't stop playing it back in his head, trying to remember the exact pitch, whether it had been lower or higher, whether he could pull it out of you again if he found the right angle. And now, mouth still at your neck, he feels it slip out again, a little longer this time, a little less embarrassed, and he has to dig his fingers into your back to keep from losing the rhythm he's got going.
He feels you press closer than you usually do, the weight of your body sinking a little further onto his, and your hands, which up until now had stayed where they always do, tangled in his hair or resting at the base of his neck, start moving on their own, sliding down his shoulders to his chest, hesitating there a second, before venturing lower still, to the hem of his shirt, without slipping underneath, without quite deciding where to go, as though touching him this way were a test you hadn't revised for.
Noel feels that hesitation under your palms and says nothing, just lets you keep searching, lets you find your own way even if it takes twice as long as it would with anyone else. But then, as quickly as you'd pressed yourself to him, you pull back: a small tug backwards, your head dipping for an instant, embarrassment creeping up your neck in a flush he senses more than sees in the dim light of the sitting room.
Noel feels every one of those hesitations against his skin, every pause before deciding how far to go, and finds the mix of wanting and not knowing how nearly unbearable, the way you want more without quite knowing how to ask for it. But then, as though you'd only just realised how far you'd let yourself go, you pull back slightly, hiding your face against his neck, embarrassed, and the cycle starts over: you press close again a few seconds later, a little more determined than before, only to pull back again almost at once.
"I'm sorry," you mumble, though neither of you could really explain what for. He only smiles, finds your chin with two fingers to tip your face back up.
"Don't be," he says, voice a touch rougher than usual, and pulls you back to him again, waiting — because he knows it'll happen again — for the cycle to repeat.
His lips find yours again, with that fake calm he manages better than anyone; one hand rises to your cheek, thumb tracing a small circle right where the warmth of your embarrassment still lingers, and he draws you gently back towards him, asking for nothing, letting you set the pace at which you come close again. And it works, like it always works; you feel the knot in your stomach loosen once more, your hands, shy, finding their place on his chest again, and you let yourself be carried along by the tenderness of it without suspecting what's underneath.
Because what Noel feels, holding you like this, isn't only the want to be first; it's something dirtier, twisting inside him, not entirely tenderness — the certainty that soon, maybe tonight even, that hesitation that makes you pull your hand back when you don't know quite where to put it is going to disappear for good, and even though that's exactly what he's spent months waiting for, part of him wants to memorise this moment with the same obsession he's memorised your moan, because he knows he can make sure you never falter like this with him again, not after tonight; he's going to be the only one who's seen you hesitate this way, the only one who knows there was ever a time you didn't know what to do with your hands. And some twisted, hungry part of him is already grieving something he's about to destroy with his own hands.
The same hands he lets trail along your sides now, climbing the curve of your waist as though nothing had changed in the last ten minutes, though every touch is calculated now with a precision you can't see. He inches his fingers up, just past where they usually stop, brushing the edge of your breast over the fabric without ever quite covering it, and feels your breath catch against his mouth, your body arching slightly into the contact before you can stop it. He says nothing. He just does it again a moment later, slower this time, confirming what he'd already suspected: that you're desperate for his hand not to stop there, even if your head's still too embarrassed to ask out loud.
It's a small, deliberate torture, and it tastes better to Noel than anything else he's had all week.
You follow the pull of your bodies, and your hips move before you decide anything, a small, near-clumsy roll you're chasing without realising you're chasing it; you'd stopped kissing with any real intent a while ago, mouths just close, sharing the same uneven breath, and it's in that small space that Noel feels your breathing shift against his lips, more the promise of a kiss than a kiss itself. That, together with the friction, together with the weight of you sat like this on top of him, sends a current straight to his groin that cuts his thoughts off for a second; he digs his fingers a little deeper into you, not to stop you, but to feel it better every time you do it again.
"You alright?" he asks against your mouth, though his tone carries none of the concern the question suggests; it's more an invitation in disguise, a way of making you say out loud what your body's already confessed without your permission. You nod, not trusting your own voice yet, and he smiles faintly against your skin. "Yeah? Don't look it." His hand stays still on your hip, as though he needs to check something. "What d'you want, uh? Tell me."
It's not a question he expects you to fully answer; he knows that, and he likes it precisely for that reason. You look away for a second, embarrassment crawling back up your neck, and mumble something that doesn't quite reach words, more an embarrassed little sound that he takes as answer enough.
"I don't know if we should..." you say, almost a whisper, your head still full of the image of your parents coming home early, of what they'd say if they knew, of the whole list of reasons why this should wait for another time, another night, maybe never. Noel cups your face with one hand, gently forcing you to look at him.
"That's not what I asked you." His voice stays calm, almost patient, but there's something underneath that isn't. "Don't care what you should or shouldn't do. D'you want to?"
You go quiet for a second, can't remember ever being asked that so directly before, stripped of a whole list of pros and cons, reminders, consequences, of all the reasons you shouldn't want something.
"Yeah," you say finally, barely a breath, and the second you say it, something in Noel's chest loosens in a way that has nothing to do with relief and everything to do with victory.
"And how much d'you want it?" he asks, voice low and rough against your mouth, hands picking up where they'd left off across your body, no restraint left this time. One climbs straight to your breast, covering it whole with his palm, feeling the weight of it through the fabric; the other slides down to the waistband of your shorts, two fingers just beneath it, playing with the edge without deciding to cross it just yet, just reminding you it's there, that he wants.
"So much," you manage, the word coming out unsteady, cut off halfway when his thumb finds your nipple through the fabric and presses down slowly. You press your lips together to keep from making another sound, but it slips out anyway, small and muffled against his neck.
Noel smiles against your skin, savouring every second of your nerves as much as the words themselves.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise runs through you with an intensity you weren't expecting, one that makes your thighs clench instinctively over his lap, chasing friction without quite asking for it outright yet. "Did you like that?" he murmurs against your ear, the smile audible in his voice. "You like being my good girl?"
Before you can answer, his hand slips beneath your knickers, and the direct contact with how wet you are cuts your reply off halfway through your throat, turning it into a gasp that escapes without permission. Noel feels the evidence under his fingers and smiles wider, the mock surprise in his voice barely hiding how pleased he is. "Fuck. Look how wet you are" He moves his fingers, savouring the way you squirm on his lap, feeling and spreading your slick all over you. "All wet, just for me?"
His kisses land against your jaw as his fingers keep moving between your legs, unhurried, savouring every reaction he pulls from you. "So pretty," he murmurs against your cheek, another kiss. His fingers find a steady rhythm, calculated to keep you right on the edge of impatience. "So good," he adds against your temple, voice low, almost a whisper meant only for you.
Your hands grip his trapezius, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of his shirt, searching for something to hold on to as the feeling becomes too much to process calmly. Noel notices, the sudden strength of your grip, and smiles against your skin as his hand pushes further inside your knickers, until the tip of his fingers brushes your entrance, feeling the wetness pooled there. Your back tenses for an instant before a finger works its way inside you, slow, giving you time to adjust; Noel feels the clench around it, the way your body reacts without a filter for the first time tonight, and something catches in his throat before he speaks again.
"Fuckin' hell, look at you," he murmurs, voice lower than usual. "You don't even know what you're doing with your hips right now." And it's true — you've moved on your own, a small roll towards his hand that you hadn't consciously decided on, chasing something your body understands better than you do. He notices, curls his fingers slightly, and the sound that escapes you this time carries none of the restraint from before; it comes out whole, unedited, and he feels his cock throb in his jeans.
"There y'go " he starts to say, but he loses himself a moment in another sound that comes out of you, in the way your fingers dig into his shoulder again, and when he speaks again it's softer suddenly, almost tender in contrast to what comes after. "That's it, love. Let me hear you properly." A pause, his fingers moving again, slow. "Been wanting to know how you'd sound with my fingers fucking you for months."
The sound you make as he slides in a second finger carries his name, broken clean in half, none of the embarrassment from before; Noel's rhythm nearly falters at the sound of it, something so simple and so devastating that he has to remind himself to keep moving instead of losing it completely. He keeps the pace, curls his fingers right where he knows he can undo you, palm pressing against your clit with every motion, and your mouth falls open against his temple, every sigh landing straight against his skin like there's no distance left between you at all, not even air.
"D'you want it?" he asks, breathless himself now, voice scraped raw.
"Yes," you say, and this time there's no embarrassment in the word, only the urgency of your hips moving against his hand, chasing more. "I want it... please, Noel."
Your voice saying his name like that, with nothing holding it back, is what finally unravels the last of his calculated patience. He wants you to say it again, wants you to moan it, wants you to shout it, wants to drag his name out of your mouth in that exact same tone of pleasure every way he can, wants to spend his life listening to his name come out of your mouth chasing more, chasing more of him.
He feels you come as your arms lock around his neck with a strength you didn't even know you had, pulling him closer while your walls clench around his fingers and the moans cut off one after another, no longer able to form whole words. Noel holds your gaze from below, drinking in every second —the way your brow furrows with the pleasure, the flush rising from your chest to your cheeks— and can't help but say it. "Oh, love…" his voice marked with a tenderness that for a moment outweighs everything else he's feeling underneath, "so gorgeous, coming round my fingers," he murmurs, fingers not stopping, drawing the moment out as long as he can.
Eventually, your body goes still against his, breath still uneven but the movement of your hips already stopped completely; you're still trembling a little, small aftershocks fading slowly, and instead of chasing more contact, more of that hand that's just undone you completely, you cling to his neck tighter, face hidden against his shoulder. Noel understands without needing you to say anything — he feels the shift, how the embrace stops being hunger and becomes something closer to shelter, and he, against every prediction given how he's felt all night, doesn't push.
He just withdraws his hand slowly, with the same care he used going in, and holds you with both hands now, one tangled in your hair, letting you stay there as long as you need, breathing together in the quiet of the empty sitting room.
He could push, he knows that; knows that if he wanted, tonight could end differently. But there's something in the way you're clinging to him, fragile and trusting all at once, that reminds him of the first time he ever saw you, back when you weren't his yet and he'd already noticed you anyway. He remembers how you laughed then, that exact same mix of confidence with something shyer underneath, as though you only gave yourself permission to take up so much space and no more; remembers thinking —even before the night was over, telling you he'd like to see you again and leaving a kiss that landed just unfairly close to the corner of your mouth— that there was something in you he wanted to protect and something, at the same time, he'd like to slowly take apart with his own hands.
And he holds you a little tighter, the hand in your hair stroking slowly, almost without thinking, and presses a kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, letting the gesture say what it doesn't need to say out loud.
Because he doesn't mind waiting. He's been waiting for months, and one more night, or two, or however many it takes, isn't going to weigh on him as much as it should, not when he already knows —with the same quiet certainty he knows any riff that's stuck in his head— that you want it too, that it's only a matter of time. And for now he has this: the weight of your body relaxing against him, your breathing slowing bit by bit against his neck, and a "please" to add to the collection of things that are going to be playing on a loop in his head over the next few nights, right alongside that first moan in the back seat.
SUMMARY: A man his age should really have more experience. Especially a seasoned rockstar whose whole life once revolved around sex, drugs, and rock & roll. But dating a younger woman introduces Liam Gallagher to some firsts that he never would have known without you.
FOREWORD: bello !!! here’s a little something for you guys !!!! surprise !!! i’ve recently just failed a few test drills and i desperately needed to take my mind of it so here comes a little pga special !! the timelines of this jump a lot, and it’s in no chronological order. the only one set at the present is the owala story !! also spot a few cameos 👀
liam’s first matcha
Liam should be served on a cone, swirled up and poured with sprinkles with the way that he’s gotten all soft and sweet as of late. Truly, he was a fucking piece of soft serve, melting under your sweet gaze and glossed lips. And sometimes, he couldn’t even muster up the energy to be embarassed about it.
He’s barely even dating you. Just casual, you would always say — which would always drive him crazy because the way his heart always leapt inside his chest at the sight of you couldn’t be classified as casual in this world or the next.
But he had just gotten you to agree to a date. And another after that, then another, and another, up until the two of you had gotten to the point of keeping up a text thread of plans and future dates that Liam’s trying hard not to sound too eager about. But fuck, you just turn him into absolute putty in your hands.
These days, Liam spends his morning walks thinking about how you were probably fast asleep in the pajamas he had once seen a glimpse of in a coveted selfie he had fought hard not to save into his phone for fear that you would somehow know and call him out on it.
He spends his lunchtime practicing new dishes that he could maybe probably absolutely make for you if he ever gets the guts to ask you to come over, Liam watches telly and wonders if you like the same programs as he does, he calls his mam and wonders if she’ll like you, he showers and wonders if you like the new soap he’s trying out. Liam’s gone absolutely fuckin’ mad.
And he can’t really go on like this. Not when he’s nearing his fifties and he’s got his new solo career waiting in the wings. That really won’t do. So he shakes his head, calls his sons, and plays the part of the responsible father for a day. Maybe having those two moody knuckleheads around his place would give him something else to think about other than what your hair would feel like between his fingers and where you said you’ll take him on your next date.
So, Liam putters around his house; he takes down all the curtains he could get his hands on, washes them himself, puts them back up, and decides that it really doesn’t match the interior. Has it always not matched the interior? That’s how he ends up taking a quick trip to the shops, hood pulled up high just so people won’t stop him for a picture and he won’t have the urge to ask them Does this shade of blue look tacky to you as well? Without the opinions of nosy passerbys and with the thought that he should have maybe held off until the kids were there with him to make themselves useful, Liam settles on three different sets of curtains, just because he can’t decide and just because he can afford it. So he jets back home, looks at his bare windows, and gets back to work.
By the time he’s done putting up all the curtains — the blue ones that look less tacky in the natural light — Liam’s deciding if he should maybe put the olive green ones instead. Which is why he decides to unscrew the curtain rods once again, back protesting so loudly that it echoes over the loudspeaker playing Neil Young.
So Liam does it again, he takes off all the living room curtains, before deciding that maybe he should keep some of them up for reference, and hanging them back up side by side, royal blue and olive green, clashing like a horrible lakeside view.
Scratch that idea, then. Maybe the thick velvet ones would work best, Liam’s body protesting as he mounts the ladder once more and slots the taupe velvet curtain next to the blue and green. Then, he steps down and decides.
He decides and decides and decides, head tilted at an angle as he surveys each one, his eyes half trained on his phone, definitely not waiting for a text from you. Maybe you would know which curtain was best. Should he text you? Should he call? Should he ask you to come over?
Before Liam could make any hasty decisions, his phone finally rings and he nearly jumps out of his skin as he scrambles to reach for it, already sliding the accept button without looking at the contact name.
Would he be a terrible father to admit that he wilted when he heard that it was just Lennon calling to tell Liam that he was on his way? Maybe.
He even goes as far as to check on your text thread as soon as Lennon hangs up, staring wistfully at the screen as if that would magically make you respond. Annoyed, Liam sets his phone down and surveys the living room once again, deciding to sweep up the floors just in time before Lennon comes.
Sweeping turns to mopping, mopping turns to wiping down tables with cloths, wiping downs tables turns to wiping down the newly exposed windows, which then turns into flopping bonelessly on the couch as soon as the front door opens and Lennon walks in, brows first as he judges the state of his father’s living room — one window crammed with three garish curtains, the rest either bare or halfheartedly donning blue curtains that Liam was starting to hate.
“Alright?” Lennon asks, cautiously approaching Liam with skeptical eyes.
Liam rolls his eyes and simply pats the space on the couch next to him. “Oh, just sit down and wait for your brother, will you?”
A snort, but the kid mercifully follows suit anyway, making himself comfortable beside Liam. “This isn’t one of your weird little things isn’t it?”
Liam wrinkles his nose in distaste and looks at his kid. “What weird little thing?” he asks. Have his kids been monitoring him like he had been monitoring them? The thought had never really crossed Liam’s mind.
His son makes a face, one that particularly reminds him of the kid’s mam back in the day when Liam was being deliberately thick — about drugs, women, or the previous night’s activities that often involved both. But this time, it’s Lennon giving him the look and Liam’s not even done anything incriminating. Yet. Maybe. He’s not really sure. All he knows is that he can’t stop thinking about you and the way you chewed your strawberry gum the last time he saw you, the way your well manicured nails looked holding a pool cue, the way that your hair looked as soft as silk.
Lennon shakes his head. “You’re being odd,” he mumbles. Liam resists the urge to shake the kid for clarification. “And you went overboard with the fuckin’ curtains, man. What are these colors?”
Liam heaves a deep sigh and almost sinks his entire body into the couch, his bones aching with the retroactive pain of running around the house like a headless chicken with a final mission of arranging curtains. Now, he surveys the room and he thinks that this is quite possibly the ugliest he’s ever seen his living room. Still, he asks Lennon, “Which one looks best?”
He snorts, laughing. “None, ‘ya old dog,” he guffaws, wrinkling his nose at the garish curtains. And quite frankly, Liam does have to agree. He’d ask himself what he was thinking, but really he knows he wasn’t thinking at all.
“D’ya wanna go to the shops with me and pick some curtains out?” he offers hopefully, another mad grasp at straws to keep you out of his head.
Lennon chuckles. “Only if Gene wants to,” he says. Which really, could mean anything based on that boy.
With a sigh, Liam says, “Now, we wait.”
“Now we wait,” says Lennon.
“You would think the kid would grow up to be more punctual,” grumbles Liam as Lennon faffs about on his phone. Kids and their phones these days, inseperable, Liam thinks.
“Relax,” Lennon placates, then, “Hey, have you heard about —“
It’s great to be with his kids again. Somewhere along Lennon putting him onto a new band and telling Liam about this new girl he’s been talking to, he starts to think less about you and more about the current. But still, you linger — in the back of his mind, not too far away that he can’t reach you, but not maddeningly at the forefront that he can’t even pick curtains correctly.
So Liam lets himself be taken away, hands flying as he tells Lennon some story about the gigantic bird that Sid had taken inside the house between his tiny mouth.
It’s not long after that that Gene finally comes through the front door, awkward teenage swagger first, gawky grin second as he greets both Liam and Lennon with the enthusiasm only a kid his age could manage. In his hands he holds his very nice and very posh overnight bag that Liam had bought a while back, and in the other he holds an iced drink that Liam annoyingly identifies immediately identifies as the drink you’ve always got in your hands. Liam smiles, standing to pat him on the back and say something snarky about watches not existing in Gene’s world.
He lets the kid snark back, lets him amble up to his brother and pretend to punch him before asking to go outside and have a fag, sparing a look to Liam and telling him to catch up. Before he could yell at them to be careful with the backdoor as he’s just fixed the hinges on it, the two disappear in a whirlwind of laughter that Liam’s happy to have in his home.
He shakes his head, grabbing his own cigarettes off the console table, and in doing so, is faced to face with Gene’s drink, already dripping condensation onto the lacquered wood. Liam grunts, lifting the plastic cup and wiping the ring of water dutifully with the hem of his shirt, and placing a coaster under it. That kid, Liam thinks, always forgettin’ the fuckin’ coaster. Time and time again.
With a quick grab, he takes the pack of cigarettes and places them in his pocket, but not before training his eye back on the drink.
What was so special about it anyway? You’ve told Liam before that you couldn’t live a day without it. And true to your word, Liam’s never seen you without it. When asked on what it tastes like, you always laugh that tinkling laugh of yours and tell Liam, a bit patronisingly if you asked him, that he shouldn’t worry about it as he wouldn’t like it anyway.
Now was his chance. The green drink sits on his center table, half full and seemingly fresh as if inviting him to finally quell his curiosity. Without a second thought, Liam grabs it and takes the straw to his lips, taking a sip as if that would bring you and him closer together. As if knowing the taste of your favorite drink would make him understand you better, would entwine your souls, or would open some kind of third eye.
Instead, he sips on the drink and spits out right back out with a violent grunt as some droplets fall onto the carpet. Disgusting, he thinks as he swipes at his mouth.
You’ve got disgusting taste, it seems. Meaning that Liam’s got a shot with you if you were willing to bet on such a fixer-upper as that vile concoction.
An acquired taste, you told him once.
Liam tries not to let his chest warm as he leaves the living room and heads out into the garden where his boys are laughing like hyenas.
liam’s first owala
It was this fucking heatwave that got you acting all fussed about Liam’s health as if he was on his deathbed instead of just sitting at a healthy and happy fifty-three.
He’s known you for six years now, been dating you for five of them, and Liam knows you inside and out. And right now, he knows that you’re just concerned for him — but that doesn’t stop him from being a bit miffed.
“It’s just a bit of sun,” he waves you off as he wipes the sweat off his face with a face cloth, his parka cooking him from the usual walk that him and Buttons have just taken. “I’m made of tougher stuff, babe. Not gonna melt or anythin’ daft.”
You pitch him with a look, the one with the clenched jaw, twitching brow, and disappointed frown that he knew too well. You’ve been going on and on and on lately — sun cream, water, UV protectant clothing. As if he was gearing up to go into the wasteland instead of his usual London neighborhood.
“Liam, this is serious,” you say pointedly as you putter about after him, Buttons trailing after both of you curiously. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Liam had been feeding Buttons in the mornings after walks, and you had unknowingly been feeding her a second breakfast as soon as you woke up. Once the both of you realized, you had weaned her off the breakfast fit for a Queen, and she had been clingier than ever.
“Still alive, aren’t I?” he asks, walking down the hall and into the master bedroom, happy to be in an airconditioned room after walking around in the humid heat. He’d never admit this, but he had cut his walk short this morning, his lungs winded and his knees weak as he led Buttons to a shaded area to laze about until he decided on going home.
You huff and step in front of him, a hand on his parka-clad chest as you stop him from getting into the en suite bathroom for a shower. “This stupid parka, too,” you grumble distastefully at the material in your hands. Liam has to bite a fond smile at your adorable annoyance. He’s done that before, gotten so heartstruck at the way your face crumpled up in concern over him and his hip — he’d let a smile slip, to which he regretted it almost immediately as soon as you continued your rant with renewed vigor.
“Don’t like it, hm?” he teased, moving closer to you with a swaggering step as he took a risk with taking your hips in his hands.
You glare up at him, hands still on his chest. “You’re gonna die of a heat stroke,” you tell him bluntly.
He guffaws, head thrown back and everything as you give little aggrieved smacks to his torso. “I know I’m old but fuck,” he snorts. “Don’t have to be looking forward to it so much.”
Your brow furrows as you pich his arm and Liam responds by hissing. “Not funny!” you yelp. “That’s so not funny, Liam! I’m being serious here, you oaf!”
He lets his chuckles die down before assessing you, your distressed expression paired with the way you were still letting him hold you meant that you were still in a good enough mood to hear him out. So he starts, “Listen, yeah? I’m good with the walks and everything. Do I get a bit winded and hot? Yeah, of fuckin’ course. But I’m fine aren’t I?”
You frown at him. “But what if you aren’t?” you challenge. “What if you think you’re alright until the very last minute that you aren’t?”
Liam knows that worrying is part of who you are. Hell, part of your job is expecting the worst and preparing for all of ot with carefully curated spreadsheets and Plan A to Plan Z. So he knows that this is just you being you.
But he also knows that love sometimes means knowing when to back up.
So Liam backs up, with an aggrieved sigh, he says, “I’ll take a shower then we’ll talk about this, alright?” he says. Because honestly, he doesn’t want to see you worry over him a minute longer. But also, he felt quite gross in his sweaty parka and the heat that was trapped inside. And he wouldn’t admit this openly, but you may just be right with the whole heat wave thing.
And the smile you give him is worth it, like a breath of fresh air after all that frowning you’ve been directing to him. And really, Liam can’t help but tilt your chin up with two fingers for a sweet kiss to your glossy lips, tasting of the cream cheese toast you’ve undoubtedly had for breakfast and the disgusting matcha that Liam’s learned to like through shared kisses.
Three days later, your affectionately bought survival kit arrives in the mail, a baby blue Owala bottle that matches your flashy little pink one, only without the clinking charms and sparkly stickers, a new UV-ray sensitive parka that Liam spent hours being picky about, a silly hand fan that Liam knows he won’t use unless you give him a wack around the head, and a full bottle of sun cream enough to last him up to his 70th birthday.
So he takes the bottle on his walk, the annoying weight of it swinging around and making him grit his teeth at the fact that this was yet another thing he had to worry about. But really, it was all worth it when he got home to see you grinning and giddy at the sight of Liam drinking from what is essentially an adult sippy cup.
He does it again, just to see that same smile of approval, then again, and again, and again, until his water bottle’s part of his everyday routine and he’s pissing bucketloads, and the damned thing has finally earned its very first sticker.
liam & the calico critter
Much like a lot of modern things you like to yammer on about, Liam didn’t understand it.
You’ve always been one for an odd little trinket or a cute little accessory. Quite frankly, Liam knew you were close by if he could hear the telltale clack of your heels, the birds start to chirp around you, and the metallic clanging of the myriad of keychains you had on your bag or tied to the belt loops on your hip.
It was as adorable as it was confusing. What are they even for? For my joy, Liam. How much do you spend on them? I can afford it, Liam. How do you chose which ones to bring with your for the day? It speaks to me? Like, literally? No, Liam. I usually base it on what I’m wearing.
All those questions and he still couldn’t really get a grasp of it. But you got a kick out of the cute little things, so he let it slide. What’s the harm in a little knick knack or two?
But the first night that you had gotten your precious little critter was a night Liam always remembered. It had been your birthday, a night spent in a secluded part of a restaurant near your place, all your friends and a few siblings coming to join in celebration, and Liam had been the lucky bastard to sit beside you the whole night and pepper kisses to the exposed column of your neck.
He remembers this night so vividly because he had gone through various lengths to get you the dress that you had been talking about nonstop. It was an old one — from the archives of Betsey Johnson, and Liam had to fucking work to buy it. Honestly, it had been no easy feat. And he was quite sure that it would be the best gift of the night, something flashy enough for everyone to approve of his choice, but something personal enough that it was still very you.
And like he predicted, you had encircled him in a vigorous hug as soon as you opened his present, laughing into his neck as you muttered your disbelief and your adoration as you looked up at him with sparkling eyes and kissed him so hard that the crowd of your friends began to groan and wolf whistle.
But that was nothing compared to your reaction when you had opened Vera’s gift to you. She hadn’t even been one of the friends introduced to him as a childhood friend or anything like that. She was just Vera from work, but she had gotten the pleasure of the best reaction of the night from you as you unwrapped her gift and squealed so loud that Liam thought that that was the end of his hearing for good.
You had gone so far as to climb over Liam’s lap to get out of the shared booth you were in, scrambling to your feet with giddy laughter as you ran to Vera and hugged her so tight that the two of you fell onto the floor with happiness, yelling, “Oh my god I can’t believe you found one!”
“What’s so special about the little thing, anyway?” Liam asked, the both of you back at his place after the party had ran so late that the sun began to rise. Currently, your head was laying in his chest, your hair tickling his nose, and the comforter wrapped around the two of you as you lazily awaited sleep to come. Little did he know, that wouldn’t be the last of his neverending questions.
The sheets rustled as you angled your head up to meet his eyes, his chest squeezes with affection at the intimate sight. “The Calico Critter?” you ask.
He hums, arm coming to wrap around you beneath the sheets, your skin warm against his as he tries to get you as close as possible to him. “Yeah,” he says. “‘S’ a tiny thing, innit?”
You smile, a soft little thing as you shift in his arms and reach for the critter at your bedside table, contorting your body so that you don’t have to separate an inch from him. You return with a triumphant smile, facing him with the thing held preciously in your palm “Ta-da!” you say, giddy.
Liam nods and takes the thing from you, pinching it between his forefinger and thumb. God, his thumb was bigger than the little critter and it already got you smiling like this? Trying to be supportive, Liam asks, “What does it … do?”
You laugh, amused at his lack of knowledge. “It doesn’t do anything, Liam,” you tell him, in that tone that means that he’s supposed to know that, obviously. “It’s just a critter!”
“Yeah, but…” he says, trailing off as he rolls the figurine in his hands.
You sigh and take pity on him, taking back your precious critter away from him and tenderly putting it in your palms. “Calico Critters are this line of little animal figurines. They’ve got cats, dogs, mice, rabbits, even moles,” you explain before shrugging. “And they’re really cute.”
“So this one is … just cute?” he asks, head spinning in confusion. Then why react like you’ve just been gifted a fucking Porsche, then?
“This one,” you say with that same tiny smile that always has the power to drive him mad. “Is really rare. I’ve been looking all over for it. Etsy, Vinted, Depop, Reddit threads — anywhere,” you say even as Liam nods along and pretends to know those sites. He’s heard a few of them before when you’ve been scouring the internet for a nice pair of vintage heels.
He nods. “And this particular one is important because …?” he asks, squinting to look at the furry thing in your palms, dressed in a kitshcy little getup.
At that you beam, blindingly bright as you hold the thing up to your face and proclaim, “Because it’s me! See!” you exclaim.
It took him a while to see the comparison between his marvelous girlfriend and her furry little figurine, but the more it stays on the bedside table, the more that Liam comes to appreciate it.
It’s grown to be somewhat a part of your days as well. He sits it back up when it gets knocked down, you bring it with you on days that you think your outfits match, you bring it for trips to beaches and cities and mountains, he turns it away when his hands wander a bit too low below your waistline.
Liam’s gotten used to it.
What he isn’t used to is being the one to tote it around across the globe.
It was bad enough that you had dismissed his idea of going on tour with him, stating that you had work to do and client’s schedules to appease. You somehow still managed to weasel in a task for Liam to do while he was heartsick and missing you.
“Just bring her with you!” you said as Liam was packing his suitcase, your hands shoving the critter gently between a parka and a pair of jeans.
He huffs, “And what will she do?”
You rolled your eyes, “She’s a toy, Liam,” you say exasperatedly, smiling cheekily as you did so. “She’s not gonna do anything.”
He snorts, “Yeah, yeah,” he says.
“C’mon!” you say, pleading your case. “This way you’ll have a piece of me around, yeah?”
And really, he couldn’t say no to that. “Yeah, alright,” he relented before pointing sternly at you. “But she isn’t going in the suitcase,” he proclaims. “She might suffocate.”
Your laugh was well worth the odd looks he got at the airport for having the little critter peeking out of his parka’s pocket.
And if he was being honest, he found it quite fun. He would find reasons to text you, sending photos of the critter between his thumb and forefinger, looking out the airplane window, facing the Eiffel Tower, eating a nice Spanish breakfast, sunbathing on a hotel lounger. You always reacted with such enthusiasm that Liam found himself thinking of what else he and the critter could do to get your attention.
Once, he had even taken a photo of the little thing with a cigarette held up to its mouth by Liam. He had laughed up a storm at your response filled with mock disappointment and copious emojis.
He had even began placing it atop the amps at his gig for good luck, a way of having you there with him even though you were already miles away.
It had even began garnering attention, the kiddies over on Twitter asking questions about it that Liam didn’t particularly want to answer.
But he’ll be damned if he didn’t say that he felt his heart clench in his chest after a gig one night, walking from the dressing room to the van, as a young fan came up to him and offered him a tiny little critter.
“For you,” she said shyly, handing him a dog clad in baby blue. “That’s you,” she said.
liam & matching keychains
It was only a matter of time before your clinking and clanking army expanded to Liam. Especially when he knew he had a hard time saying no to you. Really, all you had to do was tilt your head and widen your eyes and he’d be sucking his teeth and saying yes with all the begrudging of a man who’s really right where he wants to be.
So when you came across a pair of sheep on a little keychain, one with a pink scarf and hat while the other one donned a blue one, Liam knew that you were immediately coming home with them. He saw it with the way you melted at the sight, with the way you kept caressing the soft cotton material, the way you checked the price tag surreptiously — and like clockwork, “I’m gonna buy it.”
And like always, he combats, “Don’t be fuckin’ daft. Just use my card.” You don’t always let him win, saying something or the other about the importance of letting you do your own thing or whatever. But this time, you smile, concede gracefully, take his credit card from his palms, and plant a glossy and fruity kiss to his stubbly cheek.
He watches you as you weave seamlessly through the shop, ending up at the counter where you tap your high-heeled foot onto the floor in subtle impatience. He watches as the cashier smiles at you and seems to compliment your choice of purchase, he watches the way you brighten and launch into a story with your hands flying wildly around you. Maybe you’re talking about the way you and Liam had gotten lost on the way to this shop. Or the way you had heard of it in the first place through that phone of yours. Either way, halfway through your spiel, you whip around to find Liam across the shop, waving at him as you no doubt introduce him to the now wide-eyed cashier who definitely knew who he was.
You leave the store two sheep keychains heavier, and Liam one autograph down. But it isn’t until the pair of you get home that Liam realizes what the other keychain is for.
“Absolutely not,” he says, trying and failing to put his foot down as you stubbornly attach the blue clad sheep to his usual satchel. “No,” he tries again, but you only smile as you fix the tiny thing where it now hangs on his zipper, before booping its nose gently.
“It’s cute!” you protest, sauntering over to him as you settle yourself beside him, your perfume addicting to his senses.
He huffs, trying to put on a tough front. “‘S’not even rock and roll,” he grumbles, shaking his head even as you openly laugh at him. “I’m not a sheep,” he protests.
You snort and pat his knee consolingly, wedging yourself so close to him that Liam could almost feel himself forgiving you already. “No you aren’t,” you say, in that tone that Liam knows is condescending and very much meant to just poke fun at him. “But isn’t it so cute! Your bag looks quite bland, doesn’t it?”
“That’s because you’re supposed to put stuff in it instead of outside of it,” he teases, shaking his head at you in mock disapproval as you roll your eyes in retaliation. “C’mon, babe. You’ve already got me toting around them critters.”
“So what’s one more?” you challenge with a raised brow, your smile so filled with love that Liam feels like a heart attack on legs. “Don’t you wanna match with me?”
He’d match outfits with you if you asked. But would he let you know that? No, not really. Some things were meant to be kept close to the chest. So he grumbles and groans and puts up a fight, trying to tell you that there were much better animals than sheep and that he’d much prefer a bear or a tiger to hang from his bag rather than a placid sheep.
You laugh and laugh and laugh at him, already smiling like you know you’ll win. Liam’s spoiled you rotten, really — handed everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter because he’d rather choke than see you unhappy. Just last week, he remembers following you around like a lost pup at Waterstones as you surveyed the shelves and paid for your haul with his card afterwards.
So it isn’t a surprise to him that he goes out a week later, his bag hitched cross body around his torso, and a tiny fucking sheep with a stupid blue fuckig scarf and hat on the zipper.
The sun wrote Sheep’s Electric as their headline after that, and you laughed so hard that your wine came out your nose. Liam joked about how gross you were, but he had gone and gotten you a tissue and planted a kiss to your hair anyway.
liam’s first face mask
He remembers when he was still living at home and his mam would spend the little time she had to herselves sat by the telly with whatever program was on. At the time, he didn’t understand it — why spend your day looking at other people on a screen when you can go outside and make the most of life?
But now that he’s essentially made the most out of his life, bumming around by the telly was one of his favorite pasttimes. And to make it even better, bumming about with you was his favorite thing ever.
You had introduced him to a myriad of shows. Just a few months back, you had him glued to his seat every episode of some summer show with two brothers. You had been quite enthusiastic about it, and Liam, had fallen for it as well.
Then, you got him hooked on Love Is Blind, the two of you making snide commentary under your breath and between mouthfuls of crisps as you giggle to yourselves, more entertained by each other than the telly.
Then, there was that lord and lady show you liked to watch, which he always teased you about liking by saying that you were just hooked for the softcore porn. But the joke was on him as you managed to herd him to the sofa to watch a couple episodes, and he ended up hooked right up to the last second.
So it was safe to say that you ran the remote at his place. And Liam always let you because he was quite content to sit and watch whatever you liked to sit and watch, as long as ge could curl up with you and be lazy for a day. And with adapting your taste in shows, comes adapting your tastes in snacks — those crisps with flavors like jalapeño and salted egg that make him wince but ends up eating half of anyway, the fruity little sodas you bought in bulk, the chocolates shaped like eggs that make his throat burn but can’t get enough of anyway.
Often, you’d even have to fight with Liam for the rights to your own snacks, pouting at him whenever you come home just to see your stock of foods at his place go down by a few pieces after Liam’s indulged in a few munches.
“It’s my food!” you’d protest, not entirely angry as you stand in the kitchen with your hands on your hips.
“It’s my house! I bought ‘em!” he’d retaliate, snarking his way through the argument as you inevitably rolled your pretty eyes at him, your fresh set of lashes fluttering in a way that Liam finds entirely alluring. And because of that, he reels back, “I’ll buy ‘ya some more, yeah? Hm, that okay with ‘ya, moody madam?”
You’d snort and shove at his chest weakly, the contact making him weak at the knees. “Pig,” you’d tease him, only to regret it as his hands migrate to your waist and begin tickling you so relentlessly that you begin shrieking between bouts of laughter.
After that, he adopts the way you react to your precious television shows. Now and then, a rogue slay, leaves his lips which makes you so twitchy with laughter and embarassment that Liam’s chest swells up with pride even as you whine about not ever wanting to hear that from him again.
Shockingly, he doesn’t resist much when you bring one face mask more to one of your coveted times of lazing around. More likely because you sat straddled on his lap as you placed it, cooing about how adorable he was in a way that Liam knew meant that he looked ridiculous more than endearing. But still, he placed his hand comfortably on the swell of your arse and pretended not to know that placing a face mask didn’t take as much time and kisses as you bestowed upon him.
Really, Liam’s always been curious about it — more so as you began using it more and more around him. You’d always rambled on about cooling gel and aloe vera and rejuvination that he began to wonder how it would feel on his own battered skin. You’ve always looked so relaxed when you wore it, and Liam’s been itching to ask you for one without making a fool of himself.
But he’s a lucky bloke anyway, because you offer it up to him like he hasn’t been thinking about it every time he sees you with one on. “It’s jasmine scented!” you cried with glee, wriggling on his lap as you carefully smoothed your hands on every plane of his face.
“What’s that smell like?” he asks, letting his head hit the back of the couch and his eyes droop downwards.
You hum, “Calming,” you answer.
He snorts and pinches your hip lightly. “You’ve got no clue, have ‘ya?” he laughs, opening one eye to peer at you and your steady hands with amusement.
“Shut up, Liam,” you tell him, and he obediently follows. “Jus’ relax, yeah?”
He nods, not minding the fact that you’ve been caressing his face for a few minutes now. It’s then, with your hands on him, the weight of you in his lap, the scent of what must be jasmine in his nose, and the feeling of the cooling mask on his face that he feels absolutely relaxed. He could do this more often, really.
liam’s first pimple patch
He doesn’t tell you, but you’ll know soon enough.
A few things happen that morning that has Liam all scrambled; he wakes up and you’re not there in his bed, Buttons notices your absence as well as Liam does, and he’s got a masive fucking pimple on his chin right when he’s got a big fucking interview. Fuckin’ grand.
So he takes Buttons on the usual morning walk and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin and make things worse, he comes back and makes breakfast and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, he cleans up the house and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, he texts you good morning and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, and he feeds his cats and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, but then he goes upstairs to pick an outfit and forgets all about the volcanic level pimple he’s sporting and scratches at the spot, making him cry out undignified at the pain.
Buttons’ ears perk up as she pads closer to Liam, concerned and intrigued at his pain as he hisses and tries to breathe in and out. Wasn’t he too old for fucking pimples? Didn’t these things have an age limit? Because they should.
He tries to shoot you a text, but he knows you’re busy and preparing for a meeting with a client so he refrains from distracting you witb stupid questions. Instead, he busies himself with laying out an outfit, before heading to the shower to finally get ready.
He sees it in between brushing his teeth and hopping in the shower — a little pack of yellow stars sitting by his shaving cream and razor, alongsied a pink scrunchie and that odd stone you like to rub on your face.
He’s made fun of you for it, called you his little galaxy whenever you wore them. But you always turned your nose up and told him that it was so that your pimples weren’t exposed to the world — and predictably, because it was cute.
Now, he looks at the damned thing and wonders if you were right (You always are). He ruminates on it as he spits out his toothpaste, as he scrubs himself in the shower, as he lathers shampoo in his hair, as he rinses off and hops out the shower, as he puts deodorant and dresses himself, and really, he almost lasts until the very last second.
He’s about to leave the bedroom when a clatter sounds from the bathroom, making Liam sigh and putter back in. On the ground is his fallen toiletries, making him groan as he bends to pick them up. And at the center of it all, of course, is the cluster of stars that seem to scream out to him.
It’s a sign! you would have said to him if you were there. You loved to believe in that sort of shite. So with a snort and a belief that he was doing what you would want him to do, he picks up the patch and places one stupid star on his chin, right above the pimple.
Once the interview comes out, you text him a myriad of capital letters and emojis that Liam knows convey how much you found it amusing. And really, he’s glad to be of service.
liam gallagher and the art of soft launching
The two of you had talked about it many times. The kids knew, his mam knew, your friends and family knew, and it was just a matter of time before the press found out. In fact, they were already starting to catch wind of a mystery girl, a few pictures and eyewitnesses stating that he’s been spotted out and about with a pretty young thing half his age.
For all your fuss about trends, you didn’t get along much with social media. You were a private person with a private life, and Liam would hate to be the one to take that away from you. But you had told him, time and time again that you were choosing this life, choosing him.
So the two of you talked.
“No statements,” he said firmly, the two of you laying on a sunny beach somewhere in the south of France, his hand on the warm skin kf your exposed stomach as he cuddled up to you, not minding the heat one bit. “Nothin’ formal or fancy.”
You hum. “I don’t want any interviews,” you lay down your nonnegotiable, sunglasses perched elegantly on the bridge of your nose.
He nods. “No makin’ a spectacle of it,” he says. “But I ain’t want The Sun to prod into it either and take this away from us, d’ya know what I mean?”
You nod. “I know,” you respond, letting the waves crash and fill the silence between you and the scent of sand and sun cream swirl in the air. “You could always just soft launch.”
“What?” he asked, nose wrinkled in confusion and his hand tracing idle circles on your skin. You had a habit of saying words and phrases Liam never understood, mostly young person slang and internet lingo that the kiddies on Twitter hadn’t managed to teach him yet.
You shrug, your limbs lazy and languid from the sun. “It’s like …” you say, trailing off as you try to find the right words. “Letting people know you’re in a relationship but not exactly who it’s with.”
The groove between his brows deepen. Fuck, he was old. “What?”
Pariently, you explain again. Liam thinks you’re a saint for that. “It’s like posting a picture that’s inherently romantic, y’know?” you ask, making sure he was following along as he nods for you to continue. “Maybe it’s a candlelit dinner with someone’s hand on the tablecloth, a bouquet of flowers being handed to you, a picture of a kiss mark on a cheek. You know they’re dating someone, but you don’t know who the someone is.”
“So,” he asks, feeling dumb as a rock. “It’s pictures?”
You nod and don’t even laugh as you do so. “Exactly. Always taken at an angle where you can’t really see who it is,” you say. “So everything’s private but it isn’t really a secret.”
You’re a genius. A damn star and Einstein’s second coming. He expresses his love for you through a kiss on your bare shoulder and asks “So when d’ya wanna do it ?”
You laugh this time, not sparing him anymore. “You wanna do a soft launch?” you ask woth incredulous laughter.
He shrugs. “Why not?” he asks. “Old dogs can still learn new tricks, an’ that.”
You snort and shake your head affectionately. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes, Liam.”
“Well, that’s how I’m sayin’ it anyway,” he says.
You chuckle and reach in your tote bag for a book, already checking out of the conversation as you idly say, “Do whatever you want, Liam,” you tell him. “I’m all in, either way.”
And it’s there that his chest constricts with affection, from the pure trust that you’re giving him. He’s been in the spotlight for years, this wasn’t new to him in anyway. But yet here you are, private and quiet but still wanting to burn in the spotlight with him anyway.
He looks at you, already sucked in by your book, and bites a fond smile as he pulls up his phone, taking a picture that he’s sure has his thumb on the corner again like you always scold whenever he takes pictures of you.
The beach is bright and warm from where he sits, the view even better with you to share it with. On the ay over, you had spent the flight with your head on his shoulder, snoozing the day away with your mouth slightly open and the tiniest snores coming out from it. He wouldn’t enjoy this without you, that he knows. And the fact that he wants to stay in this moment forever is a testament to the tenderness of his heart.
What better moment to share than one filled with so much love and trust?
And also, you looked quite fit in your bikini. So, there’s that.
liam & the photobooth pictures
Later, when his phone’s been silenced and the two of you have washed the sand off your feet. You take a picture that’s just for the two of you.
In a dingy alley sits an old photobooth, and past the short curtains that block the light from the outside, peeks a pair of pink sandals hanging off the lap of a man clad in bermuda shorts.
Grumbles can be heard from the inside, as well as a few stray giggles, and a delighted squeal. When the photo’s all developed and the couple’s still sitting inside, enjoying each other’s company behind the curtain, two strips fall out the slot — a woman kissing a man’s cheek, a shot of her almost falling off his lap with laughter, a pair of giddy smiles, and a tender kiss to seal it all off.
summary: the heart rate challenge had yours and alfie’s connection strengthening
content: love island au , sexual tension , lap dances , making out , talks of sex , allusions to sex , swearing
notes: because there’s no actual episode tonight, i present you with this xx
wc: 2,252
WHEN YOU SIGNED up for Love Island, you obviously knew that the heart rate challenge was something you were going to have to do, and before, it didn’t sound too daunting? Now? You felt sick.
You stood in the bedrooms, waiting to be called out, wearing a little two-piece lingerie set, pink and white with floral designs and the top was like a mini corset.
The girls had been hyping you up, telling you how hot you looked and that you were going to rock it. But, it was easier said than done.
You weren’t first up, so that eased your nerves a little, but it didn’t stop your pulse beating heavy and hard.
Upon stepping out and walking in front of the seated boys, you saw Alfie mutter a little ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath while everyone clapped and cheered for you.
“Hi, Archie.” You giggled, straddling the lap of the man your best friend was partnered up with.
While you rolled your hips against his, Hannah screamed from the terrace, filling your ears with confidence-inducing phrases.
“Reader, you look so fucking hot!”
You moved on swiftly to Morgan.
Not only was he one of Alfie’s closest friends, he was also pretty secure with Holly, and borderline locked off with her.
“You’re too sweet, Morgan.” You said, leaning forward and mouthing at his neck a little before pulling away.
When you reached Alfie, he seemed mesmerised already, but you weren’t about to give it to him that easily.
Instead, you crouched down, licking over the crotch of his jeans, holding his shirt up as your tongue dragged from fabric to bare skin, right up the middle of his chest.
“Fuckin’ell.” He muttered, biting his lower lip as you pecked his cheek and walked off, “Is that all I get?!”
“Patience is a virtue, you can wait, big boy.” You purred, finding your way into Marcus’ lap with your back to his chest.
You moved your hips in small circles, pressing your palms into his knees for stability and sinking down, down, down to the grass, before turning to face him. Knowing he still had a thing for you despite Alfie’s possessive behavior made you want to put a shift in (also, if anything, it would definitely strike something in Alfie, and you loved seeing him get jealous) so you took Marcus’ fingers into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down before pulling away completely and kissing his cheek.
“Reader, you’re nuts, girl!” Archie shouted, clapping and stomping his feet.
You made your way through the rest of the boys with licks of your tongue, occasional kisses and rolling hips, before finally landing back in front of Alfie.
“Hi daddy.” You chimed, making the boys screech in shock while you took his hand and dragged him out the expanse of grass.
“Daddy, is it?” Alfie smirked like a cocky bastard.
“Lie down.” You ordered with a little laugh, pointing to the floor.
He did so without hesitation, and once he was comfy, you sank to your knees with your thighs bracketing his hips.
With slow motions, you dragged your hips back and forth.
And yeah, you did feel him harden beneath you, but it was only more of a confidence boost than anything.
“Yes, Reader!”
“Go on, girl!”
The girls on the terrace shouted down at you.
The manner in which you attached your lips to his was animalistic. There was no gradual build up, it started rough and remained that way.
Your lip combo was confidently ruined, and a mixture of both of your salivas ran down your chin.
His tongue was invasive in your mouth, exploring every inch of it in a way that had your hips moving a little more desperately than you were supposed to.
Your hands were framing his neck whilst his rested on your arse, squeezing the fat and kneading it repeatedly, slightly guiding your movements.
“Oh my God, you two!” James exclaimed, slapping his thigh. “The song’s over!”
“They’re basically having sex!” Christian added on, completely gobsmacked by the display.
To finish it off, you brought your mouth to his ear, moaning breathily down it and then pressing a kiss to his cheek, rolling off of him.
“Bye, baby!” You grinned, jogging off back inside as the boys clapped for you.
“Boys … I’m in love.” Alfie muttered breathlessly as he stood, looking down at his jeans and making sure his situation down there wasn’t too prominent.
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The boys really didn’t have that much of an effect on you. Christian grinding into your lap did nothing but make you laugh, Morgan grabbing your hand and forcing you to feel up his abs had you grinning, and Marcus bending you over and pretending to fuck you only made you shriek in shock. Sure, they all invoked a reaction, but none of them compared to Alfie.
Seeing him walk out with a red bandana around his neck, cow print ‘shorts’ with cut outs that revealed his dark blue boxers and a cowboy hat on head, had you collapsing back into the seat, crossing one leg over the other and covering your face with your hand.
You were not entertained by his activities with the other girls, and so kept your hand firmly over your eyes until you felt his presence before you.
“Alright, girl? Have this.” He grinned, removing his hat and dropping it onto your head, “I’m coming back to you, gorgeous.”
“Okay.” You beamed, deciding that maybe you could watch.
Nope, bad call.
Seeing his lips on the skin of another girl had your heart caving and face sinking.
“Oh, Reader’s fuming!” Christian gasped from the terrace.
“She’ll only be joking, boys.” Morgan defended you, shaking his head.
Hannah screamed as Alfie gripped Scarlett’s neck on one side and sucked on the other.
Her mouth was agape, nervous laughter escaping. She stared him down as he walked away, giving him the craziest ‘fuck me’ eyes you’d ever seen.
“Back to my number one girl.” Alfie took your hand.
You were intending on keeping up the sour mood, but when he threw you into his arms, you couldn’t help but scream and clutch onto him.
His lips were on yours in an instant, your legs hooked over his forearms. The angle was a little awake, if you were going to be honest, but you were willing to make it work because you’d never been more turned on in your life.
The grass beneath you tickled the skin of your back, your spine digging into it as he forced you to lay flat.
You did have to remove the hat, but you would be putting it back on the moment his performance had come to an end.
He was at your feet, dragging his lips up the length of your leg. Your hands were on your cheeks, staring at him with nothing less than adoration.
Once he was at the very tops of your thighs, he adjusted your legs, throwing them up even higher so they were resting over his shoulders.
The girls screamed for you, Lana getting up and jumping up and down while Mehreen clapped the loudest.
His tongue rolled over the inside of your thigh, his sharp fangs nipping at it and causing goosebumps to rise all over your body in a wave.
If it were just the two of you and you were alone, you most definitely would’ve moaned, but you had to contain yourself.
He continued to mouth at the meat of the peak of your thighs, even going as far as to brush his mouth along the gusset of your knickers.
You actually shrieked, shooting up from the floor and snapping your head in the direction of the girls as he busied himself with your other thigh.
The moment he planted his hand on your chest and forced you back down, you were a goner.
You covered your face with your hands, laughing maniacally at how lucky you were to have him as a man.
He continued the ascent up your body, his tongue darting out occasionally to get a taste of your skin before licking into your mouth.
Once again, the kiss was ferocious and fiery, filled with all the things that made your knees weak and heart stutter.
“Holy fuck, everyone wear your earplugs tonight.” Hannah warned, feeling the sexual chemistry and tension radiating off of the pair of you.
There was a slight burn in the backs of your legs from where they were being stretched upwards, but you really didn’t care, because the burn of passion in your stomach was much more intense and worth paying attention to.
You felt him everywhere; his hand around your neck, the other at your waist, his tongue against yours, his hips clashing into yours, his groans vibrating against your lips.
It was all so much that you couldn’t help the next few words that slipped out.
“I want you to fuck me.”
He pulled away, a little taken aback before smirking, “Tonight?”
You nodded, wasting no time in bringing him back to you.
“Okay, song over! You win, we get it!” Holly exclaimed, waving her hands about.
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Sat around the firepit, Alfie’s arm was around your waist, his hand flat on your outer thigh as you sat cuddled up. His hat had returned to its rightful place on top of your head.
Lana stood, reading out the results of everyone’s heart rates.
You weren’t shocked when it was revealed that Alfie was the reason for your near-cardiac arrest, and vice versa. But, hearing that you had caused Marcus’ to spike the least had your eyes widening a little.
You felt Alfie’s hand claw at your thigh, digging into the fat as you sunk back into him, trying to show that you were all for him.
He found it a little amusing that Scarlett’s heart rate was raised the most by him, and you wanted to be surprised, but the way she was gazing up at him left no feelings hidden.
“The couple that raised each other’s heart rate the most is … Reader and Alfie.” Has read out.
“No one’s shocked.” Morgan laughed as everyone clapped for you.
You turned to him, a dazed smile on your face before pecking his lips once, twice and then resting your head on his shoulder.
“You were so good.” He muttered into your ear.
“So were you.” You whispered back, toying with his fingers.
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While you were removing your makeup before bed, the girls were all squealing for you, telling you how well you and Alfie worked together and just expressing general excitement for you overall.
“Okay, am I going to have to cover my ears with a pillow tonight?” Mehreen asked, grasping your wrist.
“Guys!” You whined, feeling your cheeks heat up.
“Girl, that was pure passion on the floor!” Holly scoffed, “I’ll be more shocked if you don’t fuck tonight.”
You bit your lip, wondering if this information would be useful or not before blurting out in a whisper, “I told him I wanted him to fuck me tonight.”
“No way!” Hannah screamed, cupping her mouth with her hand.
You nodded, pursing your lips to hold back your grin.
“Oh my God, stop! Why am I excited for you?!” Lana clapped, doing a little dance on the spot.
Slipping into bed beside Alfie, his arms immediately folded over you, chin resting on your shoulder as your nails danced along his forearm and everyone had their before-bed chats. They often consisted of useless nothings that had everyone giggling as the lights shut down.
Speaking of, once the room descended into darkness, Alfie didn’t hesitate to pounce on you. He consumed you whole with one kiss, and you tried to keep the volume down, but it was a lot easier said than done without getting caught up in each other.
The only solution he could find was to pull the duvet up over your heads and hope that it muffled everything enough.
“Do you actually want to? It’s a big step?” He muttered against your mouth, double checking despite the fact that his hand was already down the front of your sleep shorts.
There was a slight hesitation as you thought it over before nodding, “There’s no one else I wanna do it with other than you.”
You couldn’t see it, but you could just feel the grin on his face as he absorbed your words before connecting your mouths again.
It was obvious to the cameras as to what was going on, with his body rustling against the covers as he situated himself on top of you, but you weren’t the only couple getting a little heated.
That made you feel slightly better about it.
“I really, really like you, Reader.” Alfie muttered against your chest.
“I like you too, Alf.” You moaned softly.
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
You felt a little sick with nerves at taking this massive leap with him, because for one, you had to be sneaky and discreet about it, and two, it was technically on national television, and you really hoped you weren’t making a mistake by doing this.
But, by the way he looked at you every day and night, you felt like you were being a bit dramatic.
Alfie hadn’t given you one reason to doubt him, so there was no reason why you should.
cw: pre-fame!noel; innocent!reader; mentions of weed use; corruption kink; pervy and slightly manipulative noel; first kiss; fingering; m. masturbation; voyeurism (?); oral f. receiving; loss of virginity; noel is big <3
𑣲 word count: 10,3k. ˊˎ-
wn: yeah okay this might be a liiiiittle unrealistic for virginity loss. but u guys. let's just vibe okay. i had a blassst writing this #ilovepervymen <3 based on this BRILLIANT ask !!!! ily anon
you had been sitting in front of the mirror for what feels like an eternity. you know that’s normal when nerves are creeping in, but right now, after fantasizing – or dreading – this date for a whole week, it feels like something is off.
it happened at the pub, noel and liam had just finished performing when tom approached.
he was sweet. he was in the same class as one of your friends and he kept his hands where you could see them. he didn’t let liam’s loudness startle him – maybe noel’s stare a little. but oh well.
at the end of the evening, just as you were saying goodbye far too early and he had just come back from a smoke outside, he asked you out. he did it casually, mentioned a nicer pub down his street that had incredible fish and chips.
you said yes, part because you wanted to and part because you never really knew how to say no – your cheeks get warmer just at the thought of coming up with an excuse that sounds silly.
but right now, you were fidgety. your lipstick didn’t quite look right, the mascara looked clumpy and you think you might’ve overdone it with the blush. christ almighty.
and of course, noel wasn’t helping.
he stayed sat down – nearly laying – on your bed from the moment he walked inside your room, back rested on your headboard and some pillows, arm absentmindedly resting over some plushie toy he had mocked you for several times already, legs sprawled over the mattress.
he quickly realized that watching you fret over your reflection was quite amusing.
it’s a contrast no one really knew how to explain why the fuck it would work, you two. but it did.
noel had this annoying calmness over him. smugness, even – the kind that made him walk through the door of your house at the same time your mum was leaving for her night shift and not even tremble in his trainers with fear that she might realize he was off his tits.
eh. i chewed a piece of gum. put some cologne on to disguise the smell. the red eyes are just tiredness, miss. band’s beggining to take off right now, do you know what i mean? writing too many songs. oh yes, of course i can give your nephew a few guitar lessons, and don’t even fret, i wouldn’t dream of charging him.
at her playful words “take care of my girl” he gave her a charming smile alongside a polite nod that said when don’t i?
have a lovely shift!
while you were a pile of nerves, constantly. always worried of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, always overthinking and shaking like a scared little puppy just for correcting a wrong order at a new restaurant.
now wouldn’t be any different.
you were nervous for this date – terrified, really. your hands kept fumbling and knocking over little bits of makeup that clattered softly against the floor. you didn’t notice how many times you bent down to grab them, muttering “fuck sake” to yourself, cheeks already warm with frustration.
noel had to fight back a smirk every time you did, because what you hadn’t noticed either is that every time you’d bend down, the clumsy action would give noel first class seats to look at your new pair of lacy blue underwear.
yeah, yeah. he’s a prick. but you see, it seems like the weed he has smoked went straight to his cock rather than to his head. so much that, for the first time ever, he’s deeply considering actually making a move on his cute little girl mate.
you’ve done it five times by now. from the second one foward he’s been hard underneath his jeans. having to adjust himself every single time, even tilting his head to follow the way your skirt flaps up… and down.
he has noticed you’ve got a nice arse before. but christ… this is new.
he could tell you bought the pair just for tonight. he knows you won’t do anything, but still. it was there – that silent desire of finally understanding what all the fuss was about.
the thought made his cock stir inside his trousers once more. god, you’re so cute. so sweet. but at the same time, it made his jaw tighten. the thought of some boring prick getting to see that blue lace hugging that perfect ass? fucking unacceptable.
you’re not gonna do it with the lad, that’s for fucking sure. so… what kind of friend will noel be if he lets your precious money on these pretty pair of underwear go to waste? it would be a tragedy to let those knickers stay dry all night.
“what’s the lad’s name again?” he asked, tone unbothered.
you sighed shakily, shaking your head at your reflection and muttering out quietly, whispering exasperated. “doesn’t… fucking look right…” you talked about the eyeliner, completely ignoring noel’s question.
“oi. ‘m talking to ya,” noel called out. not rude, a little amused to be honest. he raised his brows and smirked faintly as you turned your head towards him, finally paying attention. “the lad’s name, love. what is it?”
you inhaled, already turning back to your reflection. “tom.”
noel scoffed. and before he could say anything, you cut in. “i know. but he’s… nice. he’s sweet, noel.” you said softly, tone dripping with sweetness despite the nerves.
he snorts at that, laying further back on the pillows with his neck slightly propped up so he could keep looking at you. he puts his arms behind his head as he winds you up. “he the king of england or summat?” he mutters. “know it’s your first date and all but, fuckin’ hell.”
you frown a little at his tone, glancing at him through the mirror. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“means you’re actin’ like it’s life or death. it’s a pint and some chips, not a bloody wedding.”
you huff softly, turning back to your reflection and immediately looking down at the table, makeup products scattered everywhere.
“it’s…” you cut yourself off with a soft sigh, putting the cap back onto your lipstick as an attempt to make this less embarrassing, “it’s not just that, noel...”
“what is it, then?” he presses in a little further, not mean. not curious, either, because he knows. of course he does. he just wants to hear you say it, he just wants you to give him his perfect cue.
you hesitate. and then, “i’ve never… never kissed anyone before.” quieter now, like you’re admitting something embarrassing.
he stays quiet for a second. like something’s just clicked into place, something he had already figured out was now being handed to him properly. his tongue presses into his cheek, tilting his head as his eyes drag over you in the mirror again.“that so, love?” he says, lowly.
you nod a little, already embarrassed, already looking down again, watching your fingers fiddle with the edge of your skirt. “yeah. it’s— i mean. it’s not a big deal.”
he doesn’t say anything else, he just keeps watching the back of your head. until your turn, eyebrows slightly scrunched together, hands on your lap picking at your rings.
“right?” you ask, quieter, needing him to confirm it, to tell you it’s not as nervewrecking as it suddenly feels.
his tongue darts out to lick his lips, a small effort to hold himself from smirking at the sight of you. your pretty face, your lips tinted with lipstick, the way you’re sitting there all unsure and soft and a little too trusting for your own good.
then he exhales lightly through his nose and tilts his head, patting the mattress – your mattress – beside him. “c’mere.”
your heart skips a beat. “what?”
“c’mere, love” he repeats, nodding once toward himself, like it’s obvious.
you hesitate, but not for long. because it’s noel, isn’t it? your noel. so you step forward, slow, until you’re standing right beside the bed, knees nearly brushing the mattress.
he reaches out, taking your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his thumb warm and grounding as it glides over your knuckles. “well… that can’t happen, can it?” he says softly, a touch of thoughtfulness.
you furrow your brows softly, looking at his face while he gently holds your hand. “what can’t?”
“you goin’ out there like that, love” he says, like it’s a fact, giving your hand a small squeeze. “never been kissed, don’t know what you’re doin’… you’ll just embarrass yourself.”
you swallowed gruffly, because he’s just putting into words what you’ve been worried all along. “i— no-“
“you will,” he cuts in, even softer this time. “gonna freeze up. overthink it. lad’ll think you don’t fancy him.”
you falter. then you sigh, slowly plopping down and sitting right on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking softly right beside him as he watches you.
his hand that’s holding yours drops until it’s resting on your lap, “s’okay. birdie…” he coos, letting go of your hand and caressing your thigh – reassuring, but he takes the opportunity to slip a finger under the hem of your skirt, like it’s accidental.
you’re so in your head you don’t even think too much about it. and it feels nice too…
“just… thought… about just— just going with it, you know?… see what happens…” you said quietly. you shifted your head so you could look at his eyes, but you didn’t quite meet his blue gaze back – too entranced by the sight of his hand sliding over your thighs, caressing it.
he gave your leg a soft squeeze, shaking his head. “nah, that’s rubbish, love…” he said lowly, still gliding his hand over your thigh, finally looking back at you like he was deeply concerned. “can’t have you goin’ out there clueless. not with a lad who doesn’t know you…” – he then did a little tsc with his tongue like he couldn’t stand at the thought – “that’s just not right. what if he tells his friends?”
your hands were shaking now, and he could tell if he pressed in a little further he could make you fucking cry. he won’t. not like this, at least. so he took your shaking hands into his, holding them gently.
“tell you what, though.” he says softly, like he’s offering you something harmless. “i’ll help you, yeah?”
you blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing softly as you watched him shift. he sat straighter up, his broad back properly resting against your headboard now, legs slightly spread in the way men’s always are.
before you could even process what he was implying, even before heat could flush up to your cheeks at the mere thought, noel’s hands slowly moved.
his grip on your hands tightens just slightly, guiding you forward until your knees pressed into the mattress and then – just as easily – he’s pulling you onto his lap, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“there we go…” he murmurs, voice low, pleased with himself in a way that makes your lower belly tighten.
your body stiffens over his lap. because you’re wearing a skirt, and you know your body, don’t you? you know that this, just this, will already get you wound up. right over his lap, with too little pieces of fabric to disguise.
“noel…” you start quietly, even try to shift away so it doesn’t get that embarrassing.
but his hands find your hips, over the fabric of your skirt. they’re big, so the smallest amount of steadiness from his palms keeps you right where you are, in the gentlest, warmest way. “shhh… hey, s’alright. just easier to snog like this, innit?” he says easily, thumbs brushing small patterns on your hips.
you swallow, hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself. your heart is racing now. too fast, too loud. you nod anyway, because he’s right. he always sounds right.
he nods softly. a small smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as his hand moves to your back, rubbing it in gentle wide circles, while the other one approaches your face. “relax, yeah?” he says, brushing your hair back from your face before settling back on your thigh.
you nod again, nervously looking down at yourself straddling his lap. your skirt has ridden up a little with the movement, and his hands are resting warm against your thighs, now knuckles underneath the hem as he brushes slow, absentminded patterns that don’t feel absentminded at all.
he smirks as he follows your gaze. his hands slide a little higher, just under the hem of your skirt, fingertips grazing skin that feels too sensitive all of a sudden. “cute skirt, y’know,” he adds casually, like that’s all.
“we’ll just… practice a bit. then you’ll know what you’re doin’, yeah?” he shifts under you as he says it, casually. the movement makes you inhale shakily, anyway. your hands tighten on his shoulders without thinking.
maybe it’s the thickness of his jeans.
you don’t really know what an erection feels like. not properly, so definitely not when it’s pressed right up against you with barely anything in between. but there’s something there. something firm, warm, twitching slightly every time either of you move, and it makes you swallow harshly.
your hips shifting just slightly, involuntarily, like you’re trying to adjust, or maybe trying to understand the feeling better.
noel nearly smirks at the sight, because he knows what’s going on down there. and of course you’d react like that, wouldn’t you?
he doesn’t adress it, though. not yet.
his hands slowly slide from the front of your thighs to the side of your hips, his fingertips brushing the soft skin of the ass he’s unapologetically been staring at for the last hour or so.
he leans in, slowly.
then, he whispers, “no rush, yeah? just… follow my lead.”
his breath brushes your lips as he says it. the delicious mixture of mint gum and weed and cigarettes makes you dumbly nod, involuntarily leaning in as an attempt to meet him halfway.
the kiss starts slow.
at first, it’s a press of lips followed by a soft breath leaving your nostrils. you’re not quite sure what to do next, thankfully, noel’s hand goes to the side of your face, gently resting over your cheek and his thumb lightly pressing down on your chin so you can open your mouth for his tongue.
when it does, you can’t really stifle a tiny moan in. because his tongue feels so soft against yours, slow and perfectly warm. it only makes him hum, pleased, like he’s just proven a point. his hand slides down to the side of your neck while the other stays over the soft skin of your hip, feeling your muscles tense underneath his touch – he can even feel the way you’re throbbing right over his clothed, warm erection.
the kiss turns a little wetter, messier despite still slow. quiet little sounds – of your tongues moving, of the tiny and wet sounds of your lips smooching, of your breath catching – fill the room in between your shaky inhales.
the soft sounds could be passed as something sweet and tender if your knickers hadn’t been ruined already. it would be romantic if noel didn’t really know what he was doing to you. if it wasn’t on purpose, but all of it is. every soft squeeze he gives your thighs are filled with intention, every accidental shift of his hips is purposely to add the tiny pressure that makes you clench around nothing.
your hands don’t really know where to go at first, hovering awkwardly before finally settling on him, gripping at his shoulders, then sliding up. the soft absence of his hair slips right between your digits.
he moans at the feeling of your hands sliding over his neck, his shoulders, his jaw…
you feel it like a fucking lightning. because your body reacts to everything, to every slow drag of his tongue and every heavy breath he lets out. it doesn’t take much before your hips twitch over his lap, a small, involuntary movement that gives you away completely.
noel pulls back just enough to look at you, and his lips – smudged with your lipstick and slick with spit – are already curling up into a smirk.
“what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low, amused. he already knows the answer.
your chest moves faster than usual, your eyes search for his but nothing comes out of your stammering mouth.
his hands slide down your thighs again, slow and deliberate. he caresses the skin under your skirt like it’s nothing. “d’you wanna stop?…” he adds, softer.
but he doesn’t wait for an answer. instead, he slowly leans in until his lips are on your neck.
your breath catches instantly, your eyes flutter shut and your hands wrap around his biceps like you’re holding on for dear life. because you don’t want to stop – you just don’t know what’s happening to you. you’ve never felt this aroused before.
he continues leaving wet and slow kisses along your skin. his nose brushes under your ear and he takes in the sweet scent of the perfume you’d put on for another lad – he smirks to himself, because right now, your body keeps reacting to him.
you try to say something, but it comes out broken.
he pulls away then, looking at your glassy eyes. his hand slowly shifts to your face, brushing your hair away as he watches you, like he’s not doing all of this on purpose. “d’you wanna stop, darling?” he asks again, like he doesn’t know the answer already.
you shake your head eagerly, “n-no… no…”
he raises his brows, gentle and mocking all at once. still smirking. “no?” he asks softly, shaking his head just like you, but slower.
“no… it’s… it’s okay. don’t… don’t have to stop, noel” you try to reassure him calmly, like your head isn’t spinning.
“yeah?…” he asks sweetly, leaning in and pressing another kiss to your lips. he feels you trying to slide your tongue inside his mouth again, but he doesn’t do it back – he just smirks against your lips and carries on. “why d’you get all nervous, then?”
your mouth opens, closes again. your breath is uneven as you try to come up with something, because how do you even say it? that if you even move an inch he’ll be able to hear how wet you are?
but noel shakes his head slowly, “s’okay, love…” he murmurs, voice low as his hands slide over your ass – caressing and grabbing it softly, slowly. “can feel it, y’know.”
you swallow, eyebrows pinching together for a moment as he drags you over his crotch. he just hums in response, leaning in again and saying it against your lips: “fucking soaked through, baby. no need to lie, is there?”
you breathe out his name, needy.
he gives you a soft kiss, gentle, almost like he feels bad. “poor birdie. don’t even know what to do with it, do you?” he says quietly, fondly.
your face burns instantly, breath catching as you shake your head just a little, more instinct than anything else. far too gone to realize that you’re full on admitting it.
he just coos you in response, nodding softly, “yeah… i know, i know…”
his hands grab your ass a tad firmer, pulling you closer and making you shift on his lap. he guides you forward, making you slowly rub yourself over his hard and warm cock strained underneath his jeans. he shows you that he’s equally as turned, like it’s just part of the lesson. “feel that?” he says, quieter now, almost amused.
you let out another tiny moan, a shaky one as your head dips forward, forehead resting on the side of his neck as you nod, shyly.
he exhales softly through his nose. “see? feelin’ it too. means you’re doin’ it right, yeah?” he adds. his hands slide again, almost lazy and a tad bolder as they caress your inner thighs now. “hard as fuck. jus’ for you.”
you breathe out his name, eyebrows furrowing just from how bad you want it. his fingers come up again, brushing lightly over your jaw, turning your face just enough so he can look at you properly.
your lipstick is ruined. your lips a little swollen from kissing. your eyes are glassy in that pretty pleading way.
he shakes his head, caressing your cheek. “look at you…” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip, smearing it just a little more. “can’t send you out like this, can i?”
you blink at him, dazed. “y-yeah?” you whisper.
“yeah, darling. can't go out like this… date won’t be any good if you're this worked up. you'll be distracted. wouldn't be fair to the lad, yeah? need to clear your head first.”
you stammer a little, but he’s quick to cut off any logic thing you might say – he’s your friend, you’ve got a date, you’ve never done this before… anything that might keep you from crossing the line you desperately want to.
“nah, love… s’alright… just gotta help you first, don’t i? lemme make you feel good, then you go to your lad. how's that sound, hm?"
it sounds logical in the hazy fog of his scent and the ache between your legs – especially when his mouth is back at your neck again, slow and warm and distracting.
you nod dumbly, trusting his shitty excuse because you simply don't know any better, and noel always seemed to know everything.
“y-yeah…” you breathe out.
“yeah? sounds good?” he asks softly, already sliding his palm upwards your inner thigh.
you nod eagerly, eyes glassy as you watch his face and the way he’s completely mesmerized by your needy expression. he’s mirroring your action and nodding back, nearly mocking and fully smug.
his finger press down your needy clit over the drenched fabric of your knickers, your hands immediately grasp his shoulders.
his brows furrow for a moment. “fuck… look how wet you are…” he says it lowly, nearly breathing it out, like he’s impressed and feels bad at the same time.
you moan as he starts circling your clit, eyes tightening shut as he drags out the pad of his fingertips over the slick fabric.
“n-noel… i…”
“what, hm?”
“please…”
he smirks at your plea, tipping his chin and saying lowly, “this ain’t enough f’you, hm?”
you let out a shaky huff, shyly shaking your head no. noel hums in response, leaning in to give you another slow kiss. his tongue drags warm and lazy against yours, and you melt into it immediately, hips pathetically searching for more of his touch.
then, his fingers slide underneath the lace. you break the kiss with a gasp, one that immediately becomes a moan. he presses a soft peck over your lips, the corner of your mouth – the fabric clinging to his knuckles doesn’t stopping him from circling your clit with a ridiculous precision you’ve only fantasized about.
“better?” he asks quietly, lips brushing yours again like he’s being gentle.
you nod desperately, your bottom lip feels a little sore from how much you’ve been biting it. he breathes out a tiny laugh at it, shaking his head once to himself as his gaze trails down your body.
his eyes land on your thighs spread for him right over his lap. your skirt is pushed up, allowing him to watch his fingers rubbing circles around your clit, the drenched fabric pulled to the side exposing you to him.
the wet and soft sounds of his fingers working your cunt make him lick his lips, tilting his head so he can even get a better look – furrowing his thick eyebrows nearly in pleasure just at the sight.
“such a pretty cunt you’ve got here, love” he praises, and his voice makes your head spin – tipping to the side without you even meaning to, eyes closing and lips agape as you softly pant.
he hums at your needy sounds, but his eyes stay fixed where you’re soaking his fingers. “mhm… look how wet it is…” he says nearly absentmindedly as he watches it attentively, like he wants to commit the sight to memory. “so pretty… looks so sweet…” he murmurs, lower now.
his free hand moves closer, his index and middle fingers spread your lips apart, his other hand still slowly stimulating your clit in gentle and precise circles.
“no one else has ever touched you here, yeah? just me, innit?” he asks barely above a whisper.
you shake your head, fast and eager and needy. he hums in response, slowly nodding like he’s almost proud of the fact. not pulling his eyes away from your cunt even for a second.
his two fingers rubbing your clit widen the motion, slowly, until they’re teasing right over your entrance – picking up the wetness you’re letting out and feeling you clench around nothing. but he didn't go in.
he just keeps teasing your needy opening. dragging down… and taking a little longer to go back to your clit again. then, he repeats like it’s nothing, like you’re not a whimpering mess already, nearly begging.
because he wants to hear it.
“please,” you breathe it out, whispered like you’re embarrassed by it. your head involuntarily shifts closer to him, lips accidentally bumping against his jaw. “noel… please. please, noel…”
he smirks, only then looking up. “what?… d’you want me to put it in?” he asks, breath warm against your lips. slowing down even more.
your breath stutters, and you nod eagerly. your hands clutch at the sides and back of his neck, forehead nearly pressing against his. “p-please,” you beg, and it comes out small, needy. breaking around the edges. “i’ve… i’ve done it myself. it’s okay, you can—”
he smirks even wider. his lips press against yours a little firmer now, his finger pushed in just enough to tease you, then away.
“yeah?” he says roughly, still quiet. his head tilts just slightly, eyes dragging over your face and taking in how you’re trying to not break the kiss. “you have, have you?”
you nod, fast, desperate. already dragging him for another kiss, panting a little harder.
then, he moves his hand away. the stammering protests die in your throat as he speaks, before you can chase his touch again.
“show me then.”
your heart drops. heat crawls up to your face so fast you feel like it could explode your head. “w-what?”
he keeps his eyes on your face when he takes your hand – his fingers gently wrapping around your wrist before you can even think about pulling away. he looks down to watch his hand guiding yours.
“show me how you do it when you’re alone, love” he murmurs, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.
you hesitate, eyebrows furrowing softly. he does a soft ‘tsc’ with his tongue, his thumb caressing your wrist while his other hand rests on your thigh, spreading them further on his lap. he tips his chin towards you softly, the way when he’s silently saying cmon.
“said you’ve done it before, sweetheart. let me see how you like it, hm?”
he can feel your hand shaking, he can see how you swallow roughly at his request and at how he’s not letting you back out in the gentle, softest tone.
you don’t pull away, you simply obey.
your hand trembles so violently it’s a miracle you can even find your own entrance, but the moment your own skin touches the slick, swollen folds of your cunt, a tiny sob catches in your throat.
he hums quietly as he keeps the gentle grip on your wrist, pushing your hand softly until your digit slips, so easily it feels like you’re doing it all on your own. you’re so wet it’s effortless, your hole greedily swallowing your finger as you start a slow pace.
it’s different when he’s watching – everything feels hotter, shameful and perfect all at once. and his voice, his hands, his smell… him. everything about it makes your head spin.
“that’s it…” he murmurs, almost under his breath, pleased. “good girl…”
his words makes your movements falter for half a second before picking back up again. your finger slides in and out so slowly it makes a gushy noise every time – one that’s like music to noel’s ears. you curl them softly every time you push in, but it’s not enough to reach your most sensitive spot.
his thumbs dig in softly in the flesh of your thighs every time a tiny moan slips out of you. noel’s eyes are blown wide, tracking every movement of your hand, lips parting as he watches.
he nods absentmindedly, not pulling his gaze away. he shifts one of his hand, pressing his palm over the aching bulge that’s formed inside his trousers, while his other thumb keeps brushing soft patterns on your inner thigh.
“how many, hm?” he asks quietly, voice dipping lower as his head tilts slightly, eyes dragging back up to your face. “how many fingers have you put in, hm?”
you whimper softly, clenching around your own finger and closing your eyes as you furrow your brows, shyly. “noel…”
his hand resting on your inner thigh moves until the pad of his thumb presses over your clit. you gasp at the feeling, head tipping back and the words escaping before you can even realize.
“t-fuck. one… one, noel”
“yeah, love? just like that, then, yeah?” he asks softly, still drawing slow circles on your clit as your own finger slides in and out. you nod, desperately – his other hand immediately shifting to the button of his jeans at the sight.
his thumb keeps moving as he slowly drags his own zipper down. like he’s in no rush at all.
“and what d’ya think about, hm?” he murmurs, voice low.
your breath hitches, your head shakes faintly, more instinct than anything else.
“course you do, love,” he cuts in softly before you can even try to deny it. his thumb presses just a little more firmly, enough to make another moan catch in your throat again. “everyone does…”
your head drops foward, face now buried on the side of his neck as your hips stutter. he smirks to himself, turning his head enough to whisper right in your ear.
“what d’you think about when you’re fingering your pretty cunt, hm?"
your lips part, and his name slips past them in a soft, broken moan that makes his mouth twitch. it makes him nod, smug and satisfied. like he’s praising you for giving him the correct answer.
“mhm… that’s it” he praises softly. his hand slides up the back of your neck, his fingers are firm and tender all at once as they thread into your hair, guiding your mouth back to his.
and yet again, you’re too deep in the feeling of his tongue on yours to even form a coherent thought. to even keep moving your finger inside yourself. all you notice is him shifting underneath you, his hips lifting off the mattress just so he can drag his trousers down, enough to free his leaking and hard cock.
his hand in your hair tightens just enough to pull you back, breaking the kiss before you can chase it again.
you whimper softly at the loss, mouth slightly agape, breath uneven. he gives you a soothing peck on your parted lips, then the corner of your mouth.
then, his grip shifts, guiding your chin downward so you can see his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly.
it looks intimidatingly real in the dim light – his tip is flushed and leaking, the soft hairs on his crotch make you start moving your finger inside yourself cunt again, and the way he’s touching himself right now makes you let out a shaky moan.
he’s fucking big, too. not that you have someone else’s to actually compare to, but you’re aware that that’s the “a lot” your girlfriends talk about once they’re sharing their sex experiences in between class breaks.
it makes your head spin in nerves and excitement all at once.
the soft, shaky breath you let out seems to make him stroke himself with a little more intent. he lets out a low moan at the friction just to make you loose it a bit more. his fingers tighten in your hair without even meaning to, and he doesn’t move your head even an inch, because he wants you to watch – just like he’s been doing to you for the past few minutes. your fingers curling in and out like you don’t know what to do with them anymore.
he raises his brows in mock innocence at your reaction, like he didn’t even see it coming. like he has no idea what it’s about.
fuck me, if the birds he’s slept with had that reaction and they aren’t even virgins, he can only imagine what you’re gonna be like once his cock is fucking you relentlessly.
he’s no monster – he’s a prick, sure. but he’ll start slow, right? he’ll make sure you’re soaked like this once he slides in. he’ll only pick up the pace once you beg for it, and he knows you will. he knows you’ll look so pretty doing it, too. even prettier than now, and that’s fucking hard to top. he strokes himself faster at the mere thought.
“what?… look how hard i am, love,” he says, coyly and quieter, enough to make your stomach flip. “hurts, y’know.”
and before you can think too much about it, he’s guiding your hand away from your dripping cunt. you whimper softly at the absence of stimulation, but then, he’s making you wrap your hand around his own length. "do it f’me, darlin’. help me out, will you?"
his hand is over yours, both wrapped around his cock as he strokes up and down slowly. like he’s showing you something rather than asking.
you watch it like you’re hypnotized. how pretty his slit looks with pre cum smeared all over it, how the heat and the velvet-soft skin feel good underneath your touch. you start to stroke him on your own, his hand slowly letting go of yours as you mimick the way he just taught you.
noel lets out a moan deep from the back of his throat, moving his hands until they’re grabbing your inner thighs a little firmer now at the pleasure. “there we go…” he says softly, watching your hand work him. “fuck, darling…”
you pick up your gaze until it’s on his face again, being met with the sight of his lips slightly parted, blue eyes glued to your hand stroking him up and down. you furrow your brows softly at it, swallowing down a tiny whimper as you involuntarily shift on his lap, searching for any friction you can get.
and just like he could read your mind, one of his hands leave your thigh. he brings two fingers to his own mouth, wrapping his lips around the thick digits, swirling his tongue around them enough to make them slick. then, he guides them to your neglected pretty entrance.
he pushes two fingers in without any resistance. you let out a shaky moan, head dipping forward and grip tightening around him as you try to steady yourself. you moan his name, broken and needy – not from pain, because you’re so wet right now you feel like you could take all of him without batting an eye.
he hums at that. smug and pleased, but his hips twitching upwards tell on him, that he’s fully loosing it just like you. “that’s it, love… fuck. do it f’me and i’ll do it for you, yeah?” he adds. his tone is coaxing, but the roughness in his voice makes you clench around his fingers without even meaning to.
your breath stutters, movements turning uneven for a second before trying to find some kind of rhythm again. you’re clumsy and still a little shy, but the way you’re looking at him, feels like you’re fucking begging for it.
he curls his fingers inside you, the angle is a little awkward in between limbs moving sloppily and needy – but he gets it right. it makes you moan the loudest than you have so far, eyes falling shut and eyebrows furrowing as his thumb finds your clit at the same time his thick fingers slowly fuck you.
your hand starts working him faster, needier. your free one digs into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, sliding to the back of his neck like you’re fully loosing it.
he smirks at your reaction, nodding to himself and grunting lowly every time his hips meet your hand. every time, the filthy wet sounds of his fingers fucking you get even louder.
you start babbling his name, and he taunts you with a “yeah?” that neither of you know what it’s referring to. you nod dumbly anyway, breath hitching as you try to follow his pace, try to match him, even though everything feels too much already.
your body shakes over his from pleasure and from movement of him fucking your hand. it doesn’t stop him from leaning closer, his free hand tugging the cut from your top down until your breasts are exposed to him – he closes the distance sloppily, greedy as his mouth latches onto your nipple, widely swirling his tongue around it and sucking it. your nails dig into the back of his neck, searching for something to hold onto as the feeling keeps tightening.
you choke out a moan that’s nearly a cry, head tipping back and lips parting as you pant. “fuck… n-noel… i… oh my god, noel…” you blabber, hips now grinding against his palm.
he keeps thrusting into your hand, only pulling his mouth off from your tits to moan against your mouth, tongue sloppy and uncoordinated as he swallows your moans. “gonna cum f’me?” he murmurs, teeth grazing your flushed lips.
you nod, desperately.
“c’mon then. such a tight fucking cunt, baby. want it all over my hand, yeah? cum all over my fingers, cmon.” he grunts.
with a last curl of his fingers, a last press of his thumb right over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you came undone.
fucking hard, you did. your moans now sounding nearly pornographic as you squeeze noel’s fingers so hard he even doubts for a second that he’ll be able to play guitar for the next couple of days.
eh, he wouldn’t really mind.
you threw your head back, mouth falling agape and needy broken moans escaping. your breath was coming out shaky, hitching. little high pitched whimpers filling the room, mixing the wet and gushy sounds of noel’s fingers fucking your cunt relentlessly.
he watched, chin propped up so he could look up and take every bit of your reaction. your free hand slid up the back of his neck desperately, in need to grab onto something or you’d might die from how intense it all felt.
he smirked at the realization – nothing there anymore, is it? he buzzed it right off.
he remembers last week, when he’d just arrived at the pub with the new haircut. your reaction was adorable, stuttering as you realized how fucking fit your mate, your best friend, looked. even while tom chatted you up, he could catch your nervous gaze snap back to him.
pfft, what a fucking joke, this tom lad. if he thought that was bad, imagine now, eh?
your nails digged in his scalp, his lips curled into a smug smirk parting enough so a low moan could escape.
your hand went limp around him, unable to keep up. but he doesn't mind. he covers your hand with his own, his hard cock messily sliding upwards into your shaky grip as he watched your orgasm wash over. he thrusts one, two, three more times into your palm until he spills over, too.
hot spurts of his cum land right over the fabric of your cute skirt, over the soft skin of your thigh and knuckles.
his chest heaves, forehead dropping to rest against your neck. only then his fingers finally stop. he feels you pulsing around them for a few more seconds. his free hand rests over your ass, sliding up your back as your body trembles over his.
after a few seconds of your heavy breaths being the only thing filling up the room, noel slowly withdraws his fingers out of you. the wet sound echoes in the silence, a tiny over sensitive whimper from you make him breathe out a tiny laugh despite himself.
“fuck me…” he breathes out. then, he pulls away to look down at the mess. his brows raise in amusement, his smirk grows even wider. “ruined that.”
you don’t adress it. fuck me indeed, the house could burn down now for all you care.
“noel…” you say again, softer this time. needy and shy from how much you want it. you’re still breathing hard, still shaky, still clinging to him like you don’t quite know how to ask for it.
his eyes flick back to yours, and he looks so pleased. so smug.
he only raises his brows, like he’s saying go on.
your hands slide up the back of his head, nearly apologetic for the mess you’re making. but you just shake your head as you lean closer, eyes glassy and pleading as you give him a soft kiss on the mouth.
“don’t…” your voice falters as you say it quietly against his lips. “please, noel… i don’t wanna stop…”
you feel him smiling against your mouth, his hands shifting until they’re back on your ass again. he slowly squeezes the soft flesh, barely kissing you back and breathing out into the slow glide of your tongues. “yeah?… don’t wanna stop, hm?”
you shake your head, quick and needy, your fingers still curled at the nape of his neck, keeping him close.
he hums softly, still tracing patterns on your hips and ass. he nods a little, then looks down. “i mean... that’s fucking done for, that.” he murmurs. not sounding sorry in the slightest, still smirking. “shame. y’looked dead pretty in it.“
you don’t even argue, you just lean in again, pressing another soft, desperate kiss to his mouth, like that’s your answer. like you don’t care about anything else anymore.
his hands tighten slightly on your ass at that, grounding and unapologetic all at once. “easy…” he coos, quieter now, nose brushing yours. “gotta sort that date out first, yeah?”
you whine, eyebrows furrowing and your lips nearly shifting into a needy pout. “noel…”
"gonna give it to ya, love... just be a good girl and call the poor lad, yeah?” he says, nearly buttery from how soft it is – it makes you want him to ruin you even more.
“now?…” you ask quietly, blinking up at him.
“yeah, now.” he says softly, brushing your hair out of your face. “can't have him standing there outside the pub like a fucking muppet, can we?“
you take in a shaky breath, nodding. he nods back, giving your ass tiny encouraging pats, watching you slowly shift off from his lap.
you lick your lips as you lay down on your stomach, propping yourself on your elbows so you can reach for the telephone and punch in the digits.
your heart is still hammering inside your chest when it starts ringing. you swallow gruffly, because you feel noel’s hand caressing your calf – a soft reminder that he’s very much still watching.
“hello?”
“t-tom?…”
“oh, hey. was about to leave the house, actually. you’re on your way t—“
“tom, i… i’m sorry. i think i’ve come down with something.” you said shakily, the air leaving your nostrils as you heard noel shifting behind you and the soft thud of his shirt falling on the floor.
your eyes were closed as tightly as your hand around the phone, listening to tom's unenthusiastic and nearly confused "oh." on the other line.
you couldn't see how noel was still smirking – his mouth still stained with your lipstick as he slowly settled more comfortably on the mattress, sitting on his heels right between your legs.
"well... what... are you feeling? are you alright?" tom asked.
you took in a deep breath so you could reply without your voice breaking. but just then, you felt noel's hands unhurriedly guide you until your knees were deep inside the mattress, ass arched up until you were perfectly exposed to him in a way that made your cheeks burn.
"i'm... i'm okay. i'm just... i have a really bad fever."
"right..." tom answered after a pause. "that's... well, that’s unfortunate."
"yeah." you swallowed.
behind you, the mattress dipped again. noel's hands settled on your asscheeks, lifting the fabric of your skirt until it was out of the way – he let out a low groan at the sight of the delicate fabric drenched, clinging onto your folds.
your forehead pressed deeper against the mattress as you felt him gently apply pressure over the fabric, drawing out torturous wide and slow circles over your clothed cunt, feeling your wetness cling onto the pad of his fingers. "i know, i... i'm really sorry." you added, but it came out broken.
tom didn't notice, apparently. "we can go out another night, if you want."
"yeah— that... yeah. that's alright." you managed, though your voice came out quieter than intended.
tom started talking about another place the two of you could go to, but behind you, noel leaned closer.
your whole body tensed with the sensation of his warm breath brushing such a sensitive spot, and the fever was about to become real once you felt the tip of his nose rubbing up and down your folds, hands gripping your flesh harder at your scent and his mouth watering from how wet you were.
your hand immediately flew to your mouth, covering a shaky and breathy gasp, coming out broken while tom talked about another restaurant down his street, a fancier one. you couldn't name what kind of food they served there even with a gun pressed on your temple, because the pressure of noel's nose was maddening.
and as if it couldn't get any worse, or better, his tongue slowly darted out – leaving a wet, slow and messy kiss right over your knickers. like the mess your own arousal made on the fabric wasn't enough.
a small tear formed on the corner of your eye, the hand covering your mouth shaking as you tried to keep quiet. noel hummed quietly against your clothed cunt, not even pulling his mouth away as he hooked his finger into the edge of the lace, pulling the fabric aside just enough to expose you.
you gasped softly, feeling his warm mouth pull away only an inch so his blue eyes could settle on your cunt. glistening and already puffy from his fingers, but still aching and throbbing for more.
"well... get some rest, yeah? hope you feel better." tom said on the phone.
your fuzzy brain could only think of an "okay" as a response, but noel's tongue leaning closer and slowly licking your clit cut you off immediately with another shaky gasp, making you instantly press your palm harder against your mouth.
you clenched around nothing, brows needily furrowing and back arching despite your cheeks heating up. at how dirty all this felt. at how his tongue was completely unhurried as it teased you, the intention clear: he wanted you to fall apart.
now, his lips slowly closed around your clit, softly sucking while his hands fondled your shaky thighs.
"sure you're okay?" tom asked, nearly concerned.
"yes! i... yeah. i'm sorry, tom. i'll... yeah, i'll get better. i'm so sorry." you stammered, and you could feel noel smiling against you, pulling away with a soft wet noise and guiding his fingers closer to your entrance. they didn't slide in, just applied enough pressure to spread your lips, watching how your needy hole dripped for him. just for him.
"it's alright. see you soon, then." tom said.
"o-okay... bye." you said quickly, immediately biting your bottom lip since you didn't trust yourself to keep quiet once your shaky hand placed the phone on its handle. fast, clumsy and desperate.
at the sound of the soft plastic thud indicating the call was finally over, your face buried inside the mattress. a small amount of drool smeared over the soft cotton sheets past your parted lips.
you let out a long and broken whine, muffled into the mattress as your hips helplessly twitched against his hands.
“there’s a good girl,” noel murmured, his voice dropping. he didn't give you a second to catch your breath as his two fingers, still slick with you, stretched you open with a deliberate push.
you bucked against his hand, a sharp gasp cutting through the quiet bedroom as your fingers tightly grasped the bedsheets. "noel..." you moaned his name needily.
he breathed out a small chuckle at your tone. “fucking hell, look at you,” he muttered under his breath, nearly amused.
even as he straightned his back, properly placed behind you now, his eyes never left your entrance swallowing his digits, you were so fucking wet taking him wouldn't even be that big of a problem. his thumb found your swollen clit as he thought, pressing down with a soft pressure that had your voice breaking into another needy whimper.
“so wet for me. didn't think it'd be this easy.”
“noel— please, noel,” you cried out, muffled by the soft bed. your back arched helplessly, trying to push yourself deeper onto his hand, silently begging for him to stop teasing.
he only hummed in response, a cruel and pleased sound, before his hand shifted.
his palm rubbed your back upwards before it settled on the nape of your neck, fingers tangling inside your hair. he tugged your head back until his mouth was right by your ear, gluing your back onto his chest, firm and tender all at once.
“drivin’ me fucking mad, love.” he breathed out, teeth grazing your earlobe and the delicate earring dangling, while his breath – hot and ragged – made goosebumps raise on the back of your neck.
your hand shook as it reached out for his hip, nails involuntarily digging in as you felt and heard the distinct rustle of fabric behind you from his free hand shoving his pants down to his thighs.
he placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, despite his fingers tigthening inside your hair. “just needed to stretch y'out first, don’t i?” he whispered in your ear.
whatever words were sitting on your tongue died as soon as his hand wrapped around his cock, shifting closer until his shaft was directly pressed against you, sliding and teasing up and down your soaking wet folds without actually pushing in.
the friction made your breath hitch, softly crying out. “please… fuck, please.”
he let out a low and breathy laugh, teeth grazing your cheek softly as a smirk grew on his lips. "i know. i know, darling." he cooed, nearly condescending.
he only looked down to watch his cock sliding underneath the edge of your panties, his length perfectly fitting between your glistening lips – amused at the sight, slowly pushing his hips to make his cock slide between your folds without actually pushing in.
the feeling of his sensitive head brushing the damp lace made him hiss softly, but he didn't stop. “d’you want it?” he asked quietly, nibbling your jaw.
you couldn't even form a coherent word, brain entirely fried. you just moaned loudly, nodding your head frantically despite his firm grip inside your hair.
his hand sharply met the flesh of your ass, catching you off guard and pulling out a high-pitched moan from you.
“ask nice,” he commanded, firm. but his mouth placed another sweet kiss on your cheek right after. his hand went down to where your bodies almost met, pressing his palm firmer against his cock so the friction felt meaner. "c'mon, love. can do better than that, hm?"
you nodded desperaly, the words stumbling out of your mouth. “please, noel… please fuck me.” you sobbed, a stray tear spilling.
“think it’s too big f’ya, love. don’t y’think?” he taunted, gaze dropping past the curve of your spine, watching his length dissapearing underneath the fabric, sliding between your folds and coming out glistening with your arousal.
you shook your head desperately. “can— can handle it. want it. please, please…” you choked out in a broken whimper.
another wet kiss on your cheek, another harsh squeeze on your ass. "yeah?" he teased quietly,
you whimpered in protest as he pulled his warm cock away from you. but then, his hands guided you back into all fours, slowly and firmly.
your fingers immediately grabbed the sheets in anticipation. your forehead pressed into the mattress, tears softly wetting the cotton as your back arched even more.
you couldn't see it, but a smug smirk grew on his lips at the sight, not pulling his gaze away even when his hands were busy reaching for his wallet. a soft crinkling sound of a foil wrapper tearing open made you look behind you.
his palm settled on your ass again, sliding underneath the messy hem and caressing your skin, gentler now. his free hand rolled the rubber along his shaft, head tilting. “think y’can take my cock like this, hm?” noel muttered.
you didn't really know what the reply was, not rationally, at least. but you nodded anyway, swallowing gruffly despite wanting him so bad you thought it might kill you.
then, his hands slowly hooked into the waistband of your panties. he dragged them down your shaking thighs slowly, watching a thick, glistening trail of wetness visibly connecting your swollen folds to the fabric, the elastic strained around your knees.
the cold air of your room clashed against your skin, making your head feel even fuzzier.
your head tilted to the side, cheek resting over the mattress and eyes immediately landing on some stuffed animals already scattered over the bed, breath hitching. then, you looked at him behind you, eyebrows furrowed in such a needy way it made him physically remember himself to take it slow.
he let out a low, breathy laugh at your reaction. "i know," he whispered, reaching over to grab the small plushie sitting on the corner of the bed. he turned it around with a smirk so its beaded eyes faced the wall. "there. don't need 'em watching, do we."
hovering over you, with his hand wrapped around his cock and guiding himself towards your entrance, he stared down at the view and swore to himself he’d never seen a cunt so wet before, or a bird that’s begged so pretty like you.
he guided the heavy head of his cock right to your untouched entrance, pausing for a second to look at your face before he slowly pushing in. his mouth leaned down closer to your cheek the second you gasped softly at the stretch – a low grunt escaping from his lips at your cunt fluttering around him, so fucking wet it nearly sucked him in.
but he still pushed in slowly. agonizingly slow. a needy sound caught in your throat, vision going white as your body naturally clamped down around his length.
he grunted as his hips slowly slid in.
“look at you takin’ my cock, baby,” noel choked out, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he pushed through the nearly absent resistance, filling you completely. “fuck." – he kissed your pulse point – "fucking made for it.”
he let you adjust, his hands slid up from your hips, smoothing over the arch of your spine and soothing your back, "good?" he murmured against your skin, checking in.
you couldn't even form a syllable. you just choked out a breathless whimper, nodding against the mattress as your fingers digged deeper into the sheets. you were stretched so fucking full, the smeared mascara underneath your eyes smudging the duvet.
he let out a low, rough laugh, pleased with the pathetic sound you made. "fuck," he breathed out, amused. "doesn't hurt?"
you just whimpered in response, squirming underneath his weight pressed over your back. his free hand moved closer to your face, elbow propping himself up and palm meeting your cheek in two light taps. "hey, don't go all dumb on me, c'mon."
you inhaled, coming in a hitched breath. you shook your head softly, "just... it's okay."
"sure y'alright?" he asked again. his crotch was still firmly pressed against your asscheeks, fully inside you now.
"please." you whispered, broken and needy.
he breathed out a laugh, amused. his palm craddled your face and his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.
"fucking hell, please what?" he asked quietly, leaning in and kissing your lips even though you couldn't fully kiss him back, not when you were still getting used to the fullness.
his lips bumped into his own thumb, taking in a deep breath and feeling his cock twitch at the feeling of your tongue fully loose and fully dumbed down against his. "please fuck you, that it?" he whispered against your mouth, his free hand gripping your hip harder.
you gave another needy nod, your ass arching instinctively, silently begging.
he smirked, despite feeling his cock throb inside you, equally as needy. "yeah?" noel muttered.
you whimpered, tongue brushing the pad of his finger, eyes looking up at him even glassier than before. needier. “please, fuck me…”
at your plea, he straightening his back with a rough moan, his palms properly positioned you back into all fours.
and then he pulled back. the friction of his condom-clad cock dragging against your tight walls made your vision blurry, a sharp sob tore from your chest as you felt the loss of his warmth close to you. but before you could even process the emptiness, he drove back in. slow and heavy, bottoming in again.
"god, fuck." he groaned, hips grinding heavily against your ass. his blue eyes watching the way you took him so pretty. "wish you could see it. fucking swallowing me."
the mental image made your skin burn, a hot flush spreading over your face and neck as he pulled out, slowly, only to push in again with the same depth.
"so fucking tight," he breathed out, hands grabbing your hips harder and pulling you back into him – the sounds of his hips slapping your flesh making everything feel dirtier, the wet sounds of his cock stretching you out making you whimper helplessly. "gonna milk me fucking dry before i even get a proper go, aren't ya?"
the pace was excruciatingly slow, he held onto a steady rhythm like he didn't trust himself to fully let go. the feeling had you weeping into the mattress, shaky and needy moans escaping your lips with every thrust.
you didn't know what it was like at a fast pace, all you knew is that you needed more. all you knew was that the pain already faded away.
you wanted him to do whatever he wanted, sure that it would be exactly what you needed.
“noel— please, noel, want... fuck, more.” you babbled.
he leaned down, “i know, love. i know,” he cooed. his teeth gently grazed your neck met your shoulder. the sting only added to the feeling of his hips finally picking up the pace. “look at you, taking all of it and already begging for more, christ.”
before you could ask for anything else, his hand reached out to yours, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist and guiding it between your legs. "rub yourself f'me, sweetheart. can you do that?" he instructed gently, nibbling your earlobe and smirking against it the second you gasped at the new friction.
as his back straightened again, hands tight on your hips, your fingers just followed his lead, sloppily rubbing circles around your clit.
the action immediately made you pulse harder around him, reaching an unbearable amount of pleasure. his deep strokes were hitting you perfectly, and the friction against your swollen bundle of nerves made your entire body shiver.
you began clench around his shaft in tight, helpless pulses. your needy moans getting so loud not even the mattress could muffle them properly anymore.
behind you, noel let out a low string of curses, large hands pulling your hips back into him. his eyes were stuck on his cock dissapearing inside you, slick with your wetness every time he pulled out just to drive himself back in faster.
“fuck, that’s it,” he grunted lowly. he began to fuck you heavily and fast, watching you squirm underneath him – fingers helplessly speeding up as you felt the tightness in your belly tighten.
the loud and wet sounds of his cock splitting you open and your sweet moans made him throw his head back in pleasure.
“already fucking coming, aren’t ya?" – he picked his gaze up again, not bearing the thought of not watching you underneath him – "squeeze it tight, love. fuck, cmon. that's it.”
you screamed his name into the mattress, your whole body shaking as your orgasm crashed like a tidal wave. noel himself wasn't far behind, with one last deep thrust, hot spurts of his cum spilled inside the condom, his head tipping back with a low moan as his hips stuttered.
neither of you moved for a couple of minutes – your body collapsed softly over the bed and his followed, chest over your back, keeping you pinned and ruined beneath him. all you could do was pant and feel your limbs softly shake.
noel was the first one to snap out of the sirupy athmosphere inside your bedroom. his forehead pressed softly over your shoulderblade as he cursed softly under his breath, eyes closing tightly shut with a small hiss as he slowly pulled out, steadying the condom around him with his fingers.
your immediate instinct was to hide, legs curling up softly while he sat down on the mattress, hands busy with tying the condom.
no one really talked about this part, where you have to figure out what the hell you're supposed to say with a head still fuzzy from your first ever earth-shaterring orgasm.
luckily, his eyes landed on you.
and then, he broke into a tiny and breathy laugh, settling himself beside you, hand reaching out towards your face and pushing the messy hair out of the way. "what? cat got your tongue or summat?"
that made you relax again, eyes closing and lips softly curling up. "stop that."
he laughed quietly, letting his hand linger on the side of your neck.
"i probably look crazy now." you said quietly, referring to the mess around your eye lids.
he broke into another quiet laugh again, shaking his head. "look pretty, yeah? don't fret." reaching out, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, picking up the smudged tint of your lipstick on the pad of his finger. your eyes closed, still smiling softly despite it all.
"you okay?" he asked quietly, head finally clear enough to snap back into the gentle noel you were familiar with. you nodded in response, he hummed softly at it. pleased and tired. "was it good for you?"
your eyes opened at it, eyebrows furrowing in that suspicious way that immediately made a weary expression settle on his face. "what?" he asked quietly.
you scoffed lightly, "you just wanna hear me say it."
he laughed, finally catching on. then, he shrugged, playful now. "maybe." he said, you hummed, wore out – he noticed, another huff of a laugh immediately escaped him. "cmon, let's get you cleaned up."
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