notes - had this is the drafts for a while but was too scared to post
wc - 1,900
You and Alfie had been dating for just over a year - a relationship built quietly in the gaps between public lives. Long enough that loving him felt natural.
You met through mutual friends, one of those accidental introductions that somehow turned into everything. At first, keeping things private had been easy. Social media had a way of turning soft, personal things into entertainment for strangers, and neither of you wanted that. So the relationship existed mostly off-camera - tucked into late-night takeaways, weekends hidden up North, quiet airport pickups, hoodies borrowed and never returned.
Friends and family knew. The people who mattered knew.
But the internet was observant in ways that bordered on frightening.
People started connecting dots months ago. Alfie appearing in someone's vlog in the background of a party, your laugh faintly audible somewhere off camera. TikToks where you were sitting suspiciously close together. The same kitchen appearing behind behind separate Instagram stories posted minutes apart. Fans noticed when you both disappeared from London at the same time, and somehow, you always seemed to be 'visiting friends' near the Grotto whenever Alfie was there.
Now the date of the Sidemen Charity Match was rolling around, and with every passing day, Alfie became more and more excited about it. Training clips played constantly on the TV. Group chats buzzed non-stop. You found it adorable.
He wanted you there, along with his family and friends. And that meant cameras - cameras you couldn't control. Thousands of people in the crowd. Content creators filming every second backstage.
The closer the match got, the more impossible privacy started to feel.
One evening, rain tapped softly against the windows of the London flat while the two of you sat tangled together on the couch. The room glowed warm from the lamp in the corner, Alfie stretched out beside you in joggers and hoodie, one arm lazily slung around your waist while some football highlights played ignored on the TV.
Or rather, he ignored them. For once, he seemed distracted.
You felt him glance at you before he spoke.
"So..." he started carefully, his thumb brushing absentminded circles against your side. "About the match."
You looked up from your phone immediately, already smiling. "Oh, you mean the only thing you've talked about for the last week?"
"That's harsh."
"It's true."
He grinned at that, nose scrunching slightly before he tipped his head back dramatically against the sofa.
"Sorry for being passionate about my athletic career."
You snorted. "Athletic career? Alfie, you got out of breath carrying shopping upstairs yesterday."
"Yeah, well," he said, pointing at you lazily, "different skillset."
You laughed quietly, settling further against him, and for a second he smiled too, easy and familiar, before that thoughtful look crept back in.
His fingers drummed lightly against your hip.
"So, seriously," he said after a moment, voice softer now. "I've been thinking."
"That's dangerous."
"Oi- shut up."
You grinned into your drink while he rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Then he looked at you properly.
"Maybe we just make it official now."
Your brows lifted slightly. "Official?"
"Yeah." He shrugged, trying to play it casual, but you could tell he'd been sitting on this thought for a while. "People already basically know anyway. Every comment section's like fucking FBI headquarters."
"That's because you're subtle as a brick."
"I am subtle."
"You posted a photo of your dinner and my reflection was in the toaster."
"That," he pointed firmly, "was not my fault."
You laughed, and Alfie's smile widened for a second before he leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was confessing something ridiculous.
"Nah," he murmured, lips twitching, "I just want people to know I bagged an absolute fucking rocket."
You blinked at him once before a laugh escaped you, warm and uncontrollable.
"Alfie."
"What?" he said innocently, though he already looked pleased with himself. "I'm being serious."
"You're unbelievable."
"No, you're unbelievable," he corrected immediately, squeezing your waist. "Look at you."
You shook your head, trying to hide your smile as heat crept into your cheeks. He noticed instantly, grin turning smug. "There she is," he teased softly. "Knew that'd get you."
𝜗𝜚
The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric long before the match had even started.
Music blasted through the speakers, loud enough to vibrate through the seats, cameras sweeping across the crowds while thousands of people filtered into the stands in football shirts and creator merch. Everywhere you looked there were signs, phones, people shouting names across rows the second they spotted someone they recognised.
It was chaos.
Very Sidemen chaos.
You sat beside Livvy in the family-and-friends section, legs crossed comfortably as you scrolled through messages on your phone while the players warmed up below. The oversized Sidemen FC shirt you wore swallowed your frame slightly, sleeves resting just above your elbows.
AB 23 - in bold lettering across the back.
Subtly had clearly gone out the window.
You spotted Alfie near the sideline almost immediately, mid-conversation with a few of the boys, bouncing lightly on his feet with that endless energy he always seemed to have before anything competitive. Even from here you could tell he was buzzing.
Warm-ups were well underway now, players spread across the grass in small groups while coaches and organisers moved around them. Even from the stands, there was a visible difference between those who approached the game like a bit of fun, and those who had convinced themselves they were about to play in the Champions League Final.
Alfie was somewhere in the middle.
He was moving constantly, jogging a few paces before stopping, adjusting something, turning to say something to one of the others before bouncing straight back into whatever he had been doing before. Every gesture seemed slightly bigger than necessary, every reaction slightly more animated, the excitement radiating from him even at a distance.
As though he could feel himself being watched, Alfie looked up from the pitch. His gaze travelled across the stands, scanning rows of faces before finding the section where his family and friends were sitting.
The moment he spotted you, his expression changed. His whole face softened, like someone had turned down the stadium noise just for him. The grin that tugged at his mouth wasn't the big chaotic one he used for cameras or teammates - it was the smaller one, reserved for you.
There was something strangely intimate about being recognised in a crowd that large. About being seen by someone who knew you, really knew you, in a place where you were supposed to blend into thousands.
Alfie held your gaze for a second longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little higher when he noticed the shirt you were wearing. His shirt. His number.
Then one of the boys shouted something at him, and he tore his eyes away reluctantly, shaking his head with a smile that hadn’t been there a minute ago.
𝜗𝜚
The players' lounge afterwards was loud in that messy, exhausted sort of way that only came after events like this.
Music played somewhere too loud in the background, people drifted between conversations still half in kit, half changed, medals hanging crooked around necks while cameras continued catching snippets of everything. The adrenaline of the match still lingered in the air - everyone talking over each other, replaying moments, laughing about missed chances and near disasters.
Everyone seemed in ridiculously good spirits despite the result.
Mostly because the match itself had been unreal.
And because Alfie had scored an absolute screamer.
You'd watched it happen from the stands in genuine disbelief - the ball hitting the back of the net before the entire stadium erupted around you. Alfie sprinting across the pitch afterwards absolutely losing his mind while his teammates jumped on him.
You were pretty sure Livvy had nearly ruptured your eardrum screaming beside you.
Now every few minutes someone nearby was still replaying the goal on their phone.
"Look at this finish again," his brother said for about the tenth time, shoving the screen toward the table. "Actually disgusting."
His mum laughed warmly beside you. "He's going to be insufferable for weeks."
"He already is," you said immediately.
"Correct," his dad agreed.
Before anyone could continue, a sudden burst of noise came from across the lounge.
You looked up just in time to see Alfie walking in with a few of the boys, still riding the high of the match completely. His hair was damp from a shower, medal hanging around his neck over a black t-shirt, and despite the exhaustion written across his face, he looked happier than you'd seen him in ages.
Buzzing was honestly an understatement.
He was mid-story when he spotted your table. Mid-sentence, he broke off entirely.
You barely had time to smile before he made his way over, weaving through people quickly, still grinning like an idiot.
The second he reached the table, he leaned down automatically, one hand bracing against the back of your chair while he kissed you quickly - easy, instinctive, like he hadn't spent the last year trying not to do things like that publicly. There was no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. Just him choosing you without thinking, like muscle memory.
The conversation around the table paused for approximately half a second.
Then his brother made a dramatic gagging noise.
"Right, okay, enough."
Alfie didn't even look away from you. "Jealous?"
"Deeply."
You laughed quietly as Alfie finally pulled away properly, though he stayed close enough that his hand settled immediately against the back of your neck for a second - warm and grounding, thumb brushing once against your skin like he needed the reassurance that you were really there.
Up close, you could practically feel the energy radiating off him.
"You alright?" you asked softly, smiling.
"Am I alright?" He looked genuinely offended by the question. "Did you not witness the greatest goal Wembley's ever seen?"
His dad snorted into his drink. "You lost."
"Details," Alfie dismissed instantly, waving a hand.
He stayed stood beside you, too full of adrenaline to sit still properly, one hand drumming against the back of your chair while he waffled on about moments from the game, how he felt during the warm up, the sitter he missed in the first half.
There was something nice about hearing him talk like this when the cameras weren't shoved in his face.
No exaggerated reactions for content. No playing things up. Just real excitement.
Eventually Alfie finally dropped down into the seat beside you properly, still buzzing enough that his knee bounced relentlessly against yours. He didn’t even try to stop it - if anything, he shifted closer, thigh pressed against yours like he needed the contact to bleed off the leftover adrenaline.
"I'm proud of you," you told him quietly when he had settled down and stopped bouncing around like an over-excited puppy.
The words seemed to hit him harder than all the shouting and hype from earlier had.
His expression softened instantly. His knee stilled.
For a second, despite all the noise around you, all his attention narrowed entirely onto you.
Then, because he was still Alfie, the softness lasted approximately two seconds before he grinned again.
"And I scored in front of my girlfriend wearing my name on her back," he added smugly. "Movie."
𝜗𝜚
yourusername
liked by alfiebuttle and 142,946 others
yourusername: a good day to wear number 23
alfiebuttle: yeh i bagged two rockets today, no biggy
Summary: alfie's mum is one of your favourite people to gossip with
ab x reader
word count 922
based on this request
ALFIE'S MUM WAS easy to get along with. Sometimes you wondered if you bonded better with her than you did with her son. You certainly looked forward to seeing her every time Alfie proposed going to her house. At this point you would consider her a friend, not just your boyfriend’s mum. And who better to gossip with than a friend like that.
You abandoned your boyfriend more or less the second you entered his childhood home.
The two of you holed up in the living room, glasses of wine in your hand far too early in the day. Alfie was left to sit in his room on his own, frantically texting Chip and asking what to do. He had a horrible feeling that he was the topic of your discussion, but he didn’t want to seem like a crazy boyfriend. Hence why he was asking for advice. Chip just found the whole thing hilarious and promised if he was there he would probably join in with them too. That did nothing to make him feel better.
At one point he tried lingering outside the door to see if he could hear what you were talking about, but a treacherous creaky floorboard gave him away and he had to escape the scene before either of you caught him red handed.
Eventually, he was too hungry to keep hiding away. He had to interrupt out of fear of starving to death if he didn’t.
He knocked first, but he knew it wasn’t a good sign when your voices died down the moment he walked into the room. Either you were talking about him, or you were talking about something you didn’t want him to know about. If he was being totally honest with himself, he didn’t know which one was worse. All he did know was that he didn’t like being ganged up on like this. And he was going to spiral, hard.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing uncomfortably.
His mum smiled. “Nothing. Just talking.”
Part of him was screaming at him to leave the room. The air was almost suffocating and he had a strong feeling that was due to him ruining the moment.
“Shall I leave?”
You shook your head, patting the space next to you on the sofa for him to join. The evil smile on your face didn’t do much to calm his nerves. You knew this was going to drive him crazy for as long as you refused to tell him what was happening. “We were pretty much done. Come join us. What’s up?”
“Uh, I was just getting hungry. Wondered what everyone wanted to do?” He shuffled over hesitantly, sitting down stiffly in the seat next to you. He nearly flinched every time a bit of you accidentally touched him. You shouldn’t have taken so much joy in that fact, but seeing him wound up like this was a little bit hilarious.
Alfie didn’t bring it up again until you were laid next to each other in bed much, much later. You were scrolling through your phone aimlessly, and you’d thought he was doing the same. Really he’d just been staring blankly at his screen for a while as he worked up the courage to ask you.
“So, what were you and mum talking about?”
You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly. You knew something was on his mind when he’d been quiet for too long, you just hadn’t expected him to be thinking about this hours later. “It was nothing. Why are you so worried about it?”
He shrugged, trying to act like he didn’t care. “I’m not.” It was slowly eating away at him every time he thought about it. He wanted to let it go, he really did, but there was a tiny voice in the back of his head saying he couldn’t. In an ideal world he would roll over, close his eyes and go straight to sleep to forget about it. But even when he turned his back to you, it was like he could still hear the way you and his mum were laughing without him.
With a huff he turned to face you again, being met with the same amused grin you’d been wearing for most of the night. “Why won’t you just tell me?”
You rolled your eyes. “Why are you assuming we were talking shit about you? We could have been on about anything.”
“Because you always talk shit about me. I know you, and I know that look on your face. You’re guilty, but you won’t admit it.” He was getting pretty passionate about this.
Any other day you might have teased him and kept this up for as long as possible, but all the wine you’d been drinking with his mum had made you tired. You just wanted to go to sleep, not reassure your big man baby that you still loved him and wouldn’t dream of slagging him off with his mum.
“Is there something we should have been talking about?”
He shook his head. “No! Obviously not, I just–” he groaned into his hands. He hated how much you were getting under his skin. You were probably doing this on purpose. “Can you just tell me if you were talking about me?”
You rolled over, bringing the covers up to your chin and letting your eyes finally close. If he wanted to keep spiralling, he could do it quietly while you slept. “Nope. Goodnight, Alf.”
warnings — none, i think!!! this is mostly a set-up chapter for the next one (i wanted to make it sort of a two parter but i feel bad enough for the long wait as is so im not)
authors note — i despise this actually i think im only posting it atp to clear it from my drafts
i cant express how sorry i am for the wait you guys have been through for this and its not even good ugh im quitting
Things progressed slow and easy with Alfie; what started as comments on each other's videos and posts developed into a streak on Snapchat, strings of messages that would've confused the shit out of any normal person, and phone calls lasting hours.
Your record so far was 15 hours; after making yourself some food and chattering away about some upcoming content plans, you'd gotten all tucked up in bed and fallen asleep as his Xbox whirred on the other end, cut off only by his occasional murmured comment. You hadn't nodded off so quickly in years, drifting into a quiet slumber as he went about slaughtering masses of innocent NPC's on his end.
An hour or so later, Alfie was shuffling from the spare room into his bedroom, phone in his hand as he looked down at the screen to see your Bitmoji. Smiling.
That was when he knew he'd lost it. Smiling at a fucking Bitmoji? He'd never been this gone for anyone.
He shed his top and kicked off his joggers, leaving them in the corner as he sank into his mattress, a sigh falling from his lips as he swiped up on his phone and took to Tiktok for a quick pre-sleep doomscroll, a quarter of the screen sacrificed so he could keep smiling like a fucking idiot at your fucking bitmoji.
None the wiser, you awoke some eight hours later, shifting restlessly under the uncomfortably-hot sheets of your bed, before standing and yanking your window open with a huff. You made quick work of washing your face and cleaning your teeth in your en suite, before letting your feet carry you back to bed.
A quick glance at your phone and you saw that he was still on the call. Something about that made you smile, though you weren't sure why.
It didn't matter where you were or who you were or weren't with, the two of you texted constantly. And called daily—if for a quick chat when he was in between filming for his vlog, or because you needed him to convince you not to order a Chinese (which he never would, awful influence that he can be), or simply to talk you to sleep.
Your favourite part of it all, though, had to be his laugh. Soft, sometimes, or rough and low, or loud and careless. Whether it was only a breath from his nose or a chuckle or a howl, you didn't care. You just liked his laugh, craved it, sought it out with stupid jokes.
He was in London again, and you were in Manchester. You imagined him sat up in bed, the glow of the Premier Inn's purple lights behind the headboard illuminating the room as he spoke to you. He imagined you among light pink bedsheets and a wall of fluffy blankets, curled up maybe, a hand under your cheek as you spoke.
"Would you rather be a butt plug or a ball gag?" you hummed.
He roared a laugh at that, almost choking on his breath as he shook his head, "The fuck, girl?"
"Just answer," you giggled.
"Right, right," he nodded, laying back and drumming his fingers over his stomach. "Depends. Can I pick, like, who I'm being used on?"
"Only if you tell me who it is."
"Ah... maybe not, then."
"Okay, weirdo. So..?"
"So... God, fine, I'll be a ballgag."
"Thought so."
"What?"
"I knew it," you hummed proudly, rolling over onto your stomach as you looked down at the forgotten Fuzzy Hygge colouring page in front of you. "You don't seem like much of a buttplug guy."
"Ta," he breathed out. "I think."
You nodded slowly, plucking a blue pen from the case, "Mhm.."
"Girl."
"Mm?" you tilted your head, chewing on your lip as you swiped the marker up and down the page.
Alfie shifted on his end, listening to the soothing sound of the brushstrokes you made against the page, halfway into your own little world as you worked on colouring. Letting out a breath, he shook his head, rumbled out, "Well, I ain't really meant to tell ya this-"
You perked up at that, eyes bright as you hummed, "Ooh, gossip?"
"Nah," he chuckled. "Nah, you little cretin. I'm.. doing somethin' next week..." You don't even have the chance to reply before he's caving under absolutely no pressure, "Fuck it, I'll tell ya. But you can't tell anyone, alright?"
"Sure," you gave a little nod, even if he couldn't see it. When he didn't respond, you sighed, "I promise. Would use my pinky if I could..."
Alfie's fangs dug into his bottom lip for a moment as he heard that, trying not to smile. "Alright, alright, smartarse. I'm going on Inside."
"What, the Sidemen thing?"
"Mhm."
He heard the strokes of your pen stop.
"Oh-"
"So I won't have my phone."
"But what about our streak?" you uttered and the thought occured swiftly that you must've sounded disgustingly down bad.
Chuckling at that, Alfie offered, "It's only at twenty, we can get that back easy. And it's only a week."
"Mm... what, uh.. would you do with the money? If you win?"
"I dunno, maybe invest in summat."
You stayed on the call for a while, your soft voice less frequent yet somehow only all the more beautiful when it did drift through his speakers. After hanging up, he worried you might really be upset, given how quiet you had gone, making his way into the shower.
Some Drake tune drifted through the little en suite, drowning out his groan as he stood under the hot stream of water, convincing himself you weren't that bothered — he'd known you for, what, two months, and had only a handful of real-life interactions together. You could survive a week without him.
Even if he wasn't entirely sure that he could survive a week without you.
Once he'd dried off, he tugged some boxers on and dragged himself over to the bed, grasping his phone and following the usual routine of stalking all your socials.
He'd been scrolling through your reposts when a notification of a new post came through and he clicked it instantly, being directed to one of your 'Online PT' videos. He smiled his way through the entire thing, eyes clinging to yours through the screen as you gave advice to one person who'd been in your DM's, asking about a routine for weight loss.
You rambled on about the usual stuff, basic workouts and exercises that didn't involve expensive gym equipment, healthy foods and the best smoothie combinations, even going onto topics of gut health and the utmost importance of water, and he could only grin as he watched. He loved this little series you had, a free alternative to the extortionate prices of personal trainers and health advisors, for no other reason than the fact you wanted to help people. His eyes may as well have reshaped into cartoon hearts.
He woke up with his head in his pillow and his phone near overheating in his hand, having been replaying that very video all night, unable to remember when he'd drifted off. He didn't care that his phone was now on 3%, couldn't bring himself to care about anything but the sight of you.
Waking up, it was half relief and half panic to find you were on your period. Sure, you'd had to spend twenty minutes hunched over the cold tap cursing your uterus for only ever crumbling when you were wearing your cute underwear, but at least you had something to blame for the pit in your stomach as you desparately fought back any and all worries of Alfie forgetting you while he was filming for Inside.
After the clean-up, you made your way back to the comfort of your bed and your phone, drafting a message instantly.
'sorry-' that one was cut off there, your thumb spamming the delete button as your mind raced.
You told yourself it was completely normal that you'd taken thirty minutes to think of a reasonal message, fleeing your notes app to take it to the real deal, finding him pinned on your Snapchat and typing,
'hey sorry about last night i was tired'
'so cool youre doing that just dont forget me when youre the face on netflix'
In the three minutes it took for him to reply, you'd persuaded yourself, somehow, after staring at the messages for too long, that they were a written death sentence, pathetic and stupid and far too obvious. Now you looked like a stupid, jealous freak. Just fantastic.
While you were washing your face, you heard the notification of a reply and shot your arm out for your washcloth, drying your face as you leapt back through to your bedroom and snatched your phone up, opening the chat to two new messages.
'dont be stupid girl'
'couldnt forget u if i tried'
Then a snap came through, one of his favourite stupid angles with his eyes crossed and his tongue sticking out, the stupid, beautiful, way too fucking endearing idiot.
In between snapping him with stupid filters, you found yourself drifting to and from different holiday apps.
Three days and a price drop was all it took for you to cave, booking a three day getaway for yourself that just so happened to align with the days he'd go on Inside. A nice distraction, you told yourself. Completely reasonable. And almost unfair not to, given the price, even if it did mean traveling with Ryanair.
You were mid pad-change when Alfie called, nearly jumping out of your skin at the loud ringing of your phone, hurrying to finish and reach for the device on the sink once you'd chucked the old pad and washed your hands.
"Hey," you hummed as you answered just in time.
"Alright, girl? What you doin' today?"
"Uh.. nothing."
"Oh. You alright? Sound a bit funny,"
"Mhm,"
"Right.. Want me to leave you alone?"
"No, sorry, I just.. it's just that time of the month."
It seemed to take a moment for him to grasp that, before he let out a breath. "Do you need anything, then?"
"Mm.. aren't you still in London?"
"Nah, got the train this morning. I can leave you alone if you want."
"You already said that."
"I know."
"I already said no."
"Yeah.. you did, yeah. Uh.. what do you need? Chocolate, ice cream?"
When he spoke those magical words, you bit your lip as you considered the offer before shaking your head. "No, I'm okay."
"I don't mind."
"I'm not going to make you drive an hour just to bring me stuff that I don't even need, there's a shop right down the-"
"Fuckin' hell, girl, stop being so bloody difficult, yeah? I want to do it."
With a soft sigh, suppressing a smile, you hummed, "Okay.."
"Yeah? Good. What d'you want, then?"
"Um.. I don't know."
"Oh, that's helpful," he breathed out through a laugh as you turned over onto your stomach with a quiet hum.
"Just... maybe Ben and Jerry's?"
"Sure. Cookie dough?"
"Yes please. But don't get it until you're close, cause it'll melt."
"Yeah thanks for that, Einstein," he laughed again.
"Shut up," you giggled. "Don't drive like an idiot."
"Yes, boss."
An hour later, you'd showered, tidied up downstairs a bit and flopped onto the sofa, now just waiting. Despite the annoyance of your period, you couldn't quite quell the excitement that bubbled in you at the thought of seeing Alfie again, of him seeing your space, and all because he wanted to do something for you.
Thankfully, before you could get carried away, the ringing of your phone saved your sanity.
Answering, you heard a groan, a series of mutterings about some "fucking stupid thing..", then "Yo, girl! This place is like a maze, where the fuck do I go?"
"Where are you now?"
"Just went past big Tesco," he hummed.
"Oh, you're close.. sort of. You went the wrong way."
"Satnav's fault.." he grunted in a quick defense.
"Okay," you laughed softly. "Well, you can just turn at the post office and follow the road back."
"Post office.. yeah, alright. Now what?"
"Just stay on that road till you see the Gregg's, then turn left and you'll be on my road."
"Right.. right.."
"No, left," you giggled.
"Hilarious."
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"You nearly here?"
"I dunno, I can't find this fucking Greggs. Seriously, this is well confusing, girl. Why d'you live in a fuc- oh, nevermind, found it."
You laughed softly and stood from the sofa when you heard the rumbling of his Defender cut off, moving to the front door and pulling it open, waving him over with a smile.
Alfie stalked his way through your front door, still complaining about the confusing roads as if you'd paved them yourself. He followed you to the kitchen and tipped the plastic bag upside down onto your counter. Countless packets of chocolate, a multibag of Walkers, and various sweets all fell out and he looked up at you, eyes gentle as you just stared down at the mass of snacks.
Your eyes so wide you felt they might bulge out of your skull, you snapped your gaze up to him. "You didn't have to buy the whole bloody shop!"
He just shrugged, smirking slightly as you looked back at the pile of sweet treats then at him again.
"How much did you even pay for all this?"
"My expenses are my business, girl. Just be grateful and dig in."
"No. How much?"
"Seriously, girl. I'll forcefeed ya if I have to."
"Alfie.." your low tone paired with a strict look seemed to be effective, as he ducked his head and rubbed at his neck. "Like thirty quid.."
"Thirty quid?! Are you mad?"
"Well, more like twenty five... you ain't paying me back though."
"Yes the fuck I am, idiot,"
Smirking, Alfie rolled his eyes and nudged your arm over the counter. "Whatever,"
Bickering finally subsided, you led Alfie to the living room and curled yourself back up under your heated blanket, his form taking up half of the sofa beside you. "You didn't have to come all this way.."
"I know," he nodded slowly and your eyes drifted to his arm when he stretched it out behind you. "Was bored at home anyway."
"What.. do you wanna do, then? Watch a film?"
"Yeah, we can watch a film, if you want," Alfie hummed, taking the remote you offered, smiling as you opened your tub of Ben and Jerry's, scraping into the ice cream with a grin on your lips.
Despite your best efforts, you didn't make it even halfway through Batman, head lolling off your shoulder, mouth agape, thigh pressed against his, a little snore drawing Alfie's attention. His tilted his head down, smiling at the look of you like this, so open, so soft and sweet as you slept. Shifting, he guided your head onto his shoulder and gently ran his fingers through a tangle in the ends of your hair.
arabella can’t handle it when alfie’s away for too long
content: established relationship , dad!ab , crying
the sight of arabella standing right beside your bed shocked you to your core. seriously, your heart rate spiked dangerously at just her silhouette being on show.
“mummy?” she croaked.
“jesus christ, bella!” you hissed, sitting up and reaching over to flick your lamp on.
it illuminated the room in a sudden flash, making you both wince.
arabella had tears down her face and she was clutching her little cow pillow pet.
“what’s wrong, chick?” you frowned.
“i miss daddy.” she cried, face screwing up with a fresh wave of tears.
you sighed and hooked your hands under her armpits, lifting her into bed with you and cuddling her on your lap.
“i miss daddy too.” you hummed, flattening your palm over her hair. “but he already said goodnight to you.”
another round of hiccuping cries came from her as her fist clenching around your shirt.
“okay, baby. it’s okay.” you whispered, rocking her gently. “there we go, shhh.”
“call daddy.” she sniffled wetly.
“okay, let’s try call daddy.” you reached over to your bedside table, retrieving your phone and opening it.
arabella stared at the screen, watching your every move as you opened your contacts and pressed facetime on ‘alfie❤️’.
it rang a few times before the call connected and your boyfriends face took over the screen.
“alright, girl? why you up?” he asked with the sound of loud chatter and cutlery clattering in the background.
“someone missed you.” you sighed, panning the camera to arabella.
“alright, AB? why you waking your mummy up?”
“miss you daddy.” arabella pouted, reaching for the phone like it meant she would’ve been able to grab at him.
“oh, i miss you too, darlin’. two more days, yeah? can you be brave like that for me? and for mummy?”
her pout deepened and she rubbed at her eyes, blatantly overtired.
“come now.”
alfie laughed, throwing his head back, “i can’t come back now baby, i’m having my dinner.”
“please.” she whimpered.
“two days, okay? i promise.”
“two.”
“yeah. one, two. good?”
“okay.”
“good girl, bells. i’ll see you soon okay? love you lots and sleep well. behave for mummy, yeah?”
“love you too, daddy.”
you turned the phone away from her face and spoke to him a little longer before calling it a night once more.
arabella was now half asleep on the other side of your bed, her head pressed against her pillow pet.
you sighed, flicking your lamp off and leaving her there, deciding not to go through the hassle of getting her back into her own bed.
in the dark, she shuffled closer, sprawling herself out across you.
you huffed and rolled your eyes but let her anyway.
Summary: the unexpected visitor at the sidemen bbq
dad harry x reader
word count 2938
based on this request
HARRY WAS A better dad than people expected. Not that they ever got the opportunity to make that observation for themselves. All the internet had to go off was a few clips of him talking to Ethan’s poor daughter, and an ancient video that resulted in a baby doll being seriously abused… None of them had ever seen first hand what he was like with Mabel– the two of you wishing to keep her as far away from the vicious internet as possible.
You’d always had faith in him. From the moment you fell pregnant, you told everyone that you knew he was going to be the perfect dad. Even when he wasn’t so sure himself, you insisted they just had to trust his instincts. And in the end it paid off. She might actually like his company more than yours by now.
Both yours and Harry’s schedule could often get crazy, but you tried to make sure one of you was always free for Mabel. Today had ended up being one of the very few days where you had no other choice but to get a babysitter, but you were quickly reminded why you tried to never do so.
You didn’t normally show up to Sidemen shoots unannounced, but it was a last minute move of desperation. Your babysitter had cancelled at the very last second and you were supposed to be going to some sort of fancy event for your work. You were all done up and ready only to be facing the possibility of not being able to go. To say you were disappointed was an understatement.
But surely Harry could take her for a bit, even if it was to leave her behind the scenes with someone she knows. You were going to have to briefly wave your rule of keeping her hidden on this one occasion.
At least the shoot was outside. Some kind of big BBQ thing that would give her the chance to run around in the fresh air– if she was allowed to stay. You were 90% sure that no one would have an issue with her being here, but you were trying to come up with a plan b on the off chance you were turned down.
It took you a minute to spot Harry laughing with Ethan. There were more people here than you anticipated. You waved when you locked eyes with the redhead.
“Mrs Wroetoshaw’s here. Are you in trouble, mate?” Ethan poked.
Harry swatted at his friend’s hand, though he couldn’t deny he did get a little bit nervous seeing you walk towards him with your daughter in your arms. The back of his neck was already coming up red at the thought of him being in trouble. “I don’t think so. I hope not.”
The smile on his face when you finally came to a stop in front of him was clearly nervous. “You look nice,” he commented, opening his arm to greet you both in a hug. Maybe if he started off with compliments, you wouldn’t scold him so harshly when you inevitably told him what he’d done wrong. “I thought you had an event thing?”
“Babysitter cancelled. I was hoping you could take her while I’m out. It’s fine if you can’t, I know you’re busy and I really didn’t want to just show up like this, but I was out of options and–”
“Breathe.”
Mabel had begun squirming in your arms, eager to get to her dad, despite having only seen him a couple hours ago before he left. He was more than happy to take her from you, placing a loud kiss to her cheek. She bubbled with laughter, the sound making you feel a little bit lighter about the whole situation.
“I’ll take her. There’s plenty of stuff for her to do around here, and I’m sure uncle Arthur has plenty of stories to tell her. You go have fun.”
Your entire body sagged with relief. You didn’t know why you had so little faith in him– he rarely ever let you down before. “Are you sure?
He placed his hand on your arm, squeezing gently with the softest smile you think you’d ever seen. “Stop stressing. It’s fine.” He turned to the toddler in his arms, lightly poking her cheek to hear the way she laughed. “We’ll have lots of fun, won’t we?”
You let out a breath, nodding your head. You could stop panicking now. “Thank you.”
He laughed. He was her dad, this is what he was supposed to do. “What are you thanking me for? Stop being silly.” In a move you didn’t expect, considering all the eyes around you, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss. “Now go have fun at your fancy thing. Leave us to it.”
The first thing Mabel wanted to do when she was given free roam was eat– definitely her father’s daughter. The burgers she could smell looked appetising, although Harry checked at least 3 times that they were properly cooked before he started feeding pieces to her. The last thing he needed was for one of his mates to accidentally poison his child. You would never let that go if that happened on his watch.
She hummed happily as she ate her small bites of burger, ignoring most of what was going on around her in favour of watching her uncle Ethan trying not to wipe out on the mechanical bull. Like a true masochist, she couldn’t help but laugh loudly every time he fell off.
The music from the ice cream van quickly distracted her. The rest of her food was abandoned in Harry’s lap. Now all she could think about was the possibility of an ice cream. She knew she needed to put on her best puppy dog eyes if she stood any chance of getting herself a sugary treat.
“What you pouting at?”
She looked in the direction of the van and then back at Harry.
He was shocked that such a tiny girl could eat so much. “You want ice cream as well?” He didn’t know if it was worth risking the inevitable belly ache when she ate it too quickly. Today would be a long day and he didn’t want to have to take her home halfway through.
“Yes!”
He shook his head. “In a bit, babe. After your dinner’s settled.”
She whined, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown. No doubt she would have stamped her little foot if she was standing up. Usually that look would work on Harry. He was a big pile of mush for his little angel daughter, and she knew she could normally get anything she wanted from him as long as she flashed those puppy dog eyes.
“Why don’t we get your face painted first and then you can have some after?”
“Ice cream first.”
“Mae, no.”
This time he was going to keep standing his ground. Which would have been a lot easier if his friends didn’t keep stirring the pot.
Cal came wandering over with a big grin, eager to see his favourite niece. She briefly lit up at the sight of him, before seemingly remembering she was supposed to be throwing a low level tantrum. “Is your dad being mean, Mayday?”
Harry shot him a glare, seconds away from telling him to fuck off while he handled things. That wouldn’t go down well with you if it made it into the video.
“She’s mad because I told her she’s got to wait to have some ice cream.”
Cal booed loudly. “Let the girl have some ice cream.”
“Yeah!”
“No! It’ll be me that has to deal with your whining when you’ve got a tummy ache.”
Seeing as that would be none of Cal’s business, he scooped her up off the beanbag she was perched on and started heading towards the van. “I’ll get you some ice cream, little Wroetoshaw, don’t you worry.”
She cheered, sticking her tongue out at her dad as he sat in the same spot in disbelief. How could he be the adult in charge and somehow still end up with no authority? He could picture it now, the way you were going to laugh watching this video as his friends walked all over him and gave Mabel the princess treatment. You would definitely appreciate him trying to be a responsible parent, but you were definitely still going to find it hilarious.
He didn’t see Mabel again until he stumbled on her at the fruit machine with George, the man crouched down to her height while she listened intently to the rules he was trying to explain to her. She didn’t understand a thing he was saying, but she nodded along like it all made sense.
“Are you teaching my 3 year old how to gamble?”
It was absolutely what he was doing, but George scoffed anyway, shaking his head. In all honesty he hadn’t really thought about that part. Although was it really gambling if there was no money on the line, and it was just a Sidemen video? “Course not. I’m teaching her instincts, Harold. If she happens to win in this gambling-adjacent game, that’s just a bonus.”
“As long as you know that if she wins big, as her dad I’m legally allowed to take half.”
“Daddy, no!”
No one ever needed to know if the 3 holding the fruit actually conspired to get her a win. But they definitely did. She didn’t care, she was just happy to win. And she definitely wasn’t going to share her winnings with her dad– that brownie was just for her, and maybe a little bit for mummy if she was feeling nice.
Seeing everyone get into the tiny paddling pool made Mabel jealous. Even her dad was in there, and yet she was forced to sit on the side while everyone had fun without her.
He tried to make her laugh, hating to see the pout on her face again. When nothing worked he felt a little dejected, frowning along with her. “What’s up, Mae?”
“Swim.”
He shook his head. “You can’t go swimming, kid. You’ve got no spare clothes and mummy will have my head if I bring you home shivering.”
She wasn’t really listening to a word he was saying. The moment he turned away she was going to find someone else that would let her go swimming. When she set her mind to something, no matter what it was, she found a way to do it. That was the stubbornness she’d inherited from both of you.
With a huff, she seemingly accepted his no this time, then wandered away to find someone that would entertain her wishes. She knew exactly who she was looking for. And luckily for her, he was pretty easy to spot.
“Alfie!”
He was surprised at the little voice calling his name. On the few occasions that he’d met baby Wroetoshaw the two seemed to bond rather quickly. Maybe it was because Alfie had a similar mental age to her actual age, or maybe he was just one of those people that was surprisingly good with kids. Whatever it was, she had grown fairly attached to him pretty quickly.
“What’s up, girl?”
“Swim!”
“You want to go swimming?”
She nodded, reaching her arms up to signal she wanted picking up. Alfie complied, carrying her back in the direction she’d just toddled over from. In the time it had taken her to find her friend, Harry had momentarily disappeared from the water, heading off to grab another drink. Which gave Mabel ample time to put her plan into place. If her dad wasn’t there, he obviously couldn’t stop her.
“Do you need help getting your shoes off?”
The sparkly pink crocs on Mabel’s feet were her prized possessions. There was no way she was going to risk getting them wet and possibly damaging them. But she was a big girl, she didn’t need an adult's help to get them off her feet. She wasn’t 2 anymore.
She managed to fling them off before Alfie had time to wait for an answer. He could tell she was eager to finally get a dip in the pool.
It didn’t even cross Alfie’s mind that the water would be much deeper for her little legs. The moment he set her down in the pool, the water drenched her entire dress, almost covering the bottom half of her face. The man hissed, praying that his slip up hadn’t been caught on camera. He yanked her back up just as quickly as he put her down.
Thankfully, she didn’t cry, just let out a few quiet laughs. “Again.”
Harry showed back up before he could do so. Mabel knew she’d been caught red handed, doing the very thing her dad told her she couldn’t do. The moment he set his hands on his hips, she knew she was in trouble.
“What did I say?”
She shrugged, hoping the cuteness of her face could get her off with less than a warning. In her eyes he was being very mean today.
He couldn’t stay mad at her. He hadn’t figured out that skill yet. He let out a long sigh– his patience was usually a lot thinner than this. “You want to get me in trouble with your mum, don’t you?” He turned to Alfie next, who looked pretty sheepish. “And you need to stop encouraging her.”
He raised his hands in his defence. “Sorry, dad.”
If he didn’t have a child to dry off before she froze, Harry absolutely would have made Alfie pay for giving him extra work. Sometimes it felt like he wasn’t just parenting his kid, but all of his friends too. For grown adults they could all be pretty stupid sometimes.
Harry wrapped Mabel up in a fluffy towel, the girl giggling as he trapped her arms by her side and picked her up. It wasn’t doing much considering her dress was soaked through as well, but combined with the sun she would dry out in no time. At least this way she was kept warm and cosy.
“Why don’t we go get your face painted, yeah?” That might keep her out of trouble for a bit.
“You too, daddy.”
“Me too?”
That wasn’t in the plans, but if it kept her from crying then he didn’t see the harm in it. It was those puppy dog eyes once again that resulted in him having his face painted like a cat. His friends were definitely going to take the piss, but it was worth it to see the way Mabel’s eyes lit up.
He sat the toddler on his knee, still restrained in the towel, but more than content to relax in her dad’s arms. He just needed her to sit still so the woman could work.
It was easy for Harry to forget who he was talking to when he told her to sit still. Not only was she a toddler, who found it difficult to keep focus on anything for longer than 5 minutes, but she was also his daughter. Even at his big age he couldn’t sit still for very long. It was a losing battle for her really.
After a couple breaks and more than enough reminders to keep her head still from Harry, she was pretty happy with the results.
A tiger wouldn’t have been Harry’s first choice. He could have guaranteed you would have liked to see her with something like a butterfly on her face, but she thought that was boring. It was this or something similar to the travesty that had ended up on George’s face.
“Let’s see, Mae.”
She turned to him and bared her teeth, making a small growling noise that made his heart soar. He would have laughed if she wasn’t trying to genuinely be scary.
“Oh, wow, scary.” He slipped his phone from his pocket. “Shall we take a picture for mummy?”
Her head nodded rapidly and she posed for his camera. He grinned. You were going to love that. After a couple more, where she insisted he get in it as well, he sent them off to you for your approval. Although, he wasn’t counting on a quick response.
After some more running around and a terrible attempt at kicking the football into the goal, which no one would believe considering the cheers that erupted when Arthur ‘missed’ the save, Mabel was ready to crash. Too much sugar and plenty of running around would do that to a small child.
By the time Harry made it home with a completely passed out 3 year old in his arms, you were already home and changed into your comfier clothes.
The sight of your favourite people coming through the door made you smile, despite the fact you were ready to crash yourself. You didn’t know how you found the energy to get up off the sofa to greet them, but it was worth it to see your baby girl in her dad’s arms.
“She looks like she had a good day,” you whispered, lightly brushing your hand over her messy pigtails. You couldn’t help the smile on your face at how sweet she looked like this. She no doubt had been a terror for her dad all day, but at least she was calm now, with her orange striped face and slightly damp curls. You would ask about that later.
He nodded. “Oh, she has. She’s been spoiled, that’s for sure.”
“Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it tomorrow.”
“What's your obsession with catching people off guard?"
summary: you and liam hardly had a relationship, you were too caught up in your own head to notice the sideway glances he was constantly shooting your way, he was too busy getting high and drinking himself silly to notice you back. but, naturally, you push him over the edge, and he deals with it in the only way he knows how
cw: reader shown to have slight anxiety, mentions of drug/alcohol abuse, hints at cheating, mutual masturbation, fingering/jerking off, slight hurt no comfort
wc: 4.8k
an: PART TWO LETS GOOO if u saw me upload this earlier no u didnt... ok? lets keep that between us shhh but part two of my beautiful baby kodachrome is here!!! lmk what u think and there is a prize for anybody who gets the reference in the series name...
The first editorial featuring your work hit Liam like an absolute freight train.
Rehearsals were, arguably, the most boring thing to the man. Sure, performing all the songs he’d sung before was mega, the legacy that lived through the words almost able to touch through the sheer relatability in the words. At least- that’s what it was like in Liam’s mind.
The guys sat around like slobs: Noel arguing with a sound engineer by the mixing desk, words floating over; “Yeah but- no man don’t- aye don’t fucking talk over me, that don’t sound- “Liam rolled his eyes. Christ. Couldn’t the guy just take a fucking breather? He loved his brother, but man did he have a stick up his arse sometimes.
Bonehead and Guigs were sat heads knocked together in the corner, obsessing over a couple of faintly crawled guitar chords like they were trying to figure something out. Liam pressed the cool rim of the beer bottle he was holding- more routine now than actually wanting it, letting amber liquid slip past his lips and down his throat like an old friend. Welcoming the warmth that nothing else could spread in his gut.
His eyes wandered for a moment, slowed by the alcohol, lazy in a way that showed he didn’t actually care. And that’s when he saw it.
They usually had magazines stocked whenever they made a headline: naturally, of course, being arguably the band with an ego larger than the united kingdom itself. But this one caught his eye more than others. It was buried under another two- the top one rattling off some story about Liam being spotted in the pub with a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend. He didn’t want to read that one, what was the point. Beer. Lips. Sifting through the pile to reach the one that showed his face in the corner.
It wasn’t even a headline, that could almost make him laugh. But he recognised your name immediately, the small side summary column read like the words were jumping out the page at him.
NEW Oasis photographer captures stunning image of the real Liam Gallagher. Thoughts discussed by expert columnist Simon Riley on page 59- analysis: Who really is Liam Gallagher?
Bunch of pissheads. That’s what he thought of them. Picking apart his personal life like they were vultures figuring just how much they could rinse from a rotting carcass. He pinched the page between thumb and index finger, staring down at the picture. Small. But to him it felt massive.
It wasn’t anything big, not by any means. It was from that daft photoshoot you’d done of him weeks prior, the memory of it completely gone from his mind by now. What wasn’t gone from his mind though, was you. You. Sweet you with your trembling hands and a camera which seemed to calm them instantly, the way you’d taken on his challenge to snap his picture like it was nothing, letting him piss about as he worked you to your limit as part of your audition.
That’s been his real reasoning for getting Noel to hire you.
— · ✦ · —
He hadn’t stayed affected by the news of Patsy officially moving out of his house for long, no. Eventually, after the night ran long and the speakers still hummed with the excitement of the pre-tour gig at Maine Road he and Noel made their way to their second location.
The strip club. Meg didn’t need to know. Patsy definitely didn’t need to know anymore.
They’d discussed it over lines of white powder scattered over mirrors, each of them tuning out for a moment as money was tucked into the waistband of a passing girl with the knowing gaze that they’d be seeing them later. Noel had kicked it off- of course. Business as usual. Even coked out of his mind.
“Y’see kid” Noel started, hand slipping from the thigh of the girl who’d been grinding all over the front of his jeans just moments prior, “We hafta make a deci- thankyou, sweetheart- “Noel was ever the gentleman, of course. Har fucking har. Thanking a girl like her entire confidence demanded on it, an appreciative patting on the ass as he sent her on her way. Liam hardly paid attention, focused on winking at some dark-haired beauty loitering across the bar. But Noel was insistent- “We need to make a decision mate, not only are management getting pissy that we ain’t got no photographer, but if we get sent one from some random fucking agency, they could really screw us over”.
“We need someone who… won’t get all up in our faces” Noel thought for a moment, clasping the now warm bottle of beer between his hands, rhythmically tapping out a tune, one of the ones incessantly rolling around his mind, against the condensate on the glass, “What about that Alan bloke, he was nice, yeah?”
“You really wanna talk about this shite right now, man?” Liam couldn’t be arsed anymore. Hire whoever you want- that was his philosophy. Not that he ever had much say in the matter. But then he thought back, one hand scratching at a stubbled cheek whilst the other swirled the amber beer around the glass in his hand, “What about that bird? Cute little thing that looked like she was about to bolt the whole time”.
He tried to seem disinterested, of course. Nobody ever caught Liam Gallagher’s attention enough for it to matter- he’d displayed that through his treatment of patsy. Through the way he approached recording, soundchecks, music. The world was Liam’s and everybody else was just living in it for the moment. Noel shook his head with a slight laugh, shrugging, “Didn’t she seem a bit, I dunno, fuckin’ scared of us?”
“Yeah” Liam muttered, now focused on the hazy strobe, seeing your face dancing in the pulsing light, “Yeah” He repeated himself. Noel knew by now not to bother with asking, just deciding to trust his brother’s judgement for once in his life. And with a shrug, he pushed up from the lounge, already making his way over to a blonde who looked like his wife but definitely wasn’t.
Liam just took another long gulp of his beer.
Didn’t even feel it anymore.
— · ✦ · —
He snapped back to reality, rubbing his temple as he stared down at the picture in his grasp. He allowed himself to focus back on the grainy image. It’s good, he had to give you that. But it was just so fucking raw. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years, eyes wide and vulnerable in a way he never let himself show, jaw slightly slacked in a way that made him look stupid.
You didn’t think so. That’s why you submitted it.
Alan White sidled up next to Liam, plonking himself down on the couch. Liam hardly registered the sound of battered drumsticks hitting the old coffee table, too busy chewing his lip to try and figure out what the hell was in front of him.
Liam eventually piped up, tuning out the sound of the others bickering in the background, “Don’t you think she made me look knackered?” Alan leaned over, Liam watched- seemed like he was always watching nowadays, taking another swig which essentially failed in itself by there not actually being any beer left in the bottle. He ignored it. Reached for another can in the cooler cleverly placed behind the sofa, just in his reach. Alan shrugged after a moment, “You probably were knackered mate”.
Liam wasn’t buying it, stared down at the picture like it was a personal attack, an offence. Something designed to hurt him, “Yeah well,” He tried to brush it off, tried to force the uncomfortable feeling threatening to surge up his throat and out of his mouth, scrubbing one palm down his face with a big sigh, “Didn’t need immortalising, did it?”
“Yeah, well at least you finally look like a normal person”.
Normal. That was it. The reality set in as Liam slowly began to realise, with the set of his jaw and the furrow in his brows – you pictured him as the man he was, not the god he tried to be.
And that irritated him.
No. Maybe it confused him? It was hard to tell now the way the lines were blurred so often between the coke, the smoke and the beer where Liam actually began and where he ended. He just knew he didn’t like the fact that you were trying to figure that out.
— · ✦ · —
Liam found you backstage that same night. It was almost impossible for him not to be able to locate anybody he wanted at that specific time.
You were stood by the crates, staring down at the camera that often felt more like an extension of your real self rather than a tool of expression, fiddling with the lens settings with a furrowed brow. You heard the rush of footsteps up to you, Liam suddenly appearing in your periphery. You raised your head to meet his, the two of you just looking at each other for a moment.
You’d hardly spoken since that day you’d interviewed for the role, simple nods as you passed each other, sometimes he’d even dare to reach across to pluck the camera from your hands like he owned it. You always let him. Why would you do that? How come you didn’t stand up for yourself? No. Stop.
“What’s up?” You said, soft. Timid. You cursed yourself internally for a moment, straightening your spine as you tilted chin up towards him. He didn’t match the carefree expression on your face. He looked somewhat… uncomfortable? Did Liam Gallagher ever get uncomfortable? It was surely a sight to behold, your fingers itched against the cool metal camera in your hand, but you pushed aside the urge to focus on the man in front of you.
“What’s your obsession with catchin’ people off guard?”
The question felt like it knocked all the air out of your lungs. For a moment you felt like an idiot, mouth opening and closing around silent words as you tried to make sense of the thing he was accusing you of. Neither of you missed the sound of a stagehand calling five. You looked past Liam for a moment, hoping somebody could save you from the scrutiny in his gaze, “What are you on about?” Was all you could bring your mouth to utter, palms sweaty as you dropped them to your sides. His eyes narrowed.
“That picture in that stupid fuckin’ magazine, I ain’t ever heard of the daft pages before” He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head like he was waiting for some great revelation on your part. Suddenly, he caught a gaze over his shoulder, jaw setting as he manoeuvred himself in front of you, blocking you in against the crate and the makeshift backstage wall, big frame almost imposing against your own slunk against the wall in something that looked, regrettably, like cowardice. No. You can’t be having this. You hardly even know the guy and suddenly he’s forcing himself into your space like he has any right and questioning you on something you were literally hired to do. You could hardly hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears, “So I’ll ask again, what gets you off catching people like that?”
“That’s usually when they look the most honest”.
Your words seemed to completely baffle him, thick brows shooting up until they almost reached his hairline, tongue darting out to moisten his lips in a bid to think of what to say next as he watched you. He watched you like he wanted to figure you out. Exposed. Too Exposed. Get out. No. Stop. He adjusted against the wall, a sniffle leaving his person as you both stood in that awkward kind of silence which came from people essentially the same age yet entire words apart. And for the first time in his life, Liam felt completely slumped.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe the innocent little line he’d done off the back of his palm in the car on the way over to the venue- after all, this was opening night for the new tour. Who wouldn’t want to be completely amped up? Didn’t mean it made things like this any easier.
The silence kept settling in, neither of you quite knowing what to do now, apparent lack of planning on his half. He should probably think about this next time he tries to challenge somebody. Not that he did. Ring. His ring twirled around his finger by his own manipulation- it’s gold, pretty. It’s a nice ring. What the fuck are you thinking about. Stop.
The crucifying silence was finally over the second Liam let out a sigh, one hand scratching at the back of his neck as the other kept playing with the ring. It was almost dizzying at this point. You forced yourself to look back up at him. You hadn’t noticed how close you’ gotten, his chest almost close to pressing up against yours. Close enough to hear the breath in his lungs.
“You callin’ me dishonest?” He was smiling. But it didn’t feel real. That wasn’t something to try and decode at this time, wasn’t something you should try and figure out. But why did you want to? Stop.
He laughed slightly, awkwardly. Not quite awkward in the real sense of the word, more like he didn’t quite know where to put himself. You smiled back at him, unsure of your own footing as you tilt your head back defiantly, “You’re in a famous band. Obviously, I am”
That made him smile. A proper one this time. Canines glistening in the low backstage light as he took you in. “Watch out” He murmured. A stagehand passed by, Liam’s hand on your elbow to tug you in. Neither of you broke eye contact.
Were you arguing or flirting? The cold set of his eyes and tension in his jaw told a story completely the opposite to the difficult look deep within blue irises. Why were you trying to figure him out?
It all just felt weird for a second. He stared down at you; you looked back up at him. His hand didn’t leave your arm for a few moments, hot flesh burning through the fabric of your shirt onto your skin. Standing. Watching. Waiting?
His eyes trailed down your frame for just a second. But then the moment shattered, pushing himself off the wall, “Just don’t do it again, alright?”
You didn’t miss the way he reached into his pocket, the way his fingers closed around something that sounded an awful lot like a plastic baggie.
“Well, it is my job”.
He didn’t like that. But he didn’t rush at you like he probably would’ve done any other snarky photographer or reporter that dared to challenge him. But you could see the way the vein in his neck pulsed, the way his jaw clenched once more.
“Don’t push it”.
No matter what you tried to do. It seemed like Liam Gallagher was either one step in front of you, or one step closer to hating your fucking guts.
He pulled out the bag on his way out. White powder.
— · ✦ · —
You couldn’t sleep that night. Maybe it was something about being in a hotel, the lumpy bed that never seemed to grow comfortable despite the countless amounts of tossing and turning. The coffee machine in the corner didn’t work, only worsening your exhaustion. You’d already tried cycling through endless pictures stored on your various cameras. Lined up. One two three four. Counting. Didn’t help. Your head was far too loud for this. Out. You needed out.
You could hardly resist your own mind at this point, running two hands down your face as you pushed yourself away from the bed. The room span violently for a second. Stop. It stopped. Almost like you’d asked it too. You allowed your feet to carry your exhausted frame over to the table where the cameras waited like little soldiers, picking it up and turning it over in your hand. Calm. It felt calm now. You took a shaky breath. Would anybody even be up now? Stop.
You shrugged on your coat, shouldering your way out of the hotel room. It was smaller than what you imagined the ‘big guns’ of the tour had, just the floor above held Liam, Noel, the rest of the band. You got along with the others, Noel was nice to you, Alan had asked your opinion on something involving a snare which you admittedly had to confess that you had no idea what he was on about. But you weren’t part of it, the big production. And you were completely exhausted. It wasn’t fun being shunted between hotels. You’d been in three already and the tour had only started tonight, rumbling tour bus carrying you to locations around London, up to Manchester. Sound checks. Final finishings on operations. You took exclusive backstage shots which Noel bantered, “Could sell for millions them, pet” An appreciative clap on your back. Go team. Breathe.
You wandered down to reception, essentially a ghost town at this time of night. A polite smile sent towards the hostess as you walked your own path outside. It felt easier to breathe here, like it did that day you went to Maine Road. Maybe you were just in your head far too much, I mean, there was no use for this thinking all the time, right? You’re doing it right now.
It was beautiful outside, pretty trees with their leaves ruffling like feathers on a bird in the late-night breeze. You couldn’t stop yourself from tilting your camera up to snap a shot of the picturesque scene, allowing your hands to move over buttons like they had a million times before.
Footsteps. Footsteps sounded from behind you. You turned around quick as anything, trying to focus on the source of the sound. Your eyes fixated on an alleyway, down the side of the hotel where it met its neighbour was a small ginnel, big enough to fit a person if they crammed themselves in sideways. What caught your attention the most was the glowing ember of a cigarette butt.
The frame looked familiar.
“Liam?” Your voice cracked in the cold night, a billow of smoke sent itself out from the alley almost confirming your suspicion. You plucked up the courage to walk over, cautiously scanning your surroundings as you held your coat around you impossibly tighter, walking over to where you were sure he was standing. And that’s where he was. He hadn’t heard you, back turned to you as he puffed on the cigarette, head tilted back to send smoke billowing into the otherwise quiet night air.
Snap.
Your camera clicked quietly. Didn’t hear it.
“I thought rockstars never slept” You allowed yourself to utter. He heard that one. He turned, hand skilfully tapping ash off the end of the cigarette as his eyes focused on your frame standing at the end of the alleyway, “Thought photographers minded their own business”.
Feeling a sudden rush of confidence, I mean, you don’t even know what came over you, you let the camera rest against your eye once more, snapping another picture. A quiet moment.
“Delete that” His voice came out rough, not like rough with sleep, more like lack thereof. He sounded exhausted, irritated, the emotion in his voice now fighting its way onto his face as he stared you down from in the dimly lit alleyway.
Checking the camera, you can hardly see him. It’s more artistic than arguably anything you’d ever shit- another real, raw shot, catching him in another vulnerable position. He hated that. That much you knew by now. Why was he so scared to show the world the real him? What was the whole performance about. You were so caught up in thinking you hardly noticed the dull footsteps heading your way as you turned towards the wall.
Hot hands made their way to your hips. Push. Pushed against the wall. “I said” He muttered, low and hot down your ear. The sound of his voice, the gruffness, the harsh undertone behind his words, it all made you shiver. Hands stayed idle on your hips, forcing you closer into the brick, digging into your stomach.
“No”
His jaw clenched, hands tightened in their hold on your hips as he reached around you for the camera, “Fuck this” He muttered, hand closing around the small device in your hand. You tugged back, not wanting him to take your only comfort away from you. He didn’t relent. Scuffle. It turned into a right scuffle, one of his hands pinning you against the wall as the other tried to tug it out of your hands.
“Fuck!” He shouted eventually, backing away. He backed so far he hit the wall behind him, chest heaving with anger as each breath fought its way out of his lips, “Why’re you doin’ that?!”
“Doing what?” You combat back, holding the camera tighter against your chest, “This is my fucking job Liam!” His eyes narrowed, staring you down.
He walked forward, invading your space, chin ducked low so his breath could waft over your lips, tilting his head so close if you even moved an inch you’d kiss him. He didn’t move forward. Stayed there. Intense.
“Delete. It” He muttered against your lips, both of your mouths brushing yet still so far from truly touching, he walked forward, pinning you back against the wall. His hardness dug into the top of your thigh. He was turned on by this. By you? You didn’t know what to think over the rushing of blood in your ears. Boom. Boom. BOOM. Too loud. Stop. Stop.
Not stop for him, not him. The warmth of his breath billowed out against your cheek as you stood there, eyes locked in a kind of battle as you waited for whoever would say the next word. “No” You simply said again. He looked defeated. Liam Gallagher looked defeated.
His head knocked down onto your shoulder, the hand that had pinned itself against the wall now falling limply to your waist as he let out a pained groan. “Fucks sake” He whispered, lifting his head again to knock forehead against yours once more. Drunk. He was drunk again, the sweet tang of alcohol on his breath reaching your nostrils as you stood there, a breath shaking as it left your lungs. Huh. You didn’t even know you were holding your breath.
“Fuck you” He whispered against your mouth. And then he was on you. Lips meeting yours in a rushed drunken frenzy, hands tightening their hold on your hips as he surged into you. It was more teeth and tongue than a true kiss, fighting for dominance as each of you tried to force your tongue into the other’s mouth. “M’ not gonna fuck you” He whispered against your lips, voice ragged, breathing heavy, “Don’t even fuckin’ know you, do I” Murmured. He was quiet. Sounded like he regretted it, “Don’t deserve it either”.
“Submitting that to some fucking twatty gossip mag” Kiss, breathe, “Takin’ fucking pictured of me” Foreheads bash together, lips lock, hand on your throat, “Won’t fuckin’ do as I say- who do you think you are”.
“It’s my- my job” You manage to rasp against his lips, pushing back on his shoulders to force him to the other side pf the dark alleyway. Your own hand reached his throat, pinning, holding, kissing. He didn’t even make a sound, just kissed you back like he needed it to breathe, “Off” He whispered against your lips, rough hands pulling at the fabric of your joggers, “Take them fuckin’ off”.
You don’t know what made you comply, but you did, fingers hooking in the waistband of your joggers to shove them to just under your ass. No underwear. Liam groaned softly, head falling down onto your shoulder to nip and suckle the skin exposed by your tank top. “Thought- thought you weren’t gonna fuck me” You managed, breathless, gripping his chin to force his eyes back to yours, “I ain’t” He snarled, fumbling with the buckle on his belt, never taking his eyes off you, “Touch yourself”.
What? “What?” You repeated, echoing your thoughts, “Am I speaking English, girl? Show me how you touch yourself”.
Your hand slid down between your thighs. A glimpse down the narrow alleyway to see if anybody was watching, listening, anything. Nothing. Nobody. You looked back to him, his face flushed, eyes now focusing on your centre as fingers approached, dusting through your already soaked folds. He groaned when he saw the gathering wetness on your hand, “Yeah, that’s it” He whispered into your mouth, no longer kissing you- not even when you tried to chase his lips with your own, legs buckling, sending you slumping against him. A hand caught you round the shoulders, tugging you against him as he breathed into your mouth.
The other hand worked at freeing his already hard dick from his trousers, hand closing around throbbing red tip as he gasped in tandem with you. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Adjusting. Felling. Your fingers circled your clit, feeling the dull knot start to twist in your stomach. Look away. Don’t look. Your brain still didn’t stop. He noticed, letting out a quiet whimper of his own as he grabbed you by the back of the neck. Forcing. Forced your head to crane up to meet him as each of you worked yourselves closer to the edge.
It was cold. But his words were hot, “Eyes on me- don’t, don’t fucking look away” He rasped into your mouth, jerking himself off harder when he saw the way your legs were beginning to buckle, “Fuck- fucking bitch” He whispered into your mouth, breathless, “Who do you think you are, Liam?” You manage to stammer out around a moan, lips touching but not kissing as you panted into each other’s space, stepping forwards until you could feel the rapid movement of his hand stroking himself against your leg, a keen leaving him at the feeling of soft skin against his tip, “You’ve been- ah- nothin’ but an arsehole to me since the- mmh, second I got here” You’re fighting back. You didn’t even know you could do this.
Something about the moment left you bold, both of you tripped down, raw. Vulnerable. If you were an outsider to this you’d probably think you were in love. But the air carried something far more toxic. More obsessive. Glanced caught between backstages, magazine articles designed specifically to piss him off to the point of talking to you properly, all came to a head here.
“Fingers- fingers in” He muttered into your mouth, own eyes hazy with the lust clouding over the two of you. You smiles against his lips, licking, suckling on the lower one, letting him watch as your fingers dipped to circle your dripping hole, pushing a finger in. He groaned at the sight, pumping his dick slow to not come too fast, head knocking back against the wall.
You pulled your fingers out after a moment, other hand coming to stroke your clit once more. You could feel the burning building up in your abdomen. Through the black spots clouding your vision, you made the decision. The fingers slick with your wetness pushed past his lips.
He groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he muttered out a quiet, “Fuck”, words muffled by your fingers as his orgasm crashed over him, shooting hot white ropes of his cum onto your thigh, some making it to the floor. You followed suit soon after, body shaking with the force of your own orgasm, clit throbbing as you leaned forward into his chest for support. His hand still pumped lazily at his leaking dick as he came down with a shaky sigh.
And then pushed you off him.
Spared one glance down to your shivering thighs, the way you looked so vulnerable at him moving away from him. He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad through the numbness. Just stood there. Reached out after a second to tug your pants back up, bicep heavy against your head as he reached down to pat your ass once- just as if to say, ‘job well done’. This was his world. His. Not yours. What did you just do? Stop. Stop it. Stop thinking.
He spared another glance to the camera snashed on the floor from the frenzy, jaw set as he dug in his pocket, Threw a couple of bills on the floor.
notes: this is really sad like arabella is my baby :( // she’s about 6 years old in this which is year two and makes you & alfie 26 // also the title is a reference to nettles by ethel cain
wc: 2,351
YOU KNEW SOMETHING was wrong with Arabella. The moment she got home with Alfie she sent herself right to her room. You gave him a confused glance as he walked to grab the shoes that she’d carelessly kicked off.
“What happened?”
Alfie shrugged, placing her shoes in the shoe cupboard, “She didn’t say anything, like, literally the whole ride home she said nish.”
You sighed, tilting your head back, “So she’s had a shit day then.”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” You muttered.
The entire afternoon went by, and you hadn’t heard a peep out of her at all. Not her door opening to go to the toilet, not the sound of her TV playing her favourite show, and not any light clattering as she played with her toys.
You were concerned, but you knew that bothering her right now would only make it worse, because the last time you did you got an earful.
While you made dinner, Alfie edited his vlog at the kitchen island, occasionally getting up to press a kiss to your cheek and steal a piece of food that you were in the midst of cooking.
“Oi!” You laughed, slapping his wrist as he stole a meatball off the pan.
“Ah, fuck!” He exclaimed, spitting it out into his palm, complaining about it being too hot.
“What did you expect, you div?” You threw your head back in amusement. “Can you go and get our daughter please? I’m serving up.”
He hummed, giving you another kiss before disappearing.
By the time you’d laid the plates out on the table, he was coming back downstairs with Arabella on his tail.
Her eyes looked a little red, and the fear that she’d been crying in her room for three hours by herself struck you in your heart, but you said nothing. There was also an irritated area of skin surrounding the mole on her jawline, and you really hoped she hadn’t been scratching at it too hard, but there were little speckles of a brighter red amongst the pink-ish skin.
“What happened here?” You cooed, stroking the back of your fingers over it.
“It was itchy.” She mumbled, pushing your hand away.
You frowned at her dismissive response but lifted her into her booster chair and pressed a kiss to her hairline.
Again, she remained silent throughout dinner, never looking up at either of you for longer than a millisecond.
“Bella, how was school, chick?” You tried.
She only shrugged, “Okay.”
“Yeah? Did you do anything fun?”
“Watch TV at break.”
“You didn’t go outside?” Alfie asked.
Arabella paused before shaking her head.
“Why not?”
“Didn’t want to.”
“Fair enough.” You hummed, “It was too cold today, hm?”
She nodded.
You and Alfie shared a glance across the table, one of defeat and upset.
Suddenly, an idea to make her laugh came to mind.
You grabbed a couple of steamed carrots from your plate and chucked them at your boyfriend.
“Oi! What the hell?!”
You nudged your head in the direction of Arabella, hoping that he’d catch onto what you were trying to do. Thankfully, he did.
“Oh, you wanna play it like that, girl?” He smirked, picking up some mash.
“Alfie, not mash!” You screamed before it was launched at you. “Oh my God!”
Arabella’s head did perk up a little, a soft smile on her face as she watched you two go back and forth.
“You think this is funny?” You gasped like she’d offended you.
She pursed her lips a little, stifling a giggle.
“AB, get her quick!” Alfie said to her, but you’d already flicked some carrot at her.
“Mummy!” She laughed, retaliating with her own serving of carrots.
“No, get daddy, not me!” You cackled.
She did, turning to Alfie and throwing some at him.
“Ar, no way!” He shouted, getting out of his chair and crouching beside her, beginning to tickle her sides relentlessly.
She screamed and laughed contagiously, writhing in her seat.
But when Alfie began swapping between poking the mole on her jawline to the birthmark on her thigh (something he’d been doing since he noticed them coming through) it all went wrong.
Her shrieks of joy became shouts of annoyance.
“Stop it!” She snapped, hitting him away.
“Bella! You don’t hit your dad!”
Her eyes were full of tears when she looked up at you, “I don’t like it!”
The both of you watched as she pushed herself off of the chair, stumbling a little from the added height of her booster seat, but persisting on walking away.
Her cries followed her as she jogged up the stairs, becoming more and more muffled as she got further away.
There was no denying that your house was huge, a token to the amount of wealth Alfie had accumulated over the years, but even when she was in her room you could hear her sobs.
“What the fuck is going on?” You breathed out, running your hand through your hair.
What you didn’t expect was for her to come back the stairs, face red and eyes streaming rapidly.
She had a teddy stuffed in her hands, a foldable cow pillow, one that you’d bought her for her birthday two years ago. You knew she took it to school with her as a form of comfort and for something to lie on when she got tired in class, so you were a little confused as to why she had lugged it downstairs with her.
Shockingly, she managed to pull herself up onto her chair, standing instead of sitting, and began slamming the face of the stuffed cow into what was left of her food.
“Bella!” You exclaimed, shooting out of your chair to take hold of her.
With your hands covering hers, you tried to pry her little fingers off of her teddy, but her grip was hard as she rubbed food into the fur in an angered sob.
Mashed potato and gravy was clinging to it, creating a sight that made you feel a little bit sick and would undoubtedly stain.
To make it worse, she tipped her cup upside down, soaking the fur in apple juice. Now on top of a stain, you’d have a lingering scent too.
“Alright, alright, Bells, stop!” Alfie raised his voice, stepping in and yanking her away from the table and her teddy.
Her whole body shook against his chest from the force of her heavy cries.
His hand was firm on the back of her head, keeping it tucked into his neck as she clung to him desperately.
Your own hand was pressed to your mouth, watching with an aching heart as your baby girl made gutted sounds of distress and agony.
“What’s wrong?” Alfie whispered, tucking his forearm under her bottom to help hold her up easier, “Hm?”
“Everyone’s so mean to me!” She sobbed loudly, her voice slightly warped due to her hiding in the crook of her dad’s neck, but it didn’t make her words inaudible, as much as you wished it did.
“What do you mean?”
“Daddy, they make fun of me all the time!”
There was nothing you could do to halt the tears from coming out of your own eyes. You could’ve swore it was like someone had broken into your house and just immediately sucked all of the life and joy out of it. Where there was an overbearing amount of grief and sadness within you, there was also an underlying feeling of protective rage that made you want to have a few very strong words with the parents of these children.
Alfie made eye contact with you before speaking words that were meant to comfort both you and Arabella.
“It’s alright, darlin’, let’s sit on the sofa, ‘kay?”
The three of you ended up sitting close, Arabella now on your lap while you had your legs hanging over Alfie’s. One of his arms rested along the back of the sofa, the other resting on your knee as listened to your daughter splutter through an explanation of what had been happening at school.
What you managed to make out in between her sobs and coughs was that her previous group of friends had done a complete U-turn of their behaviour towards her, and instead of being lovely, had resorted to making fun of her for every little thing.
Apparently, she was ‘childish’ and ‘stupid’ for carrying a teddy around with her, which was idiotic to you because they were all children and almost all of them undoubtedly slept with teddies at home.
And the moles she’d inherited from her dad? According to the nasty children she attended school with, those weren’t allowed either.
It made sense why she’d gotten annoyed at her dad when she explained that the girls had been relentlessly poking at her moles for weeks and weeks.
The worst thing was that you could see the silent defeat in her eyes, the hint of emotion that told you she’d given up on making any new friends already. Her body looked even smaller than normal, like she was trying to take up less space in the world, or avoid drawing unwanted attention to herself. It made your heart shatter.
The fact that these feelings of insecurity and loneliness were following her home, latching onto her and draining that joyous energy you knew she had, tore you apart from the inside out.
She was supposed to feel comfortable at home, and she couldn’t even do that.
You tucked her into your chest, resting your chin on top of her head as she expended the rest of her energy crying even more. Your skin soaked up her tears in a similar way that you consumed her misery.
“I thought you were best friends with Eliza?” Alfie spoke softly, his thumb stroked over her ankle soothingly.
“She wasn’t in.” Arabella croaked, toying with her own fingers.
“But you’re still friends with her, right?”
She nodded.
“See, that’s good.” He hummed, “You’ve got her.”
“But what if she thinks I’m weird too?”
“Darlin’, you’re not weird. They’re just boring.”
Arabella shook her head, “Daddy, I’m so weird.”
“Okay, maybe you are, but who cares.”
“Alfie.” You snapped.
“No, I’m serious. If you’re weird, that makes me and your mummy weird, ‘coz you get it all from us.”
“But you’re a good weird.” She mumbled.
“What makes someone a good weird?” He brushed her hair back, smoothing a hand over the top of her head.
“I dunno.”
“Exactly. Bells, you’re just you and that’s okay— and who cares if you’ve got moles? I’ve got them, and your mummy thinks they’re pretty cool.”
“You do?” She looked up at you.
“The coolest.” You smiled, eyes filled with tears, “Baby, you’re so perfect to us.”
“Then why is everyone so mean to me?”
“I don’t know.” You pressed your mouth to her forehead, trying to force back your own sobs, “Some people are just mean, chick.”
Part of you felt like you’d failed to do the one job you had with her.
You were supposed to protect her and keep her happy and safe, but you couldn’t even do that.
Here she was, going to school and spending her days being bullied, and it had gone completely under your radar.
You should’ve known. You of all people should’ve known.
“Mummy, I need a wee.” Arabella muttered.
“Okay.” You hummed, pulling back, “Go toilet then.”
“We love you, Bells.” Alfie chimed.
“Love you too.” She replied before hopping off of the sofa and travelling down the hall.
When the bathroom door clicked with a lock, you looked at Alfie and broke.
He dragged you impossibly closer, lathering your hairline in little kisses to calm you.
“How didn’t we know?”
He hummed in argument, “None of that. This wasn't our fault, okay? Don’t feel guilty for the behaviour of other people’s kids.”
“Why are they so horrible to her?” You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks to gather yourself before she came back.
Alfie never ever cried over anything (except for when Arabella was born) but even he had glistening eyes at the thought of his daughter being tormented.
“‘Coz they’re kids, and they’re nasty. Bet their parents are pieces of work too.” He scoffed.
“Alf.”
“What? That type of behaviour doesn’t just come from nowhere. I’m phoning the school tomorrow if you don’t. Gonna have me goin’ proper Karen dad mode on them.”
“I don’t even wanna send her back there.” You shook your head, “Not until something’s been done about it.”
“What if I call and say she’s not returning until we speak about it with people and something’s done?”
“I just don’t want her missing out on that much school time.”
“I think it’s worth it if it means she doesn’t come home bawling everyday.” Alfie clicked his tongue.
You hummed in acknowledgment of his words.
“Oi, don’t be getting all lost in your head.” He tutted, kissing your temple.
“I just … Alfie, she’s fucking distraught.”
“I saw, darlin’. That’s why I’m gonna force that fuckin’ headteacher to do summet about it.”
You sighed and pursed your lips, “Okay.”
“Hey.”
You raised your eyes to meet his gaze.
“I love you. And you’re a great mum, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Appreciatively, you smiled at his words, lifting your head to press a chaste kiss to his lips, “I love you too.”
“I’ll clean up the table and get that pillow pet thing in the wash. You cuddle with Bells.”
You nodded in agreement.
When Arabella came back from the toilet, you tucked her under your arm and let her pick what to watch on the TV, not making a single complaint when she picked a Disney film you’d watched a hundred times over already.
Alfie finished with the cleaning in about twenty minutes, having taken it upon himself to give the kitchen a wipe down too, and joined you. Arabella climbed into his lap, and you snuggled up into his side, relishing in the comfort your family brought you.
pairing: dilf!liam gallagher x younger reader
cw: nothing really :P
wc: 2k
author's note: another little piece of their world — the moment of truth for the whole family.
The house was too loud for a secret.
There were too many voices overlapping, too many plates being passed around, too many people moving through Liam’s kitchen like they had known the place longer than I had. Peggy was talking to Paul near the counter, Noel was leaning back in his chair with that look of permanent judgment, Anaïs was laughing at something Sonny had said, Donovan and Gene were arguing over something that sounded important to absolutely no one else. Lennon was quieter, watching the room the way he did when he already knew too much. Molly sat with her partner beside her, the baby being passed from one pair of arms to another like the most precious and exhausting parcel in the world. Gene’s girlfriend was there too, folded naturally into the noise, smiling at him every time he tried too hard to look casual.
My parents were there. Clara and Julia too, which somehow made me both calmer and worse. They kept looking at me like they knew something was coming, even though they didn’t. Or maybe they just knew me too well.
The only people in that room who already knew were Liam’s children and Noel.
Lennon, Gene, and Molly had been carrying the secret carefully for weeks. Noel had known since the night Liam had called him in panic, which he kept pretending made him noble and not simply unbearable.
Everyone else was just eating, laughing, talking. Existing around the thing that had been living quietly between Liam and me for three months.
I watched them for a moment too long. It was strange, how a secret could feel small when it was only yours, and enormous the second you imagined placing it in someone else’s hands.
Liam noticed before anyone else did. He was sitting beside me, close enough that his knee brushed mine under the table. He hadn’t been saying much. Not because he was calm, but because he was absolutely not calm and had decided silence was the safest option. His hand found mine under the table, warm and firm.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
I looked at him. Then around the room. At Peggy. At Noel. At Paul. At his children trying not to look like they were waiting for a bomb to go off. At my parents. At my friends. At the people who were about to be pulled into something that had been just ours until now.
I nodded because I knew I wouldn’t feel any more ready if I waited.
So, without standing up, without tapping a glass or making some pretty little speech, I lifted my voice just enough to cut through the noise.
“Sorry— we need to tell you something.”
It took a second for the room to understand. The conversations didn’t stop at once. They faded badly, in pieces. Clara turned first. Then Julia. Peggy’s eyes went straight to Liam, which was unfair but also completely predictable. Noel lowered his drink and looked at his brother with the faintest hint of a smirk, already enjoying the disaster he knew was coming.
Liam squeezed my hand once and I took a breath. “We’re having a baby.”
For one second, no one moved. Then the room exploded. Clara gasped so loudly it nearly became a scream. Julia grabbed her arm and said, “I knew it,” even though she absolutely did not. Anaïs covered her mouth, smiling already. Sonny said something like, “Wait, seriously?” Donovan started laughing in disbelief. Gene’s girlfriend looked at Gene, caught him grinning, and slapped his arm because he had clearly known. Molly’s eyes filled immediately. Lennon looked down for a second, smiling to himself like he was relieved he didn’t have to pretend anymore.
And Peggy— she stared at Liam.
“Liam.”
He sat up straighter. “What?”
Her eyes widened with that very specific motherly horror that made him look about twelve years old. “Are you serious?”
The room went louder. Gene choked on a laugh. Paul looked down into his drink to hide his smile. Noel muttered, “There she is,” under his breath.
Liam looked genuinely offended. “Why’s it always me?”
Peggy pointed at him. “At your age?”
“Here we go.”
“You’re already a grandad.”
“I know that.”
“So you understand why I’m asking questions.”
“I’m fifty-two, Mam, not dead.”
“That is not as reassuring as you think.”
I felt him tense beside me, not angry, just bracing himself. And because I knew Peggy wasn’t being cruel, only shocked, I leaned forward slightly.
“Peggy,” I said, gently. Her eyes moved to me. The room softened a little. “I’m okay,” I said. “We’re okay.”
That changed something in her face. Not all at once. She was still Peggy. She still looked like she wanted to smack Liam round the back of the head on principle. But her panic shifted, loosening into something more fragile.
“You’re sure, love?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Properly?”
I smiled a little. “Properly.”
She let out a breath, long and heavy, then pressed a hand to her chest. “Jesus Christ.”
Liam muttered, “That means happy, by the way.”
Peggy shot him a look. “I’m getting there.”
Paul laughed then, soft and warm. “Well, congratulations,” he said, looking at both of us. “That’s lovely news.”
Noel finally decided to contribute. “Well,” he said. “At least it’ll keep you busy.”
Liam looked at him. “You already knew.”
The whole table shifted toward Noel.
Peggy’s head snapped around. “You knew?”
Noel lifted one shoulder. “He rang me in the middle of the night having a breakdown.”
“I did not.”
“You were spiralling.”
I bit my lip to stop myself smiling.
Peggy stared at Noel for another second, then sighed. “Of course he rang you first.”
Noel’s expression barely changed, but his voice softened just enough. “Wasn’t mine to tell.”
That sat there, quietly. A small act of brotherhood, hidden under all that dryness.
Then my mother spoke. “You’re pregnant.”
I turned. She was looking at me like the words had only just become real. My dad sat beside her, quiet and stunned, his eyes already a little shiny in a way he would probably deny later.
“Yeah,” I said.
My mum’s face did something complicated. She looked at my stomach, then at Liam, then back at me. For a second, I saw every old argument pass behind her eyes. Every difference between us. Every version of my life she had expected and the one I had stubbornly built instead.
Then she said, almost helplessly, “God, you’ve always been so weird.”
Julia made a tiny noise beside Clara, Liam blinked and I almost laughed.
“Mum.”
“I don’t mean it badly,” she said quickly, though she absolutely could have chosen better words. “I just mean… you always did things your own way.”
“That’s a nicer version.”
She sighed, but her eyes were softer now. “And are you happy?” That was the question, underneath all of it.
I looked at Liam before answering. Not because I needed permission. Because he was part of the answer. His thumb brushed once over my hand.
“I am,” I said.
My mum held my gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Alright.”
Not emotional in the way films make mothers emotional, but it was something.
My dad stood up then, abruptly. Like his body had decided before his brain did.
“Oh,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to do.
He came around the table and pulled me into a hug, careful but firm, one hand at the back of my head like I was suddenly small again.
“My girl,” he murmured.
That nearly got me. It was just him, overwhelmed and trying not to make a mess of it.
My dad looked at Liam then, still processing the whole impossible shape of it.
“You’ll look after her?”
Liam didn’t answer fast.
He looked at me, then back at my dad. “She doesn’t need lookin’ after,” he said. “But yeah. I will.”
My dad blinked, then nodded slowly. “Good answer.”
Liam shrugged once. “Only had one.”
And after that, the room found itself again.
Clara reached me first, already crying before she even touched me. “I’m going to be an aunt,” she said, grabbing both my hands.
Julia appeared behind her, just as emotional and slightly offended. “We’re going to be aunts.”
“You’re not technically—” Liam started. Both of them turned to look at him. He stopped immediately. “Right. Aunts.”
“Smart,” Noel muttered from somewhere behind him.
Julia hugged me so tightly I had to laugh into her shoulder, and Clara kept saying, “I knew it,” even though she absolutely hadn’t. They were already talking over each other, making plans, arguing about who would buy the first tiny outfit, deciding things no one had asked them to decide.
Molly came next, softer, eyes bright. She didn’t say much. She just held me for a second longer than usual, one hand careful at my back.
Then Gene’s voice cut through the room. “So I’m officially a big brother again?”
Liam looked at him. “Yeah.”
Gene leaned back, processing it with the dramatic weight of a man who had just been personally betrayed by biology. “At my age?”
Lennon laughed. “You’re making this about you already?”
“I’m allowed,” Gene said. “I’m being replaced.”
“You were never that important,” Lennon replied.
Gene pointed at him. “That’s exactly what a jealous older brother would say.”
“You’re the jealous older brother now.”
That made Gene pause, then his whole expression shifted. “Oh, shit. I am.”
Everyone laughed, and even Liam smiled then, though he tried to hide it badly.
Peggy was still half emotional, half furious with him, which felt about right. She hugged me carefully and then smacked Liam lightly on the arm when he got close.
“What was that for?”
“For making me a grandmother again without warning.”
Liam blinked, offended. “What, did you want me to warn you while we were makin’ the baby?”
The room went dead silent.
“LIAM.” Peggy smacked him again, harder this time, while Gene nearly choked on his drink and Noel closed his eyes like he was physically in pain.
“What?” Liam said, rubbing his arm. “She wanted a warning.”
Paul laughed quietly into his drink. Anaïs came over with a smile, warm and easy, and Sonny asked if this made the baby their cousin or “some weird Gallagher maths thing.”
Noel, without missing a beat, said, “Don’t ask Liam for maths.”
Liam pointed at him. “You’re on thin ice.”
“I’ve been on thin ice since you were born.”
The room kept moving around us. Noisy. Messy. Full of hands reaching for me, questions being thrown across the table, people laughing before anyone had finished speaking. My dad was still a little teary. My mum kept looking at me with that strange softened expression, like she was trying to understand this version of me without correcting it first.
And Liam stood in the middle of it all, overwhelmed and pretending he wasn’t. At some point, I caught him watching Gene and Lennon argue over who would be the cooler older brother. Molly was already telling Clara and Julia what baby things were actually useful and which ones were a waste of money. Peggy was asking if I was eating properly. Noel was pretending not to listen while clearly listening to everything.
He leaned closer and tilted his head toward the hallway. “Come here a sec.”
I followed him a few steps away from the noise while everyone else kept talking over each other in the kitchen.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “Yeah. Just… a lot.”
“Yeah,” he said with a small laugh. “Family’s terrifying.”
I smiled at that.
He looked at me for a second longer, softer now. “We’re alright though.”
“We are.”
Liam wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against him, kissing my forehead first before I tilted my head up and kissed him properly.
Behind us, someone yelled my name from the kitchen.
“Oi,” Liam muttered against my mouth. “Can’t even have her for thirty seconds now.”
an: this was again inspired by and ask i got over a month ago!! im so so sorry! I hope this is what you were looking for. lowkey this might be a little ooc liam bc i dont think he gets freaky like this but whatevs. i also tried to use more paragraphs bc after looking at some of my old stuff it's just in like big blocks of text so like ugh idk. also im a big fat loser virgin so the smut bit might be a bit innacurate
wc: 3.9k
cw: smut, mentions of smut, handcuffing, reader doesn't know what to do, liam sort offf forces the reader but it's all very consensual, little bit angsty and semi happy ending. not proof read sorry
you knew what people thought. you could feel their stares as you and Liam walked down the street. it was obvious. you styled your hair neatly each morning, Liam flicked his shaggy mop back and forth until it reached perfect rock n roll star standards. you planned out your week in a little blue Filofax, Liam was reliably late to any given event. you ironed and folded your blouses and had a specific bra for each day of the week, Liam doesn't remember the last time he did his laundry, yuck. you could go on and on but the point was that there was a bridge of sorts between you. if people described you as a square, Liam was a sporadic irregular spiky sort of shape, like an explosion in comic book. you were neat and tidy, he was chaos and crips.
but even if to the outside world, it seemed like Liam would be bored in your relationship, he never was. you wouldn't describe yourself as particularly outgoing, interesting or remarkable but to Liam, you were this fascinating enchantress. you two could chat for hours, he clung onto your every word and remembered stupid little details about your childhood or your favourite flavour of ice cream (predictably and uncontroversially, it was strawberry, but Liam found this so intriguing). he admired you for your organisation and thought it was so impressive when you explained to him that you knew where you'd be at this time two days from now; planning was a foreign concept to him. the thing is that, despite what everyone else might say, to Liam, you weren't a square. you weren't boring or uptight. you weren't even serious. to him, you were this fun, entertaining, gorgeous girl that was fiercely intelligent and had rapier sharp wit. though Liam would never admit it, he was a little jealous of your ability to stick within the lines, to easily get along with people and never offend. you constantly assured him that his own personality was perfect and you wouldn't want him any other way. Liam pondered this and decided on something he already knew, that the two of you were perfect together. with his outgoing energetic ways, and your ability to keep everything running smoothly, you balanced each other out perfectly.
after a while, the two of you became so dependent on the other that your two lives started to amalgamate. you'd look in your planner and find sweet little notes scrawled in Liam's messy handwriting. always caring, always kind. something like 'STUNNER' or 'GO GIRL' or on a week where you looked particularly drained 'don't work too hard my love xx'. for Liam, he'd find all his shirts randomly ironed and folded away or his socks washed after years. he'd come back to his bathroom that he'd been meaning to sort and find it sparkling clean and reorganised. he'd have slept in and struggle to remember what you muttered into his ear for him to do whilst he was still groggy and half asleep before you'd disappeared to work and find a neat to-do list on a post-it note stuck to his forehead along with a kiss mark made of your cherry lip gloss.
that's not to say that the two of you didn't ever try to put the other on a different path. you'd had row on row with Liam about not just leaving stuff in the sink, about actually showing up to things on time to try and make a good first impression, about not saying that he had booked a trip for the two of them and then not having planned how they would get there or where they would stay because, even if it seemed like a nice thing, it was actually just creating more work for you and more things to organise or about how he actually needed to wash jeans even if he'd only worn them three times. for Liam the insults stung a little more. ''Yer fuckin' borin'" "ya never wanna go out!" "yeah keep scribblin' away" "if i'm so fuckin' unbareable and annoying, y'can just leave and gimme some fuckin' peace n quiet from the naggin' all the fuckin' time" was just some of the cruel things you'd had hurled at you over the past six months.
but Liam always made up for it. he'd pull you close in the dark and whisper into your soft skin "m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry" over and over between warm wet kisses to your sternum. the kisses would normally move down to your plump breasts after he'd brushed your bitter tears off your rosy cheeks. then, you felt his hot, sloppy smooches move down your tummy until he was gently tugging at the waistband of your boyshorts. "m'so sorry my love. i'll make it up to ya, just gimme a taste, know i dont deserve it" when you obliged, a million 'thank you's would be murmured against your warmth as he placed slow sloppy kisses there. savouring your heat with his taste buds until you came on his face with a soft, surprised moan. Liam couldn't hide his love and adoration for you, and such a scene would normally result in him spunking his trousers. he felt sick at the thought of his words ever making his girl cry and was sure to apologise every time.
Liam did make a conscious effort to make sure you let loose once in a while, though. I mean, could you really spend any time with Liam Gallagher and not go out drinking at least once. Liam loved the way you were so neat and organised, but he has to admit, he let's out a warm sigh of relief every time he sees your face flushed with alcohol as you slur to him about how 'tomorrow can wait' and you 'love him soooo much'. he needs to know that you're letting go sometimes and not always thinking about the consequences of your actions. he didn't mind carrying you home bridal style at the end of the night whilst you blather about how pretty he is if it meant that he knew you were relaxing.
whilst he admitted he pushed you a little in the drinking world, you thought it was also fair to say that he forced you to spread your wings a bit more in the bedroom as well. for example, feeling Liam's soft lips against your mound and his tongue dived deep inside you whilst you gripped onto his hair for dear life and strangled moans tumbled out you was almost a weekly occurrence. however, despite having had two serious boyfriends before Liam, you had never done anything other than missionary and the odd blow job before your relation ship with Liam. even that used to feel a little adventurous for you. for your other boyfriends, sex was a requirement, like ticking a box. they'd empty their balls a few nights a week and it wasn't really personal. but with Liam, although you'd explode before you admitted it out loud to anyone, it was so different. you'd never felt worshipped in this way before and he made it his mission to learn every movement that he could pull out to make you fall apart. if there was a specific way to curl his thick chunky fingers inside you, or a specific phrase or tone of voice that made you quiver, Liam had clocked it and used it against you.
the two of you were walking home on some grey, dismal Manchester evening. Liam's thick fingers curled in your dainty ones; it felt good, like it was somehow right. the warms from his hands eased your nerves about the day at work as you strolled together. that's when Liam started up.
"say, baby?" he cooed, turning his shaggy-topped head down and to the left towards yours.
"yes, Li?" you replied slightly more apprehensively. you couldn't meet his eye, sensing that he was going to ask something to push you out of your comfort zone by the hopeful tone in his voice. so instead you became fixated on the lacy hem of your tank top, picking at it with your cerulean-painted right thumb nail, which Liam had painted for you, like it had personally offended you.
"do I ever tell you how beautiful y'are? beca-"
"Liam, what is it?" you huffed a little impatient. you didn't mean to come off rude but you wanted the imminent awkward conversation to be over quickly.
"y'know what Noel was tellin' me his bird does in the studio today?"
"no?" you sighed already knowing that the answer would be something you weren't 'out there' enough to do. you scuffed your shoe bitterly on the soggy pavement.
"he was tellin' me right, that 'is bird-" Liam lent down close to your ear to continue his story in a scandalous whisper "'is bird, right, takes control in, like, the bedroom"
you even surprised yourself with the strength of the sharp slap you administered to his bicep. "Liam!" you squeaked, mortified.
"ey! don't be like that, birdie. c'mon, surely you've thought about it?" he let out a course chuckle "y'know, trying something new." the teasing tone that he jabbed you with when he said 'something new' elicited another harsh slap from you. "ow! i think ya'd like it. Noel said that 'is bird-"
"why don't you go shag Noel's bird then?!" the outburst was incredibly out of character for you. a heavy, shocked silence rang out between the pair of you like funeral bells. instantly, you slapped a hand over your mouth and looked tentatively at Liam. teary-eyed, you opened your mouth to apologise but Liam beat you to it.
"Let's drop it yeah? m'sorry I brought it up. let's go" before you could backtrack, he was stomping at a faster pace than you could keep up with, adidas trainers slapping violently against the damp concrete sending little splatters of rain water into the air.
upon returning home, the atmosphere was... tense. you shifted awkwardly from heel to heel as Liam refused to meet your eye. he chewed pensively on his plump lower lip and you stared, at a loss for words. yeah, you and Liam had rowed before, but you had never raised your voice, that was Liam's thing. he was good at that. it was also Liam's thing to make it up to you after. he was very good at that. eventually, the suspense got too much and you were forced to busy yourself with making supper. you ran through the steps in your mind in an attempt to calm yourself.
boil water, pour in pasta, you're a horrible girlfriend, set timer, start making sauce, how could you be this awful to your boyfriend? salt and pepper in the sauce, dish it up, place it on the table.
you jumped a little as you turned around, holding the two plates of pasta, to come face to face with your boyfriends piercing blue eyes. you took in a sharp breath out of shock and unconvincingly let out a breathless laugh.
"y'know i don't want Noel's bird, right? ya do know that?" you nodded and started to speak but the Mancunian continued. "y'know yer the only one i want, right? and when i said i wanted to try summat else, it's 'cos i luv ya, right?" you nodded again, eyes growing a little glassy at the sudden confession. Liam nodded also. but, strangely it felt like the conversation wasn't over.
it was something in the way he kept looking at you with those longing eyes. something in the way his hands lingered, just about to pull you in for an embrace, but not until he got something he wanted. something in the way his mouth was pressed in a thin line, not quite having forgiven you yet until he got his way. then it clocked to you, that was his way of saying 'so are ya gonna do it or not?' without actually saying it. no, scratch that. that was his way of saying 'y'sort of have to do it now, 'cos ya shouted at me' without actually saying it! you scoffed, incredulous and slammed the pasta down on the table.
"Liam, if that was some pathetic attempt at seducing me into doing what you want, then it's still a no!"
"oh right, yeah who could've guessed? the borin' bird won't let 'er lad 'ave any fun. shocker that" you could've heard the roll in his eyes even if you weren't staring at him, eyes brimming with tears, threatening to spill, from the stupid, slightly unnecessarily raised and angry northern drawl in his voice.
"I'm not fucking boring!" you squealed clearly accepting Liams 'who can shout the loudest' competition. but Liam finished it there, he always won this sort of thing.
"Yeah? prove it." his voice was almost a whisper as he stalked closer towards you, his prey. it was slightly ironic, him trying to intimidate you into intimidating him. but it worked.
if this were a true crime documentary, and you were being asked to recall the events of that night, you don't think you would be able to explain exactly how the two of you ended up in the bedroom, but you were both here now. you two sat on the scraggily carpet, Liam's back was pressed up against the bed as you were kneeling over him. you couldn't quite place the look reflected in the pools of his ocean blue eyes, some strange concoction of fear and delight. from out of a bag he pulled something that glinted under the dim lamp light. your throat bobbed when you saw it. a pair of handcuffs.
you let out an audible gulp and Liam's large bushy eyebrows climbed up his forehead, unrelenting.
"y-you want me to?-"
"whaddya think, dolly?"
another gulp escaped you and you watched your quivering, clammy hands miraculously reach out to grab the glinting silver. it was like watching your body do something you hadn't ordered it to do, like those weird dreams where you're watching over your shoulder. you felt the handcuffs, cold, solid, unavoidable. you found your eyes searching for Liam's in this void of uncertainty and when his half-lidded, smug blue irises met yours you practically shivered. you didn't want this, you preferred safe, familiar sex. Liam goes on top, you lie under and no words are exchanged and no strange sounds are made and then you cuddle and move on. you had no idea what you were doing. but you didn't want the other option either. Liam, the man you had grown to not be able to live without, getting bored, rolling his eyes, and selecting another girl from the thousands, nay millions that wanted him. your fingers felt light and weak around the cool metal until you made the decision and gripped them tightly like they might escape.
"wrists, Liam." he looked ecstatic but in a way that still made you insecure. he grinned in a way that said 'yay! I'm fun and my awful, boring girlfriend has finally let me do something I want. I better enjoy it whilst it lasts because-'
you shook the thought from your head. now wasn't the time to dwell on it. you had to focus. you slipped Liam's pale silvery wrists into the metal and clasped it shut. the little 'click' sent a fresh wave of nausea over you as you pocketed the key. there was a long pause as the terrifying realisation dawned on you. you had no idea what to say! normally, if any words were exchanged, it was always Liam. and it was always something along the lines of 'oh that's good' or 'good girl'. surely you couldn't call him a 'good boy'? you were forced to say something as you noticed Liam shift awkwardly.
"um! o-on your knees." oh fuck. he was already on his knees. god this was excruciating. how could you- "No! I meant... kneel up!" to your utter surprise and fascination, Liam obeyed. he rose above you so he was kneeling straight up like he was praying. suddenly the power gap dawned on you and you scrambled to your feet and looked down on him in a way that you meant to be menacing but probably just made you look like you'd escaped from Bedlam. you took a deep breath reminding yourself of what would inevitably happen if you threw the towel in now. you dropped your eyes down to his member. shit. he wasn't even fully hard and you'd already used half the tools in your arsenal.
with a shaky hand you went to grip his face. you had meant for it to feel intimidating but it was more like when a child grabs their parents face for safety. you turned it this way and that as you took in his expectant expression. he was kneeling up, carpet imprinting on his knee caps, arms stretched taut behind his back and a quite uninterested expression on his face. the sort of face you make watching the trailers before a film in the cinema, waiting for the actually good bit to come. you started to panic. fuck! do something! don't just stand there you melon!
"open your mouth." it came out shaky and unconvincing. fuck. why had you told him to do that? why did he need to open his mouth? what was your plan? now he was standing there, entirely bored now and not at all attempting to hide it, with his mouth wide open doing bugger all whilst you stood stammering above him. fuck. bring out the big guns. the only thing you had left.
"uh- good boy" oh my god this is torture. what are you doing?! then you heard it. you saw it too. there was no denying it. he laughed. he genuinely snorted at you. he looked up with his stupid, cocky, gun-metal blue eyes and snorted at your attempt of dominance because it was so pathetic and embarrassing. then something even worse came. you felt hot, painful tears begin to brew behind your eyeballs. you were going to cry. because he laughed at you. because you were rubbish at this. the tears were flowing freely now as you turned away to hide your face. in a rush you dislodged the handcuff key from your pocket and tossed it in his general direction before you ran out the room. you watched Liam's face evolve throughout the series of events. the first one was a sort of smirk that said 'oh my god she's serious, fucking hell' then it immediately screwed up to one of confusion. then it dropped as he realised what had happened. he opened and closed his mouth a few times before he cried out your name after you.
"Fuck!" you heard him exclaim from the bedroom along with another string of profanities. the rattle of handcuffs jingled through the house before his thick heavy pounding footsteps sounded out along with calls of your name. you'd found a good hiding spot, behind the bed in the spare room, for you to let your tears freely flow. it wasn't a large house and he'd find you soon enough but it bought you time to think things through. he'd asked you to do that, after you'd said no. then he'd laughed in your face when you didn't know what to do. the thought made your throat burn with the burning tears it had evoked. your shoulders shook with sobs as you heard Liam search the rooms till his footsteps grew louder.
"baby? y'in here?" you kept terrifyingly still as you held your breath. "can see your head over the top of the bed, sweetheart." another sob escaped you disobediently as you slid yourself lower so your head couldn't be seen over the bed. you had an inkling it might be too late. in you peripheral vision, which was blurred with emotion, you saw his gangly legs come round the side of the bed as he paused. you assumed he was looking down at you with disdain. you assumed wrong. as you plucked up the courage to raise your head and make eye contact. his face was filled with... remorse?
"heyyy bubba." he cooed with the tentativeness you might treat an injured animal. "what happened back there huh?" you tried to bypass the colossal lump in your throat to string a sentence of explanation together but it just wouldn't come. all you could manage to do was shake your head fervourishly as more tears spilled out. after five minutes of agonising sobs you managed to gasp out:
"you- you laughed- at me!" it was followed by a cacophony of wails and sobs. Liam chewed his lip and bowed his head. he'd fucked up. this was all his fault. you were this delicate gorgeous flower that he had stamped on until he heard a sickening crack. you'd made it obvious that that wasn't what you wanted and he'd forced you anyway. even if nothing had happened it was mortifying for you. what's more is that after all of that he'd had the audacity to laugh at your attempt of giving him what he wanted. Liam was ashamed of himself and wanted nothing more but to show you how he saw you.
"c'mere. I'm sorry. Liam's so so sorry" he whispered into your sweet smelling skin as he smushed his face into your neck. "should never've made y'done that should I? I'm a right fuckin' twat for that." his heart throbbed as he heard your sobs intensify.
"do you-" you were gasping for air in between snippets of conversation "are you bored of m-me?" you managed through tears. Liam's heart sank. how could such a funny, intelligent, amazing girl ever think she was boring when, in reality, she was the light of his life. Liam counted down the minutes in the studio till he could race home to his girl, wrap his big strong hands around he waist and just hold her as she spoke. he was fascinated by the way your brain worked and wanted to crawl inside and live there. then at least he could be there to snatch away and beat up the negative thoughts that bounced around in your head and tormented you.
"now, how could ya ever think that? silly birdie, you're my 'raisin detchra'" he smiled as he had managed to squeeze out one of your beautiful laughs from a choir of sobs.
"Raison d'être I think you meant" you whispered through giggles.
"exactly, the only reason I'm still alive today. yer the most interesting thing about me! how can I make you feel what I feel about ya? y'couldn't handle it if ya felt one tenth of the love I feel for ya, bird. d'you know that? yer pretty little head would explode, hmm?" he was delighted as more giggles escaped your pink lips. his voice dropped low again "I'm so so sorry, never again. you're amazing yeah? fuckin' brilliant you are." he whispered these little affirmations into your skin swaying your shaky form gently until he lulled you to sleep. Liam was consumed by guilt and knew he would have to do everything in his power to make it up to you even if you assured him he didn't need to. but for now, he only wanted to hold you and keep you close until morning.
an: im so so so sorry this took me so long to write, ive been kinda slacking recently but dont worry. this is a trope or idea that ive never really heard of before so it was really interesting to write. ive kinda gone for the dynamic i have in a lot of my fics where it's gallagher brother x sweet innocent organised reader so i hope that wasn't boring for u guys
summary: you worry that alfie’s priorities might lay with the defender over you
content: established relationship , angst w/ comfort , car crash , swearing , paramedic fearing dv , limited injury description , minor panic attack
notes: have wanted to do this for a while because i feel like it’s a pretty common trope, but also i can #relate. i remember seeing this first as a steve harrington fic, i just can’t remember the writer but if i find it i’ll tag it in the comments! xx
wc: 2,330
BORROWING THE DEFENDER was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Alfie cherished that thing like it was his first born child, so for him to give you the keys for a quick grocery shop felt like he might as well just propose to you on the spot.
Albeit, he’d done it with reluctance, but you’d batted your eyelashes enough and promised him a night of whatever he wanted, and he caved pretty quickly after that.
It wasn’t that you were a bad driver, not by any means (you were arguably more sensible than Alfie in some cases) but he really didn’t play when it came to that car, and the thought of anyone else driving it but him made him feel a little ill inside.
It was supposed to be a quick trip, pop to the shop, stock up on some toiletries you were missing and even possibly grab a sweet treat or a nice drink for you and Alfie to enjoy.
What you hadn’t anticipated was a fumbling deer in the road staring straight at you as you drove towards it on the way back home.
You hadn’t noticed it until it was too late, and by that time, there wasn’t enough space to slam on the breaks, so your brain did the only other thing it could think of that wouldn’t result in the death of an innocent animal, and it forced your hands to jerk the steering wheel to the left, veering straight off the road.
The grassy ground was uneven immediately, causing you to jostle violently in your seat before hitting an awfully deep dent, sending the car sideways.
You didn’t remember much after that, it was all a blur of that annoying car alarm blaring down your ears, making the pounding in your head worsen, and rushed voices trying to speak to you.
What you could recall actually seeing with a family van parked to the side of the road, the mum and dad standing out of at and talking to some paramedics as another loaded you into the back of the ambulance.
“The deer.” You slurred, head hazy and eyes barely open, “It was a baby.”
“The deer is okay, honey. Now we’re gonna get you to the hospital and check you over okay?” The lady tending to you was a little older than you, possibly mid-30’s, but you couldn’t tell too much.
Everything hurt.
Everything.
Your head felt like it was the size of a large watermelon, and the pressure behind your skull was unbearable. On top of that, your skin felt burnt and sensitive, raw and stripped back, like you were missing layers of protectivity.
“Car … Alfie.” You managed to get out.
“The car belongs to Alfie? Who’s Alfie, sweetheart? Your boyfriend?”
Somehow, you managed a weak nod.
“Okay, well once we get you to the hospital, we’ll call Alfie, yeah?”
“No.” You frowned, “No, he can’t— His car—“
You let out a weak sob, surprising yourself for even having the energy to do so.
Energy aside, the force of the display of emotion caused your ribs to rattle uncomfortably in your chest.
There was a trickle of something down the side of your head, and you couldn’t decipher as to whether or not it was panicked sweat, or blood. When you barely felt the scrape of a towel against your skin dabbing it away, you assumed the latter.
“He’s gonna kill me.”
A flash of worry appeared on the paramedic’s face, but she continued to focus on you, not letting her thoughts stray away from getting you the help you needed.
“I’m sure he won’t, honey. You matter more than the car.”
If you thought the blur after the crash was bad, you were severely underestimating how much being in the hospital could’ve felt like a terrifyingly lucid dream.
You’d been cleaned up, and had a bandage secured tightly around your forehead in a way that surely made you look ridiculous.
There were numerous doctors checking things on you, sometimes the same things over and over, and they kept asking you questions that felt so small and insignificant, like ‘how old are you?’ or ‘do you remember your name?’.
Of course you knew those things, but when they started to enquire about where you thought you were and what hospital you were likely to be in, your brain suddenly felt disconnected from the rest of you, because you were supposed to know that type of thing, and you didn’t.
“Alright, that’s fine. We’re gonna run some scans, okay?” The doctor said in an attempt to calm your blatant nerves.
The scans came and went, and in the time it took for you to get the results, the doctors had informed you that your boyfriend had been phoned and was on his way, in which you’d had a minor moment of panic for fear of his reaction.
You knew nothing bad was going to come of it, but you really did fear the worst. And that would be a break up.
Seriously, you were half expecting it, and you wouldn’t really blame him.
To take someone’s prized possession, promise not to damage it, and then do the utmost amount of damage possible to it was an awful thing to do, especially when that person was the love of your life.
It held the same amount of weight if Alfie was to take all of your adorable ceramic trinkets that you’d spent years collecting, put them in a box without packaging and ruthlessly start chucking it about.
When he came rushing down the hallway and into your room, you burst into tears, instantaneously spurting spluttered apologies that were interrupted by sharp intakes of breath that you could never quite get to level out.
The nurse in your room stared skeptically at the interaction. She was the same one that had had a conversation with the paramedic that had tended to you. Her hands seemed to never both be occupied at the same time, so if she needed to intervene, she had the freedom to.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Alfie cooed, cupping your face with such care and gentleness you thought he considered the possibility of you breaking right then and there.
“I’m so sorry about the car!” You wailed, “I’m so sorry— There was a deer, and it was just a baby, and I didn’t wanna hit it, and I swerved—“
“Angel, angel, breathe.” He whispered, stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones, wary of the little cuts on the one side of your face.
You copied his pattern of breathing by placing your hand flat on his chest and following the rise and fall of it.
Eventually you calmed and he was smiling, albeit still a little shaky in his movements to hold and caress you.
“I don’t care about the car. I care about you.”
“Stop lying. If you want to break up—“
“What?” He whispered like a hiss, face contorted into one of horror at the thought, “No, no, no, no, no, I don’t want to break up, what the fuck, darlin’?”
“But the Defender is your baby and I ruined it—“
“You’re my baby.” He corrected you, staring at you with glossed over eyes and a distress-ridden face, “The Defender was the last thing on my mind when I got that call. Reader, I thought you were dying. I-I didn’t give a shit about the state of the car, I gave a shit about the state of you.”
“Are you sure? Alf, I’m so sorry.”
“Stop, stop.” He shook his head, brushing your hair back to get a glimpse at the entirety of your face uncovered.
Alfie’s eyes seemed to follow every feature on your face, soaking them all up and committing them to memory (as if he hadn’t already).
You hadn’t let your eyes leave his once either, and by the time that stunningly intimate moment was up, you were sure that you could draw Alfie’s eyes picture perfectly, down to every green spec and detailed flick of light that reflected off of his teary iris’.
“What’s the damage?” He finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“We’re just getting the scan reports now.” The nurse piped up, reminding you that she had been in the room the entire time, “In terms of body injuries, nothing major. Bruised ribs, deep friction burn from the seat belt cutting into her skin, but nothing that you should worry about.”
“Can I see?” Alfie asked you.
Nervously, you unravelled the hospital gown you’d been given, letting it fall into your lap and reveal the sight of your injuries to your boyfriend.
“Shit, Reader.” He whispered, his hand hovering over your chest, wanting to touch and soothe, but not wanting to cause any extra pain.
“They’ll go away in about two weeks. It’ll hurt, and you’ll wanna refrain from lying on your chest, scratching it or applying any pressure in general.” The nurse explained, standing in front of you, “There’s a chance of scarring around here.” She gestured a finger to the swell of your breast where the marks were the darkest, “Because that’s where the seatbelt cut the most.”
Alfie’s hand came around your back, resting just between your shoulder blades in a comforting manner, his palm running over the expanse of your back.
Once you got your scans back, they briefed you on the issues at hand. Nothing was awful, which was the most relieving thing of it all, but there were signs of a minor concussion that would need to be monitored for the rest of the day and tomorrow.
Alfie had no qualms about doing that all, in fact he seemed more in tune with what the doctors were saying than you. He was nodding along, asking the appropriate questions, all while you sat there, silently picking at the skin around your fingers.
What you thought was going to become an overnight stay resulted in another quick change of clothes and a dosage of painkillers before they let you leave with the prescribed medication to dull any of the discomfort you were about to face throughout the next few days.
Alfie’s mum had driven to the hospital to pick you up since the Defender was a total wreck at the shop (hopefully) and she immediately began fussing over you.
Surprisingly, she turned it around into Alfie, arguing that he shouldn’t have let you go to the shops on your own or something like that.
You shut her down quickly, not wanting your boyfriend to take the blame for something that was finally coming to light as no one’s fault.
Still, she gave her son another harsh glare before ushering you both to her car.
After dropping you off at the grotto and demanding that Alfie looked after you for the next month at least (like he was ever going to not do that) she left, leaving the two of you alone in your house.
Alfie wasted no time in pulling you carefully into his lap on the sofa, letting you curl up in his arms and get comfy against him.
You were still feeling a little woozy, which was to be expected especially since you’d been given medicine before you left, so it didn’t take long for your eyes to flutter shut against his chest and his arms to tighten a fraction around you.
“Do you promise me that you’re okay?” Alfie whispered, stroking his fingers through your hair cautiously, not wanting to tug too hard and cause anymore pain to your head.
You nodded, “I promise.”
“Alright, girl.” He hummed, his voice rumbling from his chest down your ear.
“Do you promise me that you’re not mad about the Defender?” You asked back.
“Mad? No. A little upset, yeah. But it’s fine. She’s replaceable, you’re not. Ever. I’d rather lose a hundred Defenders than ever lose just you, so please don’t think I’ll ever put a car over you.”
“I just felt awful.”
“I know, but I don’t want you to. I’ll sort stuff out with the car tomorrow, but you’re still my priority. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you so much, Reader.”
“I love you too, Alfie.”
“You’re never allowed to scare me like that again, d’you hear me?” He said.
You giggled a little at that but nodded anyway, lifting your head off of his chest to look him in the eyes.
“I’m serious. I knew something was wrong when you took longer than an hour, and when I got that call? Fuck, angel, I nearly started shouting at the taxi driver to start speeding and swerving.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t do that.”
“It would’ve been worth it.”
You sighed heavily, your chest deflating drastically, causing an acute amount of pain that showed through a minuscule twitch of your brows.
Alfie was quick with it, “What hurts?”
“Alfie.”
“Tell me.”
“I just breathed too hard. I’m fine.”
He gave you a skeptical look but backed down anyway.
“How’s my face? Do I have to shelter myself from society?” You half-joked.
He shook his head, “Still beautiful.”
“Okay, thank you. But, seriously.”
He reached a hand up, finger lightly tracing the grazing on your temple and above your eyebrow, “A few cuts here.” His touch travelled down to your cheekbone, where it was stained a reddish colour that would slowly fade to purple within the next few hours, “A bruise.”
Your confidence deflated as he continued, and it was that that urged him to stop.
“Hey.” He hummed, picking your chin up, “You still look gorgeous.”
“But not perfect.” You whispered.
“A perfect you to me isn’t one in pain.” He replied softly.
You pursed your lips, dropping your forehead down to his collarbone. He brought his hand to the back of your head, stroking his thumb over your hair in a way that had you melting into him.
content: established relationship , fluff , kissing
as you woke to the sound of short form audio being blasted down your ear, you whined and made an effort to turn over, but alfie’s arm around you only tightened.
“mornin’.” he hummed.
when you cracked your eyes open, you saw that you were tucked into his side, head resting on his bicep instead of the pillow, and his phone was propped up on his chest as he doomscrolled.
“too loud.” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and yawning already.
“it’s 10AM, when you gettin’ up?”
“don’t care, never.”
alfie chuckled, unravelling his arm from around you and allowing you to roll over.
once you did, he switched his phone off and joined you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and smothering the side of your face with kisses.
“alfie, stop!” you cackled loudly, pushing him away.
eventually, he calmed, choosing to jut hold you in his arms and mindlessly mutter about any weird dreams he’d had.
soon enough, you both decided that you’d had enough of your morning cuddles (though you could never really) and decided to start getting ready.
you both brushed your teeth next to each other, staring through the mirror into each others eyes until one of you broke and ended up spitting into the sink through laughter, ultimately causing the other one to break and do the same.
you both washed your faces, and alfie took the liberty to slap your ass as you bent over the sink, causing you to kiss your teeth at him.
in the kitchen, you worked in harmony, with him busying himself at the stove making food, while you bustled around making drinks and getting the plates and cutlery ready.
you sat at the round table during breakfast, mostly in silence but occasionally filling it with light jokes and giggles.
sometimes the silence was better, because you didn’t always need words to know that the other was there.
once breakfast had been demolished, alfie left the dishes in the sink while you went upstairs to make the bed.
only to be ambushed by your boyfriend and thrown onto the very mattress you were trying to organise aesthetically.
“alfie!” you exclaimed as he also threw himself onto it before dragging you into his arms and caging your head into his chest with his stupidly big biceps.
and you remained like that for at least another hour.
the words you did utter were muffled into his pecs, and he responded clearly.
you shared a few kisses, gentle and in quick succession before they melted together in a slow dance that you both enjoyed.
that was until you both ended up drifting back to sleep wrapped up in each other.
it was sort of ridiculous for this to happen considering you’d both had a decent nights sleep, but nonetheless, you were out like lights.
when you woke up this time, you were extra groggy, feeling yourself taking longer to come to. you boyfriend didn’t want to wake up at all, because he rolled you over and flattened himself on top of you, keeping you pinned to the mattress.
you wrapped your legs around his waist, enjoying the comforting closeness of his cuddle before patting his back so he would get off.
alfie decided to go to the gym while you got your shower, and you had just finished blow drying your hair by the time he came back with lunch.
you are together, this time a little more chatty as you were both feeling ways more revitalised and refreshed.
he complained about people in the gym being jarring, you complained about the coldness of the shower and how it needed to be fixed, but ultimately, you were happy in each others arms, sneakily stealing bits of food from the other persons plate while they pretended not to notice.
mornings were slow, but they were in your control, and that’s how you liked them.
oh, and they were also full of alfie, and you wouldn’t change that for the world.
having a toddler whilst your sick is less than ideal
content: dad!ab , established relationship , arabella is kind of a brat , one kiss , very cute and domestic
being under the weather was one thing, but being under the weather with a hyperactive three year old was even worse.
you were sat up in bed, sniffling away trying to get some work done on your laptop (nothing serious, just confirmations for a few brand deals) and trying your best to rest and let your body heal itself.
however, arabella had other plans.
“mummy!”
“yes, baby?” you croaked, throat all scratchy and irritated.
“out time?” she stood at the side of your bed, blinking up at you, “auntie sabina? please?”
“i can’t take you out right now.” you said with a soft pout and even softer tone, “i don’t feel very well, chick.”
“in an hour?”
“next week.”
“noooo.” she whined, giving you her best puppy dog eyes.
the fact that she already knew using those was almost an one hundred percent guarantee to getting whatever she wanted was extremely dangerous, and definitely told you and alfie that you needed to start saying no to her more.
“why you bothering your mummy?” alfie asked then, walking in from the bathroom.
“want to go out!”
“why?”
“see auntie sabina!”
“see her later.” alfie shrugged.
“daddy, please.” she begged, latching onto his arm. “mummy said no.”
“‘coz she’s sick, bells.” he looked up to you, “d’you need anything? want a tea?”
“god, if you don’t mind.”
“i’ll order dinner in tonight, you ain’t in any shape to be cooking.”
“alfie, i have a cold, not paralysis.” you laughed.
“might as well be the same thing with you, little drama queen.” he smirked, “nah, but i’m cravin’ proper shit food anyway.”
the entire time you and alfie were having a casual conversation, arabella had been making loud, unwarranted noises trying to speak over you and get either of your attention.
“bella, please stop.” you groaned, rubbing your temples as her relentless noise caused your head to pound.
“i wanna go out!” she whined, latching her arms around her dads forearm and hanging off of him, “please!” she screamed.
you reared your head back, face screwed up as you sneezed loudly.
“bless you, darlin’.”
the sound of arabella’s feet padding along your wooden floor came just before her small hands grabbed at your arm and began shaking it repeatedly.
“mummy please!” she pleaded, “i wanna goooo!”
that’s when alfie decided to intervene, taking her by her wrist and practically dragging her out of your room as she fought back against his grip, closing the door behind you.
“stop it.” he seethed, “you’re being silly.”
“but i—“
“oi.” he crouched down, teeth gritted as he spoke to her. “you’re mummy is really sick, and you’re not helping. you need to chill out. all your noise and stuff stops now, d’you hear me?”
“no.” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting exaggeratedly.
her eyebrows were furrowed, her lips jutting out and the epitome of fake anger was written across her face.
alfie must admit, she was the spitting image of you like this, and it made his heart melt a tiny bit. but not enough to have him stop scolding her.
“no? you don’t hear me? will you hear me if i take the tv out your room?”
“that’s not fair!” she screeched.
“oi, oi.” he pointed a finger, “what did i just say about noise?”
“stop.”
“exactly. so why you screaming?”
“i just wanna go out.”
“yeah, and we can go out another time. the quicker mummy gets better, the quicker you get to go out and see auntie sabina and uncle ip, ‘kay?”
she huffed again.
“excuse me?”
“nuffink!” she said dramatically.
god, it was hard to argue with and reprimand her attitude when she got it exactly from the source.
“you huffin’ at me?”
“you huff lots of time.”
“no i don’t.”
“yes you do, daddy.”
alfie hesitated a little, trying to find a comeback but fell short.
“okay, well i’m an adult.”
“so when i old, i get to huff?”
the thought made him falter even more, “you’re not allowed to get old.”
“daddy…” she complained.
“can you go to your room and play? i’ve gotta help mummy get better.”
arabella still didn’t seem entirely pleased about not getting to see chip and sabina today, but she turned and saw herself off to her room anyway.
alfie puffed his cheeks out and widened his eyes with a big, dramatic huff.
sometimes he wondered if he was raising his daughter to be a bit of a brat, because she was growing to be really argumentative and sassy, but then he realised she was only a product of her own environment, and with a dad like him and a mum like you, it was bound to happen at some point.
it was probably the type of behaviours you should both be striving to adjust, but if it became a big problem, you’d deal with it then and there.
alfie returned to your shared bedroom, resting on the bed on his hands and knees so he could lean across to kiss you softly.
“okay?”
“yeah, gonna bring you a tea now.”
“thank you.”
he kept his voice to a whisper as he spoke, “we need to lock in, girl. she’s too sassy.”
you cackled, and it sounded a little odd due to your cold.
“seriously. she is. i dunno what we gotta do, but we need to do suttin’.”
cw: 2000!noel; pr!reader; sex deprivation and drunk sex (both parties); unprotected sex; creampie; spit kink; dirty talk; public-ish sex but not rlly; a bit of degradation and rough sex; soft!domnoel; porn with very little plot lol.
𑣲 word count: 2,5k. ˊˎ-
wn: another short little something inspired by this ask. rereading this i realized this is kinda like amsterdamage but hornier? lol anyways, i think this is a little boring (and not proofread) but i hope you guys like it! 🤍 hbd ng!!! 💐
“okay, noel gallagher,” you slurred out, plopping down the seat beside him. he looked at you with his eyes already far too glazed, lips curling up at your bossy tone that, quite frankly, you always held. “what’s crawled up your ass?”
only this time, you were drunk. proper. and he was too.
he let out a short huff, shaking his head and asking in an almost disbelief tone. “think something’s crawled up my ass, darlin’?”
“oh, i’m sure. you’re always grumpy, but this…” you start, gesturing over his face with a small grin. “this is faaaar too much”
“is it?” he teased back, eyes heavy from the drinks.
“mhm.” you hummed, nodding. “now spill”
he scoffed lightly, the corner of his lip curling upwards despite himself. “yeah, piss off.”
“hey, no!” you started, already laughing and putting up a finger close to his face like a playful warning. “don’t do that. cmon. i’m your friend, you can talk to me!” you said with a smile, pointing at him.
“think you’re just nosy,” he said, but there was no bite to it at all.
“fuckin’ rude, you!” you said, playfully shoving his shoulder. “i’m drunk. not nosy! now come onnn, tell me. maybe i can help.”
“can you write me a proper album?” he said.
“oh, definitely not,” you said immediately, getting a laugh out of him. you tilted your head, eyebrows raising and a smile growing even more in your lips, “i can make you laugh though, see? you’re already looking better.”
he let out a short huff of a laugh, shaking his head and lips curling up. his body slumping slightly on the cushioned booth when you playfully shoved his shoulder. “and hey, fuck you. i do many, many things for you lot.”
he laughed, shaking his head. then he sighed, saying it still lightly. “just stuff doing my head in”
“stuff…” you said, giving him a hint to carry on.
he sighed. god, you’re stubborn. “album, liam, the divorce... and i can’t even do coke anymore so, guess what’s left for me is being a grumpy cunt.”
“that’s not all there is!” you said lightly.
he gives you a look that screams oh, really?
“look at me for example, haven’t got laid in… fucking months, and i’m still bubbly and cheerful! yay” you say simply, shrugging and then taking a sip you definitely didn’t need afterwards.
you’re not lying about that. why would you? sure, the tone sounds like it’s a joke, but you definitely mean every single word you said.
noel swallowed, his gaze darting down to your lips for the same reason his stomach is twisting in a way he always brushes off when it comes to you. because yeah, you’re fit.
but he can control his impulses, he’s done a pretty damn good job so far. despite never seeing the point in condemning himself having these kind of thoughts, he’s a man after all, those are normal – no point in talking about it either, or acting on it. god, no. that’s a liam thing to do.
“yeah. as always.” he said, casually. you really are bubbly most times, not in a way that’s annoying. he doesn’t think so, at least.
which is actually the whole reason you’re both still here. it was a combination of things actually: you for some fucking reason knowing how to speak the language of the bar’s owner plus knowing a friend of a friend of a friend – or just being fucking great at convincing, that’s why you’re their pr, after all. so that’s why the owner gave you the keys of the bar when everyone protested when he called out last rounds. sure, the oasis celebrity status helps, too.
“mhm. not making it everyone’s problem. because i’m an adult.” you teased.
he huffed, taking another sip of his drink. then, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “why aren’t you gettin’ laid then? you’re a fit fucking bird, y’are.” he said casually.
you tilted your head, eyebrows raising as you took another swig of your glass. you swallowed it down harsher than you’ve been doing all night. for no reason. shut up.
you leaned in closer teasingly, your tone playful: “well. that’s none of your fucking business, is it?”
he smirked, nodding and tilting his head when he caught your gaze darting down to his lips just like his has been doing since the moment you sat down beside him. “guess not.” he said lowly.
your lips twitched. your chest went up and down a little heavier. the sound of the last three people from the crew – or the band? god, you really weren’t paying attention to that right now – singing along to whatever song they’ve drunkenly made up fading away as they walked towards the exit. “see you!” you heard someone shout from a distance.
but noel didn’t budge.
fuck.
“funny you say that, yknow.” he said lowly.
“what?” you ask quietly despite already knowing. you feel it.
“jus’ haven’t had it in a while, too.” he said.
you blinked. then scoffed lightly. “fuck off.”
“serious.”
“no groupies?” you asked quietly, eyebrows raising softly.
he scrunched his nose, shaking his head. “too old for that shite now.”
“huh,” you say, amused. and he raises his brows, not breaking the eye contact. then, you slap the table like you’ve just solved a murder mystery, “well… there you go then! you need to get laid, noelly.”
he stared at you for a second too long.
too still. too quiet.
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“yeah?” he said finally, voice low, rougher now, and still so fucking smug. his eyes didn’t leave your face. “that’s what you reckon?”
you laughed, leaning closer because you were drunk enough not to care and brave enough not to stop. your knee knocked into his under the table. you didn’t move it away.
“mhm,” you nodded, grinning. “what you need is a proper shag.”
his mouth twitched. and you could see something passed behind his eyes – hunger, frustration. the weight of months of pressure and no release and pretending he was fine when he wasn’t. you could see the restraint slowly becoming background noise in his head.
“funny” – he muttered, tilting his chin up – “say that like you’re offerin’.”
“don’t flatter yourself” you said quietly.
but you didn’t lean back.
neither did he.
the bar felt suddenly smaller. quieter. the air thick with that electric, stupid tension that only shows up when you’ve wanted someone for too long and never crossed the line.
another beat.
“fuck it.”
and then he kissed you.
his hand found the side of your neck at the same time his body pressed against yours so hard it made your back hit the cushioned sofa with a soft thud.
a small sound escaped from your lips as his tongue searched for yours, immediately letting him in. he wasn’t gentle or careful now, instead, it was like he’s letting out what he’s been holding in for years.
his other hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your head back, your mouths fitting in a way that was electric.
you let out a shaky breath as you were kissing him back just as hard. your fingers found the back of his head and softly tugged it as an attempt to pull him closer, while your free hand grabbed the fabric of his jacket.
he kissed you deeper, desperate, before he pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, pupils blown searching for yours.
“not understandin’ this wrong, am i?” he asked, already panting.
you shook your head quickly, your breathing ragged and your fingers now fisting his collar like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.
“no” you breathed out. “fuck, no.”
then, you closed the distance again. your hands remained in his hair as you threw your leg over the other side of his lap, straddling and letting out a heavy huff of air when his hands grabbed your ass harshly. you couldn’t help but break the kiss with a moan once you felt his warm and hard length under the fabric of your jeans the moment you shifted on his lap.
his hands were already everywhere, trembling with adrenaline and too much whiskey. his fingers started clumsily fumbling with the buttons of your blouse until he gave up and just yanked the fabric aside. he was messy, desperate, leaning down and sucking the skin right above the lacy fabric of your bra before managing to get the fabric out of the way. then, noel eagerly pushed it down and took one of your nipples into his mouth. your head tipped back, a broken and needy moan coming out of your throat as grinded against his lap at the feeling.
his hands stayed firm on your ass once he stood up from the booth, pulling a needy moan out of you at the sudden change. your nails digged into the back of his neck and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. his head lifted from your chest and his lips slick with spit found yours again as he sat you down on the table, standing up between your legs.
he sat you down on the edge of it and he didn’t say a word, just reached down and fumbled with the button of your jeans, impatient.
“fuckin’— christ, hold on.” he muttered lowly.
he worked it out quickly once you lifted your hips, tugging the jeans down your legs along with the soaked lace of your panties in one eager move. the soft thud of your clothes hitting the floor went completely over your head the moment he leaned down closer to your cunt. his hands wrapped around your thighs, spreading them as he he pooled a heavy amount of saliva in his mouth and let it drop onto your warm core.
you bucked, a strangled moan leaving your throat at the feeling – eyes scrunching up and head falling back once his thumb followed his own spit dripping down your slit, smearing it over your clit with a pressure that had your toes curling.
“look at you.” he rasped, his posture straightened again just so he could watch your expression, his gaze darting down to his own hand disappear between your legs because he simply couldn’t resist. “always this needy or is it just me, huh?“ he asked, low and smug.
before you could reply, his free hand went to his own belt. clumsy and swearing under his breath as he freed himself, his immediately wrapping his hand around his cock that was already warm and leaking.
you whimpered softly, bucking your hips closer to the edge and rubbing your thighs up and down on his sides as an attempt to pull him in. but then, he paused – his thumb mid tracing the head of as the reality hit him.
“fuck.” he breathed out, leaning until his forehead rested against yours. “don’t have a cond—”
you reached out, fisting his hair and interrupting him with a kiss. “i’m on the pill.”
at your pleading words, he huffed out a laugh. in that smug, mancunian way you usually cussed him and liam out for – suddenly becoming the hottest thing you’d ever seen right about now, fuck sake.
he let out a soft huff. “yeah?” he teased and guided his cock to your folds, and definitely not pushing in. fucker. he teased you with it, giving your pussy little, mocking slaps with the head of it, watching the way you whimpered and tried to push back against him. “want it that bad? want it to just fill you up?”
“noel, pleas— fuck. just fuck me.”you moaned, looking down and shifting until you were closer.
his free hand went to your face, grabbing it and forcing you to keep looking at his face – not at the tip of his cock, that now rubbed slowly along your slit, dragging it up and down and inevitably coating himself in your wetness. you moaned, your hips lifting off the table in a desperate search for friction.
“say it. tell me what you want,” he whispered, his breath warm and smelling like whiskey.
"fuckin' do it, noel," you gritted out, arching your chest closer to him.
just then he pushed forward, cutting you off as he buried himself inside you with one heavy thrust. the air left your lungs in a loud moan as you felt him stretch you, and he didn't give you time to adjust – he started moving immediately, his hands tight on your legs to make sure they were spread while he began to pound into you.
your hands grabbed the table harder, head throwing back as you moaned. his hands grabbed your thighs harshly, cussing and groaning as he looked down at his cock disappearing inside you. “fuck,” he moaned, one of his hands going to the back of your head and grabbing a fistful of your hair – almost yanking your head as he shifted your gaze to where your bodies met, smirking at the sight of your eyes already droopy with pleasure.
“look at it, love,” he said, voice shaky with pleasure. his fingers spreading over the part where your leg and hip meet and one of them applying pressure in your clit in perfect sloppy circles. “yeah, fuuuck, look at it. stretching this pretty cunt out. jesus, fuck.”
you threw your head back with a loud moan and propped it back up immediately, your hands grabbing his hair and tugging him close, making him hiss and thrust into you harder. “dirty fuckin’ girl. lettin’ me fuck you raw like this, eh?”
you whimpered, nodding dumbly and moaning loudly again once his hand went to your jaw, grabbing it tightly and slipping his thumb inside your mouth. your tongue immediately darted out without him even telling you to, you lapped at his finger, sucking it messily – dirty and filthy in a way neither of you had expected this would go down.
but fucking hell, weren’t you glad.
“yeah? cunt’s squeezing my cock like you've been waitin' for this. s’what you wanted all along innit?” he grunted, his pace becoming even more punishing, his hands bruising your jaw as he held you in place. “wanted this… too fucking long. shouldn't have let you wait, should i? should've just bent you over months ago.”
“y-yes, fuck! yes!”
“yeah? should’ve give it to you like this, hm? fucking you like a fucking slut? that’s what you wanted?”
your only reply was a loud moan, eyes scrunching tight as the sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt filled the space.
“fuck, so fucking tight,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “god, you’re so fuckin’ tight. gonna go in two minutes if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” he gritted out, crashing his lips against yours once more and huffing out heavily once you started to pulse around him. “good girl. takin' it so fucking well, such a good girl, love... go on, cum f’me.” he slurred against your mouth.
your mouth fell agape as you immediately complied to his command, eyes squeezing shut and feeling your body go limp as your orgasm washed over you. his thrusts got sloppier through it, and your hands grabbed onto the edge of the table for dear fucking life as your shaky body calmed down.
your back fell slowly onto the table and arching as he didn’t let up on his fingers messily rubbing your clit until he started to spill inside you.
he groaned and kept thrusting into you as he panted, finally scratching that itch that had been there for months. “fuuuck, that's it,” he whispered and slowed his thrusts down, licking his lips and panting as his hands twitched and grabbed your thighs. he breathed out a “fuck” as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, breathing heavily. his hips now still and his cock still throbbing inside you as tired and warm breaths from his nose hit your skin.
he stayed there for a long time, slumped over you as you panted just like him. your hands limp on your sides and your legs twitching and still tight around his waist while his face stayed hidden in the crook of your neck as your breaths eventually slowed down. the silence of the empty bar returned, heavy and thick.
“jesus,” you cut into the silence with an amused huff of a laugh. and it got a quiet and tired laugh out of him, only then pulling away to look at your face.
“reckon you were right,” he said teasingly.
and you laughed, genuine and warm, nodding. “well, when aren’t i?”
So honey please don't let go. - oneshot 2013!dilf!Noel Gallagher x fiance!younger!f!reader
<Part 1</ Continuing story to Let me fly you to the moon...
Warnings: 18+ readers, smut, age-gap, established relationship, blow job, mutual masturbation, nipple play, cuming on breast
May 29, 2013
On the morning of Noel’s 46th birthday, you woke up before him. You carefully sat against the headboard and took a moment to just look at him, the man who was officially yours. He looked younger when he was asleep, the sharp "Chief" lines of his face softened.
You grinned and reached over for your phone that sat on the bedside table and took a sneaky picture of him whilst he slept, holding your giggle in the best you could.
You leaned over and pressed a kiss to Noel’s stubbly cheek close to his mouth. "Happy Birthday, old man," you whispered.
Noel didn't open his eyes, but a slow, sleepy smirk spread across his face. "Old? I’m like a fine wine, love. Or a vintage Gibson. I only get better with age and a bit of wear and tear." He opened one eye to look at you.
"And a lot of moisturizing," you teased, sitting up again.
Noel finally sat up, his hair a magnificent mess of "just rolled out of bed" rockstar chic as he let out a tired groan. He slipped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you into his side, kissing the top of your head. "So," he said, pulling you back down into the duvet. "46. Halfway to 92. I reckon I’ve got at least another forty years of annoying you left in me."
"Only forty?" You laughed, resting your head on his chest and slipped your arm around his waist. "I was hoping for fifty."
"Let's not get greedy, love. My knees are already starting to click when I stand up."
A frantic scratching sounded at the bedroom door.
Noel sighed, a look of mock-betrayal on his face. "And here comes the real star of the show. Let the ginger menace in, will ya?"
You hopped out of bed, not fazed by your lack of clothing and opened the door. Ziggy charged in, skidding across the hardwood before leaping onto the bed and landing directly on Noel’s stomach.
"Oof! Bloody hell, Ziggy! I'm an old man today, have some respect!" Noel wheezed, though he was already scratching the kitten behind the ears.
You walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a small, flat box wrapped in silver paper. "This is from me. And Ziggy helped pick it out. Mostly by trying to eat the ribbon."
Noel took the box, his expression shifting from playful to genuinely touched. He opened it slowly, revealing a vintage, leather-bound notebook with the initials N.G. embossed in gold on the corner. Inside the front cover, you’d tucked a Polaroid of the three of you that had been taken on the day you got engaged.
Noel stared at the photo for a long time. He didn't say anything, but he cleared his throat twice.
"For the new songs," you said softly. "The ones for the next chapter."
Noel looked up at you, his eyes unusually bright. He reached out, snagging your waist and pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of sleep and soulmates. "It’s perfect," he murmured against your lips. “Thanks, love.”
"Come on then, birthday boy," you said, swatting his arm playfully. "Get dressed. Anais is coming over for lunch, and she’s apparently made you a card that involves a lot of glitter and some very questionable poetry."
"Glitter? In this house? We’ll be finding it in the sofa cushions until 2015.” Noel groaned, falling back onto the pillows dramatically making you giggle.
“Better than your sweaty socks.” You muttered as you attempted to get up from the bed, but Noel quickly pulled you back onto the bed making you laugh even more.
“Cheeky sod.” He chuckled as he wacked you with a pillow.
By 2 PM, the kitchen island looked like a craft shop had exploded. Anais sat proudly across from her dad, who was currently nursing a glass of wine while sporting a singular, large piece of pink glitter stuck to the end of his nose.
“You’re supposed to read the poem out loud, Dad,” Anais insisted, leaning on her elbows. “It’s art.”
Noel cleared his throat as he held the card (which was more glue than paper) at arm’s length. “Right. Here we go. ‘Roses are red, your hair is quite grey... you’re the best dad in the world, even if you’re ancient today.’” He looked up, deadpan. “Ancient? I’ve seen 80-year-olds in better shape than you on a Monday morning, kid.”
“It rhymes!” she defended, giggling.
“It’s a masterpiece,” you chimed in, leaning over Noel’s shoulder to drop a plate of sandwiches onto the island. You couldn't resist; you reached out and flicked the glitter off his nose. “Very festive, love.”
“I’m surrounded by comedians,” Noel muttered, though he pulled Anais into a one-armed side hug, kissing the top of her head.
The "vultures" outside had thinned out, bored of waiting for a rockstar to do something rockstar-ish on his birthday. When you asked Noel what he wanted to do for his birthday, he said something that involved peace and quiet. So, the rest of the afternoon was surprisingly domestic. The three of you sat in the lounge watching a film with a cuppa and some birthday cake that you and Anais had baked. It was uneven, dripping with buttercream and jam, Victoria Sponge that had far too much icing sugar on one side, but Noel thought it tasted delicious and had two generous slices.
Once Anais had been picked up by Meg, after a series of dramatic hugs and a final warning from Noel to "keep the glitter contained at your mam's house", the house fell into a quiet, warm lull. Ziggy was fast asleep on the back of the sofa, exhausted from a day of chasing ribbons and stealing ham from sandwiches. It was time for the adults to celebrate the birthday boy’s special day.
You headed upstairs to find Noel staring at a row of shirts in the wardrobe, looking uncharacteristically indecisive.
"Do I look old for my age, love?” he mused, pulling out a dark navy button-down.
"You know you don’t.” you said, stepping up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. You caught your reflection in the mirror, your engagement ring catching the late afternoon light. "You look gorgeous. And like you said this morning, you’re like a vintage Gibson. Built to last, always sounds amazing and feels good in my hands.” You whispered teasingly as you ran your hand over his crotch with a giggle.
Noel let out a dry, short breath, not quite a laugh, more like a nervous exhale, turning in your arms to face you. He rested his hands on your hips as he looked past you, squinting at his own reflection in the mirror, tracing the lines around his eyes that seemed a little deeper in the unforgiving afternoon sun.
"I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror earlier," he said, his voice dropping into that rare, quiet register he only used when it was just the two of you. "Next to you, in your leather jacket and that 'don't-give-a-toss' look... I looked like I’d been through the wars, love. Grey hair, lines everywhere. I’m 46 today. You’re... well, you’re in your prime." He looked back at you, his hands tightening slightly on your hips. "You sure you aren't gonna wake up in five years, look over at the snoring old Manc next to you, and wonder where the rock star went?"
You felt a sharp pang of affection in your chest. The "Chief" was always so bulletproof in public, so sure of his own legend, that seeing this flicker of human doubt was like seeing the raw demo of a perfect song.
"Noel Thomas David Gallagher, look at me," you said, pulling your hands from his waist to cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. "First of all, the 'rock star' isn't in the hair colour or the lack of wrinkles. It's in the way you walk into a room like you own the floorboards. It's in that brilliant, stubborn mind of yours."
You ran your thumb over the line at the corner of his eye.
"I don't see an 'old man.' I see the man who I flashed my tits to at an Oasis gig. The man who took me to a record shop where we first met, got down on one knee and told me he loved me. I see the man who defended me against his own family. I see the man that makes me feel more loved than I have ever felt, every single day we spend together. And for the record," You gave him a playful, wicked little smirk. "The 'wear and tear' looks incredibly good on you. You've got that rugged, 'I’ve-seen-it-all' thing going on. It’s a lot sexier than a boy who’s never had a story to tell."
Noel’s tension seemed to bleed out of him. A slow, genuine grin started to tug at the corners of his mouth, the one that made his eyes crinkle in exactly the way you loved to photograph.
"Rugged, eh?" he mused, his confidence returning like a physical tide. "So, what you’re saying is, I’m like a vintage Jaguar. A bit of trouble to start in the morning, but once I’m going, I’m the best ride in London?"
You laughed, "Exactly," You leaned up to press a firm kiss to his lips. "Now put the navy shirt on. You look sophisticated, dangerous, and precisely like the man I’m going to marry."
Noel chuckled, snagging the shirt and pulling you back in for one more lingering kiss. "I can work with that."
The two of you began getting ready for your night out at The Firehouse where you had booked a table for a special birthday dinner.
Noel wore the navy shirt with dark denim jeans, and polished black boots with a leather jacket. He looked sharp and sexy. You slipped into sleek black silk slip dress that fit you like a second skin, a tailored blazer over your shoulders, a pair of strappy black heels, paired with the "Diamond Shield". You truly felt like you belonged on Noel’s arm, and his reassuring “Fuckin’ ‘ell, love,” really helped.
As he checked his collar in the mirror, he caught your eye through the glass and winked, the same wink he’d given you in the wings of the Albert Hall. The doubt was gone. The Chief was back, but as you headed down the stairs to the waiting car, you knew he was carrying that little leather-bound notebook in his pocket, ready for the next forty years of lyrics.
The drive to ChilternFirehouse was quick. Noel seemed unusually chatty, mostly talking about the new demos he’d been working on in the notebook you gave him. When Alan pulled up to the entrance, the usual handful of photographers were there, but Noel handled it with a quick, practiced wave as he ushered you inside.
The hostess greeted you with a knowing smile. "Right this way, Mr. Gallagher. Your table is ready in the back gallery."
As you walked through the bustling restaurant, Noel kept his hand firmly around yours and close to his side. When the hostess pulled back the heavy velvet curtain to the private dining area, you felt Noel's grip tighten slightly.
"SURPRISE!"
The room erupted. You saw the familiar, grinning faces of the High-Flying Birds, along with a handful of Noel’s closest friends and long-time crew members. There were streamers handing from the light fittings, a few "Happy Birthday" balloons floating around and enough booze on the table to launch a small ship.
Noel froze, his jaw dropping for a split second before a massive, genuine grin broke across his face. "You set of bastards!" he shouted over the cheers. "I told her I wanted a quiet one!"
"Don't look at me!" you laughed, holding your hands up. "I just followed orders."
"Happy Birthday, Chief!" Mike yelled, thrusting a glass of something fizzy into Noel's hand and clapping him on the back.
The evening turned into a riot of laughter, tour stories and the women gushing over the engagement ring and the story of how Noel asked you. There was no talk of charts or press, just the people who actually knew the man behind the headlines and the number ones. Between courses of oysters and ribeye, the lads kept toasting to "The Old Man" and "The Future Mrs. G."
At one point, Noel leaned over to you, his face flushed with wine and happiness, and whispered into your ear, "You knew about this the whole time, didn't you?"
"It’s a possibility," you teased, sipping your wine.
Noel shook his head, looking around at the room full of people who genuinely loved him. He looked back at you, his eyes soft. "Suppose we’ll have to have this lot on the wedding guest list won’t we.”
"Definitely," you agreed, clinking your glass against his. "Happy Birthday, love."
"Best one yet," he said and kissed you. For once, the man who was famous for having something to say was perfectly content to keep his mouth shut, sit back and enjoy the music of the people around him.
The night at the Firehouse roared on, a chaotic symphony of banter, clinking glasses, and the kind of laughter that only comes from decades of shared road stories. Noel was in his element, leaning back in his chair, a cigarette (strictly "off the record," given the indoor setting) tucked behind his ear, holding court with a sharp-witted anecdote about a lost tour bus in 1994 with his left hand firmly placed at the base of your neck.
By midnight, the table was a graveyard of empty bottles and discarded party poppers. The High-Flying Birds were debating the merits of various 70s synth-pop bands, and Noel was looking at you with that glazed, heavy-lidded expression that told you he was officially "done" with being forty-six for the day.
"Right," he announced, standing up a bit unsteadily and slapping the table. "Before Mike starts singing 'Wonderwall' in a high-pitched voice, we’re making a move. Thanks for the booze, you lot. Try not to get arrested on the way home."
A chorus of "Happy Birthday, Chief!" followed you both out into the crisp London air. The drive home was quiet, your head resting on his shoulder while he hummed a melody under his breath, likely one of the new ones he’d been working on.
Back at the house, the silence was a welcome relief. Ziggy didn't even wake up as you crept inside; he was just a ginger ball of fur tucked into the corner of the sofa.
Noel shed his leather jacket, tossing it over the banister, and immediately began unbuttoning his navy shirt. He stopped halfway, looking at you as you kicked off your heels with a sigh of relief.
"You really pulled that off, didn't you?" he murmured, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom. "The surprise. The lads. I honestly thought we were just going for a boring pasta and a moan about my back."
"I have my ways, Gallagher," you said, stepping toward him and sliding your hands inside his open shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I wanted you to see that getting older isn't so bad when you've got the right people around you."
Noel wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He looked down at you, your engagement ring sparkling in the dim hallway light, and for a second, the cocky rockstar was nowhere to be seen. It was just your Noelie.
"I’ve spent a lot of birthdays in a lot of different places, love," he said softly, his voice thick with sincerity. "Backstages, hotels, planes... usually surrounded by a thousand people I didn't actually like. But this?" He kissed your forehead, then your nose. "Waking up with you, the messy cake with the kid, and then seeing that lot tonight... fuckin’ perfect."
He leaned down, captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of the expensive red wine and the promise of that private, quiet wedding you'd discussed earlier.
The air between you was thick, charged with the lingering adrenaline of the party and the deep, possessive intimacy that had been building all day.
Noel didn’t move as you pulled back from the kiss, his eyes dark and heavy as he watched you. You didn't say a word; you simply reached up and slid the silk straps of your dress off your shoulders. The black fabric slithered down your body, pooling at your hips before you stepped out of it completely, leaving you in nothing but your lace thong.
Noel’s breath hitched, his hands tightening on your hips. “Fucking hell, love… you’re trying to kill me on my birthday, aren’t you?”
Instead of answering, you slowly sank to your knees on the plush carpet. You looked up at him through your lashes, the "Diamond Shield" on your finger catching the dim lamp light as you reached for the belt of his jeans. Noel let out a low, jagged groan, his head falling back against the doorframe as you unzipped him.
With practiced ease, you reached inside his underwear, your warm palm closing around the rigid length of his cock. He was pulsing, already leaking a bead of cum that you smeared over the head with your thumb. You leaned forward, the tip of your tongue flicking over the velvety head of him.
“Y/n…,” he rasped, his fingers tangling in your hair, not to pull you away, but to anchor himself as you took him into your mouth.
You swirled your tongue around the head of him before wrapping your lips around him and taking him deep, your eyes fixed on his as you worked him with a slow, rhythmic suction. Noel’s hips jerked instinctively, his breath hitching into short, sharp pants. The sound of him, the raw, unfiltered vulnerability of a man who usually had a comeback for everything, turned you on more than any song he’d ever written.
You used your left hand to stroke the base while your mouth focused on the tip, pushing him to the very edge. You could feel the muscles in his thighs tensioning underneath your other hand, his fingers tightening in your hair as he neared the point of no return.
“Wait. Wait, love,” he choked out, his voice a broken whisper. “I want to see you. Stop.”
You pulled back off him with a pop, a thin string of saliva connecting you for a second before you sat back on your heels. You reached for the waistband of your thong and tights, shimming them down until you were completely bare. Then, you arched your back, pushing your chest forward and cupping your plump breasts, offering them up to him. Your nipples were dark, pebble-hard in the cool air.
“Watch me, Noel,” you whispered, your voice thick with desire.
Noel looked down at you, his chest heaving. “Fuck.” He looked wrecked, his hair dishevelled and his blue eyes burning with an intense, frantic hunger. He wrapped his hand around his cock, his knuckles white as he began to stroke himself in a fast, desperate rhythm, his gaze locked onto your chest.
You moaned as you pinched one of your nipples with your right hand. You slipped your left hand down between your legs. You moaned as you gave your clit a few strokes, your eyes fixed on Noel’s hand moving up and down his thick cock.
“That’s it, baby… look at me… watch your fiancé, Noel.”
He didn't need telling twice. He picked up the pace, his breath coming in ragged, guttural hitches. You watched the play of muscles in his forearm, the way his jaw was clenched so tight the bone stood out. He was close, you could see it in the way his eyes began to roll back.
“I’m gonna, fuck, Y/n. I’m gonna cum!”
He gave three more frantic, heavy tugs of his hand, his body racking with a sudden, violent shudder. A low, primal roar ripped from his throat as he erupted. The first thick ropes of heat hit your collarbone before splattering across your pale, rounded breasts. He didn't stop, his hand working through the climax until you were painted in his warmth, the white cream stark against your skin.
Noel stood there for a moment, his hand falling limp at his side, his head bowed as he tried to find his breath. The room was silent except for his ragged gasping. Slowly, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his forehead resting against yours.
“Happy birthday, Noelie,” you breathed, reaching out to stroke his damp hair.
He let out a weak, shaky chuckle, his eyes opening to look at the mess he’d made on you. He reached up and with his thumb he wiped up a stray drop of his cum from the curve of your breast before looking up at you with a look of pure, unadulterated devotion. He held his thumb up and let out a breathy groan as you wrapped your lips around his thumb and sucked it clean.
“Forty-six,” he wheezed, a tired, triumphant smirk returning to his face. “Best. Fucking. Birthday. Ever.”
Liked by yasmineameelia, alfiebuttle and 21,047 others
@y/nl/n recents
@y/nfan23 Holy shit y/n soft launch was not on my bingo card what the fuuuuuucckkkkk
@y/nl/n what soft launch? i'm only seeing my fit self xx
@alfiebuttle 🔥
liked by @y/nl/n
@zerocontextab what the hell is happening here
@yourfriend2 fucken tart xx
@user2 holllllyyyyy soft launch im so hype
AB — AB compares his London Penthouse & Village Cottage!
8:47
"What else has been going on in my life?... Oh I went on a date the other day." Alfie exclaimed at the camera, sitting in the drivers seat with a fanged grin
"Oh AB how did that go?" He asked in a rhetorical question, "I'm fucken gassed you man!" Alfie bangs the seat and jumps up and down in excitement.
"I mean, I was scared to go on it anyway because i've got a cold and i've thought if shes funny i'm gonna start laughing and little snot bubbles will come out.. and there will be like one massive one that takes up the whole face. If i'm honest I came close, couldn't fumble this one, it would be a generational loss" He eggs on, using his hands to tell the story to his viewers.
"I mean I thought the game was gone when a little snot came out, but boys, I recovered, shes a little fucken rocke— fwaarrk" he giddily exclaims, rubbing his palms together.
9:13
INSTAGRAM DM — alfiebuttle
@y/nl/n saw ur vlog, thanks for the feature x
@alfiebuttle oi chill out girl, need to let the world know i haven't fumbled the bag yet, its a big one for the degenerate viewers
@y/nl/n yeah speaking of, when tf do i get my voice message... every girl but me smh, just when u think ur special
@alfiebuttle if i sent you a voice message you would block me instantly and ur a fucken tart, can't let that happen can i? x
@y/nl/n tart??? and they say chivalry is dead
@alfiebuttle i liked my feature on your post
@y/nl/n the only reason ur in it is bc i took aesthetic photos u happened to be in 😒
@alfiebuttle a win is a win
@alfiebuttle
Liked by y/nl/n and 138k others
Just tryna get the good ending 🌅
@y/nl/n wow nice colour scheme, i wonder who helped with that x
@user39 okay not to sound crazy but y/n and ab, she is literally friends w yasmine... both recently went on dates, live in england, am i crazy
@user23 no but ur not cos look at her comment.
@zerocontextab +10 sanity from the grotto and the mrs
@alfiebuttle 🫡
liked by @y/nl/n
@user38 bro is lifemaxxing
@buttlesbunnie wtf thats my man, i am so sad rn
@user2 no way ab just so nonchalantly soft launched, just living every lads dream there fella
@user20 We SEE the tattoos bro ☠️🙏
@user47 who is the girl??
@user95 her name is @y/nl/n she's rlly pretty
THE FELLAS PODCAST — AB’s Secret Mrs, Boy’s Portugal Trip & Snapchat Beef… EP. 283
"Right, so," Cal started, leaning forward with that look he gets when he's about to stir up some shit. "Before we get into whatever we've planned today, we need to have a little chat, don't we, AB?"
Alfie shifted, his curly brown hair bouncing slightly. "What you on about? I'm here to talk about y'know boys trip n that." He gestured vaguely at stan.
Chip snorted from across the table. "He's talking about you getting a bird, AB. Don't play dumb."
Alfie's face went a bit red, and he immediately tried to cover it by scratching his beard. "Nah, nah, nah. What bird? I ain't got a girlfriend."
Cal pulled out his phone, his grin widening. "Is that right? So this photo you posted yesterday… of your shadow and some other shadow… that was just you and a random tree, was it?"
"It was a nature walk!" Alfie protested, his voice going a bit high. "I like nature, alright? Can't a man appreciate a bit of greenery without it being a whole thing?"
"A whole thing?" Chip laughed, leaning so far back you thought his chair might tip over. "Mate, the comments section is going mental. 'Who's the girl?' And you said your date went all well on vlog, bare cute y'know.'"
Alfie's green eyes widened in panic. "Don't read that shit out! That's private!"
"Private?" Cal howled, showing his phone to the camera. "You posted it for your 819 thousand followers! How is that private?"
You watched as Alfie's confident exterior completely crumbled. He went from this confident youtuber to a blushing mess in about five seconds flat.
"Alright, fine," he finally admitted, holding up his hands in defeat. "There might be someone. But we're not calling it anything, alright? We're just… oh nah don't make me... fuuuuckkkk."
The studio erupted in cheers and whistles, with Cal and Chip banging on the table like they'd just won the lottery.
"Don't make you what?" Cal repeated. "Oh, AB, lets fucking go lad!."
"Shut up," Alfie mumbled, but he was smiling now, a proper goofy grin that made him look about ten years younger. "She's just… sound, you know? Proper little rocket, this one."
Chip smiled with laughter. "Bro she's the one for you."
"She's just… i dunno, energetic," Alfie tried to explain, his hands flying everywhere as he spoke. "Always buzzing about, doing her own thing. Makes these proper cute posts n shit, she's got a following and everything."
"A YouTuber?" Cal raised his eyebrows.
"Nah, nah, not like that," Alfie shook his head, "Instagram."
"So how'd you two meet?" Chip asked, genuinely curious now.
Alfie's face softened as he thought about it. "Proper random, actually. Commented on one of her posts about some trail up north. She replied and we just… started talking."
You watched as he became more animated, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke about you. The nervousness had been replaced with pure excitement.
"The nature walk photo," Cal prompted, "that was your soft launch?"
Alfie nodded, his green eyes lighting up. "Yeah, but she soft launched it first. Posted one of my hands n shoes n shit. I had to retaliate."
"Retaliate?" Chip laughed. "Sounds like a romance mate, should we do a little two man step on the wedding?"
"Fuck off, mate," Alfie shot back, but there was no heat in it.
"Wow," Chip whistled, looking at the softlaunch on his page. "You two look good together. Even as shadows."
Alfie's blush returned full force. "Yeah, well, she's got good taste, what can I say?"
"So what's she like?" Cal pressed, putting his phone down.
You could see Alfie debating how much to share, his green eyes darting between his friends and the camera lens. "She's… funny and smart, like scary smart sometimes. And she's fit, like ridiculously fit."
"Ridiculously fit how?" Chip teased, wiggling his eyebrows.
Alfie laughed, his confidence returning. "Batty like the north star innit" Alfie then also does the action of eating tits.
The studio erupted in laughter and cheers as Alfie realized what he'd just admitted on camera.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, covering his face with his hands. "I can't believe I just said that."
"You absolutely did!" Cal laughed, "The people need to know, AB! The people need to know!"
"Delete this, delete this whole episode," Alfie pleaded, but he was laughing too.
