combining the two best things in the world and thinking abt dilf roommate liam. i know it’s obvious but i still think they’d be as close as ever. in backstage photos it’s them in the dressing room and she’s sitting on his knee and he’s got his chin hooked over her shoulder. liam getting photographed on the street for some updates account and reader is there next to him and they’re like loosely holding hands, like linking pinky fingers or some horrifically cute shit.
also am obsessed with them having a kid and i don’t know the lore on that yet and if gene would be theirs or if they’d end up having like two or three more but them being perpetually sick of how in love their parents are. i might be imagining this but you mentioning that they’d get married more recently, and that’s so cute actually. maybe after reunion pls so noel can be there and tell ridiculous stories about them.
need to talk abt this era of them way more (me saying this when there’s only like three fics of them but it’s serious okay☹️🩷🩷🩷)
i love it when couples are still horrifically in love [stealing the rivalry couples nachos] so yeah… yeah exactly. i want to talk abt this era of them forever now but honestly i haven’t properly thought abt how many kids they’d have together etc like that lore is fuzzy guys haven’t unlocked that part yet…. but idk u might have a better idea on that than me anon bc everyone on here is so big brained. but it’s so cutesy. noel talking about them getting married when ppl ask and he’s like ‘they’ve been fucking married since the day they met so there’s no point really’ 💔
nanny’s noel finally having sex with the nanny and cumming in 2 seconds because he is too nervous poor soul
no bc are u inside my mind like yeah… let’s make old men old again. him being like ‘i can’t help it — you turn me into a fucking teenager again. i’ve been wanking my fucking guts out over you for the past year’ and it being peak evil skinny dilf era too so he’s still cocky even when it happens and he still makes her finish like twice. me trying to remain mysterious but nanny smut chapters pls arrive faster they would be so hot. her moaning and him being like ‘yeah that’s nice? i can tell it’s nice’ with her face half in the cushion both trying to be all quiet. okay whatever. and them fucking in the spare room or something too.
im not sure if this has been addressed but how do you think reader and flatmate!liam met?
i feel like it’d be through a mutual friend. like that era where noel lived in london and liam still lived in manchester and he gets a flat w the friend of some girl he slept with cause he refuses to get a proper place down south yet bc he wants to live w his mum lol
Thinking about nanny! reader and Noel……. Just waiting for the old man to accidentally like a very old instagram post of her or accidentally follow her by mistake????? And him cursing and getting all nervous trying to take it out soon and Sara turning in bed like “what’s the fuss all about?” And then him being even MORE awkward when she goes to the house the following day and hiding from her…….
And also if it’s summer time I was thinking a scenario where Noel’s kids who let’s not kid ourselves are little demons throw water at her in the garden with water guns or something and Noel’s the only adult in the house. And nanny is completely soaked and he offers her to change into his clothes. They go into his room and he gives her an old oasis shirt and a pair of joggers and he lets her change in his walk in closet. Then they’re both going out of the bedroom and they’re caught by Sara and Noel gets all nervous trying to explain what happened because it looks suspicious AF. Of course Sara doesn’t think any of it and then tells him when they’re like oh that’s ok but you could given her Anais clothes like those would have suited her better, poor girl in your old baggy clothes. And Noel doesn’t know where to hide because of course that was the obvious choice but he just wanted to see you in his clothes…… ok bye
beloved birdie… this foooddd 🍴🍴 omg him freaking out when he follows her bc obviously she’ll see it and literally sitting upright in bed (bc he still stalks her like every night by now and is like mega happy if she posts something on her story of the sky in his garden or something like that he’s like… omg it’s my house as if you don’t work there nearly everyday) and swearing like fuck sake fuck fuck fuck. #yeah
the water gun thing is so good. so movie romcom and perf. her wet t shirt clinging to her and he’s talking and doesn’t realise he’s staring until she like pulls it away from her skin so he can see less of her bra and he’s like oh wait sorry…. and then him giving her some clothes and him freaking out that you’re clearly not wearing a bra anymore and that t shirt has been on him therefore you’ve b technically been chest to chest like that’s how it works…. right…right??? he literally never washes them again. like they sit at the back or his drawer. maybe one day sara does the laundry and washes them and she’s like what’s the matter and he’s like no doesn’t matter it’s whatever. like he doesn’t want to die bc all the connection to u is washed away and he can no longer be weirdo freak abt it omg everybody moveeee.
shoving the nanny and noel’s faces together so they kiss with tongue and then have sex
‘kiss with tongue’😭😭 and they will… trust. just give it a minute they can’t fuck in the living room on a random tuesday they have class and decorum at least. sooo classy our first lady.
[PART THREE][01/11/2017] NOEL GALLAGHER PRESENTS NEW ALBUM AT APPLE MUSIC CONCERT AT YORK HALL: there must be something special about york hall. only a few months back, arcade fire were presenting their latest album here, and now it’s the turn of noel gallagher, who just a week ago brought [...]
i.
“She’s hungover, the poor thing.” Sitting in his office with his shoulders hunched over his desk, trying to reply to an email on the expensive computer he hardly uses, Noel can hear his wife's voice drifting in from the hallway. It’s still so early that he hasn’t even wiped the sleep from his eyes or had a chance to make a cup of tea, and though the curtains are still closed, he knows the sky is still pitch black in that horrible way which never fails to surprise him every winter.
“Huh?” Impatiently clicking at the mouse and tutting under his breath once the little loading circle appears, he tries to register what she’s said; like most husbands, he’d always suffered with selective deafness and an inability to multitask, and instead of listening, he’s thinking about how all the video games he lets his boys play on this computer are probably what’s slowing it down to no end. He tries to look away, spinning around in his chair to face her, hoping the old trick of appearing not to care might suddenly make it work. “She’s what?”
“She’s hungover.” Sara repeats, looking down into the bag Noel had bought for her birthday just a couple of weeks ago, and furrowing her eyebrows as though she’s missing something. Luckily, the sight of her all dressed up and ready to go out reminds him that she’s going out for breakfast this morning with her friends, just as she’d told him last night over dinner as they ate takeaway food and watched television, absent-mindedly discussing his upcoming gig as though discussing it properly might tamper with fate.
“Really?” Noel knows you’re a university student and that you go out partying every now and then, mainly because he stalks your Instagram sometimes while he’s lying in bed or bored on the train, though it’s unlike you to ever let it interfere with your schoolwork or your job; it’s a fine balance that he’s ever in awe of, how you manage to juggle all these things without burning yourself out to the point of frustration, and he knows it’s something he could never do, no matter how hard he tried.
“Halloween.” She explains plainly, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she speaks. It’s another thing he feels silly for forgetting, as he suddenly recalls helping his boys carve out pumpkins the night before as they explained the costumes they were going to wear at the weekend, when it wasn’t a school night, and they could stay up way past their bedtime and do whatever ten and seven-year-olds like to do with their friends. It’d been hours now, but still Noel’s arms ached from performing the duty of scooping out all the pumpkin guts and throwing them into the bin.
“Oh, right.” It’s perhaps slightly pathetic how quickly he wants to pull out his phone and check your Instagram, already wondering what you’d dressed up as and if the costume required a minimal amount of clothing that would probably make his heart race. He chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to put on his best poker face with his eyebrows furrowed as he tries not to think about you in one of those cliché skimpy costumes with a tiny skirt and a pair of animal ears to top it all off.
“Told her to drink that juice in the fridge.” Smoothing out the front of her coat and adjusting the straps of her bag, she continues, referring to the green pressed juice she always buys from one of those vegan places that Noel always complains about spending far too much time in; conveniently ignoring the fact that a turmeric and ginger shot from there has never failed to shorten any nasty cold he’s ever had by at least two days, though he’d never admit to that out loud.
“Fucking hell, like she hasn’t suffered enough.” Noel jokes, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth as though he can taste the bitterness of blended kale and celery himself. Swivelling in his chair, he turns back to look at the computer, scoffing under his breath when he notices that the little loading circle is still sitting there against his screensaver; a picture of all three of his kids, smiling brightly behind the mess of all his open tabs and applications, which are probably another reason why everything’s so aggravatingly slow.
“Don’t be daft.” She chuckles, rolling her eyes and walking over to give him a rushed kiss goodbye, avoiding getting her nude lipstick all over the side of his cheek and rubbing any excess away with the pad of her manicured thumb; displaying the kind of practised ease that comes with years of domestic bliss. There’s the sound of her phone dinging and buzzing in her bag as she speaks again, adjusting her scarf around her neck to fight off the biting winter cold: “I’m going now, the girls will wonder where I am.”
“I’ll see you later.” Noel shouts back as she leaves, tapping at his keyboard and trying not to think about his gig tonight, and that horrible sick feeling that will linger at the bottom of his stomach until he gets past the first few songs and into the swing of things. Though he’d waited patiently and performed the act of pretending not to care, that little loading circle is still on his screen, and he swears under his breath, trying to close the dozen game applications left open by kids. “Stupid fucking Roblox.”
ii.
“You can bring whoever you want.” Standing in his kitchen, fiddling with the pile of unopened post left on the kitchen island, Noel tries to make his offer sound as casual as possible; he doesn’t want to guilt-trip you, and although he’d love to see you there, standing side stage and bobbing your head along to the music, he assumes a girl in her twenties has better things to do with her evening than attend a middle-aged man’s gig. “Friends, or a boyfriend or whatever.”
There’s a pause, and then a laugh from where you’re eating at the dining table, taking huge bites of the buttered toast Noel had hurriedly made for you; visibly horrified at the notion that you hadn’t eaten anything all day, despite it being nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, he’d taken it upon himself to risk being late for his driver waiting outside to shove a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster, ignoring your protests as he searched for the butter at the back of the fridge.
“What is it?” Furrowing his eyebrows and beginning to laugh nervously, Noel leans back against the shiny marble of the kitchen countertop. If you weren’t so sweet, he would assume you were laughing at him, and though he likes to pride himself on having pretty high levels of self-esteem, he’s sure something like that would be enough to teeter him right over the edge from embarrassment straight into the territory of complete humiliation. Though luckily, he knows you’re not like that, and that instead, you’re kind in a way he can’t quite fathom.
“Nothing, it’s just —” Pausing your train of thought to swallow your mouthful of food, you wash the words down with a sip of the tea he’d also made for you; switching the kettle on as he waited for the toast to pop out, he’d taken special care to add extra sugar and milk, just as he usually does when he’s feeling particularly hungover with his head throbbing. Politely, you brush your fingers together so the leftover crumbs land onto your plate instead of the polished table. “My ex-boyfriend was a big Oasis fan, he would’ve killed for this sort of thing.”
“Ex-boyfriend?” His ears instantly prick up at the phrase, hand stilling from where he’d been absent-mindedly playing with the zipper of his jacket. The thought of some smug bastard wandering around without realising how lucky he’d once been is enough to make Noel feel practically sick to his stomach; a feeling that, like all things to do with you, he’ll pass off as something else entirely, like perhaps a case of pre-show nerves that will disappear the moment he gets on stage and into the swing of things again.
“Yeah, bit of a knob.” Ripping the crusts off your toast, you shrug. It’s getting late, and he’s sure his driver is looking at his watch and beginning to wonder if he’s got the right house or not, though Noel feels like his feet have been glued to the ground, and he can hardly move; this is the first time he’s properly talked to you in days without the interruption of him having to hop on a phone call or one of his kids walking in to ask you nonsensical questions, and the idea of having to leave now makes him feel completely deflated.
“He sounds like a cunt.” The word falls so effortlessly from his lips, and truly, he means it. He doesn’t care if it’s considered pure hypocrisy, if he doesn’t have a leg to stand on since he’s sure he was probably much worse at your age, with the added layer of having drugs and alcohol to blame it all on; he still believes your boyfriend must’ve been a certified idiot to mess things up. It’s almost baffling, something he has a hard time wrapping his head around.
“You don’t even know what he did yet.” Laughing, your smile reaches your eyes, and he feels embarrassingly giddy at the fact that he’d been the cause of it. Though he’d never been into the idea of trying to impress people before, he still finds himself yearning for your opinion, and he doesn’t know what to do with all this new nervous energy; just the other day, at the train station, he’d even found himself lingering by the book section as he waited to buy cigarettes, wondering if he should pick one up and how to breach the subject that he’d been reading next time he saw you without looking like a total weirdo.
“I don’t have to; he’s a boy.” Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, or the benefit of being older and therefore hopefully somewhat more emotionally mature, but he likes to think that if he was your boyfriend he’d treat you a lot better than anyone else, or at the very least, a lot better than some twenty-something-year-old guy who’s barely out of university. Continuing to fantasise about it, he has to stop himself mid-thought, staring down at his wedding ring and scolding himself in his head with a plethora of curse words in hopes of getting a grip on himself.
“He’s not a boy, he’s twenty-six.” Eating the last bit of your toast and licking the remaining crumbs off your thumb and forefinger, you correct him as if it makes much difference. It reminds him that you’re basically half his age, and that it’s silly and stupid to feel this way towards you; he knows he’ll reprimand himself for it until you do something so tooth-achingly sweet or attractive that the whole cycle will repeat itself again, like his very own version of 'Groundhog Day'.
“That’s still a boy.” Noel shrugs his shoulders up, tearing the edge of an open envelope for something to do with his hands; usually, he’d stare at the elaborate clock on the kitchen wall to check if he was running late or not, though with you around he can’t bring himself to care. “I’ve barely just graduated from being one. It takes us a while, sadly.” By now, he’d heard enough stories from his teenage daughter about how horrible young men could be that he didn't even need much information to conclude your ex-boyfriend was probably the one in the wrong; honestly, he’d bet money on it if he could.
“Yeah, sadly.” Pushing your chair out from under the table, you get up to wash your plate in the sink, passing the collection of drawings you’d done with Sonny that morning, which are now stuck proudly to the front of the fridge in all their colourful glory. Noel watches you, with your hoodie pulled up over your head, humming some tune as you turn the tap on, and he finds you so painfully adorable that he has to grit his teeth until his jaw hurts.
iii.
“Go on, then.” Noel had been standing out here with you for what felt like forever, slowly savouring each puff of his cigarette and staring down at an empty crisp packet floating in a puddle by the edge of the pavement, trying to avoid the inevitability of his eyes straying over to the low neckline of your top and where your necklace sits perfectly against your collarbones. Frankly, the question had been on the tip of his tongue nearly all night, though with a sharp intake of breath to prepare himself, he only utters it now: “Give us the verdict, was it alright?”
“Yeah, I overheard some journalists saying they loved it.” Arms tucked around yourself to retain some of your body heat, you reply enthusiastically. It’s so cold outside that Noel can see your breath fanning in front of you as you speak, forming little clouds like you’re exhaling cigarette smoke yourself; earlier, as he wrestled with the flame of his lighter, he’d defended his non-smoker status by insisting that nicotine didn't count after gigs, or while on holiday, or on his birthday, or during any other little event where he wanted to give himself an indulgent pass without the guilt hanging over him for days afterwards.
“I don’t want some dickhead journalist’s opinion.” Though it’s been two decades since the nineties, his views on the press and music writers alike have barely budged since then, and he’d much rather bump into someone on the street and ask their opinion on music than open up an article and read what the so-called ‘professionals’ have to say about his new album. Tapping some cigarette ash onto the floor, he swallows his pride and asks for what he’s been pining for from the moment he finished the first song: “I want yours, it’s the most important one.”
“Huh, why?” Staring down at your boots and skimming the soles over the concrete of the pavement, Noel watches the way your hair drifts about in the wind, and he has to feign looking up the street so you don’t catch the warmth spreading to his cheeks. For a moment, however brief, he swears he can see an expression of nervousness on your face that he usually only recognises in himself; that inner dilemma of knowing something is morally wrong but wanting it anyway, and then burying it all towards the back of your mind and locking it away, hoping it’ll somehow sort itself out without any interference.
“Cause’ you scare me a bit.” It’s almost instant, the way his shoulders sink slightly now that the weight of this small confession has been lifted. Perhaps it’s not some of his best phrasing, and he should’ve maybe specified that you make him nervous and that he finds you intimidating rather than scary, though it’s close enough to convey how he feels whenever you walk into a room, and pretty eloquent if you take into account the fact that he feels like he might be suffering the symptoms of a minor heart attack.
“I scare you?” Bewildered at the notion, this is the first time you’ve properly made eye contact all night. In a way, Noel’s sort of glad that he’ll never be able to kiss or touch you, since if this is how he feels making mere eye contact, he’s sure he couldn’t survive anything more; that maybe he’d keel over and die if you ever kissed his neck, and that he’d spontaneously combust and leave nothing but a pile of ash if you ever perched on the end of his lap. "How can I scare you?"
“You just do. I’m not made of stone.” Noel tries to swallow down the horrible breathless feeling that’s stuck at the base of his throat like he’s choking, but to no avail. There’s a silence between you both that’s beginning to chip at his soul bit by bit, with each distant sound of a car horn going off and the chatter of people passing by on the street adding another excruciating blow. It’s as though he’s reached his limit of funny quips and sarcastic jests, running out right when he needs them, and all there’s left to do is crush his cigarette butt under his foot so he can stroll back inside.
iv.
Head against his pillow, with his ears still buzzing from the gig, Noel tries to keep his eyes open so he can type your Instagram username into the little search bar without making a plethora of drowsy spelling mistakes; he’d already fallen asleep in the taxi on the way home, letting his forehead rest against the cold glass window as the city blurred past him in a haze of half-fuzzy building lights. It might be his tiredness, or the one too many beers he had celebrating afterwards, or maybe a mixture of both, but his brain can barely work its way around a keyboard.
With the number of times he’d done this by now, the average person might think he’d have no trouble in finding your profile. It’s a little routine he’s formed; an act he’s begun to do almost subconsciously when he has an extra minute or two to spare. Usually, he checks his emails, then his texts, and then, like his very own digital safety blanket, he checks to see if you’ve posted anything; his heart usually stilling in his chest when a new photo pops up, chewing on the end of his fingernails and looking over his shoulder as he studies it in a way a married man shouldn’t.
Eyes half-lidded, and having already mistakenly clicked on someone else's account rather than yours, Noel stares at the familiar sight of your profile picture and the cute little emojis you’ve put in your bio. The thought of your ex-boyfriend probably being one of your followers, with his account and his pictures somewhere on this app, makes his insides curl into something he can only compare to jealousy; it’s almost comical, the idea of a fifty-year-old man being jealous of a boy in his mid-twenties, but Noel can’t seem to help it.
Scrolling down with the pad of his thumb and letting out a characteristically loud ‘dad yawn’, he’s met with the photos he’s looked at a dozen times over, a layout which he now knows like the back of his own hand. In one swift motion, he clicks on the most recent one and feels his breath get caught in the middle of his throat once he realises what it is: you in your Halloween costume, smiling brightly with a drink in your hand and a straw between your teeth.
It seems so glaringly obvious now that he’s seen it, something he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of earlier once the topic of you in a costume had entered his mind that morning; of course you weren’t going to be a mouse or a cat, or some superhero, you were obviously going to be dressed up as a fairy, with wings pinned to the back of your dress and glitter smeared all over every patch of visible skin as though you’d rolled in the stuff. It fits your personality so well that he’s sure it would make him grin ear to ear if he wasn’t so tired, with his back aching from playing guitar for nearly two and a half hours straight.
Nibbling on the inside of his cheek, his hand snakes down towards the waistband of his boxers, letting out a huff of frustration through his nose; imagining being so close to you, with his hand teasingly drifting up the hem of your dress, that he’d get covered in glitter himself. Hoping, despite it being all kinds of wrong, that the proof of where his hands had been would glimmer and sparkle against his palms, like a dirtier version of his wife leaving a lip gloss mark against the side of his face whenever she kisses him.
Truthfully, he wants to screenshot it, keep it for himself until his kids beg to play games on his phone and he has to hurriedly delete it from his camera roll so they don’t ask too many questions, but instead, he scrolls down further to see if there’s any leftover pictures of you and your boyfriend that you’ve forgotten to take down. He squints at old photos, studying them in case there’s a trace of him anywhere, something he can cling to and fixate over to get a clear picture of who you were once with.
“Noel, that’s too bright.” Sara’s voice pipes up from beside him in bed, and he feels like he’s about to jump out of his own skin. Too preoccupied with staring at you on his screen, he hadn’t noticed that she’d crawled in beside him, smelling of bodywash after her shower with her face buried in the cushion away from him; he must’ve had his brightness on so high that it reflected off the ceiling, with the only other light coming in from the sliver of space under the door.
“Shit, sorry.” He fumbles about, feeling incredibly guilty, with shame creeping up the back of his neck. Switching off his phone, he places it on his bedside table, next to the half-empty bottle of water and the painkillers he’s already taken to soothe the headache he’ll probably have in the morning. In the dark, the truth is undeniable, and he can no longer run away from it, no matter how hard he tries; he fancies you, desperately so, in a way that almost gives him goosebumps, and he’s fucked, completely and utterly fucked.
In a few hours, he’ll make breakfast before he even has the time to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and upstairs his phone will still be charging on his bedside table. Through his sea of notifications on Instagram, with likes and comments coming in almost every second, the proof of you liking and then hurriedly unliking the photos at the very start of his account will get lost in the tidal wave of little red hearts, and while sipping his fresh cup of tea, Noel will remain blissfully unaware.
his hair looks so grey here the hair dye allegations are overr!!!! also zooming in on this makes me feel like the jimmy fallon pic where someone’s calling him cute. #okay
cw: pet play; softdom!reader; praise kink; unprotected sex; creampie. // sub90s!noel – somno; oral; dacryphilia; established relationship; orgasm denial. // sub90s!liam – public-ish; cum play; face slapping; slight choking.
wn: okay so i’ve never written pet play before.. i tried to do this as realistically as i could… gulp. hope u like it! thanks to the lovely @missbeatlegrl for helping me out with the liam one <3
while noel never had any desire to conceal that he’s a cunt, he’s never been against the fact that his missus is sunshine in a fucking jar, either.
he was proud of it, really. that weird, smug flutter inside his chest only grew whenever someone would come up to you, thinking it would be easy to swipe you off your feet just because you were kind and sweet – only to watch the lad wipe the smirk right off his face the second noel’s hand found your waist, his piercing blue eyes making the man stammer before fucking right off.
the night of the party, he left the house pissed. he thinks it’s reasonable, any man wouldn’t like his pretty girlfriend walking around inside a venue looking like a playboy bunny.
you had the ears, the corset, the fluffy little tail and the boyfriend with smoke coming out of his ears. while noel was dressed as… well, himself. he couldn’t be arsed to put anything on other than what he’d normally wear on a saturday night.
it took you a while to get back in his good graces, and a few beers. at first, he held your hand despite having a scowl on his face. nearly an hour later, you pampered his cheeks with kisses, not minding him mumbling curses under his breath even though his cheeks were marked with your pink lipstick.
what really broke him was when a friend of his teased: “what are you supposed to be, noel? yourself?”
and before he could tell him to fuck off, you cut right in.
“he’s hugh hefner.” you replied sweetly, arms wrapping around his waist and chest pressing against his side, nearly spilling out of the tight corset. “and in his bunny, aren’t i, baby?” you added, leaning in and pressing a kiss on his jaw.
god, you know him too well. and he’s too fucking easy when it comes to you.
because of that night, it started as an inside joke, almost. and not the way you’d think, either.
because five minutes after that small interaction, he had already tagged down the driver, opening the door for you so you two could go home. urgently in need to sort out the neediness only growing inside his pants.
inside the car, you didn’t waste your time, you never did after a few drinks.
your thigh was over his lap, fingers were deeply tangled in his hair while you let his tongue claim yours. his palms were firm and greedy on your body, groping your tits and your ass without even caring that the driver would listen to your pretty whimpers.
his mouth shifted until it landed on your neck, greedily kissing and sucking the soft skin. you giggled, despite being breathier, needier by the second – you could feel him smirking against your neck at the sound. a silent sign of a truce.
your fingers played with his hair, chest heaving as you tugged it softly, just so you could look at his face. he looked so pretty like this, lips in a deeper shade of pink from kissing and cheeks flushed, while his eyes admired you right back even with his pupils swallowing the blue.
your hand slid down to his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. “my angry little bunny.” you purred, teasing and aroused.
he scoffed lightly, shaking his head. his reaction made you bite down a laugh, hands moving and picking up your bunny ears, placing it on his head, ignoring the silent protest.
his hand even moved to take it off, maybe toss it on the other side of the backsteat and pull you into his lap with a grunt. but you were quicker, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand closer to your mouth, pampering his knuckles with kisses until your lips were wrapped around his fingers.
as your tongue slowly lapped his fingers, your hand moved towards his clothed bulge. his lips fell further agape as you pressed your palm over it, softly mapping out his length as you sucked his fingers – showing him a little preview of he was about to get right in the backsteat of his chocolate-brown rolls royce.
a small trail of spit connected your lips to his fingers as you slowly pulled them out, free hand undoing the belt of his trousers. you smirked wider at his hips bucking in anticipation, at his head falling back into the leathered rest, the fluffy bunny ears bending softly against the seat.
you leaned in, tongue lapping his pulse point at the same time your hand slid inside his underwear, wasting no time in wrapping your palm around him and slowly stroking.
“were you needy, bunny? hm?… that’s why you were mad?” you whispered in his ear, feeling his hips bucking into your hand at the same time his arm wrapped tighter around your shoulder, his free hand gripping the door until his knuckles whitened.
you kissed his cheek, gentle despite the condescending tone that got his tip leaking inside his trousers. “gonna make you feel good… no need to be mad, love…” muffled against his jaw, your fingers curled into the waistband of his trousers, tugging it down at the same time his lips lifted.
in the backseat of his far too expensive car, grumpy noel gallagher wore fuzzy white and pink bunny ears as you sucked him off. not even managing to gain his cockiness back, only breathing out broken little words as his hips sloppily thrusted inside your mouth.
since then, calling noel “bunny” became an inside thing. he wouldn’t call it a joke, exactly. other jokes didn’t make blood rush to his cheeks – or his cock, that would pathetically throb every time the nickname sweetly slipped out of your mouth.
one day, noel had arrived home after the shittiest day of his year so far. liam had been on his ass all day and bonehead only egged him on, making nothing good come out of his frustrated tired brain. an entire day wasted in the studio.
every second that passed, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to go home. all he wanted was to bury himself inside his sweet girl so badly his head ached.
the second he pushed the door of your home open, his eyes began to look for any sign of you. but it was too late for you to be in the living room watching the telly, or in the kitchen preparing something for him.
he sighed, kicking his shoes off and immediately padding towards the bedroom. he found you there, with steady breathing and so cozy inside the blankets he could die at the sight.
his brows were softly furrowed as he got rid of his shirt, eyes dragging over the outline of your body underneath the duvet. then, his hands got rid of his trousers, feeling his neediness only grow at the sight he’s been dreaming about all day.
he laid down, slipping underneath the blanket and fitting beside you like a puzzle. he told himself all he needed was to feel you, inhale your scent and feel your warmth.
he leaned in until his nose was buried inside your hair, hips pressing closer to your ass and chest glued to your back. then, his hand moved, at first sprawling his fingers on the curve of your waist, just to pull you impossibly closer.
with a shaky exhale, his hand shifted upwards, kneading your tits over the thin fabric of your top – his mouth immediately parting against the curve of your shoulder, leaving a damp spot as he breathed out, warm and shaky.
he realized it wasn’t enough, placing a kiss there before pulling the cover off your body, swallowing gruffly as he shifted between your legs.
your thighs were bare, the only thing barely covering your cotton knickers being the hem of his large shirt you wore. he leaned in with a quiet whimper, placing a soft kiss on your covered clit – letting his lips linger while slowly rutting his hips into the mattress.
his nose pressed down on your soft clothes mound, parting his lips with a soft exhale as your scent filled his nostrils. his fingers were shaky as they hooked into the fabric, feeling the natural dampness underneath his touch as he tugged it to the side.
he breathed in deeply as he saw the most intimate part of you – and yet, one that fully belonged to him. his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in, stroking your folds with one long, wet lick. his brows furrowed in pleasure at your taste, breath hitching as he wrapped his lips around your clit.
his breath hitched as he slowly kissed your clit, head tilting as he let his tongue drag lazily over you. his free hand settled on your hip, softly squeezing it as he kissed your cunt.
his mouth didn’t work on you the way it did whenever determined to get you off, you weren’t really awake, were you? besides, his brain was far too hazy to focus on the spots that always got you cumming right over his tongue.
he moaned quietly against you, hand gripping your hip harder as he started to slowly loose himself in it. noel’s head tilted softly to the side, his hair softly brushing the top of your thigh.
he pulled away with an unsteady breath, lips pink and slick with you as he guided his fingers towards your lips – softly spreading them, taking a deep breath at the sight.
noel leaned in once more, greedier now. his mouth was messy, borderline desperate. so starving for you he allowed his drool to gather up, sucking and licking every drop of it, pressing his mouth even firmer as it mixed with your own arousal.
his hand softly squeezed your hip once he felt you stirr, a small line forming between his brows and eyes getting glassier as you sleepily grinded over his tongue. noel thrusted again into the mattress as he heard your sleepy mumbles, far too gone to even be apologetic about it.
your fingers sliding inside his hair pulled an involuntary moan out of him. tangling into the messy brown locks, gently but firmly pulling his head back just enough to force him to pause.
"slow down, bunny…" you murmured, your voice thick and honey-sweet with sleep.
his breath hitched at the nickname, chest heaving as he tried to swallow down a sob of pure relief. "sorry... 'm sorry…" noel mumbled against your skin, muffled. he sounded so small it made your heart melt.
your fingers stroked through his hair, your palm velvet smooth as it slid down his temple, then his cheek – gentle stroking with your thumb, brushing his cheekbone and underneath his eye. "bad day?…” you asked softly.
he nodded. you nodded back, petting his hair – a silent, comforting “i know.”
then, your hand gently cupped the back of his head, legs slowly parting wider as you pulled him closer. he closed the distance again with a soft moan, vibrating through your body as his wet mouth wrapped around you again. slower this time.
you hummed softly, head tilting as you watched him through sleepy eyes. fingers still petting his hair, “just wanted a taste, didn’t you…”
he pulled away, barely a millimeter, rasping out a shaky and needy “yeah, yeah” against your folds. so quiet you nearly couldn’t make it out, muffled with the wet sounds of his mouth kissing your clit, whimpering against you.
you hummed. “course you did… you’re so good to me…” tone quiet and so gentle it made his eyes squeeze tighter shut, a small tear forming in the corner from how badly he’s been needing to hear it.
“such a good bunny...” you praised, voice still hushed from sleep.
a soft, pathetic sob immediately caught on his throat at your words. “mhm… i know…” you cooed him, nodding softly, like you expected that exact reaction. “come up here,” you instructed in a whisper, as soft as your fingers running through his hair.
his body shook as he crawled up yours, aching with desperation. his fingers were clumsy as he tugged the waistband of his underwear down, a trail of pre cum connecting his tip to the fabric, invisible in the darkness of the room.
he didn’t push the fabric all the way down, not when your palm rested on the curve of his waist, caressing over the small gather of skin. not when his face buried on the side of your neck. especially not when your legs parted, your free hand taking his leaking cock and guiding until his tip was pressed against your entrance.
his cock stretched you out with a pathetic ease, his mouth falling agape immediately and a small whimper slipping past his lips – as sweet as the quiet squelching sounds of your cunt taking his length.
“thank you… fuck, t-thank you…” he babbled, hips moving slowly and deeply inside you. his hands scramble to find yours, slotting his fingers through yours like a lifeline. “love you… god, i love you so much,” his voice was thick with a desperation that was almost painful. he kissed your jaw, your cheek, his breath hot and damp against your skin.
“i love you too, noel,” you whispered, heart melting as you wrapped your legs around his waist. your free hand came up to stroke his face, wiping at the dampness catching in his lashes. “so much. you’re so good to me...”
a choked sob left his throat at the praise. his bottom lip trembled, the muscles of his ass clenching softly with every shaky thrust, still too slow.
“can i… can i go a bit harder? please, love?” he stammered, leaning closer until his forehead pressed against yours. his eyes so glassy that if he blinked too hard a tear might fall on your warm skin. “wanna c-cum so bad, love. please, please, please…”
your tongue clicked softly, sweet and condescending all at once. your hand dragged down his back, unhurriedly feeling the curve of his spine until it reached the curve of his ass.
“slow, bunny. don’t rush it…” you coaxed. as if the gentle tone wasn’t enough, your hand softly grabbed the flesh of his ass, guiding as you pushed him close, then further back – inevitably pulsing around him at the broken gasp the friction pulled out of him. “you woke me up for this, i wanna look at you now…”
“fuck, don’t… d-don’t be mean, darlin’… please, s—fuck, please… please, please let me.” he begged with a broken cry.
“you sound so pretty when you’re being good, noelly…” you whispered, head still foggy with sleep, but hands still focused. forcing his hips into agonizingly slow and deep thrusts.
he whimpered, “please, love… just… let me— fuck, ’m your bunny. ‘m so good for you… let me fuck you… please…” rambling with a broken voice. his mouth was warm and damp against your lips, hips bucking weakly into you.
your head tipped back with a moan, hand squeezing his flesh harder, pulling him with a deeper drag at the needy words coming out of his mouth. “yeah? want it that bad?”
he whined, pressing his mouth on the side of your neck to muffle the pathetic sound he couldn’t hold in. “y-yes… want it so bad. want you so bad.”
“what’s the magic word, hm? say it pretty baby,” – a soft kiss on his temple as you gently, meanly cooed him – “cmon…”
“i love you. love you. p–love you, let me...” he rambled, so desperate he couldn’t even properly say what you asked for.
you breathed out a laugh at the words, hand grabbing him and pulling him closer at the same torturous pace. your head was spinning with sleep and with how pretty he sounded like this, even as he stretched you out so fully. “‘please’, bunny. you’re a smart boy, come on…”
his mouth found yours again, his lip quivering as he begged in a whisper. “please, i’m sorry. please. please, i– wanna be good. please.”
with a quiet moan, you pulled him in, hand squeezing a making him thrust with a depth that quietly let him know he was finally allowed to. a broken moan escaped his lips at the silent permission. “fuck, thank you. thank you, thank you.” he babbled, tone needy and whiny – unlike the heavy slam of his hips speeding up.
it reminded you for a second of how bigger he was. how easily his frame swallowed yours in bed, or how easy it would be if he just took what he wanted – like he did with every thing else, in a way. being what the title “the chief” allows him to be.
and yet, right now, he needed your permission.
his breath caught in his throat as he buried himself to the hilt. his hips moving in sloppy thrusts that pulled out broken moans of him.
you moaned, nails softly digging into his back. “feels so good, bunny.”
he nodded desperately. “‘m your needy bunny. fuck, needed you so bad.” babbling in broken whispers, completely shameless now. a tear finally spilled over his thick lashes, hot and damp where it smeared against your cheek.
his mouth blindly searched yours, catching your lower lip and sucking on it bruisingly. “you’re so soft… so fuckin’ wet. love you… fuckin’ love you, darlin’… ‘m gonna cum, ‘m— fuck.”
you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, hands blindly moving up to grip his hair, pulling him down into another messy, spit-slick kiss. “fill me up, that’s it.” you praised, the words messy and muffled against his mouth.
his mouth fell agape against yours, tongue dumbly bumping into yours as he buried himself as deep as he could go with sloppy thrusts.
a broken sob ripped from his throat as his orgasm took over him, painting your inner walls with white ropes of his cum and still not stopping. he whimpered into your mouth, fingers clawing at the mattress on either side of your head as he panted.
even after a few minutes, he stayed buried deep inside you. his body was heavy over yours, comforting – almost sending you back into a gentle sleep, as gentle as your hands caressing his back.
you could feel the heat spreading across his cheeks, imagining it reached all the way to the tips of his ears like it normally does.
you couldn't help the fond, sleepy smile that tugged at your lips. “you’re cute.” you teased softly, hand sliding up his chest, feeling the thumping of his heart.
he buried his face right back into the crook of your neck to hide his blushing face. “stop…” he mumbled, embarrassed. his voice muffled against your skin.
you laughed quietly. hands sliding over his bare back, tracing the smooth pale skin before sliding lower to gently caress the soft curve of his ass. noel let out a long, heavy sigh. the tension finally leaving his body as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, “i love you.”
“mhm…” you hummed quietly, fingers running over his skin, mouth pressing a soft kiss on his temple. “love you too.”
liam has this energy about him that’s endearingly boyish. it’s that kind of a personality trait where it doesn’t take too much time to notice, “part of the charm” he says.
you got hired to do the artwork for the band because of guigsy. neither of you quite know how you met, but that’s the thing about manchester – everyone knows everyone, and he happened to know a girl with talented hands and an appropriate budget for a band just starting out.
you stuck around even when the band started to take off, even when designing wasn’t really necessary. that meant after-parties backstage, van trips, a privileged side stage view, and knowing every lyric to definitely maybe by heart.
you always thought liam resembled a puppy. he never stops pacing backstage or around the studio, has to let out energy while performing or getting into unnecessary rows at pubs – the ones that always forced you to grab him by the back of his jacket and drag him to the other side of the room while he was still loudly winding the other lad up.
noel said it was because he fancied you, and you always dismissed it as a joke despite it making a lot of sense – while liam has never made any effort to disguise that, either.
he’d always poke your sides like a schoolboy with a crush does, always plop down the couch beside you whenever you looked far too bored, and always give you those puppy eyes with a head tilt – just because he knows that got you to play with his hair whenever you were the right amount of high.
strangely, you liked that about him. you liked how he chased after you, somehow like a dog would, holding a little chew toy between his teeth and wiggling his tail as he asked “play with me, play with me.”
eventually, he got bolder. he'd sling his arm around your shoulder and lean closer to your ear, using the pick up line that always got girls into his bed. unfortunately for him, those girls were only there to sleep with the cute frontman, so they absolutely didn't mind when his best chat up was "y'want it, girl?"
where all you did was laugh, endeared and amused. no matter how many times he tried, spicing it up occasionally with a wet kiss on your jaw or calling you “babe” instead, saying how fit you looked and how badly he wanted you.
it’s not like you wouldn’t shag him. liam is, unfortunately, stunning. but you always thought it was for the best to just avoid the mess, the inevitable chaos that sleeping with someone you worked with every day would bring into the routine.
despite being seriously tempted every time he gave you those puppy eyes and asked you so pretty, so politely and so fucking needy it got you clenching around nothing. “please, darling.” toning down all the swagger he usually carried around and asking you like a proper good boy.
imagine if you knew about one specific night back in his hotel room, where he was especially wound up. closing his eyes hard and thinking about you while balls deep inside a groupie, panting and asking her to call him a “good boy” just because her voice remotely resembled yours.
the costume party was initially your idea. you shared it in the middle of nowhere, with the band unenthusiastically agreeing, only shrugging while sprawled across the tour buses’ couches. except liam, who immediately beamed, saying it would be “fucking mega” and telling noel to not be a grumpy cunts and actually make an effort.
the night of the party arrived, and the effort noel did was wear a loose white button up shirt and carry around a plastic lightsaber. eh, that’s as good as it gets.
the rest of the band did an effort too, but no one came close to your costume. permanently obsessed with old disney animations, it was only fair you did cruella de vil justice – big white fur coat, black eye makeup and even half of your hair tinted white by a aerosol can that would most likely give you a headache to wash off the following morning.
you had seen liam around in the room, not being able to pin down what he was dressed as. that, until he found you in the balcony, cutting in the silent atmosphere that you enjoyed your cigarette.
“two proper peas in a pod, huh?” he teased, eyes dragging over your figure as he strutted closer.
your brows raised softly, a small smile forming on your lips as you blew the smoke out. “what are you supposed to be, liam?”
he snorted, leaning closer and tipping his chin up, his chubby finger pointing at the collar around his neck.
you squinted, leaning closer. immediately breathing out a laugh once you realized. “you’re a dog?”
“nah, love. well, supposed to be scooby doo.” he replied with a smirk, before attempting on his first move of the evening. “but if y’want, i can be your dog, yeah. cruella, innit. i’d let you fur coat me all you want.”
you snort, amused. “fuck off, liam.”
he laughed, placing a cigarette between his own lips and lighting it, the flame lighting the way his brows furrowed softly in concentration, before wearing that same shit eating expression again. “just sayin’…” he started, slowly blowing out the smoke. “too good of a coincidence to pass on.”
you laughed despite yourself, leaning your lower back against the railing. “did i tell you i was gonna dress as this?” you asked teasingly, arms crossing.
he breathed out a laugh, shaking his head as he took a small step just to stand in front of you, his large back shielding your frame from whoever was inside the venue. “nah, just… liked scooby doo as a kid. that’s it.”
your tongue clicked, head tilting as you pouted softly, endeared. “aw...” as you take another drag of your cigarette.
he huffed, in good spirits despite feeling the cool breeze brush his warm cheeks. “yeah, yeah. aren’t i a good boy.”
you huff softly, head tilting and eyes following your own hand, settling on his shoulder and caressing it softly. "don’t know about that…” you tease quietly, meeting his eyes already on your face, nearly glinting. “i've seen you in the studio. you don't exactly listen, do you?"
he snorts, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "nah, that’s different. rkid’s a miserable cunt.” he replied easily, taking your palm off his shoulder, guiding until the back of your hand was close to his mouth. then, leaning down and pressing a kiss over your skin. “for you? ’m an angel, me."
the alcohol is settled warm in your stomach, and the constant back-and-forth you've been playing with him for months suddenly feels like it's stretching thin.
an amused smile grows on your lips, head tilting as you feel his thumb brush your knuckles. "hmm… are you?..."
his chin tips up, like a silent challenge. “try me, babe.“
you lick your lips in attempt to fight a smirk, tapping the ash off your cigarette onto the street below. “sit,” you say quietly with a nudge of your chin.
his smirk widens as he takes a drag of his cigarette. without missing a beat, he drops down right there on the concrete balcony floor, looking up at you through his long eyelashes. "easy." he mutters, the smoke coming out between his grinning lips.
you breathe out a laugh at it despite yourself, amused. "now stand." you command gently.
he rises slowly, his frame looming over you again. "told ya."
you smile, head tilting as your hand reaches out to the back of his head. "maybe you are…" you hum, fingers sliding into his hair, scratching right behind his ears.
liam lets out a low, breathy sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans into your touch. you let your hand slide down from his hair, your thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. you smile at the sight of him physically melting.
liam leans his head down with another shaky sigh, burying his face into the side of your neck. his pink lips brush your jawline as he leaves a string of small, hesitant kisses there. "please… fucking killing me over here." he whispers, like he’s nearly afraid to say it.
you let out a soft laugh, pulling your head back slightly, just enough to look at him. his cheeks are flushed, lips parted. his breathing is heavier, audibly hitching once your eyes land on his mouth.
“'s like you're a fit toy, yeah? i'd hump the fuck out of you.” he adds, smiling shyly at the sound of you laughing even harder, your hand sliding to the back of his neck and pulling him closer.
his front presses against yours, and you can’t help but click your tongue softly at the undeniable heat strained against his trousers. “aw, liam… are you hard?” you ask in a teasing whisper.
a rare flicker of shyness crosses his face before he covers it with a breathless laugh. "s-sorry, just... y'look really fit. can't help it."
you laugh softly, the sound low and knowing. sweetly condescending. "yeah?"
without breaking eye contact, your hand slides down his chest, slowly dragging down until your palm presses against his clothed erection. "god, you really are," you murmur, words as slow as your hand palming him through the fabric. you’re so close now that your nose brushes his, a smile growing on your mouth as you feel his breath, warm and shaky against your lips. "think you're just getting off on being treated like a puppy, liam..."
"m'not... 's not just that," he tries, hand settling on your waist underneath the fuzzy coat, grabbing you like he’s trying to convince you.
you laughed, “no?”
he breathed our against your mouth, shaky and warm. not a yes but not a no, either.
then, you hold out your bare palm right in front of his mouth. his eyes dart down quickly before snapping back to your face, brows softly furrowed in confusion.
“spit.”
he opens his mouth and lets a thick pooling of saliva drop right into your palm, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip after, his eyes never leaving yours.
"good boy, liam…" you praise in a whisper. it makes his knees go visibly weak.
you reach down, unbuttoning his trousers with your clean hand and tugging his zipper down.
his underwear is tight, already damp at the tip, and when you ease his length out into the cool night air, he groans out loud, the sound catching in his throat. you rub your wet palm over your fingers, coating them before fully wrapping your hand around his shaft, sliding from the base right up to his leaking tip.
his head falls forward immediately, a broken string of curses leaving his lips as his eyes close tightly shut.
liam shakes his head frantically, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as your slick hand moves around him. he picks up his head so his eyes can desperately track your face as you stroke him.
you nod softly, not breaking the eye contact. "mhm. can't be a bad boy, can you, liam..." your thumb spreading the pre cum before pulling all the way down again. "gotta stay quiet, hm?”
he nods desperately, trying to not give himself away, despite his hips are still twitching, trying to force more friction against your hand. "wanna be good…”
you smile wider, stroking him faster. “yeah?”
“fuck— yeah.” he pants quietly, nodding eagerly. “c-call me a good boy.. please, please. tell me… tell me i'm doin' it right, please, l-love..." whispering, eyes glinting and brows furrowing softly.
"shh… such a loud little pup." you whisper, your warm breath brushing his lips. his mouth falls agape with another quiet moan, his eyes getting glassier.
a whimper catches on his throat. "i'll be quiet, i—just... fuck, you're so warm," his thick fingers digging into the fabric of your dress so hard his knuckles are white. "please... call me it... please, please… need… need to hear it..."
you watch him, your own lips parting like you could get off at the sight alone – his blue eyes squeezed shut, his brows needily furrowed, jaw clenched and bottom lip an ever prettier shade of pink from biting.
he’s being so good, and he looks so pretty when doing so.
you open your mouth to give him what he wants, but before the words can even form, liam lets out a needy sob, his hips bucking violently into your hand as he comes undone without any warning.
hot spurs of his cum coat your palm and your fingers. his body is still shaking, breath coming in shallow gasps as he slumps slightly against you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, completely spent.
you look down at your hand, covered in his heat, and let out a soft, amused sigh. "oh, liam… look at the mess you made, pup." you coo softly, though there's a amused and aroused smirk on your lips.
liam stays close, panting and breathing out embarrassed, small curses and “i’m sorry…” over and over. shaking his head like he desperately doesn’t want you to change your mind.
your eyes land on your own hand, tilting it slightly, letting him see the white over your skin.
his cheeks burn as his eyes catch a glimpse of your slick hand between your bodies. he looks down, then up at your eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“i’m sorry…” he breathes out. and before you can even say anything, he takes your wrist with surprising gentleness, guiding your hand up to his mouth.
he licks your fingers first, tongue warm as he picks up drops of himself off your skin. your lips part slowly, a shaky exhale coming out of you in surprise and awe at the same time. his eyes stay locked onto yours the entire time, eyebrows softly furrowing as his tongue drags over your knuckles.
“‘m sorry…”
you pull your hand away slowly, nearly shaky. then, it cups the back of his neck, pulling him down into a slow kiss. you can taste himself on his own tongue, making you moan inside his mouth.
you pull back, just an inch. enough to tip your head in the direction of the door you’re walking towards. "come," you say quietly.
he tucks himself away and follows without a word.
on the way to the bathroom, it seems like he gained some of his usual bravado back, the greediness. maybe that’s why his hands were already pulling you into him a millisecond after your fingers locked the door behind you with a soft click.
you kissed him back just as greedily, threading your fingers still slick with his spit inside his messy hair, sitting onto the edge of the sink.
liam pressed his entire body between your thighs instantly, forcing you to part them wider with his thick fingers gripping your thighs. his mouth latched on your neck, kissing eagerly, desperately. leaving a damp trail on your skin as his mouth moved down toward your collarbone.
"liam." you say, voice firm as you grip his shoulders. despite your breath getting shakier with every damp stroke of his tongue on your pulse point, sucking harshly enough to leave a purple mark.
his hands left you to free himself once again, clumsy but easy enough since he hadn’t even zipped himself up properly in the balcony.
your palm reached down between your bodies and clumsily wrapping around his cock. the touch made his mouth search for yours again, kissing you harder, a rough moan muffled against your skin.
“fuck, wanna… please, fuckin’— please.” he babbled, dampening the corner of your mouth as he quietly whimpered.
your hand grabbed his cheeks, squeezing the soft flesh and physically restraining him – he’d fucking faint otherwise, seems like.
“quiet.” you whispered, slowly wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer, nudging the fabric of your knickers to the side with the sensitive, leaking tip of his cock – pulling a pathetic whimper out of him, one that immediately morphed into a broken moan as he slipped inside your wet entrance.
“there are people out there, y’need to be quieter.” you added, despite your chest arching into him and your legs wrapping around him, slow but firm enough until he bottomed in.
he immediately started moving, kissing you with a force that nearly shoved your back against the wall’s mirror, knocking a shaky breath out of your chest at the depth of his cock inside you.
the skin slapping sounds were too loud to pass as something innocent. he certainly didn’t help, either. "wanna eat your cunt after, please. please, please," he begged against your mouth, whiny. "please… i'll go all night. wanna make… fuck— wanna make y’feel good.”
“liam—“
"fucking mad for you. dreaming about you—“ he rambled, hands sliding up under your skirt against your bare thighs, grabbing them harshly as his cock slammed inside you.
with a broken moan, your hand reached to the back of his neck, fingers shaky as they wrapping around the leather collar still fastened around him. you tugged on it firmly, enough for him to stop moving with a slow exhale – his brows furrowed at the material slightly choking him, but his cock twitched inside you in a way he couldn’t possibly deny how badly he liked it.
"slow down," you command, tone dropping. "don't be greedy, puppy... c'mon. slow."
liam let out a tortured groan, hips freezing in place and his whole body shivering from the forced restraint.
"fuck... thank you, thank you...” he rambles in a whisper, eyes rolling back before falling tightly shut, head shaking softly like he can’t believe you’re letting him be inside you. he moves slower now, like he can’t stand the thought of having to stop. “fuck, you're so tight. you’re so fucking wet."
“that’s better.” you praised quietly. one of your hand still restrained him by the collar, while your free one slid down his side, settling on his hip and slowly shifting further away… then back in. your lips parted at the slow feeling of his cock sliding in and out. “good boy, baby…”
his hands fly to the sink, gripping it so harshly his knuckles turn white. his lips are slick with spit and parted as he watches your face, his hips moving in shaky, slow thrusts.
you pull him closer, grip still tight around his neck – cutting off the right amount of oxygen from his brain enough to make him forget his name. he can only think of you, you and you. like a dog completely devoted to his owner.
“does it feel good?” you whisper, teasing. still guiding his hips in slow thrusts.
“f-fuck, yeah… so… fuck— wanna fill y’up. please, love, let me cum inside ya. so wet, so… fuck,” he babbles quietly, taking in a shaky inhale like he’s about to cry. "slap me. do whatever you want to me, just— fuck, let me. tell me i'm good, please... tell me 'm your good boy. please."
you bite down a smirk, eyebrows softly raising. “yeah?” as your hand left his hip, meeting his cheek with a sharp slap. eh, fuck whoever’s outside now. “that’s what you want, liam?”
his lip quivers, thrusts going even deeper from how needy he is. “y-yeah. fuck, yeah.”
“yeah?” you mock, tenderly, before leaving another sharp slap on his face, while your busy hand shifts to the front of his collar, pulling his face even closer to yours. “you wanna be treated like a bad dog, liam?”
“b-fuck. wanna do whatever you want, whatever you want. i’ll be whatever you want.”
you hum. “you’re being so good, though…” whispering, your hand tugs down his collar until his head tilts down, a moan escaping his lips at the sight of his slick cock dissapearing between your legs. you press a kiss to his forehead, “look how good you’re fucking me, pup.”
“y-yeah," he gasps out, his tone in a whisper as he thrusts deep into you. “'m a good dog. 'm your good boy, aren't i?"
your free hand slides up, fingers shoving past his parted lips – watching his tongue lap your digits without any hesitation, feeling him softly moan around them while your other one keeps the grip tight around his neck. “mhm… such a good boy, baby.”
he whimpers at the praise, hands shaking where they're braced against the sink on either side of your hips, while yours travel down. your head tips back as your fingers, slick with his spit, start to draw circles around your clit. the pleasure starts to build, making you have to stifle down a needy moan. "gonna cum again, puppy? make another mess?" you ask, tone breathier now.
“fuck, please. let me, please, please. wanna cum so bad.” he chokes out. his blue eyes are watering, it makes your skin burn with how intensely he’s looking at you, begging. his lips look are tainted in a prettier shade of pink now, from kissing and biting, glistening with his own spit and yours.
you pull him closer by the collar, uncontrollably pulsing around his cock and messily crashing your lips into his as your orgasm washes through embarrassingly quick. his lips part, brows furrowing in pleasure and tongue dumbly searching for yours even though he can’t really kiss you back.
he mumbles “thank you” over and over, hips sloppily thrusting into you and muscles clenching as he comes undone.
for a minute, the only sounds in the bathroom are your heavy breaths, his body warm against yours, shaking from the intensity. he cuts in the silence with a soft and muffled laugh against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek.
i’m so parasocial i wanna follow your pinterest but im so unaesthetic 💔💔
omg if u saw my private pinterest boards… just a load of shit like literally so dw. pinterest is an app for ppl who are pure of heart aesthetics don’t actually matter #real
i have nothing useful to add to my dearly beloved flatmate!liam except for the fact that when guys do become exclusive circa 2000, you guys refuse to call it a relationship. Like this is NOT romantic, of course you say ‘i love you’s and of course you’re intimate and have date night and hate when she talks to other guys but this is NOT romance, just two really really good friends, duh.
Noel letting reader babysit Anais but not letting Liam unless reader is with Liam.
90s flatmate!liam doesn’t brush his teeth first thing in the morning, instead he goes to readers room and kisses her awake bc he likes when she whines against his lips. her whining about‘it’s too early’ and ‘leave me alone’ and then Liam goes to try and wake her up more by laying (???) on her but it lowk just feels like a compression blanket so she goes back to sleep and he’s all ‘aw shucks, i guess i gotta cuddle her, i’m in her bed anyway’
him being WAY too into random ass parts of her body. Like her calves or armpits or something just weird asf man gtfo out of here.
noel letting her babysit... cutieful actually. and it not being a relationship yh. EVERYONE BE MORE FUCKED UP RNNNN. liam being a menace to society and annoying but in a sweet way kind of sort of... and him being a weirdo at the end. user courtney-spungen has done it again she's hit all the notes. yep yh!!!! them being bffs ☹️☹️☹️ that's why i put that cheesy bff 4 ever keychain on the liam masterlist [no one probably noticed but me but thats all that matters 🧘♀️🧘♀️ they live inside my head and i love them]
Ok pls don't blow up into smithereens but to continue to talk abt Noel: I'll actually die if you write a chapter about her going on holiday to babysit the kids, the sexual tension would be so good.
no smithereens dw. no i love that idea it’s so… nom nom nom. need to chew on dilf noel in all holiday pics he’s ever taken. bc pinterest is like most of my screen time i add random stuff i see to a board abt that fic and here’s the holiday section #yum.
I need to know if flatmate liam ever dedicated a song to her at a concert or something and which one...
omg… i swear someone on here said he would write songbird for reader which is so cute like stop 💔💔 also he’d deffo dedicate live forever i feel like but didn’t he dedicate that to patsy a lot. all of it kinda being a head fuck of what he’s dedicating to u and what he’s dedicating to her. another thing to add to his list of heinous crimes…
