where Noel takes a liking to a certain theatre actress.
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Noel had never been one for theatre, but his mate had a spare ticket, and it was either this or another night staring at his guitar, waiting for something decent to come out of it.
So now he was here, wedged into a stiff velvet seat in some tiny theatre, the walls lined with peeling gold trim, the air thick with dust. He glanced around at the crowd—mostly older couples, a few students who looked like they were taking it all a bit too seriously.
“Could be worse,” his mate nudged him.
Noel scoffed. “Could be the fucking ballet.”
He settled back, ready to let his mind wander, maybe think about lyrics, but as soon as the lights dimmed and the curtain lifted, he clocked you.
It wasn’t a dramatic moment. No sweeping music, no spotlight burning down. You just stepped onto the stage, easy as anything, moving through the scene like you’d been living in it your whole life. He should’ve barely noticed—just another actor in another play—but for some reason, his focus landed squarely on you.
There was something about the way you carried yourself, like you weren’t just reading lines, every word out of your mouth landed like it meant something. He didn’t know if that was just good acting or something else, but he found himself watching you more than he normally would.
He quickly caught himself leaning forward a bit, elbows on his knees, drawn in despite himself. His mate nudged him once, probably taking the piss, but Noel ignored it. He was too busy watching the way you held yourself, the way every slight tilt of your head, every shift in your expression, seemed to matter.
You were now standing close to the actor playing Cliff, your voice softer now, the tension thick between the two of you. And then you kissed him, just a brief stage kiss, rehearsed and routine, something you’d probably done a hundred times without thinking. But for some reason, Noel felt something sharp twist in his stomach.
It was ridiculous. Stupid even.
You didn’t even know him. Hell, you probably wouldn’t look twice at him in a crowd. And yet, there he was, feeling this ridiculous flicker of jealousy over a woman he’d never spoken to, over a moment that meant nothing.
He sat back, exhaling sharply, shaking his head at himself.
The rest of the play passed in a blur. He was still watching, still listening, but something had shifted. He was thinking now—not just about the play, but about you. Who you were, how long you’d been doing this, what you were like off the stage. And the more he thought about it, the more he realised one thing:
He wanted to meet you.
By the time the lights came up and the audience started clapping, Noel barely noticed. He stood, hands shoved in his pockets, scanning the space for something—anything—that might tell him who you were.
And then he saw them. A stack of flyers near the exit.
He grabbed one as they left, barely glancing at the rest of the names on the list. His eyes landed on yours, printed crisp and clear beneath the role of Alison Porter.
“Oi,” his mate called from ahead. “You coming or what?”
Noel lingered a second longer, his fingers curling around the flyer before he shoved it into his jacket pocket.
He sat on the couch only moments after getting home. The room was now dimly lit by the glow of his laptop screen, a half-drunk cup of tea was already going cold on the table. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for a second before finally typing your name into the search bar.
This was ridiculous.
He was not the kind of bloke to be sitting here, acting like a lovesick idiot, searching up some actress he’d never even met. He had better things to do. Songs to write. And yet, here he was, clicking through links, scanning articles, watching clips of past performances like some obsessed punter.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”
If anyone ever found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it.
After an hour (or two, but who was counting?), he found something. A passing mention in an old interview, a casual line about your favorite café, some little place not far from the theatre. You’d called it your ‘second home.’
Noel sat back, staring at the screen. He ran his tongue over his teeth, considering it.
He could go. Just once. See if you actually showed up. It wasn’t weird, was it? Just a bloke grabbing a coffee, minding his own business. If you happened to be there, well—then maybe he’d say hello.
The next afternoon, Noel strolled into the café, doing his best to look like he wasn’t looking for anyone. He ordered a black coffee, gave a brief nod to the barista, then leaned against the counter, glancing around like he had all the time in the world.
And then—there you were.
Tucked into the corner, a book open in front of you, the same way someone might have a shield up. Your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the edge of the page, eyes skimming the words, completely unaware of the fact that some lad who’d spent a solid hour googling you last night was now standing just a few feet away.
Noel exhaled, steadying himself. He wasn’t nervous—he didn’t get nervous. He just needed to find the right way in.
He grabbed his coffee, took a slow sip, and made his way over.
“Didn’t expect to see a star in here.”
Your head lifted, eyebrows slightly raised. A flicker of recognition crossed your face, though you took a second to place him.
“Sorry—?”
“Noel,” he said easily, leaning a little against the chair across from you. “Saw your play last night.”
Your expression shifted then, warming. “Oh—right, you did? Hope it wasn’t too unbearable for you.”
He smirked. “Nah, wasn’t bad. You were alright.”
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Well, thanks, I think.”
For a second, it was quiet, just the sounds of the café around you, the hum of conversation, the distant hiss of the espresso machine.
“D’you mind?” he asked, nodding to the empty seat across from you.
You hesitated, just for a second, then gestured for him to sit. “Go for it.”
He slid in, stretching his legs out comfortably, taking another slow sip of coffee like he hadn’t orchestrated this entire meeting.
For the next few minutes, the two of you chatted—just small talk, nothing grand, but enough. He asked about the play, you asked about his music. It was easy, natural, no effort needed.
And then, just as the conversation hit a lull, he leaned back slightly and said, “So… reckon I’ll be seein’ you again?”
You tilted your head, amusement flickering behind your eyes. “Are you asking if I’ll be in another play, or if I’ll be here again?”
Noel smirked. “Whichever gets me a yes.”
You huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Alright. Yeah. You’ll be seeing me again.”
Noel nodded once, slow and satisfied.
That was all he needed.
It wasn't long before he was back at the theatre, sitting in the front row of the next play you were booked to star in, arms crossed, leg bouncing slightly, trying to pretend like he wasn’t half-buzzing with anticipation.
It was the same thing all over again, the moment you stepped onto that stage, everything else just faded. You made it look so fucking easy, the way you carried yourself, the way you spoke, like every word belonged to you.
By the time the first act ended and the lights came back up, Noel exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He hadn’t realized he’d been gripping the armrest so tightly. He leaned back, shaking his head at himself.
“Fancy seeing you here stranger.”
Your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find you standing at the edge of the aisle, arms folded, watching him with that same knowing smirk. He blinked before quickly recovering, tilting his head. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d slum it for the night.”
You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Right. And here I was thinking you just liked the play.”
He shrugged. “It’s alright, I suppose.”
You gave him a look, like you could see right through him, then tilted your head toward the side of the stage. “If you’re actually interested, you should watch the second act from backstage. That’s where the real fun happens.”
Noel raised an eyebrow. “That a proper invite or just your way of callin’ me a shite audience member?”
You huffed a small laugh, glancing over your shoulder as someone from the crew called your name. “Little bit of both." You turned back to him, amusement flickering in your eyes. “You coming or what?”
Before he could give a proper answer, you disappeared into the wings, already getting swept into the chaos of backstage. Noel sat there for a beat, drumming his fingers against his knee. Then, with a quiet fuck it, he pushed himself up and followed.
Backstage was a completely different world. It was messy, unpolished—people darting back and forth, last-minute adjustments being made, whispered conversations mixing with the distant hum of the audience. Noel lingered near the sidelines, watching as you got pulled into a discussion with a costumer, a quick grin thrown over your shoulder before you vanished completely.
He barely had time to take it all in before someone plopped down in a chair beside him.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” the guy said, glancing over at Noel with an easy grin.
Noel flicked his eyes toward him. Younger lad, probably part of the cast.
Noel gave a short nod. “Yeah, well.”
The lad chuckled, tilting his head toward the stage. “You know her, then?”
Noel’s jaw tensed slightly. “Yeah.”
The guy hummed in amusement, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “She’s incredible, isn’t she? You ever just watch someone and think, fuck, they’re something else?”
Noel didn’t answer, eyes still fixed on the stage.
The lad exhaled, shaking his head like he was clearing a thought. “I dunno. She’s just… different. Y’know?” He turned to Noel, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, mate, I probably sound like a right twat.”
Noel let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. no worries.”
He barely heard another word the lad said after that. His attention stayed fixed on the stage, or at least that’s what he was telling himself. Truth was, he wasn’t really watching the play anymore—his mind was elsewhere, stuck on the way the guy had been talking about you, the way his voice went all soft, the way he kept glancing toward where you’d disappeared, like he was waiting for his moment.
It wasn’t even that Noel had a right to be pissed. It wasn’t like he owned you, wasn’t like he had any claim. But still, something about it just sat wrong.
He shifted in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw set. He was being fucking ridiculous. He knew that. But knowing didn’t stop the irritation from simmering under his skin.
The second act dragged. Or maybe it was just him. Either way, by the time the final applause rang through the theatre and people started moving again, Noel was already on edge. He knew the lad would be waiting for you, ready to say whatever overly-rehearsed shite he had lined up, and for some reason, Noel couldn’t fucking stand the thought of it.
And just like that, there you were, making your way over, still slightly breathless from the last scene.
“Enjoyed it?” you asked, looking between the two of them, a glimmer of amusement in your eyes.
The lad opened his mouth first, but before he could get a word out, Noel cut in smoothly.
“You were fuckin’ brilliant.” His voice was certain. He let the words settle for a second before, without thinking too much about it, his hand slid around your waist. He pulled you in just slightly, casual as ever. His grip was light, fingers just resting against the fabric of your dress, but the message was clear.
The lad blinked.
You stiffened slightly in surprise, eyes flicking up to Noel with a confused look, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, your face went warm, lips parting slightly like you were about to say something but then decided against it. You could feel the heat of his palm through your dress, feel the quiet possessiveness in the way he was holding you.
After a moment of heavy silence, Noel gave the lad a polite nod. “See ya, mate.” Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and started walking, keeping you tucked into his side as he led you away from the backstage chaos.
It wasn’t until you were out in the quieter corridor that you finally found your voice.
“Alright—what was that about?”
Noel smirked, glancing down at you like he hadn’t just staked a silent claim in front of another man. “What was what?”
You narrowed your eyes. “That. The whole…” You gestured vaguely toward where you’d just come from.
He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. There was a flicker of hesitation—just a split second where he looked like he was deciding whether to bullshit his way out of this or just say it.
Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I’ve had you in me fuckin’ head since the first time I saw you on that stage.” His voice was quieter now, but still certain. “I tried to ignore it, but here I am, showin’ up to your plays like a right dickhead, ‘cause I need to see you again. And then I’ve got some lad next to me talkin’ about you like he’s got a fuckin’ chance, and I just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nah, wasn't havin' it.”
Your breath caught slightly. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it.
Noel studied you for a second, then tilted his head, smirking just a little. “So, gonna make me look like a proper twat or d’you wanna go out with me sometime?”
You blinked. “You’re asking me out now?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Seemed as good a time as any.”
You let out a half-laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“That a yes?”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Yeah. It’s a yes.”
A beat of silence passed, and then, without warning, Noel closed the distance between you, his lips pressing softly against yours. You felt the warmth of his mouth as he deepened the kiss, his lips parting slightly.
As he pulled away just a bit, you could feel him shift, his lips trailing lower to the side of your neck. His mouth lingered there for a second before he pressed a teasing bite to your skin, trying to leave a mark.
You pulled back with a laugh, your hand gently pushing against his chest. “Oi, Behave. I’m sure the poor lad got the hint already.”
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if you know the role of Alison Porter then you know that I did indeed make him watch Look Back in Anger by John Osborne here.
(Which is a good play gotta admit, definitely recommend it x)
You came home earlier than usual, kicking off your shoes with a sigh, glad to finally be back. Normally, Liam would be sprawled on the couch, flipping through the telly or engage in his usual messing about, but as you stepped further inside, the living room was empty. That was strange enough on its own, but the faint noise coming from the kitchen—something clattering, followed by a sharp “Bollocks”—had you raising an eyebrow.
When you stepped inside, you froze. The kitchen was a disaster zone. Flour coated the countertops like it had been deliberately thrown rather than used for any actual purpose. A bowl sat near the sink, batter dripping sluggishly down the sides in slow, syrupy globs. Meanwhile a whisk lay abandoned on the counter, too close to the edge for comfort, as if he’d given up on it halfway through using it.
And in the middle of it all stood Liam himself.
Absolutely drenched in flour. There was a streak of it on his cheek, dusting the front of his hoodie, clinging to the ends of his hair like he’d been through some kind of baking war. He stood frozen, a mixing spoon in his hand, looking at you like a kid who’d been caught red-handed raiding the biscuit tin. You stared at him. He stared back, not moving, as if that might somehow make him invisible.
“…Right,” you said, dragging your gaze across the mess. “Do we have a toddler I wasn’t aware of? One that’s clearly taken over the kitchen?”
Liam scowled immediately, shifting where he stood, clearly preparing some kind of defensive retort. But then, just as quickly, he changed tactics entirely. Before you could react, he moved forward, grabbing you by the shoulders and turning you around in one swift motion, practically herding you out of the kitchen.
“Oi—what’re you—”
“No peeking.” he muttered, steering you straight toward the couch.
You barely had time to protest before he was plonking you down onto the cushions like a child determinedly sitting their toy somewhere specific. Then, taking a step back, he pointed a flour-covered finger at you, looking dead serious despite the streak of batter on his sleeve.
“Stay.”
You raised an eyebrow. “This is highly suspicious.”
“Yeah, well—don’t.” And with that, he turned on his heel and marched back to the kitchen, leaving you sitting there, utterly bewildered.
You shook your head, biting back a laugh. Yep. Definitely a toddler taking over the kitchen.
For the next ten minutes, you heard nothing but clattering, the sound of the oven door opening and closing, and at least two quiet curses that made you seriously question what exactly was happening in there. You considered sneaking a peek, but something about the way he had manhandled you out of the kitchen made you think he’d probably tackle you if you tried.
Then, finally—Liam reappeared.
Still dusted in flour. Still looking far too pleased with himself. But now—holding a plate.
On it sat five… well, biscuits, you supposed. Wonky, uneven, some thick, some thin, one slightly too crisp around the edges like it had barely escaped being properly burnt. And yet, Liam looked absolutely chuffed with himself, beaming as he set the plate down on the table before dropping onto the couch beside you.
As he did, a faint puff of flour ghosted into the air, leaving a small dusting on the cushion. You saw it, but he looked so proud, so pleased with himself, that you didn’t have the heart to point it out.
Instead, you just glanced at the plate, then back at him. “Go on then,” he nudged it toward you. “Try one.”
You picked up the least questionable-looking one, eyeing it for a moment before taking a small bite. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad. A little on the chewy side, maybe, but actually decent. Definitely edible. You chewed, swallowed, then nodded. “It’s good.”
Liam shot you a look. “Why’s there surprise in your tone?”
You snorted, swallowing down another bite. “Because you’re you.”
Liam scoffed, leaning back against the couch with a smug grin. “Exactly, and that warrants greatness.”
You finished the biscuit, shaking your head with a small laugh before glancing at him. “Alright, then—what’s the occasion?”
Liam shrugged, leaning back against the couch, stretching his arm along the backrest like he hadn’t just spent the last however long absolutely destroying the kitchen. “No occasion,” he said, casual as anything. “Was flickin’ through the telly, yeah? Ended up on some moronic cookin’ channel by accident. Dunno how—one second it was the footie, next thing I know, there’s some geezer bangin’ on about ‘the perfect gift’ or whatever. Said these are the kinda biscuits you should make for someone if ya had a missus, so I thought—” He tilted his head, lips twitching. “No issue. I’ll do that.”
You blinked. Then, despite yourself, a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You—” You shook your head, already moving closer, wrapping your arms around him without caring that you were about to get absolutely coated in flour. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled into his shoulder, squeezing him tighter. “But I love you for it.”
Liam let out a small huff, but you could feel the way he melted slightly, chin resting against the top of your head. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, but there was something softer in his tone.
You pulled back just as he grabbed one of the biscuits himself, taking a bite. He chewed, nodded in approval, then looked at you with absolute certainty. “Yeah. Perfect.”
You just shook your head again, shifting so you could lean into his side, resting your cheek against his chest. He smelled like flour and a bit of vanilla, mixed in with his usual warmth, and it was oddly comforting. His arm instinctively came around you, holding you there, and for a little while, you just stayed like that, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Eventually, you moved to sit up—and immediately froze.
“…Are you kidding me?”
Half the biscuits were gone.
You turned your head just in time to catch Liam, mid-reach, fingers barely grazing the plate before he froze like a kid caught sneaking sweets before dinner. He blinked at you, chewing innocently.
“What?”
“What—” You gestured towards the plate. “You made those for me, and now you’re eating them all!”
Liam scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Had to entertain meself, didn’t I?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Entertain yourself?”
“Yeah! You were all snuggled up on me—nowt else to do! Couldn’t just sit here like a muppet, could I?”
You just stared at him, unimpressed. “Right. So the only logical course of action was to rob me blind?”
Liam exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Oh, relax—you got a bite, didn’t ya?”
You gave him a look. He grinned, entirely unapologetic.
“You’re so lucky I love you.”
He just leaned in, pressing a quick, flour-dusted kiss to your cheek before reaching for another biscuit. “Yeah, I am,” he muttered.
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cute fluff for the Liam nation today, I would pay such a hefty sum to see that man on the great british bake-off, I just know it'd be brilliant.
kianamaiart
stormborns
annaxmalina
origamiaround
jacobvanloon
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
