babyblue

★2016

You’d blinked, and somehow, an entire year had gone by. You didn't even realise as it happened around you but somewhere along the way you’d begun officially calling Liam’s flat your home, your own keys in the bowl that you'd forced him to place by the door, “It’s convenient, Liam” You'd pressed it into him as you followed him around the home you could now call yours, “It’s bullshit I say - i mean, who needs some poncey little bowl to keep keys in” He didn't even turn around to look at you as you chased him around the house, his voice cracking slightly from trying to hold his laughter at your absolute onslaught of threats over, “Get the bowl or I get gone”, speeding up with a chuckle as you followed him, “I know just where my keys are”

But of course, you’d managed to overturn him. And now you had a credit card directly connected to his bank to take care of yourself, had properly immersed yourself within the Gallagher family - meeting Peggy, his other son Lennon, countless cousins when you eventually made your way over to Ireland. Your hands hurt from all the shaking, your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. But even Liam could see it in his face, you belonged here now. Everybody fussed over you in a way he’d never seen from them before, his kids grew more comfortable, his flat that once had been littered with beer bottles and empty takeaway containers was now, much to Liam’s smugness, full of your “Utter shite”, as he called it.

But he still loved the feeling he got whenever he rolled over in the morning to see you grinning up at him. Loved when you’d wink, eyelids heavy with sleep and whisper, “Morning handsome”, rolling over onto him as you attacked his face with kisses. Yes, it was sappy by Liam’s standards. But a man can enjoy a life with the girl he’d already begun building it with slowly over what was now almost three years of knowing one another.

★February 14th 2016

And now it was Valentine’s Day. What a day to be had, of course, the constant reminder of the time light finally shone on the darkness of his life. He’d never say that to your face, of course, but you both saw it in the way he seemed to carry himself lighter now, seemed to get himself back on his feet after so long just treading water.

Even the newspapers realised it too.

‘OASIS Frontman Liam Gallagher to spend yet another year with secretive ‘missus’, is this the year where the long running Gallagher curse strikes another relationship? Read Page 23 to find out more…”

Liam in fact hadn’t read page 23, and wasn’t planning on it. Not when you were in this happy little bubble which people often described as love. No longer hiding, the first Valentine’s day in which you could properly just be the two of you in the public eye without fear of disapproval from the media. And Liam planned on riding this wave for a long time.

You woke up early, probably around 5/6 in the morning - Liam effectively had you on the strictest schedule, “I’m getting old now, love” He told you last night when you suggested staying up a little late as a Valentine’s day treat, wanting to celebrate the night properly with him. But there he was, fluffing up his pillows and setting his phone on to charge, “Gone are the days where I can shag around until 2 in the morning”. You laughed, and pointed out the fact that, “Actually, sometimes we can pull it outta you”

“Aye lass, geriatric Gallagher isn’t quite here yet” You’d laughed back at him, already pulling the covers to the side to slot yourself onto his lap, arms winding around his neck as the two of you grinned at each other. Pure bliss. He never thought he’d have this again, but you felt so real sitting in his lap that he just pulled you towards him, laughing when you mumbled, “I’m very glad for that tonight”

And in true Liam fashion, he could never let what was practically his reason for still existing go needy on Valentine’s eve, so he dutifully made you come on his fingers, before shuffling back onto his side of the bed. Immediately conking out. You’d followed almost immediately, smiling down at his peaceful sleep, stroking his hair back with two fingers. 

“Happy Valentine’s, grumpy”

You’d both explicitly said you weren’t going to get Valentine's gifts this year. Not that you really had over the last two - the first being a lonely drink in a bar, the second being, albeit, quite a nice dinner. You could say your present was him finally confessing but, with the way he’d sharpened himself up over that year, you could say you saw it coming. And that was what you were the most grateful for.

The flat was completely silent when you rolled out of bed, shivering as your bare feet hit the ice cold floor with a yelp, “Fuck’s sake!” Heading to the thermostat on the wall, seeing it at quite literally an arctic temperature. You cranked up the heating immediately, continuing on your quest to find Liam with a muttered, “Stingy old man” as you finally felt your feet start to thaw. And then, you set out on your quest to actually find said old men.

Liam was nowhere to be found, no note, no breakfast, his keys gone from the stupid little bowl. You smiled to yourself once again, wrapping your arms around yourself with a tutted, “Typical”. You made your way to the kitchen, nothing. Nothing in the cupboard. Hardly anything in the fridge. He’d honoured your wishes, it seems, and with a little smile on your face, you rolled your eyes. Poor guy was probably out stressing somewhere, but that was a problem for later when-

And as if on cue, the door slammed wide open. And there was the man himself, appearing bundled up in a parka you’d fought him over for it being, “Big enough for a sumo wrestler” And he’d fought you right back on that, “It’s fashion, love, not like you’d know”. And in his hands he was brandishing far too much for one man - a bunch of flowers wrapped in crinkly cellophane, half squished from where he had them pressed just over his heart, but still beautiful nonetheless, two coffees in one hand, and a carrier bag from Tesco which looked like it held one unwritten hallmark card, a six pack of beer, two cartons of cigarettes, and a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate.

“Morning love” He chirped. And he seemed very pleased with the surprised look you shot him from where you were currently trying to make his and your own cup of tea, scooping the teabags out as you quirked your lips, “You disappeared”

“I had errands to run” He said with a laboured sigh, like heading to the corner shop was some mammoth task, setting his collection down with a happy sigh. That was before he rounded the table, beaming like an overexcited puppy, tugging you into him. It was a hug that spoke of all the sappiness he could never say, squeezing you tight to his chest like he needed to thank you for still being here, swaying on his feet in some weird little dance that told you he just needed you to be casual about it. And you were. You smiled against his shoulder, propping yourself on tiptoes to peek over his shoulder at the slightly crushed flowers drooping on the table, “You got me Tesco flowers”

“Aye, expensive Tesco flowers” He muttered against you, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he pulled back with an expression that read mock offence for your flippancy over his efforts. “Happy Valentine’s, darlin’”

You smiled back up at his face, “Happy Valentine’s, grumpy”

He hated that nickname. That was publicly, secretly, he loved it. With a roll of his eyes he ducked his head to lock your lips in his for the softest kiss that spoke about 1000 words, holding the absolute weight of his love for you. You stayed like that for a minute, swaying still in his arms even as he pulled back away from you just to tug you back into literally the longest hug ever.

“Are y’not impressed with my initiative” Clearly very proud of himself for sneaking around you and still finding a way to ‘spoil’ you when the last conversation you had about Cupid’s day was a pinky promise to not buy each other anything.

You just stared at his little haul on the table with a soft expression on your face, before muttering, “Oh, what millions can buy”

— · ✦ · —

The day moved slow and fast at the exact same time, having spent the morning in the quiet together, chattering about nonsense while you sat there on the couch, him massaging your feet, you complaining about a picture the sun had managed to snag of you the other week. He just smiled and tickled the soles of your feet, "Aren't you a dramatic little madame” And he loved the way your face screwed up in laughter, slapping at his arm, “Liam!”

But, eventually you did make it out of the house, and he’d even changed his parka for the occasion, a very rare move, for which you congratulated him on your walk. You pinched the sleeve as you navigated the streets of London, having opted to walk rather than taking a cab, tugging on the fabric, “This is nice”, he’d nodded, hands in his pockets so his arm was perfectly bent to accommodate your hold on his elbow, “You’re right, you’re punching, angel”. You just laughed back at him, walked together in perfect tandem, you could see the vulnerability still written in his eyes, the apprehensiveness in his expression at the fear you may not take his joke in stride, but of course. You still continued to surprise him, “Coming from the man who called me the most beautiful thing he'd ever set eyes on when he was balls deep in me the other day”

That caught him by surprise, the way you still managed to make him laugh, the way you matched him in every way possible, “Well, arent you a cheeky little fucker”

The peace, however, was broken eventually. You were trying to scour the streets of London for a nice place you could take him to, “I’d better treat you, eh?” Youd smiled up at him, even as he led the way with the confidence of a man who'd known these streets for years, “After that romeo-esque gesture this morning” He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips as the light caught on his sunglasses when he’d turned to you, “Oh, and that's coming off your card or mine”

However, before you had the chance to snap something snippy right back at him his expression changed, jaw clenched. And there was, what you could only describe as a mob of paparazzi directly across the street from the two of you. It seems that you would never have a quiet valentines day as long as you were slumming it with Liam Gallagher. You'd made your peace with it, but you weren't so sure he had, you still remember that first time when they'd snapped pictures of you together in the park, the way he looked like his entire world was about to fall apart. And you didn't want to see him that way on valentines day.

So you did what you needed, subconsciously trying to defend his dignity from the flashing of the cameras. You let your hand drop, falling into a confident step beside him as you walked a respectable metre apart, dropping your head as you heard them clamouring desperately from the other side of the street, “Liam!”, “Over here!”

Liam didn't even look at them, but he did in fact notice the loss of contact. And without saying anything, he caught up properly to you, rough fingers reaching out to take your hand, locking your fingers as he kept walking. Not addressing the people across the street, but instead carrying on with you close to his proximity. It was nothing big, but it felt huge. A huge sacrifice, Liam finally letting other people in. 

And then you were smiling the whole way through lunch. Liam frowned at you over his beer, “The fuck’s the matter with you” He accused, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his chest. You just watched him back, eyes sparkling with a mischief not shown in your otherwise innocent expression, wrapping your fingers around your rose glass with a knowing expression, “Nothing, eat your steak”

“Eat your fuckin’ salad and stop looking all weird”

— · ✦ · —

The real reason for Liam’s erratic behaviour was the event later that night. One he had been complaining about for weeks. The BRIT awards, “I mean, who hosts them stupid things on a night I’m meant to be spending with my bird” He’d fumed while sat with you on a couch, the movie playing in the background you’d been trying, very unsuccessfully, to watch, constantly interrupted by Liam’s inherent ability to keep his mouth shut, “I don't think they were particularly bothered about what you’d be up to, Liam” To which he showed great offence with a childish huff, crossing his arms over his chest in pure tantrum.

He’d been invited to present an award, Beady eye might not have been what everyone thought it could be, you personally felt they hadn't been given enough airtime, and it was one more thing you had to heal within him, but the Oasis legacy still lived on. Both brothers had been invited, but regrettably, upon finding out Liam was in attendance Noel had swiftly declined. You'd seen the way Liam’s shoulders had hunched in quiet defeat, but that was an issue you could address with him another time.

You were definitely nervous. I mean, this was the furthest thing ever from your scene, sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress, changing your earrings four different times, this pair a dangly one, which Liam had tried swatting at like a kitten. He was standing in front of the mirror, zipping up yet another parka - you’d have to count how many he had, this was the third wardrobe change today and you don't actually think you’d seen any of them worn before. “My going out parka” He’d muttered, catching your eyes in the mirror, nodding his chin at you, “Don’t smile weird, yeah?”

He was nervous, you could tell it in the way he stood, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed like it hurt him. You laughed at him, at least he was nervous rather than depressed, you could say this was the thing you were the most grateful for, being here for the small moments. “I don't smile weird” You muttered as you got to your feet, padding across the hardwood floor to wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your face in the space between his shoulder blades, hands resting on his belly just above his parka. “You smile like you've nicked someone's wallet”

His voice wavered slightly. You frowned gently, pulling away from him yet using your grip to coax him to turn in your arms, looking up at him, “You okay?” He just breathed, big hands coming to bracket your hips as he knocked his forehead against yours, “I’m shitting it”

His first official public appearance since the fallout of Beady Eye. Since his divorce. It was bound to rouse some feelings.

But you weren't one to worry, especially when you were both breathing into the space between the two of you, sliding his hands down to grip your ass and tug you against him, “Think we have enough time to give you another present before we leave?” He muttered, breath billowing against your lips, you inhaled sharply, chuckling up at him as your hands wound around his neck, “You already gave me a present” You reminded him, swaying a little bit as he smiled down at you.

He chuckled, leaning his head down to catch your lips in a kiss, hand sliding up to cup your jaw as he walked you back towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the soft bedding and his hands forced you down, following suit so he was knelt between your parted legs, hands sliding up your knees to the tops of your thighs, “Don’t hurt to have something take the edge off for both of us, eh?” His blue eyes met yours, smiling a little bashfully. You leant forwards, catching his face in your hands, your breathing already laboured as your thumbs stroked the slight stubble growing on his jaw. He seemed to relax almost immediately, nuzzling into your palm, nipping playfully at your wrist, “Yeah thats right” He tapped the side of your thigh, “Lie back gorgeous” His thumbs were already slotting under the hem of your dress.

And you did just what he said, hands sliding into his greying brown hair as you lay back, his hands wasting no time tugging your dress up, tugging your panties down, pooling around your ankles. His hands, warm and calloused from years of use parted your thighs, shuffling closer on the floor as he leant in, licking one languid stripe up your folds. He chuckled when you keened, hands gripping his hair tighter to tug you closer towards him, “Needy fucker” He whispered, breath billowing over your already embarrassingly sensitive clit, his thumb coming to press soft circles over the buzzing bundle of nerves, his other hand coming to spread your folds crudely as he licked into you once again, “Y’wanna know something?” He whispered. God, his voice was so raspy, you loved this about him, how fast he could go from being playful with you, to how filthy he could get in bed.

“Mhm!” Your voice came out high pitched, it made him laugh again, he let up the slow circling of his thumb to press a kiss to your clit, smiling as you whimpered slightly, before wrapping his lips around it, suckling softly as two thick fingers slid into your cunt, working you open so gently, like he just needed to take his time with you. Needed this to calm himself down. “I’m so glad it's you here with me tonight”

You tried to sit up, wanted to look at his face while he spoke to you, your hips shuffling to get away from his tongue working your clit gently. His hand moved to brace around your front, holding you down. You keened softly in disappointment, laying back on the bed, gasping as he used his fingers and tongue to work you closer to a gently sloping edge you were sure to cascade down, fingers curling crudely against the soft spongy spot inside you, “‘M glad its you full stop sweetheart”

His voice cracked slightly, you could see him as he knelt between your thighs, staring up at the ceiling with stars already threatening to burst behind your eyelid, shutting your mouth to muffle the pathetic whines falling from your lips, blinking away tears of pleasure as they sprung at your eyeline, “Y’the best thing for me”

“Happy Valentine’s, darlin’, thank you for being you”

— · ✦ · —

You cleaned yourselves up fairly quickly after he’d made you come twice on his fingers and his tongue, he’d laughed at the state of you when he knelt back on his haunches, pulling you up with him, kissing your forehead before whispering, “You look a mess” but at least he seemed slightly more confident.

The red carpet was the strangest experience of your life, even Liam looked out of place - rough rocker charm against the gentry here to receive awards for their musical contributions, here he was in a parka and jeans surrounded by people in expensive, well thought out garments. But it was all just so quintessentially him, you couldn't help but smile the brightest you had in your whole life as he took your hand and led you down the carpet. Groaning as interviewers eventually swarmed him, desperate for questioning the elusive rockstar Liam Gallagher.

He’d even dragged you in for his interviews. Here you were standing in front of some man in a suit who looked familiar but neither of you could name, stood there smiling with the power of 1000 suns in front of the largest camera you’d ever seen. You stood close to Liam’s side, sensing his somewhat agitated state, looking around like he didn't want to be caught off guard for even a moment.

The man flipped through his notebook, pointing at Liam with a pen and a friendly smile, “So, Liam, you've had a rough couple of years…” Liam’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw clenched as his arms crossed just over her chest, tilting his chin up at the man like he wanted to will him away with his mind. “So what I wanted to ask was, are you finally happy?”

That even caught you off guard. You watched as Liam’s eyes softened, darting to yours for one quick moment like he didn't know what to say. But you did.

“Well, that depends”

The reporter turned to you like he was surprised you even had a voice, shooting you a warm smile with a laugh as he leant forwards, “Oh?”

“Yeah” You said softly, squeezing Liam’s bicep as you leant your head there. He just looked down at you with on cocked eyebrow, “Depends whether anyone lets him finish his beer tonight”

And Liam burst out laughing. A raw, raspy thing that shook his whole body, so infectious that both you and the reporter just had to join in. Your eyes shone with the absolute glee of seeing him happy - it still hurts you sometimes that this happy, silly man you fell head over heels for could be the same man that looked like the entire world was out to get him exactly two years ago tonight. And every photo of Liam was so brilliant because it was real. Pure.

— · ✦ · —

You’d stayed out way longer than either of you had planned. You headed back to your flat at about 3 in the morning, he’d spent the night networking with you hanging off his arm. Introducing you before anything else, buying you drinks, keeping you close to him the whole time like armour. And you just let him, with a big smile on your face as you dutifully greeted and talked to people who you'd mainly forgotten the names of, but you didn't care. All you did care about was the smile on his own face, the laughter, the way he squeezed you tighter like he was having the most fun in the world.

He blinked slightly drowsily as he opened the door for you with one arm, laughing as you ducked under it to scamper into the flat and tug your heels off with a happy sigh. He made his way to sit beside you slumped on the couch, his arm making its way around your shoulder to tug you into him. You let him, of course, resting against his chest with your legs curled to the side, waiting for him to break the silence.

“Didn’t hate that” He mumbled gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he allowed himself to rest there, “You survived Valentine’s” You smiled up at him, patting his chest, “And I completely failed you with my lack of a present”

His lips quirked up at the corners as he tugged you closer to him so you were half sat on his lap, smirking smugly when you adjusted to seat yourself properly there, hands planting themselves on his shoulders as you stared into his eyes. “I still think it’s commercial bollocks” He mimicked you, echoing his words from a time which felt so long ago, squeezing your sides playfully. He laughed as you shrieked and his your face in his chest, shaking his head as his arms made their way around your middle, “Might do it again though”

— · ✦ · —

★2017

2017 saw the return of Liam Gallagher with his debut solo album, “As You Were”. You’d laughed at the title when he told you while he was making you a sandwich, sat at the breakfast bar still in your pajamas - one of his shirts - legs swinging off the stool, “Could that be anymore you?” You’d laughed, eyes sparkling as you’d rested your elbows against the countertop, “Oi” He pointed at you with the knife he was using to dutifully butter the slices of bread, “It’s a mega name”

“I didn't say it wasn’t!”

He’d been basically impossible to live with for an entire week. Writing in a little notebook he eventually tossed aside a computer with a muttered, “Can’t see that squiggly shite” That being his own handwriting. Smoking a full pack of cigarettes almost every single night out of the window. Pacing. Changing lyrics. Changing them again when he muttered that it just didn't feel right. But, he’d even recycled the little riff he’d played for you on the guitar that one time. That meant something. But still, when you went to do the laundry it even followed you there, six different lyric sheets screwed into balls chucked behind the laundry basket. It was so funny that you couldn't even bring yourself to be mad about it.

One morning you’d been trying to make breakfast, sat in your little domestic sphere. Moments like this, it felt weird to think of Liam Gallagher as a famous person, and not just yours alone, about to fry him up some bacon so he could eat his breakfast while he sat on the couch nursing a cup of tea. However, when you opened the fridge to get said bacon, a sheet of lyrics stared up at you. You stifled a laugh, “Why are these in the fridge?” Your voice wavered with your attempts not to burst into absolute laughter, holding the sheet up in one hand as the other kept the fridge propped open, meeting his eyes from over the couch.

He smiled his knowing little grin, shrugging, before turning back to hunch over the computer he was typing incessantly on over the coffee table, “Fresh ideas”

“They’re freezing”

— · ✦ · —

★February 14th 2017

The album had come out, finally, and the first show was booked. Which just so happened to land itself tonight, on Valentine’s day. Liam this time, unlike the BRITs, hadn't made some funny little quip about it ruining all his romantic ideas. He was far too worked up over it for that.

And there you stood with him backstage, the energy on an absolute high. You could hear the crowd practically vibrating with excitement just past the curtains, Liam was bouncing on the balls of his feet finishing off the very end of the cigarette he’d smoked down right until the end, chucking it on the ground. “Never gonna have a normal Valentine’s day, are we pet”

“Nope!” You declared with absolute glee, holding a heavy bouquet of flowers he’d shoved into your hands. “My assistant got them” He looked at you warily, he’d tried to stick to the promise of not getting each other anything yet, for the second year on the trot, he just couldn't help it, “So don't get too mushy about it”. You took them with a big smile on your face, holding them to your chest as you followed him through the venue to start the soundcheck, “Happy Valentine’s to you too my love”. He laughed. You smiled wider.

Yet here he was, stood like he didn't know whether to stay frozen or bolt away from it all. And he was unbearable, kept asking the most ridiculous questions as he looked down at you expectantly.

“Does the voice sound alright?”

“Yes”

Five minutes later.

“Definitely?”

“Maybe”

He scowled at you. You stuck your tongue out at him. 

Again - “You think they’ll come, I mean its Valentine’s after all, maybe I should’ve just spent it with you … not been the best at this romantic shite for y-”

You cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips, cupping your hand over his mouth as you tilted your head, shutting him up just enough to hear the roaring crowd just 10 metres away from your backstage hideout. And you stared up at him for a moment, letting him listen before you brought your hand down, “Liam”

He swallowed, “Yeah?” And you just held his eyes for a moment more before laughing, “There are 12,000 people outside”

He finally got over himself when he was given the five minute warning, hugging you tightly against his chest as he kissed your forehead, “This is for you, baby”

And then he walked on stage. And all you could do was stand there and watch from the side stage as the crowd absolutely exploded at simply the sight of him. He was grinning, really grinning. The iconic Liam Gallagher swagger was back, and it wasn't forced anymore. No lying about his feelings now, no upset, no more wallowing. Just enjoying his life. Natural. 

— · ✦ · —

The concert absolutely flew by, and you stayed there the whole time, still holding onto the flowers like it was a little piece of him you didn't want to let go. You couldn't, not with how happy he looked up there. But you did put them down just in time to see him running backstage like an excited kid, catching himself on you before he ran too far with a big smile on his face, gripping your shoulders, he was practically vibrating as he shook you excitedly, “Did y’hear all them?” He looked back like he wanted to catch a glimpse of them all leaving. You laughed and stabilised yourselves with your hands gripping his arms, “I think the whole country did!”

He pulled you into a hug without even thinking about it, leaning down to crash his lips against yours in an over-enthusiastic kiss, lips locking and teeth clashing as he walked you back against the wall, not even caring about all the roadies who were now flitting about trying to pack all the stuff up, “God, I love you” He muttered against your lips, not even letting you come up for air as he pulled you back into the kiss. This was the best Valentine’s gift you could ever ask for. Seeing him happy.

“Now let's get pissed!” And you let him tug you in the direction of the pub like he was some mad sniffer dog just seeking out booze when he needed it.

— · ✦ · —

★2018

Everything felt like it’d been leading up to this moment. Liam had a daughter, Molly. He’d seen her through social media mainly, little glimpses in photos he saw when he was scrolling on twitter, articles over the years, and from interviews with her mother that claimed Liam to be her father. He knew she was his daughter, but something in him hadn’t felt right with trying to reconnect after all these years of being absent. Until he’d met you and you moulded his life back together in your capable hands, he hadn't even been the best father to his two boys. How would it work adding yet another kid to the mix?

He lost so much sleep over it. Sitting up late at night on the couch, a beer in one grip, the other hand holding the remote which he’d used to mute the tv which was interrupting his thoughts. Sitting. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. It felt like he was back in the past when he’d sit alone thinking about how everything went wrong, why he didn't love his missus anymore. Why Valentine’s every year since he turned 30 had felt so lonely, why his band was falling apart, why he couldn't keep anything long enough for it to mean something, why he couldn't be there for his daughter. But he wasn't alone. And then he saw you, like his guardian angel, padding out of your shared room cocooned by a blanket as you sleepily made your way over to him, “Why aren't you in bed?” You rasped softly, sitting on the other end of the couch to him. You were so tuned into your relationship at this point that you could just tell when something was up. He'd told you about Molly, of course, but for some reason recently it'd been hanging over his head more often than not. 

His jaw clenched gently, knuckles turning white when he gripped the beer bottle so tightly it could've shattered. But he still offered you a slight smile, free hand dropping the remote to push his knuckles against your knees, "I'll be there in a minute pet, don't neglect your beauty sleep for me”. You didn't move, just blinked at his face which looked so much older from the stress. But he still looked so beautiful illuminated by the flashing colours of the silent TV. “Molly again?” You spoke gently, reaching your hand out to cover his where it now rested on your knee, squeezing softly as he exhaled with a laboured sigh, “Yeah”

“You wanna talk about it?” And he did. He opened himself up to you yet again, you could say it still surprised you. But you were grateful for it every single time. You sat there for hours as you worked it through with him. Eventually he made his way to laying his head in your lap as your hands carded through his shaggy brown-grey hair as he talked and talked and talked. It was probably the most you'd ever heard him talk in one sitting. And you stayed quiet the whole time it happened, just bending every so often to press soft little kisses against his hairline as he spoke.

And you even stayed with him as he called Lisa. It took him a while to find her number, and had pulled a directory into his lap which you teased him about. But he didn't care much, dialling her number with shaky fingers as he put it up to his ear. He sat up against you, his back pressed to your chest as you wrapped yourself around him, leaning your head into the crook of his neck, scratching his bicep lightly with your nails as a form of reassurance. You didn't listen as he spoke, decided to give him that much privacy that he deserved, just staying there, holding him.

And then it was arranged. He finally had his daughter's number. And he sent her a message then and there before even talking to you.

Unknown Number: Hi Molly, it’s Liam, your dad. Give me a ring when you’re free and we can sort something out.

Simple. Polite. The most grammar he’d ever used in a single text message. And that was the first night in a while Liam had cried. Not loudly, he just threw his phone down on the couch and turned in your grip so he could press his face into your chest, his shoulders shaking as he silently sobbed into your shirt. You didn't want to cry too, but it broke you seeing him like this. So you just wrapped him up in your cocoon, cuddling him to your chest as his sobs finally broke into calm, deep breaths of sleep.

— · ✦ · —

★February 14th 2018

He rolled out of bed a little later than his usual 6am start. Having laid in bed with you for a while in silence broken only by soft music coming from both of your phones as he shitposted on twitter, and you scrolled your instagram feed with a quiet smile on your face. He rolled over eventually, tugging your phone from your hands to roll over you with a slight smirk on his face, leaning down to kiss your forehead, kissing a hot trail of kisses down to your cheek, and eventually the corner of his mouth, “Another Valentines” He whispered against your lips, brushing his just slightly against yours, “Glad you've stuck me out” He muttered, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, brushing your hair from your eyes. “Well, nobody else was gonna do it, were they?”

He watched you for a second as you blinked hazily up at him, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, brows furrowing as you yawned underneath him. Oh god, he loved you so much. “You sure you're okay with me not spending today with you, I mean … you can come with me if you want?” His eyes were vulnerable again, but you just shook your head up at him, hand coming up to brush his messy hair out of his eyes, “Nah, you need this, Liam” He nodded, leaning down to kiss you once more, muttering against your lips, “Y’can have me now, darlin’”

He wasted no time with dipping his fingers down to your warm thighs, parting them with one hand as he brushed them through your folds, chuckling warmly against your lips, “You’re this wet this early? Dreamin’ about me were ya?”

“Please, Liam” You looked up at him, and his heart could have broken simply at the sight of your cheeks already flushed, eyes wide with unspoken need, "Don't tease me”

He cooed softly as his hand came up to brush at your lower lip, thumb pushing through your lips to press down against your tongue, exhaling a shaky sigh at how easy your mouth opened for him, “But teasin’ ya is so fun, sweetheart” He whispered, pushing his tongue further down to the back of your tongue, smiling as you gagged softly around his digit. “Isn’t it, baby?” He pushed you as his other hand left your folds to take himself out of his boxers, pumping his dick twice as he rested his hardness against your folds. And he rested there for a moment as you nodded lazily around his finger in your mouth, lips closing around the digits to suckle gently as you looked up into his eyes. He let out the quietest groan, forehead knocking against yours as he began sliding his dick up and down your folds, the two of you just breathing softly into the space as he fucked himself against you, not penetrating yet, just feeling the warmth of each other close by.

“P-please” You eventually whimpered around his thumb, hand searching for his free one to grab it, warm and calloused yet still soft wrapped around yours, “Please what angel? Use yer words” He whispered, pulling his thumb from your mouth to slide them into your hair, tugging gently from the root to tilt your head backwards so he could press his lips to your throat, “Need, need you” You whimpered, squeezing his hand tighter, “Need me where, huh?”

His hand gripped his dick, pulling away from your warmth to pump it gently as he kissed down your throat, nipping slightly just above the vein pulsing up your neck, you whimpered in embarrassment as you shifted underneath him, tugging his face so his eyes could meet yours, your lower lip wobbling with that weapon you knew could make him fold, “Please fuck me, daddy” You whispered.

And he groaned. And then he couldnt take anymore, propping one bent arm above your head to stabilise himself as he pushed into your inviting warmth, both of you moaning in tandem as he eventually bottomed out inside of you, pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss as the tip of his dick pushed against your spongey g-spot perfectly, the sound of your needy little whimpers the sweetest song he’d ever heard, “God, youre fucking trouble”

“But I love you”

His hand tugged your head back so you arched perfectly against him as he began fucking into yu, the slow roll of his hips speeding up with each clench of your walls around him, forehead pressed against yours as he tugged your hair further just to see you squirm, “Happy Valentine’s, beautiful”

— · ✦ · —

You stayed in bed as he got dressed when he finally pulled himself out of your arms. You lay on your side as you watched him, wrapped up in the sheets still warm from his frame sleeping beside you, still carrying the scent of him. And you just watched. He was getting changed - specifically, changing his jackets. Parkas were strewn across the floor, a couple on the bed, one even hit you on the face as he sent it flying towards you as he dashed about senselessly, focused on just looking perfect for his daughter. He was so nervous. Was there even a Valentine’s you'd had together yet that he wasn't nervous? You were just glad to be here.

As he tugged on yet another parka you piped up from the bed, “That’s the fourth one”

He frowned, smoothing down the collar of his shirt as he pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, glaring at you in the mirror, “Third”

“Fifth”

His cheeks dimpled as he finally smiled at you, shaking his head as he tugged the parka off of himself, the action riding his shirt up underneath. To which you wolf whistles, “Looking hot”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth”

— · ✦ · —

By the time you got out of bed, wrapped in your silken robe you’d bought with his money, Liam couldn't lie he often loved ripping it off you whenever he had the time. But this morning he was far too worked up for any of that. He’d changed his shoes, hair, and sunglasses. Everything he could to feel perfect. All so he could meet his daughter. This moment felt even bigger than the last five minutes before walking out on Knebworth back in 1996.

He saw you emerge from the bedroom as he tied the fifth pair of shoes he'd put on for today. Every pair wasn't good enough, too scuffed, too loud, too overdressed. But tying this pair felt right, just as right as he felt when he saw your face, calming the nerves brewing in his gut as he smiled up at you. He rose to stand properly, eyes searching your face carefully as he spoke, spreading his arms out wide, “Do I look alright?” There was that vulnerability again.

You stopped. Because right now Liam wasn't asking if he looked cool. This was him as a dad, nervous to meet his daughter for the first time. It was so domestic, and you loved the fact you could be here for him at this moment. It made you smile. He made you smile.

You walked over, stopping just in front of him as your hands made their way up to his parka, straightening out one of the wrinkles just above the chest where he’d moved slightly, hands resting against his chest as you looked up into his eyes, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a kiss against his stubbled cheek. 

“You look like her dad’

He laughed. And then, just before leaving, he tickled your sides, tackling you onto the couch as he showered your face with little kisses, cuddling you to his chest, overcome with so much love that it completely shattered all the nerves.

— · ✦ · —

Hours later, you’d curled yourself up on the couch, reading a book one of your girlfriends had recommended to you. Liam didn't have a bookshelf, you weren't even entirely convinced he could actually read, and despite your pushing, he’d declared it a “Complete waste of time”, and put his foot down. Oh well, now your books lay in a pile next to the couch. One day they’d have a home, but that wasn't today.

You made yourself comfortable, the flat was completely clean, smelling like cheap cleaning products which made it feel like a real home, clothes tumbling in the dryer, the windows open sending a soft draft your way as you turned the page. You didn't even look up as the key turned in the lock.

The door opened and he was quiet, you felt your stomach tense with quiet worry as usually he’d be rabbiting non-stop about the day he had. But he was completely silent, no swagger. But the air felt different. He came and sat beside you, letting you stretch your feet into his lap as his warm hands made their way to your ankles, circling little patterns onto the skin there. Before resting there.

Eventually, “She’s funny”

You set your book down on your lap, folding the corner of the page you were on over as you smiled back up at him, “Yeah?” He laughed, nodding his head as he squeezed your ankle gently, his cheeks flushed both from the cold outside and the joy of the day he’d been so anxious about working out perfectly, a big smile on his face as he allowed himself to sink further down against the couch, “Yeah she takes the piss” He said it with a sigh that said he never wanted to let go of today, was currently filing it in his memory to keep forever, his phone already chiming, her profile picture lighting up against the background of you laughing at something stupid he said. “Yeah she’s definitely mine” He picked up the phone, reading the text messages with the phone brought up close to his face to read it properly, smirk softening into a quiet smile as his blue eyes flickered across the words, analysing everything he saw on the screen, “My girls” He said it so quietly you’d think he’d never said it. But he did.

He spent the next hour talking about Molly. Going into immense detail about the exact ways in which she looked like him, same eyes, lips, jaws, “Poor fucker even got m eyebrows” He said, smiling as you handed him a cup of tea just to tug you into his side as he continued. Talking about the bands she liked, the friends she told him about, how she got on in school, what GCSEs she’d gotten, how proud he was of her.

He’d fallen asleep mid telling you some funny story about how a bird had shit and it just narrowly missed his shoulder, and the two of them had found it so funny they could hardly finish their drinks. And you found yourself watching him again. He fell asleep with a quiet smile on his face, lashes fluttering against his relaxed cheek as he snored softly, and you smiled right back, curling up into his side.

“Love you so much old man” You whispered into his ear, resting your cheek against his as you felt him shuffle slightly from your breath against his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you settled into his side, “So glad you had a good time” You muttered into his chest, listening to his calming heartbeat, the soft scent of his expensive cologne, the faint footprint of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes, “Happy Valentine’s day … I love you more than you will ever know”

— · ✦ · —

★February 14th 2019

Something was up with Liam. You didn't quite know what, but he’d woken up strangely … romantic. And you’d woken up horny, because his head was buried between your thighs.

“L-Liam?” You mumbled sleepily, your next words caught with a moan as you felt faint suction over your clit between your thighs, propping yourself up on your elbows. Liam emerged from under the covers with a big smile on his face, cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of your body, hair all messy. He’d let it grow out a little bit, now it was long, dusted with a little more salt than pepper this year, the sun last year had bleached the ends a somewhat blonde colour, and his jaw was dusted with slightly grown out stubble.

Holy Fuck.

“Happy Valentine’s, darlin’” The same routine. But you couldnt actually bring yourself to care as he hovered above you, leaning down into an enthusiastic kiss, hands sliding up to grip your jaw as he slipped his tongue between your lips, pulling the covers off the two of you to flip you over on top of him, “How ‘bout you pay me back darlin’” He smiled, patting your thigh before gripping it, tugging you forward so your cunt, bare from him fucking you into the sheets last night and collapsing into sleep together, rolled against his growing hardness, “Since that was your gift for today”

You chuckled down at him, leaning back so you could grab his own hard dick, pumping it once, twice, before planting your free hand on his chest to sink down onto him. You both breathed out mirrored breathy moans at the sensation of him bottoming out. But something in his face caught you, he looked … oddly smug? “What?” You breathed softly as you started rolling your hips against his, hands sliding down to stabilise yourself on his belly as you lifted your hips once, slowly lowering them, the stimulation making you hiss in a puff of air.

Liam’s eyes narrowed. He still had that glint in his eyes though. And then his hands gripped your ribs, flipping you so you were face down in the sheets, arm sliding around your throat from the back burrowing you against his bicep, tugging you back so your back pressed against his front as his hips slid against yours, fucking you harder than you were, “Nothin’, dont worry about it” He breathed against your ear. His hips sped up, snapping against yours as the crude sound of wet skin slapping filled the room as he chuckles, “All you need is for daddy to fuck you proper, yeah? What you worried about”

Well this was weird. But you couldnt bring yourself to think about it as he pushed your face down into the sheets, pinning you down with his hand planted on the back of your head as he fucked you harder, stars already threatening to burst behind your eyelids. Happy Valentine’s day to you

— · ✦ · —

After your little session that morning, he’d looked like he wanted to say something all day long. Eating breakfast at the dining table together, you crouched over a bowl of cereal, he had a piece of warm buttered toast. You’d been going through all the things you wanted to do with him today, just spending a normal Valentine’s day together, “How about that restaurant downtown? Not the one in London, I don't want you spending London prices…”

You carried on talking. He had his hand kept in his pocket the entire time. You hadn’t noticed, just kept pushing around the rainbow cereal you’d insisted on buying because “Isn’t it just so cute!” and he pushed it into the trolley immediately with a shake of his head. 

He looked up at you. You weren't looking. But god you looked so beautiful in the morning light filtering through the window, your hair fluttering around your face. You looked like a little fairy. Wow, he was so gone. His hand tightened around the thing in his pocket, lips parted like he was about to say something. And then the phone rang. And you darted up to get it.

— · ✦ · —

The restaurant. Of course he’d taken you to the one you wanted to visit earlier. And he’d even insisted on getting a booth hidden away from the rest of any prying eyes. “Very secretive, Romeo” he laughed as he guided you to the table, nodding at one side of the booth for you as he slipped into the other, “Romeo is my middle name” He winked at you, sitting down and you immediately began twittering on again.

His hand stayed in his pocket the entire time. He nodded along dutifully to everything you said, hand clasped around the little object in his pocket, waiting for the perfect moment for him to pull it out and give it to you.

“Have you seen these prices?”

“Yeah, proper swindle aint it love” his hand was still caught in yours from across the table, he hadn't let go. Not that you would either, but usually you let him drop it after a while of him deciding it was ‘too mushy’. But it was Valentine’s day. And you looked so pretty. Oh god he was gonna do it, his hand tightened in his pocket, lips parting for the second time that day, “So, uh,...” He swallowed gently, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I got something I wanna ask you, darlin’”

You looked up from the menu, smiling softly with a tilt of your head as you said, “Go on then, why are you sat there like some-”

“Can I get you two drinks?”

The moment was gone, and with a sigh he pulled his hand out of his pocket to check the menu and see what beers they had on draft 

— · ✦ · —

It carried on like that all day. On a walk, underneath the newly blossoming trees as the season turned to spring, you hung off his arm as you gushed about the flowers. His hand almost left his pocket again. And then a fan came up wanting a picture.

The cinema, maybe it wasn't really a romantic place, but there was some soppy little rom-com playing on the big screen in front of the two of you, the contact of your hand laced in his was almost electric as you laughed at the screen, shovelling popcorn into your mouth as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling from pure, unfiltered enjoyment, “You okay?” You mouthed over the sound on the screen, he leant in, pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Better than okay… about earlier-”

“Is that Liam Gallagher?"

— · ✦ · —

Liam was getting overly irritated. Once your itinerary was over for the day, the two of you still felt impossibly wide awake. You’d walked to the chippy, you bought a portion of chips and two cans of coke while he stood outside having a smoke. Hyping himself up. He’d gotten in an increasingly bad mood as the day progressed, every time you were interrupted together. It was now or never. He fixed his face, however, when you walked out with all your purchases cradled in your arms, he swiftly took off you, letting you lead the way.

You walked to Hyde park. It wasn't long, so neither of you felt like you needed to fill the silence, making your way down the battered dirt path to your guy's secret little location where a bench overlooked the water. It was so beautiful this time of night, the moonlight over the rippling waters, the slight hum of all the grasshoppers going to sleep in the never city grasses. You sat on the bench in silence together, he’d shoved the chips into your lap, not looking at you as you immediately began feasting, you hadn't realised how hungry you got. Liam kinda loved that. He knew he had to do it.

Liam sat back on the bench with a dramatic little sigh. You turned to him just in time to see him digging in his pocket, pulling out something small … black … square.

And then he chucked the ring box into your lap. You didn't say anything, stopped chewing your mouthful of chips as you looked up at him confused, resuming your chewing, hands reaching for the box as you opened it.

It was a ring. Quite literally the most beautiful one you’d ever seen, it was thin, white-gold with a big diamond nestled in the center, bordered by little gems glistening brightly around the outside. The moonlight cast light shadows of the ring across your face, and all you could do was blink, hands shaking as you looked up at him in complete surprise.

“Will y’marry me?” he asked softly, he got that vulnerable look again, hands planted on his jeans as he waited for your response.

“...”

You blinked. Looked down at the box. Looked back up at him, “...that’s it?” Your voice was shaky with untold emotion, pressing your lips into a thin line as you watched his face. He smirked gently, cheeks dimpling as he shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips as he pulled his sunglasses off, letting him properly see his blue eyes staring into yours, “Benn trying all bloody day”

And that was it. You started laughing until tears were streaming down your face, shaky fingers lifting the box so you could properly inspect the ring nestled on the plush velvet insides, sniffling. It wasn't pretty, this sight, Liam laughing his head off at you losing your absolute shit over him asking you to marry him, you had tear tracks in your makeup, were mid wiping snot from under your nose, “This is so bad” You laughed, a sound caught in a sob as he smiled at you, tilting his head, “Well?”

“You didn't even ask me properly!” You sobbed out a giggle as you wiped your eyes, unable to take them off the glittering little ring in the box that was now shaking violently from you holding it, “I just did!” Liam exclaimed with fake offence, hand coming up so cup yours where it held the box where your shaking hand couldn't hold it properly, “No speech?” You smiled up at him as he shuffled closer on the bench, lowering your hands to rest the ring box in your lap

“I love you” He shook your shoulders with the most serious expression in the world, you sniffled, nodded, “Better”

He stared into your eyes for a moment, hands squeezing your shoulders like he was scared to properly ask the question he had so brusquely just a minute ago, hand coming up to cup your cheek, “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”

You sobbed once more. It made him laugh, seeing your face all crumpled up with emotion as you nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choked out a tense little, “Of course I will!”

He didn't kiss you, just smiled wider than he ever had as he pulled you in for a hug, one hand cupping the back of your head as he cuddled you close, pressing rapid little kisses to your temples as you sobbed in his arms, “Thought you were gonna say no”

And he just laughed when you slapped him. And then you let him slide the ring onto your finger, the two of you just staring down at the glimmering rock now in its rightful place on your left hand. You could’ve swore you’d seen Liam’s eyes glazing over with the threat of tears. 

— · ✦ · —

★2020

Somehow, you literally do not know how, but the two of you had managed to keep the engagement under wraps. And Jesus Christ was it hard, taking your engagement ring off when you left the house, leaving at different times to be seen as little as possible so the press couldn’t get the chance to speculate. But it was absolutely worth it.

Everyone around you, your friends, his kids, both of your parents were all assuming wedding planning would be romantic. It wasn’t. Actually it was actually complete chaos. Both of you were so excited, even the air itself in the flat felt lighter ever since he’d popped the question. But you’d been engaged for almost a year by now, and actually - neither of you knew how to plan a wedding. Despite the fact Liam had been married twice before already.

It was a sunday morning, and the dining table had completely disappeared. In place of the light hardwood top there were magazines. Venue brochures. Colour samples. Guest list printouts, cake categories. And you just sat there with a confused expression on your face, surrounded by sticky notes in rainbow colours because of course you couldn't just have one colour of anything, a few sticking to your jumper, a few on the floor. Some even had writing on them.

Liam wandered through in yesterday’s t-shirt, rubbing his eyes, still half asleep. He took one look at the table and stopped in his tracks, “...What the fuck’s happening in here?” You blinked out of your wedding induced trance, taking one look at him as you blinked, “You said we’d start planning”

“I meant eventually”

“You said we’d start today”

“I lied”

He ducked with a laugh as you sent a brochure flying towards his head, shaking his head with a tut as you let your head knock down against the table, banging it like you could infuse all the wedding planning wisdom into your head by sheer willpower.

Liam just picked the brochure up and, without looking at it, started using it as a coaster.

You even spent hours making a pinterest style mood board. Very elegant yet simple: cream flowers, candles, fairy lights. You set down the purple pretty stick you'd been using to construct it on a big white poster board, crossing your legs on the floor as you sit back against the couch, handing it up to Liam who was currently nursing a beer while staring open mouthed at a city game, “So?” You said excitedly.

Liam studied it, a smirk tugging at the left side of his mouth. There was a long pause, “Needs more pubs”. You frowned, turning also to look up at the city game on the telly, boring, blinked up at him, “Pubs?”

“Looks dead fancy”

“It’s meant to be fancy, Liam”

“Exactly”

“Alright” You muttered, leaning your head back against the couch with a sigh, shrugging, “What’s your idea then?”

He, without a word, leant over you, grabbing a black sharpie from the pile of otherwise rainbow coloured ones, taking the cap off with his teeth as he squiggles a stickman wearing sunglasses, writing in his horrible handwriting, “FREE BAR”

You rolled your eyes when he handed it back down to you, holding the poster board in two hands as you studied his graffiti with a slight pout on your face, knocking your temple against his knee as you sighed, “That’s not a moodboard”

“Best mood anyone’s ever been in”

— · ✦ · —

Later that month, the wedding was creeping up fast. So you’d managed to drag Liam on a couple of venue visits. Right now, you were touring an expensive country estate - Shilstone estate up in Devon. Liam had grumbled about it the entire time the two of you drove up there, well, it was only you driving, but he still had plenty to say about it, “Stupid name, shitstone”, “It’s Shilstone, darling”, “That’s what I said!”

The venue was gorgeous, sprawling green gardens, one walled, one terraced, there was even a pool - which Liam was very childishly excited about, the house was gorgeous, whitewashed walls with perfectly polished darkwood floors, high ceilings with expensive chandeliers, multiple open spaces to fit the hefty guest list you and Liam had been drafting - “You know too many people for your own good, Liam” You’d chastised as you sat in bed together one night, “Well it is just a draft I suppose” You muttered, tucking the list under the pillow. Liam had just smiled, snaking one hand around your waist to pull you into his side, he couldn't sleep without your warmth beside him anymore, “I’m a man in high demand”

The tour guide, however, was painfully enthusiastic, letting the two of you in, wearing a shirt and tie with perfectly pressed slacks, gesturing one hand wide across the light room you found yourselves in, “And here we have our eighteenth-century ballroom”

Liam just nodded politely. You know that look, you hid a smile in his arm as you pressed your face to it under the guise you were turning in his grip. He’s not listening. You let Liam pull you outside, following the tour guide while whispering together like little kids as you were shown around. The tour guide paused in the first of many gardens, “Our gardens are perfect, of course”

You snorted slightly at his accent, mimicking back his words in a very posh whisper to Liam, who squeezed your hand to stop himself from laughing out loud, “...Looks cold” He whispered into your temple as he lifts his arm to drape it over your shoulder, “It’s January, Liam”

“Exactly”

You reached the reception room, watching with lids growing heavy as the guide explained possible seating arrangements. You almost groaned internally when Liam leaned over to you, elbowing you gently, “Where d’you reckon chips go?”. You blinked, looking away from the guide as he walked all over the rooms, the guy was basically planning his own wedding at this point, “What?”

“Late night chips” You frowned, hissing out a warning, “Liam”

“People get hungry” He shot you an innocent look, a shrug, and then his trademark smug smile as he got you around the shoulders, tugging you over to where the guide was, almost perfectly, in the middle of saying, “...and then your evening buffet-”

Liam's eyes flashed bright, jolting you forward as he almost yelled, “There!”, and he pointed triumphantly at the table where he was already imagining bowls upon bowls of fries, smiling as he turned back to you, currently faceplanting as you shook your head in utter embarrassment, “Told ya”

— · ✦ · —

The next part was the most difficult, arguably even more difficult from the cake tasting, in which Liam had declared his dream cake was, “One with jam” you’d paused your own bite, staring up at him with a confused expression, to which he’d shrugged and said, “What? I like jam?”

But this part was the worst. The guestlist. You had a notebook, and Liam held absolutely no interest in the whole constitution. It went a little something like this.

“Family first”

“Yep”

You jotted something down, “Band?” You said softly, wondering if he’d want the backing for his solo shows there, he just nodded his head, drumming out a lazy beat on your leg where his hand was resting. You nodded, writing dutifully, mumbling “...friends” To which Liam had said yet another, “yep”

You hesitated while writing names down in complete silence. Almost automatically, you’d written an N just underneath his mother’s name. How were you gonna approach that one? You set the pen down, turning your head to look up at him, “...Noel?” Silence. He didn’t even look up from the telly.

“No”

“Liam”

“No”

“It’ll come up eventually”

“It just did”

You sighed in proper exasperation, sitting up properly on the couch as you set the notepad down on the couch, turning to look up at him, “I’m serious”. His eyes flickered softly, looking down at the couch as he picked a loose thread, turning it over in his hand, before throwing it to the ground, “So am I”

The look on his face made you give up eventually, shutting the book with a laboured sigh as you sat back into his side, reaching your hand to rub at his belly, “I guess we don't have to decide today”

“I just did”

— · ✦ · —

You’d just gotten home from getting ice cream when the phone on the wall rang. You had chocolate chips dripping down your fingers to your wrist which you licked up dutifully whilst you multitasked letting yourself through the door. Liam had the remnants of his vanilla, sadly, cone, which he immediately dumped in the bin the second his phone rang. “Hey I would’ve” But he cut you off with a cheeky look, shushing you as he mutters, “It’s bonehead” You rolled your eyes, trudging over to the couch where you began sorting through the invites set to be sent out tomorrow, sorting them into piles while you ate the rapidly melting ice cream.

Liam sat down beside you, phone pressed to his ear as he answered, “Alright?” You continued eating and sorting as Liam paused, letting Bonehead talk down the speaker at him. In your wedding haze you didn't even notice the way Liam’s brows furrowed, the way he sat back properly on the couch, crossing one leg over his bent knee, “What d’ya mean he knows?” A pause, “...How” A longer pause. It was long enough for you to slowly look up at him, long enough for Liam to begin pacing back and froward, casting a look to the piles of invites, “I haven't even invited anybody yet”

You started smiling. Ah. The news has clearly made its way back to the other Gallagher brother. Bonehead said something which made Liam pause in his pacing by the sink, gripping the sink with one hand, the other pinching his nose as he trapped the phone between his shoulder and his ear, quickly snapping out, “I didn't even invite you, you cheeky bastard” Down the phone, like shouting could convey the message to Noel who was obviously sat with Bonehead right now.

There was more talking, you looked down at the invites in your lap, slyly hiding the one with “Noel + family” Written on the front under your leg to bin later. You didn’t want to add any more stress to his face that literally looked like it was aging ten minutes every second, he pushed himself off from the sink, holding the phone out as he began gesturing wildly, “Tell him if he’s bothered he can send himself a bloody invitation.

You started laughing at his outburst, and Liam couldn't help but reciprocate, his fuming sounded less serious as a laugh barked up from his throat, pointing at you with a big smile on his face, “Don’t encourage him”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

Bonehead started laughing so hard Liam had to hold the phone away from his ear.

Yet, despite all the complaints, all the arguments over colours, the tension surrounding the guest list. The wedding managed to not fall through. You cried. Liam cried. Then he cursed out the entire venue in his vows you hadn’t even expected him to write. Your first dance happened to a Beatles song. It wasn’t a storybook wedding by any means.

But you became Mrs. Gallagher on a Sunday. Sunday, the fourteenth of February, 2020. 7 Years to the date in which you became the sunshine in Liam’s miserable life.

— · ✦ · —

★2021

Not every argument the two of you have is really what you’re arguing about. Especially when touring puts a strain on your relationship. He’d been gone touring for what felt like an age, even if it was just two months. You’d gone through the flat sale on your own, put an offer in for a house with him on the phone mid soundcheck, you’d packed up the flat with help from Lennon and Gene who gave up their Saturday when their dad couldn’t come to help you.

But he was home now.

The night he came home had felt electric. Being newlyweds, it felt like you’d gotten that first year buzz of a normal relationship whose beginnings hadn't been ruined by the other partner being completely miserable. He fucked you against every surface of the new house that night, the first time he’d seen it with it being just your two, on the floor in the bedroom where the bed hadnt been made yet, snarling into your ear as he pinned you down with his large hands as his hips snapped into yours, “Just lettin’ me fuck you on the floor? Fuck, you havent changed have you? Dirty fucking girl”

He’d dragged you to the couch that was still covered in plastic, and with a growl he’d pushed you off him, forcing you down onto your knees to suck his dick. Hell yeah, being married was great. But not always.

New house. Boxes upon boxes upon boxes, you felt like you were going insane, nothing was where it was meant to be, your little flat you’d grown together over the years to include the perfect balance of him and you, not that there was much of him before you, was gone - had exploded now into a nice 6 bed just outside of London, gone was sharing one bathroom, ducking around each other in the morning so you could go for a pee and hold his hand while he brushed his teeth, now there was an array of bathrooms to choose from. It wasn't home yet, but home was wherever he was. And to him, home was you. Warm, safe, loving. The two of you can work through anything.

But that wasn't without the two of you going absolutely insane.

You’d challenged yourself to take on the kitchen, a massive space with granite countertops and french windows which opened up into a massive garden. You daydreamed about lace curtains fluttering in the evening light as you and Liam sat outside on a warm summer night - yet here you were, on your hands and knees, digging through a box. A box which, actually, upon opening, surprised the shit out of you. You picked up one kettle, and counted three others in the box, “Why have we got four kettles?” You called out to him, he was standing in the hall, under the guise of going to get the heavy stuff from the living room and arranging it himself, but he was actually just standing there on his phone. “Uh” He called back. And you couldn't help but get a little irritated at the amount of time he was taking to respond, “One might break”

You sat back on your haunches with a sigh, wanting to melt through the floorboards and just be transported back in time to your flat when all these boxes weren't looming over you, and the biggest design choice was where to put that bowl by the door, “But four?”

“Prepared”

Ikea came to add to the mess later that very same day. You’d wanted a wardrobe, one you had to build, and you’d insisted you could do it yourself to Liam, really! And he was a man that listened to his wife. But now you stood in the empty master bedroom, staring down at what looked like 2 instruction manuals, 15 large sheets of wood, and a million tiny screws. You reached for an instruction manual, flipping it open in confusion. But Liam shut it again, and as you shot him an exasperated look, he just shrugs his shoulders, “Don’t need ‘em”

“You haven't even looked” You threw your hands in the air, reaching back for the paper, “I’ve got instincts” He declared with a shit eating grin on his face.

“You absolutely do not”

“I absolutely do my darling”

Two hours later, the wardrobe was standing. Barely. Liam was sitting on the floor, staring up at it glumly. You’d noticed touring had taken a lot out of him, but at least your husband was still inside. You walked around it, staring down at it like a critic would a piece of art they didn't like, tilting your head, not taking your eyes away from it, “...Liam?” That snapped him out of his trance, head lifting so his tired eyes could meet yours, “It’s backwards”

“No it ain’t” He was on his feet in a second, coming to your side to examine the wardrobe in the same way you had. He barged you out of the way with his shoulder so he could look. You glared at him, rubbed your arm while you muttered, “Dick” Walking around the other side as you looked at him over the piece of furniture. He looked defeated. Jaw clenched in a way that could snap at any moment. 

You were both tired,hungry, frustrated. And it all started in that room. You laughed as you took in his expression, trying to make light out of his obvious gloominess. Wrong decision.

“Oh don't laugh” He snapped at you, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at you. You covered your mouth with one hand, eyes wide and sparkling with glee as you tried to stifle your laugh, holding one hand up as you giggles, “Im sorry-”

“No you’re fucking not” Woah. He’d never spoken to you like that. You let your arms drop, all the humour suddenly gone from your face as you opened your mouth, trying to walk around the wardrobe. But he was already walking off down the bare, undecorated hallway, “I didnt mean it, Liam-” You tried to catch his arm and he shrugged you off, turning around to glare down at you, “Y’always fucking laugh at me, I get it, I’m a fucking idiot darlin’” He started walking away from you, gesturing around him, “My hard work pays for all this shite you want, but im the bad guy for not being able to build your poncey furniture”

You stammered slightly as you stood there, hand half outreached like you wanted to grab for him again, stopping just short of the kitchen as he banged about, making himself a cup of tea, “But it was funny!” You hated how small you sounded. You had never sounded that small around him and Liam fucking hated him. He wondered if a curse was following him, like the second he got married he was allowed to have fun for a while but then it all went to shit. But he was too proud to turn around and have a look at your hurt expression, “It aint funny” He set the mug down on the counter a little too hard, gripping the edges of the counter. You tried your luck once more, padding towards the breakfast bar as you sat yourself on the stool, smiling a little shakily at his back, “You built a wardrobe facing the wall”

“I KNOW”

You both sat there in silence for a second. Your face caught somewhere between shock and hurt. And you just sat there. The clock you’d hung yourself ticked menacingly behind the two of you. You blinked back the tears threatening at your waterline. Trying to stop your lower lip from wobbling, it would be pathetic to cry. He eventually turned himself around, scrubbing his hands down his face as he faced you, his face filled with a guilt that looked almost painful.

You blinked up at him, letting in a shaky breath, “This isn’t about the wardrobe, is it?” You whispered. He clenched his jaw, looking down at the tile, “No”

But Liam wasn't a complete arsehole, especially not to you. Without another word, he walked up to you, bending his frame over yours as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, big hands stroking your back as you fought back tears, “I’m so sorry” He whispers, his rough manchester accent almost soft now as he breathed against your skin, pressing a kiss to your collarbone when you let in a shaky breath, “Shouldn’t’ve raged at you like that” He breathed, pulling back to kiss your forehead.

You watched him cautiously now, watched as he walked like it hurt to go and sit on a box just across from you, keeping eye contact as you stared at him down. You needed to talk about whatever the fuck just happened.

He rubbed his hands down his face, looking like he’d just aged about ten years. And for a split second, you saw him. Not the Liam Gallagher you’d grown to love, not the man you built a life with over the past 8 years. No, you saw the broken Liam Gallagher you met in that pub 8 years ago, the man who looked like he was about five seconds away from drinking far too much or walking out into the road without looking. And it hurts you to see. So, instead of being upset, you leant forward. Listening. Liam hadn’t had anybody who was as willing as you to forgive him, and even love him for all his thoughts. So he started, 

“I’ve been away more” He muttered. The tour, it felt like it’d driven a wall between the two of you. You hadn’t even discussed how the tour was going to work, and it all came so fast you couldn't make arrangements with the selling of the flat and moving into the new house for you to come along. So you just said, “I know”

He blinked. That small ‘I know’ was a lot more than you just acknowledging the fact he’d been away. You felt it too. “You don’t say anything”

“I don't want you feeling guilty”

“I already do”

A long silence passed in which nothing was heard apart from your breathing and the clock still ticking out a now calming rhythm on the wall. You pushed off your stool, walking over to him with a sad little smile on your face, plonking yourself next to him on the box, but didn't touch him. His frame felt rigid beside you. Not warm like he usually was. But you knew it wasn’t his fault.

“We’re just tired” You muttered, leaning your head against his bicep. Yet, even despite his coldness, he still found it within him to drape an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he breathed out, “I hate leavin’”

“I know”

“I hate comin’ back and feelin’ like I’ve missed stuff” You blinked softly, looking up at him, “You haven’t”

But he didn't look back at you, just shrugged as he looked down at his free hand laying idle in his lap, clenching his fingers into a fist. Unclenching them. “Feels like I have”

You reached for his hand, “We’ll work it out”

He went out. Walk straight out of the door after the two of you sat in a silence that was so thick with tension you could probably touch the air and feel it. You let him go. And you found yourself in the living room on the couch, the only piece of furniture you’d managed to put up today. And you waited.

Twenty minutes. Thirty. And eventually, the front door opened. You heard his sigh as he kicked his shoes off by the door, and dropped his keys in the little bowl you’d kept. You loved that sound. Loved hearing him come home, loved having him by. Loved that even after everything he’d been through he still trusted you enough to come home to you when he had enough time for himself, when for the first year, you were never sure. He appeared in the doorway. He had his hands full and it made you smile, reminding you of that Valentine’s day back in 2016, when he’d burst through the door with an armful of stuff from Tesco. And tonight was no different, he was carrying flowers in one hand, draped across his arm was a plastic white bag filled with food that smelled like a Chinese takeaway, and somehow, another houseplant.

You didn't say anything dramatic, didn't leap up to greet him. But as you sat there cross legged on the couch, you couldn't help but smile at the houseplant he was holding up like a trophy, “...Why?” You eventually asked. He grinned down at you. And just like that, it was like nothing happened, “It looked sad”. You laughed at him, sitting up properly as you watched him set the plant down, placed the takeaway bag down on the floor as he dropped a kiss on your temple, “You bought it because it looked lonely?” Your smile deepened as he set himself down on the couch, “Aye” He smiled, handing you the flowers. You looked down at them with a slight chuckle, holding them up like they were your very own trophy, “So these aren't apology flowers, I’m assuming?”

“Nope”

“And the chow mein?”

“Now, thats definitely an apology, I fucking hate that stuff”

He was back. 

You ate the takeaway on the couch in dead silence, with your hands because neither of you could be bothered finding the forks in the mess. And everything was messy, sure. But it was yours.

“We’re fixing the wardrobe tomorrow” You reminded him around a mouthful of noodles you’d managed to shovel into your mouth, he just shook his head, and around a spring roll he murmured, “No we ain’t, the fuckers got character”

You slapped his arm and he yelped, you both laughed as you complained further about the state of everything. But at least the two of you were okay. He’d saved it. Saved you from leaving. Not that you ever would, but the thought was always present in the back of his mind. He's going to be okay. 

But that didn't mean he couldn't take the piss out of the state of you trying to shove two pieces of broccoli around the noodles already crammed into your mouth.

— · ✦ · —

★14th February 2022

Quite literally, the least dramatic Valentine’s day you’d ever had was this one. And it was fucking chaotic. Liam had the bright idea to invite the entire family around to all spend Valentine’s together “Like sickening little baby birds all canoodling together” He’d mocked as he chased you around the kitchen table. At 49 years old he still acted like an absolute child sometimes. Somehow, you made it work. The holiday Liam had once dismissed as “Commercial shite” had over the years become something much more to his once cold heart. It was bigger than romance. It was family, noise, home, showing appreciation for the people who’d managed to make his life feel like living again.

You, Molly, Gene and Lennon sat in a now perfectly decorated living room, the kids swapping stories and telling you how they’d been since they last saw you. You never could’ve imagined yourself becoming a mother, no less a step mother at your age, but you’d began to love these kids like they were your own. And they loved you too, not as a mother, but not just their dad’s wife, someone they could turn to. It made your heart feel sickeningly tight and warm. And you loved all that shite.

What you didn’t love, was Liam’s appearance when he appeared in the doorway, grinning his shit eating grin. He had a fucking apron on. Your heart sank. Oh no.

“I’m cookin’ today kids!”

Everybody immediately objected, Lennon sat up straight from the floor where he’d been lounging lazily with a loud, “Woah woah woah!” Gene’s face fell where he was sat next to you, “Oh dad, please don't"

Molly even piped up, “You remember Christmas?” Liam had tried to cook a turkey. It was miserable, like eating rubber. You’d all put a smile on your face until Liam eventually stood up with a declaration, “This is complete shite”. You all burst out laughing because, really, it was fucking horrible. 

You smiled from your end of the couch, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at Liam, he narrowly dodged it, opening his arms wide as if to say, “Hey! What the fuck?”

You just laughed. He tutted, rolling his eyes, “You’re all utter melts and I’m offended”

— · ✦ · —

Liam cooking was something that nobody wanted to be around to see, however the four of you decided to casually sleuth into the kitchen to keep an eye on him as he banged about. And it was an absolute disaster. The smoke alarm went off so many times you’d all just tuned it out, the high pitched little whine no longer auditory with how long it’d been going off for. He burnt the garlic bread, dropped all of the potatoes which you then had to rescue and step in for.

A bird even got in. A bird! You couldn't make that shit up. And it even managed to steal a little bit of chicken Liam hadn't noticed fell to the floor and was currently flapping about the kitchen as Liam chased it with a tea towel, “Oi! You little thief”. Molly was crying laughing while filming the whole thing on her phone, Gene and Lennon could hardly breathe as they watched the entire thing form the dining table. You just watched. Didn’t help, didn't step in. The chaos was somehow perfect. You loved it. But it was also funny seeing an almost 50 year old man lose himself over making a meal for 5 people.

Dinner came after four painstaking hours of Liam who'd only managed to cook chicken, broccoli, a little bit of poorly seasoned clumped together rice, some carrots, all of it doused in a sauce that you couldn’t quite name. The comfortable silence the two of you usually sat in was gone, filled with the sound of his children chattering, you joining in, Liam laughing loudly. He loved this, loved that he could have all his family here in one place. It felt so different from that time Gene came to visit him in the old flat, this felt homely, this felt perfect. He did actually owe it all to you.

You caught him looking around the table, watching as his kids laughed while packing up the remnants of Liam’s slightly burned cooking effort, the softest smile on his face as he leant in to whisper to you, “Not bad this” He muttered, reaching out to hold your hand. You held it back with your own smile to mirror his, squeezing his hand as your free hand reached to place itself on his knee under the table.

“Not bad at all” You agreed. And you waited until his eyes met yours, and you smiled at him.

“Happy Valentine’s, grumpy”

— · ✦ · —

★February 14th 2023

Your 8th Valentine’s together as a couple started with a bang. Literally. 

You and Liam, well you specifically had woken up at 8 in the morning with a bright, fresh new fervor. Something had changed in Liam the second he turned 50. He’d cut his hair back into a short yet shaggy mod, his eyes felt deeper set than when you met him in 2014, his jaw more masculine, he kept the stubble that you adored, the one you loved rubbing against your cheek, burning the skin on the insides of your thighs when he went down on you after a long day. He looked bigger too, had filled out into a proper man’s body over the years, thick arms taught with muscle that didn't show itself but you felt it when his strong arm wrapped around your waist, the way you could feel the entirety of his body when you wrapped your arms around his middle for a hug. Yeah, 50 suited him well. Which was why, this morning, like many others, began with you riding yourself almost crazy on his lap.

“God youre fuckin’ mad” Liam groaned from underneath as the pace of your hips sped up, your eyes rolling back from just how deep he was hitting inside of you. You moaned in return, eyes squeezing shut as you reached forward to rub tight circles on your clit, walls pulsing around him almost violently as you managed to whimper out, “C-cant help it, y’look so fucking fit” You whimpered. And he grinned, of course, slapping your hand away as he replaced it with his own, rubbing rapid circles against your buzzing bundle of nerves, his other hand reaching around the back of your neck to tug you forward so you could make proper eye contact with him, “My needy girl, eh?” You nodded pathetically, he shook his head with a tut, the hand gripping your neck sliding down to slap your face once, twice, playful little hits that made your face sting and your walls clench around him, “Oh ho ho” He laughed at the expression on your face, caught in pure lust as you bounced up and down on him.

His hand caught your jaw, the other leaving your clit to hook a thumb into your mouth, tugging it to the side just to see you whine as he manhandles his face to your will. And he cooed at the sight of you, hips thrusting up to meet your own desperate bouncing of your hips down onto his lap to drive both of you towards the edge you were teetering very close to, “Y’mine, yeah? Daddy’s girl ain’t ya?” He whispered cruelly, chuckling as you collapsed against his chest. And Liam, so perfectly in tune to your emotions by now, just wrapped his arms around your shoulders, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you, arm locking around your neck from the back to keep you pinned against him as his hips snapped up to meet yours, “Yeah, just needed dick didnt you, sweetheart?” And he chuckles when you croon into his neck, soft pants billowing air against his skin now slick with sweat and perfectly warm as it lulled you closer to the edge, “Sit up baby” He whispered.

And you did. You've been with him so long now that you would do literally anything he asked the second he asked for it. He followed you, not slowing his thrusts down for a second as he sat himself against the headboard, one hand gripping your hip to keep you hiked up to he could fuck his throbbing dick into you, the other tugging your mouth open wide, “Y’gonna swallow f’me, angel?” And all you could do by then was nod, moans sounding from the back of your throat as you watched him smile. And then he spit in your mouth.

And that was it for you, you snapped your jaw shut with a breathy whimper, walls sloping down around him as your orgasm washed over you in rocking waves, he fucked you through it, whispering sweet nothings in your ear about how much of a good girl you were for him. “Love, I love you, Liam” he sounded just as ruined as you now as, with a groan, his own orgasm crashed down on him, his eyes screwing shut as he moaned against your mouth as he caught your lips in a kiss, mumbling drowsily against you as he fucked the two of you through your orgasms, “Love you angel, y’my bird yeah? Get get ri-rid of me, y’re it”

You pulled away from the kiss after a moment of calming yourselves down, him still buried deep inside of you as he pulled back, smiling up at you as his hand came up to brush your hair away from your face, gripping the back of your head as he whispers, “Happy Valentine’s day, sweetheart”

— · ✦ · —

You were currently driving the two of you down into central London to go and visit a cafe from the early days of your relationship. Liam had suggested it, upon feeling very sappy when the two of you were showering together this morning. He’d deny everything, of course, yet here you were. You were driving, since in the entire 9 years you'd known him he'd still never bothered himself with getting a license. Typical. So now you were his casual chauffeur.

You noticed, after a moment, that the car tailing you had been there for essentially the entire journey. A black car with tinted windows still hot on your tail. You blinked up at them in the rearview, shooting a glance towards Liam as you followed the satnav, “This one of your friends?” Liam checked the mirror too, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked, “They’ve been there since Finchley”

“You know them?” Your brow creased. “Nah” He muttered, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew exactly what might've been inside. Even you managed to figure it out when you pulled up to the curb and they double parked right across the street from you. The flashes the second you stepped out of the car confirmed your suspicions. Somehow, they’d summoned an absolute army of paparazzi staring at you from across the street, shouting nonsense as they snapped their large cameras at you.

“C’mon, Liam”

“Liam”

“This way!”

“Can we get one of you together?”

You let out a laboured sigh as you rounded the car to where he was waiting with a shit eating grin on his face, fiddling with your engagement, wedding ring, and the claddagh ring he’d given you for your birthday three years ago stacked on top of each other, fidgeting as you made your way to his side, “There goes breakfast” You mumbled as his arm made its home over your shoulder, steering you to walk with him, “Nah”

“What?”

“I’ve got an idea”

There was a game the two of you liked to play with the paparazzi, finding your own way to deal with them as they trailed you essentially everywhere you went. The game was simple, make something up which would get into the headlines. You decided to play around with them after the amount of turmoil he was put through in the papers in the first year of you knowing one another, trying to come up with the most baffling headline.

And it was his turn first.

It took him a while to come up with it, you’d been walking hand in hand for about ten minutes, completely ignoring the clamours from across the street as you swung your arms, the cold february sun starting to shine through the clouds was nice. It would've been peaceful. If you could've tuned them out.

Then suddenly, Liam stopped walking. He turned to you with an expression on his face like he’d just gobbed an entire sour lemon, and started waving his arms dramatically. You felt your face burn immediately, letting out a quiet, “Oh God” as he started up, “What d’you mean I can't buy another parka?” He fumed out loud, loud enough so it could be heard across the street, and you could hear the paparazzi excitement flare up with the rapid flash of the cameras. And you caught on immediately, resting your hands on your hips as you snapped right back, your frame from the back hiding the smile on your face, “Oh, because twenty seven isn't enough?”

Liam stifled a laugh, pushing his shades further up onto his face as he let out a groan so loud it bounced off the buildings around the two of them, “I wear them all though”

You followed him in fake annoyance, legs hitting the grown harder as you feigned a strop, “You wear three”

“I rotate”

“You do not”

The paps are firing away at this point, people walking past keep slowing down to witness what they're pretty sure is Liam Gallagher having a very public domestic with his wife. You stifle a smile, and point dramatically down the street like you're in some Shakespearean drama, "I'm leaving!”

Liam gasps as you start walking away from him, staying rooted to the spot as he watches you storm away, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yells, “TAKE THE KETTLES”

“I DON'T WANT THE KETTLES”

“YOU BOUGHT THE BASTARD KETTLES”

— · ✦ · —

Ten minutes later, the two of you were walking side by side like nothing had even happened. But the paparazzi still weren't letting up, apparently they still hadn't gotten enough material for the next gossip columns in their respective newspapers. You were outside your cafe that you were planning to go to now, but the way you looked at each other clearly meant that you weren't going to make it inside any time soon.

You squinted up at him in the sunlight, a cheeky grin on your face quickly schooled into an innocent expression as you declared brightly, “My turn!”

Before Liam could even react you were already moving, dropping down onto one knee right there on the pavement, digging in your back for a packet of gum. It was half eaten, half of it was actually in Liam’s gob right now after he’d nicked it in the car, “What’s yours is mine love, says so in that, y’know, marriage contract you signed that one time”, and you held it up like a ring.

The paps absolutely lost their minds. Flash flash flash FLASH FLASH. Each tim it seemed to grow brighter, and you just giggled up at Liam who looked like if his jaw dropped even more it would make its way to the ground. But he was biting his lip to stop laughing, kicking your shoe with his as he nodded, “Y’alright there?”

You cleared your throat, “Liam Gallagher” You began, staring up at him as seriously as you could possibly muster, offering him the packet of chewing gum. “Go on” He mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he sucked his cheeks in to keep himself from laughing.

“Will you accept this extra strong mint”

And he placed one hand over his heart, and dramatically exclaimed, “I thought you’d never ask”

— · ✦ · —

You never actually made it to the cafe that day. Instead the two of you bailed into the safety of a random kebab shop which you were sure the two of you frequented whilst drinking, and got a doner kebab each where you ate it on the bench in Hyde park where he’d proposed to you. Yet, like all the weird February 14ths you'd spent together, it ended up being the most perfect day that year.

The morning after you walked into the kitchen to see Liam sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee, reading the paper. Odd. But he was trying not to laugh, and that was definitely a good sign. Your plan had worked. You sat yourself in your usual chair right next to him, grinning as you leant your head against his arm, “What is it?” He didn't say anything, just tilted the paper so you could read it more easily, resting his cheek against your head.

A massive, black, bold headline stretched against the thin white paper as you leant in to read it.

EXPLOSIVE VALENTINE’S ROW

Below it there was a very tasteful selection of photos. A photograph of the two of you laughing during your fake argument, the next, the one of you ‘proposing’, the silver packet of gum glinting in the February sunshine as you held it up to him, and finally, another one, Liam stealing a chip from your little white carton when you eventually emerged from the kebab shop, and your arm raised high in the air like it was about to smack right down on your husbands back. That word still made you smile to this day. Husband. Yours. It took you a while to really shape him up into the man he was today, the man who was completely capable of being a husband. And you couldn't be happier.

You started laughing as you stared down at it, shaking your head as you pushed away from the table, “They’ve completely missed the point”

And without skipping a beat, he shook his head, folding the paper as he leant in to take a sip of his cup of tea, “...Worth it though”

Hours later you were still laughing about it. You were sitting on the closed toilet lid while Liam took his shower, peeking out every now and again when you let out a laugh as you scrolled through social media. Most of the fans had figured it out already. One comment simply said, “They’re definitely taking the piss”

You knocked on the clouded glass of the shower, Liam popped his head out dutifully as you turned the phone around for him to read it. And he just grinned proudly, “Smart bunch”. But then he looked down at you, sat there in your pajamas, and he tilted his head, sending a puff of air out of his mouth to force his dripping hair out of his eyes, then letting his big blue irises dart up and down your frame, “Y’know, love” He said, very serious, “You look a little too dry”

And you didn't even have time to properly react as he grabbed your hand, cackling as he dragged you clothes and all with him under the warm spray. Some 50 year old.

— · ✦ · —

★2024

Literally nothing could’ve prepared you for what happened today. Nothing. Quite literally the weirdest day of your entire life.

You and Liam had decided that you needed a holiday, or rather, he just wasn't touring this year, and so there were no exotic places for him to take you to. And so you landed in Fiji. It was nice enough, quiet enough for him who was getting on in his years, as you liked to tease him about when you began to see more salt in his hair than pepper, “Oi, you love my goldilocks you cheeky bird” And you’d just hissed an awkward sigh, shrugging your shoulder as you tried to figure out how you were going to fit yet another parka into his suitcase, “Well I wouldn’t say golden…”

But here you were, 6 in the morning, 3 suitcases already checked in, a mimosa in your hand and a cold beer in his as you made your way to the flight lounge. Perks of marrying a rockstar, now you are one of the elite. It's not what you married him for, but it was certainly convenient when you had to wait for a flight that had been delayed by an entire 3 hours, now you were just waiting out the final 30 minutes. 

You lay with your carry-on shoved beneath your head, drained mimosa collecting condensation on the little glass table in front of you, watching as a droplet dripped down the side of the glass. Peak entertainment.

Liam was pretending to scroll on twitter while he watched everyone walking in and out of the lounge, half watching his phone, half staring at the door. It’s not like he expected anyone to walk in.

That was until he went completely still next to you. Everything changed in that moment. You followed his gaze across the room, across the lounge.

Noel.

Standing there with a coffee.

You sat up, you actually didn't even know what to say - usually you couldn't stop the words from coming out of your mouth but for some reason you were completely stumped, mouth hanging half open as you looked between the two. Liam didn't take his eyes off Noel. Noel didn't take his eyes off Liam. Holy shit.

You looked towards Liam, mouth suddenly dry as you took in his expression. He looked oddly like a little boy right now, like the man you never knew him as, and it made your heart squeeze as your hand made its way to his lower back, “You okay?”

Liam didn't answer, he didn't even look at you. Instead, he stood up, and immediately walked over. The only funny thing you could find within the whole scenario, was that Noel looked like he was going to shit himself.

Your stomach was tight with worry as you stared incessantly at them. Anais was with Noel, standing there smiling up at her uncle who she'd managed to keep a steady, yet distant relationship with over the years. Liam said something, and both Noel and Anais shot a glance your way. You lifted your hand in an awkward little wave. Noel’s jaw ticked as he turned back to Liam. Anais returned your wave.

The conversation lasted less than ten minutes. There was no shouting. No swearing. No dramatic embrace. They were just … talking. It felt a lot simpler than the threats Liam had muttered towards him in your bed whenever you spoke about it. Noel nodded once, Liam nodded back. And then they went their separate ways, like nothing had ever happened. Like if anybody outside of this airport lounge had caught wind of it it would have exploded in the biggest story of 21st century England.

You waited until Liam sat down, ready to ambush him with the millions of questions lined up in your mind. But upon seeing his face you held your tongue, he looked strangely .. peaceful? You just nudged him with your elbow, shifting his carry on so you could sit right next to him as you grabbed his arm, “Everything alright?” Cautious. Careful. You didn't know how easily Liam could slip right back into his old headspace. And he just shrugged, “Yeah”. Perfect. Liam was never a man of many words, which sometimes worked to your advantage, other times was just downright annoying, and you were buzzing to know what just went down, the man you’d been hearing about from an insider perspective for the last ten years was just in front of you, talking to the man who he hadn't in 14 years, you were bound to have some questions! “What did he say?”

“Nothin’”

“You’re a liar”

He smiled. It was a tiny little thing but you caught it. “We just talked”

You decided to let it be from there, staring at his blissful expression for a moment before you simply reached over and squeezed his hand once. He squeezed it back. 

— · ✦ · —

★Summer 2024

Something was definitely happening, you could literally feel it in the air. You'd been married to Liam for too long to not know when he was sneaking about doing something. And doing something he was.

It started with the phone calls. His phone literally never stopped ringing. And you knew Liam was never that popular. Management. Lawyers. Old numbers that even you didn't recognise. New, unknown numbers, some even came with the declaration of NO CALLER ID. Liam took every single one. He disappeared into another room for hours every afternoon. The door closed every single time. You couldn't even hear what he was saying when you pressed your ear to the door - the bastard was sneaky, he knew his wife well.

You began to grow suspicious. You literally had no idea what was going on. Your conclusion eventually became one simple thing: He was cheating on you. You love him, but you know damn well he has a track record. You decided to test the waters when you finally walked in on his mid phone call when you came back from the shops.

The second you walked into the kitchen, carrying bags filled with what was probably a month's worth of shopping but you knew between Liam, Gene and Lennon it would all be gone in about three days, Liam immediately turned his phone face down. You felt sick. You rested the bags against the wall just next to the door, crossing your arms as you challenged him, “...Who was that”

He looked up at you with an expression so pure it could probably rival that of an angels, but you weren't convinced when he let out a tense little, “No one”

“Liam”

“No one important”

Your eyes narrowed, darting up and down his frame that he held so tensely you were scared he might snap, “Important enough to lie about, clearly”

“...Maybe”

You blinked. The nausea in your gut rose. Had you really spent all that time healing him, living with him, helping him achieve his own goals, just for it all to end in you being cheated on? You felt exhausted, leaning back against the wall, “What’re you hiding, Liam”

“I said its nothin’”

“Youve said nothing fourteen times this week”

“Have I?” And you felt even more confused as he smiled all knowing to himself, checking his phone as it started buzzing on the table, and immediately walked into the living room to pick it up. What the fuck.

But one thing about Liam that you were confident you knew, was that he was absolutely terrible at keeping secrets. One evening he was making dinner, the whole week he’d been humming Oasis songs without realising, yet he stopped whenever you began to notice, or ask whatever he was singing. He stood at the stove, stirring something red in a pan as he absent mindedly sang, “Slide Away” under his breath.

You slowly looked up from where you were going through your bills on the table, furrowing your brows as you stared at him.

It was like he felt your eyes on his back. He froze, slowly turning around as he muttered a quiet, “Shit” busying himself with cleaning up the side. But you were already smiling slightly, pushing away from the table as you made your way over to him “You were just singing Oais”

He didn't look at you as he stared down at the countertop, currently trying to scrub out an imagined stain on the worktop, “Have I not?” His voice was uncharacteristically high pitched as he shot you a wary side eye, “You haven't sung an oasis song in years”

“Have I not?”

“No” 

He finally met your eyes, staring down at you as you stared right back at him, crossing your arms like you were waiting for him to finally fess up, raising your eyebrows when he opened his mouth to talk, “Fancy a biscuit”

You narrowed your eyes, “You’re hiding something”

— · ✦ · —

The rain had been falling since not long after dinner, pattering softly against the bedroom window while the rest of the house settled into silence. You were curled up against the headboard with a book, absently turning another page every few minutes, while Liam lay beside you with one of his own. That was probably the weirdest thing, Liam reading.

Or, at least, he was supposed to be reading it. You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes. He hadn't turned a page once. Every now and then he'd stare down at the book as if he meant to read it, only to drift off again, tapping his thumb against the spine before sighing to himself.

Eventually you lowered your own book just enough to look at him, "You alright?"

"Hm?"

"You've been on that page since I started my last chapter." He frowned at the book in his lap before looking back at you. "Have I?" You laughed quietly. "You definitely have." He let out a breath through his nose, shut the book, opened it again almost immediately, stared at the page for another couple of seconds before closing it once more. "...Can't do it."

You smiled. "Do what?"

"Keep my mouth shut." That made you close your own book completely, "About what?"

He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you, "I think..." He hesitated, as though saying it out loud might somehow make it disappear again. "...I think we're doin' it."

"Doing what?" He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before muttering, almost casually, "...Oasis." You blinked. "What?"

"Oasis." He finally looked across at you, "Looks like we're gettin' back together." For a second you just stared at him, "...You're joking." He shook his head, "No."

"...You're actually serious?"

"Yeah."

You searched his face for any sign that he was winding you up, but there wasn't one. If anything, he looked relieved, like he'd been desperate to tell you for weeks, "Oh my God." A grin spread across your face before you could stop it, "Oh my God, Liam."

Before he had a chance to say another word, you threw your book somewhere across the bed and launched yourself at him, wrapping both arms around his neck so suddenly that he almost disappeared backwards into the pillows, "Careful!" he laughed, grabbing hold of you before the pair of you toppled off the side of the bed.

"Are you serious?" You pulled yourself back so your hands could plant themselves against his shoulders, smiling with so much excitement it almost made him audibly coo at how happy he looked, "I've literally just told you I am."

"LIAM!" You hugged him even tighter.

"I can't breathe," he managed between laughs, trying without much success to loosen your grip around his neck.

"I don't care," you replied, laughing just as hard. You'd waited years to hear those words, and now that he'd finally said them, there was absolutely no chance you were letting him go. He shook his head, still grinning, "I think y'should."

You eased back just enough to look at him properly, searching his face one last time for any sign that he was winding you up. There wasn't one. If anything, he looked relieved. "I genuinely can't believe you didn't tell me," you said, still smiling so much your cheeks ached. "You've been awful at keeping this secret." He gave an indignant little laugh. "I've been brilliant."

"Brilliant?" You raised an eyebrow. "You started humming Oasis songs while you were making tea, disappeared into the garden every time your phone rang, and every time someone mentioned Noel you looked like you were trying not to smile." He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Right... I'd forgotten about all that."

"Exactly." You laughed, shaking your head. "I honestly thought you were cheating on me, you were acting so shady about the whole thing!" You smacked his chest, he rubbed it better with a pained little chuckle

"Nah," he said with a shrug, "this is better."

"Much better."

His smile softened as he reached across and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "There is one thing, though." The teasing disappeared from his voice just enough for you to know he meant it. "You can't tell anybody."

"I won't." He looked at you for a long moment, clearly deciding whether or not he trusted that answer. "I'm serious."

"So am I." The silence that followed lasted no more than a few seconds before your eyes drifted innocently towards the phone charging on the bedside table. "I'm just going to ring my mum..." His head snapped round. "You are bloody not." You dissolved into laughter before you'd even moved. "I'm joking!"

"You little shit," he muttered, unable to stop himself smiling as he picked up the nearest pillow and threw it at you. It bounced harmlessly off your shoulder, making you laugh even harder, "Worth it," you said, still giggling.

"Not funny.", "It's a bit funny."

He rolled his eyes, gave in, and laughed with you. Outside, the rain carried on falling exactly as it had all evening, while inside the biggest secret he'd kept in weeks no longer felt like a burden. It was finally out, and somehow that made it all seem real.

— · ✦ · —

★February 2025

The reunion rolled around so quickly you didn't even have time to process it properly. Time disappeared literally under your feet and for a few weeks it was 1995 again. Except now everybody was old enough to laugh about it.

The rehearsal room felt absolutely surreal. Old road crew, old guitars, old jokes flying about. It was absolutely electric. You could hardly move for sound equipment, microphones and guitars dotted around the whole place, a filming crew for an upcoming documentary. This was, not that you'd tell him, a million times more exciting than Liam’s solo tour prep.

Bonehead walked into the first rehearsal carrying a paper cup of coffee, made a beeline towards you, where you were currently sitting on a crate like you didn't quite know what to do with yourself. He sat next to you, took one look around. And saw Liam and Noel already arguing. Without missing a beat, he laughed, shaking his head as he nudged you with his elbow, “...Here we go again”

You smiled softly, turning to face him as you accepted the extra cup of coffee he'd brought along for you, “What?” You said with a soft laugh, the only thing you could hear right now was Liam’s voice booming around the massive studio, complaining about how Noel was so short that maybe they'd have to get a custom microphone so people could hear him on stage.

“I’ve definitely seen this before” But it all felt lighter. Sure, you weren't there when Oasis was a thing, but something about this to you felt completely right. It felt like all the work you'd put in for this relationship had led up to this moment.

The brothers continued arguing over absolutely nothing. Every day sounded a little something like this”

“No, the tempo’s wrong”

“It isn't"

"It is."

"It wasn't twenty years ago."

"Exactly."

"You're impossible."

"So are you."

And yet five minutes later they were sitting over two beers like old women, reminiscing about an old tour story where Liam had gotten so drunk he…

You tuned them out at that point, sitting on your phone as they began arguing again. Then laughing again. They definitely just had a bad rep from the press from 2009 because clearly, this was how they showed their love for one another

— · ✦ · —

The closer the shows got, the quieter Liam had become. He found himself more exhausted than he had in ten years, coming home late at night just to immediately collapse asleep in your arms, no word on how his day had gone, if the rehearsals were going good, nope. Nothing. Just came home to your sweet refuge and immediately slept.

You could tell he was excited, saw the way his eyes lit up whenever he was talking about it, saw how happy he was when Noel and the sons Liam had never gotten a chance to meet came over for Easter when you cooked them a roast, and quickly excused yourself to go and phone a friend so Liam could have his time alone with his family. You heard it especially in the way he began belting out Oasis hits in the shower in the mornings when you were still trying to catch up on the sleep he made you lose the night before.

He was so excited. But underneath it all, he was terrified. And you could feel it.

One night after he came home a little more animated than the others, he’d spent his time making you fall apart beneath his hands, and then you both lay there in your clean sheets, completely naked, skin to skin. His hands were dancing up your spine, drawing lazy patterns as you began slowly dozing off against his bare chest. That was until it rumbled to life beneath you. He admitted quietly, “What if they hate it?”

You cracked one lazy eye open, brows furrowing as you registered his words, “Who?” You whispered, voice hoarse - his fault - “Everyone” he mumbled, slightly insecure of himself. It was a look that didn't suit him, you let your eye flutter shut again as you nuzzled into his bare chest, “They won’t, baby - they waited years”

“Theyve spent years singing the songs you're about to play for them”

He sighed softly, but it felt like, from your reassurance alone, he began relaxing against the sheets, wrapping his arms around you to properly pull you onto his chest just so he could feel the calming weight of you pressed entirely against him, “Still” He muttered into your hair, big hands stroking your back underneath the sheets so gently it could've made you cry. You smiled against his soft chest hair, lifting your head to rest your chin just on his sternum, “You’ve walked onto blogger stages” You reminded him He smiles softly back down at you, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to your forehead, sighing contentedly as you burrowed back against him, shivering when your cold hands pressed against his back, "Doesn't feel like it”

Yet despite himself, he slept like an absolute baby that night. Not plagued with the fever nightmares about the entire world hating the reunion, letting himself, like always, be calmed just y your voice, your breathing, and the weight of you against him as he began to be gently lulled into sleep

— · ✦ · —

★Summer 2025

Backstage felt like organised chaos.

People were everywhere. Crew members hurried through the corridors with headsets pressed against one ear, someone called for a guitar technician from somewhere down the hall, and every few seconds another familiar face appeared in the dressing room doorway to wish Liam luck before disappearing again. Through it all came the distant thud of music from the stadium, followed every now and then by a roar from the crowd that seemed to vibrate through the walls. The room itself was louder than it had been all day. Old friends were talking over each other, cups of tea sat forgotten on every available surface, and someone had started reminiscing about a tour from thirty years earlier that had somehow turned into an argument about whose memory was actually right.

Liam drifted between conversations without really joining any of them. Every now and then someone clapped him on the shoulder or wished him luck, and he'd grin, throw back a joke, ask if everyone was ready, but you knew him well enough to see the cracks. He kept checking the clock on the wall without realising he was doing it, and every time the crowd erupted outside his head turned instinctively towards the corridor. Gene was the first to pull him into a hug. "Go smash it," he said simply, giving his dad's shoulder a firm squeeze. Liam smiled, patting him twice on the back. "Of course I will." Lennon wasn't quite as sympathetic, "Just try not to forget the words." Liam looked at him as though he'd just said something ridiculous. "I know the words.", Lennon folded his arms, completely unconvinced. "You forgot them in Dublin."

"I did not."

"You definitely did."

"I missed one line."

"You sang the second verse twice."

"It worked, didn't it?" Lennon laughed. "Whatever helps you sleep." Across the room, Molly shook her head fondly before walking over. She leaned up to kiss his cheek, smoothing an imaginary crease from the shoulder of his parka as she did, "You'll be brilliant."

"Cheers, love."

For a while longer the room stayed full. Conversations overlapped, someone found an old photograph on their phone that everybody crowded round to see, and another burst of laughter echoed off the dressing room walls. Then, almost without anyone noticing, people began filtering out. A stage manager appeared at the door with a quiet reminder that it was nearly time. One by one the room emptied. Someone called and they'd see him out there. Another squeezed his shoulder on the way past. The door clicked shut behind the last person. The silence that followed felt strangely loud. For the first time all day, it was just the two of you.

Liam let out a slow breath, staring down at the floor for a moment before adjusting the sleeves of his parka for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes. You watched him fiddle with the zip, flatten the front, tug lightly at the cuffs, then smooth a hand over his hair despite the fact there wasn't a single strand out of place. You smiled to yourself and stepped closer, "Stand still."

He looked up. "What?"

"You've been messing with that jacket all afternoon."

"I have not."

"You have."

He rolled his eyes but stopped fidgeting long enough for you to straighten the front of the parka yourself. You smoothed the collar down with your hands, brushing away a piece of fluff that wasn't really there, "There." He glanced down.

"Better?"

"Much."

As you reached for his hands, you realised they were colder than you'd expected. He'd hidden it well all day, but there it was. The slightest tremor, not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for you. You wrapped both of your hands around his and rubbed your thumbs gently across his knuckles, "Nervous?"

He gave a tiny shrug, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, "...Bit."

You smiled, "I don't think anyone would blame you." He looked towards the closed dressing-room door, where the roar of the crowd drifted faintly through the walls again, "Funny, innit?"

"What is?"

"I've done this thousands of times."

"And?"

"This one feels different."

You gave his hands one last squeeze, "You're going to be alright." He looked back at you and nodded, though it took him a second before he trusted himself to speak, "...Yeah."

Another cheer rolled through the stadium, louder this time. Someone knocked softly on the door. "Two minutes." Liam nodded without taking his eyes off you. Then, almost absent-mindedly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, "...Love you angel, wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you"

"Love you too- "

He cut you off with a stare, squeezing your hands even tighter as he looked into your eyes with the biggest amount of vulnerability you’d seen from him in years. “I mean it” He began softly, and you knew he just needed you to be quiet while he worked through this himself, “I’ve never properly thanked you for all of it, have I?” you shot him a sad smile, opening your mouth to say something, but before you could he was already pulling you against him, resting his chin on your shoulder. You reciprocated almost immediately, holding him right back as you pressed your head into his shoulder, “My girl, got me outta my slump, my life was fucking miserable before you” His voice cracked gently, you didnt say anything. He continued, “I thought i was done for, first Valentine’s spent alone, band gone to shit, mid-divorce” He laughed quietly at how silly it all sounded now that he had everythin he’d wanted for the past twenty years, “And into the bar walks you, in your silly little skirt and your- your fucking pink cocktail” His voice was strained now, squeezing you tighter with his hands on your ribs, resting his forehead dow on your shoulder, “And you asked me why I wasnt celebrating Valentines day” It shocked you how good his memory was, but you let out your own watery little laugh as he coughed out something which sounded half chuckle half sob, pulling you even impossibly closer to him, “And I am so fuckin’ greatful for you - my bird, you're my reason. You're why all this is possible”

A stagehand popped his head around the corner, “We need you now, Liam” He said quietly. And then it was just the two of you again. He pulled back, holding your hands one more time

He smiled, small and genuine, before letting go of your hands and turning towards the door. You watched him disappear into the corridor, where the light from the tunnel spilled across the floor ahead of him. As he walked towards it, the noise outside grew louder and louder until it became a deafening wall of sound, swallowing every other noise around it. Noel joined him by his side, Liam barged into him playfully with his shoulder

For just a second, before he stepped out into the light, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Then he grinned. He took Noel’s hand in his own, raised it over their heads.

And he was gone.

— · ✦ · —

★February 14th, 2026

The tour had been a success. That wasnt enough for it actually, it had been ‘Fucking mega”, in Liam’s own sophisticated language. It took you all over the world, you were there every single night backstage, rooting him on. You made friends that would last for life, saw places that you never imagined you would. But that wasn't even the best part of it all.

The best part of it was now. Not the concerts, not the afterparties. But back at home. Shoes kicked off by the door, parka strewn across the floor. Chinese takeaway boxes littering your cosy living room. The house was quiet in a way you hadn't managed to feel in months. And here you were, 12 years after finding him in that bar alone, here you were surrounded by a life that wasn't his and yours, but the two of you together, four walls that you called a home but really it was the person inside who made it that way. He wasn't sad anymore, every headline spoke rumours about possibly playing another concert next year, but he paid no mind to them anymore. The headlines didn't speak to him now, all that mattered was you here, in his arms, curled up with him on the couch as you watched yet another sappy movie.

You curled into him on the couch, he was staring into space. Finally, he spoke, a sharp laugh huffing from his nose as he muttered, “Funny, innit” 

You turned your head to look up at him, soft smile on your face, "What is?”

“Spent years thinkin’ Oasis gettin’ back together was the thing I’d been missin’”

He looked around the room then, just once, taking inventory. Wedding photos. Pictures with Gene and Lennon, Molly’s graduation photo, the framed photo of your, yes, your grandchild - Molly had asked if you could have the honor of being Rudy’s step grandmother. You cried the whole way home to Lia,, he couldn't even calm you down when you got home, just help you in your bed for hours on end as you sobbed out all the love that had built in you over the years. His solo awards on the shelf above the telly. And finally, you. Everything you’ve built.

He smiled softly

“Turns out” He pressed the softest kiss to your temple, tugging you back down to curl into his side once more, “I already had it all long before that”

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NOEL GALLAGHER SEEN GETTING COZY WITH FORMER NANNY AT OPENING OASIS REUNION SHOW: [updated 16:32]

during oasis' highly anticipated show in cardiff last night, noel gallagher (58) was spotted with a woman seemingly years his junior, now revealed by netizens to be the nanny once hired to look after his two youngest children sonny and donovan.  back in the mid-2010s, the unnamed woman could be spotted in the back of the oasis songwriters' paparazzi shots on family holidays and days out in london. though last night she was supposedly seen side stage and in the back of social media posts made by the bands immediate friends and family (pictured below).

noel gallagher divorced his wife of twelve years, sara macdonald in 2023 citing that they simply 'grew apart' after twenty-two years of partnership. In the year that followed, the oasis reunion tour was announced fifteen years after the incident in 2009 at the rock en seine festival in paris which broke the band apart. though sources still insist noel is single and are yet to acknowledge the accusations and speculation of an affair, it's hard not to make comparisons to other famous scandals; in 2005, it was revealed that jude law had cheated on his fiancée sienna miller with his children's nanny, accumulating in the breakup of their engagement.

[CLICK HERE FOR MORE NOEL GALLAGHER NEWS]

liam’s first matcha

Liam should be served on a cone, swirled up and poured with sprinkles with the way that he’s gotten all soft and sweet as of late. Truly, he was a fucking piece of soft serve, melting under your sweet gaze and glossed lips. And sometimes, he couldn’t even muster up the energy to be embarassed about it.

He’s barely even dating you. Just casual, you would always say — which would always drive him crazy because the way his heart always leapt inside his chest at the sight of you couldn’t be classified as casual in this world or the next.

But he had just gotten you to agree to a date. And another after that, then another, and another, up until the two of you had gotten to the point of keeping up a text thread of plans and future dates that Liam’s trying hard not to sound too eager about. But fuck, you just turn him into absolute putty in your hands.

These days, Liam spends his morning walks thinking about how you were probably fast asleep in the pajamas he had once seen a glimpse of in a coveted selfie he had fought hard not to save into his phone for fear that you would somehow know and call him out on it.

He spends his lunchtime practicing new dishes that he could maybe probably absolutely make for you if he ever gets the guts to ask you to come over, Liam watches telly and wonders if you like the same programs as he does, he calls his mam and wonders if she’ll like you, he showers and wonders if you like the new soap he’s trying out. Liam’s gone absolutely fuckin’ mad.

And he can’t really go on like this. Not when he’s nearing his fifties and he’s got his new solo career waiting in the wings. That really won’t do. So he shakes his head, calls his sons, and plays the part of the responsible father for a day. Maybe having those two moody knuckleheads around his place would give him something else to think about other than what your hair would feel like between his fingers and where you said you’ll take him on your next date.

So, Liam putters around his house; he takes down all the curtains he could get his hands on, washes them himself, puts them back up, and decides that it really doesn’t match the interior. Has it always not matched the interior? That’s how he ends up taking a quick trip to the shops, hood pulled up high just so people won’t stop him for a picture and he won’t have the urge to ask them Does this shade of blue look tacky to you as well? Without the opinions of nosy passerbys and with the thought that he should have maybe held off until the kids were there with him to make themselves useful, Liam settles on three different sets of curtains, just because he can’t decide and just because he can afford it. So he jets back home, looks at his bare windows, and gets back to work.

By the time he’s done putting up all the curtains — the blue ones that look less tacky in the natural light — Liam’s deciding if he should maybe put the olive green ones instead. Which is why he decides to unscrew the curtain rods once again, back protesting so loudly that it echoes over the loudspeaker playing Neil Young.

So Liam does it again, he takes off all the living room curtains, before deciding that maybe he should keep some of them up for reference, and hanging them back up side by side, royal blue and olive green, clashing like a horrible lakeside view.

Scratch that idea, then. Maybe the thick velvet ones would work best, Liam’s body protesting as he mounts the ladder once more and slots the taupe velvet curtain next to the blue and green. Then, he steps down and decides.

He decides and decides and decides, head tilted at an angle as he surveys each one, his eyes half trained on his phone, definitely not waiting for a text from you. Maybe you would know which curtain was best. Should he text you? Should he call? Should he ask you to come over?

Before Liam could make any hasty decisions, his phone finally rings and he nearly jumps out of his skin as he scrambles to reach for it, already sliding the accept button without looking at the contact name.

Would he be a terrible father to admit that he wilted when he heard that it was just Lennon calling to tell Liam that he was on his way? Maybe.

He even goes as far as to check on your text thread as soon as Lennon hangs up, staring wistfully at the screen as if that would magically make you respond. Annoyed, Liam sets his phone down and surveys the living room once again, deciding to sweep up the floors just in time before Lennon comes.

Sweeping turns to mopping, mopping turns to wiping down tables with cloths, wiping downs tables turns to wiping down the newly exposed windows, which then turns into flopping bonelessly on the couch as soon as the front door opens and Lennon walks in, brows first as he judges the state of his father’s living room — one window crammed with three garish curtains, the rest either bare or halfheartedly donning blue curtains that Liam was starting to hate.

“Alright?” Lennon asks, cautiously approaching Liam with skeptical eyes.

Liam rolls his eyes and simply pats the space on the couch next to him. “Oh, just sit down and wait for your brother, will you?”

A snort, but the kid mercifully follows suit anyway, making himself comfortable beside Liam. “This isn’t one of your weird little things isn’t it?”

Liam wrinkles his nose in distaste and looks at his kid. “What weird little thing?” he asks. Have his kids been monitoring him like he had been monitoring them? The thought had never really crossed Liam’s mind.

His son makes a face, one that particularly reminds him of the kid’s mam back in the day when Liam was being deliberately thick — about drugs, women, or the previous night’s activities that often involved both. But this time, it’s Lennon giving him the look and Liam’s not even done anything incriminating. Yet. Maybe. He’s not really sure. All he knows is that he can’t stop thinking about you and the way you chewed your strawberry gum the last time he saw you, the way your well manicured nails looked holding a pool cue, the way that your hair looked as soft as silk.

Lennon shakes his head. “You’re being odd,” he mumbles. Liam resists the urge to shake the kid for clarification. “And you went overboard with the fuckin’ curtains, man. What are these colors?”

Liam heaves a deep sigh and almost sinks his entire body into the couch, his bones aching with the retroactive pain of running around the house like a headless chicken with a final mission of arranging curtains. Now, he surveys the room and he thinks that this is quite possibly the ugliest he’s ever seen his living room. Still, he asks Lennon, “Which one looks best?”

He snorts, laughing. “None, ‘ya old dog,” he guffaws, wrinkling his nose at the garish curtains. And quite frankly, Liam does have to agree. He’d ask himself what he was thinking, but really he knows he wasn’t thinking at all.

“D’ya wanna go to the shops with me and pick some curtains out?” he offers hopefully, another mad grasp at straws to keep you out of his head.

Lennon chuckles. “Only if Gene wants to,” he says. Which really, could mean anything based on that boy.

With a sigh, Liam says, “Now, we wait.”

“Now we wait,” says Lennon.

“You would think the kid would grow up to be more punctual,” grumbles Liam as Lennon faffs about on his phone. Kids and their phones these days, inseperable, Liam thinks.

“Relax,” Lennon placates, then, “Hey, have you heard about —“

It’s great to be with his kids again. Somewhere along Lennon putting him onto a new band and telling Liam about this new girl he’s been talking to, he starts to think less about you and more about the current. But still, you linger — in the back of his mind, not too far away that he can’t reach you, but not maddeningly at the forefront that he can’t even pick curtains correctly.

So Liam lets himself be taken away, hands flying as he tells Lennon some story about the gigantic bird that Sid had taken inside the house between his tiny mouth.

It’s not long after that that Gene finally comes through the front door, awkward teenage swagger first, gawky grin second as he greets both Liam and Lennon with the enthusiasm only a kid his age could manage. In his hands he holds his very nice and very posh overnight bag that Liam had bought a while back, and in the other he holds an iced drink that Liam annoyingly identifies immediately identifies as the drink you’ve always got in your hands. Liam smiles, standing to pat him on the back and say something snarky about watches not existing in Gene’s world.

He lets the kid snark back, lets him amble up to his brother and pretend to punch him before asking to go outside and have a fag, sparing a look to Liam and telling him to catch up. Before he could yell at them to be careful with the backdoor as he’s just fixed the hinges on it, the two disappear in a whirlwind of laughter that Liam’s happy to have in his home.

He shakes his head, grabbing his own cigarettes off the console table, and in doing so, is faced to face with Gene’s drink, already dripping condensation onto the lacquered wood. Liam grunts, lifting the plastic cup and wiping the ring of water dutifully with the hem of his shirt, and placing a coaster under it. That kid, Liam thinks, always forgettin’ the fuckin’ coaster. Time and time again.

With a quick grab, he takes the pack of cigarettes and places them in his pocket, but not before training his eye back on the drink.

What was so special about it anyway? You’ve told Liam before that you couldn’t live a day without it. And true to your word, Liam’s never seen you without it. When asked on what it tastes like, you always laugh that tinkling laugh of yours and tell Liam, a bit patronisingly if you asked him, that he shouldn’t worry about it as he wouldn’t like it anyway.

Now was his chance. The green drink sits on his center table, half full and seemingly fresh as if inviting him to finally quell his curiosity. Without a second thought, Liam grabs it and takes the straw to his lips, taking a sip as if that would bring you and him closer together. As if knowing the taste of your favorite drink would make him understand you better, would entwine your souls, or would open some kind of third eye.

Instead, he sips on the drink and spits out right back out with a violent grunt as some droplets fall onto the carpet. Disgusting, he thinks as he swipes at his mouth.

You’ve got disgusting taste, it seems. Meaning that Liam’s got a shot with you if you were willing to bet on such a fixer-upper as that vile concoction.

An acquired taste, you told him once.

Liam tries not to let his chest warm as he leaves the living room and heads out into the garden where his boys are laughing like hyenas.

liam’s first owala

It was this fucking heatwave that got you acting all fussed about Liam’s health as if he was on his deathbed instead of just sitting at a healthy and happy fifty-three.

He’s known you for six years now, been dating you for five of them, and Liam knows you inside and out. And right now, he knows that you’re just concerned for him — but that doesn’t stop him from being a bit miffed.

“It’s just a bit of sun,” he waves you off as he wipes the sweat off his face with a face cloth, his parka cooking him from the usual walk that him and Buttons have just taken. “I’m made of tougher stuff, babe. Not gonna melt or anythin’ daft.”

You pitch him with a look, the one with the clenched jaw, twitching brow, and disappointed frown that he knew too well. You’ve been going on and on and on lately — sun cream, water, UV protectant clothing. As if he was gearing up to go into the wasteland instead of his usual London neighborhood.

“Liam, this is serious,” you say pointedly as you putter about after him, Buttons trailing after both of you curiously. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Liam had been feeding Buttons in the mornings after walks, and you had unknowingly been feeding her a second breakfast as soon as you woke up. Once the both of you realized, you had weaned her off the breakfast fit for a Queen, and she had been clingier than ever.

“Still alive, aren’t I?” he asks, walking down the hall and into the master bedroom, happy to be in an airconditioned room after walking around in the humid heat. He’d never admit this, but he had cut his walk short this morning, his lungs winded and his knees weak as he led Buttons to a shaded area to laze about until he decided on going home.

You huff and step in front of him, a hand on his parka-clad chest as you stop him from getting into the en suite bathroom for a shower. “This stupid parka, too,” you grumble distastefully at the material in your hands. Liam has to bite a fond smile at your adorable annoyance. He’s done that before, gotten so heartstruck at the way your face crumpled up in concern over him and his hip — he’d let a smile slip, to which he regretted it almost immediately as soon as you continued your rant with renewed vigor.

“Don’t like it, hm?” he teased, moving closer to you with a swaggering step as he took a risk with taking your hips in his hands.

You glare up at him, hands still on his chest. “You’re gonna die of a heat stroke,” you tell him bluntly.

He guffaws, head thrown back and everything as you give little aggrieved smacks to his torso. “I know I’m old but fuck,” he snorts. “Don’t have to be looking forward to it so much.”

Your brow furrows as you pich his arm and Liam responds by hissing. “Not funny!” you yelp. “That’s so not funny, Liam! I’m being serious here, you oaf!”

He lets his chuckles die down before assessing you, your distressed expression paired with the way you were still letting him hold you meant that you were still in a good enough mood to hear him out. So he starts, “Listen, yeah? I’m good with the walks and everything. Do I get a bit winded and hot? Yeah, of fuckin’ course. But I’m fine aren’t I?”

You frown at him. “But what if you aren’t?” you challenge. “What if you think you’re alright until the very last minute that you aren’t?”

Liam knows that worrying is part of who you are. Hell, part of your job is expecting the worst and preparing for all of ot with carefully curated spreadsheets and Plan A to Plan Z. So he knows that this is just you being you.

But he also knows that love sometimes means knowing when to back up.

So Liam backs up, with an aggrieved sigh, he says, “I’ll take a shower then we’ll talk about this, alright?” he says. Because honestly, he doesn’t want to see you worry over him a minute longer. But also, he felt quite gross in his sweaty parka and the heat that was trapped inside. And he wouldn’t admit this openly, but you may just be right with the whole heat wave thing.

And the smile you give him is worth it, like a breath of fresh air after all that frowning you’ve been directing to him. And really, Liam can’t help but tilt your chin up with two fingers for a sweet kiss to your glossy lips, tasting of the cream cheese toast you’ve undoubtedly had for breakfast and the disgusting matcha that Liam’s learned to like through shared kisses.

Three days later, your affectionately bought survival kit arrives in the mail, a baby blue Owala bottle that matches your flashy little pink one, only without the clinking charms and sparkly stickers, a new UV-ray sensitive parka that Liam spent hours being picky about, a silly hand fan that Liam knows he won’t use unless you give him a wack around the head, and a full bottle of sun cream enough to last him up to his 70th birthday.

So he takes the bottle on his walk, the annoying weight of it swinging around and making him grit his teeth at the fact that this was yet another thing he had to worry about. But really, it was all worth it when he got home to see you grinning and giddy at the sight of Liam drinking from what is essentially an adult sippy cup.

He does it again, just to see that same smile of approval, then again, and again, and again, until his water bottle’s part of his everyday routine and he’s pissing bucketloads, and the damned thing has finally earned its very first sticker.

liam & the calico critter

Much like a lot of modern things you like to yammer on about, Liam didn’t understand it.

You’ve always been one for an odd little trinket or a cute little accessory. Quite frankly, Liam knew you were close by if he could hear the telltale clack of your heels, the birds start to chirp around you, and the metallic clanging of the myriad of keychains you had on your bag or tied to the belt loops on your hip.

It was as adorable as it was confusing. What are they even for? For my joy, Liam. How much do you spend on them? I can afford it, Liam. How do you chose which ones to bring with your for the day? It speaks to me? Like, literally? No, Liam. I usually base it on what I’m wearing.

All those questions and he still couldn’t really get a grasp of it. But you got a kick out of the cute little things, so he let it slide. What’s the harm in a little knick knack or two?

But the first night that you had gotten your precious little critter was a night Liam always remembered. It had been your birthday, a night spent in a secluded part of a restaurant near your place, all your friends and a few siblings coming to join in celebration, and Liam had been the lucky bastard to sit beside you the whole night and pepper kisses to the exposed column of your neck.

He remembers this night so vividly because he had gone through various lengths to get you the dress that you had been talking about nonstop. It was an old one — from the archives of Betsey Johnson, and Liam had to fucking work to buy it. Honestly, it had been no easy feat. And he was quite sure that it would be the best gift of the night, something flashy enough for everyone to approve of his choice, but something personal enough that it was still very you.

And like he predicted, you had encircled him in a vigorous hug as soon as you opened his present, laughing into his neck as you muttered your disbelief and your adoration as you looked up at him with sparkling eyes and kissed him so hard that the crowd of your friends began to groan and wolf whistle.

But that was nothing compared to your reaction when you had opened Vera’s gift to you. She hadn’t even been one of the friends introduced to him as a childhood friend or anything like that. She was just Vera from work, but she had gotten the pleasure of the best reaction of the night from you as you unwrapped her gift and squealed so loud that Liam thought that that was the end of his hearing for good.

You had gone so far as to climb over Liam’s lap to get out of the shared booth you were in, scrambling to your feet with giddy laughter as you ran to Vera and hugged her so tight that the two of you fell onto the floor with happiness, yelling, “Oh my god I can’t believe you found one!”

“What’s so special about the little thing, anyway?” Liam asked, the both of you back at his place after the party had ran so late that the sun began to rise. Currently, your head was laying in his chest, your hair tickling his nose, and the comforter wrapped around the two of you as you lazily awaited sleep to come. Little did he know, that wouldn’t be the last of his neverending questions.

The sheets rustled as you angled your head up to meet his eyes, his chest squeezes with affection at the intimate sight. “The Calico Critter?” you ask.

He hums, arm coming to wrap around you beneath the sheets, your skin warm against his as he tries to get you as close as possible to him. “Yeah,” he says. “‘S’ a tiny thing, innit?”

You smile, a soft little thing as you shift in his arms and reach for the critter at your bedside table, contorting your body so that you don’t have to separate an inch from him. You return with a triumphant smile, facing him with the thing held preciously in your palm “Ta-da!” you say, giddy.

Liam nods and takes the thing from you, pinching it between his forefinger and thumb. God, his thumb was bigger than the little critter and it already got you smiling like this? Trying to be supportive, Liam asks, “What does it … do?”

You laugh, amused at his lack of knowledge. “It doesn’t do anything, Liam,” you tell him, in that tone that means that he’s supposed to know that, obviously. “It’s just a critter!”

“Yeah, but…” he says, trailing off as he rolls the figurine in his hands.

You sigh and take pity on him, taking back your precious critter away from him and tenderly putting it in your palms. “Calico Critters are this line of little animal figurines. They’ve got cats, dogs, mice, rabbits, even moles,” you explain before shrugging. “And they’re really cute.”

“So this one is … just cute?” he asks, head spinning in confusion. Then why react like you’ve just been gifted a fucking Porsche, then?

“This one,” you say with that same tiny smile that always has the power to drive him mad. “Is really rare. I’ve been looking all over for it. Etsy, Vinted, Depop, Reddit threads — anywhere,” you say even as Liam nods along and pretends to know those sites. He’s heard a few of them before when you’ve been scouring the internet for a nice pair of vintage heels.

He nods. “And this particular one is important because …?” he asks, squinting to look at the furry thing in your palms, dressed in a kitshcy little getup.

At that you beam, blindingly bright as you hold the thing up to your face and proclaim, “Because it’s me! See!” you exclaim.

It took him a while to see the comparison between his marvelous girlfriend and her furry little figurine, but the more it stays on the bedside table, the more that Liam comes to appreciate it.

It’s grown to be somewhat a part of your days as well. He sits it back up when it gets knocked down, you bring it with you on days that you think your outfits match, you bring it for trips to beaches and cities and mountains, he turns it away when his hands wander a bit too low below your waistline.

Liam’s gotten used to it.

What he isn’t used to is being the one to tote it around across the globe.

It was bad enough that you had dismissed his idea of going on tour with him, stating that you had work to do and client’s schedules to appease. You somehow still managed to weasel in a task for Liam to do while he was heartsick and missing you.

“Just bring her with you!” you said as Liam was packing his suitcase, your hands shoving the critter gently between a parka and a pair of jeans.

He huffs, “And what will she do?”

You rolled your eyes, “She’s a toy, Liam,” you say exasperatedly, smiling cheekily as you did so. “She’s not gonna do anything.”

He snorts, “Yeah, yeah,” he says.

“C’mon!” you say, pleading your case. “This way you’ll have a piece of me around, yeah?”

And really, he couldn’t say no to that. “Yeah, alright,” he relented before pointing sternly at you. “But she isn’t going in the suitcase,” he proclaims. “She might suffocate.”

Your laugh was well worth the odd looks he got at the airport for having the little critter peeking out of his parka’s pocket.

And if he was being honest, he found it quite fun. He would find reasons to text you, sending photos of the critter between his thumb and forefinger, looking out the airplane window, facing the Eiffel Tower, eating a nice Spanish breakfast, sunbathing on a hotel lounger. You always reacted with such enthusiasm that Liam found himself thinking of what else he and the critter could do to get your attention.

Once, he had even taken a photo of the little thing with a cigarette held up to its mouth by Liam. He had laughed up a storm at your response filled with mock disappointment and copious emojis.

He had even began placing it atop the amps at his gig for good luck, a way of having you there with him even though you were already miles away.

It had even began garnering attention, the kiddies over on Twitter asking questions about it that Liam didn’t particularly want to answer.

But he’ll be damned if he didn’t say that he felt his heart clench in his chest after a gig one night, walking from the dressing room to the van, as a young fan came up to him and offered him a tiny little critter.

“For you,” she said shyly, handing him a dog clad in baby blue. “That’s you,” she said.

liam & matching keychains

It was only a matter of time before your clinking and clanking army expanded to Liam. Especially when he knew he had a hard time saying no to you. Really, all you had to do was tilt your head and widen your eyes and he’d be sucking his teeth and saying yes with all the begrudging of a man who’s really right where he wants to be.

So when you came across a pair of sheep on a little keychain, one with a pink scarf and hat while the other one donned a blue one, Liam knew that you were immediately coming home with them. He saw it with the way you melted at the sight, with the way you kept caressing the soft cotton material, the way you checked the price tag surreptiously — and like clockwork, “I’m gonna buy it.”

And like always, he combats, “Don’t be fuckin’ daft. Just use my card.” You don’t always let him win, saying something or the other about the importance of letting you do your own thing or whatever. But this time, you smile, concede gracefully, take his credit card from his palms, and plant a glossy and fruity kiss to his stubbly cheek.

He watches you as you weave seamlessly through the shop, ending up at the counter where you tap your high-heeled foot onto the floor in subtle impatience. He watches as the cashier smiles at you and seems to compliment your choice of purchase, he watches the way you brighten and launch into a story with your hands flying wildly around you. Maybe you’re talking about the way you and Liam had gotten lost on the way to this shop. Or the way you had heard of it in the first place through that phone of yours. Either way, halfway through your spiel, you whip around to find Liam across the shop, waving at him as you no doubt introduce him to the now wide-eyed cashier who definitely knew who he was.

You leave the store two sheep keychains heavier, and Liam one autograph down. But it isn’t until the pair of you get home that Liam realizes what the other keychain is for.

“Absolutely not,” he says, trying and failing to put his foot down as you stubbornly attach the blue clad sheep to his usual satchel. “No,” he tries again, but you only smile as you fix the tiny thing where it now hangs on his zipper, before booping its nose gently.

“It’s cute!” you protest, sauntering over to him as you settle yourself beside him, your perfume addicting to his senses.

He huffs, trying to put on a tough front. “‘S’not even rock and roll,” he grumbles, shaking his head even as you openly laugh at him. “I’m not a sheep,” he protests.

You snort and pat his knee consolingly, wedging yourself so close to him that Liam could almost feel himself forgiving you already. “No you aren’t,” you say, in that tone that Liam knows is condescending and very much meant to just poke fun at him. “But isn’t it so cute! Your bag looks quite bland, doesn’t it?”

“That’s because you’re supposed to put stuff in it instead of outside of it,” he teases, shaking his head at you in mock disapproval as you roll your eyes in retaliation. “C’mon, babe. You’ve already got me toting around them critters.”

“So what’s one more?” you challenge with a raised brow, your smile so filled with love that Liam feels like a heart attack on legs. “Don’t you wanna match with me?”

He’d match outfits with you if you asked. But would he let you know that? No, not really. Some things were meant to be kept close to the chest. So he grumbles and groans and puts up a fight, trying to tell you that there were much better animals than sheep and that he’d much prefer a bear or a tiger to hang from his bag rather than a placid sheep.

You laugh and laugh and laugh at him, already smiling like you know you’ll win. Liam’s spoiled you rotten, really — handed everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter because he’d rather choke than see you unhappy. Just last week, he remembers following you around like a lost pup at Waterstones as you surveyed the shelves and paid for your haul with his card afterwards.

So it isn’t a surprise to him that he goes out a week later, his bag hitched cross body around his torso, and a tiny fucking sheep with a stupid blue fuckig scarf and hat on the zipper.

The sun wrote Sheep’s Electric as their headline after that, and you laughed so hard that your wine came out your nose. Liam joked about how gross you were, but he had gone and gotten you a tissue and planted a kiss to your hair anyway.

liam’s first face mask

He remembers when he was still living at home and his mam would spend the little time she had to herselves sat by the telly with whatever program was on. At the time, he didn’t understand it — why spend your day looking at other people on a screen when you can go outside and make the most of life?

But now that he’s essentially made the most out of his life, bumming around by the telly was one of his favorite pasttimes. And to make it even better, bumming about with you was his favorite thing ever.

You had introduced him to a myriad of shows. Just a few months back, you had him glued to his seat every episode of some summer show with two brothers. You had been quite enthusiastic about it, and Liam, had fallen for it as well.

Then, you got him hooked on Love Is Blind, the two of you making snide commentary under your breath and between mouthfuls of crisps as you giggle to yourselves, more entertained by each other than the telly.

Then, there was that lord and lady show you liked to watch, which he always teased you about liking by saying that you were just hooked for the softcore porn. But the joke was on him as you managed to herd him to the sofa to watch a couple episodes, and he ended up hooked right up to the last second.

So it was safe to say that you ran the remote at his place. And Liam always let you because he was quite content to sit and watch whatever you liked to sit and watch, as long as ge could curl up with you and be lazy for a day. And with adapting your taste in shows, comes adapting your tastes in snacks — those crisps with flavors like jalapeño and salted egg that make him wince but ends up eating half of anyway, the fruity little sodas you bought in bulk, the chocolates shaped like eggs that make his throat burn but can’t get enough of anyway.

Often, you’d even have to fight with Liam for the rights to your own snacks, pouting at him whenever you come home just to see your stock of foods at his place go down by a few pieces after Liam’s indulged in a few munches.

“It’s my food!” you’d protest, not entirely angry as you stand in the kitchen with your hands on your hips.

“It’s my house! I bought ‘em!” he’d retaliate, snarking his way through the argument as you inevitably rolled your pretty eyes at him, your fresh set of lashes fluttering in a way that Liam finds entirely alluring. And because of that, he reels back, “I’ll buy ‘ya some more, yeah? Hm, that okay with ‘ya, moody madam?”

You’d snort and shove at his chest weakly, the contact making him weak at the knees. “Pig,” you’d tease him, only to regret it as his hands migrate to your waist and begin tickling you so relentlessly that you begin shrieking between bouts of laughter.

After that, he adopts the way you react to your precious television shows. Now and then, a rogue slay, leaves his lips which makes you so twitchy with laughter and embarassment that Liam’s chest swells up with pride even as you whine about not ever wanting to hear that from him again.

Shockingly, he doesn’t resist much when you bring one face mask more to one of your coveted times of lazing around. More likely because you sat straddled on his lap as you placed it, cooing about how adorable he was in a way that Liam knew meant that he looked ridiculous more than endearing. But still, he placed his hand comfortably on the swell of your arse and pretended not to know that placing a face mask didn’t take as much time and kisses as you bestowed upon him.

Really, Liam’s always been curious about it — more so as you began using it more and more around him. You’d always rambled on about cooling gel and aloe vera and rejuvination that he began to wonder how it would feel on his own battered skin. You’ve always looked so relaxed when you wore it, and Liam’s been itching to ask you for one without making a fool of himself.

But he’s a lucky bloke anyway, because you offer it up to him like he hasn’t been thinking about it every time he sees you with one on. “It’s jasmine scented!” you cried with glee, wriggling on his lap as you carefully smoothed your hands on every plane of his face.

“What’s that smell like?” he asks, letting his head hit the back of the couch and his eyes droop downwards.

You hum, “Calming,” you answer.

He snorts and pinches your hip lightly. “You’ve got no clue, have ‘ya?” he laughs, opening one eye to peer at you and your steady hands with amusement.

“Shut up, Liam,” you tell him, and he obediently follows. “Jus’ relax, yeah?”

He nods, not minding the fact that you’ve been caressing his face for a few minutes now. It’s then, with your hands on him, the weight of you in his lap, the scent of what must be jasmine in his nose, and the feeling of the cooling mask on his face that he feels absolutely relaxed. He could do this more often, really.

liam’s first pimple patch

He doesn’t tell you, but you’ll know soon enough.

A few things happen that morning that has Liam all scrambled; he wakes up and you’re not there in his bed, Buttons notices your absence as well as Liam does, and he’s got a masive fucking pimple on his chin right when he’s got a big fucking interview. Fuckin’ grand.

So he takes Buttons on the usual morning walk and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin and make things worse, he comes back and makes breakfast and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, he cleans up the house and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, he texts you good morning and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, and he feeds his cats and tries not to scratch at his itchy chin, but then he goes upstairs to pick an outfit and forgets all about the volcanic level pimple he’s sporting and scratches at the spot, making him cry out undignified at the pain.

Buttons’ ears perk up as she pads closer to Liam, concerned and intrigued at his pain as he hisses and tries to breathe in and out. Wasn’t he too old for fucking pimples? Didn’t these things have an age limit? Because they should.

He tries to shoot you a text, but he knows you’re busy and preparing for a meeting with a client so he refrains from distracting you witb stupid questions. Instead, he busies himself with laying out an outfit, before heading to the shower to finally get ready.

He sees it in between brushing his teeth and hopping in the shower — a little pack of yellow stars sitting by his shaving cream and razor, alongsied a pink scrunchie and that odd stone you like to rub on your face.

He’s made fun of you for it, called you his little galaxy whenever you wore them. But you always turned your nose up and told him that it was so that your pimples weren’t exposed to the world — and predictably, because it was cute.

Now, he looks at the damned thing and wonders if you were right (You always are). He ruminates on it as he spits out his toothpaste, as he scrubs himself in the shower, as he lathers shampoo in his hair, as he rinses off and hops out the shower, as he puts deodorant and dresses himself, and really, he almost lasts until the very last second.

He’s about to leave the bedroom when a clatter sounds from the bathroom, making Liam sigh and putter back in. On the ground is his fallen toiletries, making him groan as he bends to pick them up. And at the center of it all, of course, is the cluster of stars that seem to scream out to him.

It’s a sign! you would have said to him if you were there. You loved to believe in that sort of shite. So with a snort and a belief that he was doing what you would want him to do, he picks up the patch and places one stupid star on his chin, right above the pimple.

Once the interview comes out, you text him a myriad of capital letters and emojis that Liam knows convey how much you found it amusing. And really, he’s glad to be of service.

liam gallagher and the art of soft launching

The two of you had talked about it many times. The kids knew, his mam knew, your friends and family knew, and it was just a matter of time before the press found out. In fact, they were already starting to catch wind of a mystery girl, a few pictures and eyewitnesses stating that he’s been spotted out and about with a pretty young thing half his age.

For all your fuss about trends, you didn’t get along much with social media. You were a private person with a private life, and Liam would hate to be the one to take that away from you. But you had told him, time and time again that you were choosing this life, choosing him.

So the two of you talked.

“No statements,” he said firmly, the two of you laying on a sunny beach somewhere in the south of France, his hand on the warm skin kf your exposed stomach as he cuddled up to you, not minding the heat one bit. “Nothin’ formal or fancy.”

You hum. “I don’t want any interviews,” you lay down your nonnegotiable, sunglasses perched elegantly on the bridge of your nose.

He nods. “No makin’ a spectacle of it,” he says. “But I ain’t want The Sun to prod into it either and take this away from us, d’ya know what I mean?”

You nod. “I know,” you respond, letting the waves crash and fill the silence between you and the scent of sand and sun cream swirl in the air. “You could always just soft launch.”

“What?” he asked, nose wrinkled in confusion and his hand tracing idle circles on your skin. You had a habit of saying words and phrases Liam never understood, mostly young person slang and internet lingo that the kiddies on Twitter hadn’t managed to teach him yet.

You shrug, your limbs lazy and languid from the sun. “It’s like …” you say, trailing off as you try to find the right words. “Letting people know you’re in a relationship but not exactly who it’s with.”

The groove between his brows deepen. Fuck, he was old. “What?”

Pariently, you explain again. Liam thinks you’re a saint for that. “It’s like posting a picture that’s inherently romantic, y’know?” you ask, making sure he was following along as he nods for you to continue. “Maybe it’s a candlelit dinner with someone’s hand on the tablecloth, a bouquet of flowers being handed to you, a picture of a kiss mark on a cheek. You know they’re dating someone, but you don’t know who the someone is.”

“So,” he asks, feeling dumb as a rock. “It’s pictures?”

You nod and don’t even laugh as you do so. “Exactly. Always taken at an angle where you can’t really see who it is,” you say. “So everything’s private but it isn’t really a secret.”

You’re a genius. A damn star and Einstein’s second coming. He expresses his love for you through a kiss on your bare shoulder and asks “So when d’ya wanna do it ?”

You laugh this time, not sparing him anymore. “You wanna do a soft launch?” you ask woth incredulous laughter.

He shrugs. “Why not?” he asks. “Old dogs can still learn new tricks, an’ that.”

You snort and shake your head affectionately. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes, Liam.”

“Well, that’s how I’m sayin’ it anyway,” he says.

You chuckle and reach in your tote bag for a book, already checking out of the conversation as you idly say, “Do whatever you want, Liam,” you tell him. “I’m all in, either way.”

And it’s there that his chest constricts with affection, from the pure trust that you’re giving him. He’s been in the spotlight for years, this wasn’t new to him in anyway. But yet here you are, private and quiet but still wanting to burn in the spotlight with him anyway.

He looks at you, already sucked in by your book, and bites a fond smile as he pulls up his phone, taking a picture that he’s sure has his thumb on the corner again like you always scold whenever he takes pictures of you.

The beach is bright and warm from where he sits, the view even better with you to share it with. On the ay over, you had spent the flight with your head on his shoulder, snoozing the day away with your mouth slightly open and the tiniest snores coming out from it. He wouldn’t enjoy this without you, that he knows. And the fact that he wants to stay in this moment forever is a testament to the tenderness of his heart.

What better moment to share than one filled with so much love and trust?

And also, you looked quite fit in your bikini. So, there’s that.

liam & the photobooth pictures

Later, when his phone’s been silenced and the two of you have washed the sand off your feet. You take a picture that’s just for the two of you.

In a dingy alley sits an old photobooth, and past the short curtains that block the light from the outside, peeks a pair of pink sandals hanging off the lap of a man clad in bermuda shorts.

Grumbles can be heard from the inside, as well as a few stray giggles, and a delighted squeal. When the photo’s all developed and the couple’s still sitting inside, enjoying each other’s company behind the curtain, two strips fall out the slot — a woman kissing a man’s cheek, a shot of her almost falling off his lap with laughter, a pair of giddy smiles, and a tender kiss to seal it all off.

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