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When a blind date with Noel Gallagher curated by one of your mates goes very well, by the minute the both of you broke the dating rule and got a bit handsy. - 2013 era
an: I am officially done with online school, so hereâs a little treat for you lot xx
warnings: drinking, smut, drunk sex, oral f-receiving, fingering, p n v, dirty talk, raw (yikes), fingers in mouth
The amber glow of The Blue Note spilled out onto the rain slicked pavement, casting a warmth that didnât quite reach your freezing hands.
You checked your reflection in the glass door, smoothing down the youâre wearing coat and cursing your best friend for the fiftieth time that evening.
"Heâs older, yeah, but heâs brilliant," Raeâs voice echoed in your head from their frantic phone call three hours ago.
"Heâs just out of a massive chapter of his life, heâs doing the High Flying Birds thing now, and he needs someone refreshing. Just go. Drink some whiskey. You're twenty-five, stop acting like an old soul and go live a little!"
Right.
You sigh to yourself,
pushing the heavy oak door open. The thick, rich scent of bourbon, old leather, and jazz washed over you.
A trio on the small stage in the corner was coaxing a lazy, seductive rhythm out of a saxophone, a double bass, and a piano. The place was packed, intimate, and dimly lit by flickering candles.
scanning the room, your eyes landed on a booth in the back.
Sitting there, swirling a dark amber liquid in a lowball glass, was Noel Gallagher.
He was forty-six now, the sharp lines of his face carrying a few more stories than they used to, a light dusting of silver weaving through his signature dark hair.
He wore a crisp, dark leather jacket over a button-up shirtâeffortlessly cool, carrying the heavy, grounded weight of a rock legend who had already conquered the world and was now just doing whatever the hell he wanted.
No fucking way, you thought.
Your heart did a sudden violent flip. You walked over, your heels clicking softly against the hardwood. "Please tell me you're the blind date, because if I'm crashing a rock star's private evening, this is going to be incredibly awkward."
Noel looked up. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, assessing your youth perhaps?, nerves?
Anyway â a slow, amused grin spread across his face, and he gestured to the empty leather seat opposite him.
"Depends," Noel said, his thick Mancunian drawl cutting effortlessly through the low hum of the jazz
"Are you the girl Rae promised wouldn't ask me why the band split up, or beg me to get the acoustic guitar out?"
"I don't even own a guitar," you said, sliding into the booth and shedding your coat. "And frankly, it's 2013. If people are still bothering you about 2009, they need to buy your new record and move on."
Noel raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed, though he tried to hide it behind a sip of his drink. "Fucking hell. Off to a brilliant start, then. What are you drinking? Because looking at you, youâre far too young to be dealing with the existential dread of a Monday night without a proper drink."
"I'll have what you're having. Extra ice." You smiled
"Two more of these, mate," Noel called out to a passing waiter, pointing a finger at his glass. He turned back to you, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table.
"So, How do you know Rae? Because she told me you were a sensible girl. You look a bit too mischievous to be sensible."
"I was sensible until about two hours ago when I agreed to let her set me up with a man who spent the nineties tearing up stadium stages while I was still learning how to ride a bicycle," you shot back,
a sudden burst of confidence finding its way into your voice. "So, define 'sensible'."
Noel let out a sharp, barking laugh, clearly loving the bite in her tone. "Oof. Right in the ribs with the age gap, eh? Fair play. And for the record, those stadiums were brilliant, and you missed out."
"Naturally."
The drinks arrived, and you wasted no time clinking your glass against his. The burning heat of the whiskey hit her throat, warming you from the inside out.
As the jazz trio drifted into a faster, upbeat tempo, the space between them seemed to shrink.
One drink bled into two, which rapidly turned into three.
You found yourself laughing harder than you had in months. Noel was exactly who he was rumored to beâopinionated, hilariously cynical, and brutally honestâbut there was a seasoned, relaxed charm to him now.
He wasn't the chaotic twenty-something rock star anymore; he was a man who knew exactly who he was.
âââ
"I'm telling you," Noel insisted, gesturing wildly with his glass, nearly spilling a drop of Scotch onto the table as they argued about modern radio. "If I hear one more pop song that sounds like it was written by a bloody toaster, I'm going to retire to a cave in Wales."
"Oh, come on, the toaster has a great hook," you teased, leaning your chin onto your hand
Your eyes bright with the alcohol and the sheer thrill of his company. "You're just jealous you didn't think of the appliance genre first."
"Jealous? Of a toaster?" Noel scoffed, but the crinkles around his eyes betrayed his grin. He leaned in closer, the scent of expensive cologne and tobacco swirling around them, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.
"Youâve got a smart mouth for a girl your age, you know that?"
"Itâs gotten me this far," you smiled.
"Aye," Noel said, his voice dropping a register, a genuine, appreciative spark in his eyes as he flagged down the waiter once more. "And it's keeping me here. Let's get another round."
âââ
By the time the waiter brought their fifth round, the jazz trio had transitioned into a slow, smoky blues rhythm, and the boundary lines between them had thoroughly blurred.
The whiskey had done its job beautifully. The initial nerves of meeting a rock icon were completely gone, replaced by a loose, intoxicating warmth.
You were leaning so far forward your chest was nearly brushing the edge of the table, and Noel had shifted around the curved leather booth, closing the physical distance between the two until his thigh was pressed firmly against yours.
"I'm just saying," you laughed, speech a little softer, a little slower than before.
Reaching out, your fingers casually brushing the sleeve of his leather jacket before resting on his forearm. "You can't blame a girl for being skeptical. Rock stars aren't exactly known for their stellar track records with, you know... commitment."
Noel let out a low chuckle, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm.
Instead of pulling away, he covered your hand with his own, his palm warm and slightly rough. He squeezed gently, a wicked spark in his blue eyes.
"Fucking hell, love, Iâm forty-six, not dead," he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle on the back of her hand.
"Besides, Iâve outgrown the chaotic backstage nonsense. Mostly â Though, looking at you in that dress, I might be persuaded to break a few of my own rules."
You swear you felt a shiver ripple down your spine. "Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Gallagher?"
"Depends on how well you behave yourself," he shot back, a slow, filthy grin spreading across his face.
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as the low hum of the bar faded into background noise. "And judging by how youâve been looking at my mouth for the last twenty minutes, Iâd say 'behaving' isn't really on your agenda tonight."
"Shut up," you gasped, laughing giving his shoulder a playful shove.
Noel caught your hand again, this time sliding his fingers between hers, locking their hands together on the leather seat between them.
His other hand found its way to the small of her back, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of your dress as he pulled you just a fraction closer.
It was bold, a little dirty, but completely thrillingâhe was entirely respectful, waiting for the cues, but making it perfectly clear just how much he wanted you.
"Make me," he teased, his voice a gravelly whisper.
"I just might," you whispered back, tilting your chin up.
heart was hammering against your ribs, completely drunk on the whiskey, the music, and the sheer force of his undivided attention.
Noelâs gaze darkened with genuine amusement and desire, his thumb tracing the line of your hip now. "Right then. Let's get the bill, shall we? Before I forget we're in a public place."
âââ
Nobody warned you that he lived in Maida Vale â expensive as fuck that is, but thatâs besides the point.
Because instead of stumbling into his place like normal civilians his hands kept on tugging.
His stubble scratching your skin as his lips locked on yours, your arms hooking around his neck as he closed the front door behind the two of you using his foot.
He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss while his freehand trailed behind you, gripping the zipper of your dress and tugging it down.
You couldnât help but smile against his lips, he didnât speak just continued to fumble with the clothes.
You giggled âwait â let meâ and pulled away to slip the straps of your dress down, and eventually let the dress pool around your ankles.
âFuckinâ beautiful you areâ he murmured and jerked his jacket off, throwing it somewhere onto the floor boards.
He kicks off his boots clumsily-one flies sideways and then he's on you again.
His hands find your bare waist under the lace of your bra, thumbs brushing over soft skin as he kisses down your jaw to that spot just below your ear-the one that always makes you shiver.
"God... I missed this," he mumbles against your neck, voice thick with beer and longing.
Then his mouth crashes back onto yours, hotter this time-messy teeth clashing before settling into rhythm. His fingers fumble with the clasp of said bra while backing both of ya toward what must be the ridiculously expensive couch.
You definitely could tell he needed to get laid â otherwise what else is he missing?
The couch creaks under his weight as he pushes you gently just enough onto the cushions. The city lights bleed through floor to ceiling windows, painting gold stripes across your skin.
Noel looms over you for a second, drinking it all in: your lips kiss swollen, your chest rising fast beneath that half-undone bra..
Then he's kissing down your collarbone like a man possessed.
Each press of his mouth leaves warmth behindâa trail from shoulder to sternum.
His stubble catches on delicate skin just right â not rough enough to hurt, but there, reminding you this is real.
He's here.
One hand slides up the curve of your thigh while the other finally undoes that stubborn clasp with clumsy triumph.
"Christ," he breathes, "you're perfect." And then there's no more talking just heat and hands and history crashing together
Soon enough you laid there bare chested, panties still clinging to your hips.
The dim light from the light overhead casts shadows across your bodyâsoft, elegant, like one of those paintings in a fancy gallery Noel would never admit he likes.
He freezes for half a second.
Just looks
Because youâre breathtakingâevery inch. The way your chest rises and falls, how the lace of those panties hugs your hips⌠it hits him right in the gut.
Then his expression shiftsâsomething between awe and hungerâand he leans down slowly.
First kiss: right above your heart. Gentle. Reverent almost.
Second: trailing lower over ribs that dip like guitar fretboards under his lips.
Third: along the sensitive skin just below where fabric meets thighâa teasing graze with teeth that makes you gasp.
His hands slide up againânot rushingâbut mapping you out like this is sacred ground now.
Noel hooks two fingers into the lace of your panties and slowly drags them down your legs with agonizing patience.
He tosses them somewhere behind him without looking, they land near his discarded jacket like casualties of war.
Then he grips both thighs gently but firmly... and pushes them apart.
The space between your legs opens â warm, vulnerable, and Noel exhales sharply through his nose like a bull about to charge.
He's not gentle anymore. Not careful.
This is drunken hunger. Raw instinct.
His mouth crashes down on you â hot and wet kissing where no one else has kissed in... who knows how long?
His stubble scrapes your inner thigh as he shifts lower, then he licks slow at first, experimental â a broad stripe that makes you arch off the couch with a gasp.
âFuckâ you whisper
Noel didnât stop. He doubled down; lips sucking on your clit while two fingers trailed higher.
Noel groans around you.
a deep, vibrating sound that travels straight through your core.
He's good at this. Too good. Like he was born to wreck women with his mouth (and maybe he has).
His tongue flicks once, quick and precise
and then again in a slow rhythm: suck, swirl, release... suck harder.
Your hands fly to his hair without thinking â fingers tangling in those messy brown curls and you don't know whether to push him closer or pull him away because it's too much but also not nearly enough.
The leather couch creaks under the shift of weight as he adjusted himself.
One hand slides up your stomach while the other drifts dangerously low again.
And the second his finger slips inside, your breath hitchesâŚsharp and loud in the quiet lounge room.
Noel doesn't ease into it.
He goes in
one long, deliberate slide through slick heat â curling his fingertip just right on the way up.
And oh God, you're tight.
Drunk and responsive, melting under him like he's some kind of sex god instead of a slightly disheveled Mancunian with whiskey on his breath.
He adds another finger immediately stretching you gently and starts moving: slow at first... then building pace. In and out. Deep thrusts that make your hips twitch off the couch to meet each motion.
His mouth stays glued to your clit between kisses â a relentless combo of tongue swirls, light bites (not too hard).
Noel's fingers move with a rhythm that feels practiced
like he's played this song before, many times, on other bodies â but right now? This is all for you.
His thumb replaces his mouth briefly to circle your clit while two fingers pump steadily inside, each curl of them hitting that spot, the one that makes your toes curl and your vision blur at the edges.
You're getting louder. Moaning.
The expensive leather couch squeaks under shifting weight as Noel leans in closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh between thrusts... leaving faint marks behind like claim tags.
Noel's voice low, rough, thick with lust â drips into the air like honey laced with whiskey.
"Fucking hell, you feel good," he growls between kisses up your stomach.
His fingers keep working inside you, relentless now but his mouth finds your ear. He nips the lobe first before whispering:
"Such a pretty little thing... all wet for me already? We just met tonight."
A cocky grin spreads across his face as he says it â drunk bravado mixed with genuine arousal.
Then lower: "So fuckin' tight. You takin' my fingers so well... bet you'd take my cock even better."
He bites your shoulder after that
not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point
And pathetically enough, you nodded started to whine and beg â â..Noel pleaseâ
You started to sound desperate, breathless.
He slows down instantly.
Teasingly pulls both fingers out almost all the way leaving you empty and aching just hovers them there.
"Beg proper" he demands, voice gravel-deep with alcohol and power now. âTell me exactly what you want."
The bastard is enjoying this. Smirking down at your flushed face while using one thumb to lazily rub circles on your clit
not enough pressure to do anything but torment.
âWant your cockâ you spoke, if you werenât drunk â this wouldâve been embarrassing.
But the second those words leave your lips.
raw, drunken, shameless.
Noel's smirk turns feral.
He pulled his fingers out of your heat â then he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth without breaking eye contact and licked them clean. Slowly. One by one.
Then he's moving.
Fast.
Off the couch in a flash â stripping off his shirt (buttons popping? Who cares?) while kicking down the waistband of his jeans with zero finesse.
Boxers follow immediately; no patience tonight for slow undressing rituals or romance novels shit.
Within seconds, he's back over you â bare chested now, hard as fuck beneath those tight black boxers that do nothing to hide it anymore.
Noel hooks your knees over his shoulders
legs bent, spread wide-and the angle gives him a perfect view of you: flushed and open.
Then he yanks down his boxers with one sharp tug.
His cock springs free. thick. Heavy.
Already fully hard.
And drunk Noel isn't gentle.
He wraps a hand around himself just to stroke twice
Then that low voice again, "Gonna fuck you so goodâ he growls âfirst date and all."
No teasing this time.
Just alignment, blunt pressure against your heat and then he pushes in without warning.
The stretch is sudden, sharp, and you gasp.
back arching off the couch as he fills you completely.
Noel doesn't stop. Doesn't pause to let you adjust. (Asshole)
Drunk on power and lust, he bottoms out in one deep thrust with a groan.
"Fuck... so tight," he mutters through gritted teeth, eyes half-lidded but burning into yours.
Then-he moves.
Pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in hard enough that your body jolts upward again.
No rhythm yet â just raw, animalistic fucking.
Each snap of his hips makes the leather couch creak beneath you both.
Noel finds a brutal pace â short, sharp thrusts that make the couch squeak in protest. His hands grip your hips hard, fingers leaving faint marks on soft skin.
Sweat starts to bead at his temples.
Drunk sex is messy: breath ragged, movements less precise but more intense, like every nerve's on fire.
He leans down suddenly and kisses you â filthy and open mouthed, a clash of teeth and tongue while still fucking into you relentlessly.
One hand slips under your back to yank you closer as he deepens the kiss... then breaks it just to bite your lip before pulling away again with a groan.
The apartment fills with sounds: skin slapping against skin, heavy breathing... the occasional moan from one or both of them when he hits just right.
Every thrust now comes with that sound: slick, messy, undeniable proof of how turned on you both are.
Noel's drunk brain latches onto it. Loves it.
He smirks down at you half crazed with lust and actually slows his hips for a second... just to hear it again.
Another deep grind. Another lewd squelch from where your bodies meet.
He chucklesâa low, breathy laugh against your neck before whispering: "Christ...like getting fucked by older men?"
Biting your lip, all you could do is whimper a pathetic âmhmâ
his hand slides down your trembling stomach, calloused fingers brushing over skin still warm from friction â and finds your clit again.
But this time? No teasing circles. No softness.
His thumb presses down with deliberate pressure and starts rubbing firm, fast strokes right where you're most sensitive
The same filthy rhythm as his cock pounding into you.
The combo hits like lightning; full penetration plus direct clit stimulation... and it's too much for drunken you to handle quietly.
Your moans escalate louder, messier, completely out of your control now.
The room fills with them
high-pitched whimpers that turn into breathy cries every time Noel thrusts just right.
His thumb on your clit doesn't let up â relentless pressure in tight circles and the dual sensation is overwhelming.
sweat slicked skin and open mouths gasping for air between grunts and moans.
but he pushes harder to compensate, each snap of his hips loses some finesse but gains force...
Like he's fucking you through a hurricane.
The couch has definitely slid an inch from all the movement.
It didnât take long before you back arched off the leather â clenched around his cock, milking him until your orgasm struck.
Noel felt it, he groaned at the feeling of you pulsating around him.
The pressure builds â Noel's thrusts turn erratic, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
He's close.
And when he finally comes? It's sudden.
With a low groan that sounds almost pained, he pulls out at the last second, cock twitching, and spills hot streaks across your stomach and lower ribs.
Thick. White. Messy as hell.
He doesn't say anything right away.
just stares down at you for a drunken second, chest rising fast... then something darkly playful flashes in his eyes.
Without warning, Noel drags two fingers through the mess on your skin: swiping cum from your belly button area like it's paint.*
Then he lifts them to your lips and presses them against your mouth.
Without even thinking about it, you parted your lips gently.
He doesn't smile. Doesn't tease.
Just slides his two sticky fingers past your lips... letting you taste him.
Salty. Bitter. Intimate.
And you suck them clean like it's the most natural thing in the world.
drunk on everything: alcohol, endorphins, him.
The act is filthy and strangely tender at once.
Noel watches with heavy lidded eyes as you lick every trace off his skin... then suddenly leans down to kiss you again â deeply this time, a messy fusion of mouths that mingles shared heat and salt.
When the kiss finally breaks, lips wet, breaths mingling.
they both blink at each other like they just woke up from a dream.
Noel's still half-hard. Still sticky.
But he's smiling now. A rare, real smile that softens his usual sarcastic face.
He brushes a thumb over your bottom lip where cum might've smudged there... then quirks an eyebrow.
"Second date," he says casually âyou in?"
It's playful, Teasing.
but underneath? He means it.
For all the drunken chaos of tonight â blind setup turned into drunk sex on his expensive couch
they clicked. Like, really clicked.
And Noel Gallagher doesn't usually ask for round two unless he likes someone.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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he mightâve ignored the incident in the bathroom that night, but he couldnât stay away for long. And even while you were writing all of his secrets, you are still keeping some for yourself â specially when it involves you.
an: this one is a long one, also I was writing and halfway through it didnât save, I was genuinely fuming. â 5.3k words
Part 4 | part 3 | part 2 | part 1 | series
warnings: smut, pnv, f-oral receiving, dirty talk, creampie, manhandling, lots of kisses, fingers in mouth, bit angsty at the end
As I sat by my desk â typing away for my draft that reveals every little secret the media doesnât know about Liam, I kept thinking about last night.
About how his lips felt against mine, about how his hand trailed down with no hesitation.
How his breath mingled with mine so easily â I pressed my thighs together at the thought. Swallowing thickly I move my fingers against the keyboard, forcing myself to concentrate just a little bit.
The newsroom buzzed around me.
Phones rang.
Editors barked headlines.
Someone shouted that a television soap star had been caught leaving a hotel with the wrong spouse.
Business as usual.
"You've typed the word however five times."
I looked up.
Janice leaned over my desk with a mug of tea in one hand and the sort of expression only women who've survived twenty years in tabloid journalism could perfect.
"You alright?"
"I'm fine." I grumbled, I was still a bit pissy that Liam had the audacity of leaving me hanging dry.
Janice glanced back at my screen â âLiam prefers to talk about himselfââ she paused âRiveting investigative journalism."
âIt gets betterâ I sigh.
âIt wants toâ she muttered.
Before I could answer, one of the reception girls appeared at the end of the newsroom holding something absurdly enormous. "Delivery for you â flower guy was taking them to your flat and Lottie saw him when passing by. Youâre lucky because the flowers wouldâve been messed up by then.â
Every head lifted.
Journalists were vultures.
Anything unexpected was immediately everybody's business.
The bouquet arrived before I could stop it.
Another pair of fucking flowers like the first werenât enough.
For a second I thought that Liam figured where I worked, that I was a journalist, that he knew my secret â but fortunately Lottie a fellow co-worker that lives by my place caught the flower guy.
"Oh," Janice whispered.
"...fucking hell."
A tiny black envelope sat tucked between the flowers.
No signature.
Just four words.
Still owe you.
I stared.
No apology.
No explanation.
No acknowledgment that he'd disappeared while I stood in a stranger's bathroom wondering if I'd imagined the entire evening.
Just...
Still owe you.
Typical.
"I hate him," I muttered.
Janice smirked "You've gone all dreamy."
"I have not."
"You've got flowers bigger than your flat." She raised her brows at me.
"They're guilt flowers."
"They're expensive guilt flowers." She pointed out
"I don't care."
She leaned closer â âyou my friend, might be getting distracted.â
I scoffed and looked up at her âhow am I getting distracted?â
She grinned and leaned back on my desk, her arms crossed against her chest â âI told you, you might. If you donât stop whatever feelings youâre experiencing, this Column wonât get written.â
âItâs going to be writtenâ I argue.
She shrugged âsure it will.â
She untangled her legs and walked away from my desk with a strut, and I looked back at the computer with unfinished sentences.
I didnât know what to do with myself anymore, I wasnât supposed to get this close to Liam.
âââ-
18:30
I got off work like usual, I was halfway done with my column about Liam.
It wasnât polished, but itâs almost there.
My heels clicked on the wet pavement, one raindrop to the nose and I knew I was fucked. Iâve forgotten my umbrella because apparently British weather is this shit.
Rain battered hard enough that the city blurred into streaks of amber and grey.
By the time I reached my block of flats, my hair clung to my face despite the sprint from the cab I was forced to pay for.
I fumbled with my keys â cold fingers. muttering every curse I knew until the stubborn lock finally gave way.
The warmth of my flat hit first.
Then the silence.
I shrugged off my dripping coat, dropped my handbag beside the sofa, and was halfway through kicking off my heels when the telephone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I narrowed my eyes at it "...You've got to be kidding."
On the fourth ring, I picked it up.
âHello?"
A familiar chuckle answered "Thought you'd screenin' my calls."
I rolled my eyes "I was considering it."
"Didn't."
"Barely." I sigh
"Good enough."
There was a comfortable pause, filled only by the rain drumming against the windows.
"What do you want?" I broke the silence.
"Bit rude."
"You disappeared last night."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"...Yeah." He paused âcan I still make it up to you?â
I glanced around my flat, phone against my ear. Hair frizzy and damp.
âHow?â I asked.
âLet me come overâ he spoke â âwant you to forgive me.â
And how can I say no? I needed more details about this man.
âOkayâ I whispered.
âââ-
Now that Liam was coming over, there was another thing that needed tackling.
And that was the entirety of my flat â the papers laying around, the journals that needed to be hidden.
Anything that gave away â that I am indeed the enemy, the journalist every famous person needs to stay away from.
I hid everything in cabinets, awards inside the closet, or tugged under the bed.
From then on I had to change my appearance, fix the rats nest on my head.
Applied a little bit of makeup, change clothes, and spray on some parfume.
The final spray of perfume was still settling in the air when the sharp, impatient knock echoed through my front door.
Knock-knock-knock.
It had a rhythm to it. Aggressive, rock-star energy.
I took one last frantic look around the living room. The coffee table was clear. My bulletin board of Liamâs alleged infidelitiesâcomplete with red string and blurry paparazzi photosâwas safely shoved beneath my mattress. The framed Scandal Magazine "Journalist of the Year" nomination was face-down under a pile of dirty laundry.
I was no longer the ruthless investigative reporter. Right now, I was just the quirky, totally harmless girl heâd met at a pub, who definitely didn't have an article titled
âLiam Gallagher: Rock Royalty or Serial Heartbreaker?â
sitting in my laptop's drafts folder.
Opening the door, I braced myself.
Liam was leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved deep into the pockets of an oversized green parka, a slightly crooked grin plastered across his face. He looked effortlessly cool, infuriatingly handsome, and completely oblivious to the fact that he was walking into a lion's den.
"Alright?" he said, his Mancunian drawl cutting through my sudden spike of anxiety. He held up a brown paper bag. "Brought peace offerings. Well, actually, I brought takeout. But it functions as peace."
I smiled softly and stepped out of way, âChinese?â
âRight-oâ he chuckled, brushing past me into the flat. He tossed the bag onto the counter and immediately collapsed onto my sofa, kicking his boots up onto the coffee table.
"Boots off the table, Gallagher," I snapped, closing the door.
"Right, sorry, proper strict you are," he muttered, though he didn't move them. He watched me as I walked over, his eyes scanning my face, lingering on the fact that I had clearly tried to look nice. A smug, knowing look crossed his face. "You look mega, by the way. Even if you are trying to act like you hate me."
âI doâ I lied seamlessly, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, keeping a safe distance.
Liamâs smile faltered, replaced by something entirely genuine. He sat up, swinging his legs down, and leaned closer. The smell of cigarettes, expensive leather, and rain drifted over to me.
"Look, I'm serious. I just got drawn away" he said, his voice dropping an octave. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the edge of my wrist. "I'm a lot of things. A loudmouth, a prick sometimes. But I wouldn't mess you around. I like you. Properly.â
If he was manipulating me, Iâm very gullible.
But looking into his eyes, which were surprisingly soft beneath that famous, heavy brow, the words caught in my throat.
He wasn't acting like the arrogant front-man the tabloids painted him out to be. He just looked like a boy trying to make a girl smile.
"You're a smooth talker," I murmured, my voice losing its sharp edge. "I bet you say that to every girl who writes you a bad review."
"Don't care about reviews. Care about you," he said softly.
Then, breaking the heavy tension, he smirked and grabbed the takeout bag. "Now, eat this greasy curry before I eat it all myself, and you can tell me all about why you're so obsessed with keeping your shoes off the furniture."
As we ate right out of the plastic containers, laughing as he loudly ranted about how modern music had "no soul" and mocked his brother Noel's guitar solos, I found myself genuinely laughing.
He was witty, sarcastic, and fiercely protective of the people he actually cared about.
Then, Liam stood up to stretch. "I need a drink. Where's your kitchen?â
"Oh, just through thereâ"
I froze. My heart stopped.
The kitchen. The kitchen counter. Where I had been formatting my notes right before he called. Where my professional, high-end Dictaphone recorder was sitting in plain sight next to the toaster.
"Liam, wait!" I jumped up, but it was too late. He was already stepping through the doorway.
So I grabbed his arm, making him stop â I had to come up with a distraction.
grabbed him by the lapels of his green parka, wound my fingers into the heavy fabric, and yanked him down.
Liam let out a muffled grunt of surprise as I slammed my lips against his. It wasn't a gentle, polite kiss. It was an "oh-god-please-don't-in-there" explosion of pure, unadulterated panic disguised as passion.
For a fraction of a second, Liam froze, his body rigid with shock.
But he was Liam Gallagher. Shock lasted all of two seconds before his rock-star instincts kicked in.
With a low growl that vibrated against my chest, he dropped his hand and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The kiss shifted instantly.
It went from a desperate distraction to something deeply, intoxicatingly real.
He tasted like the spicy curry and the cold rain from outside, his lips moving against mine with a fierce, possessive confidence that made my knees go completely weak.
He backed me up until my spine hit the wall.
âRight,â Liam breathed against my lips, breaking away for a split second, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he looked down at me. A smug, breathless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "So thatâs how weâre playing it tonight, then?"
"I just..." I gasped for air, my heart hammering against my ribs for two entirely different reasons now.
I reached blindly behind my back, my fingers scraping against the cold plaster wall. "I just missed you. A lot."
Clearly," he chuckled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
He leaned back in to kiss my jawline, his hands sliding up to cup my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "Fucking hell. If I knew leaving you high and dry got me this reaction, Iâd do it more often."
âDonât push your luckâ I whispered.
Liamâs lips found mine again, gentler this time, lingering and sweet in a way that completely contradicted his wild public persona, a sickening realization washed over me.
I was supposed to be exposing his secrets. I was supposed to be finding proof that he was a heartless, unfaithful fraud to secure my front-page splash.
But as his arms tightened around me, keeping me safe and warm in the middle of my messy flat, I realized the only person being fraudulent here... was me.
âStill want me to make it up to you?â He whispered.
My lips trembled slightly, eyes wide as I nodded.
Stupid stupid stupid
He didnât reply, just leaned back in and kissed me deeply. Slow and sweet.
His lands moved down my body, tugging and pulling. He pulled away for a brief moment to tug my shirt up and over my head â I obeyed and lifted my arms up to help him.
Suddenly I was standing there in a bra, the soft glow of my flat framed every curve of mine.
He didnât comment, didnât say anything cheeky, he just pressed another kiss on my mouth. Then trailed his mouth down my jawâŚ.neckâŚcollarbone..
Each touch was feather - light at first.
Until â
âFuckâ he breathed between kisses down my neck, âyouâre so fuckinâ prettyâ
Not very smooth or poetic, but enough to make you clench your thighs together.
I felt his rough finger tips trail up my spine until he found the clasp of my bra â fumbling slightly before unhooking it with shaky fingers.
He tugged the piece of fabric down. âChristâ he muttered as the bra fell onto the wooden floor, his hands instantly mapped my bare shoulders, then drifted lower over the swell of my breasts.
His thumbs brushed over one nipple gently â testing â I couldnât help but gasp softly.
âNeed you..â two words that slipped before he could stop them, no words left my mouth as he yanked his park off â tossing it aside without a care, revealing the white T-shirt underneath that hugged his biceps.
The shirt came off next â pulled over his head in one swift motion. No flexing for show, just pure focus.
Now heâs bare-chested, dark hair faintly on his chest, warm skin with faint scars from old memories.
âWhereâs your room?â He breathed.
âItâs downââ I yelped before I finish my sentence, he yanked me away from the wall and scooped me up into his arms.
He carried me through what he assumed was my bedroom, his grip was tight. He wasnât letting go until my breath got knocked out from being pushed down onto my bed.
Before I could react, he was looming above me. One knee between my legs, hands caging either side of my head against the pillow.
And then his mouth found mine again â this time hotter, deeper, more demanding than any kiss weâve shared so far.
Just pure need.
Liam didnât waste his time at all, he kissed along my jaw â his thumb brushing against my nipple. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
His hands trailed down to yank my trousers down along with my panties, tossing them somewhere onto the floor.
Once they were off, and I was laid bare beneath him â he started to trail kisses down my stomach.
Slowly. Reverently.
His hands brushed my thighs apart so he could settle between my legs, his thumb finding my clit and immediately making soft circles against it.
A tiny, involuntary squirm escaped me before I could stop it.
With slow circles of that same thumb - light pressure at first, barely-there strokes meant to drive me insane. Watching every micro-expression on my face: parted Lips, fluttering lashes...
I couldnât help but let out a tiny whimper, one in which made him smirk against my skin.
Then he kissed up the inside of my thigh â agonizingly slow, each press of his lips deliberate and maddening.
So he kept teasing - alternating between soft kisses on sensitive skin... then that infuriating light thumb-circle over my clit again.
Not enough to really satisfy. Just enough to keep building heat... frustration... need.
I begged for more by moving my hips upward, needing everything.
And thatâs when he finally lowered down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right on my heat.
He followed up by licking a long stripe against my glistening folds, his blue eyes glanced up once before focusing and latching his lips against my clit.
His hands found my hips, drilling me down onto the mattress so I wouldnât squirm away or jerk my hips upward.
His tongue traced slow, wet circles first â exploring the taste. And learning what makes me gasp, Liamâs lips were warm. Wet â relentless in their rhythm.
he devoured. With quiet focus, like this was the most important thing he'd done all week. His tongue flicked over my clit with precise strokes... then sealed his mouth around it again to suck gently.
I could feel every vibration of his breath against sensitive skin.
Not when I was already trembling beneath him. Not when soft whimpers kept escaping between bitten-off moans that only made him want to tease harder...
He didnât stop there â he couldnât.
Instead he moved one hand away from my hip and added something new, slowly â carefully he slipped two fingers into my pussy.
Curling them just right the second they were inside.
The stretch was gentle at first, his lips still flicking his tongue against my sensitive buds all while his fingers began a soft pumping rhythm; in and out, deeper with each stroke.
The combination? Devastating.
My back arched off the bed despite being held down, a sharp gasp tore from my lips â and Liam felt every pulse like a victory.
My heat made unmistakable soft, wet squelches with every movement of his fingers.
Liam could hear it. Feel it.
Every-time he pushed back in, my body responded immediately: soaked and ready from the build up.
He pulled away just slightly to speak âfuck youâre drenchedâ he grunted.
He curled his fingers deeper â finding that spongy spot high up that made most women lose their minds - while keeping pressure steady with both thumb and lips now: alternating between sucking my clit and licking around it like a man obsessed.
Very soon the room filled with the quiet, intimate sounds - my breathing ragged, the slick rhythm of his fingers moving inside, the occasional pop when he pulled them out only to slide back in.
Liam's jaw was tight with focus. His blue eyes flicked up once - just to watch my face unraveling above him.
Eyes half lidded and glazed over pleasure.
It didnât take long before my breathing got quicker and hips squirmed just enough to be a warning.
My thighs tensed around his shoulders, my fingers clenched the sheets beside my head.
He didnât slow down, instead he intensified â âoh fuck Liamâ I gasped.
His fingers curled deeper inside just right, finding that spot again and pressing hard while sucking my clit in one long, firm pull.
My chest rose, my eyes closed as my lips parted.
He couldnât stop his movements, not even if he wanted to.
Not until I cried out and trembled against his mouth, my body tensed, then shuddered violently against his mouth as the orgasm ripped through me.
My thighs squeezed around his head instinctively, hips jerking in helpless little pulses.
Liam pulled his mouth away and sat back on his heels, fingers still inside moving slowly â letting me ride it out.
Low murmurs escaped him âthatâs itâŚfuckinâ perfectâ
He then wiped his glistening chin and mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back down to trail kisses up my stomach, ribs, chestâŚuntil they reached my mouth.
Liam kissed me properly â letting me taste the salt of my skin on his lips.
His fingers finally slipped out gently from between my thighs, until suddenly he pulled away entirely.
In one smooth languid motion â he rolled me onto my stomach, my face pressed into the pillow as Liam hovered over me.
Straddling slightly, his hands slid down the curve of my spine . . . Then lower â gripping my hips before leaning down to press an open - mouthed kiss right between them.
He pulled back and smacked my ass gently âUpâ he commanded.
His hands gripped onto my hips pushing them upward â I moved my knees up so my ass is in the air.
Back arched and face sideways on the pillow.
His hand squeezed my asscheek just enough to make a tiny noise escape me, using his other hand he parted my cheeks to view the mess between my legs.
He ran a finger between my slick folds, still warm, still sensitive.
Then he brought his finger up â holding it in front of my face before pressing it between my lips for me to taste.
I parted my lips gently for him to push his finger between them, letting me taste myself. Closing my mouth against his forefinger and letting my tongue curl against it.
He finally pulled it out with a soft pop, not even I could believe what I was doing.
He had one hand palming himself against his jeans, already straining against the blue washed denim.
He couldnât waste time, in a swift motion he unbuckled his belt in impatient motions.
The button popped open, the zipper came down fast.
And just like that? His jeans and boxers were shoved down past his hips in one go â he was thick and straining, precum glistening against his pink tip.
He threw his jeans away onto the floor somewhere.
With his cock in hand, he slid it slowly between my thighs â not entering yet, just gliding through the wetness still coating my skin. Using my arousal to slick himself up.
A low groan escaped him at the heat and slickness there, he rocked forward slightly â dragging his length from my clit down to my inner thigh and back again while he watched me tremble.
âFuck..â Liamâs voice came out gruff.
He didnât stop his motions, letting every fluid cling to him.
Then he added quietly âbeen thinkinâ âbout this? âBout me fuckinâ you like this?â
I do feel pathetic for nodding against the pillow.
And without a proper warning; one firm thrust and his cock slid into me completely â sinking deep in one smooth push until our hips met.
Making my lips part and my hands grip onto the bed sheets, a rough grunt left him.
He stilled for half a second just breathing through it, before gripping my hips hard again . . . Pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in with more force.
Each thrust sent a jolt through the both of us, my body stretched around him perfectly. Taking every inch with only the softest whimpers muffled by the pillow.
Liam didnât speak again â not yet.
Just set a relentless rhythm: hips snapping forward with controlled power, his fingers digging into my skin like they might leave marks.
The bed creaked under their movement.
The sound of skin hitting skin filled the quiet room, his breath came in ragged bursts â hot against my back as he leaned over slightly to press messy kisses between my shoulder blades.
Just grunts and low growls each time he bottomed out inside, he still managed to angle his hips just right on every inward stroke.
Hitting my g-spot repeatedly that made me get louder each time.
A gasp turned into a moan, a whimper twisted into a cry.
He was targeting, finding exactly where and what made me louder.
Between heavy breaths and the slick, slapping sound of skin on skin. His dirty mouth finally opened â âfuckâŚyou feel sâ goodâ
Then, lower: âTight little cuntâŚtakinâ me so wellâ
Just filthy truth.
He grunted, hips snapping harder as he watched my body jolt with each push.
His voice dropped even lower â rougher â when I clenched around him involuntarily from the pleasure;
âYeahâŚsqueeze my cock like that again. Fuck.â
No filter. No shame.
Just raw hunger spilled into words meant only for me to hear.
The bed rocked violently beneath them as sweat broke across both their bodies . . . The air smelled like sex and heat.
With a quick, rough motion, he spat â right onto where their bodies were joined. A slick glisten of saliva mixed with sweat and her arousal.
Not romantic. Not elegant.
Immediately he shoved back into her with even more force, diving deeper.
I buried my face onto the pillows enough that muffled every squeak.
She felt it in her gut: that coil tightening low and hot. The pressure building with every slap.
He stopped talking dirty, just focused fucking as he chased his own release.
He reached down under my tummy and down till his fingers found my clit through the slickness, pressing tight quick circles.
The pace of his dick penetrating did not falter, the double stimulation was brutal. I couldâve screamed if not by the pillow smothering every sound, instead? My body stiffened â back arching slightly as pleasure spiked.
Liam felt it instantly: how I clenched around his dick, how soft squelching sounds came out.
âThatâs it, loveâŚcome on my cockâ he urged, thumb still working on my clit relentlessly while his hips hammered into me without mercy.
And just like that?
Shattered.
A silent scream escaped against the pillow as my orgasm ripped through â wave after wave of pure ecstasy crashing down. Walls clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, so tight it nearly made Liam lose control.
But he held on, just barely, helping me ride it out with thrust that kept dragging pleasure every second.
With a guttural groan that rumbled from deep in his chest, he buried himself inside her to the hilt â staying there â as his release tore through him.
Hot and pulsing, thick waves of it filling me up.
No pulling out, no thinking about anything but the white-hot pleasure burning through every nerve ending.
Just pure ecstasy â skin on skinâŚbreath mingling⌠hearts hammering against each otherâs bodies.
ââââââââ-
The adrenaline had completely dissolved into something else entirely.
Liam had a way of stripping away all the noise, the cynical walls Iâd built as a journalist, and the frantic pace of my everyday life.
everything felt slow, electric, and dangerously real.
There were no cameras, no headlines, and no rumors. Just him.
Afterward â The room was quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the sound of our breathing.
I was curled up against his side, my head resting on his bare chest, tracing the line of his collarbone. The heavy green parka was thrown onto my bedroom chair, and for the first time, he looked entirely vulnerable.
"Alright over there?" Liam murmured, his voice a sleepy, gravelly rumble in the dark. He shifted, wrapping an arm tighter around my bare shoulder.
"I'm fine," I smiled, poking him lightly in the ribs "Just wondering how long before you start singing Oasis lyrics in your sleep to boost your own ego."
Liam let out a breathy laugh, the sound vibrating against my cheek. "Oi, watch it. Those lyrics are poetry. People pay good money to hear me shout 'em. You're getting a private performance for free."
"You call screaming 'Live Forever' at three in the morning poetry?" I teased, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "You're a menace, Gallagher."
"Yeah, well. I'm your menace tonight," he said, leaning down to plant a soft, lingering kiss on the top of my head.
His tone softened, losing the sarcastic edge. "You're not like the others. You don't treat me like I'm a god, but you don't look at me like I'm a monster either. Itâs nice. Just being a bloke for five minutes."
A heavy weight settled in my stomach. The guilt was back, sharper than before. If only you knew, I thought.
"Go to sleep, Liam," I whispered, closing my eyes and burying my face into his neck, unable to look at the genuine warmth in his eyes anymore.
"Yeah, yeah. Night, babe."
Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day took over, and I drifted off, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Liam stayed awake. He wasn't used to sleeping early, his internal clock permanently set to late-night studio sessions and after-parties.
He lay there in the dark for an hour, listening to my soft, rhythmic breathing, a rare feeling of peace settling over him.
Thirsty
he carefully slid out from under the covers, trying not to wake me. He grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulling them on, and scanned the dimly lit bedroom for his pack of cigarettes. He swore heâd left them near the nightstand.
He bent down, looking near the base of the bed, and his foot knocked against something hidden beneath the dust ruffle.
Thud.
Curious, Liam reached under the bed, his fingers brushing against a thick, leather-bound notebook.
He pulled it out, assuming it was just a diary or a sketchbook. He sat on the edge of the bed, the moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the cover.
He opened it to a random page.
His eyes scanned the handwriting. Then, he froze.
Subject: Liam Gallagher. Target Date: End of the month. Rumors of infidelity in Madridâneed to verify with hotel staff. The 'rock star' persona is an easy shield, but the cracks are showing. If I can get close enough, the Scandal front page is ours. Heâs predictable. Arrogant. Just another clichĂŠ.
Liamâs breath hitched. The blood in his veins turned to pure ice.
He flipped back to the first page. There, pasted inside the cover, was a press badge. Your name. Investigative Reporter, Scandal Magazine.
Page after page was filled with timelines of his life. Photos of him stapled to the paper. Lists of his ex-girlfriends, notes on his favorite bars, and draft titles for articles that made him look like a piece of absolute trash.
The girl sleeping peacefully beside him wasn't a sweet, sharp-witted escape from his chaotic life.
She was a vulture.
A dark, terrifying rage exploded inside Liamâs chest. The vulnerability he had shown her just an hour ago felt like a violent humiliation.
"You absolute fucking snake," Liam roared, slamming the journal down onto the nightstand with a deafening crack.
I jolted awake, my heart leaping into my throat. The room was dark, but I could see the towering, tense silhouette of Liam standing by the edge of the bed. He was shaking.
"Liam?" I blinked, confused and half-asleep. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with a raw, furious pain that echoed off the walls. He flicked the bedside lamp on, the harsh yellow light blinding me.
In his hand, he held my black leather journal.
My world completely shattered.
"Liam, waitâ" I scrambled up, pulling the sheets against my chest, my face draining of all color.
"Don't 'Liam' me! Don't you dare!" he screamed, tossing the journal onto the bed. It landed open, right on the page detailing his alleged affairs.
"Is this what tonight was? A fucking stakeout? You let me into your bed so you could print lies about me in your pathetic little rag?!"
"No! No, it started out as an assignment, I swear, but it changed!" I cried, tears pricking my eyes as I reached out for him. "Liam, please, listen to me. I didn't want to do it anymore. I was going to drop the story!" â was I?
"You're a liar!" he spat, stepping back from the bed as if my touch would poison him.
His face was twisted in a mixture of pure fury and deep, agonizing betrayal.
The arrogant rock-star mask was completely gone, leaving behind a man who had actually trusted someone, only to have them rip his heart out.
"I actually thought you were different," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, lethal whisper that hurt worse than the shouting.
"I sat here telling you I liked you. I let my guard down. And the whole time, you were just calculating how many copies you'd sell."
"Liam, that's not trueâ"
"Save it," he snarled.
He looked at me one last time, his eyes dead and cold. "You want your scoop? Write this down. Liam Gallagher thinks you're a parasitic, heartless bitch. Put that on the front page."
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the bedroom.
A second later, the front door slammed shut so hard the windows rattled, leaving me entirely alone in the suffocating silence of my own trap.
The image of kissing Liam hasnât left my mind at all, I wrote a lot about him for my column â but it isnât enough. When he invited me to a party, I took my chance to make my writing more interesting.
Part 3 | part 4 | part 1 | part 2 | series
warnings: teeny bit of coke mention, high tension, fingering, almost getting caught.
I couldnât sleep at all, the whole night I spent writing by hand â only thing to illuminate Liamâs exposure was a tiny lamp by my nightstand.
Every single detail about him was written down, how he acted, if heâs a good kisser or not.
Things that will attract the reader, not bore them.
And as I sat in my pajamas, biting the top of my pen â thinking of what to say my mind kept wondering. To his face, how he touched my face, how his lips felt, with his stubble scratching my face.
I pressed my lips into a thin line and looked down to the last thing I had written down.
Good kisser. Infuriatingly so. Doesnât know when to shut up.
I stared at the sentence for a very long time before dragging one furious line through it until the ink almost tore the page, professional.
Thatâs what I was supposed to be.
Not. . . Whatever that sentence was supposed to be.
I clicked my pen shut, then opened it again with a sigh.
Subject appears more awkward than expected when genuine emotion is involved. Displays confidence publicly but becomes noticeably nervous in quieter moments, possible contradiction worth exploring.
So much better, objective, journalistic.
Absolutely nothing about the way his thumb had brushed my cheek and looked down at me with those slightly droopy eyes.
I slammed my notebook closed.
âOh, get a fucking gripâ The flat answered with silence.
The kettle I put on earlier started to hiss from a distance, and somewhere outside a milk float rattled along the street. Dawn was creeping through the curtains, turning everything blue.
I had spent the entire night documenting Liam like he was a rare species.
Habitat: pubs
Diet: lager, cigarettes and his own ego.
Natural defense mechanisms: insults.
I almost smiled despite myself, it was ridiculous.
He was a story.
A headline.
A paycheck.
Not â a bloke whose laugh kept replaying in my head at four in the morning. My eyes drifted to the notebook, one page remained empty.
And so I wrote across the top:
Questions still unanswered
Is he actually faithful?
Does the cocky act ever disappear completely?
What is Liam Gallagher like when no one is looking?
I hovered my pen.
Then, before I could stop myself, I added one more thing.
Why did he ask if he could call me?
I groaned and let my forehead hit my knees as I sat on the middle of the bed.
âPatheticâ
ââââââ-
By ten oâclock, the offices of Scandal were as expected â phones ringing, editors shouting, and someone arguing over whether ârock star caught snogging mystery blondeâ deserved the front page over âsoap actress secret faceliftâ.
It smelt of stale coffee, perfume bad and good intentions.
Home sweet home.
âWell?â Janice called before I reached my desk â Janice is a fellow co-worker of mine, I learned to tolerate her over the years.
She was already perched on the edge of it, bright red lipstick and shark-like grin firmly in place.
She pointed at me with a manicured finger âpink.â
I grabbed the nearest file and chucked it at her, she caught it all clumsy like â like those people who never learned to catch.
âOh, sweetheartââ her grin widened. âYouâre in dangerâ
âOf what?â I furrowed my brows.
âOf writing the exact opposite article to the one you were sent out there for.â
And before I could answer, the newsroom phone on my desk rang, once..twice..three.
Janice waggled her brows â âmaybe itâs your editorâ
I picked it up.
âHello?â
A familiar mancunian drawl answered immediately â â..Took you long enoughâ
My stomach performed the sort of gymnastics I refused to acknowledge.
âLiam?â
âCourse itâs Liamâ I could practically hear the smirk. âWho else dâyou know that sounds this good?â
I rolled my eyes despite smiling, âyouâre awfully confidentâ
âIâve got a reason to beâ he spoke.
âOh?â
âCause you said I could ringâ
There was a beat of silence.
Then, softer than Iâd ever heard him. âSo..â
âYou busy tonight?â
I glanced down at the notebook hidden beneath the stack of papers on my desk.
Questions still unanswered
Maybe one more evening wouldnât hurt after all..
The best stories never finish after the first date.
ââââââ-
The townhouse in Notting Hill looked ordinary from the outside.
Inside, it was absolute chaos.
Music thundered through every floorâBritpop bleeding into dance tracks, glasses clinking, cigarette smoke curling beneath crystal chandeliers.
In every room it was packed shoulder to shoulder with people who looked as though theyâd walked straight out of a magazine covers or music videos.
Someone laughed from a grand piano, someone else was dancing on top of it, and another was snorting cocaine on a glass coffee table.
âSo this,â Liam announced, spreading his arms dramatically as we stepped inside, âis where all the beautiful disasters gather.â
I looked around.
Models. Actors. Musicians. Record executives pretending they werenât staring at musicians.
It was like walking into every gossip column Iâd ever clipped out for research.
âOh,â I muttered. âThis is horrifying.â
He barked a laugh. âNo, love. This is fun.â
For the next hour â I barely had time to think.
Every five minutes someone dragged Liam into another conversation.
A DJ wanted him to listen to a demo. A model kissed his cheek. A footballer shouted across the room that Oasis were overrated â Liam shouted back that the footballer was bald and bitter.
The party roared with laughter.
He was completely at home with it.
Too loud, too confident, too impossible to ignore.
Every few minutes few minutes, his eyes searched the crowd until they landed on me. Like he was checking that I hadnât vanished.
âââ-
By midnight â someone had handed me a glass of champagne I hadnât asked for.
Liam appeared beside me with a whisky âYou look overwhelmed.â
âIâm observingâ I responded.
âFlower shop girls donât usually say âobserving.ââ
My grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the champagne flute.
Right. The lie.
The one I told him the first night we went out, because he got a little too curious about me.
It was forgettable and safe.
âMaybe Iâm a very thoughtful flower shop girl.â
âMhm.â He took a sip. âStill think youâre hiding something.â
My pulse skipped.
For one terrifying second I wondered if he knew.
But then he grinned.
âProbably a boyfriend.â
âNo boyfriend.â
âGood.â
His answer came in a bit too quick, he seemed to realize it at the same moment I did.
His expression flickered, then someone called his name from across the room and the moment broke.
An hour later the party had become even louder.
People spilled into hallways. Someone was singing terribly. Someone else was arguing passionately about whether Blur were better than Oasis.
Liam caught my wrist.
âCâmon.â
âWhere?â
âAway from these lunatics.â
He led me upstairs through a maze of people until the music dulled behind closed doors.
The hallway was quieter.
Almost peaceful.
He pushed open an empty bathroom.
Black-and-white tiles. A claw-foot bath. Marble counters cluttered with abandoned lipstick and perfume bottles. The bass from downstairs pulsed faintly through the walls.
He closed the door behind us.
Not locked.
Just closed.
The silence felt strangely loud.
âYou kidnapped me.â
âRescued youâ He grinned.
âFrom free champagne?â I tilted my head.
âFrom that bloke in the velvet jacket staring at you all night.â
I smiled. âYou were jealous.â
âI was bored.â
âLiar.â
He leaned one shoulder against the door, watching me with that maddening half-smile âMaybe.â
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Just the muffled music downstairs and the old light buzzing above us.
Then he said, quieter than before, âYou know whatâs weird?â
âWhat?â
âEveryone downstairs wants something from me.â His eyes held mine.
âDrinks. Stories. Photos. Favoursâ He added.
He took a small step closer. âBut you donât.â
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because he was wrong.
That was the whole problem.
I wanted everything.
The story. The headline. The truth about him.
And suddenly, standing in that bathroom with his whisky on his breath and his stubble catching the light, I wasnât entirely sure those were the only things I wanted anymore.
He was close enough now that I could feel the heat of him.
Close enough that if I moved even slightly, weâd touch.
âTell me something real,â he said softly.
My throat tightened.
Tell me youâre a journalist.
Tell me youâre using him.
Tell me this isnât becoming complicated.
Instead, all I managed was a whisper âWhat do you want to know?â
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
When he looked back up, the cocky grin was gone.
And somehow that was far more dangerous.
âI want to know why I canât stop thinking about you.â
The room seemed to tilt.
And for one reckless second, I forgot I was supposed to be there to expose him.
No one spoke after that until he took one slow step toward me.
Then another.
Until there was barely any space left between us.
The music downstairs had become nothing more than a dull pulse beneath our feet.
I could smell the whisky on his breath mixed with cigarette smoke and whatever cologne he'd thrown on hours ago.
My heart betrayed me by speeding up.
"You're thinkin' too much," he murmured.
"I always think" I smiled softly.
"I've noticedâ a crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth â "It's exhausting watching you."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
"You've got this little crease..." He lifted a finger, hesitating for the briefest second before brushing it lightly between my brows. "...right there whenever you're trying to figure someone out."
I froze.
He'd noticed that?
"I don'tâ"
"You doâ His smile softened â "And every time I catch you starin' at me, I can practically hear the gears turnin'."
If only you knew why.
If only you knew every question, every lie, every page waiting in my notebook back home.
He studied me for another moment before his hand drifted from my forehead to my cheek.
His palm was warm.
Calloused.
Unexpectedly gentle.
I forgot how to breathe.
"You've gone quiet," he said.
"So have you."
"Doesn't happen often." He responded.
"Noâ I spoke
He laughed under his breath, âMust mean somethin'â
His thumb brushed lightly along my cheekbone.
Not teasing, Not cocky, Careful.
â-
Then like it was rehearsed, his face got closer to mine and our lips connected like it was normal.
Soft, with a slight tilt of his head to catch my lips properly â I couldnât help but actually kiss him back.
My hands trailed up to fist against his brown leather jacket, and he responded positively.
His other hand slipped to my hold my hip and he gently backed me against the countertop by the sink, the kiss intensified â no hesitation, no shyness. (Mightâve been the alcohol).
Liamâs lips were warm and demanding by now, his breath mingling with mine.
Suddenly I felt Liamâs fingers trail up my thigh â warm skin beneath the soft fabric of my skirt.
He didnât rush, didnât grab or shove. Like he mightâve done with anyone â I assume.
His thumb brushed just under the hemline, then slipped further up.
Exploring.
My heart was racing, thumping hard against my chest â I prayed he didnât feel my pulse.
Yet his fingers hovered just above the lace edge of my panties, soft fabric, delicate.
He didnât push yet â didnât slide beneath or press in.
He just waited, his lips briefly left my mouth and trailed to kiss down my neck â tiny pecks.
I didnât know what I was doing, but I rocked my hips forward gently, his lips stayed on my neck:
Light kisses down my collarbone, then back up with a tad more pressure.
I moved my hips once again â he responded by finally slipping one finger under the lace.
Slowly.
His finger tip slid along my folds, already warm and slick.
I didnât expect to be this turned on already, he was just teasing, just feeling.
And yet it made me respond pathetically.
I let out a small whimper, which ignited his move in sliding another finger.
Still just tracing, still not pushing inside â but pressing slightly firmer against my clit.
His kissing trailed up until he found my ear and whispered âmore?â
Bastard.
I let out a shaky breath and nodded.
He didnât tease like I expected him to, instead. He pressed his lips against mine again, deep and hungry.
While finally letting his fingers press tight circles against my clit, finally letting me feel.
A gasp escaped me â unfiltered.
He kissed the corner of my mouth lightly as he kept working. Slow, deliberate pressure in perfect rhythm with the bass still thumping faintly outside this door.
No words, just breathing heavily against each others lips while I melted into him; hips twitching slightly with every circle of his finger, hands gripping at his jacket like I might fall otherwise.
Liam was good at this . . . Dramatically so.
Liam pulled his face away enough to look at me, and enough for me to see his appearance.
Lips parted and kiss swollen, blue eyes hazy and locked in my eyes.
I whimpered every time his fingers pressed just right, I mightâve looked pathetic to him by now.
And he kept going â steady pressure, gentle firm circles. . . Watching every reaction until he buried his hand deeper into my crotch.
Letting a thick finger slide inside my folds.
Stretching me gently, he curled his finger inside of me â letting my lips part from the sensation.
My hips twitched forward instinctively like I needed more.
So slowly â carefully, he added a second one.
Pushing them both gently inside â deeper this time. Stretching with careful pressure as he watched for any signs of discomfort, but really he couldnât find any.
His fingers moved with quiet precision, no rush.
Curling gently inside that I could hear just how wet I am, the squelching sounds were just as filthy.
His thumb then found my clit again and resumed those slow circles.
The contrast was maddening â soft pressure outside mixed with careful stretching inside.
Every breath I took echoed, every whimper was probably a victory to him.
His gaze became intense, the bathroom felt smaller.
For one impossible moment...
I forgot about Scandal.
Forgot about the notebook.
Forgot about the headline I'd promised my editor.
There was only him.
Thenâ
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Oi Liam!"
The pounding against the bathroom door made us jump apart.
Someone on the other side laughed.
"You alive in there, you git? Or've you fallen in the bloody bath?"
Another voice chimed in.
"We're nicking your Coke if you don't come out!"
Liam shut his eyes for half a second and let out an exasperated groan.
"...Every single time."
I panted softly, both my hands went behind me to grip the counter.
One second he'd been standing inches away, looking at me like I was the only person in London.
The next...
The swagger was back.
He raked a hand through his hair and swung the bathroom open, leaving me standing there like nothing.
His mates laughed and started heckling him as they headed back toward the stairs.
Liam threw one last sarcastic comment after them, slipping effortlessly back into his loud, carefree persona.
ââââ
I stayed for another hour at the party, but it wasnât the same.
I felt too awkward, too nervous.
And Liam got distracted â he trailed off somewhere else without me.
I had no choice but to leave without saying goodbye, because I had just exposed my vulnerability at Liam Gallagher.
ââââ
The next day that I woke up for another day at work, there was something for me outside the step of my door.
A bouquet of my favorite flowers, the same ones I mentioned to Liam on our first âdateâ.
There wasnât a note attached to them, it just laid there all lonely.
Now I didnât know whether to hate him or forgive him.
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Wembley 2000 was an absolute disaster, divorcing Patsy after she found out how much of an asshole Liam was, and Liam acting childish in the middle of the gig. Everyone ended up stressed out and confused on his reaction, so immediately he got shit about it.
I apologize if this fic is shit, I wasnât really feeling the sexiness of it. I was listening to Micheal Jackson and kept getting distracted.
Warnings: smut, p n v, blowjob, Liam being an absolute ass.
Oasis had come far since their record deal in 1993, specially Liam on whom Iâve known since the Burnage days.
Heâs been involved with many women as far as Iâm concerned, had a lovechild with singer Lisa Moorish, married Patsy Kensit â and thatâs where the trouble came from.
Patsy, beautiful woman, she had his son Lennon an utter peach in 1999.
But also led Liam to act controversial on stage, when hasnât he thrown a tantrum before?
I was invited to this gig by Noel, itâll be fun he said, though now that I think about it he was definitely high or drunk. Insinuating that this gig would be fun was one thing, but it was definitely made for those who live for drama.
Liam had been moody since before the gig even started, kept acting like he was the shit â like people had to bow before his presence.
Messy hair, no ring attached to call himself taken, just sunglasses glued onto that face.
Probably acted more pretentious than a man who thinks he would become a pro-footballer someday.
He kept talking shit about patsy in front of all of us, and that was just while being backstage. Saying words he wouldnât dare to say in front of her face, it was a total bore.
âCan you shut the fuck?â Noel shot from his seat inside the bands dressing room, said everyone we all had been dying to say.
âWhat?â Liamâs face didnât hide how defensive he was about to get.
Knowing the two brothers since year 7 I had to step up, or the two would probably fight each other before the gig even started.
âAlright â enough you twoâ I called out from where I sat: next to Gem.
âOi donât fuckinâ tell me whenâs enough!â Liam defended immediately.
âI tell you whatever I want, âs a free country innit?â I scoffed.
Saw a faint smile on Gemâs face, still he pretended to clean the body of his guitar.
ââS a free countryâ Liam muttered under his breath, like an angry child. âGet to fuckâ
Before I could even think about standing up, and slapping the back of his fucking head the door got hit by three knocks.
Before a crew member popped his head out â âon five ladsâ
He barely even got acknowledged, but knew he was heard, So he closed the door and went about with his duties.
____
As oasis got their shit together to go play for 78,000 people, Liam had a clear sour face on.
And a tiny bit of coke residue under his nose, the only one who didnât quit hard drugs.
It started with a friendly greeting to the crowd â âhello Manchester!â Greeting londoners as if they were mancunian.
Then he called wembley âa shitholeâ and added that it was âabout time they knocked it downâ
Right.
During the songs âRoll with itâ and âStand by meâ he started ranting like a total baffoon.
And oh god â in âGo let it outâ? He screamed âshe only takes the furniture! She takes this, she takes that, and she takes this!â And added that patsy is âa fuckinâ cow!â
And that wasnât it, he started to beg for someone to flash their tits. Just so the big screen would catch them and show them to thousands of people at this gig.
When the gig ended, he had refused to leave stage â he started to mess with Noelâs guitar, and paced around like he had worms in his ass.
I didnât want to go out there and drag him out because holy shit â people were still there, trying to leave, or staying for the show that Liam was putting.
After a while he ended up leaving on his own account, and you could just imagine just how furious Noel had been.
Because the gig broadcasted live to millions and recorded for their official live album, he was utterly embarrassed.
So much so he didnât even look at Liam once.
ââ
Stupidly enough I was so distracted on thinking about Noelâs reaction that I didnât even see Liam approaching me, he grabbed my arm without hesitation.
âNeed yaâ he muttered.
I furrowed my brows âthe fuck you on about?â
He didnât reply, just dragged me into this crammed bathroom â a fucking bathroom.
He closed the door behind me and locked it
âLiam what do you want?â I muttered.
âGet on your knees for me?â He parted his lips, those blue eyes on me.
He mustâve seen the disbelief in my face because none of us would move, I crossed my arms across my chest and he exhaled from his nose â distressed.
âPlease.â
In my years of friendship with this bastard not once had we done anything intimate before; I had an angel on my right shoulder basically shouting that I shouldnât and it would ruin our friendship, and a devil on my left saying I should.
The more I thought about it, the more impatient he became. So he called out my name to snap me out of the conflicting thoughts, I looked up in sudden attention.
âWhat?â
He scoffed â âblow meâ
âWhat makes you think I would?â I grumbled.
I groaned âPlease, need it.â
Itâs not everyday you get Liam whining like a puppy, I didnât want to satisfy him like a king â âtake yourself out then.â
And the grin came back on his face, like he struck gold. He was quick with undoing his belt and unbuttoning the jeans he was wearing, pulling them down just enough to take his dick out.
Already glistening out the tip.
Thick, pink, just a bit veiny. Grossly I couldnât get my eyes off it.
âCâmonâ he urged, literal desperation on his face despite the cocky smile.
Rolling my eyes, because shit my morals â I lowered down on one knee, then the next.
I took ahold of him with my right hand, slid my hand up and down once, getting him to hiss under his breath.
I looked up once, he was already looking down at me â messy fringe all covered in sweat, lips parted slightly, both of his hands braced himself behind the sink counter he leaned on.
I swallowed thickly and parted my lips, liking the tip like a kitten â and immediately his hand slid on the back of my head, tangling in my hair.
âTake it, câmonâ he murmured.
âWell stop being a shitâ I argued, before parting my lips and taking his tip, sucking it just slightly to feel a tug on my hair strands.
I lowered down just slightly to let him feel the warmness of my mouth, he couldnât help a groan escape him.
I set up a slow pace, getting used to him being inside my mouth â every time I pulled my mouth away just slightly his dick glistened with my saliva.
He exhaled from his nose, holding the urge to push my head â because how he was acting all day I knew he wouldnât hesitate to fuck my face.
âI know ya can take moreâ he urged with a slight rasp in his voice.
I breathed out and opened my throat to be able to take more into my mouth â slid my head down with purpose.
Letting him hit the back of my throat, I braced my hands on his thighs and went down on him need.
Chocking occasionally whenever his dick hit back too much, I looked up at him and his head was tilted back â chest rising a bit faster.
He let out soft breaths and embarrassingly enough he was making me wet, at this point I was going to leave with a wet patch on my pants.
His other hand ended up landing on my cheek, his thumb brushed against my cheekbone.
âCâmon loveâ he grunted and started to push his hips just slightly â making he moan, mouth stuffed.
He looked down at me as he stilled my head and started to fuck into my mouth on his own, saliva dripped down my mouth and onto my chin.
âThatâs itâ he panted, hitting the back of my throat more than once. Making me choke on him like some blowout doll, I whined against it.
âFuckâ he breathed out and pulled his dick out of my mouth, letting me breathe for just a millisecond before going back in.
My eyes filled with tears, my jaw strained, the tip of my nose hit his pubic bone more times than I would like.
He let out a low grunt, pulling and pushing with purpose.
My hands tightened their grip on his thighs, I blinked out tears, I breathed in and out a bit louder than I anticipated.
But he didnât stop, not until he finally pulled out and started to jerk off.
I stared at his length, erected slightly, glistening with my saliva and precum.
In just a few strokes and a loud groan, hot strings of cum flew to my face â I immediately closed my eyes as they fell onto my cheeks, nose, and lips.
He slowed his movements down to stare at my face, and slowly I opened my eyes.
âFuckinâ dickâ I spoke with a rasp in my voice, he just grinned proudly â âbit of a mess you did there loveâ
âFuck offâ I huffed and he helped me stand up, legs a bit wobbly.
âCâmon then, whyâre ya stumblinâ?â He spoke as he got some toilet paper and started to dab my face clean.
I didnât want to say why â too embarrassingly to say I got off for sucking him off.
He looked at me, eyes locked onto mine â âFancy one?â
I knew what he meant, since words werenât going to help me, I nodded slowly.
He was gentleman enough to finish cleaning my face, half-arsed but the effort was there.
He took ahold of my hips and pushed me down on the sink, hands at the edge of it â and he walked behind me, he smiled at me at the mirror and kissed my shoulder.
Just a peck.
Then his hands trailed down to my trousers, and tugged them down so they pool on my ankles.
âGo down a bit moreâ he commanded.
I had to follow â I was fucking wet for some dick, so I lowered down on my elbows, spread my legs slightly, and stuck my ass out like a cat in heat.
He lifted my shirt up to get a view of my backside better, and tugged my panties down.
I liked my lips â which still tasted like him, salty and sweet.
His hand slid between my legs, I felt two of his thick fingers going up my folds.
âProper soaked you areâ he murmured and kept teasing.
Letting his fingers circle my clit, I couldnât help but let out a small whine.
He smirked, I could see it through the mirror.
âLiamâstop fuckinâ teasingâ I whined, pathetic.
âCalm down, youâll get itâ he muttered, but he kept moving his fingers against my pussy â and slid one of his thick fingers inside my entrance, the bastard.
Just with one he had me whining, I was encouraging his ego and I hated it.
Then two fingers entered me, he twisted them inside me, and curled them with purpose.
My pussy was making lewd noises, just fucking sloppy.
He let out a pleased hum before pulling his fingers out and wiping them on my ass cheek, then he kicked my legs apart â well told me to part them, and so I did.
I bit my lip as I prepared to finally be fucked proper, and thankfully he didnât tease of let me wait any longer.
He took ahold of himself, lined himself up, and slid through my puffy folds.
I let a breath out I didnât know I was holding, my eyes gazed up at my appearance â lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed, hair messy from his fingers earlier.
Until he bottomed out â his hands trailed down my spine and up again to take ahold of my hips, he let me adjust to his size before finally moving his hips.
âThatâs itâ he moaned, and started to use my hips as leverage, starting off with a slow pace â it didnât take long for the crammed bathroom to be filled with skin slapping skin, my whines, and the filthy noises my pussy was making.
My walls clenched against him, my breath hitched every time he bottomed out.
He panted and his right down started to grope my ass, parting it and squishing it.
I arched my back even more, whimpering like a damn dog, and he took it as encouragement.
âLike that love?â He mumbled â âcâmon then, take itâ
He moved his hips even faster, it mightâve been the alcohol and coke he took earlier (hence the disaster of a gig) but he fucked shamelessly.
I couldnât help but tremble, my hands gripped the sink tightly, so much that my knuckles turned white.
And Liam fucking loved it, he was thrilled to know that I was desperate for it.
I kept blabbering, muffling them down by putting my head down onto the counter â my knees buckled, my hip bones hit the hard surface every time my body bounced back.
His hands held my hips tighter, âfucking Christâ he stuttered.
His hand slid down from my hip and down my stomach to find my puffy clit, giving it a few slow tight circles â sweat on his bushy brow as he continued to fuck into me.
His other hand left my hip and buried into my hair to pick my head up, making me look into the mirror.
My parted lips kept letting noises escape, his eyes were all hazy â so much so his thrusts were getting sloppy.
I clenched around him once again, my ass kept bouncing on his pelvis.
I knew he was about to come when he slowed down, and he didnât want to do it before me so he urged his movements on my clit.
Pushing his fingers harder and tighter.
We were both panting faster, I tried to bite down a moan but I couldnât help it â letting the shockwaves overtake me.
Letting him groan lowly and push deep inside me, staying to paint my walls white.
He curled down, resting his forehead between my shoulder blades.
It was like time had stopped as we tried to catch our breaths, suddenly the smell of sex finally appeared to brush against my nostrils.
âFuckâ he sighed, and slowly pulled out of me with a soft âpopâ.
Didnât take long for me to feel his come drip down my inner thighs, making a mess out of me.
I rested my forehead back down, trying to catch my breath as I heard loud zipping â and clinking of his belt.
Putting himself away after a good fuck.
âSee you in a bit loveâ was all he said before he unlocked the bathroom door and slipped out without being gentleman enough to stay.
I wouldâve known the minute that I picked that pool cue up, when I challenged Liam because I had to get closer. I had to get this story in as fast as possibleâif I donât I just might get fired, and that itself is its own disaster.
ââ
Two nights after the pub, I sat in a booth in this cheap Italian place.
The kind of place where waiters shouted across the room and every table had a candle trapped inside a little red glass holder, also where secrets get spilled.
âSo..â Maya trailed off; âtell us everythingâ
I stabbed aggressively at my pasta âthere isnât anything to tellâ
Both women stared, not believing a word that I was saying.
I knew they wouldnât let up, so I sighedâ âFine.â
âThere she isâ Sophia grinned.
âYâknowâ Maya started âfor a journalist you're surprisingly terrible at withholding informationâ
âIâm selectively withholding!â I defended.
âThatâs called lyingâ Sophia perked.
I stared at the two women, the two who canât make me hold back any good story. Specially not one that involves Liam Gallagher.
âSo weâre playing poolâ I placed my hands on the sticky table for a dramatic effect.
âFlirting alreadyâ Sophia interrupted.
âWe were not flirtingâ I scoffed.
âContinueâ Maya muttered.
âOkay.â I cleared my throat and continued â âSo heâs being a bastard about it, all arrogant.â
âShockingâ
âApparently he was goodâ I continued, trying not to get interrupted once again â âAnyway! he breaks, Acts like he's about to win the World Cupâ
âPool isnât footballâ Sophia frowned.
âRight but he hits the 8-ball, and I wonâ I got to the point, because there was no way of telling a story with two friends that keep interrupting everything with commentary.
âPiss off!â
I nodded, taking a sip of lemonade with the ice already melting.
âThen, he asked me outâ I added â âmade my job easierâ
Maya couldnât help the cheeky grin from taking over, âWhenâs the date?â
âFriday nightâ I spoke.
âââ-
And oh Friday came fast, I told my editor that I would take that day off â I needed to get ready correctly if I was getting to Liam Gallagher.
And in my too small flat, I sat criss cross on the wooden floor trying to get my makeup to look right.
Hunchback, strain on neck the more I tried to look into the body length mirror propped against my bedroom wall, the more I resembled a gargoyle contemplating taxes.
âThis is ridiculousâ I scoffed, tossing my mascara onto the floor.
Iâm not nervous.
I am a journalist.
A professional.
On a mission.
Who definitely had not changed outfits six times in the last hour, the evidence told otherwise â black dress, trousers and a nice shirt, blue dress, black dress again.
Before I could cancel or contemplate my life choices, the phone rang â Maya.
âTell me youâve left alreadyâ
âI havenâtâ I responded.
A horrified gasp exploded through the receiver like I killed her puppy or summat.
âYou said the date starts at seven!â She exclaimed.
âSeven thirtyâ I corrected, but as I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand â yeah itâs fucking late.
âYouâre still in the flat arenât ya?â She spoke
âNo.â
âYouâre lying.â She scoffed into the speaker.
âWhat if he doesnât show up?â
Maya laughed so loudly I had to pull the phone inches away from my ear.
âHe asked you out!â
âBecause I beat him at pool!â I placed a hand on my forehead in distress, because now Liam fucking Gallagher has me all nervous.
âHe bought you a drinkâ she added
âBecause I told him toâ
As much as I wanted to keep on sulking and debating this whole ordeal of pretending someone Iâm not to get a story? I had to go on this date.
So I hung up before any more could be said, stood up, grabbed my jacket by a very old armchair.
Looked at myself in the mirror one last time before actually heading out.
âââ
Liam called me earlier to give me the location of the date, well â he called while I was in the back of a dodgy cab that had mysterious stains on the floors.
I was dropped off at a busy pub in Camden, glowing gold against the cool London evening.
People spilled onto the pavement holding pints, music drifted through open windows.
Taking a deep breath I took a step inside the pub, I was hit by seeing my reflection on a hallway mirror.
Admittedly I hated my hair.
Brilliant.
And just seconds before I could talk to myself into leaving, a familiar voice called out.
âThought youâd stood me upâ
Slowly I turned my head and there he was, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, cocky grin on the unshaven face.
âYouâre earlyâ I countered
âNahâ
âYou areâ I squeaked
âNahâ
âYou absolutely areâ I scoffed.
Instead of a proper response he shrugs âwas boredâ
Right.
He pushed off the wall he leaned on and stepped forward to my space, for a moment his gaze lingered.
Just long enough to make me aware Iâd spent an hour fighting with eyeliner.
âYâalright?â He asked â blue eyes, trailing over me as if sizing me up.
âfineâ
âGoodâ he nodded once â âyâlook niceâ
My brain completely abandoned its post, it was probably because itâs different when it comes out of the mouth of a man handsome enough to make everyone swoonâŚwell not that dramatic, but itâs close to make your heart skip a beat.
âThank youâ I responded
âDonât get all emotional âbout itâ he grinned
I paused â the thought from before? Gone. âThere it isâ
âWhat?â
âThe arroganceâ I crossed my arms against my chest.
He looked delighted.
âOh youâve seen nothinâ yetâ he laughed â âcâmonâ
He grabbed my wrist to lead me deeper into the pub; smell of cigarettes, people laughing and yelling, cheap cologne and perfume.
He took me to a small table near the back, a few people recognized him immediately, a couple whispered.
But Liam didnât seem to notice â or maybe he was just used to it.
âWhat dâyou want?â He asked
âLemonadeâ I responded.
Liam frowned and his eyes shot with attentiveness âa lemonade?â
âYesâ I nodded
âOn a Friday?â
âYeahâ I agreed.
âThatâs criminalâ he sat back on his chair
âIâm working tomorrow!â
He hummed â âwhatâs your job?â
I paused, because I couldnât say Iâm a journalist â thatâs the enemy.
So I had to make something up âI work in retailâ
He took that in like it was some kind of revelation, because on all honesty Liam didnât seem like the guy to date girls who werenât someone important.
âWhere?â He asked bluntly â no small talk fluff âwhat shop?â
Now heâs interrogating like some copper, I had to think hard â because heâs expecting an answer âflower shop.â
Liam blinked
He didnât say anything for a solid three seconds, just stared at me like I told him I worked in space as an astronaut.
Because yeah â flowers seemed like a safe option, soft â pretty things people buy when theyâre in love or upset.
âFlowersâ he finally said, voice lower than before. He wasnât mocking, just thinking.
âDo you actually like flowers?â He asked.
âWho doesnât?â I frowned.
Liam snorted, but it wasnât a laugh â more like disbelief.
âWho doesnât?â He echoed, raising a bushy brow. âPlenty of people donât give a shit âbout flowers, theyâre expensive and die in two daysâ
âSo what?â I argued
Liam studied for a second, I could tell because his eyes stayed on my facial expressions.
He tapped his fingers on the table, had one ring â on his pinky a golden ring.
âWhatâs your favorite flower then?â He asked.
So I told him.
âRight, theyâre prettyâ he muttered â awkwardly sincere.
Before his mouth could open back up I had to get a drink in my hands âso about those drinks..â I trailed off waiting for him to get the memo.
He snapped out of his flower trance, caught sight of a waiter passing by with an empty tray â so he raised two fingers to get their attention.
âOi! One lemonade..and whiskey. neat.â
Liam turned his head back to look at me, and I smiled â more like those quick awkward smiles.
He didnât smirk back or make some cocky comment, he just stared again.
For maybe two seconds too long.
I didnât mean to bring it up â but I had to âcan you quit starinâ?â
Liamâs face did something immediately, like a kid caught stealing sweets.
He blinked hard, then looked down at the table, suddenly very interested in a random scratch on the wood grain.
âWasnât starinââ he muttered, lying through his teeth.
But his ears? They went pink â just slightly, barely noticeable unless you were sitting right in front of him. Which I was.
Total dĂŠjĂ vu from when I kept looking at him, first night we met, first time I was getting over nerves.
Now? Same bar lighting, but it wasnât an âaccidentalâ run-in or some flirty pool game ambush.
It was a date.
The bartender returned with our drinks, my lemonade which was garnished with a tiny slice of lemon on the rim. And his whiskey.
I couldnât get too comfortable with this man, so I had to ask him the questions now. âWhat do you look for in a woman?â
The whiskey glass hovered halfway to his lips, but I kept my gaze on him â waiting.
Too obvious? I mean if he was any smarter he probably wouldâve decoded that the question sounded too journalist-like
Because instead of looking suspicious, Liam took his sip of whiskey â buying time to think.
He stared at me over the rim of his glass, eyes slightly narrowed like he was mentally flipping through every woman heâd ever dated. (Or slept with).
Then â
âDunnoâ honest. âNot really thought âbout itâ
A beat passed before he added âmost birds Iâve been with ⌠theyâre loud. Attention seekers. Wanna be seen on my arm.â He shrugged one shoulder â not bragging, just stating facts.
âRightâ I spoke
I didnât judge or called him âshallowâ â which I definitely shouldâve.
âDunno if I want someone loud thoughâ the admission slipped out quietly, almost accidental.
âNo?â I echoed to let him continue.
âNoâ he repeated â firmer this time.
I stayed quiet, sipped on my lemonade.
âLoud birds get on my nerves after five minutesâ he admitted. âAll fakinâ laughs and tryna be sexy..annoyingâ
A pause
âI meanâ he gestured at me with his left hand â..youâre not like thatâ
I couldnât believe my ears, donât know if it was a compliment or an insult.
âWhat makes you think that?â I asked.
Liam didnât hesitate âbecause youâre not grinning at me like a madwoman,â he said bluntly. âYou donât giggle every time I talk. You donât bring up oasis once â and every bird does thatâ
He took another sip of his whiskey, studying me over the rim.
âAnd you called me out on my shit back at the pool table. Most people donât do that unless theyâre pissed or scared â but you werenât eitherâ a smirk tugged at his lips
âyouâre just differentâ
âYeah?â I spoke, a bit too soft for my liking.
It was getting weird now, too soft. Too warm.
He put his glass down slowly, no longer hiding behind whiskey as a shield.
âYeahâ he said back â softer than usual for Liam Gallagher too. No sarcasm. No deflection.
Then after a breath: âyouâre easy to talk to.â
Men can be so oblivious sometimes.
âââ
After the pub we walked out of the pub together, the amount of people there were before had dropped significantly.
Now it was just us outside walking on wet pavement, Liam had his hands in his pockets and would make sure he was walking at the same pace as me.
Puddles reflected the city lights as we passed by pubs and music venues. Somewhere in the distance, muffled bass thumped from a late-night gig.
He didnât say anything at first. Just walked close enough that our arms brushed with every step.
It was quiet but not awkward.
A raindrop fell from a lingering cloud above and hit his forehead, then another on my shoulder.
Drizzle started again â light at first, just mist-like droplets.
Without a warning Liam had stopped walking, then he turned to face me â rain started to fall properly now.
He did something completely un-Liam-like and grabbed both of my hands and just bolted.
It was so surprising I couldnât help but out of a yelp and a command âwhere are we going!?â
He didnât even answer just ran â laughing like a child, rain dropped onto my hair, soaked both of our clothes â ran past closed record shops and graffiti covered alleyways.
Toward an open park area with big trees and benches, the kind of spot teenagers kissed in films.
âWhat was that for?â I laughed
Liam spun around under a tree, still grinning wide: unfiltered, happy in a way that looked weird.
âDunnoâ he said with zero explanation. âWanted to see you laughâ
And damn it. I had.
He stepped closer â not touching (yet).
And my eyes were locked on his appearance, his little bangs on his face were all wet and messy.
His cheekbones were slightly damp.
Before I could even tease him, say anything at all he acted.
He closed the gap â not a soft shy peck, not some romantic movie moment either â it was Liam kissing me.
Hungry.
Slightly messy from adrenaline and rain soaked lips.
One of his hands slid to the back of my neck, warm despite the cold night air. While the other stayed loosely around mine.
No hesitation.
Just pure instinct.
I pulled away slightly after a second, yet I couldnât help the grin that spread across my face â âdo Yâknow how cheesy that was?â
Liam didnât look embarrassed, not even a little. âCheesy?â He repeated, voice low and teasing âyeah. Probablyâ
Without missing a beat he also added âbut you liked it.â
It wasnât a question, it was confidence. That stupid Gallagher arrogance kicking back in â but this time? It wasnât mean or mocking.
It was playful.
âSureâ I smiled softly.
Thankfully he didnât say anything dumb, he just kissed me again like he had the right to. Because apparently he does.
Slower.
Softer.
His hands cradled my face gently as rain soaked us both â his thumb brushing a wet strand from my cheekbone.
And I let it happen, because I may be a journalist in disguise. But kissing him under the rain? This is straight out a romance film.
Liam pulled back just enough to look at me proper, and for me to see how rosy his lips got.
He wiped a raindrop from the corner of my eye with his thumb and asked âwhere dâyou live?â
I raised my brows at him skeptically âdonât think youâre getting luckyâ
Liam laughed once again, âlucky?â He repeated.
âWasnât planninâ on itâ which was definitely a lie.
And he saw the skepticism on my face, âright then.. where do you live? Iâll walk you.â
ââââ
We couldnât really walk to my flat, so we had to call for a cab to do most of the work.
And now Iâm standing by my door, Liam standing in front of me.
For once he didnât look cocky â just shifted on his feet in that awkward way when emotions were involved and not just sex.
âRightâ he muttered âthis is youâ
âYeahâ I nodded before adding âthank you for tonightâ
He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck âyeahâ he mumbled, âit wasâŚgoodâ
This is how a man acts when lust isnât involved yet.
âGood nightâ I said softly.
âNightâ he said quietly â almost gentle.
Then before turning away and me getting inside my cherished flat â âcan I.. call you?â
Bingo.
âCourseâ I smiled
I could see the moment his face lit up, then he turned around and walked away just like that.
I sighed and shoved the key into the lock of my door and got in, leaning back against the closed door.
And closed my eyes for a moment.
Because I had to scold myself not to get attached.
I worked for scandal which sounded way nicer than what it actually is. Most days meant sitting under harsh lighting, horrible coffee, and writing headlines dramatic enough to make someone stop in their tracks and buy the damn thing.
On Englands daily gloomy day during August of 1999, my editor changed the whole rhythm of my life.
Or ruined it.
Maybe both.
ââ-
âYouâre doing Gallagherâ
I looked up from my desk, âexcuse me?â
Across the room, half the staff stopped pretending to work, my editor Sandra had tossed a thick file onto my keyboard.
It landed with a thud.
The front was covered with a photograph of a very familiar face; messy dark hair, stubble, thick brows, droopy blue eyes, Liam fucking Gallagher.
âYouâre going undercoverâ Sandra said.
I stared at her with disbelief.
âNo.â
âYes.â
âNo.â
âAbsolutely!â With a smile on her face like that helped.âThe rumors are getting bigger each month. Brawls, women, drugs, alcohol. We want the truth.â
Slowly I pealed the file open, inside were photographs from clubs, hotels, backstage entrances, pubs.
Three separate articles that involved someone throwing stuff, like a fucking chair.
âWhy me?â I asked.
Sandra folded her arms, âbecause youâre twenty five, single, and donât admittedly lose your mind over any celebrity.â
The sports editor snorted âsheâs got a pointâ
My eyes snapped at him and threw him a pen, Sandra continued âyour job is simple.â Nothing good followed those words.
âGet close to Liam Gallagher.â
âââ
By six o clock that evening, I was sitting in my tiny flat surrounded by enough information about Liam to qualify as a doctoral thesis. The problem is that none of it matched. One woman called him charming, another called him impossible, one described him as sweet, another described him as an âarseholeâ.
I scribbled notes on a tiny notepad, then another, then another.
My phone rang. It was Stacey, a former model who had met Liam several times through the music scene, âyouâre really doing this?â She asked.
âApparentlyâ I sigh and sit at the edge of my pink bedding.
She laughed âoh this is going to be brilliant!â
âHelpfulâ I grumbled.
âRight. Sorryâ she cleared her throat, âNever tell him heâs wrong.â
âThatâs your advice?â I scoff.
âHeâll argue for three hours if contradictedâ
I wrote that down as she continued, âIf he likes you, heâll tease you constantly.â
âSounds awfulâ I mutter.
âIt is.â
Another note.
INSULTS MAY ACTUALLY BE FLIRTING
My notepad was getting filled by the minute.
And so by the end of the evening I had collected enough contradictory advice to fill an encyclopedia, according to many sources Liam Gallagher was:
- funny.
- infuriating.
- loyal (hence his support to man city).
- unpredictable.
- generous.
- impossible.
- a nightmare.
Sometimes all within the same hour. I close the notebook.
There was only one way to figure this out, and that is by going to the pub everyone mentioned that Liam goes to weekly. The kind of place where the carpet survived decades with stubborn stains.
And so in the fresh rained on pavement I walked in white kitten heels, I had to make some sort of impression so I wore something that would make me pop. Baby pink silk midi skirt with lace trim, a butter yellow quarter sleeve top.
It had been one of the most colorful things inside my closet, so never mind the outfit. The trench coat I had covers it if needed.
As soon as I opened one of those glass doors I was met with the stench of lager and cheap aftershave.
The sound of the stone roses playing faintly which kept being interrupted by loud laughter and chanting.
My stomach tightened with anxiety, but Sandraâs words echoed in my mind.
Get close.
Get the story.
Do not get distracted. (Very important)
I checked my appearance for the hundredth time, in the reflection of the dodgy mirror showed a very terrified journalist.
I took a deep breath and walked further into the chaos, I looked around and tried not to look too obvious. (Though I probably was) until I saw him.
Leaning back on his chair, arms folded, pint in front of him, and surrounded by other men.
This whole assignment wouldâve been easier if Liam didnât take the whole room, I walked to the bar and order a vodka soda, my eyes kept trailing down to the target.
Sunglasses on indoors.
Often laughing or grinning widely.
And consistent rants.
Before I could register anything at all, he looked up. Straight at me.
My lips parted slightly, heart dropped to the ground, and nervousness to the roof. The type of nervousness you get with your first crush in high school, and yet his gaze stayedâwell I wouldnât know since he had sunglasses on, but his head didnât look anywhere else but my line of sight.
I had to make the move and look away, painted fingernails tapping against my half drunk vodka soda glass. I bit my lip and reached into my bag where the filled notepad laid, and admittedly I started to analyze what on what could help me during this awkward crisis.
I looked his way once again and he was still facing me, if he wasnât my target I wouldâve assumed he was one fucking creep. But he smiled, not a wide grin, but a soft smirk.
I have ten days to get this story in, so getting out of character I smiled back at him and looked away. Maybe suggesting to him?
Well I had no idea what I was doing, but something is better than nothing.
ââ
In a second my nose picked up on cologne scent, on my peripheral vision I saw him.
Before I could even cheer on myself he spoke, âwhy do you keep starinâ at me then?â
So much for being subtle.
âI wasnât staringâ
He snorted and took a seat beside me âYes you wereâ.
With all the swagger in the world and smoke, he flagged down the bartender with a lazy flick of his fingers. âTwo pintsâ he said â there was no please nor eye contact it was just pure mancunian arrogance.
He finally yanked off the shades and shoved them into his jacket pocket before turning that sharp gaze to me, bright blue eyes, untamed brown hair falling over those caterpillar brows. âYou were definitely starinââ he repeated â cocky energy is all back. âWhatâs your name then?â He didnât wait for an answer before adding; âOr are you one of those wannabe groupies?â.
I took a deep breath, this man is unbelievable. And yet I still gave him my name, I had to.
âNot even close, wouldnât want to be a groupie for youâ I spoke.
Liamâs smirk didnât fade â it grew, like a wolf spotting prey. Actually scratch that, it was more like Cheshire Cat.
âOoh,â he drawled, leaning in slightly, the smell of lager already on his breath. âFeisty little thing, arenât ya? Most birds trip over themselves tryinâ to impress me.â
He took a slow sip from the pint shoved in front of him by the bartender. His mates were rowdy at their table and Liam ignored them completely, now he was fully focused on me.
âSo what do you want then? âCause youâre sittinâ right next to meâŚdrinkinâ fancy cocktailsâŚdressed up like this..â he trailed off and gestured vaguely at my outfit with his glass.
I took offense âWhatâs wrong with what Iâm wearing?â
Liamâs eyes dragged down my outfit â slow, deliberate, like he was inspecting a suspicious painting.
And thenâŚhe snorted loudly. âNothinâ wrong with it,â he said âitâs justâŚa lot. Like you walked out of one oâ them posh tea shops or some shite.â
He took another swig of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like some caveman. âYou look allâŚdelicate and stuff, not exactly pub readyâ he gestured at the grime-covered floors and sticky tables where half empty pints were being knocked over by rowdy lads in jeans and band tees.
I now needed a way to prove otherwise, so I huffed under my breath and started thinking quick.
Finishing my drink in one go, I looked around and spotted a pool table â before I could stop myself.. âyou play?â
Liamâs gaze turned to the pool table, dusty, chipped felt, cue sticks leaning against it like forgotten soldiers.
A slow dangerous grin spread across his face. The kind that said Iâm about to destroy you and enjoy every second.
Because he wasnât wrong, I barely knew how to play pool â last time I played I kept telling my mates that I was going pro and every time I missed.
âYeah.â He responded â âOi!â He barked at one of the bar lads cleaning glasses behind the counter.
âGet us the table sortedâ
And within seconds, a few lads shuffled off from their seats and someone racked up balls on the table. Cue stick slid over with zero ceremony.
Liam stood and walked over, so I followed.
I came here with a mission.
Liam grabbed it first â no warm up shot or anything polite like that, just aimed and broke hard enough for balls to fly everywhere⌠including a stripe ball falling straight into a pocket before I could blink.
Right.
I grabbed my destined cue stick, aimed at a solid, and the hit was so weak the ball trailed a few inches before stopping.
Liam watched the shot with mild amusement.
He exhaled through his nose â not quite a laugh, but close. The kind of quiet disdain only a man with unreasonable skill and ego could muster.
âbloody hellâ he muttered under his breath before striding over to the table like it owed him money, without asking for permission or anything polite (because why would he ever be polite?). He leaned down and took his turn after my weak attempt, he lined up the shot: striped ball tucked behind two others.
But in one smooth motion â smooth for someone who clearly played this drunk every weekend since puberty â he sunk it clean into a corner pocket.
I took a deep breath as I had two choices here: enrage him or distract him.
Anything to not live up humiliation of this stupid pool game.
So I started off with getting into his space, constantly.
Until Liam was in mid-celebration â smug, grinning like a king who just conquered a tiny kingdom â when I tipped his pint âaccidentallyâ
The glass slammed sideways, lager foaming over the rim and splattering all over his worn jeans and onto the sticky floor.
For half a second? Silence.
âOi!â He whipped around so fast it looked painful, eyes blazing with pure mancunian rage.
âWhoopsâ I shrugged, acting completely unbothered.
âWhoops?â He repeated, voice low and dangerous. âYou just fuckinâ knocked me pint over!â
He grabbed the nearest napkin (which didnât salvage anything) and started scrubbing at his jeans. Then he looked over at me â really looked.
The unbothered act really pissed him off.
Without any warning at all, he snatched the cue stick right out of my hand and pointed it at me like a sword. (Dick!)
âYâknow what?â He snapped, still seething over his ruined pint. âYouâre playinâ dirty. That wasnât an accident and we both know it.â
âI think youâre overreactingâ I spoke, and as soon as his lips parted to keep complaining I cut him off â âhey, itâs your turn yâknowâ I pointed at the pool table.
Approaching I gently taken my cue stick back and away from him, but I got too close because for a split second he froze.
His face just a bit close, smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke hit me.
I stepped back acting like nothing bothered me, his anger wavered â just slightly â but pride kicked right back with full force.
âOi! Iâm not done!â He barked, voice loud enough that a few heads turned at them.
Before I could stop myself âI say you are!â I spoke like if I were scolding a literal child.
The second the words left my mouth â loud, sharp, defiant â Liamâs eyes flashed.
Not with anger this time.
No.
Something worse; amusement.
A slow, wicked smirk curled at the corner of his lips. âYou are?â He mocked in a high pitched voice that definitely didnât sound like mine, then dropped into his normal growling voice: âSince when do you decide my turn? Huh?â
He stepped forward â closing the gap I had created â and loomed over me slightly.
âSince when do you take cue sticks from other women?â I scoffed.
Liamâs smirk didnât fade, âsince when?â He repeated. Leaning down so his face was eye-level with mine.
Close enough to see the slight grey flecks in his eyes and the long lashes he definitely did not need.
He let out a low chuckle, rough and unbothered by basic decency or social norms. âSince always,â he said simply, as if stealing cue sticks from women (or anyone) was just a normal human function for him. Like breathing or swearing every other sentence.
Just go mock him I fired back â âawh am I special then?â I whined with a fake pout.
Then, his face did something weird. A twitch at the corner of his mouth, his eyebrows lifted slightly.
Not quite softening, but hesitating. Like even Liam Gallagher didnât know how to process being teased by someone who wasnât afraid him.
I smiled and turned my heel to walk towards the opposite side of the pool table, âare you gonna go?â I gestured at the ongoing pool game.
Liam stared at me, probably focused on the sway of my hips.
I had to mess with him.
He glanced at the table and without saying anything else⌠Liam grabbed his stick and lined up his next shot.
As he aimed specifically at this orange striped ball he accidentally hit the 8-ball too, leading the 8-ball to fall straight into a pocket.
Silence.
Liam didnât move, didnât blink, just stared at the empty space where the winning ball had been â like it had personally betrayed him. Heâd lost.
And to get him angry? I clapped my hands together and squealed a cheer. âI win!â
Liamâs head snapped toward her.
And ohâ
That clapping. That high pitched, giddy âI winâ? Hit him like a slap to the face.
A direct attack on his pride â loud, obnoxious, and deliberate.
For half a secondâŚnothing.
But his jaw clenched so hard it looked painful, for the cherry on top; I approached him but not for long.
âBuy me a drink?â I grinned and turned around expecting him to follow, like he was some obedient dog on a leash.
And yet..Liam dropped the stick onto the table and turned toward the bar.
Liam slid into a stool besides me, ignoring the bartenders tired âWhatâll it be?â
He didnât look at me at all, just stared straight ahead. Jaw set and expression unreadable.
âRight,â he stared gruffly. âYou want a drink? What dâyou want?â
âVodka soda pleaseâ I spoke, hands on my lap like some polite little thing.
Liam nodded once â sharp, no nonsense â âvodka sodaâ he ordered, then paused. âAnd another pint for me.â
The bartender then scurried off.
Liam finally turned his head slightly toward me, studying me profile in the dim pub light. Didnât say anything romantic or compliment me.
Insteadâ
He cleared his throat awkwardly, âright,â he muttered.
âYou wanna go out? Properly.â It came out rough and rushed, like the words were being dragged from him by force.
âWhy should I?â I spoke.
He paused, then he turned fully toward me. Elbow on the bar, one hand gripping his fresh pint glass a little too tight. âWhy?â He repeated.
âBecause youâre sittinâ here lookinâ all..â he trailed off awkwardly, I raised my brows at him just slightly.
But he couldnât say what I knew he was going to say, and instead he said âyou wonât the game fair and square. Least I can do is take you out.â
And thatâs when I knew I entered the zone.
This new task might be easier than I thought it would be.
working for a magazine line called scandal, being a new journalist I was specifically employed to expose the infamous Liam Gallagher. Everyone knew that Liam is a conspicuous cheater but where was the hard evidence?
The one and only way to find out more about him is to go undercover, which is exactly what I did. My editor had called it an opportunity of a lifetime, I called it madness.
Armed with an unconvincing rĂŠsumĂŠ and far more confidence than I actually possessed, I found myself sat on a stool on the same pub that Liam goes to daily. The plan was simple: get close enough to earn his trust, gather proof of his infidelity, and deliver scandal the front page they had been chasing for.
Although what nobody warned me about is how difficult Liam Gallagher was to pin down and how eventually he knew exactly how to get under my skin.
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Plot: after a quite adventurous night, you wake up in a very domestic way.
Warnings: fluff, teasing slow burn sorry
A/N: itâs my birthday yippie
Your relationship with Liam is quite complicated, youâve known him for a couple years now as a family friend.
It didnât register to you that you had woken up half naked next to him
That is until the pound in your head settledâthe price of an night out
Turning your head to what you knew was Liam made you pause to admire, he looked nothing like the swaggering hurricane he usually is.
Instead he was slouched against the pillows, hair sticking out in soft disobedient spikes, eyelashes casting shadows against his cheeks..
Then, he cracked one eye open
Squinting as if morning had personally offended him. âBloody hellâ he rasped
His voice gravelly with sleep. âThink something died in me âeadâ
You couldnât help but smile softly, just seeing him so soft is so hypnotizing.
He stretched an arm above his head, muscles shifting beneath the sheets
The movement tugged the blanket down just enough for you to panic and yank it up, he noticed.
Of course he did.
âRelaxâ he murmured ânothing scandalousâ
He shifted closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough to make a point.
âSo we didnât?..â you trailed off
He shook his head, ânah. You were too knackered and couch felt like it was built out of bricksâ he paused âso here you are.â
âWhy am I half naked then..?â You asked
He smirked and turned his head to look at you, blue eyes locked with yours âyou mightâve puked on âemâ
âOh godâ you groaned, dreading at how embarrassing that mustâve been.
Then he laughedâone of those rare, unguarded laughs that softened all the sharpness he carried.
Silence settled, warm and thick.
You became used to the feeling of being so close to him, fitting so perfectly.
The pounding in your head tamed just a tad
Liam pushed himself upright and rubbed a hand over his face. âCâmonâ he said, voice low but gentle.
âIâll fix us a tea, fixes everything in the morningâ with that he swung his legs off the bed, muttering something about his knees âgivinâ the will to liveâ
Then padded toward the kitchen in mix-matched socks.
You stayed there, watching him go.
The domesticity of this situation hit you square on the chestâLiam was never like this, and apparently this is your version of him.
Letting out a shaky breath you got out of bed, his bed.
Letting your feet take you down the wooden stairs and into the tiled kitchen where he stood, boiling the water, hands on his hips.
He was hummingâsomething half remembered, maybe a melody heâd written in a hotel room once and never bothered to record.
It flooded around the kitchen like morning dust in a sunbeam.
âMilk?â He asked
âAnd one sugar pleaseâ you muttered, walking to a stool by the counter island and satâwatching him act so soft.
ââââ-
After he was finished he turned and slid the cup of tea to you, stood on the opposite side of the counter island.
âStill feelinâ rough?â He asked
âA bit.â You muttered
âDrink up, tea cures sinsâ
Thatâs not how it worksâ you chuckled weakly
âIt is in this houseâ
His grin lingered for a second, then softened as he looked you overâreally looked, scanning your face like he was checking for cracks
âYâa scared me last nightâ he murmured
Your brows pinched âhow come?â
âWerenât yerself. All floppy and laughinâ at nothinâ, thought ya were gonna topple over like a jenga tower.â He took a sip, eyes fixed on the mug âdidnât want to leave you alone.â
Words so simple, yet carried a special place in your heart.
âThanksâŚâ you paused âfor taking care of meâ
He shrugged âcourse, âm not a complete gobshiteâ
âDebatableâ
âOiâ he snapped his head up
You grinned at his reaction like if you just won the lottery.
Despite the annoyance in his voice he still wore a small smile on his face.
âReady to go home, or wanna stay with this old git?â He asked, his eyes had a glint of plea on them, like if he were expecting you to stay a little longer
After a moment of silence you answered âIâll stay a bit, heads killinâ me as we speakâ
âCâmon thenâ he grabbed his mug and padded down to the living room
You stayed back for a couple minutes before pushing the stool back and getting off
âââââ
Before it came to settle you had spent three hours with Liam
Watching comedy films, laughing together, and being a bit too close
Anywho.
Every so often, he shifted, just enough that you caught it out of the corner of your eye. Knee brushing yours for a second.
Shoulder angling your way.
Nothing bold though, nothing you could call him out on.
But it was enough to make your pulse quicken.
It was ridiculousâhe was older, he was a friend of your family, he had every reason in the world to keep a respectful, safe distance.
And yet you felt the air between you stretch and tighten, invisible but unmistakably there.
Finally dared to look sideways at him.
Liam was already looking at you.
Not in some dramatic, cinematic way. More in a soft, almost startled way.
Like he hadnât expected you to catch him. His eyes flicked down to your mouthâonly for a fraction of a second, but long enough that something in your stomach pulled taut.
He cleared his throat and leaned back slightly, pretending to focus on the screen again.
âHead feelinâ any better?â He asked, voice low, roughened not by sleep but by something else.
âYeahâ you said. âThanks..for, yâknow. Not letting me die on the pavement last nightâ
He huffedâhalf a laugh, half a scoff.
âTold ya. Wouldnât let that happen, someoneâd kill me if I let you wander off like thatâ
You smirked âmy mum?â
âMe, probablyâ he muttered, too quietly, like he hadnât meant that slip.
Your breath hitched slightly, he mustâve realized it.
Because he shifted again, this time turning his body toward you fully.
His knee brushed yoursâand stayed there. The room felt smaller, quieter, charged.
You didnât move away. You werenât sure you couldâve even if youâd tried.
He reached up, slow and deliberate, fingers lifting a small lock of your hair that had fallen forward. His touch was barely there, just enough to graze your temple.
But your whole body reacted as though heâd touched far more than that.
For a second, one suspended, fragile second.
You thought he was going to kiss you.
His eyes dropped to your lips again.
Your felt your breath catch, your chest tighten, your heart hammer.
But insteadâLiam leaned in, exhaling softly.
And pressed a warm, fleeting kiss to the top of your head.
It wasnât a mistake, it wasnât a drunken impulse, it was careful.
Intentional.
Gentler than you ever thought he could be.
When he pulled away, the space he left behind was unbearable. He settled back into the couch, hands clasped loosely between his knees, looking at the floor as if afraid.
Afraid if he said too much without saying anything at all.
âShould take ya homeâ he murmured and stood up.
You were left dumbfounded, thinking that maybeâŚjust maybe he had feelings for you.
Suppressing them is just making this whole situation unbearable.
There really wasnât anything you wanted to do more than grabbing his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his.
A/N: Iâve ran out of ideas, if you lot can please send me some juicy suggestions on what to write next.
Plot: you and Liam had a long âfriendshipâ that lasted on pure tension, it really didnât take long before Liam snapped.
Warnings: cursing, tensions, smut, sweet talk
Even to the naked eye the tension between you and Liam was very strong, the way his eyes tended to linger on you longer than you think.
The way his hand would find its way to your arm,
Or maybe it was the way that he talked to you.
Whatever it was the guys from the band made sure Liam heard the last of it, and you; whom practically grew up with Liamâhad gone to the same school as tweens.
Itâs safe to say you know him pretty well, but seeing him now.
With white powder under his nose, hands itching to touch a blonde sat next to him
Her laughter filling the room instead of yours, his mouth on hers, trailing down to her jaw, neck.
It drove you mad
âItâs not fairâ you thought.
It really wasnât, so instead of torturing yourself with such an awful scene you had gotten up.
Yearning for another drink that would make you forget about him and that girl
And soon enough what seemed to be one drink turned into two..three..four..fiveâŚ
Really takes a lot to forget
As you were about to order what seemed to be the sixth drink you felt a familiar pair of hands on your waist, Liam.
The reassurance it was him came from the scent of smoke, his cologne he canât seem to put down, and his hot breath next to your ear.
Slowly, but deliberate.
âGettinâ yerself drunk, without me?â He murmured
Part of you dreaded to speak to him again, the other wanted all of his attention.
âYou got bored already?â You glanced at him through your lashes
âCould say thaââ he grinned before moving to sit on the stool next to you, motioning for the bartender
âWait for me yeah? Wanna get drunk with youâ he spoke, it wasnât the first time you two had gotten drunk togetherâbut the way he looked, His eyes were half-lidded, that trademark heavy-lash glare that always made him look like he was weighing the entire world and finding it a bit boring
You hadnât noticed your face was leaning closer to him, the hint of flush on his skin, his parted pink lips.
It wasnât until he turned his head to look at you that made you realize how stupid you look.
âYer starinâ like I grew a second head or summatâ
Your breath caught on the back of your throat ânot staringââ
He huffed a laugh, âBehave. You were lookinâ at me like youâre tryna memorise the whole lot.â
You paused at his responseâitâs Liam what could you expect.
âCocky much?â You scoffed
His mouth tugged sideways, that arrogant half-grin that had probably started fights and ended nights.
âWhat?â You furrowed your brows
silence just hummed for a couple seconds before he had the courage on responding
âNothinââ he muttered, and before he could think about it he made his suggestion âcome back to the room witâ me?â
He didnât wait for a response before he hopped off the stool, and took a half-step closer, close enough that the hallway noise faded behind his presence.
âGot a few drinks up there, câmonâ he grabbed your hand gently
Then you nodded, leaving your empty glass behind on the barâwhatâs the harm on joining your childhood friend for a drink?
ââââââ-
The walk through the endless carpeted hallway of the hotel room continued it was obvious that he was getting close, Liam didnât touch youânot yetâbut he walked like he might at any moment. A brush of an elbow. A nudge of a shoulder.
Suddenly you had that determination of getting out of there, he knew what he was doing.
So in an instant you added speed to your feet as you walked.
âYâknow⌠you donât have to be nervous.â
She shot a look over her shoulder. âWho says Iâm nervous?â
He raised his brows, lips curling. âYer walkinâ faster than the elevator.â
She nearly stumbled. âIâm not nervous.â
âSureâ he paused ââCause Iâm not gonna try anythinâ you donât want.â
Your brain short-circuited, a gazillion questions flew around your head.
But before he could see your confusion, you both had arrived to the destination.
The metal numbers on the white door â238â staring at you like if it was mocking you.
He unlocked the door with a simple click and went right in
Following behind you let your eyes trace the undone bed, his suitcase laid flat on the floor, and a used towel draped on the headrest of the couch.
He grabbed two cans off the desk, tossed one to her.
You caught it barely.
âNice reflexes,â he said with a low chuckle. âStill got that goalkeeper thing goinâ on, eh?â
âThat was one time,â you muttered. âAnd you kicked the ball at my face.â
âBest pass Iâve ever madeâ he shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed
You hid a laugh as you cracked open the tab of the beer can, The fizz hissed between them.
For a moment, it felt like old timesâtwo kids on a brick wall, sharing cheap lager and bad jokes.
You took a sip then you caught his gaze.
over the rim of his can, his eyes lingering in a way that was not teenage Liam. Not the boy she used to argue with over mixtapes and whose mum sheâd known since primary school.
It felt heavy, slow, almost lustful.
âWhat?â You uttered
âFunny innit? he murmured. âKnown you since you were whatâtwelve? Thirteen? Always thought of you as this little gobshite who stole me crisps.â
âYou offered them.â You retorted
âLies,â he said, smirking.
Then, softer: âBut youâre not that kid anymore.â
You felt your chest tighten in a way that you quite didnât expect.
âWell,â you spoke quietly, âneither are you.â
Then he placed his can on the bedside table and stood up, slowly stepped up to you.
âGuess notâ he murmured âtook me a while to noticeâ
Your breath hitched againâridiculous.
after all these years.
but something about the way he said it, low and rough and almost careful, did something to your damn pulse.
He then reached out, brushing a thumb along the edge of your can so his fingers didnât quite touch yours.
Teasing. Testing. Old Liam, new Liam, tangled into one.
âYou sure you donât wanna sit down?â he asked softly âFeel like weâve got⌠a lot to catch up on.â
âSuch as?â You whispered
He shrugged âthings we didnât do long agoâ
Your eyes caught onto his blue ones, your mouth parted slightly as he mimicked you.
And in an instant you felt his lips on yours.
a soft press of lips that deepened only when you sighed against him, his hand sliding to your jaw as though heâd been waiting years for permission
It lasted a moment before the two of you pulled away.
They stared at each other, sitting too close yet suddenly not close enough, years of friendship rearranging themselves in the air between them.
He laughed onceâsoft, disbelieving, almost nervous.
âI swear I didnât plan that,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck. âDidnât think youâd⌠yâknow. Actually kiss me back.â
Then you met his eyes, heart pounding. âI didnât think I would either.â
The silence stretched, before you let the can of beer fall to your feet and your arms wrapped around his neck as if you were about to faint.
Lips back on each otherâthis time it was deeper, forceful, you could actually catch the alcohol and cigarette taste on his tongue.
He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer and of that was humanly possible.
A soft tug here, and a small push there and your head fell onto the pillows on his bed.
One knee between your legs and the other by your hip, the two of you didnât even ask for permission both thriving through lust.
And unspoken feelings.
Tugging your own shirt off he repeated your action, before you throw your shirt by the floor his lips traced hot sloppy kisses down your neck
Reaching down to your collarbone as if he was trying to remember your taste.
You let out a breath you didnât know you were holding, he feeling of his hands and lips made your head go fuzzy.
âFuckinâ need yaâ was the only warning he gave you before he tugged on the button of your jeans and eventually slipping the rough denim off your legs.
He took a moment to look at you in just your lingerie, you almost felt self conscious before he wiped that thought off your head
âProper gorgeous you areâ he smirked,
âTake âem off tooâ you gestured at his jeans, didnât want to be the only vulnerable one.
He huffed a laugh and obeyedâsliding the belt off and pushing the dark washed jeans off
As he was distracted on throwing the jeans onto the floor to join the other scraps of clothing, you slid your bra off
When his gaze turned to you, his breath caught for a beat.
âGonna kill me yâ areâ he flashed a grin and tugged you down, grabbing the back of your thighs and spreading your legs for him.
His hands then slowly, agonizingly slow.
Slid up your thighs, stomach, until they reached the undersides of your breasts.
His index took advantage of it and nudged your right nipple, as if testing the waters.
You sighed softly, letting him appreciate you in his own way.
Twisting, tugging, licking.
Whatever he wanted.
He let a pleased hum when you let a drawn-out plea, you didnât know how long you could go without messing up your panties anymore.
Without taking them off, two fingers slid down to touch your clothed clit.
Soft touch, just enough to feel the heat between your legs.
A shuddering gasp leaving your lips before you could even stop it.
Smirking at your reaction he moved his fingers slightly just to give you the pressure you craved, if you werenât this needy you wouldâve slapped the smirk right off his face.
Feeling merciful he tugged your panties off, slowly scratching your thighs, until he tugged them off your ankles.
Leaving you to his hungry awaiting gaze, slowly his eyes dragged through your face, your flushed cheeks, swollen parted lips, and a brand new love bite forming by the curve of your neck.
âWant me?â He asked in a whisper
There wasnât anything you wanted to do more in your life, so in a needy plea you spoke out âplease..â
He let out a breath, like if he couldnât believe what he was about to do, like living a dream.
He tugged himself out of his boxers, lining up to your entrance.
Sliding up and down your folds, coating himself, lubricating himself.
A small nudge was enough to knock a shaky pant out of you, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed in slowly, savoring you.
He let out a satisfied groan, one of his hands held your hip as the other held your thigh to make sure your legs remained open to him.
He stayed still for a bit, letting you adjust to this Intrusion.
Your parted lips let out a breath as you moved your hips forward, he quickly got the memo and began to move inside you.
Every thrust, every tug, every kiss, was like a whispered promise.
It didnât take long before he started to be a bit rough, grabbing your jaw so you wouldnât look at anything other than him, his hips snapped against yours like it angered him.
Every whine and moan that you made tugged a string of satisfaction on his ego, âshitâ he breathed out.
His forehead now sweaty, fringe stuck onto his face, his lips parted as his fingers slid down from your hip to circle your clit.
Anything to make your desperate, filthy noises he craved so badly.
âWanna take a picture of yaâlook so prettyâ he murmured breathlessly as he continued his assault.
You couldnât help but moan out his name, you were getting so close and he could tell by the way you were clenching around him like you wanted to own him.
And he let it happen, because he wanted you as much as you didâthe stimulation of his fingers making tight circles on your clit, his hips moving into yours with purpose, and his gaze devouring you were enough for your climax.
He let out a strangled curse as you restrained cry.
ââââââ
The two of you lay under the duvet like puppets, thin coat of sweat, and flushed cheeks.
âBloody hell.â He paused âtell me why we never fucked earlier?â
You let out a soft laugh, âcouldnât tell youâ
A small minute of silence he turned his head, kissing your temple.
A simple gesture that made your heart flutter.
Like if something more could grow between the two of you.
A/N: Been gone for nine months, hopefully this would be my comeback and not my disappearance.
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