fri’s mind

The house was always quieter when Noel wasn’t in it.

Not silent, never that. There was the telly left on too low in the evenings, the kettle clicking every couple of hours, the washing machine rattling in the kitchen, the phone ringing at odd times, sometimes with him on the other end, sometimes not.

And there was Anaïs too. She filled rooms with the kind of noise only a toddler could make, all tiny feet, half-formed words and toys dragged across the floor with great importance. She wasn’t yours, of course. She was Noel’s daughter, from the life he’d had before you, but she had folded herself into your days so naturally that sometimes the difference only mattered when someone else said it out loud.

Meg let her come over on the days that were meant to be Noel’s, even when Noel was somewhere between cities, soundchecks and another show. It had started as something practical, then quietly became something softer. Anaïs knew your house. She knew which cupboard held her cup, which blanket was hers on the sofa, which corner of the kitchen Noel usually abandoned his mugs in when he was home.

And when he wasn’t, she noticed. She noticed in the way she carried one of his old jumpers around the house for half a morning, dragging the sleeves behind her like a royal train. She noticed when she pointed at the telephone and said, “Daddy?” with the kind of hope that made your chest tighten before you could stop it.

“He’s coming back soon,” you told her, smoothing her hair down.

Anaïs looked up at you with serious eyes. “Soon?”

“Yeah”

Soon was safer. Soon could stretch without breaking.

By the time evening came, she had fallen asleep on the sofa with one hand still tangled in Noel’s jumper. You carried her upstairs carefully, feeling the warm, heavy weight of her against your chest.

She stirred when you laid her down. “Daddy?”

You brushed a curl away from her forehead. “Soon, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”

She did. You stayed there for a moment, tucking the blanket around her shoulders, then you heard the key in the front door.

For a second, you thought you had imagined it. You had done that before, turned wanting into sound. But then came the scrape of a bag against the hallway wall, followed by a familiar muttered, “For fuck’s sake,” and the soft thud of something being dropped too heavily onto the floor. Your heart lifted before you could tell it not to.

You left Anaïs’ door open a crack and hurried downstairs.

Noel was standing in the hallway with his coat still on, hair a mess, scarf half-unwrapped, one hand braced against the wall as he tried to toe off his shoe without bending down. There were dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks were pink from the cold. He looked exhausted, irritated, beautiful.

He looked up. For one small second, neither of you said anything. Then his face changed. Not much, because it never did when he was trying to hide something, but enough. His eyes softened, his mouth twitched.

“Alright?” he said.

You leaned against the bottom of the stairs, smiling despite yourself. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“I’ve been travelling all day.”

“And?”

“And I’ve got no charm left.”

“You had some before?”

“Careful.” He pointed at you, but there was no bite in it. “I brought presents.”

“For me or for Anaïs?” He hesitated. You laughed softly. “Right.”

“There might be something in there for you.”

“Might be?”

“I’m building suspense.”

“You forgot.”

“I did not forget.”

“Noel.”

He sighed, already defeated. “I panicked at the airport.”

“That sounds more believable.”

He dropped his bag and crossed the hallway in three strides. You meant to tease him again, but then his hands were on your face, cold from outside, and his mouth was on yours. The kiss was tired at first, almost careful. Then you softened into him, fingers curling into his coat, and Noel made a low sound against your mouth like something in him had finally settled.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “There you are,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

His expression shifted, caught off guard by the tenderness. “That’s my line.”

“I’m stealing it.”

“Thief.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, and felt him smile against your mouth. “You smell like cigarettes and airports,” you said.

“Romantic.” He slid his arms around your waist and pulled you closer.

From upstairs came a small rustle. Both of you froze. Noel lifted his head, listening. Nothing.

You let out a breath. “She fell asleep with your jumper.”

His face softened at once. “My jumper?”

“Dragged it around all morning.”

He looked toward the stairs, all the sharpness leaving him for a moment. The road, the noise, the whole impossible machinery of his life seemed to fall away, leaving only a tired father standing in the hallway.

“She alright?”

“She’s alright.” You touched his chest gently. “She’ll be happy to see you in the morning.”

He nodded once, eyes still on the stairs. Then he looked back at you. “And you?”

You smiled, warmer now, letting yourself give him the answer instead of hiding behind another joke. “I’m happy to see you now.”

His mouth twitched, but his eyes went soft again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed you for that, one hand sliding to the small of your back. You laughed quietly against his mouth when he pressed you gently against the stairs.

“You should eat,” you said.

“I ate.”

“Cigarettes don’t count.”

“I had crisps.”

“That’s not dinner.”

He dipped his head, brushing his nose along your cheek. “You always this bossy when I’m away?”

“I get worse when you’re here.”

“Good.”

He kissed you again before you could answer, less tired now, less careful. His hands tightened at your waist, and yours slipped up around his neck, holding him there for one more second because he was home, solid and warm beneath your fingers.

“Noel,” you warned softly.

“What?”

“Your daughter is upstairs.”

“Asleep.”

“She has ears.”

“She’s two.”

“She still has ears.”

He backed you gently against the wall beside the stairs, his mouth brushing yours. “Been thinking about this,” he said.

“Have you?”

“Mhm.”

“Between shows?”

“During some.”

You smiled against him. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

This time, you didn’t dodge it. “I do,” you said quietly.

Noel stilled for half a second. Then his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm on your mouth. “You’re going soft on me.”

“You just got home. I’m being generous.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“I’ll recover.”

He smiled, and for once, there was no sharp edge to it.

“Come upstairs,” you whispered.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Yeah?”

“Quietly.”

He grinned, tired and wicked. “I can do quietly.”

The stairs creaked softly beneath you as you led him up, both of you moving carefully, trying not to wake the small sleeping presence at the end of the hall.

Anaïs’ door was still open a crack. The nightlight spilled a thin, golden line across the floor. Noel slowed when you passed. You glanced back and found him looking into her room. Anaïs was curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, Noel’s jumper still bunched near her pillow. Her breathing was even, peaceful, the kind of sleep only a child could fall into after believing, completely, that someone would come back.

Noel said nothing. He just stood there for a second, tired eyes softening in a way he probably would have denied if you mentioned it.

You squeezed his hand gently. “She’s alright,” you whispered.

He nodded once, still looking at her. Then he let you pull him away.

Inside your bedroom, you closed the door softly behind you. He huffed a laugh, and was on you right away. He kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. You closed your eyes. There it was again. That dizzying relief. The missing him and having him at once. The way his body fit back into your life before the rest of him had even unpacked.

His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your waist.

You breathed in. “Noel.”

“Yeah?”

You didn’t know what you meant to say. Maybe his name was all of it. He seemed to understand anyway. His mouth found yours again, slower now, deeper, and the room narrowed around him. Around his hands. Around the smell of his skin and the scratch of his voice and the familiar weight of him pressing you gently back toward the bed.

You let yourself have it. For once, you didn’t think about the next time he would leave. You only thought: he’s here.

Noel’s hand finds yours, he doesn’t speak at first, just pulls you close, forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like he’s been starved for it. The quiet of the house wraps around you both, every sound outside the room feeling miles away.

His fingers trace the line of your jaw, slow and reverent. “Missed this,” he murmurs. “Missed you. Couldn’t stop thinking about getting back here… about you waiting for me.”

You smile against his lips when he leans in, the kiss soft at first, then deeper, needier. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.

He walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you both sink down together, careful not to make too much noise. Noel’s mouth moves to your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses there.

“Been counting the days,” he whispers, a playful edge creeping into his tone even as his voice shakes a little. “Thought about this every night. About how you sound when I touch you like this.” His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, tracing lazy circles that make your breath hitch.

You tug at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, and he chuckles quietly, but the sound breaks into a soft groan when your hands find his chest.

“Still got it, huh?” he teases, but the way his hips shift closer betrays how much he needs this too.

His lips find yours again, hungrier now, and he rolls you gently onto your back, settling between your thighs. The room is dim, only the faint glow from the hallway light slipping under the door. Noel’s hands explore like he’s memorizing every inch all over again, palms gliding over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra.

“God, I missed how warm you feel,” he breathes, voice cracking just a little. “How you fit against me.”

You arch into him, fingers threading through his hair, and he responds with a low hum, pressing his body flush to yours. The friction is slow, deliberate, building heat without rushing. His mouth trails lower, kissing along your collarbone, then lower still, pushing your shirt up so he can press his lips to the soft skin of your stomach. Every touch feels like relief, like coming home.

He looks up at you from between your legs, eyes dark but sparkling with that familiar playful glint. “Quiet for me, yeah?” he whispers, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t want to wake the house.”

His hands slide up your thighs, parting them gently, and he leans in, breath hot against your skin as he continues to explore, savoring every second of having you again.

Noel’s breath ghosts over your stomach as he lingers there, pressing another slow kiss just above the waistband of your pants. His fingers hook into the fabric, easing it down your hips with deliberate care. You lift your hips to help, and he smiles against your skin at the small movement, that cocky tilt returning even as his hands tremble slightly from how long he’s waited.

He strips you gently, then himself, until nothing separates you. The mattress dips as he settles over you again, skin to skin, his weight familiar and grounding. One hand braces beside your head while the other traces down your side, over your hip, and between your thighs. He finds you already slick and warm for him, and a quiet groan escapes his throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, forehead dropping to yours. “So ready for me already.”

His fingers stroke you in lazy circles, spreading the wetness, teasing your entrance without pushing in yet. You bite your lip to stay quiet, and he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face like he’s been starving for the sight.

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his cock, feeling how hard he is, how it twitches at your touch. Noel’s hips jerk forward once before he catches himself, breathing out a shaky laugh.

“Keep doing that and I won’t last,” he murmurs, playful even now, but the need in his voice is unmistakable.

He shifts, lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against you. Inch by inch he sinks in, slow and careful, giving you time to adjust. Your walls stretch around him, and both of you exhale at the same time when he bottoms out, fully buried inside you. He stays still for a moment, just feeling you, forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in.

“God” he says, voice rough. “Missed being inside you. Missed how tight you feel around me.”

His hips draw back, then push forward again, a steady, unhurried rhythm that lets every sensation build. The bed creaks softly under you, but he keeps the movements controlled, mindful of the sleeping child down the hall.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper on each thrust. Noel’s mouth finds yours again, swallowing the small sounds you make. One of his hands slides up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in time with his hips. The pace stays tender, but the heat between you grows, every slide of his cock inside you sending sparks through your body. He buries his face in your neck, kissing and nipping lightly at the skin there.

“Love you,” he breathes between thrusts. “Love you so much. Never want to leave again.” His words mix with the wet sound of him moving in and out of you, the quiet slap of skin on skin barely audible in the dim room.

You clench around him, and Noel groans, hips stuttering for a second before he regains control. He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. His free hand slips between your bodies again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles to match the rhythm of his thrusts.

The pleasure builds steadily, not frantic but deep and consuming. Noel keeps whispering to you about how good you feel, how much he thought about this on the road, how he wants to make you come first.

His cock drags against your walls with every stroke, filling you completely, and the combined sensation of his fingers on your clit and him inside you pushes you closer to the edge.

Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to ground yourself. Noel kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips keep their steady pace. The tension coils tighter in your core, your breaths coming quicker even as you both try to stay quiet.

He feels you getting close, the way your pussy flutters around him, and he doubles down on the attention to your clit, rubbing faster, thrusting a little harder but still controlled.

“Cum for me,” he whispers against your lips. “Let me feel it. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm washes over you in waves, your body tightening around his cock as pleasure crashes through you. Noel groans at the sensation, hips pressing deep as he rides you through it, fingers slowing but not stopping until you start to come down.

Only then does he let himself chase his own release. His thrusts grow a touch more urgent, still mindful of the noise, but the need is clear in every movement. He buries himself fully on the final few strokes, coming inside you with a low, muffled sound against your shoulder. You feel the warmth of his cum filling you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself.

Noel stays inside you afterward, both of you catching your breath. He presses soft kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your lips, the tenderness returning full force now that the urgency has eased. His hand strokes your side gently, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Worth every mile,” he murmurs, voice soft and content. “Every single one.”

He shifts just enough to pull out carefully, then settles beside you, pulling you into his arms. Your bodies stay tangled together, skin cooling but hearts still racing from the reunion.

The house remains silent around you, the world outside the bedroom door feeling far away as you both drift in the warmth of having each other again.

For a while, neither of you moved. There was no need to. Noel’s arm stayed firm around your waist, his chest warm against yours, his breath still uneven where it brushed the side of your neck. One of his legs was tangled lazily with yours under the sheets, and his hand had settled over your stomach like he had put it there without thinking and forgotten how to move it.

You didn’t mind. You had missed the weight of him. The solid, ordinary proof that he was here. Not on the phone. Not in another city. Not tucked inside some blurry photograph from a gig you hadn’t been at. Here.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured after a moment.

You smiled faintly, eyes still closed. “I thought that was the point.”

“No, the point was you being quiet before.”

You opened one eye. “I was quiet.”

He made a sound against your shoulder, something between a scoff and a laugh. “Barely.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep proving me right.”

The room went still around the word. You turned carefully in his arms until you were facing him. He looked tired. Properly tired now. His hair was flattened in odd places, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth still pink from yours. There was something almost boyish about him like this, all ego abandoned somewhere between the door and the bed.

You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You should sleep.”

“I just got home.” He looked at you for a long second. “Don’t want to.”

“No?”

He shook his head once, barely. “Might wake up and be in some shit hotel again.”

Your heart pinched. “Noel.”

“What?”

But he already knew. You could tell by the way his eyes shifted away from yours, just slightly, as if he had said too much and was now pretending he hadn’t.

You moved closer, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re home.”

His hand tightened at your back. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

Noel’s thumb traced a slow line along your spine. “You alright?” he asked.

You almost laughed. He had a habit of asking that question at the worst possible times. Or maybe the best ones. You were never sure.

“I’m alright,” you said.

He narrowed his eyes. “Convincing.”

“I am.”

“Your face is doing that thing.”

“My face is resting.”

“Your face never rests. It plots.”

You smiled despite yourself, and his own mouth twitched like he had won something.

“There she is,” he murmured again, quieter this time.

The words landed differently now. Less teasing. More like relief. You leaned in and kissed him once, slow and soft. He answered without hurry, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. There was no urgency left in it, not really. Just the gentle, lingering unwillingness to stop touching each other.

When you pulled away, he followed for half a second, chasing your mouth lazily.

You laughed under your breath. “Greedy.”

“I’ve been away.”

“That your excuse for everything tonight?”

“Probably.”

You looked at him. His expression softened before he could hide it. He lifted one shoulder, almost embarrassed by his own honesty. You opened your mouth again, but then you heard it. Small, sleepy. From down the hall.

“Dad?”

Both of you froze. Noel’s eyes snapped toward the bedroom door. You held your breath. For one second, the house went impossibly still.

Then came the voice again, softer this time. “y/n?”

Noel closed his eyes. You pressed your lips together, fighting the ridiculous urge to laugh and cry at the same time.

“I’m scared.”

The words floated through the hallway, tiny and sad, and whatever remained of the heat between you changed shape at once.

Noel dropped his forehead against your collarbone. “You’re joking,” he whispered.

“She’s scared,” you whispered back.

“I heard.”

“She called you.”

“She called you too.”

“Dad first.”

“Convenient.”

You bit your lip, smiling as you pushed lightly at his shoulder. “Go on.”

He lifted his head and looked at you, deeply offended. “Why am I going alone? I'm scared too.”

“You’re not.” You were already reaching for the shirt on the floor. “She asked for both of us.”

Something in his face shifted. He watched as you pulled the shirt over your head, then he sat up with a sigh that sounded dramatic enough to belong onstage.

“This is what they don’t tell you,” he muttered, reaching blindly for his boxers.

“What?”

“About being a dad.”

You glanced at him while fixing your hair as best as you could. “That toddlers interrupt sex?”

“That, and that I’d be walking down the hall half-dressed to inspect monsters five minutes after having the best shagg of my life.”

From down the hall, Anaïs whimpered again. “Dad?”

Noel’s expression changed immediately. The teasing vanished. “I’m coming, baby,” he called, voice low and gentle in a way that always did something dangerous to your chest.

You followed him to the door. He opened it carefully, peering into the hallway like he was about to confront an actual intruder rather than a frightened two-year-old with a blanket.

Anaïs was standing just outside her bedroom, small and rumpled in her pyjamas, clutching Noel’s jumper to her chest. Her eyes were watery, her bottom lip trembling with the solemn tragedy of someone who had clearly survived a nightmare and expected the world to acknowledge it.

Noel stopped dead. You nearly bumped into his back.

“Alright,” he said softly, crouching down in front of her. “What’s all this, then?”

Anaïs looked at him, then at you, as if making sure you were both real. “I heard something.”

Noel nodded gravely. “Right.”

“In my room.”

“Very suspicious.”

You gave him a look over Anaïs’ head. He ignored you.

Anaïs sniffled. “Monster.”

“Monster?” Noel repeated.

She nodded. He turned his head toward the dark gap of her bedroom door, narrowing his eyes with exaggerated seriousness.

“Well,” he said, “that’s its first mistake.” Anaïs blinked. “Coming into my house,” he continued, standing and offering her his hand. “Without an invite. Very rude.”

You crouched beside her and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Do you want us to check?”

Anaïs nodded again, then reached for you with her free hand. Your chest tightened. You took it. Noel saw. For a second, his eyes moved from Anaïs’ hand in yours to your face, and something quiet passed over him. Something too tender to tease.

Then Anaïs tugged both of you toward her room.

“Come on, then,” Noel said, clearing his throat. “Let’s go terrify this monster.”

“Don’t terrify it,” you whispered. “She’s already scared.”

“I’m not terrifying her. I’m terrifying the monster.”

Anaïs made a tiny sound that was almost a laugh.

Noel looked down at her, pleased with himself. “There we are,” he murmured.

Inside her room, the nightlight washed everything in soft gold. The shadows were harmless, but to Anaïs they clearly had teeth. Noel checked behind the curtains first, then under the little table, then inside the wardrobe with all the seriousness of a man inspecting a venue before doors.

“No monsters here,” he announced.

Anaïs pointed to the bed. Noel looked at you. You lifted your eyebrows. He sighed, then got down on his knees and peered underneath. There was a long pause.

Anaïs leaned closer to you.

“Well?” you asked.

Noel glanced back from under the bed. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

He sat back on his heels. “Just one sock and what appears to be half a biscuit.” “The biscuit’s dead,” Noel assured her.

You covered your mouth to hide your smile.

“Daddy.”

“What?”

“That’s silly.”

“Is it?”

She nodded, more confident now.

Noel rose to his feet and helped her back into bed. You tucked the blanket around her while he picked up the jumper she had dropped and laid it beside her pillow.

Anaïs grabbed it immediately.

“That’s mine, is it?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Right. I’ll allow it.”

“You said it looked better on her,” you reminded him.

“It does.”

Anaïs smiled sleepily, curling into the jumper. You sat on the edge of the mattress and brushed your hand over her hair.

“Better?”

She looked at Noel, then at you. “Stay?”

The question was so small you felt it under your ribs. Noel hesitated for only a second. Then he sat on the floor beside her bed, back against the wall, one knee bent.

“Five minutes,” he said.

Anaïs looked at you.

You sat down too, on the other side of the bed. “Five minutes,” you agreed.

Noel glanced across the mattress at you. His hair was still a mess. His shirt was inside out. He looked exhausted, half-dressed, mildly annoyed, and so unbearably dear to you that it almost hurt.

Anaïs sighed, satisfied, and closed her eyes. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Noel reached one hand over the bed, resting it near Anaïs’ tiny fingers. After a moment, she found him without opening her eyes.

You watched them in the low light. And there it was again. The ache. Just there. Because this was what you missed when he was gone. Not only his body in your bed. Not only his voice in your ear or his hands on your skin. This. The three of you in a room too small for all the feeling inside it. Anaïs safe between sleep and waking. Noel pretending not to be soft while failing spectacularly. The quiet little shape of a family that existed so naturally when he was home and so painfully when he wasn’t.

Across the bed, Noel looked at you. His face changed. Anaïs’ breathing evened out slowly, her hand still curled around his finger. Noel didn’t move. Neither did you. The house was quiet again. But this time, he was in it.

Anaïs fell asleep quicker than either of you expected. One minute she was clutching Noel’s finger like the fate of the house depended on it, and the next her grip loosened, her breathing soft and even against the pillow. Noel didn’t move.

You looked at him across the little bed, amused. “You’re asleep too.”

His eyes opened halfway. “I’m not.” He glanced down at himself, then sighed. “Been through worse.”

You smiled and stood carefully. “Come on.”

He let you pull him up, slower than usual, all the travel and the night finally catching up with him. The two of you slipped out of Anaïs’ room, leaving the door open just enough for the nightlight to spill into the hallway.

By the time Noel got back into bed, he barely had the energy to complain. He reached for you before you could settle, pulling you against him with a tired, automatic sort of need. His face pressed into your neck. His arm locked around your waist.

Within minutes, his breathing went heavy. You stayed awake just long enough to feel the difference.

Morning came pale and soft through the curtains. You woke first. Noel was still asleep beside you, one arm thrown over your middle, his hair a mess against the pillow. He looked peaceful in a way he rarely did when he was awake. No frown. No sharp comment ready. No road still dragging at him. Just Noel.

You watched him for a moment, your chest going warm and stupidly full, then brushed a piece of hair away from his forehead. He didn’t stir. You kissed his temple, then his cheek, then, softly, the corner of his mouth.

Noel made a low sound, eyes still closed, and tightened his arm around you.

“You awake?” you whispered.

“No.”

“You answered.” You smiled against his skin. “Morning.”

One eye opened, slow and suspicious. “Too early.”

“You slept.”

“Not enough.”

“You look better.”

His mouth twitched. You leaned in again, kissing him properly this time, slow and gentle enough to wake him. His hand shifted at your waist, pulling you closer under the sheets.

“Noel,” you murmured.

“Hm?”

“You’re home.”

His eyes opened fully then. For once, he didn’t joke. He only looked at you, soft and sleep-warm, before his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth.

You shift carefully, easing out from under his arm. He doesn’t stir. Emboldened, you slide down the bed, the sheets whispering against your skin.

You settle between his legs, your hands resting lightly on his thighs. He’s still soft, but the sight of him like this makes your pulse quicken. You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh, then another, working your way higher until your breath ghosts over his clothed cock, while you get rid of his knickers.

Your tongue flicks out, tracing a slow line along his length. He twitches, a low sound rumbling in his chest. You wrap your fingers around the base, stroking once, twice, before taking the head into your mouth. The warmth of your tongue swirls around him as you suck lightly, feeling him begin to harden against your lips. Noel’s hips shift, a sleepy groan escaping him.

“Fuck… baby” His voice is rough with sleep, eyes blinking open as he lifts his head. “Jesus, what a way to wake up.” His hand finds your hair, fingers threading through it without pushing, just holding, grounding himself in the moment.

You hum around him, the vibration making his cock twitch again. He’s fully hard now, thick and hot against your tongue. You take him deeper, bobbing your head in a slow rhythm, one hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach. Noel’s head falls back against the pillow, another quiet groan slipping out.

“God, that feels so good,” he whispers, careful to keep his voice low.

His free hand reaches down, brushing your cheek with his thumb in a tender gesture. You look up at him through your lashes, and the look in his eyes is pure affection mixed with heat. He watches you work him, hips giving the smallest, involuntary roll.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs, but there’s no complaint in his tone, just wonder and need.

You pull off with a soft pop, licking your lips as you crawl up his body. Straddling his hips, you lean down to kiss him, slow and deep. Noel’s hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin as he kisses you back with growing hunger.

“Good morning to you too,” he says against your mouth, voice still husky. “Could get used to this, maybe I should tour more.”

You reach between you, guiding his cock to your entrance. You’re already wet from the memory of last night and the sight of him now. Sinking down onto him is easy, familiar, your walls stretching around his thickness until he’s buried deep. Both of you exhale at the same time. Noel’s grip on your hips tightens, but he lets you set the pace, his eyes locked on yours.

“Love you,” you whisper, rolling your hips in a slow circle. The words come easier this morning, your heart full but steady. “Missed having you here. Missed this.”

He groans softly, thrusting up to meet you. “Missed you more,” he answers, voice thick.

His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples as you ride him. The rhythm stays unhurried, each movement deliberate, savoring the connection. The bed creaks faintly, but neither of you care as long as the house stays quiet.

Noel sits up, wrapping his arms around you so your bodies press together. He kisses your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach while you move on him.

“You feel perfect,” he breathes. “Always do.”

His cock drags against your walls with every roll of your hips, the friction building steadily. One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in gentle circles to match your pace.

The pleasure builds in waves, deeper than frantic. You clench around him, and Noel groans into your skin.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take what you need.”

His free hand grips your ass, helping guide your movements without rushing. The wet sound of him moving inside you mixes with your shared breaths, the room filling with quiet heat.

You lean in, kissing him again, tongues sliding together as your hips keep their steady rhythm. The coil in your core tightens, every thrust and circle of his fingers pushing you closer. Noel feels it, the way your pussy flutters, and he doubles down, rubbing your clit faster, thrusting up a little harder.

“Come for me,” he murmurs against your lips. “Want to feel it.”

The orgasm rolls through you in a warm rush, your body tightening around his cock as pleasure floods your senses. Noel holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, whispering how beautiful you are. Only when you start to come down does he let himself chase his own release. His thrusts grow a touch more urgent, hips snapping up to meet yours until he buries himself deep, coming inside you with a low, muffled groan against your shoulder. You feel the warmth of his cum filling you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself.

Afterward, you stay in his lap, both of you catching your breath. Noel’s hands stroke your back in slow, soothing lines. He presses soft kisses to your temple, your hair, anywhere he can reach.

“Best wake-up call ever,” he says softly, a smile in his voice. “Love you so damn much.”

You rest your forehead against his, hearts still racing but content. The morning light grows brighter around you, the world outside the bedroom door still far away as you linger in each other’s arms.

Then, from down the hall, came the unmistakable sound of Anaïs calling for him. Not scared this time.

“Daddy!”

Noel closed his eyes.

You smiled against his mouth. “Your public awaits.”

“My public is very loud for someone that small.” His face softened before he could stop it.

“I heard.”

Anaïs called again, louder. “Daddy!”

Noel sighed, rolling onto his back. “Right. Up, then.”

You both got dressed slowly, lazily, the morning still clinging to your skin. Noel found yesterday’s shirt on the floor, pulled it on.

Anaïs was sitting up in bed when you reached her room, hair wild, cheeks pink from sleep, Noel’s jumper still bunched beside her pillow. The second she saw him, she lifted both arms.

Noel leaned against the doorframe. “What, no good morning? Just orders?”

“Up,” she said.

“Fantastic manners.”

Still, he crossed the room and picked her up, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Anaïs tucked herself against his shoulder like she belonged there, small hands gripping his shirt.

You watched them for half a second too long.

Noel caught you. “What?”

You only smiled and turned toward the stairs. “Breakfast.”

Downstairs, the kitchen came alive in pieces. The kettle. The toaster. Anaïs sitting at the table, swinging her legs while Noel cut her toast into triangles because, apparently, squares were unacceptable. He complained about it the entire time, but did it anyway.

“You’re aware bread tastes the same in every shape,” he told her. Anaïs ignored him completely and reached for the jam. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.

You poured tea, hiding your smile behind the mug. For a while, it was easy. Noel moved around the kitchen barefoot, still half asleep, hair sticking up in impossible directions. Anaïs talked at him about the monster from the night before with the grave seriousness of a witness statement. He nodded along, eating toast over the sink like a man who had never been taught what plates were for.

It looked ordinary. That was the dangerous part. Because ordinary with him never lasted long enough.

You were rinsing a spoon when the question rose in your chest before you could talk yourself out of it. “When do you leave again?”

He looked down at the toast in his hand, then back at you. “Few days,” he said.

You nodded. It was what you had expected. Still, it landed badly. “Right.”

He watched you carefully. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.” He gestured vaguely at your face. “Pretend you’re fine with it before you’ve decided if you are.”

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite work. “I am fine with it.”

“No, you’re being noble. It’s irritating.”

Your eyes dropped to the sink. “I just hate asking.”

“Why?”

“Because I know the answer.”

Noel said nothing. You turned the tap off, hands still wet, and leaned back against the counter.

“I know what your life is,” you said quietly. “I knew before any of this. I’m not asking you not to go.”

“I know.”

“I just…” You swallowed, annoyed with yourself already. “Every time you leave, I tell myself I’ll be better at it. And I am, for a while. Then the house goes quiet and Anaïs asks for you and I start missing you so much it feels stupid.” His face changed. You looked away before it could make you worse. “It’s not dramatic,” you added quickly. “I’m not trying to make it dramatic.”

“No.”

“I just miss you.” The words sat there between you, small and honest.

Noel looked at Anaïs, who was now painting more jam onto her fingers than her toast. Then he looked back at you. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he said.

You blinked. “About what?”

“This.”

He set the toast down, suddenly serious in that quiet, uncomfortable way he got when feelings had cornered him and there was no back exit.

“Everyone’s always saying you can’t build a family around the road,” he said. “Hotels, airports, another show every five minutes. It’s not exactly domestic bliss, is it?”

You tried to smile. “No.”

“And loving someone who does all this,” he continued, gesturing vaguely toward himself, “probably isn’t what any sane person would recommend.”

“That’s a very romantic way to describe yourself.”

“I’m getting there.” You looked at him. He rubbed a hand over his face, tired again, but not hiding from you this time. “When I’m away, it’s all noise,” he said. “Cities, venues, interviews, people wanting things. Half the time I don’t know what day it is. Then I ring here and hear you, or she starts shouting down the phone about some nonsense, and it’s…” He stopped, jaw shifting, glanced toward Anaïs, softer now. “It’s the only bit that makes sense.”

Your chest tightened.

He looked back at you. “I don’t want you standing here asking how long until I leave every time I come home.”

“I can’t really help it.”

“I know.” His voice dropped. “That’s why I’m saying maybe you shouldn’t always have to stay behind.”

You stared at him. Anaïs banged her spoon lightly against the table. Noel ignored it.

“Come with me for a few dates,” he said.

Your heart gave one hard, foolish kick. “What?”

“Not the whole thing. I’m not trying to ruin your life completely.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Noel…”

“I mean it.” He leaned back against the counter opposite you, arms folding across his chest like the idea embarrassed him even though it was his. “Few shows. Few days. When it makes sense, Anaïs comes too.”

At the sound of her name, Anaïs looked up. “Me?”

Noel turned to her. “Yes, you. Don’t look so shocked.”

“Show?”

“Maybe.”

Anaïs smiled, delighted by a plan she did not understand.

You looked at him, still trying to catch up. “You really want that?”

His eyes returned to yours. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

You crossed your arms, mostly to keep yourself together. “And what changed?”

Noel’s mouth twitched, but the answer in his face was softer than the almost-joke waiting on his tongue. “You did,” he said. Your throat tightened. He cleared his throat immediately, as if the honesty had physically offended him. “And her,” he added, nodding toward Anaïs. “And the monster. Very influential, that monster.”

You laughed, even though your eyes had started to sting.

Noel stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I don’t want to keep being lost out there without you.”

You looked up at him. There it was. Not polished. Not perfect. Not a promise that the road would ever be easy. But real.

Anaïs chose that exact moment to drop her spoon. Noel closed his eyes. You laughed properly then, wiping quickly beneath one eye before he could comment on it. He saw anyway. But he only leaned in and kissed your forehead, brief and warm.

“Pack a bag,” he murmured.

You’re still catching your breath when Noel pulls out of you, the sheets sticking to your thighs, the air thick with the smell of sweat and sex. He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits on the edge of the bed, chest rising and falling, and reaches for his boxers on the floor. You watch him step into them, the waistband snapping low on his hips, the outline of his cock still obvious through the thin fabric.

He stands, walks over to the little table by the window, and grabs the pack of cigarettes. He lights one for himself, takes a drag, then turns back and holds the pack out to you.

“Want one?” he asks, voice low and rough.

You nod. He lights it for you too, then nods toward the window. You both move over there, leaning against the sill, the night air cool against your bare skin.

For a minute it’s just small talk, something about the gig earlier, how loud the crowd was, how his throat’s still fucked from screaming into the mic. You take a slow drag, the nicotine hitting your system while the ache between your legs is still fresh.

Then the silence stretches, and you both feel it at the same time. The way his eyes drag down your body, the way your gaze keeps flicking to the bulge in his boxers. The fact that you’re both standing here naked, smoking, like you didn’t just spend the last hour fucking each other senseless.

Noel smirks, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Look at us,” he mutters. “Couple of degenerates.”

His free hand finds your waist, thumb stroking over your hip. Yours moves without thinking, sliding down the front of his boxers until you feel him twitch under the cotton. He’s already getting hard again.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, voice dropping. “You’re gonna get me goin’ again, aren’t you?”

You press closer, stroking him through the fabric while you take another drag. “Mhmm", you said. "I like the way your cock feels when it’s still wet from my cunt.”

His fingers tighten on your hip. “Jesus. Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll have you bent over this windowsill.”

You grin around the cigarette. “Maybe I want you to fuck me so hard the whole street hears how wet I still am for you.”

Noel’s eyes darken. “Dirty little slut. You just got your brains fucked out and you’re already beggin’ for more.”

You drop the cigarette into the ashtray. He watches you sink to your knees, his hand finding the back of your head as you tug his boxers down. His cock springs free, heavy and half-hard. You wrap your lips around him and he groans, still smoking, hips rolling shallowly while you suck him deeper.

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Suck that cock. Fuckin’ love how you look with your mouth full.”

When the cigarette’s done he stubs it out, pulls you up by the hair, and bends you over the edge of the bed. His hands spread your cheeks and then his tongue is on you, hot, wet, licking slow circles around your asshole before pushing inside. You moan loud, hips rocking back against his face. He groans into you, one hand reaching under to rub your clit while his tongue fucks your ass.

“Fuck, you taste so good after I’ve been inside you,” he growls between licks. “Bet you’d let me do anything to this filthy little hole, wouldn’t you?”

You’re shaking, pushing back harder until the orgasm crashes through you, thighs trembling, cunt pulsing around nothing.

Noel doesn’t give you time to recover. He stands, lines up, and slams into your pussy in one rough thrust. You cry out and he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back as he starts pounding into you.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he grunts. “Still squeezin’ me like you didn’t just come all over my tongue. Such a desperate little whore.”

You’re babbling, pushing back to meet every thrust. “Harder—fuck. I want to feel it tomorrow.”

He laughs, low and breathless. “Yeah? Want me to ruin this cunt so you can’t walk straight? Dirty girl.”

In the middle of it all you manage to gasp, “Tell me when you’re gonna cum.”

A few more brutal thrusts and his grip tightens. “I'm gonna cum -fuck- baby,” he warns.

You pull away fast, drop to your knees, and take him into your mouth. He fucks your throat until he groans and spills down it, hot and thick. You swallow what you can, the rest spilling over your lips and chin. When he pulls out he looks down at you—face messy with his cum—and smirks.

“These are wrong.”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “They’re salt and vinegar.”

“Not the good ones.”

“They’re the same,” I said, putting a carton of eggs into the fridge.

“They’re not the same.”

“They’re literally salt and vinegar.” I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “You’re really moaning about some crisps?”

He pointed a packet at me. “I could be moaning about other things too.”

I laughed and reached for one of the bags on the table, ready to keep arguing about absolutely nothing, when I felt it. Small. So small I almost missed it. A strange little flutter low in my stomach, different from all of the things that were already happening to my body.

I froze.

Liam noticed immediately. “What?” he said.

I didn’t answer right away, mostly because I wasn’t sure what had happened.

His face changed. “What?”

I held up a hand. “Wait.”

“No, don’t wait me. What is it?”

“Liam, just—”

“Are you dizzy? Sit down.”

“I’m not dizzy.”

“You stopped moving.”

“Because I felt something.”

That did not help. If anything, it made him worse. He dropped the crisp packet onto the counter and stepped toward me, eyes already wide with panic. “What d’you mean you felt something?”

“I mean— wait.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Sharp?”

“Liam.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He did, for once, mostly because I grabbed his wrist and guided his hand to my stomach before he could spiral further. His palm landed warm and careful over the small curve there, and suddenly all the noise left him. We stood still in the middle of the kitchen. One second, two. Nothing.

He looked at me, almost betrayed. “I don’t—”

Then it happened again. A tiny movement. Barely more than a nudge. But there. His mouth closed. His eyes dropped to where his hand rested against me. For once, he had absolutely nothing to say. It was almost impressive.

I watched his face change in real time: panic softening into shock, shock opening into something so tender it made my chest ache.

“That was it,” I whispered.

He didn’t look up. “That was the baby?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

He just stood there in the middle of the kitchen, one hand still pressed to my stomach, staring down like he was trying to feel it through sheer stubbornness.

“It’s tiny,” I whispered.

His thumb moved once, barely. “Didn’t feel tiny.”

I laughed softly. “It was barely anything.”

“Was somethin’.”

The way he said it made my chest warm. Not because he sounded shocked, exactly. Liam had done this before. He knew babies kicked. He knew the strange little landmarks of pregnancy, the appointments, the scans, the waiting, the way everything became real in pieces instead of all at once. But this was ours. And that changed the shape of it.

He looked up at me. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Liam.”

“What?”

“It was a kick, not a medical emergency.”

“Still.”

I reached for his wrist, but I didn’t move his hand away. If anything, I held it there. He looked down again.

Then, because he was Liam, he bent slightly toward my stomach with absolute seriousness. “Alright,” he murmured. “Do it again.”

I blinked. “Did you just ask the baby to perform?”

“No harm in askin’.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“How d’you know?”

“Because I’m the one carrying it.”

He considered that. “Fair.”

Still, he waited. Hand on my belly. Eyes fixed. Completely still. For a second, nothing happened. Then there it was again. Small. Right under his palm. His head snapped up.

I laughed before he could say anything. “Oh my God.”

He pointed at my stomach like he had just won an argument with a fetus. “See?”

“You’re taking credit for that?”

“Answered me, didn’t it?”

I tried not to smile and failed. “I read somewhere they can start recognising voices around this stage.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Or the perfect thing. Liam’s entire face changed. Not dramatically. Not soft in a way he would deny. Just lit up with that stupid, proud, impossible look he got when something touched him before he could pretend it hadn’t.

“Recognises me voice?”

“Maybe.”

“Course it does.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“Your ego.”

He looked down at my stomach again, suddenly far too pleased with himself. “Kid’s got taste already.”

“The baby probably just heard noise.”

“Quality noise.”

I laughed, and he kept his hand there, waiting like he expected the baby to agree with him again. Nothing.

He leaned closer. “That’s your dad, by the way.”

I stared at him. “Subtle introduction.”

“Important one.”

“The baby knows who you are.”

“Yeah, well, now it knows properly.”

Another tiny movement answered him. Barely anything. Liam froze for half a second, then looked at me with the kind of satisfaction that made me want to kiss him and roll my eyes at the same time.

“Told you.”

“You are impossible.”

“Baby likes me.”

“The baby lives inside me.”

“And still chose to answer me.”

“Unbelievable.”

He straightened, but his hand stayed where it was. Then, as if trying to act casual about the fact that he had just been completely undone by two tiny kicks, he cleared his throat and reached for one of the grocery bags.

“Right. Sit down.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re sittin’ down.”

“Why?”

“Baby’s active now.”

“The baby kicked twice.”

“Exactly.”

“Liam.”

“No lifting.”

“It’s lettuce.”

“Don’t care.”

I stared at him as he took the bag from my hand and placed it on the counter like it contained explosives. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yeah.”

He said it so easily that I didn’t even know how to argue.

The afternoon went back to normal eventually. Groceries on the counter. Tea going cold. Liam putting things away in entirely the wrong cabinets because he kept getting distracted every time my hand moved near my stomach. Every few minutes, he glanced down. Hopeful. Waiting. Trying to look like he wasn’t. And every time he passed me, his hand found the bump again. Just briefly. Just in case the baby had something else to say.