isa

The room was dark, the lack of external stimulation almost grounding, especially following a long night at the BRIT’s afterparty.

It was enough to ground you. Almost.

But the sensation of a tongue lapping through your folds kept you here, just teetering on the edge.

۪　⊹︵︵︵ ♪ ︵︵︵ ⊹ ⠀۪

Noel thought you were daft when you’d proposed the idea to him. The talk of the afterparty had been the latest hot scandal- two vague faces you thought you’d maybe seen plastered on the latest gossip mag- a sex tape scandal.

You hadn’t cared about it, just leant into the chatter, like it was something to keep you from going totally insane surrounded by the countless famous faces, Noel having wandered to the far side of the bar, head knocked down against something which looked like a mirror, snorting something that was definitely cocaine.

“I heard he made her sit on his face,” A voice pipes up from the masses of girls sat in a circle, something like a séance, you’d thought initially. But now the conversation piqued your interest, a thoughtful sip of your drink before leaning in, “He what?”

The blonde turned to you, clearly way too excited about this whole thing. Christ people were really just searching for anything to cling to, “Oh don’t be a square babes, you’ve heard of face sitting, right?”

You mumble something vague in return, watching as she quickly loses interest in you, turning back to the crowd of women seemingly hanging onto her every word. But, as you wrap your lips around the straw once more, the bittersweet taste of whatever cocktail had been thrust into your grip flooding your tongue, you allowed your gaze to flit to Noel.

Noel, who was now chatting with a group of his own. Laughing. Turned to the side. You could see the way his lips glistened under the faint bar lighting, tongue darting out, as if he knew you were watching, as if he sensed what you were just talking about. You saw the way his hooked nose twitched as he sniffed up the remnants of powder lingering, the sight completely captivating.

And then he turned to look at you, glistening blue eyes finding yours immediately.

“I heard he made her sit on his face”

The thought echoed in your mind as he nods, a smile making its way to his face.

You smile in return, raising your drink as the cogs start turning.

۪　⊹︵︵︵ ♪ ︵︵︵ ⊹ ⠀۪

You’re still thinking about it later, trapped in a booth with friends you don’t exactly recognise- they’re Noel’s, not yours. But all you can focus on his the heaviness of his arm slung around your shoulder, the way his strength seems to bring you forward with him every time he laughs, pupils blown wide from the cocaine.

You keep watching him as the others drift away, as his laughter slowly fades to a simple smile resting on his features, squeezing your bicep once to break the spell you were in, “Somet on my face?”

His smile is cheeky, head dipped low to hear your response. You just hum, “Just thinking”

“’Just thinkin’ she says,” His eyes sparkle as he nudges you, “And what’s caught your attention then, darlin’?”

His expression is completely innocent, for now, but the closeness of him, his scent, the thought of whatever had been discussed just between you girls earlier. You decide to test the waters, shifting a little to set your glass down, clearing your throat to ensure you don’t let your voice leave you. Heart thudding. Noel adjusts himself like he knows you’re slightly nervous, hell, he can practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of you, “Oi, what’s the matter with you?” His speech is slightly slurred. You swallow.

“Shame about that poor couple who got their tape leaked,” You probe, eyes meeting his cautiously. He’s not quite catching on, a rush of laughter billowing from his lips as he nods, “Well, yeah, poor fuckers- I’d go mental if the world looked at you like that”

You breathe out a soft sigh, the word ‘yeah’ caught slightly within the rush of breath as you let out an airy giggle, heart thumping its way into your throat now as you shrug, “Yeah, mental”

“You see any of it?” You swallow, eyes catching his in the dim strobe. He seems to sit up straighter, brows furrowing, “Nah”

Before his face is caught again in a slight smile, “Why, see some freaky shit ya wanna try darlin’”

And your flush tells you everything, sitting up straighter as he laughs, pulling away to look down at you. Really look, “You did didn’t ya? G’on tell me then”

You clear your throat, face burning so much it’s almost painful, teeth caught in your lip as you shrug, “Doesn’t matter…”

He snorts, “None o’ that, yeah? You can tell me sweetheart”

And the last thing he expected to hear form his pretty girls lips, is the soft mumble you ley out, “How come we’ve never tried face sitting?”. He laughs, shaking his head almost in confusion, nudging you with his elbow, “Whassat darlin’?” His eyes sparkle, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You just shake your head, the embarrassment catching up to you as you pull away, “Forget I said anything-“

But he’s pulling you back, hand coming up to grip your jaw, a little harder than he would if you were sober. You’re both so close now, breath mingling in the small space between the two of you. His eyes dart down to your lips. Licks his own, raises his eyes to meet yours once again, “Y’wanna fuck my face, yeah?” He breathes.

You flush once more, trying to look anywhere but at him, but the grip on your jaw forces your face back to his, “Noel-“ You mutter, slightly uncomfortable, slightly ashamed by how turned on he’s making you right now, “Nah, no baby, I heard ya”

“Wanna try it, love? Wanna get off on my face, yeah?”

He’s asking you like you’re dumb, like you need it spelled out for you.

And all you can do is now is nod, the blush creeping up your neck, prickling at the column of your throat. He doesn’t push anymore, just lets that same shit eating grin spread across his face as he nods, “Cute,” He mumbles, leaning his head down, hand gripping your face tighter to pucker your lips. He presses his to yours just once, smashing his slightly uncoordinated mouth against yours in a wet little kiss.

And you hardly have time to think before he’s grabbing your wrist, pulling you up.

And out into a cab that was already waiting.

۪　⊹︵︵︵ ♪ ︵︵︵ ⊹ ⠀۪

That’s how you ended up here, hovering precariously over his face on the bed, lip caught between your teeth. It all felt a little less glamourous here, Noel having barged his way through the house, hardly pulling his lips from yours for one second as he practically ripped your dress from you, charged from the drugs still running through his system.

His head finds its way between your thighs.

And then you’re at a stalemate, his half lidded, drug addled gaze focused blearily on you above him, “What’re you waitin’ for, then?” He breathes, the sensation billowing against your inner thighs as one big hand comes to paw at your bare thigh, “Sit on m’fuckin’ face, love”

He looks almost desperate bas you hover, trying to tug you down against his lips, practically drooling, “I- uh” You trail off, unable to speak as you look down on him. The situation feels far too intimate, his shaggy head peering up at you from between your legs, bare cunt poised just over his spit slicked lips.

His eyes meet yours, the drug haze clearly taking control of him as he tries his hardest to tilt his head towards your cunt. You giggle lightly, one hand coming down to brush through his hair, pulling it back to see his eyes. He keens into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. He lets out a sound that sounds caught almost between a whine and a groan, forcing his eyes open to meet your face, “Please…” He whispers softly, needy.

And with a sharp zap of courage, anticipation and fear, you let yourself sit down onto his waiting lips.

The sensation is immediately overwhelming, brows furrowing as his eyes roll into the back of his head, hands immediately flyting to the tops of your thighs to pull you closer, if even possible. His lips wrap around your clit, groaning against your folds.

You stay like that for a while, the sensation of him sloppily making out with your cunt almost lazy, causing a low rolling knot of pleasure to bloom in your gut, “B-baby” He mutters into you, eyes meeting yours.

“Y-yeah?” You say softly, just as ruined as him as the buzz of his words sends a hot curl of pleasure up your spine. He pulls away from your clit, hardly able to help his tongue following to roll a smooth lick against the quivering bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt, swallowing harshly at the taste of you, “Y’trust me, yeah?”

He’s slightly breathless. The two of you already completely gone as you nod, already craving the stimulation of him back again as you look down on him, brushing his hair off from his forehead, “Yeah, yeah, course”

And he groans, nodding as he presses the sweetest little kiss against your clit, laughing breathlessly as you whimper hopelessly, “Y’look so pretty, so- fuck” He has to swallow once more, letting his nose brush against your clit, “L-let go f’me yeah?”

And something in the gravelly tone of his voice makes you gasp, immediately relaxing back down against his waiting lips.

But then what he does almost makes you scream, from the pure white hot pleasure.

His hands wind around your thighs, pulling you down firmly against his mouth as he wraps his lips back around your clit. His head shakes, the pure instinct in him driving him to make you come all over his face as one hand shifts to your ass, pulling your hips to roll down against his mouth.

Fucking you against his mouth.

You can hardly breathe, hardly even speak as your mouth drops open, hands immediately flying to the bedframe as he nods beneath you, hand patting your arse comfortingly, “Roll y’er hips, can’t have me doping all the work baby”

But despite the teasing tone to his voice muffled by your wetness practically drowning him, you can hear the slight undertone of a whine colouring his words. And you listen, too far gone on the pleasure as you roll your hips against his face.

And the feeling of the slightly hooked end of his nose bumping against your clit pulls an almost pornographic moan from you, eyes squeezing shut as you come to a still.

He pulls away, blinking spacily up at you, “Wha- what was that?”

You can’t answer, blood thumping in your ears, refusing to look down at him.

“Darlin’,” He whispers, you can practically feel the way he smirks beneath you, pressing the softest kiss to your clit. But he doesn’t continue his teasing, instead, he does exactly what he knows you need.

He dips his head, never tearing his eyes from yours.

Letting the hooked bridge of his nose press up against your clit.

“There it is” He breathes when you whine out, one hand coming to his hair to stabilise yourself, face flushed an embarrassing shade of red, “Sh-shut up”

“Nah,” He whispers softly, licking his lips, letting his nose press back against your clit, “Dirty fuckin’ girl”

And then he’s back at it again, alternating between pulling your hips down onto his nose, the harsh stimulation buzzing up your spine, and flattening his tongue against your dripping folds, making you practically fall apart against his mouth, subconsciously rutting your hips back against his face. And he just groans, “Oh my god,” He keens, whimpering lightly as he grips your thighs so hard there’ll definitely be bruises tomorrow, “Y’re so fuckin’ wet baby” He sounds in complete disbelief, unable to pull his lips away from your clit.

You can feel the unstoppable knotting of pure pleasure writhing in your gut as you roll your hips down against his face. Each suck, each pass of his nose against your folds bringing you closer and closer to the edge as he forces you to fuck your hips against his face.

He can tell you’re nearing the edge, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, the cold glint of his ruby ring catching your eye as you force yourself to open your eyes. He looks completely gone beneath you, hands gripping you so hard his knuckles are cast white, his eyes half lidded, hardly even there as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

And as two of his thick fingers push their way into your dripping cunt, curling cruelly against the soft spongey spot deep within your walls, eyes meeting yours through the haze, you can’t help it.

With a cry, your walls clamp down against his thick fingers, hips bucking almost violently down against his face, the added stimulation of your hips uncontrollably rolling against his mouth tipping you over the edge, shaking as you come with such force it casts black spots against your vision.

It takes a while before you can even move, finally recovering, whole body shaking as you eventually twist off his face.

He looks beautiful, long shaggy locks messy around his face, cheeks flushed. Mouth glistening as he licks his lips, like he already misses the taste of you on his lips.

He watches for a second, a daft smile crossing his features as he watches you flop down onto the bed beside him. His hand, slightly shaky from the drugs and the intoxicating tase of you, comes to pull you closer, capturing you in the sweetest, softest kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips.

And then his fingers push against your lips, forcing the digits coated in your slick into your mouth, watching with a half lidded gaze as you immediately suckle, your own eyes faltering as you stare up at him.

And he smiles right back, chuckling as he shakes his head,

“So, when we doin’ that again?”

tag list: @liamsbicep @blogbustersii @anjalfc @gxnyadavid @simoneeyy @soerikacanwait @number1princessdianafan @bugbugboy @veruschkaaaa @highflyingcami @oasisyearner @thealbatrooss @beherenowl @lipglossandcigarettes6 @dykwimean @oasisswag @strwbryluver @sonnyangel11 @invinsabel @alicehighflyingbirds

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★ 2019.

the aftermath was quiet, tender in a way that was nearly devastating. it felt fragile.

your head rested on his chest, going up and down at the same pace of his breathing. his hand rubbing your back, sliding up all the way to the back of your neck, then down, slowly. landing just above the curve of your ass and doing the same path over and over. while you traced soft patterns on his chest, watching your own fingers over his skin occasionally brush the small patch of chest hair.

“it was nice, wasn’t it?”, he asked quietly, cutting in the silence.

you let out a small huff, one that couldn’t really disguise the bittersweet taste sitting on your tongue from the moment he started to speak in the garden. “mhm…”, you hummed quietly, tilting your head and looking up at him.

he looked back at you, a small and sad smile tugging on the corner of his lips while his fingers slipped through your hair gently, like he’d done a hundred times before.

you swallowed, then said quietly: “glad you’re a little fucked on the head and… yknow. decided you wanted to fuck me back”

it was a little joke, at least it tried to be.

he laughed, nodding. “yeah. me too”, he said quietly, sliding his hand down and resting it on the side of your neck. “was worth it”, he continued. you let out a soft huff, nose scrunching in that way he always teased you about. he smiled back, caressing your hair, and continued. “not only the fucking, yeah? you’re a nice lass”

you smiled. “you too, liam”

“nice lass, am i?”, he teased quietly.

you laughed fondly, rolling your eyes despite feeling them sting. and then your gaze landed back on him, a small exhale coming out at the thought: this is it, huh? yet, you teased quietly, “you’re an idiot”

he smiled despite himself, his gaze softening as he looked at you because he was thinking the same thing. “yeah. and you’re beautiful”, he says honestly.

you let out a soft breath at it, smiling sadly as your face hid on the side of his neck. he pressed a kiss on the top of your head, whispering and caressing your hair softly, “stay, yeah? just for tonight”

you don’t answer immediately. you just breathe him in, feeling his pulse against your cheek. steady, familiar, unfair.

you let out a shaky sigh, “okay… just for tonight,” you whisper back.

and both of you know it’s the truth this time.

the next morning was gentle in the most dangerous way. no pretending it hadn’t happened. he made coffee too strong like always, and complained about it anyway, despite smiling. “still shite”

you sat at the kitchen counter in one of his old t-shirts, watching him move around like this wasn’t a goodbye waiting to happen. like you didn’t want to wait around to see if some day he’d actually succeed at making decent coffee.

you left before it could turn into something else.

after that night, you didn’t speak. not in a dramatic way. not with a fight or a final text that says please don’t contact me again. it’s quieter than that.

it feels adult and brutal.

days turn into weeks. weeks into months. and life goes on.

── .✦

★ 2020.

liam starts seeing someone. her name is debbie. it’s in the papers, eventually. candid photos. she looks solid. grounded. she looks… right.

and he looks happy, he really does.

and you hated the strange relief that it brought you. because he looked happy, healthy – you’d catch shots of him walking buttons once in a while, sometimes with debby on his side and sometimes on his own.

always in the mornings, though. at least it’s what the grey atmosphere told you.

some things never change.

because he’d always slip out at 5 in the morning and come back an hour later, already sweaty even when you were still groggy with sleep. sometimes he’d bring pastries, even when you’d repeatedly told him that there was no need.

to which he’d always reply with a “don’t be daft”, simply because he knew you liked the cappuccino and the pain au chocolat from the bakery down the street. and it’s not like he would make decent coffee, anyway.

he also did it because he liked the way you looked cute while eating it still half asleep. and you never knew, because he never even told you.

you started dating someone else too, in the meantime. you didn’t plan on it, but he’s nice. he listens when you talk and makes you laugh. he’s smart, and he remembers the small things.

it feels… good.

safe.

you go on proper dates, you can hold his hand on the streets, you can introduce him to your friends. you can kiss him and go to bed with him without dreading the inevitable ending.

but, sometimes late at night, you still think about liam.

about the way he kissed you. about the way that everything else felt that nice with him, too. even better, maybe, you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

but there’s that tiny part in yourself that lingers, the one that wishes everything was different. the tiny part in your brain that knows how good it could’ve been if you just… could’ve done it. proper.

sometimes, you catch yourself almost opening his contact on your message app. the same one you archived just so it wouldn’t be on your face, just so it wouldn’t be there if anyone decided to go through your messages.

because no one knows.

but you do, don’t you? you know that he rolled his eyes every time you teased him about putting too much butter on his toast. sometimes you wonder if he still does that.

you know that he liked when you played with his hair, or when you’d ghost the tip of your fingers over his jaw – he’d fall asleep every time. you know that he liked to hear you say nice things to him even though he’d never admit it. and you wonder if she does that to him too.

if she knows everything you did. if she knows how quiet he could be. that deep down all the noise and the messiness, he was someone that cared and wanted to be cared after.

but you don’t let yourself sit with those thoughts for long. you’ve learned how dangerous they are.

── .✦

★ 2021.

life goes on around you. you still go to work, family dinners, grocery stores and parties. you got better at not letting your mind linger where it didn’t belong.

you still go to parties. the ones that are loud in that comfortable, messy way – music bleeding into conversations, laughter in between. with fairy lights hang crooked across the garden. the ones that smell like beer, perfume, and warm night air.

you’re halfway through a drink, leaning into your boyfriend’s side while he talks about something work-related that you’re half-listening to. you’re nodding along as your eyes slide across the room, and that’s when you see lennon standing by the drinks table, laughing at something his girlfriend has just said, shoulders relaxed, hair a little longer than the last time you saw him. he looks… good. lighter, somehow.

your eyes meet for a second. there’s no jolt. no panic. just recognition.

you both smile, and he walks over.

“hey,” you say first, stepping a little closer and meeting him halfway, still half-anchored to your boyfriend.

“hey,” lennon answers, easy, leaning in to give you a friendly hug. “long time.”

you laugh softly, patting his back. “yeah. been a while”

your boyfriend steps in naturally, not territorial, just present. you introduce them, and they shake hands, exchange a few polite words. you do the same to his girlfriend, she’s pretty.

doesn’t really look like you, but she seems kind. she doesn’t look nervous, she feels light. she feels right for him. everything makes something in your chest feel strangely grown-up. relieved.

it slips out of you in the middle of the conversation. small talk, really. “how’s your mum?”

“she’s good,” lennon says. “still makin’ a fuss about tiny things”

you smile, “sounds about right”.

there’s a tiny pause – the kind that only you notice – and then you add, lightly:

“and… how’s your dad?”. you make it sound casual. like it doesn’t matter more than the other questions.

it does. and thankfully, only you know it.

lennon just smiles, nodding. “he’s alright. loud, same old.”

you nod, smiling. “good. that’s… good.”

he glances between you and your boyfriend, then smiles again. “nice seeing you. really. nice meeting you, man”

“yeah, you too. cheers”, you say.

you part ways easily. no tension. no lingering glances. just a gentle closing of a door that’s already been shut for a long time.

you don’t even realize you’ve let out a breath until your boyfriend nudges you lightly with his shoulder.

“‘how’s your dad?’” he repeats, amused, teasing lightly. “oh, he’s just liam gallagher, no big deal.”

you laugh, tipping your head back, nudging his hip with yours while your hand remains at his waist. “shut up.”

he grins, arm tightening around your shoulder. “still mad that your ex’s dad is liam gallagher, by the way. fucking hell.”

you shake your head, still smiling, cheeks warm – just from the weight of it.

“is he a cunt like everyone says?” he asks, genuinely curious, not unkind.

you think for a second, exhaling deeply. then you shake your head. “he’s quite nice, actually.”

your boyfriend studies your face for a moment, then smiles softly, taking your hand into his and squeezing it. “figures.”

you lean into him, and you let the music swell around you. and the night continues.

you keep smiling, you keep dancing, you keep kissing someone else. because life goes on.

── .✦

★ 2023.

you keep working. sometimes it’s gratifying, sometimes it’s a pain in your ass that at least pays the bills.

sometimes it’s late.

it happened once in one of those nights.

you’re on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees, blue light washing over the living room while you half-work, half-scroll. your phone buzzes once on the table.

unknown caller.

you stare at it for a little too long, and then you answer.

“hello?”

there’s a pause. then a breath. uneven. too loud. “hi, love”, he says softly, in that way people do when they’re drunk. you can tell because you remember, and because you can hear soft chatter coming from a distance.

you exhale, closing your eyes. “hey, liam”

“‘s late, innit” he says, like that just occurred to him. “sorry. didn’t mean to wake… dunno. disturb you”

you sit up slowly, shaking your head softly. “it’s fine. are you okay?”

a humourless laugh. “yeah… yeah, ‘m alright”

you lean back against the couch, one hand coming up to rub your forehead like you’re trying to physically keep yourself together.

he huffs a quiet laugh on the other end. “had a few. shouldn’t have rung”

“no… it’s okay”, you say softly, reassuring.

there’s a pause. longer this time. you can hear him breathing in deeply, like he’s thinking more than wanting to get air inside his lungs itself.

“just… wanted to hear your voice,” he says finally. softer. honest in that sweet way you remember. “don’t have to say anything back, right? you’re a smart girl. always were.”

your throat tightens. “liam…”, you murmur.

“nah, s’alright”, he cuts in, not unkindly. “not ringin’ to mess about. swear. just— just let me have a minute, yeah?”, he exhales, and you can hear that sad disbelieving smile on him as he says it. “sometimes it gets a bit loud up here. d’you know what i mean? and you were always good at quietin’ it”

you close your eyes. and there’s a small pause, you can hear him huff out a tiny laugh before he talks again. “me and r’kid are talkin’ again,” he says, softer now. “properly, i mean”

your eyes open a little at that, surprise replacing the heaviness in your chest for a second. “really?”

“yeah,” he breathes out, and there’s something light in it, he sounds almost boyish beneath the alcohol. he sounds happy, genuinely. “years of bein’ fucking stubborn. look at us now”

you shift slightly, tucking your legs under you. you breathe out a surprised tiny laugh, “that’s… incredible, liam. that’s really good.”

he hums in agreement, but it’s distracted, like his mind’s already somewhere else. “we met up the other day. didn’t even argue that much. bit weird, if i’m honest. kept waitin’ for him to punch me in the throat”

you laughed faintly at that, even though your chest is still tight. nodding even though he can’t see it. “that’s a good sign.”

he breathes out a tiny “yeah”, and you can hear him shift slightly. sniffing softly like he’s shifting again, grounding himself before he goes on.

“management’s even talking about a reunion”

your breath stills for a second. “really?”

“yeah,” he answers, and you can hear the smile he has on. “don’t know if it’ll happen, though. but still. fuckin’ mad, all of this”

you picture it without meaning to. and you smile to yourself at the thought: him on stage again, lights, noise, the gallaghers finally together again. “how do you feel about it?” you ask.

he lets out a small exhale, shaking his head even though you can’t see it. “don’t know. part of me thinks it’d be brilliant. the other part…” he trails off, a faint, tired laugh following. “the other part thinks maybe some things are better left where they are.”

you nod, “yeah. i get that”, you say softly.

you can hear him take in a deep exhale.

“still,” he adds, softer now, like he’s thinking out loud more than talking to you. “wish you were still around, though.”

your chest tightens immediately, your fingers curling slightly around the phone.

he doesn’t stop, and you can hear him huff out a tired, drunk and weak laugh. “even if it was with him, d’you know what i mean? i’d see your face, at least.”

“liam…”, you breathed out, eyebrows furrowing softly at the admission.

“miss your smell sometimes, y’know,” he admits, the words coming out slower now.

you close your eyes again, this time with a sad sigh, leaning your head back against the couch.

there’s a shift on his end. “debbie, she’s… she really is a good girl. proper one. she’s funny, smart. lads like her,” he admits softly, and you can still hear the sad smile he has on.

your brows furrow softly as you hear it, a sad little smile growing on your lips as he says it. because you’re happy for him, you really are. you just wish it would make you miss him less, though.

he lets out a little breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself. like being fully honest right now is just stupid, that he should be keeping all of this to himself the same way he has during all this time. “she smells nice too. cause birds smell nice, don’t they? you lot use that— dunno what it’s called. is it body wash? the… fuckin’ shower thing”

you huff out a little laugh, nodding. “yeah. moisturizer too”

“yeah, that. that’s what it is”

a beat.

“miss yours. a lot, actually”

he says it like he’s embarrassed by it. like he didn’t mean to let it slip. there’s a tiny pause after, the kind where you can almost hear him bracing for you to shut it down.

you don’t. you swallow, eyes still closed. “yeah…”, you breathe out softly.

another pause. the noise in the background shifts – a door opening, someone laughing far away – and then it fades again.

“you still do that thing” he says fondly.

“what thing?”

“that little sigh” he says. “right before you tell me i’m bein’ daft.”

you laugh despite yourself. “i do that?”

“yeah,” he admits. “but i like it. always did”

your fingers tap absently against the couch cushion. you imagine him somewhere dim and warm and loud, phone pressed to his ear, eyes unfocused. you wonder if he still remembers how to use the gadgets on his phone, what you taught him in those lazy sunday mornings before reality creeped in again.

another beat.

“you happy?” he asks. quieter. real this time.

you don’t answer immediately. not because you’re unhappy – you are, just not with who you wanted to.

“i am,” you say finally, nodding to yourself. “yeah. i really am.”

“that’s good. that’s good”, he says quietly. “sometimes i wonder how you’re doin’. if the bloke you’re with knows how lucky he is”

you exhale softly, your mouth opening, but he cuts in with a small, self-aware laugh.

“and i think— yeah. course he does. ‘cause you’re hard not to love, aren’t ya?”

“liam…”

“wish you weren’t. no disrespect to you, just– wish you weren’t, y’know? would make things lot easier”, he says honestly.

you swallow, head tipping back softly and your eyes closing.

“won’t ring again, promise”, he adds, almost automatically. like he needs to say it out loud to make it stick. “don’t wanna… y’know, fuck things up for you again”

you nod, even though he can’t see it. “yeah. that’s okay”

“just… tonight got a bit loud,” he repeats. “that’s all.”

“i get it,” you say gently. “i really do.”

there’s a small smile in his voice when he answers. “course you do.”

another quiet stretch. comfortable now. the ache softened, not gone – just held carefully between you.

“right. i’ll let you go then”

“yeah,” you answer softly. “take care of yourself, yeah?”

he huffs out a small breath, smiling softly. “night, sweetheart”

“good night, liam.”

the call ends.

your throat burns. and in your living room, where things are real, safe and truly yours, you let yourself break. just for a bit. because you and liam were never that.

── .✦

★ 2025.

you carried on after that night, because you had to.

you didn’t hear from him since the call, because he said he wouldn’t ring.

the reunion did actually happen, and it was everywhere. headlines, clips, people talking about it like it was something historic. and god, he looked handsome.

you tried to not really keep up with it. you were genuinely happy for him, but seeing him still had a weird power over you.

one afternoon, in between emails you barely cared about, you noticed it.

tickets for both nights at wembley. no note, just a silent “come if you’d like” that somehow made it ring even louder inside your head.

you thought about not even mentioning it to your boyfriend – who obviously was a fan. the universe doesn’t care about laughing right in your face when it comes to oasis. they are what they are, you just have to live around it and that is it.

but when the day came, you spoke before you even caught yourself.

so you ended up there. you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

the crowd was massive, loud in a way that swallowed everything else. it made it easier, for a moment. until he walked on stage.

he looked the same in all the ways that mattered. a little older, a little heavier in the way he carried himself, but still unmistakably him. still the same man that always pulled you in without asking.

he didn’t know you were there, neither did lennon. you didn’t tell anyone. you were just there to watch him slip into it like it had never left him, even though he had mentioned a couple of times he wasn’t certain if he did. just to you, all those years ago.

and you felt so fucking proud. you felt proud, and soft, and dangerously emotional in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

you never told him you went. he never asked. and that, somehow, felt like an agreement.

── .✦

the tour ends and for some odd reason it feels like a weight has been lifted off from your shoulders. no more oasis mania. no more seeing him everywhere.

but then, a couple of months later, like another cruel prank the universe is playing on you, lennon texts you. gene’s band’s gig.

hey. you and your boyfriend should pop by. izzy told me some of your mates are coming as well and sounded like it’d be a good time. drinks after. xx

you almost say no. almost make up an excuse as you read the text once, then again, thumb hovering over the screen.

but your boyfriend’s away for work, and you’re tired of letting fear make choices for you.

you tell yourself it’s fine, that you’ve done the hard part already. that you’ve moved on.

course, i’ll be there :)

the venue is small, sweaty, voices overlapping, beer sloshing in plastic cups. gene’s band is alright, loud in a way that doesn’t go against genetics. in a way that keeps your eyes on the stage until the gig ends. after, the is loud enough to keep thoughts at bay. you spot familiar faces, exchange hugs, laugh easily. it feels normal.

and then you see him.

liam’s near the back, talking to someone, wearing an orange parka that makes him look unfair.

he looks older, but softer. even better in person. the scruffy beard you liked is still there, and he’s still unmistakably him.

it knocks the air out of your lungs for a moment.

he notices you a second later, before you can even snap out of it. his eyes drift from the man he’s talking to without even meaning to find you, and once they do, his brain takes a bit to catch up and he keeps looking around – but immediately snaps his gaze back to you once he realizes.

there’s a pause. and then, he lifts his chin in acknowledgment. you smile back, small and polite.

he tries to go back to his conversation, but you can tell he’s not really in it anymore.

and right now, no one’s near you. so a few seconds later, he’s walking toward you.

“y’alright?” he asks, now close enough for you to hear.

he leans in for a hug, because why wouldn’t he? to everyone else, you’re just his son’s ex and this is just friendly.

to anyone watching, this is normal. expected. harmless.

and you wished it was that simple. but you have to pretend it is, so you hug him back. “yeah. you?”

“yeah, ‘m alright” he answers, nodding. his eyes linger for a moment longer than necessary. then, he looks back at where gene’s standing, gesturing vaguely toward some of the lads. “they’re sound, that lot, aren’t they?”

you smile, nodding and holding your cup a bit tighter. “yeah… yeah. they’re great”

you talk a bit more, about nothing important. the music. the reunion. how lennon’s doing. and it’s easy. careful. like two people who know exactly where not to step.

he keeps a distance. doesn’t lean in too close, he doesn’t touch you. but there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes a familiar awareness hum inside your chest.

“boyfriend didn’t come?”, he asks casually. but you can see it in his eyes.

you shake your head, swallowing before you answer. “he’s out of town. work stuff”

he nods, “right. yeah”. he scratches his jaw, the sound of his fingertips softly against the scruff drowned out by the noise, “debbie couldn’t make it either. at her mum’s”

you nod, hoping he doesn’t see it in your eyes. “right. yeah”, you say softly.

it’s strange – how much is said in so little.

he drifts off not longer after, polite, friendly. and you smile back once he does, only allowing yourself to breath properly once he’s fully out of sight.

the night carries on there, and there’s a tiny voice inside your head saying that all of that was too much. you know how you two are, even after all this time. but you can’t really move, it’s like you’re frozen in your place, still drinking and interacting like nothing is bugging you.

it’s only later – after a couple more drinks, after the night softens – that you manage to slip outside for a cigarette.

the air’s cool. quieter. the back alley lit by one flickering bulb and the orange glow of your lighter. you exhale smoke slowly, watching it disappear.

“still smoking, then?”

his voice snaps you out of it.

you turn your head, watching him walk closer.

you huff out a tiny breath, lips curling up despite yourself. “still pretendin’ i’ll quit”, you reply lightly.

he breathes out and smiles softly, nodding as he steps closer, careful not to crowd you. then, he lights his own cigarette. for a moment you stand side by side, shoulders almost touching, both staring ahead like that’s safer.

“didn’t know you’d be here,” he says.

you nod, looking down at your feet. “yeah. sorry”

he shakes his head, now looking at you. “don’t be daft. it’s a gig, nothin’ to be sorry for”

you glance at him. and just then you meet his gaze.

he breathes in and out, filling up the silence. “you look good”, he says quietly.

you smile softly, nodding. “so do you.”

the silence stretches – borderline awkward, but mostly heavy with things unsaid.

he swallows. “you, uh… doin’ alright?”

you nod. “yeah... as much as i can be, i suppose”

he nods, his gaze drifting down to your lips making your throat dry up. he steps half a pace closer without meaning to. stops himself. you can tell – the restraint sits awkward on him, he’s not used to it.

“you smell the same” he says before he can stop it.

your fingers curl around your cigarette, head tilting and your chest already getting heavier. “liam…”

he closes his eyes for a second, shaking his head. “yeah, alright. that was— sorry. didn’t mean to—”

“i know,” you cut in gently.

you both go quiet after that. he cuts in the silence with a heavy huff, sliding a hand down his face. “fuck me”, he breathes out.

your brows furrow softly at his reaction. you don’t ask, but you know what it’s about.

for a moment you’re preparing yourself to put your cigarette out, say a polite “take care” and go back inside before whatever this is can stretch on a little longer.

he’s faster. “it’s just…” he starts, then trails off, rubbing a hand over his jaw and scratching the scruff. “weird, innit?”

you glance at him. “what is?”

“this,” he gestures vaguely between you. “pretendin’ like we don’t—”

he stops himself.

you swallow.

“don’t know each other like that,” he finishes, quieter.

you sigh, nodding as you look down at your feet.

another beat. the bulb flickers overhead. laughter spills from inside, muffled and distant, but right here, he just exhales slowly, quietly.

you shake your head to yourself, “we s—“

“ythink we could… yknow,” he cuts in, the words coming out rough, a little slurred at the edges.

you blink, not sure you heard him right. “what?”

he looks at you, shaking his head, nearly exasperated. “dunno. just—” he exhales, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “try. again. or… somethin’.”

the words land unevenly between you.

“liam. cmon” you start, but your voice falters.

he laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “i know. sounds mental when you say it out loud.”

“it is mental,” you say, shaking your head slightly.

“why, though?” he pushes, a little more insistent now. “lennon’s alright. he’s moved on. he’s— he’s got his own life, doesn’t he? it’s not like before.”

“li—“

“i’ve been thinkin’ about it, yeah? we can— manage. dunno. we could,” he says, stepping closer and holding your hands in his.

his hands are warm around yours, a little unsteady, like he didn’t think he’d actually go this far once the words left his mouth. his grip isn’t tight, just… holding. pleading.

you stare down at your fingers caught in his, your chest tightening at how natural it feels. how dangerous that is.

“liam…” you say again.

he shakes his head, like he already knows what you’re going to say and doesn’t want to hear it. “no, just— just listen, yeah?” his voice sounds rougher now, a little desperate. “i’m not sayin’ it’s easy. i’m not thick.”

“we shouldn’t do this…” you say quietly, shaking your head. almost a plea.

“love—“

“there’s debbie. lennon. the press,” you start, your eyes are still on his hand holding yours.

then you look up, meeting his gaze. you shake your head slowly.

he hates how you’re right.

he sighs, hands nearly shaking now.

like he’s already been waiting for it. he closes his eyes again, swallowing hard. his forehead drops gently to your shoulder with another sigh, gentle in a way it’s so unlike him to everyone else, but not to you. his nose brushes your neck and you feel him breathe you in, just once.

your hands twitch inside his, your eyes flutter shut, and you take in the scent of his hair that once was on yours – same shampoo and everything.

but you don’t give into it. that’s the hardest part.

“yeah” he murmurs, nearly in a whisper against your neck. “yeah, i know”

and then, he takes in a deep inhale, nodding slowly like you finally put some sense into him – even though he wanted to fight it with everything he’s got.

he presses a slow kiss just over your pulse point, more apology than anything. one that feels like a goodbye.

he pulls back slowly, eyes landing on your face once again like he wants you to go against what you’re both saying. against what you both know it’s right.

but you don’t say anything. and he nods slowly, like he understands the lack of answer. “right,” he says quietly. almost disappointed.

your breath hitches, your brows furrow before you can stop them. and he breathes out, a sad smile forming on his face as he takes in your expression. like it’s time to be the mature one.

“take care, yeah?”, he says softly.

you watch him turn away with a genuine exhale that comes deep from your chest.

because you should let him go.

but that’s when you grab his hand. it’s instinct. stupid. honest. you tug him back and he stumbles into you, surprise flashing across his face just before your mouth is on his. the kiss is messy. slow. like you’re both afraid and don’t care at the same time. his hand comes up to your jaw, yours fisting in the front of his parka while the other grabs his hair. you kiss him like you’re trying to remember him and forget him all at once.

a soft, broken sound escapes you – a breath, a half-moan swallowed straight into his mouth – and he makes one back, low in his throat, like it’s been knocked out of him. his thumbs drag along your cheek and nearly hold you how hard he’s kissing you. your fingers fist in the front of his parka, pulling him closer, closer, until there’s no space left to negotiate with.

your chest feel tighter at the realization that no matter how long you’ve denied it, he still has this effect on you. the way his mouth fits yours. the faint taste of smoke and beer. the familiarity that never went away. it’s slow and frantic at the same time. you don’t pull away, not once. your mouths just part enough to breathe each other in before crashing back together.

“fuck” he murmurs into your mouth. his arm wraps around your waist and he doesn’t even ask – just guides you, stepping you further down the alley, away from the noise, away from people who might see. your back hits brick, cool and solid, and he presses in, and your hands land on his hair.

his lips move against yours like it’s pouring out everything he wants say but can’t out loud. his hand slides into your hair, fingers curling desperately and reverently all at once. and you melt into it. you let out a broken and needy moan and he follows it immediately, breathing you in like this might be the last time he’s allowed to.

your hands trace his shoulders, his neck, and it feels cruel how natural it still is. how you remember him even when you’re trying not to. when you finally break apart, it’s only because you have to breathe. your foreheads rest together, both of you panting, wrecked with your eyes closed.

“come home with me,” you say before you can stop yourself, breathless and overwhelmed.

he opens his eyes, panting. and his eyes take in every tiny detail of your face. for a moment, you don’t know if he’s going to be reasonable or reckless.

so your breath hitches, feeling your eyes fill up with how much you already miss him. “please”, you whisper, eyebrows furrowing softly and blinking away the tears fighting to form in your eyes. “please, liam…”

he swallows, breathier even heavier.

and then he nods, before he can change his mind. before you can change yours.

you leave together, separate enough to look innocent. his hand brushes yours once in the dark – that’s all.

── .✦

your flat is too quiet when you unlock the door. no telly humming in the background. no neighbour arguing through thin walls or cars passing by on the street. the presence of your boyfriend’s things in your bathroom and his shirts in your closet making goosebumps rise on your skin just at the thought that you’re fucking it up again.

and it nearly snaps you back into consciousness again, but as you turn to look at him – meeting his eyes that were already on you – everything else just fades away.

that’s the problem with him.

it’s the whole reason that has led you to this very moment. it even feels like the first times – it even feels like before it all happened, because he pulls you in in a way it isn’t really rational.

only this time, it isn’t just about sex. it isn’t just about attraction or the thrill of doing something that’s so wrong but also feels so right.

now, it’s much more than that.

it isn’t hungry or reckless, either. not in the way it used to be at first, at least.

because this time, as he stands an inch away from your locked front door, he looks at you in a way that’s devastatingly familiar.

because he’s been here many times by now. he knows this hallway. knows the way the light flickers softly when you first turn them on. knows which floorboard creaks near the kitchen. he knows marie.

and he knows you, as much as you know him.

he knows you liked when he rubbed your shoulders in the shower, and you know how he’d always kiss your cheek and give it a playful bite whenever you’d tease and say how good his chubby fingers felt.

you knew he liked it when you’d scratch lightly at his scalp, even though he’d pretend he didn’t care. pretend it didn’t soften him the same way he’d always tease you – saying you were “proper soft f’me”. but still, he’d lean into your touch every single time.

you wonder if she does that for him too, if she knows everything you did.

your chest tightens at the thought.

because maybe she does. maybe she knows him now the way you used to.

a tear rolls down your cheek and the moment you realize, you let out a soft – nearly frustrated – exhale.

he steps closer, his warm hands immediately leaving his pockets and cupping your cheeks. “hey, hey…”, he coos. only then you look up at him through watery lashes, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your cheekbone – even though he’s nearly breaking just like you.

because this isn’t just a relapse, this is the last time.

his hand slides to your jaw, thumb resting under your chin. “you sure?” he asks quietly.

you nod, slowly. he inhales and then lets it out shakily, like he’s relieved by the answer and sad about how much harder it makes this.

he leans in anyway, breathing in deeply the moment his lips press against yours and closing his eyes shut, even holding your face a little harder just because of how badly he missed this.

your hands settle on the back of his hair, fingers sliding in his locks that are shorter and grayer now. your tongue slides inside his mouth and a little moan escapes, you’re not fully sure if it’s you or him. for a moment, it’s slow. so slow it almost feels like you can still stop.

it isn’t the alley. it isn’t frantic. it isn’t teeth and hunger and desperation clawing at skin. it’s softer. his lips move against yours in a way that feels almost reverent. slow presses. small exhales shared between you. the kind of kiss that says i missed this.

and then, your hands slide up his chest, fisting lightly in his shirt. you feel his breath shake when you do. and he deepens it gradually.

his thumb moves from under your chin to your jaw, tilting your head slightly. his mouth opens more fully over yours, and the softness turns warmer. harder, deeper. then his back hits the door with a quiet thud because neither of you notice how you’re stepping foward.

then, his hands slide down to your waist, your fingers tangle deeper into his hair and he exhales against your mouth like it almost hurts. the gentleness shakes up with that. it becomes desperate but still slow. his mouth drags to the corner of your lips, then your cheek, then your neck – his breathing uneven and heavier, hitching when you quietly moan at the feeling. and then he drags himself back to your lips again. “fuck”, he breathes out against your mouth, already sliding his tongue back inside before he can even finish it.

you tug his parka upwards, not even succeeding to pull it off, but he still understands without words. his hands tighten at your ass and the back of your thugs as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around him like they’ve done this a hundred times before.

he carries you down the hallway without breaking the kiss. your legs tighten around his waist automatically, your hands still buried in his hair as your mouths stay on each other. it’s clumsy and needy in that familiar way, your shoulder bumps the wall, his foot nearly catches on the rug, but neither of you pull apart. he knows the way to the bedroom without looking. the door open with a push of shoulder and he steps inside without looking, like his body remembers this despite his brain cursing himself not to.

he sets you down on the bed slowly, his mouth not pulling away from yours and his hand sliding towards your back, pulling you into an embrace that makes your eyebrows furrow at the gentleness.

for a second neither of you move, like you’re both trying to steady yourselves.

he pulls away barely, just enough to search for your eyes. he looks so pretty like this. the contrast of his lips glistening with your spits and the roughness of his beard that’s perfectly salt and peppered makes you slide your hands down to the sides of his neck, caressing it with your thumbs as you admire him.

you see him swallow gruffly, and you know he’s thinking the same thing. you know that he misses this as much as you do.

so you slide your hands down his chest, pushing the parka off properly this time, still slowly. it drops somewhere over the matress with a soft thud. his shirt follows soon after, and your hands find his chest like it’s muscle memory. your palms slide over his soft skin, brushing over the soft hair as you feel his chest heaving underneath your touch. his knees are sunk into the matress, his thighs brush yours as he stays settled between them and his hands stay there, thumbs softly pressing in like he needs the reassurance that you’re real.

he looks older. the grey in his hair catches in the light and the soft crinkles around his eyes make him look softer. everything makes you remember how much you missed this, how much you missed him.

his eyes catch yours doing it. “what?” he murmurs, breath still uneven.

you shake your head softly, a soft and weak smile curling up in one corner of your mouth. “nothing.”

but the way your hand comes up to his cheek gives it away. he leans into it for a second before you pull him back to your lips, before your chest tightens even more.

the kiss is slower now. deeper. his hands slide down your thighs again, gripping them gently as he stays kneeled between them. his mouth drifts over to your jaw, your neck, the hollow at the base of your throat. every tiny touch gets a shaky and breathy moan out of you, your hands grabbing his shoulders tighter or sliding into his hair every time you can.

every single kiss lingers, like he’s trying to stretch the time.

you shiver when his hands fumble with the fabric of your shirt, sliding your fingers out of his hair just to help him get rid of it, pure instinct. he exhales as he sees you again, like it’s the first time. he leans down again, pampering your chest with kisses, his eyes flutter shut as he feels your warmth against his mouth again, his hands tighten on your waist as he inhales your scent again – a quiet gesture that feels more like relief than desire.

the kisses continue slow across your stomach, his hands finds the button of your jeans with a steadiness that doesn’t match the way both your hearts are racing. he exhales against the sensitive skin right above the waistband of your knickers as he gets rid of your pants, his hands settle on your thighs again as he feels you like he’s been starved for closeness rather than anything else.

like he’s been starved for you rather than anyone else.

you moan softly, fingers finding his hair and tightening in it, and he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath as his hands slide around the sides of your knickers – that same smug and fond little sound he used to make years ago when you reacted like that.

“still sensitive there, yeah?” he murmurs.

“liam…” you breathe out, half warning, half plea.

he smirks, but doesn’t tease further. your mouth falls agape with a gasp the moment his tongue meets your folds, one slow lick upwards that melts into a low moan of his before he properly wraps his mouth around you. your hands fly to your sheets, grabbing it and messing them up without even meaning to. while his arms slide around your legs, hands grabbing your thighs to keep you close as you squirm away the same way you did all that time ago.

“liam,” you breathed out his name in a moan, catching in your throat as the muscles of your legs tightened at the feeling of his warm tongue worshipping you.

he hums softly in response, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes your back arch slightly. one of his hands slides up to your palm pressed against the matress, guiding your hand back to his hair like he wants you there.

like he missed it.

“i’ve got you, yeah?”, he muttered against your wetness, his voice thick and wrecked. he pulled away just enough to look at you, shifting his hand just enough to slide two fingers inside your entrance, watching every second of your reaction. you moaned, eyebrows furrowing and lips falling agape, your head tipped back at the same time your hips chased his touch – some things don’t change.

he pressed down a gentle kiss to your clit, slowly and briefly sliding his slick lips side to side before muttering against you: “i’ve got you, love. look at me.”

you lifted your head despite it feeling dizzy, like it weighed a ton. and the moment your eyes met his again, he closed the distance once more.

your moans are broken, head tipping back like you can’t handle it. tears fill up your eyes and you let them, this time you allow yourself to moan his name out loud the same way you desired to every single time you were with someone else. your inner thighs press softly around his head as you tip over way too quickly, and he doesn’t mind.

he carries on, taking in every little moan he missed just as much, relishing on the feeling of your muscles twitching underneath his palm. moaning the feeling of you tightening around his fingers rhythmically as he swallows every drop of your arousal and tasting you through it.

your breath catches hard in your chest, your back arching as you feel it too fast, too deep. a small sob escapes you with it, just from how intense it all feels.

he doesn’t pull away. he just slows, he only stops when your pants quiet down. his hands slide up your thighs, thumbs brushing gentle circles there while you come down from it, your breathing uneven and your fingers still tangled in his hair.

when you finally open your eyes again, he’s already looking at you.

not smug. not teasing. just soft in that devastating way he only ever was with you.

your chest rises and falls as you try to steady yourself, but your breath hitches as your hand comes down to cup his cheek.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper hoarsely.

he frowns slightly, immediately. already moving upwards, propping himself with his elbow on the matress, chest still pressed against yours. “for what?”, he asks quietly, his hand finds your face and slide your hair out of it. you let out a small huff at the feeling of his fingers slick with you being feeling so gentle over your skin.

you shake your head weakly, a breath leaving you in a small laugh that’s more tired than amused. “for… this”, you say quietly as you point to the soft trace a tear left behind your cheek. you sigh softly, licking your lips as you take in his expression, “for all of this”

his mouth twitches faintly, but the expression in his eyes stays warm. he presses a slow kiss to your mouth. “don’t be daft,” he murmurs.

your hands find his shoulders automatically, your noses brushing as your breathing slowly settles. for a moment neither of you speak.

the quiet feels heavier now. not uncomfortable. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that ran over there. “still cry when it gets too much,” he murmurs fondly.

you huff a weak laugh. “shut up.”

he smiles a little at that. the familiar one. “still know you, don’t i?”

you let out a shaky breath, a weak smile forming on your lips, but it makes your eyes crinkle in the corners anyway.

he smiles at it, leaning down and brushes the tip of his nose on the side of yours again. then your cheek, placing a soft kiss over your skin along the way. your eyes fluttered at the feeling, only opening when he he pulls away again. just a bit. you look into his eyes when his hand rests softly over your cheek – you take in the way he’s allowing himself to look at you once more before he kisses you again.

you both exhale at the feeling of your tongues sliding against one another, your hand finds his hair and tightens around his short locks at the taste of yourself sitting right over his tongue.

this is just the thing you both knew would happen if you stood too close for too long. you both know this doesn’t change the ending – but your legs wrap around his hips anyway, and his free hand fumbles with his jean’s button.

your hand rests on top of his, head tilting as you watch him look at you. “wait,” you whisper.

he exhales deeply, forehead pressing to yours, breath still uneven. “what?”

your hand slide inside his trousers, your wrist brushing over his happy trail before you take the weight of his cock into your hand, gently squeezing it before you slowly shift underneath him, guiding him back on the bed. he lets you, still watching you with that same confused and softened look, chest rising and falling harder than before.

you kneel beside him, licking your lips as you look at him. your hands shift just enough to pull his pants down his crotch, immediately returning to where they were once the thick fabric gets out of the way – his breath hitches, getting rid of his pants himself.

his brows furrow together when he realizes what you’re doing.“love…” he murmurs, voice rough.

you glance up at him through your lashes, a small sad smile tugging at your mouth. “please?…”, you say quietly, your hands squeezing his thigh softly before they tug the waistband of his boxers down. your eyes dart down to his hard length slapping his lower belly the moment you free him, then your gaze moves back to his face as you shift closer. “miss it…”, you say quietly.

the words hit him somewhere deep – you can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way a broken breath escapes him the moment your hand wraps around him, his coming up to your hair almost without thinking.

his fingers grab your hair softly, firm and gentle all at once. he gives you weak smile accompanied by a shaky breath as you give him slow strokes. the back of his hair softly rubbing over the pillow his head rests on as he shakes it slowly, almost like a warning. “won’t last, love” he mutters softly.

your brows furrow softly, shaking your head. “it’s okay”, you say quietly, looking at his lips and not bearing the distance the moment his fingers gather your hair anyway. he pulls you into a kiss, exhaling a genuine huff the moment your tongue slides inside his mouth again, bucking once into your touch as he lets his fingers tighten around your locks for a moment. you only break the kiss because you’re dying for it.

your head shifts closer to his leaking tip at the same time he guides you in a way that’s more affectionate than demanding. his head tips to the side slightly, eyes closing for a moment as he breathes out through his mouth – swallowing gruffly at the feeling of your warmth swallowing his length, his lips fall agape once more the moment he feels you moan around him.

there’s nothing rushed about it.

his hand stays in your hair, thumb stroking absently over the side of your head the way he used to do years ago, like the gesture is more about keeping you close than anything else.“fuck. missed you,” he murmurs under his breath. he moans softly the moment you take him deeper, taking advantage of the position you’ve shifted into – knees sunk down into the matress, ass arched up as your head moves up and down on his cock.

his hand slides down your back, trailing over your spine slowly until it settles on your ass, grabbing it as he watches your lips stretch around him. it’s dirty and tender all at once.

his hands slide between your thighs slowly, rubbing your still sensitive and slick folds as it fuels you on to take him even deeper. his hips twitch at the feeling, a moan escapes his lips at the same time his eyes flutter shut – immediately opening up again at the feeling of you squeezing his thighs, just because he’s so deep in your throat. the position makes your hair fall around your shoulders, and he reaches up to tuck a strand behind your ear. “so pretty. so fuckin’ pretty like this”, he breathes out.

you take him deeper with a soft whimper, making him throw his head back, muttering a low “fuck” before he shifts his gaze back into it’s place.

his hand guides you by the hair, because there’s no fucking chance he’ll last long with your pretty mouth around him like that. pulling you toward him until your mouth finds his again. he kisses you immediately, swallowing the soft whimper that escapes you.

his other hand scoops your thigh until you’re straddling him, you moan at the change and his hand grabs you tighter just because. his arms wrap around your waist almost immediately, like he’s been waiting for this the whole time.

your palms brace against his chest, breaking the kiss just because you’re moving your hips up. you pant softly as you look down at him, taking in the way he looks as desperate as you – desperate enough to not need any further words. he slide his hand down to his cock, grabbing it and positioning it so you can sink down on him.

before your chest tightens even more at the sight of him, you take him inside you without any resistance.

the feeling knocks the breath out of both of you. liam lets out a low, broken sound as your hips settle over his, his arms tightening around you even more like he needs something to hold onto. “fuck…” he breathes.

you lean forward, moving your hips up and down once – immediately moaning at the sensation of him filling you up again. your hands settle on his chest, his shoulders, the side of his neck. they roam for every bit of him you can reach before they settle on his cheeks, cupping them and keeping his face close to yours as you ride him. your hair falls around both your faces. every single movement you make over him pulls a soft sound and wrecked sound out of the both of you.

you moan his name, eyebrows furrowing as you get his crotch slick with your wetness. your nose bumps into his softly, over and over. your lips brush against his every time you move, and he moans just like you, trying to chase your tongue back, but you’re both too gone to manage. his breath feels warm against your lips, hitching. “missed this, fuck. missed you like this” he mutters.

the rhythm comes naturally, the same way everything between you always seemed to. your hips roll carefully, your breathing growing uneven as the closeness settles into something deeper.

liam’s head falls back against the pillow for a moment, eyes closing as he moans your name under his breath. “that’s it…,” he murmurs, voice rough, hands grabbing your ass tighter as he guides you up and down on his cock.

you moan needily at the sounds he’s letting out, at the feeling of him inside you and his hands all over you. the wet noises of your cunt sliding up and down his length make you absentmindedly lean down again, immediately kissing him. the kiss is messy and warm, both of you breathing and moaning into it as your movements grow a little more desperate.

his hands guide you without even thinking about it, digging into your flesh in a way that will probably bruise later. neither of you mind right now. “you feel so— fucking good,” he moans against your mouth.

the praise makes you whimper, his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer until your chest is pressed to his. your movements over him grow sloppy, messy and needy in that perfect way it always was with him. your noses brush as you move, his tongue bumps into yours as he starts to thrust up. you gasp at the feeling, instantly melting into a moan. his name coming out of your lips like it’s the only word you can afford to speak right now.

your hands tangle in his hair and the words slip out between moans before you can stop them. “i love you. l-liam”

his eyes never leave your face, and at your admission he nods, eagerly. eyebrows furrowing and hands grabbing you tighter as he shifts on top of you before either of you fully realize it. suddenly, you’re on your back, the sheets cool under your back while he settles above you. “i love you”, he admits, already breathless. your legs wrap around him, your nails dig into his biceps and his shoulders, you moan louder at the change of angle.

there’s something softer in his expression now. almost sad. you nearly miss it because in a second he’s already kissing you again – deeper, while his hips keep snapping into yours. he’s moaning inside your mouth, panting as he holds you impossibility close while your hands drifts into his hair, kissing him back just as eagerly.

he moans your name like it hurts him. like he’s trying to stitch it into himself. like maybe it’ll stretch time. then, he shakes his head, closing his eyes shut and burying his face on the side of your neck like it’ll keep everything from spilling out once in for all.

his breath was hot on your ear. “i love you,” he whispered, the words tumbling out messy and honest in the dark. “i fucking love you. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, love”

at his words, you felt a small sob come out of you, tears filling your eyes quicker than you realized. you pulled him into another kiss, like this one would memorize the taste of him to make it last another year. everything was raw.

the way his hands moved over your curves with desperation, as if he were trying to remind himself that you were actually there.

he wasn't the untouchable rockstar here, he wasn’t liam gallagher. right now, he was your liam. just a man who had been starving. you let out a string of broken moans, blabbering “i love you” and his name back, messily swallowing his words every time he said it right back. you opened your eyes, blurred with tears from how overwhelming everything was.

you reached up, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing the dampness under his own eyes. he leaned into your palms, messily kissing everywhere he could reach – your wrists, your knuckles – at the same time his movements became more frantic, more desperate as the tension built between you two. “don't stop,” you pleaded, shaking your head eagerly and letting your voice break as you moaned. “please, liam.”

his never drifted from yours, as glassy as your own. “i love you. love you”, he moaned out, lips bumping yours with every stroke he gave you.

your body tightened around him before you could even say anything, and you let out another broken moan into his mouth. you couldn’t form words anymore, the pleasure was too deep. a few tears escaped, sliding down your temples and into your hair. your vision blurred as you came undone, grabbing his hair tightly at the same time he buried his face in your neck, following right after.

he let out a low moan. he buried his face in your neck while his body shook with the effort of holding back, murmuring broken, nonsensical things into your skin. all those translated into how much he hated the quiet, how much he hated not having this every single day. how much he’d hated the 'right' life, how much he just wanted you. his grip on you tightened until it would surely leave marks as his hips stuttered, panting heavily before his body went slack against yours.

you just hold him. and he holds you back, trying to disguise the way his breath is hitching. like you won’t feel his body shaking right over yours.

in this darkness of your bedroom, the silence stretches. neither of you daring to break it right now. it’s the same quiet from months ago – tender and devastating enough to feel like it’ll kill you.

it won’t.

but as his head rests on your chest this time, with his breathing slowing down, you feel like you could go happily right about now. you run your fingers through his hair, his back. watching the way the streetlights filter through the curtains and light the way his back moving up and down as he breathes you in.

you know what tomorrow looks like.

you know you’ll feel the guilt in the morning. you know you’ll have to look at your boyfriend and pretend your skin doesn't still burn where liam touched it. you know he’ll go back to debbie and be the man everyone thinks he is now.

right now, he’s just here. so for now, you just hold him.

“just a minute,” he whispers, like he sensed either of you should probably say something. “like before.”

you nodded. he doesn't open his eyes, he just shifts closer, arms tightening around you. and eventually, without realizing when it happens, you fall asleep like that.

liam stays wide awake, though.

he tries. closing his eyes, slowing his breathing, pressing his face closer into you. but it doesn’t come, his mind won’t let him.

so he watches you instead. your breathing deep and steady now, lips parted just enough. tear stains dried along your cheeks.

his thumb hovers for a second before he lets it brush lightly against your skin, following the faint line down, careful not to wake you.

he keeps looking at you like that, like he’s trying to memorize it properly this time. not the version of you he carries around in his head, not the one from years ago, but this – right now.

he sighs, shifting until his arms are around you again, tightening without thinking.

this could be something.

it could be.

time passes like that, he doesn’t need to check the clock to know it’s late – or too early.

his phone lights up beside the bed anyway. the small buzz breaks the quiet.

he freezes for a second, like if he doesn’t acknowledge it, it won’t exist – like everything else is just noise, just an unimportant background to what really matters, you. what he longed for all this time. but he moves anyway, exhaling slowly and shifting carefully, just enough to reach for it without disturbing you.

the screen lights up his face.

4:02 am.

from lennon.

got home safe. gene’s over the moon about the gig tonight.

you’re the best. love you, you fucker. xx

and then liam exhales. quiet and heavy.

right. that’s why.

always been and always will be.

his gaze drifts back to you, still asleep, still curled into him without knowing any of it. he studies your face again for a second, softer now, something resigned settling into his expression.

he moves before it hurts even more.

he untangles himself from you slowly, like it actually hurts. you don’t wake, so he continues.

he gets dressed quietly. his shirt, his jeans, his parka. each movement feels heavier than it should, like he’s dragging something behind him.

he doesn’t look back at the bed until he has to.

just once. and you’re still there, half-wrapped in the sheets, hair a mess, face soft and perhaps even prettier than he remembered. his expression softens, something almost regretful and bittersweet settling there before he closes the door.

the hallway is dim, quieter than the room somehow. and then he sees her.

marie, curled up on the couch. dead to the world, he huffs a little laugh at the sight, already walking closer. “alright, you,” he murmurs, sitting down beside her and reaching out.

she purs in her sleep immediately, and he huffs out a small, fond breath, scratching behind her ears. “still kickin’, yeah?”

he watches her arch into his touch for a moment, eyes still closed.

“leaving?”

you’re there before he notices, too distracted by the fuzzy creature relishing his caresses. your voice makes him look up, soft and still rough with sleep – he meets the sight of you wearing a loose shirt and panties underneath.

he looks up at you, caught off guard for a second.then he exhales, straightening slightly. “yeah.”

you nod. a small and tired, stepping closer and crouching down beside him. your hand joins his on marie’s fur, fingers brushing briefly.

“she’s older now,” you say quietly.

he huffs out a little breath, smiling. “still a little fucker, though, ain’t she,” he replies, a hint of something lighter in his voice.

you let out a soft breath that turns into a faint smile. “yeah. that hasn’t changed.”

you breathe out a little laugh, quiet and tired, the sound barely filling the space between you.

for a moment, neither of you says anything else. just the faint sound of marie’s purring, the weight of everything sitting unspoken but understood.

he sighs first. then you do too, almost at the same time.

he shifts, pushing himself up to stand, hands finding your waist like it’s breathing. you watch him for a second before speaking, your voice softer now, careful.

“tea?”

he looks at you, something flickering across his face – surprise, maybe, or just the quiet relief of having a few more minutes.

“yeah,” he nods. “yeah, alright.”

the kitchen is still half-dark. it feels smaller somehow at this hour. it feels the world hasn’t quite started yet – like it’s just the two of you alive and breathing.

you move around it easily, muscle memory guiding you. you fill the kettle, set it on, reach for the mugs. liam watches every movement, leaning against the doorway.

you’re aware of it anyway. of how dangerously natural this feels, how it reminds you of those years ago – when you were still his, even though you never really were. the shirt slips slightly off one shoulder as you reach up for the tea bags, bare legs brushing against the cool tile floor.

he thinks you look unreal like this.

he thinks this – all of this – is so fucking unfair.

he exhales quietly, almost to himself, before pushing off the doorway and stepping closer. you feel the warmth of his torso at your back, and you exhale in bliss as his arms wrap around your waist. slow and strangely hesitant for a split second before settling.

his lips press softly against your shoulder, a quiet, lingering kiss. like he’s remembering the other times you two were in this exact position before and already missing this moment all at once.

you close your eyes for a second, your breath catching before you steady it. “you still do this,” you murmur, not turning around.

he hums against your skin, lips curling up into a weak smile. “yeah.”

there’s no apology in it.

the kettle clicks off, breaking the moment in the gentlest way possible. he lets you go without protest.

a few minutes later, it’s quiet again. you’re both holding warm mugs now. he smiles to himself as he takes a sip – you still remember how he takes it.

the silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable.

just… full.

you watch him for a moment, “i’ll miss you,” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

he exhales slowly, nodding as his hand drifts to your arm, thumb brushing absently back and forth. “me too.”

then, it’s quiet again.

it’s simple. painfully so.

you can see it in his face, the way something shifts behind his eyes, like he’s thinking about it – about staying, about changing his mind, about doing something stupid.

you walk closer to him, holding a small, tired smile. not because you’re okay, just because you don’t want to make it harder. your hand lifts, cupping his face gently, thumb brushing along his cheek. he leans into your touch immediately. eyes closing for a second like it’s instinct.

you shake your head softly, more to yourself than to him, and something in him seems to understand anyway.

he huffs out a quiet, sad breath, a faint smile pulling at his lips as his eyes close, nodding. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i know.”

his gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, like he’s asking without saying it. you understand, and you’re the one that closes the distance, holding his cheeks softly and kissing him slowly.

it’s soft. slower than anything before, like neither of you is trying to prove anything anymore. his lips move against yours gently, familiar in a way that aches instead of burns like the first few times. you feel his breath, the slight tremble in it, the way he lingers like he’s memorizing something he already knows by heart.

when you pull away to breathe, your hand slides from his cheek to the back of his neck, holding him. he exhales into your mouth, quiet, almost a sigh.

your foreheads rest together for a moment.

then, he takes your hand into his, squeezing it softly as he steps back.

you give him a small smile, squeezing it back.

“take care,” he says.

you huff out a tiny breath at it, nodding while you smile. “you too, liam”

you watch him leave after that, the door closes behind him with a quiet click. he didn’t look back as he went.

the flat feels different immediately. emptier. heavier.

you let out a shaky sigh, fingers curling around the edge of the counter as you take it all in.

a couple of minutes pass until you finally move. you take the mugs and you wash them – watching the soap lathering up and the water running down as an attempt to distract from how much you feel.

the sun had already crept in once you leave the kitchen, feeling your chest heavy as you watch people starting their days the same way they did yesterday and the same way they will tomorrow.

because life carries on.

you still grab your phone, though. just for the sake of it, just to check if he gave in to the habit. and once you open twitter, you see it. a message published for millions.

and, at the same time, one that only two people in this world will understand.

Ps LOVE YOU LONGTIME

you exhale, eyebrows furrowing for a second before you put them back to their place.

because life carries on.

and this time, you let him go.

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Every night was a party.

Even on a Tuesday, Supernova Heights pulsed with people. Not anyone he would necessarily call a friend, but people with whom he was on nodding terms, who came in and out of the house like migratory birds. When they wanted a high and a right good time, they came to roost; when real life obligations called, they flew off, but never left the nest completely empty. No, Noel had never been in this house by himself- he wasn’t sure that the house would stand without the chaos supporting it. This went for more than the posh residence, but for his own life in general. The House of Gallagher was on a meteoric rise, but deep down haunted by the idea of where it could all go wrong. Easier to dull that agonizing idea with substances and socializing than face it head-on.

Truth be told, Noel didn’t have the bandwidth to face the reality- the fact that his life was becoming less about the music and the band and more about the late nights and star-studded club openings. The haze of superstardom had settled over him just as it had countless others- cunts he swore he’d never be like. It was how insidiously it had happened that did his head in- one night turned into two, and then before you knew it, your home had become a de facto nightclub.

Tonight was like any other- a house full of people, of drugs, of drinking and debauchery. Noel had been the consummate host, as always, but somewhere between the lager and the lines, something changed in him.

It was like a switch flipped when he snorted that last line off his slightly sticky kitchen counter, amidst empty bottles and a stack of junk mail that never did get tossed out. When the coke hit his sinuses, instead of exploding into the shimmering kick that left him giddy, his blood ran cold, as if his blood had been replaced with ice, and he broke out in a sweat so heavy that his collar was almost immediately wet through. He tried to breathe, to shake it off, to find his way through this shit to his usual high, but it was all too clear that something was terribly wrong. No one could see him like this. No one could see the mask slip. He pushed past unseen faces to the ensuite bathroom, through the bedroom where you slept on silk sheets despite it all.

He’d thought his lowest point had already come, that crazed night in a hotel room where he’d treated you no better than a rag doll. You’d forgiven him, against all odds, and he didn’t fucking deserve it. Maybe tonight- the staggering distress bestowed upon him by that innocuous gram of white powder- was his penance.

It was early afternoon when Noel woke up, confused and alone on the cold tiled floor of a hotel bathroom. He immediately clocked that it wasn’t his own- the one in the room he was sharing with you had a way bigger shower (as befitting the Chief) and certainly wouldn’t have had damp towels tossed carelessly in piles on the floor. No, this was someone else’s bathroom, but he had no earthly clue how he had ended up there.

He shifted himself slowly into a sitting position, the old back injury from his roadie days crying out from a night spent in a crumpled heap on ceramic. It announced itself with a twinge and joined the miscellaneous body aches he was experiencing as part of his cocaine come-down and the general woes of a body that had been abused for thirty-odd years. He vaguely remembered doing lines last night with some nameless guy in a pinstriped suit and a tie that was too short, but after that was a bit of a blur. Gathering strength and courage to face another day, he crept into the bedroom, into the daylight like a grub sneaking out from under a rock in his mam’s garden.

The sight of Liam sitting in his underpants on the carpet, eating crisps and watching a football match, greeted him once he opened the door. He clocked Noel’s emergence and spoke through a mouthful of potato. “Oi, you’re alive. Thought you were a goner.” He crunched, eyes fixed again on the brightly lit screen.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking bus,” Noel complained, rubbing his back futilely. “Where’s Y/N?”

Liam, attention still focused on the telly, shrugged, completely unbothered. “Dunno. You came in here last night lookin’ like you’d seen a ghost, and then you went into the loo and wouldn’t fuckin’ come out. Had to piss off the balcony, me.”

Noel rolled his eyes at that comment, and close behind the familiar feeling of exasperation at Liam came a flood of horrified realization as the scenes of last night played back at him like a bad movie.

The belt. The wallpaper. The sound of your crying and your begging as he ruined you. The red, pitiful face on the woman he adored. “Noely…”

Nausea flooded through him, and his hands started to shake. Whipping his head over the wastebasket full of crisp packets, beer bottles, and other Liam-made detritus, he dry-heaved for several long, deeply uncomfortable moments, gagging on nothing but stomach acid.

Liam glanced at him without a trace of concern. “Go vom in your own room, dickhead.”

His own room. Would you be there? Would you let him in? Would you ever even so much as look his way again? He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

Sheepishly, he made his way down the carpeted, low-lit hallway to the door of your shared room. Summoning up courage, he rapped on the wood with his calloused knuckles. He’s not at all surprised when there’s no response, just echoing silence in the corridor.

He tries again, a little harder this time. He’s only greeted by further silence, and he stares at his stockinged feet. There’s a hole in the toe, he notices, and thinks about how his shoes must still be behind that door, along with the remnants of the man he used to be- or maybe had just thought he was. He knocks one more time, and then, in desperation, calls out your name, even though he really doesn’t want the other guests to hear him groveling.

“Y/N? If you’re in there, I just wanna talk. Please. At least toss me my shoes. We’ve gotta talk, love. Lemme in.”

His voice is slightly panicked and deeply pained. He’d be embarrassed by it if he weren’t so deep in the throes of self-loathing. Just as he thinks he’ll have to retreat to Liam’s hovel again, the door opens- just a crack.

“What?” Your voice sounds tired and weak, a hoarseness readily apparent thanks to his over-zealous skull-fucking the previous night. Through the crack in the door, you can see Noel, who looks worse for wear. His hair is mussed, his shirt is hanging loose on his skinny form, there are dark circles under his blue eyes, and you can immediately tell that he’s no longer high and most likely suffering from one hell of a come-down. A five o’clock shadow has grown in on his sharp jawline, and you notice how he scratches at it subconsciously.

“Just wanna talk,” he says, gaze focused on the ground. You consider his state and gingerly open the door wider, allowing him to enter the suite. You know you shouldn’t- you can hear your friends in your mind telling you to dump his ass, to tell him to go to hell, but you just can’t. This morning, he’s back to being your Noely, and you swear that you will find a way to square this version of him with whatever demon visited your bed last night.

He watches you walk to the unmade bed, only one side having been slept in, sitting anxiously on the edge of the mattress, folding in on yourself, and picking at your cuticles. You’re wearing one of his jumpers that comes down long enough to cover your ass, and as one baggy sleeve shifts, he can see a lingering red mark. You’ve at least covered the welt on your cheek with makeup, and for this, he is grateful.

Noel awkwardly clears his throat. “Mind if I sit?” You shake your head, and so he sits down on the bed too, giving you generous space but still relieved to even be in your presence. He runs a hand over his face because fuck, he really doesn’t know how to start.

“‘S it hurt?” he asks softly, barely able to get the words out. You shrug again, but the fact that you don’t say anything, the way you’re sitting like you’re brittle and will collapse in the breeze, tells him all he really needs to know. The way you won’t look at him, the way you flinch when he shifts his weight, and the way you burrow into the jumper like it will hide you- it makes him bite back another round of angst-fueled nausea.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he has to start somewhere, and it should probably be there. “I- I don’t know…fuck. I’m so sorry. I’m fucking broken, and I tried to fucking break you too.”

You respond with a tiny nod, and silence stretches deeply between you. You’re so close, but Noel feels so far apart that your form is like a mirage in the desert, and he reaches out to touch your hand to remind himself that you’re real. He’s relieved when you don’t push him away, and gently grasps the appendage, giving a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what to do, but I just- wanna make it better or summat. If I can.”

Your shoulders are rising and falling, weeping softly. Not in a way that is hysterical or even desperate, but the tears of someone who is defeated. It makes his heart ache and a lump grow painfully in his own throat, one which he forces himself to swallow down.

“Can I hold you?” Noel asks, and when you shake your head, he doesn’t bitch, he just squeezes your hand again.

“I’m a fucking arsehole,” he continues tentatively, hoping that whatever apology he can muster will build a bridge between you. “If you hate me, if you never fucking want to see me again, I get it. Just say the word, and I’ll fuck off, because what I did was…” he trails off again, uncertain of what word would even begin to capture last night.

You’re sniffling, clumsily wiping at your face with the slightly stretched-out ribbed sleeve of the jumper. “I don’t want you to leave,” you say. “Didn’t want you to leave last night. Everything before that…I was scared. But I just needed you. After.”

Noel blinks. He couldn’t imagine that you wouldn’t have wanted him to fuck off, and yet you’re sitting here saying that you had needed him to stay, despite everything he’d just put you through.

“You wanted me there, after that?”

He’s incredulous, seeing you nod. “It wasn’t a good time for me, but I guess the worst past was…not all of the physical stuff. But I felt like I couldn’t do anything right and like… like you were disappointed in me. No matter what I said or did, you wouldn’t be you.”

Noel reaches out for you and strokes your arm, still not closing the gap between you, but the mirage is getting clearer. “I could never be disappointed in you. You’re my perfect girl.” He shifts closer, raising his hand to cup your cheek, running a thumb gently over your lower lip. “Lemme help now, hm?”

For the first time since last night, you meet his eyes and nod.

Once again tormented on a bathroom floor, Noel groans as he wipes at his sweaty brow. His whole body is trembling uncontrollably, and even more concerning is that his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He must be having a heart attack; he’s sure of it. He’s never been so certain of anything before- he knows he’s dying. He’s gonna die like some washed-up junkie with the love of his miserable fucking life sleeping blissfully unaware ten feet away. You’ll find his lifeless body tomorrow morning when you roll out of your blanket nest and sleepily open the door to wash your face, only to be met with his pathetic form blocking you like a sort of macabre doorstop.

He makes a sound, somewhere between a wheeze, a laugh, and a sob, and it echoes off his porcelain surroundings. Curling into a ball, he waits for death to come, mouth metallic with the primal taste of fear, teeth clenched and grinding so hard his jaw clicks.

It takes him a minute to realize that, when the door opens (despite his dead weight against it), it isn’t an angel to take him to heaven or a demon (much more likely, given his lifestyle) to drag him down to hell. It’s just you, standing over him with groggy concern, wrapped snugly in your white robe.

“What’s wrong, Noely?” you ask him, kneeling down and reaching out to brush his stringy fringe out of his blown-out eyes. His face is pale and clammy, and his shirt has dark patches of sweat showing in the armpits and across his back, wet through just like it used to be when he’d come home from working on the job sites with his da. That was so long ago, in a different lifetime. Maybe it would have been easier if the two of you had gotten married at eighteen and twenty-two in the local wedding hall, and set up in a two-room flat down the street from his mam. Maybe life would be simpler if he still went out every day to dig holes and lay cables. He’d be fucking miserable, he knows it- but at least he’d have you. Even if the whole ship sinks, and he loses the fancy house and the driver and the fur coat and the record deals, he’ll have you.

He chases your touch instinctively like a cat would, and manages to croak out a response.

“I’m dyin’” his voice breaks on the last word, the edge of a sob ragged underneath his accent. “Me heart…fuck.”

A soft hand gently lifts his shirt, feeling over his chest for his heartbeat. The warmth of your hand feels like sunshine on his damp skin, and your sure touch acts like a tether keeping him here on earth. If his heart does beat out of his chest now, he has someone to catch it.

“It feels like a perfectly good heart,” you say calmly, in the same tone you’d use to reassure a child, running your fingernails through his chest hair in soothing patterns. From somewhere deep in the rest of your home, the faint noise of house music seeps through, and you coax Noel to match the rhythm of your breathing, shaky at first with every breath being a battle, but evening out as time goes on and your presence fills the small room, leaving no space for the darkness. Neither of you knows how long you sit curled together on the tiles, Noel clinging to you like a lifeline.

“Let’s go lie down.” It’s an instruction disguised as a suggestion, borne from the ache that’s beginning to nag you in your tailbone, and he feels you pulling away from him just enough to stand up and tug him along with you. Noel balks, scared that if he leaves this room, the protective spell you’ve managed to cast over him will be broken.

The bedroom is dark and still, a room that was still sleeping even if its occupants were wide awake now. “C’mon.” You tug his sweat-soaked shirt off and help him out of his trousers, easing him onto the bed before he can put up any resistance. You lie down next to him, unwrapping your robe to reveal your bare body, a corporeal form that feels warm, like home. He immediately seeks warmth and comfort there, and you cradle his head against your breast, allowing him to collapse boneless against you, the night’s demons fleeing with each stroke of your fingers through the strands of his feathered hair.

“I can’t keep doin’ this, Y/N.” His voice is still thick with unspent emotion. “It’s too much. Can’t keep doin’ allat.”

He’s rewarded for his vulnerability with your soft hum in acknowledgement. “I know.”

He raises his head to look at you, pupils beginning to contract within red-rimmed eyes, and his shaggy hair mussed. “Just wanna run away. Can’t be here any longer. Gotta get out of here.”

“Where are we going, then?” The way you say it makes it sound so simple, like it isn’t the most ridiculous thing for a multimillionaire celebrity with a penchant for winding up the press to want to go rogue.

There’s a silence as he considers this, because he really hasn’t allowed himself to think that specifically about it before. It was too risky to daydream about changing when everything felt so fragile. “The country. Always liked it as a kid when we went to Ireland. Could get some donkeys, even. Eat breakfast together in a house that didn’t have a hundred other fuckin’ people crashing in it.”

You smile, and he can sense it by the way your chest relaxes, even if he can’t see it. “I love you, but you can’t honestly tell me you’d be mucking out stalls and pitching hay.”

Noel snorts in quiet indignation. “That’s what the kids are for.”

Startled, your hand momentarily stops stroking his hair. “There are kids in this scenario?!”

Your boyfriend shrugs, the sleepiness of an adrenaline crash overtaking him and making him babble only semi-coherently. “I’d give you a baby. Only if y’wanted one, mind. But yeah, never too early to put ‘em to work…an’ we could…”

He trails off, breathing becoming slow and steady. You’re smiling, full of his words and his heart.

the one where you hate what this song is about

the one where they go to spain

the one where ‘dr. noelly’ pays a visit

the one where jack finds out

years later

writer’s notes

The Brits were full of faces you never expected to be in a room with. Your band had been nominated for Best Alternative/Rock Act but you didn’t anticipate a win. You were small. Just starting to emerge. Honestly it was an honor just to be nominated. 

You were just grateful you weren’t performing. You wouldn’t be able to think straight. Not with him sitting there. 

Your bandmates loved to tease you. You had all bonded over your mutual love for Oasis early on. Obviously they were all lads who loved the Manc attitude and music, as did you. But once you’d drunkenly let it slip that you thought Noel Gallagher was fit as fuck, they never let it go. 

It only mildly irritated you. It wasn’t like it meant anything. Just a harmless, completely unattainable celebrity crush. You never thought you’d be in the same room as him, much less an award ceremony. 

Yet here you were. In a little black dress and fuck-me pumps that had never failed you. You were in a band with a bunch of lads for christ's sake. It was nice to remind yourself you could still be a woman sometimes. 

The tables were littered with expensive champagne. One of your bandmates had forgone a glass entirely and was just taking pulls from the bottle. You would have joined him if you weren’t in public trying to play ladylike. 

It was silly, you knew. No one cared about shite like that these days. But your mother’s voice was in your head tonight. You shook off the feeling, laughing as your mate cracked open another bottle and immediately soaked himself in fizz. You leaned into him, holding out your glass as he topped it up far too full, as usual.

The night carried on like that. All of your progressively getting more tipsy and watching the whole show spin around you. The smile never left your face. You were here. In it. It was a marvelous feeling. 

When your category came up, a camera suddenly swung in your direction. Your bandmates shoved you playfully as you laughed at their antics. You could almost imagine how you looked—half cut and completely overwhelmed.

To no one’s surprise, you lost. But you still stood and clapped for the winner as they took the stage to accept. 

You were having so much fun you almost forgot why you were so on edge in the first place, until they announced Songwriter of the Year. 

Suddenly there he was, walking up to the stage with the ease of someone who’d been doing this a while. You scrambled for your phone to get a quick picture, hands shaking only slightly as you realized just how close you were to the man that had such a profound impact on your taste in music. And a fit one at that.

A burst of laughter pulled your attention sideways. One of your bandmates had his phone pointed straight at you, filming you taking a picture of Noel. 

You elbowed him hard, muttering something under your breath as you dropped your phone back into your lap, your brief fangirl spiral cut short. When you looked back up, your focus settled properly on him this time.

He looked unfairly good. Older and softer around the middle, but none of it took away from him. If anything, it made it worse. That same charm was still there. 

Then he was gone and you were blinking like you were in some sort of dream. Well, it was fun while it lasted. 

The rest of the evening blurred into a string of afterparties and then after-afterparties. Drinks kept appearing. People kept popping up. You weren’t even sure which club you were in at the moment. Just that it was late and the crowd was starting to thin. 

That’s when you saw him. 

Sat a few tables over, nursing a beer, was Noel Gallagher in all his glory.

Your breath caught as you realized just how little space separated you. You could cross the room and be stood right in front of him. Talk to him. But you quickly squashed the tide of hope that rose inside you. You couldn’t just approach him. He was at a table full of people and you were alone. You’d just embarrass yourself. But god how you wanted to.

You tipped your head down, chewing on your lip as your brain talked you in and out of it. 

Eventually you glanced back toward Noel, allowing yourself one last look before you called it a night. But you must’ve been staring longer than you realized because his eyes flicked towards you.

You snapped your gaze away, heat creeping up the back of your neck. After a second you risked another look.

He was still staring. 

The noise of the room seemed to dull around you. You felt pinned down. You should’ve moved but you couldn’t. And part of you didn’t want to. 

You looked away again and lifted your drink, taking a long gulp. God, you probably looked like a creep. He must have fans doing this sort of thing to him all the time. A private award show afterparty should’ve weeded out people like you.

Again you felt that pang that you didn’t belong in places like this. Around people like this. You were basically a nobody. And now Noel Gallagher was probably about to ask security if you were a fan who somehow snuck in. 

But suddenly he was standing right in front of you.

“Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone over here?”

Oh he was drunk. It wasn’t a line you would’ve expected from his mouth. You hadn’t expected his first words to be a line in general. And something about them broke the facade and shot you right back to reality where he was just another drunk old geezer hitting on you in a bar. 

Still… there was a small, traitorous flicker of excitement in your chest. Because it was him.

“Waiting for an aging celebrity to take pity on me,” you shot back, a huff of laughter escaping before you could stop it.

He tipped his head forward slightly, an amused snort leaving him. One hand came up to his chest like you’d shot him. 

“Celebrity,” he repeated, mock offended. “Must you wound me?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Thought the ‘aging’ part would offend you more.”

“Oh don’t worry, I caught that,” he said, lips quirking into a grin. “M’afraid I already know I’m old, love.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

It must’ve come out harsher than you intended because something in his face faltered before he spoke again.

“Meant to find you earlier y’know,” he said, more cautious this time. “Congratulate you an’ all. I quite like your lot.”

You blinked. Noel Gallagher knew who you were. Not only that, he’d been looking for you. Your pulse picked up into something nervous.

“You like my music?” you asked, unable to hide your disbelief.

He grinned. “Yeah. Heard you on Radio 1. That single you put out last year. Proper tune. Liked your album too.”

This was all too bizarre. But you had to keep your cool.

“So you’re a fan then?” you asked.

He smiled at you. A proper smile. The grumpiest man in England smiled at you.

“You could say that.”

“Oh my bandmates are gonna lose their shit when I tell them,” you said with a laugh.

“I assume they’re fans of mine as well?” 

There was that air of cockiness. But it was earned at this point. He won Songwriter of the Year despite not having written anything. Everyone at the damn party knew who he was. 

“Are you kidding?” you said. “They’re proper fanboys. Saw you live three times last year.”

Another smile tugged at his mouth. Slower this time.

Then a small pocket of quiet settled between you, filled only by the low thrum of music and the clink of glasses. You took a sip of your drink, suddenly very aware of the way he was still looking at you.

“And you?”

There was something about the way he said it. Something that made you think twice about where this conversation was headed. Something that made those nerves jangling your stomach settle into something else entirely.

You shifted your weight, accidentally on purpose pushing your chest forward just enough to see if he’d notice. 

He did, eyes dipping for the briefest of seconds before returning to yours.

You knew exactly what he was asking, but decided to draw it out a bit.

“And me what?” you asked, voice dropping just a touch.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Are you a fan of me as well?”

You held his gaze for a moment before giving him your best smile.

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeated, the word almost purred.

You swallowed. 

Right. Okay.

You’d expected a quick chat. Maybe a slightly awkward conversation before you embarrassed yourself and moved on. Not…this.

There was something heady about it, the way his attention stayed fixed on you. It was like a wet dream come true.

“Looks like you have a lot of fun together,” he mused, absently licking his lips.

You nodded. “Yeah, s’pose so. Most of the time it’s like being surrounded by a bunch of annoying little brothers. But you can’t help but love them.”

He smiled at that, something softer.

“Yeah,” he said. “Know the feeling.”

You shared a quiet smile, the moment of connection stretching between you for a second.

Then he shifted a little closer.

“Where’ve your lot wandered off to then?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Dunno. Lost them ages ago.”

“Convenient,” he said.

Your lips twitched. “For who?”

“For me.”

You felt that same warmth from earlier settle low in your stomach, steadier this time. He was definitely coming onto you. And, well, who in their right mind would turn him down?

“And what exactly is it you’re planning to do with that convenience?” you asked.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth for the briefest moment before lifting again.

“Thought I might steal you for a bit,” he said.

You raised a brow, pretending you weren’t already halfway convinced. “Oh?”

You let the suggestion hang for a moment, like you were considering it, even though you already knew your answer. Although maybe it was a bad idea. They say to never meet your hero’s. They never said what to do if you were met with the opportunity to fuck them.

It was late. You were both drunk. You weren’t sure if you were about to become tomorrow’s headline.

“Depends,” you said lightly. “Where were you thinking?”

His expression shifted again, something a bit more certain now.

“My hotel’s not far,” he said.

Now he was watching you properly. Waiting.

You tilted your head, pretending to weigh your options, then let a small smile creep in.

“Yeah,” you said. “Alright.”

He didn’t waste much time after that.

There was a brief stop outside, cool air hitting your skin, sobering you just enough to be aware of what you were doing, before a car pulled up almost immediately.

Noel barely had to glance at it before the driver was already out, opening the door. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you slid in beside him.

“Convenient,” you murmured.

He shrugged. “Perks of the job.”

The ride itself was quick, giving you just enough time to try and mentally prepare yourself. Part of you felt smug for being able to pull a man you’d secretly lusted over for years. The other part was scared shitless.

By the time you reached the hotel, you felt like you had landed in some sort of fairytale. His room was exactly what you expected. Huge. Polished. Full of luxuries you couldn’t even imagine for yourself.

You hovered just inside the door for a moment, taking it all in, suddenly aware again. Of where you were. Of who you were with. 

“Drink?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, shaking yourself out of it.

He grabbed a bottle of perfectly chilled wine from the complimentary fridge and poured you both a glass.

You accepted it, taking a moment to stare at him openly. Trying to summon a little more bravery than you actually felt.

It felt a bit like staring at the sun.

“What?” he asked.

You shook your head, a shy smile tugging at your lips at the absurdity of the situation. “Nothing.”

You heard him exhale slowly. When you glanced back up, you caught his eye again and immediately had to look away.

“That,” he said, pointing at you with his glass. “What was that?”

You lowered your head with a quiet laugh, realizing you were going to have to say it out loud.

“It’s just…” you started. “This is all so surreal. My first Brit awards and you happen to be there? And you know my band. My music.” You shook your head slightly. “Not only that, but you bring me back to your hotel to drink wine and do…something.”

You paused, letting out a small breath.

“And now I can’t even look at your face too long because I feel like my heart’s about to beat out of my chest.”

He studied you for a long moment. You were proud of yourself for only glancing away twice.

“Am I that good looking?” he finally said, sarcasm thick in his tone. 

You exhaled through your nose.

“I know you’re trying to make a joke but that genuinely is what it is.”

His brows pulled together like he didn’t quite believe you.

“I’m dead serious. I think you were the fittest fucking person in that room tonight,” you continued. 

“Really? Even over Harry Styles?”

You could tell he was trying to deflect, so you doubled down.

“I prefer my celebrities aging,” you said, taking a slow sip of wine as a small glimmer of confidence crept back into your voice.

He smiled at that. A slow one.

“I’ll let that one pass this time,” he said, wagging a finger at you in mock warning, the edge of something creeping back into his voice.

Your insides soared.

“Or don’t,” you said lowly, shrugging as you leaned back a little more suggestively in your chair.

He noticed immediately. His eyes drifted down to your bare legs before slowly traveling back up to your face.

This time you forced yourself to hold his gaze. To actually sit in the moment and feel the weight of it. Until your leg started bouncing nervously, body needing to dispel your nervous energy somehow.

He chuckled at that and surprised you by setting his wine down and reaching across the small space between you, hand settling gently over your shaking leg. It was probably meant to calm you. Instead it sent your heart rate straight into overdrive.

His hand was warm. Large. You could feel the roughness in his palm where it rested against your now still leg. Your eyes zeroed in on it. The warmth seeped through your skin and skirted upward beneath your dress where it joined the heat that was already pooling low in your stomach.

You took a few steady breaths before meeting the gaze that was burning into you. His hazy blue eyes were fixed on you. It felt like he was stripping you raw with just one touch. Jesus what did you get yourself into?

“You don’t have anything to worry about love,” he said, voice low, the timbre of it settling deep in your gut.

“M’not worried so much as…flustered I suppose,” you replied, needing to prove that you weren’t distrusting of him.

Your leg tried to start bouncing again, but his hand tightened slightly, pressing it back down.

“I see,” he said, noting your shaky exhale. “Well in that case… let’s try and calm you down, yeah?”

You nodded numbly and suddenly his hand was gone. 

Then he was standing and extending it back out for you to accept. As you did, panic rose as you stepped up into his space. It was short-lived, however.

“Sit on the bed and close your eyes,” he said.

Your heart thudded at the instruction, but you did as he said. When he spoke again, his voice came from somewhere behind you.

“Think about something that makes you happy. Something peaceful,” he said. 

You nodded and thought about the way you felt after writing your first song.

“Got it?” he murmured. 

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile forming at the memory. 

“Good. Keep thinking about that.”

You did, trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Until his hands found your back and you flinched at the sudden touch. 

“Relax,” he said softly, thumbs beginning to press into muscles you hadn’t even realized were tight.

You shivered at the unexpected relief and drew in another deep breath.

“There we go,” Noel said from behind you, hands still continuing their slow work across your shoulders. 

You let yourself sink into it, allowing your muscles to yield to him. It worked. Even if your mind unhelpfully reminded you that Noel “songwriter of his generation” Gallagher was giving you a back massage.

The thought almost made you laugh.

The quiet stretched for several more minutes until he stilled and turned you to face him. Your eyes opened and met his. 

“Now will you let me kiss you?” he asked, lips curving up.

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you nodded.

He reached up to brush hair behind your ear and leaned in. Your lips parted on instinct but he reached past your mouth to your ear.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, breath brushing your cheek. “I think you were the fittest fucking person in the room tonight.”

Your body did something weird where you stopped breathing and lost all brain function. Next thing you knew you were closing the gap, overcome with sudden need. 

A surprised hum escaped him, but his hand quickly slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His mouth was warm, slightly stubbled. He tasted of wine and that heady mix of spit and skin. You decided you quite liked it. 

You liked it even more when his mouth worked yours open, deepening the kiss. The taste of him flooded your senses as you shifted closer, your hands finding their way into that gorgeous salt and pepper hair you’d been wanting to touch all evening. It’s just as soft as you’d imagined. Maybe even softer. 

The thought disappeared the moment his tongue lapped against yours. 

You shivered, fingers tightening in his hair as a spark of electricity ran up your spine. You leaned further into him, chasing the feeling. You felt him smile against your lips, one hand coming to rest on your bare thigh. 

“Who’s flustered now?” he teased lightly, thumb brushing slow up your leg as you breathed against each other.

You pulled back just enough to examine him. Feeling suddenly bold, you pushed his jacket off his shoulders and swung a leg over his lap. He let out a short laugh of surprise as he caught you, hands landing on your hips before they slid down to hold you steady.

“I reckon you are,” you whispered before you dove back in with renewed fervor. 

This time the kiss turned heated almost immediately, tongues sliding against one another as your touches grew bolder. This incredibly sexy man was kissing you. How could you not let it go to your head just a little?

Your hips began to rock forward, chasing a bit of friction, until his hands tightened around you and started to guide the movement himself.

“God you’ve got a great arse,” he murmured as he pulled away, voice thick with something that made your stomach clench.

You laughed softly, nails lightly scratching his scalp. “Thanks for noticing.”

He squeezed it like he was a bit in awe and the reaction emboldened you enough to slip a hand under his shirt. Your fingers skated over the warm skin that stretched over the curve of his stomach. He tensed momentarily and for a second you were scared you’d gone too far until he huffed out a laugh. 

“Sorry, m’not used to pretty young birds touching me there.”

“Where, here?” you asked, poking his soft belly.

When he didn’t respond right away, you felt a small pang in your chest for him.

“Well,” you said, leaning in closer and lowering your voice, “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.” Your hand continued tracing slow patterns across his skin while he watched you carefully. “Pretty young birds like me love it when men like you have bodies like this.”

Your fingers drifted lazily across his stomach as he stared at you.

“You’re mad.”

You shrugged lightly. “It’s been claimed before.” 

Then your attention dropped to his lap. “You are way too old to be wearing skinny jeans, by the way.”

That made him laugh. “Fuck are you, the fashion police? They’re comfortable.”

You wrinkled your nose in disagreement. “They’d look better on the floor darling.”

“Oh?” he cocked his head at you. “Could say the same for your dress then.”

Said dress was currently riding up your thighs, exposing skin to his wandering hands. Your breath caught when the pads of his fingers brushed the back of your thigh. You wondered if he could feel the heat radiating mere inches to the left.

Feeling bold, you extricated yourself from his lap and slowly began to peel the dress off. Noel leaned back on his hands, eyes drinking you in. Your eyes dropped to the bulge forming in his ridiculous jeans as you bit your lip. You let the fabric drop to the floor, feeling very exposed.

You nodded towards him expectantly. He stood, facing you so he was only inches away. Without breaking eye contact, he undid the fly of his jeans and started shimmying them down.

You couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your face as he began to struggle.

“Need some help?”

“Piss off this is hard to do standing up,” he muttered, dropping down to sit so he could yank the tight material over his calves.

You laughed softly, and sat beside him on the bed, biting your tongue to refrain from making any more comments on his stupid jeans.

“Shirt too, come on,” you teased, eyes flicking down to the decidedly modest grey boxers he was sporting.

His gaze tore away from your chest as he pulled his shirt over his head. It mussed his hair up a bit, making him look even more ruggedly handsome. 

You took a moment to ogle him. The hair on his chest was greying like the rest of him, and his stomach hung slightly over the waistband of his boxers in a way that you found oddly endearing.

“Right, enough staring c’mere,” he said, placing a warm hand on your waist and tugging you back toward him. 

Your skin prickled pleasantly where he touched you and you couldn’t fight the shiver that wracked your spine. You settled back into his lap, gasping softly at the feeling of his skin against yours. The mere scraps of fabric that separated you now. 

His hands traveled broadly over your ribcage and up your back, fingers expertly finding the clasp of your bra. Then your chest was bare.

He cupped you gently, weighing you in his hands as his thumb brushed across your nipple. You arched into the touch, breath catching in your throat. 

He did it again, this time applying more pressure. Your hands circled the back of his neck, needing something to hold onto as pleasure bloomed sweet and heavy in your chest. Then his tongue joined the mix, pulling your other nipple into the wet heat of his mouth. 

A soft sound slipped from your lips as you shifted against him, your hips moving without much thought. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer. You were soaked, and the friction you were receiving was only making you needier.

You reached for him again, guiding his head up until your mouths met in another urgent kiss. The way he kissed was intoxicating. Confident. Like he’d been doing this awhile and knew he had mastered the art. It was undeniably sexy. 

Your bodies pressed together, skin warm against skin. A particularly deep roll of your hips had a low groan vibrating out of him and you damn near lost it.

“Noel,” you gasped out, needing him to do something. Anything.

He got the hint. Gently, you were lowered back onto the mattress as his hand traveled lower. It slipped down the front of your panties, fingers meeting slick heat. You moaned softly as the rough pad of his finger spread your wetness up to your swollen clit. 

He rubbed against you in small, maddenly effective circles that had you tipping your head back in pleasure. Then two of his shockingly thick fingers slipped inside of you to the knuckle, making you gasp. He began curling them, in search of that place that made you tremble. It didn’t take him long. 

Your hips jerked up as he hit your g-spot dead on, accompanied with a breathy moan. You could basically hear his smirk. 

He repeated the motion, this time more sure, and it was devastating. The way his name came out of your mouth was borderline pornographic.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you heard him mutter under his breath. 

He picked up the pace, fingers pumping in and out of you furiously. The same fingers that had strummed out “Wonderwall” a million times were inside you. It was a headfuck.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, feeling yourself start to tighten around his fingers. 

He didn’t. In fact, his pace didn’t falter once. And now there was another finger kneading tight circles around your clit.

Your legs started to close around him. You could feel an orgasm rapidly forming as he pushed you higher and higher with each stroke. You were a moaning mess, writhing against his hand until it reached a breaking point. 

“Oh my god, yes,” you whined, body locking up before you started spasming around his fingers.

Noel guided you through flawlessly, drawing it out, but not too much. His movements gradually slowed before his fingers slid out.

Your eyes were closed, trying to catch your breath and accept the fact that Noel Gallagher had just finger banged you in his hotel room. And that it was good.

You could feel the flush in your cheeks. Feel his eyes on you. When you finally opened yours, he smiled at you. A smug little thing that made your stomach twist again. Your eyes flitted down and caught the now very apparent outline of his cock through his boxers. 

“Turn over,” you ordered half breathlessly, shoving lightly at his shoulder. 

“Yes ma’am,” he muttered, flipping onto his back as you stood to remove your underwear. 

You dropped back into his lap heavily and smiled as he grunted beneath you. You felt high on the orgasm he’d just wrenched out of you, head all floaty and pleasure-soaked. A new wave of desire settled over you as you took in the man beneath you.

Your fingers found the elastic of his waistband, teasing for a moment before gently palming him over the fabric. He exhaled hard through his nose, eyes boring into yours.

“This from me?” You teased playfully, palm lightly running along his length. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head lightly like he couldn’t believe you were asking him that.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” he murmured, voice gone a bit husky.

A slow smile spread across your face, quite enjoying this. 

“Dunno,” you said, leaning over him, breasts pressing against his chest. “Give me the explicit details and maybe I will.”

“Thought you were supposed to be all shy,” he quipped. 

“Well that was until I came all over your fingers, Noel,” you said matter of factly. 

He swallowed deeply, eyes flicking over you like you weren’t what he expected at all.

“Alright frisky, you wanna know?”

You nodded, lowering your head to brush your lips against his neck. Your palm rubbed over his tip, feeling him twitch softly.

“When I was…y’know—”

“Fingering me?” you butted in, relishing the fact that he wouldn’t come out and say it.

He licked his lips and cleared his throat as your lips returned to his neck. “Yeah. That.”

You kissed lower, near the area his neck met his shoulder and you swore he shuddered.

“Was…was thinking about how warm you felt. So soft. Wanted to know how you’d felt round me.”

You lifted your head slightly, giving him a pleased little smile. “And do you think you’re gonna get lucky tonight?”

“Think you want me to, love,” he said, hips lifting against yours to meet your bare cunt.

“Well aren’t you astute,” you whispered, reaching down to pull him out of his boxers. 

His breath caught when your hand wrapped around him. He was burning hot against your palm, chest rising and falling heavily as you ran your hand up and down his length. Jesus if you thought his fingers were thick…

You guided him to your entrance, dragging the heat of him along your folds. The soft sound he made in response made you throb. You positioned him against you and began to lower yourself down. You gasped at the exquisite ache of your pussy trying to swallow him whole. 

Fuck he was big. Maybe not the biggest you’ve ever had, but enough to make you pause for a breath as you fluttered around him.

“Alright?” You heard him ask, voice tight.

You nodded, swallowing once before you continued lowering yourself. His hands found your hips, steadying you. He held you there for a moment, unmoving. Like he needed a moment to relish it.

“Warm enough for you?” You teased, even though your voice wavered slightly.

A strained laugh escaped him and his hips shifted. You gasped as he brushed against something perfect inside you. Your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, needing a moment before your hips started to rise and fall, seeking that same angle. You moaned wantonly as you found it again, his cock hot and perfect inside of you.

Your knees dug into the mattress as you started chasing that high, rocking hard against him. There was something brewing deep in your gut. Something heavy and intense. You felt reckless, grinding yourself against him like this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when it felt this good. 

“Fuck,” Noel breathed, grip tightening on your hips as you babbled above him. 

Your sensitive clit kept rubbing against his stomach as it bounced against you, adding the perfect amount of friction. Pleasure zinged up your spine, spreading all the way to your fingertips. It was ecstasy. And it got better when he started murmuring words of encouragement. 

Your thighs were burning, but you couldn’t stop. Refused to. Not when he was this deep. This perfect. You needed to come again. 

“More,” you breathed out. “Noel…need more.”

He groaned deep in his throat and his hands pulled you down against him, meeting your thrusts. You cried out, nearly doubling over from the intense pleasure as the sound of skin slapping together filled the room. 

“Yes,” you gasped. “Just like that.”

Your hand found your clit, rubbing insistently at the bundle of nerves. He swore when you clenched around him. 

“Can I—fuck—inside?” he gasped out. 

You nodded frantically and he picked up the pace, properly fucking up into you now. A long whine left your throat, drawn from somewhere deep, and you were gone after two more pumps. 

Your gut tightened as you spasmed hard around him, your second orgasm ripping through you in a blinding wave. Noel let out an “Oh, fuck” and then he was coming, filling you as your bodies continued to grind against one another. 

His hips finally slowed and you could hear the change in his breathing, deep and ragged. You opened your eyes and caught a glimpse of him—flushed, sweat beading his forehead, mouth hanging open. 

Your lips curved into a small, incredulous smile, and you covered your face with your hands.

“What?” he asked, laughing softly.

You shook your head. “Just…wow.”

“That good, eh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, shifting off of him to flop back onto the mattress. “Just not how I thought my night would go.”

“No? Reckon you had your mind made up when I caught you staring,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Your face warmed instantly, and you buried it in your hands again, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to be a creep or anything m’sorry.”

“Nah,” he shrugged, brushing it off easily. “Don’t mind pretty birds staring at me, love.”

He turned to face you, and you peeked at him through your fingers. “Could use a shower now, though,” he said, eyes lingering on you with a teasing spark. “Care to join?”

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. “Y’know I’d love to. Some dirty old man made quite a mess of me tonight.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was the hardest, most genuine laugh you’d ever heard from him all evening, and you couldn’t help but laugh along.

𝜗𝜚7th July, 2017

The rain battered the hotel windows with a steady, relentless rhythm, hammering against the glass like it was trying to shake the building awake. Thunder rolled faintly in the distance, vibrating through the walls and sending a subtle tremor underfoot. Inside the room, the world felt small and cocooned, the storm outside framing the quiet intimacy between the two of you. It’s a stark difference between this and the lavish hotel you’d been stood in just a couple of hours ago. Yet the sharp sting still present in the redness if your cheeks, the tingling of Noel’s warmth still pressed against your side serving as a sorrowful reminder.

But if your little weeks’ vacation had taught you anything, it was that you were better than this. Which explains why you hadn’t unpacked. Why your side of the twin motel room was now bare of all the little trinkets you’d accumulated over years of working the streets. All gone. The sight made your heart practically soar despite the heaviness of your heart that you didn’t really want to address.

Kit flopped onto the edge of the bed, shaking her damp hair free of the tiny droplets clinging to it. “Are you okay with actually leaving Noel?” she asked, her tone gentle but probing, eyes searching yours for the answer. You don’t answer, you can’t. Just stand there in the centre of the room, surveying your surroundings.

“San Fran isn’t that great, you know,” she added after a beat, voice casual, though there was an edge of mischief in the way she drew out the words. “Bad climate. Unpredictable. You never know if you’re gonna get sun or floodwaters.”

You smiled faintly, letting your gaze drift to the window. The sky was a swirling sheet of grey, rain streaking down in liquid silver. “Yeah,” you said softly. “But I guess I don’t mind. I’ve never been there. New chapter, new city. I’m excited.”

Kit raised an eyebrow, curling her legs beneath her. “And what exactly are you gonna do there, then? Finish school? Get a job? Or are you planning on being mysterious and brooding forever?”

A small laugh escaped you. “Yeah, school, work. Finish high school. I used to get alright grades.” The memory of past report cards flickered unbidden across your mind, the half-smile from teachers, the quiet pride you felt despite the occasional scrape.

Kit’s lips curled into a knowing smile, that familiar sparkle of teasing approval in her eyes. “Yeah, I can see that.” She hesitates for a moment, smiling softly, “Well you look good” She trails off slightly, blinking gently up at you, her expression nothing short of honest and truthful, “He’s done you good”

You glanced at her, catching the warmth in that smile, and a small one tugged at the corner of your mouth in return. For a moment, it was just the two of you in the room, the storm outside acting as a shield from everything else, Noel, the hotel, the world beyond the glass.

“You’re going to do alright there,” Kit said after a pause, her voice lighter now, almost playful. “Even without all the chaos.”

You shrugged, feeling that mix of excitement and nervous anticipation settle in your chest. The laughter and the teasing lingered, the quiet comfort of someone who knew you completely. Even in the shadow of what you’d just left behind, it was clear: life had a way of moving forward.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It’s a little while later, the conversation having slowed as you shifted slightly on the bed, tucking your damp hair behind your ear as you watched Kit pull her knees closer. The rain hammered against the window, a constant drumbeat under the soft hum of the room.

“So,” You began, hesitating just a fraction, “Do you want to come with me?” Your voice was playful, but there was an edge of seriousness underneath, the kind that made Kit glance up sharply at you. “And leave all this?”

Kit tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Hmm, tempting,” She said, letting the words stretch just long enough to make you wonder if she was serious, “But you know me. I don’t exactly leave things behind easily.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the rain, then reached into your bag and pulled out a small envelope. “Here,” you said, holding it out. “It’s part of the Noel Gallagher scholarship fund. I think you’ve got great potential, Kit. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she took it from your hand. “Ya do?” she asked, disbelief giving way to that warm, unguarded smile she only ever showed around people she trusted.

You nodded, and for a moment neither of you said anything, just looked at each other, the quiet intimacy of the storm outside framing the pause. Then she laughed softly, and you couldn’t help but join in. It was a small, shared sound, a mixture of relief, hope, and something heavier, an acknowledgment of everything you’d both endured.

The laughter settled into silence, but the emotion lingered. Slowly, without speaking, you leaned across the small space of the bed and hugged each other tightly. Not the quick, casual hugs of familiarity, but the kind that held the weight of unsaid words, promises, and unshakable friendship. Pulling back slightly, Kit sniffled, brushing at the corner of her eye. “What time’s your bus?” she asked, trying to steady her voice.

“An hour,” you said, checking your watch automatically, unable to say more, the emotion stinging similarly in your eyes, throat closing up gently.

Her eyebrows shot up. “An hour? I, I gotta split, goodbyes make me crazy,” She says quickly, heart tightening, the urgency of leaving pressing against the warm bubble of your moment together.

Kit smiled through her own tears, pausing for a moment in her flurry to leave, so as to not watch you, the girl who really had been with her through her worst, suddenly leaving, reaching for your hand. “Take care of you,” She whispered, her voice catching slightly.

“You too,” you said, squeezing her hand before letting go. The bond between you felt heavier now, forged in laughter, tears, and the quiet certainty that no matter what happened next, you’d carry this with you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The last zipper of your suitcase slid into place with a soft click, and you leaned back on the bed for a moment, letting the tension of the morning settle into your shoulders. The rain outside had grown heavier, drumming insistently against the windows and bouncing off the pavement below, a constant reminder of the stormy sky finally breaking over California, if you knew better, you’d say it was a form of pathetic fallacy.

Then it came. A sharp, insistent honk cutting through the steady patter of rain.

Your fingers froze on the bedspread. Another honk followed, playful and unmistakable. You knew that sound. Immediately. Heart hammering, you rushed to the window and pulled the curtain aside. There he was, Noel, standing outside his car, water sliding down the windshield and dripping from his dark, damp hair. The rain didn’t seem to bother him, he looked like he’d been standing there just for you, his expression half grim, half amused. A wide grin split your face before you could stop it. Excitement, disbelief, and a rush of adrenaline hit you all at once. You couldn’t help it, you laughed, loud and unrestrained, pressing your hand to the glass.

Noel stepped back from the car, shaking the rain off his shoulders like it was a minor annoyance rather than a downpour. He squinted up at your window, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the storm.

“Well,” he called, voice carrying over the rain, “had to be the top floor, didn’t it?” The words were grumbled, half exasperation, half amusement, perfectly Noel.

You pressed your hand to the balcony railing, laughing despite the tension and the rush of adrenaline. “Oh, I see how it is,” you quipped, tilting your head and letting a strand of wet hair stick to your cheek. “You just can’t handle a little adventure from the ground, can you?”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “you’re impossible”, and started heading toward the fire escape. The metal steps were slick with rain, the faint clatter of his boots against the iron echoing through the storm. Each step made him look slightly awkward, careful, like he’d never climbed anything without a safety harness in his life.

You leaned over the railing, watching him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way he grumbled under his breath at the simplest things, the bending of the steps, the sway of the fire escape in the wind, the occasional slip of his wet boots. “Need a hand, Mr. Gallagher?” you called teasingly, though your fingers itched to reach out and steady him.

“Nope,” he replied immediately, a stubborn set to his jaw. “I’ve got this. Barely.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Right, barely. That’s reassuring.”

Halfway up, he hesitated, one hand gripping the railing, the other brushing at his hair, water dripping into his piercing blue eyes. You could see the frustration and self consciousness flicker across his face, so different from the confident, untouchable image he carried on stage or in meetings. Instinctively, you leaned out and grabbed his arm as he wobbled slightly.

“Whoa!” He exclaimed, startled, the grumble dying in his throat. “Oi! I didn’t need rescuing!”

“Sure you didn’t,” you said, holding tight, giving him a playful glare. “But I figured someone had to keep you from falling on your ass.”

He blinked at you, rain plastering his damp hair to his forehead, chest heaving slightly from the climb and the adrenaline. And just like that, the tension shifted, a charged quiet settling over the two of you. The storm raged around you, sheets of rain slashing sideways, but you barely noticed.

Then he looked at you, really looked at you, and something unspoken passed between you, a mixture of trust, exhilaration, and a connection that went deeper than either of you wanted to admit.

He reached for you again, more cautiously this time, and you leaned in, closing the gap. Your lips met, rain soaking your hair and clothes, the kiss urgent and electric, fuelled by laughter, adrenaline, and everything the storm had built up. Noel’s hand moved to the small of your back, grounding himself, but you could feel the tremor of excitement in his grip, the thrill of the climb, of the rain, of finally being with each other after everything. You didn’t need words, just needed the intoxicating, rain soaked kisses he was urgently pressing to your lips, the blue button up he’d changed into darkening with the water. But neither of you cared how wet you were getting.

You didn’t need to talk about it yet. You’d almost made your mind up to go back to him right before heading out for the bus. And this was just the sign you needed.

Your hands fly to his cheeks, pulling him further into the kiss as he laughs, one hand coming to grab at the cold metal of the shaky fire escape the two of you were perched precariously on, the other coming to grab tighter at your waist. Almost as if that now he’s got you back. He doesn’t want to let you go. He won’t let you go now.

When you finally pulled back, both of you gasping slightly, he let out a wet, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You really are impossible,” He said, voice low, almost fond, “And you love it,” you quipped, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, heart still hammering.

He narrowed his eyes playfully, gripping the railing, and just like that, the rain soaked fire escape, the storm, and the city below didn’t matter. It was just you and him grumbling, teasing, laughing, and somehow perfect in all the chaos, “Really thought you could get away from me that easy, yeah?

“Nah” You say softly, hand trailing from his cheek to brush away the rain soaked strands of hair falling, obscuring those eyes you’d slowly become obsessed with staring into, a grin forming on your face as he smiles into your touch.

You clung to him, both of you dripping wet, the rain soaking your hair and clothes, cold fingers pressing through jackets and sleeves, yet the warmth between you burned through the storm. The city below was a blur of glimmering lights reflecting in puddles and wet asphalt, but up here on the fire escape, the world felt suspended, private, and entirely your own. Noel’s hand rested against your back, steadying you more than the metal railing ever could. He didn’t say much at first, just let the rain pour over both of you, letting the sound of it fill the space between breaths and the soft quiet of shared laughter that slipped past lips wet from both water and relief.

Finally, he spoke, voice low, almost hushed over the rush of rain. “I, I’ve been thinking about what you said today,” He began, hesitating as though the words were fragile. His gaze flicked down briefly, then back to you. “About, all the things you want. About the life you want.”

You tilted your head, catching his eye through strands of dripping hair, and something unspoken passed between you, possibility, hope, the faint thrill of a path not yet walked but suddenly in reach.

He let out a soft exhale, the weight of the storm outside contrasting with the certainty in his voice. Then, a small grin tugged at his lips. “A couple nights ago, you told me you loved me,” he said, voice teasing just enough to make you laugh despite yourself. “I don’t know if you were serious, but, I’m prepared to try.”

Your chest tightened, heart thudding in your ears. He added softly, more grounded now, “You’re more than just a one week thing. I don’t think either of us wants whatever the fuck this is to end here.”

The words hung between you, the rain drumming a steady rhythm around them. He then continued, voice lighter again, “We could have that,” Letting the thought dangle in the rain-filled night, the life you could share if you wanted, if you tried.

You tilted your head, catching his eye through strands of dripping hair, and something unspoken passed between you, possibility, hope, the faint thrill of a path not yet walked but suddenly in reach.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just standing there, drenched, pressed close together, sharing warmth against the chill, wrapped in the improbable intimacy of the moment. The storm seemed to pause around you, the world shrinking to nothing but this rain-soaked fire escape, the city glittering below like a universe in miniature. Noel stepped back first, still holding your hand, eyes never leaving yours. “Come on,” He said, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Let’s get out of this storm before it drags us both into it entirely.”

You followed him carefully down the slick metal steps, the tension and laughter mingling as your boots clanged softly on each rung. He stayed close, letting you hold the railing, letting you steady him when the angle shifted slightly, the playful, protective energy still between you.

Finally, the last step brought you to the pavement. Rain soaked through everything, but the thrill remained, heartbeats racing, hair plastered to your faces. Noel opened the car door for you, gesturing with that same familiar mix of exasperation and charm. You slid inside, water dripping onto the leather, and he followed, closing the door with a soft thunk behind him. Engine started, windshield wipers flinging sheets of water aside, headlights reflecting in the wet streets. He glanced over at you briefly, a small, knowing smile brushing his lips, eyes catching yours in the rearview mirror. No words necessary, the unspoken promise of a life that might be possible, a start, a continuation, hung in the air like the steam rising from the rain slicked streets.

It’s almost a sick kind of parallel, this. Not the same car he’d picked you up in a week ago, but the same kind of tension hanging in the air. Possibility of money, of prospects no longer the priority, your chest is warmer with something other than finally finding profitable work, but finding something true, something good for you. And you smile at the thought, smile as his hand makes it’s way to your knee soaked with rain. Your hand finds his almost instinctively.

As the car rolled into the night, tires hissing over wet asphalt, you both settled back, letting the storm fade behind you. The fire escape disappeared in the rearview, but its magic lingered, a reminder that even in the chaos and unpredictability of the world, there was something real between you. Something worth holding onto.

And for the first time in your entire life, it felt like maybe everything was going to be okay.

❥. to be continued

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the venue is loud as always, in a way that even outside you can hear the laughter and when someone shouts occasionally. these events are always like that, too many celebrities in one place – and it’s mostly the annoying ones that always make you wonder that maybe, just maybe, you would’ve been fine doing whatever the fuck it was if you weren’t a musician.

maybe a teacher, maybe a nurse. fuck me, even a ballerina. it was one of those nights where you’d rather wear pink tutus and spin around for a living instead of having to pretend like damon albarn checking you out wasn’t painfully obvious, or having to listen to liam gallagher’s obnoxious voice yelling for another round.

oh, and noel gallagher’s annoying face as well. he hadn’t really said anything yet, unlike the other nights. it seemed that he didn’t want to be an annoying prick tonight and wind you up just for the sake of it.

and somehow, that was even worse.

those english assholes. yuck.

your forearm were rested over the railing as you blew the smoke out, watching the sight of london at too late in the night. the cold air bit your cheeks a little, and before you could even stub the dying cigarette out, the door opened. too abruptly.

you looked over your shoulder and immediately sighed in annoyance. you really weren’t in the mood for this right now.

“well, well, well. didn’t think i’d be seeing the little american bird tonight”

he sounded drunk, and as annoying as you remembered. it made you curse every single life decision that led you to his bed a couple of months ago. he was mediocre, obviously.

the least he could do was be a nice guy. he wasn’t, of course.

you replied with a flat “hm”, hoping it would shoo him away back into the venue, back into his fucking stupid soho flat you unfortunately ended up in after one of those fancy industry parties with too much champagne.

he huffed out a laugh, walking closer and putting his hand on your waist and leaning closer to your ear. “still got that attitude, huh?”, he whispered, smirking.

you rolled your eyes, taking a step away. “fuck off, mathew. will you?”

he smirked even wider, mockingly pouting and grabbing your waist even harder. “aw, cmon, darling. pretty sure you had a lovely time that night, didn’t you?”, he teased. prick.

you huffed, and before you could say anything, his hand drifted down to your ass and he continued in your ear. “how about we do it again, huh?”

you pushed his chest away, already turning to walk off. he grabbed your arm before you could actually do it. not painful, but firm enough to make you stiffen.

“alright, don’t—” you started.

he cut in, still smirking. “what, love? gonna tell me you don’t wan—“

“oi”

noel’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s stern enough to make the musician’s head snap towards the door. he lets go as he watches noel walk closer, and the blonde scoffs anyway. “what the fuck do you want?”

“want you to get your head out of your fuckin’ arse and let her go. she told you to piss off, mate.”

the man scoffs again, walking towards noel and stuffing his chest like he’s trying to seem bigger. “and who the fuck asked you?”

noel didn’t do the same. he just stood in the same place, still carrying that tone – and that shook the guy up more than if he shouted.

“no one,” noel said. his blue eyes stuck to the man’s expression, fully missing the way your chest heaved as you watched the interaction. the guy still hesitated, weighing whether this is worth it. noel just carried on as if it wasn’t already clear enough that it wasn’t worth to keep pushing it. “just me tellin’ you to fuck off now, innit?”

the blonde mutters something under his breath and backs off, disappearing through the door at the same time someone else pushes out for a smoke. the music swells for a second, then it’s quiet again once the door shuts – it feels even more deafening the moment noel looks back at you. you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in.

he steps closer, he tilts his head still looking at you and watching the way you rub your arm up and down absentmindedly. “you alright?”, he asks quietly, pulling out a cigarette pack from his pocket, like he doesn’t trust himself to not reach out if his hands aren’t busy.

you let out a small breath. a weak nervous and shaky laugh as you nodded. “yeah. i’m fine”

he nods in response, watching you for a second longer than necessary, cigarette between his fingers as he finally lights it. the flame lights his face for a second, you pull your gaze away at it.

“right,” he says quietly, like he’s accepting your answer even if he’s not entirely convinced. he exhales a thin stream of smoke into the air. “he’s a fucking knob.”

you huff out a quiet laugh at that, still rubbing your arm. “that’s… one way of putting it.”

he huffs, nudging his head in agreement and silently offering you a cigarette. you just had one, but the way he spoke to the asshole just a few seconds ago for your sake did something strange inside your head – especially in comparison to the way he’s speaking to you right now. like he read the room and figured out that it wouldn’t be a good time for the usual bickering.

it makes breathing a little harder. it makes something deep in your gut twist in a way it probably shouldn’t. it makes you snap your gaze back to his face the moment you realize how pretty his hands are as he offers you the pack of cigarettes – only making it worse once you notice how good he looks right now.

how pretty he looks when he’s not being a little shit. bastard.

so you take it. of course, because anything else would just be stupid.

you slowly shake your head to yourself as you take the cigarette. “sorry… about that,” you say quietly.

his brows furrow slightly. “what for?”, he asks, already reaching out to light your cigarette.

you inhale. “dragging you into it”, you reply, smoke coming out as you do.

he snorts. “didn’t drag me into anything,” he takes another drag, then gestures vaguely toward the door with the cigarette. “bloke was bein’ a prick, wasn’t he?”

you nod slowly, looking down at the your shoes. and he notices. that you’re quieter, that you seem nervous. he thinks it’s just because of what happened, so he tries to lighten up the mood.

“would’ve punched him in the gob, if you wanted”, he says casually.

you furrow your brows, only then looking up at him and meeting his unimpressed and slightly confused at your reaction stare. “what?”, he says.

you huff out a small laugh, eyebrows still furrowed. “the what?”

he smirks at you like you’ve just said something ridiculous. “the gob”, he repeats.

you stare at him for a second before a laugh finally escapes you. his brows raise softly, a small smile growing on his lips at your reaction.

“what the fuck is a gob, noel?”

he shakes his head, amused now. “a mouth.”

“since when?”

he laughs, shaking his head and taking another drag. “since forever. in manchester”

“jesus. that sounds disgusting.”

he scoffs, but there’s still a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “just a normal word, that”

you shake your head, still smiling faintly, and take another drag of your cigarette. the tension eases a bit at that, replaced by the familiar rhythm you two always seem to fall into.

you exhale, looking at the view, only looking back at noel once he calls out your name.

“hm?”, you say softly as you look at him.

“sure you’re alright?”, he asks.

“yeah,” you say. “i’m okay”

he studies your face for a second like he’s deciding whether to believe you, then finally nods slowly.

“good.”

your eyes flicker to his mouth, and you clear your throat as you catch yourself, being able to brush it off as your gaze falls to the floor. “he, uh… it’s this guy i went out with once. he is a jerk, but…” you say quietly, shrugging. “this is the first time i’ve ran into him since”

he nods, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “s’alright”

you nod, still looking at the floor. then a small sheepish laugh escapes out of you before you can even stop yourself, resting a hand over your eyes. the words run as freely, maybe it’s the drinks. or maybe it’s your head doing that stupid thing it shouldn’t. “worst sex of my life”

noel huffs a tiny through his nose. you just miss the way his brows raise a little and the way his throat bobs softly as he swallows. “right”, he says casually, already guiding the cigarette back to his lips so he can take another drag.

you glance back at him.

the way he’s standing there beside you, hair a bit messy, jacket undone enough to expose a little bit of chest hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, his neck. the way he looks like he’s completely unfazed by what just happened and the way he looks like he would’ve done more if it had been necessary.

god, i wanna kiss him right now.

“you want me to keep you company for a bit?” he asks, tone casual. it snaps you back to reality. “just in case the prick comes back.”

you know there’s no chance he will, the guy practically ran inside.

still.

you shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “yeah,” you say. “alright.”

noel nods, shifting to stand a little closer beside you. both of you still looking ahead, and it takes seconds until the conversation starts to easily fill the atmosphere between you two, it even makes you both realize how easy it is to not pretend to hate each other – but, isn’t it so much fun, though?

tonight, you allow yourself to laugh at some of his jokes. tonight, he allows himself to take the piss like you’re just some mate, not some annoying bird he hates.

tonight, the moment the door of your house closes behind you, you allow your drunk self to pick up the pen, sit down on your couch and pour some stupid thoughts in a notebook page.

stupid. stupid. stupid.

you scribble down the lyrics like they’ll make you feel any less borderline pathetic. but it’s the kind of moment no one knows what’s going through your head, is it? it’s the kind of moment where you allow yourself to not pretend that you don’t know he actually has a girlfriend.

you usually just scoff and turn your face away whenever they’re in some stupid magazine, like it’s just for the sake of not standing this obnoxious music journalist. but right now, you can curse the poor girl out for just having stupid perfect blonde hair. and stupid perfect blue eyes.

hm. are they actually blue? you’re not even sure. just bitter.

whatever.

am i attractive? am i good enough? am i pathetic? ha. yes.

that’s must be the only reason stupid fucking noel gallagher has driving you up the wall just because he just told a drunk asshole to fuck off.

that’s… the bare minimum. and that’s noel, which you’re not supposed to feel like this.

and it’s just such a fucking cliche too, isn’t it? the good guy saves the girl from the mean man. and she— what? lets him have her?

god, that’s the worst part. you so would have let him.

you stare down at the pen pressing in harder into the page, the tip scratching against the paper as you chew the inside of your cheek. because you’d never admit out loud – not to your bandmates, not to your friends, not even to yourself most days.

you wanted him to grab you tonight.

not in that savior way. not in the good guy rescues the girl nonsense your brain keeps mocking you for.

you wanted him to press you back against that stupid railing once the guy disappeared. lean in close enough that you could smell the smoke on his jacket and whatever fucking cologne he wears. you wanted him to kiss you. drag you somewhere dark where no one from the party would wander in and interrupt his hands from pushing your dress up.

or, fuck me, take you right there against that fucking railing. his hand on your throat as he whispered in you ear how everyone in london could see you taking his cock so pretty.

jesus.

you’re just writing a song. that’s all it is. a stupid song about a stupid night that shouldn’t have meant anything.

not about a stupid fucking noel gallagher.

or about wanting him fuck you stupid.

ha, word play. that’s why i’m not a ballerina after all.

you sighed, out loud. into the empty room.

jesus, i am pathetic.

he felt different tonight. quieter. and god, he looked good. and he sounded so good being a fucking decent human being – even worse with the accent that, fine, is very hot.

great. now you’re horny and writing songs about it. you rub your face with one hand, letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“at least i’ll monetize it,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head.

you sigh for a moment, hands dropping to your lap as you stare at the messy handwriting on the page.

that’s a whole ass song. fuck. i kinda blacked out writing this.

your leg bounces. you keep staring at it, you sigh again.

you hand twitches right over your lap, because your mind drifts again. to his smell, his voice, the way he said your name.

you swallow, but your throat feels a little dry. you stay there for a moment, just staring at the notebook.

then you sigh quietly.

“fuck this.”

you lick your fingers before sliding your hand between your legs, head falling back on the couch with a small sigh as they trail further up.

𝜗𝜚July 7th, 2017

The morning arrives slower than expected.

Soft sunlight creeps through the tall hotel windows in long pale bands, stretching across the floor and up the rumpled white sheets where Noel had been sleeping not long ago. The city outside is already awake. Even from this high up you can hear it faintly through the glass, the low rumble of traffic somewhere far below, the occasional distant horn, the muffled thump of a delivery truck door closing on the street.

The room itself feels unusually still. You’re sitting near the open balcony doors wrapped loosely in one of the hotel’s white bathrobes, the thick cotton sleeves pushed back slightly from your wrists. Your hair is still damp from the shower, darker now as it hangs in soft waves down your back, the ends slowly dripping onto the robe’s collar. The breeze drifting in from outside carries the faint warmth of the California morning with it, stirring the thin curtains just enough to make them shift lazily against the glass.

One of your knees is drawn up onto the chair beneath you, your chin resting lightly against it while you stare out across Los Angeles. From this high up the city looks almost peaceful.

Neat grids of streets stretch endlessly toward the horizon, palm trees scattered between pale rooftops and wide boulevards that glint in the sunlight. It’s hard to believe the noise and chaos that lives down there when everything looks so calm from above.

Behind you, the quiet sound of movement breaks the stillness. Noel is standing near the bed, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down from where they’d been rolled the night before. The crisp white fabric looks freshly pressed now, smoothed carefully back into place as he fastens the buttons one by one. His hair is still slightly messy from sleep despite the quick shower he’d taken earlier, dark strands falling loosely over his forehead while he reaches for his jacket draped over the back of the chair.

He pauses halfway through the movement.

For a moment he just watches you. You haven’t noticed.

You’re still staring out over the city, lost somewhere in your own thoughts while the breeze lifts a few damp strands of hair away from your neck. And there’s something about the quietness of you that holds his attention longer than he’d planned. Noel adjusts the cuff of his sleeve absently, leaning his shoulder against the edge of the dresser while his eyes linger on the back of your head.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Eventually he clears his throat lightly. The small sound pulls you back.

You glance over your shoulder, blinking slightly as if remembering he’s still there.#He tilts his head toward you, one eyebrow lifting just a fraction.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” he asks. His voice is casual, almost lazy, but there’s a quiet curiosity tucked beneath it. You hold his gaze for a moment before turning back toward the view again. Your fingers trace absentminded circles against the thick sleeve of the robe wrapped around you.

When you finally answer, your voice is softer than usual.

“The fact that this’ll be our last night together,” you say, watching the sunlight shimmer across a row of parked cars far below. A small pause follows, “And you’ll finally be rid of me.”

Behind you, Noel lets out a short breath through his nose, the faintest hint of amusement in the sound.

“Well,” he says after a moment, pushing himself upright from the dresser, “you’ve been pretty tough to take.” You snort quietly under your breath at that, though the smile that tugs briefly at your mouth fades almost as quickly as it arrives.

The joke lingers in the air for a second before the silence returns.

Noel shifts his weight slightly where he stands, sliding one hand into the pocket of his jeans while he studies you again. Something about the way you’re sitting there, small, wrapped up in the oversized robe, your damp hair clinging to the fabric, makes it oddly difficult for him to look away.

He glances toward the window for a moment, then back to you, “I’ve gotta head to the studio in a bit,” he says casually.

You nod once, still looking out over the balcony rail, “I figured.”

He hesitates. The words he’s about to say don’t come quite as easily as he’d expected them to. For a second he rubs the back of his neck thoughtfully, his thumb catching briefly against the thin chain of the cross resting beneath his shirt collar.

Then he exhales quietly, “Listen,” he begins, pushing away from the dresser and wandering slowly toward the balcony doors. The floor creaks softly under his weight as he stops beside you.

“I’ve got to head back to England soon.”

You don’t turn, but your shoulders stiffen slightly beneath the robe. He notices.

His eyes drift across the skyline again before settling back on you.

“And…” he adds, his voice lowering just a touch, “I’d really like to see you again.”

That finally gets your attention.

You turn your head slowly, damp hair sliding over your shoulder as your eyes search his face. For a moment he just stands there, one hand resting loosely against the doorframe while the other remains buried in his pocket. He doesn’t look uncomfortable exactly, just thoughtful.

“You don’t have to stay here,” he continues after a moment, speaking more carefully now, “I could arrange things.”

Your brow creases faintly, “Arrange what?”

He shrugs lightly, “Well… whatever you need, really.”

The words come out with the easy confidence of someone used to solving problems with money, “A visa,” he says first, counting lightly on his fingers. “So you could come over whenever you like.”

Your expression doesn’t change.

“An apartment,” he adds. “Somewhere decent in London.”

He glances toward the floor briefly before continuing, “Car, if you want one. Someone to help you get settled. Shopping, that sort of thing.”

His tone stays calm and practical, like he’s listing off completely reasonable solutions to a situation that seems obvious in his mind, “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything,” he finishes, leaning one shoulder casually against the doorframe.

“Could come and go whenever you like”, The breeze shifts through the open balcony doors, stirring the edge of your robe again. For a long moment you don’t say anything, you just sit there, looking at him. The silence stretches longer than Noel expects.

At first he assumes you’re thinking about it, but the longer you stay quiet, the more he begins to notice the faint tension settling in your face.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the sleeve of your robe, yout gaze drops away from his, drifting back out toward the city.

Something about the stillness of you suddenly feels different.

Uncertain. Uncomfortable.

Noel straightens slightly where he’s leaning, a faint crease appearing between his brows.

“Just an idea,” he says lightly after a moment, trying to ease the quiet that’s settled between you.

But the uneasy silence doesn’t disappear. If anything, it deepens.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Outside, the distant hum of traffic continues moving through the morning streets of Los Angeles while the two of you sit there suspended in the space between what he meant, and what you heard. And for the first time since he started speaking, Noel has the faintest feeling that something about the offer he thought was generous, might not have landed the way he expected.

For a few seconds the only sound in the room is the soft rustle of the curtains moving in the breeze. Noel watches you carefully now, the earlier ease slipping slightly from his posture. Something about the quiet way you’re staring out over the city feels… different. Not angry exactly. Just distant.

He pushes himself off the doorframe and steps a little further into the room, resting his hands loosely on his hips, “Just an idea,” he repeats, softer this time.

You nod slowly, still not looking at him, “Right.”

The word comes out thin. Another small silence settles.

Then you shift in the chair, turning your head just enough that he can see the side of your face. Your damp hair falls forward over one shoulder as your fingers tighten slightly in the belt of the bathrobe, “What else?” you ask lightly. The question sounds casual on the surface, but there’s something under it now. Something sharper.

Noel tilts his head a little, “What d’you mean?”

Your gaze finally slides back to him, “You gonna leave some money by the bed whenever you pass through town?”, The words land between you with a quiet weight.

For a moment Noel just stares at you. Then he exhales a short breath, rubbing a hand briefly across his mouth like he’s trying to erase the tension forming there, “Darlin’,” he says, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, “it wouldn’t be like that.”

You study him for a second. Your head tilts slightly, curious in a way that makes him uncomfortable, “How would it be?”

Noel shrugs, the movement small but deliberate, “Well…” He pauses, choosing the words in his head the way someone might step carefully across a stream, “I’d get you off the streets.” The sentence leaves his mouth simply, matter-of-fact.

Practical. Helpful.

And the moment it’s out there, something in the room shifts. Your expression stills completely, and for a second you just look at him.

Then the corner of your mouth lifts faintly, though there’s no humour in it at all, “That’s just geography., The words are quiet, but they hit harder than he expects.

You push yourself up from the chair before he has time to respond, the robe sliding loosely around your legs as you cross the room toward the balcony. The cool floor presses against the soles of your bare feet while the breeze grows stronger the closer you get to the open doors.

You rest your hands lightly against the railing, staring down at the streets far below where tiny cars glide slowly through the intersections like toys. Behind you, Noel stands frozen for a moment.

Then he exhales slowly through his nose and follows you. He stops just inside the doorway to the balcony, one shoulder leaning against the frame as he watches your back. The robe shifts slightly with the wind, the damp ends of your hair brushing against the fabric.

“What d’you want then?” he asks finally.

His voice isn’t irritated. Just honest.

You don’t answer right away. Instead your gaze stays fixed on the city below, your fingers curling lightly around the metal railing.

“When I was a little girl,” you begin quietly, “my mom used to lock me in the attic when I was bad.”, Noel’s brow furrows.

You continue speaking like you’re watching the memory unfold somewhere out over the skyline, “There was this little window up there. Tiny thing. Just big enough to see the tops of the trees.” The breeze lifts a strand of your damp hair across your cheek, “And I used to pretend,” you say softly, “that I was a princess.”

A small smile touches your mouth, “Locked in a tower.” You don’t turn to look at him, not yet, just choose instead to soak up the beaming Californian sun, revelling in a moment that feels dwindling too fast. Something you can’t stop. Something natural. Part of the job.

Noel shifts his weight slightly but says nothing.

You keep your eyes on the horizon, “I’d stand at that window and wave,” you continue, lifting one hand faintly as if demonstrating, “Like someone might be riding by on a horse down below.”

“And the knight would see me. He’d climb up the tower and rescue me.”

The sunlight catches the edges of the city buildings now, flashing briefly off the glass like tiny mirrors. You let out a soft breath, “I had that dream for years.”

Noel watches you carefully now, your shoulders rising and falling gently with the breeze.

“But never once,” you say slowly, turning your head just enough to glance back at him, “did the knight say…”, You pause, allowing your eyes to meet his over your shoulder. A sad smile now taking its place across your features.

“‘Come on baby, I’ll set you up in a great condo.’”

The words settle into the air between you.

And suddenly the quiet feels heavier than before. Neither of you move. Noel’s gaze stays locked on yours, the easy sarcasm he usually wears nowhere to be found now. For once he doesn’t have a quick remark ready.

The breeze drifts through the doorway again, lifting the curtains behind him, somewhere far below, a car horn blares faintly in the morning traffic.

But on the balcony neither of you seem to hear it.

You just stand there, looking at each other across the small space between you, both realizing, maybe for the first time, that the thing you want from each other might not be the same at all.

Or maybe they’re just to similar. You shrug slightly, a silent end to the conversation as you turn back towards the shimmering skyline, a slight twisting in your chest screaming against your every word.

For a moment neither of you move.

The morning breeze drifts lazily through the balcony doors, lifting the edge of the curtain behind Noel’s shoulder and carrying with it the distant hum of Los Angeles waking up. Somewhere far below a bus exhales at a stop, the brakes hissing softly against the steady rush of traffic.

But up here the world now feels strangely suspended.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Noel is still leaning against the doorframe, one hand braced loosely against the wood while his eyes remain fixed on you. The faint crease between his brows hasn’t left since your last words. It’s not anger exactly. More like something unsettled, the uncomfortable awareness that the ground beneath the conversation has shifted somewhere he didn’t expect.

He opens his mouth slightly, like he might say something.

Then his phone rings. The sharp electronic sound cuts straight through the quiet.

Noel exhales under his breath, already reaching automatically into the pocket of his jeans. He glances down at the screen, his expression flattening into something more businesslike the second he recognizes the name.

“Hold on,” he mutters, stepping back inside the room.

You don’t follow. You remain leaning against the balcony rail, arms folded loosely across the front of your robe while the breeze brushes gently against your damp hair. Through the open doors you can hear his voice as he answers.

“Yeah.” There’s a brief pause while someone on the other end speaks quickly. Noel rubs the bridge of his nose, pacing slowly across the carpet toward the window, “Right, right, yeah I know,” he says, his tone shifting into the clipped rhythm he uses when work is involved. “I’m aware of the bloody deadline.”

Another pause. He turns his back slightly to the balcony, lowering his voice.

“So you’ve actually found someone then?”

The person on the other end seems to launch into an explanation. Noel listens with half his attention, one hand resting against the windowsill as he stares out across the skyline.

“Alright,” he says eventually. “Fine.” His fingers drum lightly against the glass.

“Have him meet me downtown this morning then.” Another quick pause.

“Yeah, this morning,” he repeats, “Because if we don’t get this sorted now we’re not gonna hit the bloody deadline, are we?” The conversation continues for another minute or two, but the tone stays the same. Fast. Efficient. Practical. The easy, distracted warmth from earlier is gone completely now, replaced by the familiar focus of someone used to juggling a hundred moving parts at once.

The world Noel belongs to.

Deadlines. Meetings. Albums that need finishing. People waiting for him.

Eventually he ends the call with a short “Right then,” and lowers the phone back into his pocket.

For a second he just stands there in the middle of the room, staring down at the carpet. Then he runs a hand briefly through his hair and walks back toward the balcony.

You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him again. When you glance over your shoulder he’s standing in the doorway once more, his jacket now slung loosely over one arm. The urgency from the phone call still clings faintly to his posture, though his expression softens slightly when his eyes land on you again.

He takes a step closer, “I heard everything you said,” he begins quietly.

Your fingers tighten slightly on the railing, but you don’t interrupt. He exhales slowly, choosing his words more carefully this time.

“What I meant earlier,” He says, shifting his weight a little, “It’s not about, like, keeping you or anything like that.”

His gaze flickers toward the skyline briefly before returning to you, “I just meant you wouldn’t have to worry about things anymore. You’d have somewhere decent to live, people around to help you get settled.” He shrugs lightly. “Bit of breathing room, you know?”

Your eyes stay on him, unreadable. Noel continues, sensing the silence stretching again.

“You could come to England whenever you wanted,” He adds. “Stay as long as you liked. It’s not like I’m trying to put you in some bloody box.”

You look down at your hands. For a moment you don’t respond.

Then you nod slowly.

“It’s a good offer,” you say quietly. Noel relaxes just slightly at that, the tension in his shoulders easing.

But the sentence isn’t finished, “…for a girl like me.”

The relief disappears just as quickly as it arrived. Your voice isn’t angry. If anything it’s calm. Matter-of-fact in a way that makes the words land heavier than shouting ever could.

Noel’s jaw tightens, “That’s not what I meant,” he says immediately.

You shrug faintly, “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he replies, a little sharper now.

You finally turn fully toward him, resting your back against the railing. The morning sun catches lightly in your damp hair, making the darker strands shine faintly, “It’s practical,” you continue gently. “Visa, apartment, someone to help me shop. That’s a pretty good package.”

Noel lets out a short breath, “You’re twisting it.”

“Am I?”

He pushes a hand through his hair again, clearly growing frustrated now, “I’ve never treated you like a prostitute,” he says firmly.

The words come out fast, defensive.

For a moment you just look at him. Then your eyes soften slightly.

“You just did.”

The sentence is quiet. Barely louder than the breeze brushing past the balcony rail. But it lands harder than anything else you’ve said.

Noel goes completely still. Something in his face flickers, confusion, irritation, maybe even a little hurt, before it disappears behind the familiar wall he tends to throw up when conversations wander into territory he doesn’t know how to navigate.

He opens his mouth like he might argue. Then stops.

Instead he exhales slowly through his nose and steps back from the balcony.

“I’ve got to go,” he mutters, already turning toward the bedroom. You don’t follow him this time either.

You remain standing at the railing while he moves around the room behind you, the quiet sounds of him gathering his things drifting through the open doors. The rustle of fabric. The soft jingle of keys. The click of his watch clasp fastening around his wrist.

A moment later his footsteps cross the floor toward the door.

They pause there briefly. Like he might say something else.

But nothing comes.

The door opens. Then closes again.

And just like that the room falls quiet, leaving you alone on the balcony with the warm California sun and the endless city stretching out below.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

By the time you make your way down to the pool deck, the morning has fully turned into something brighter.

The rooftop terrace glows under the wide California sun, the pale stone tiles reflecting enough light that you have to squint slightly as you step out from the elevator corridor. A row of tall palm trees sways lazily along the glass railing at the far edge of the deck, their long fronds rustling softly whenever the breeze rolls across the rooftop. The pool itself sits in the centre like a strip of blue glass.

The water moves slowly, rippling whenever someone drifts through it or when the wind brushes the surface just hard enough to wrinkle the reflections of the surrounding buildings. A few hotel guests are scattered around the chairs, half asleep beneath wide umbrellas, their sunglasses tilted toward the sun while waiters move quietly between tables carrying drinks and folded towels.

You settle into one of the lounge chairs near the shallow end. The cushion is warm from the sunlight. You shift slightly, pulling one knee up beneath you while you rest your elbow against the arm of the chair. A pair of oversized sunglasses shields your eyes from the brightness, though the light still flickers faintly through the lenses.

Your hair has nearly dried by now, though a few darker strands still cling lightly against your neck. In front of you, a tall glass of iced tea sits on the small table. The ice has already started melting, thin streams of water sliding slowly down the outside of the glass and pooling against the table’s surface.

You take a slow sip, letting the coolness settle for a moment. The quiet here feels strange after the morning you had upstairs.

Your mind keeps drifting back to it no matter how hard you try to focus on the pool or the view or the simple act of sitting still in the sun.

Then the elevator doors slide open across the terrace. The soft metallic sound makes you glance up.

Kit steps out.

She pauses just outside the doorway, her sunglasses already on, a wide black sunhat tilted dramatically over one side of her head like she’s about to attend a funeral for someone extremely glamorous.

Her gaze sweeps across the pool deck. Then she spots you.

And stops.

For a long moment she simply stands there staring at you from across the terrace. Slowly, very slowly, she lowers her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose.

The look she gives you is a mix of disbelief and deep personal offense. You lift your glass toward her in a lazy greeting.

She exhales loudly and starts walking toward you, “Jesus Christ,” she mutters as she approaches.

You smile faintly behind your glass, “Good morning to you too.”

Kit stops beside your chair and looks you over with the careful scrutiny of someone inspecting a suspicious antique. Her gaze travels from your sunglasses to your hair to the dress you’re wearing and back again.

“I was afraid to hug you,” she says eventually, folding her arms. “I thought if I touched you I might wrinkle something.”

You let out a quiet laugh, “I’m glad you showed restraint.”

Kit gives a small nod like she deserves recognition for this sacrifice before collapsing dramatically into the lounge chair beside yours. She tosses her bag onto the table between you and immediately reaches for the glass of water a passing waiter sets down beside her. She drinks nearly half of it in one long pull before setting it back down.

Then she glances sideways at you again, “…Also,” she adds casually, “thanks for the two thousand dollars.”

You close your eyes briefly behind your sunglasses, “You’re welcome.”

Kit tilts her head slightly, “I didn’t know what the appropriate response was,” she continues thoughtfully. “I considered sending flowers, but that felt a bit formal. Then I thought about a thankyou card, but that seemed insincere given the circumstances.”

You laugh quietly.

“So I settled on showing up in person to witness the aftermath of whatever catastrophic life decision you’ve just made.”

You turn your head toward her, “That’s very supportive of you.”

She shrugs, “I do what I can.”

Kit stretches her legs out toward the pool, leaning back into the chair while she studies the people scattered around the terrace. For a minute the two of you sit quietly, watching someone dive into the far end of the pool with a dramatic splash. Then she glances at you again, “You’re not gonna fit in anymore,” she says.

You raise an eyebrow. She gestures vaguely at you with one hand, “Look at you. Sitting here all calm and mysterious like you belong in a perfume commercial.”

You laugh softly.

“Not that you ever did fit in,” she adds thoughtfully. “But now it’s official.”

You take another sip of your drink. Kit turns toward you fully now, lowering her sunglasses again, “So,” she says.

You sigh quietly in response, “So.”

Her grin spreads slowly, “Alright,” she continues, settling deeper into her chair like she’s preparing for a long story. “Tell me everything about the rock star.”

You look back at the water, “It’s not like that.”

Kit lets out a dramatic groan loud enough that someone across the pool glances over, “Oh come on,” she says, throwing her head back against the cushion. “You disappear for a full week with Noel Gallagher of all people, and I’m supposed to believe absolutely nothing interesting happened?”

Your fingers trace slow circles along the armrest of your chair. For a moment you don’t answer. Kit watches you carefully now, “Alright,” she says more quietly. “What happened?”

You inhale slowly before speaking, “He asked me to go with him.”

Kit freezes, her head turns toward you so quickly her hat nearly slides off, “Oh no.”

You shake your head slightly, “It’s not like that,” you say quickly. “It’s not a real thing.” Her eyes narrow, “What does that mean?”

You stare out across the water, “It’s just a fantasy.”

Kit studies your face for a long moment. Something in her expression shifts as she watches you, realisation slowly settling in as she pulls one hand up to shade her squinted eyes from the blaring sun, sitting up slightly straighter on the sun lounger. And then she leans in, as if this whole thing is just a conspiratorial secret, “You fell in love with him.”

You turn toward her immediately, “No.”

“Yes you did.”

“No I didn’t.”

Kit leans forward slightly, squinting at you like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then suddenly she straightens, “Wait.”, Her eyes widen, “You kissed him.”

You hesitate.

That’s all the confirmation she needs, her jaw drops open, “You kissed him on the mouth?!”, Kit clutches a hand dramatically against her chest like she’s just witnessed a national tragedy, one hand coming out to swat at your arm, “Unbelievable,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I leave you alone for a week and you start making out with British millionaires.”

You cover your face with one hand, laughing despite yourself, “It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh it was absolutely like that,” she insists.

Then she watches you again. Your laughter fades first, gaze drifting slowly back toward the pool, “He’s a rich classy guy,” you say quietly. “Who’s gonna break my heart.”

Kit doesn’t interrupt. She leans back slowly in her chair, letting the words settle, “…Did it ever work out for anyone?” She asks after a moment, nibbling on her lip as her eyes meet your cautiousy.

She’s not really asking you, I mean, you both practically know the answer.

You think about it for a while. About stories. About endings that only exist in fairy tales.

Finally you shrug, “Cinderella.”

Kit stares at you. Then she snorts.

You both start laughing.

Not because it’s especially funny.

But because sometimes the only alternative would be admitting the truth.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

By the time Noel reaches the studio, the heat downtown has already started settling over the streets like a heavy blanket. Los Angeles traffic crawls along the intersections outside the building, horns occasionally blaring somewhere in the distance while sunlight reflects sharply off the glass towers that crowd the skyline. The recording studio itself sits tucked between two older brick buildings, easy to miss unless you know exactly where you’re going.

Noel pulls the car into a narrow space along the curb and kills the engine. For a moment he just sits there with his hands resting on the steering wheel. The morning conversation keeps replaying whether he wants it to or not. Not the whole thing, just small fragments. Certain sentences that refuse to let themselves be ignored.

He exhales quietly through his nose and drags a hand back through his hair, “Right,” he mutters under his breath. Then he pushes the door open and steps out into the heat. Inside, the studio feels cooler, darker. The hallway smells faintly of old carpet, coffee, and the lingering hum of expensive electronics that never quite turn off. Somewhere deeper in the building someone is tuning a guitar, the soft metallic twang drifting faintly through the walls.

Noel pushes through the heavy door leading into the control room. Several people glance up immediately.

The room is cluttered in the comfortable, chaotic way most studios are, cables snaking across the floor between racks of equipment, guitars leaning against the walls, half-empty coffee cups scattered across the wide mixing console like abandoned landmarks. A tall man standing near the centre of the room straightens when he sees Noel walk in.

“Well,” the man says with a small smile, “look who finally made it.”

Noel pulls his sunglasses off and hooks them casually into the collar of his shirt, “Traffic,” he replies, shrugging slightly as he drapes his jacket over the back of a nearby chair.

The man crosses the room and extends his hand, “Daniel,” he says. “They brought me in to manage the project after the, uh, complications.”

Noel shakes his hand easily, “Right,” he says. “You’re the brave soul then.”

Daniel laughs lightly, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Noel tilts his head slightly, leaning his hip against the edge of the console while he looks around the room, “Hope it’s the good bits,” he says.

A couple of people nearby chuckle under their breath. Across the table another man sits with a neat stack of documents spread carefully in front of him. His dark suit looks painfully formal compared to the rest of the room, the unmistakable presence of a lawyer among musicians and producers. He glances up over the rim of his glasses.

“Mr. Gallagher,” he says politely.

Noel gives a small nod in greeting. Phil closes one of the folders and rests both hands on the table, casting a wary glance towards Daniel, the man who currently was an acting threat against his own shaky capabilities, “Well,” he says, “I believe you’ll be pleased to hear that things have taken a turn for the better.”

Daniel folds his arms loosely as he watches, “The album’s been reviewed again,” Daniel continues. “The revisions you submitted last week satisfied the label.”

A small murmur moves through the room. Noel straightens slightly, “So,” the lawyer adds, tapping one finger lightly against the stack of papers, “the deal is secure.”

Daniel nods with quiet satisfaction, “The release schedule is back on track,” he explains. “Marketing’s already preparing to move forward once the final masters are delivered.”

For a moment Noel actually smiles. A real one, “Brilliant,” he says.

The tension that’s been hanging over the project for weeks loosens slightly in the room. Someone pours fresh coffee into a mug. Another person flips open a notebook to jot something down. Daniel glances toward Noel a slight smile pulling at his lips, “We were starting to get worried there for a bit,” he admits. “Deadlines don’t usually like being ignored.”

Noel lets out a short breath of amusement, “Well they’ll have to learn to be patient.”

A few people laugh quietly. But even as the conversation continues, Noel’s attention begins drifting. His gaze slides toward the large window overlooking the recording booth on the other side of the glass. The booth is empty at the moment, microphones hang suspended from their stands, waiting. A guitar rests against a stool in the corner beneath the soft glow of the overhead lights. Normally this is the part he enjoys, the moment when everything finally comes together. Contracts handled, label satisfied, deadlines back under control.

This is his world. Music. Studios. People talking about releases and deals and deadlines.

Except today the conversation seems strangely distant. Daniel is explaining something about promotional strategy now, pointing to a schedule laid out across the table while Phil nods along thoughtfully.

Noel hears the words. But they don’t really settle.

Because in the quiet space behind the conversation, another image keeps pushing its way forward.

A hotel balcony. Morning sunlight. You leaning against the railing with the wind tugging gently at your hair. Noel exhales slowly and rubs his hand across the back of his neck.

Daniel pauses mid sentence and glances over at him, “You alright?”

Noel blinks slightly, realizing the room has gone quiet. Everyone is looking at him now.

He straightens a little and nods once, “Yeah,” he says. “Fine.”

Daniel studies him for a second longer, not entirely convinced, “Well,” he says carefully, returning his attention to the papers, “As I was saying, if we keep moving at this pace the album should still make the deadline.” The conversation resumes. Numbers. Schedules. Distribution plans.

All of it exactly what Noel should be focused on. And yet every now and then his eyes drift back toward the empty recording booth again. Like he’s looking at something that isn’t actually there.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The room smells faintly of the morning’s coffee and the faint perfume you’d applied slowly to prolong the inevitable. Suitcases lie open on the bed, half-packed, a tangle of clothes all bought with Noel’s money spilling over the edges. The sunlight has shifted, slanting low across the carpet and catching the dust motes floating lazily in the air.

You move quickly, stuffing shirts into the rolling bag while your hands tremble slightly, not from exhaustion, but from the uneasy awareness that the quiet you’ve been clinging to all day is fragile, ready to break. The hotel feels too temporary, too exposed, like every wall, every door could be pried open at any moment. But yet, you can’t help but smile softly as you fold that electric blue skirt which had inevitably brought you here.

The knock comes without warning. Sharp. Repeated. Heavy enough to vibrate against the thin hotel door. You freeze. For a moment, your heart hammers too fast to catch. You weren’t expecting anyone, certainly not him. Not Phil. Not Noel’s lawyer. Not the man who’s currently speaking through the door, “C’mon, open up Noel”

You hesitate before answering, but the knock comes again, more insistent this time, a subtle but unmistakable warning, “I’m coming in,” Phil’s voice says from the other side. Smooth. Controlled. Almost casual. But there’s an edge to it now, something bitter, unrestrained.

The door swings open before you can speak. Phil steps inside. Mid-forties, dark suit slightly rumpled, tie loose. The smell of alcohol clings faintly to him, sour and sharp. His eyes are dark, narrowing as they fall on you. And then he smiles, or tries to. The wrong kind of smile. One that doesn’t reach the eyes. One that doesn’t belong anywhere except in the corner of a room you’ve learned to avoid.

“Oh, hello sweetheart,” he says simply, a gaze almost animalistic glinting, “I’m looking for Noel”

You pause slightly, feeling silken fabric beneath your fingertips as you shrug, folding it down into the case, “Noel’s not home yet, I’m sure he’ll be back later”

“This isn’t home,” Phil starts, his voice low now, dripping with venom. “This is a hotel room. And you are not a pretty little woman, are you. You’re a hooker.”

The words land like blows, heavy and deliberate. You feel the air thicken around you. The sunlight streaming through the curtains suddenly feels like a spotlight, illuminating the edges of your vulnerability, your isolation. You back up instinctively, hands raised slightly, a protective gesture that does nothing to hide the sudden, visceral fear.

Phil’s expression shifts, the controlled menace giving way to a different kind of anger, bitter, drunk, resentful. The smell of alcohol seems stronger now as he steps closer, each movement slow, deliberate.

“Do you know what it’s like?” he spits, gesturing wildly. “To have everything you’ve believed in ripped away? Wife left me. Life collapsed. And then, then I see him, thinking he can just waltz in, play his part, and leave someone like you untouched. And I,” He pauses, swaying slightly, as if the weight of his own resentment threatens to topple him. But then his expression twists, as if he was caught halfway between that thought, and the way you stand in a skirt too short to a perverse eye, a calculating expression forming on his face as he tilts his head, “Y’know, maybe if I do you, maybe if I touch you, maybe I won’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

The words make your stomach drop. Your first instinct is to push him back, to get him out of the room, to create any distance at all. But your hands shake as they touch his chest, a feeble attempt at defence.

He doesn’t stop.

You push him away, more deliberate now, “Stop it, Phil, you’re drunk You say softly, panic rising in your tone.

And then, the slap comes.

It lands hard across your face, the sound sharp and explosive, echoing against the walls and the open suitcase like a gunshot. Your head snaps to the side. The taste of blood fills your mouth before you can even register it. Pain explodes through your cheek, but fear is heavier. Adrenaline surges, making your limbs suddenly powerful in a way that surprises even you. You shove Phil with everything you can muster, trying to push him out of the room, but he’s bigger, heavier, unsteady but unrelenting.

He lunges toward you, arms reaching. You struggle, twisting under his grip, kicking instinctively. The room is chaos now, clothes spilling onto the floor, the suitcase tipping over, plastic hangers snapping under your frantic movements.

Your voice rises, raw and sharp, “Get off me! Stop it!”

Phil doesn’t answer with words, only with the tightening of his hands, the dangerous way he moves closer. Panic claws at your chest. Your first thought is survival. Every instinct screams that you cannot let him dominate the space, cannot let the fear he wields become real. And so you fight harder, using every ounce of strength, every ounce of awareness. The world narrows to the sound of your own breathing, the taste of blood, the scrape of carpet beneath your feet, the sharp metallic click of the suitcase falling over, and the unrelenting presence of Phil, who has crossed every boundary.

The room shakes with the intensity of the struggle. And then, somewhere beyond the immediate chaos, beyond the fear, there is a sliver of clarity. You can hear the faint echoes of the city below, hear the thin wind brushing against the balcony doors that sit slightly ajar, and you know that if you survive this moment, you can reach it.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The sound of glass rattling somewhere in the corridor is drowned out by the pounding of Noel’s footsteps against the carpet. The door bursts open before Phil even has time to register it. Noel is a blur of motion, shoulders squared, eyes flashing with controlled fury. He doesn’t hesitate. One hand grabs Phil by the collar, yanking him back and off you with a force that sends the lawyer stumbling against the edge of the desk. Papers scatter like frightened birds across the floor, “She’s a whore, man!” Phil shouts, spittle catching in the sunlight streaming through the window, spluttering slightly, “Look at her! Get- get off me”

Noel’s hand flashes before you even have time to breathe, a tight fist connecting with Phil’s jaw. The sound of the impact echoes harshly in the room, and Phil’s head snaps to the side. For a moment he staggers, dazed, blinking at Noel as though the violence has shocked him into disbelief. You press against the wall behind the bed, chest heaving, trying to get your bearings, while Noel doesn’t give Phil a chance to recover. His movements are precise, decisive, a man used to commanding space, to protecting what’s his.

“You’re a fucking pig”, Noel spits, not even giving Phil a chance to explain his actions as he pushes him, harsh, against his shoulders, “Get outta my sight” He says, already turning with a concerned glance towards you. All three of you wondering how the fuck you ended up here.

Phil’s voice rises, bitter and desperate. “I devoted my whole life to you! I gave everything, everything, so you could sit there and,”

“No,” Noel interrupts, voice cold and hard, sharp as glass. “Bollocks. I made you rich sitting on your arse all day.” The words land like bricks. Phil falters, caught between rage and shame. His hands reach out, but Noel grabs them, twisting just enough to force him toward the door. Each word Noel speaks is deliberate, a combination of anger and control, of authority and moral certainty, “You don’t touch her. You don’t speak to her like that. And you don’t ever threaten her.”

Phil stammers, trying to argue, trying to make himself heard, but Noel isn’t listening. His grip doesn’t loosen; he guides Phil backward toward the door with the kind of force that leaves no room for resistance. Finally, with one last shove, Noel throws Phil out of the hotel room. The door slams behind him, the lock clicking securely in place.

Inside, the room is quiet again, save for the scattered papers and your uneven breathing. Noel lets out a slow, controlled exhale, his jaw tight, eyes still scanning the space as if ensuring Phil hasn’t somehow returned. He turns to you, expression softening slightly, but still guarded. “Are you alright?” he asks, voice low, careful.

You nod, unable to speak for a few seconds, chest still heaving from fear and adrenaline. The room feels impossibly still, almost fragile, the sunlight now warm on your skin rather than exposing it. Noel kneels down to gather the papers, the clothes sprawled in a heap on the floor from the scuffle, bundling them carefully back onto the desk with deliberate movements. Every motion is calm, measured, like a man reclaiming control over a world that had momentarily slipped into chaos.

“You’re safe now,” he says finally, looking up at you. The fury hasn’t left his eyes entirely, but it’s tempered now by relief. “And I swear, no one is ever getting near you like that again.”

You swallow hard, nodding again, and for a long moment the two of you simply stand there, suspended between the terror that just passed and the quiet, fragile calm that follows.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The room is quiet again, the only sounds the soft hum of the hotel air conditioning and the faint city noises drifting up from the streets far below. Noel sits on the edge of the bed, gently holding a cold pack against your cheek. The sting of the slap has dulled slightly, but warmth still lingers beneath your skin. You wince, but manage a small, crooked smile, trying to inject a bit of humour into the lingering tension. “Heard about your deal, lucky, lucky you,” you say, voice teasing but soft, trying to shake off the memory of Phil’s hands on you.

Noel glances up, catching the humour but not laughing. His hand remains steady against your cheek, careful not to press too hard. His eyes are sharp, but there’s something gentler there now, the protective edge softening into quiet concern. Silence stretches between you, heavy and comfortable at the same time. You lean slightly into the cold pack, the relief of pressure mingling with the adrenaline that still thrums faintly in your veins. After a long pause, you speak, your voice quieter now,  “I’ll be okay.”

Noel looks at you, searching, as if he doesn’t quite believe the words, but he doesn’t push. You shift slightly, reaching for the edge of your suitcase that lies open on the floor, “I packed,” you admit softly, not meeting his eyes yet.

The words hang in the air. Noel straightens a little, his hand lingering for a heartbeat longer before letting go. His gaze narrows, a mixture of confusion and something heavier, something like worry.

“Why are you leaving now?” he asks, voice low but edged with concern. You look out toward the balcony, toward the pale city below, drawing the sunlight into your face as if finding courage there. “There’ll always be one of your friends,” you say carefully, “one of the people around you who thinks he can treat me however he wants.”

Noel’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt. He knows, deep down, that this isn’t the only reason. His eyes meet yours finally, sharp and probing, “That’s not why you’re leaving,” he says quietly, almost more to himself than to you.

You swallow, letting the words tumble out in a softer, quieter confession: “I want more.”

Noel sits back slightly, as if the weight of your admission has shifted the air between you. He leans forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees, and asks gently, almost cautiously: “How much more?” You meet his gaze fully now, the vulnerability clear in your eyes. “I want the fairy tale,” you say, voice teasing, yet completely unwavering, your eyes never faltering in their hold of his.

Noel’s face tightens, a small frown forming between his brows. He looks away for a moment, out the window toward the streets far below, as if seeking some logic in the chaos of your words. “Those kinds of relationships don’t exist,” he says finally, voice low, certain but tinged with sadness.

You remain still, the words landing between you, heavy but honest. The room holds its breath for a long moment, the city continuing on far below, unaware of the fragile, fragile conversation unfolding in the hotel room above. Noel reaches out slowly, almost instinctively, but hesitates before his hand hovers in the space between you. He doesn’t touch. Not yet. The cold pack has slipped slightly from your cheek, and your damp hair falls across your shoulder, brushing against your collarbone. The moment is quiet, intimate, and somewhere beneath the tension, there is the unspoken understanding that things have changed.

You lean back against the bedframe, suitcase half packed at your feet, and the two of you simply sit there, suspended in the calm after the storm, each lost in your own thoughts but connected in a silence that says more than words ever could.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The suitcase rests heavy at your feet, zipped and locked, a physical reminder that this chapter is coming to an end. You stand in the middle of the hotel room, suitcase handle in hand, shoulders squared despite the quiet ache in your chest. Noel moves beside you, calm but alert, the tension of the earlier confrontation now softened into a careful, protective presence.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small card, sliding it into your hand with a casual motion that belies the weight behind it, “If you ever need anything, you call me,” he says softly, voice low enough that it feels intimate, almost fragile.

You nod, staring at the card for a moment, the glossy surface catching the late morning light. It’s practical, professional, and yet, something in his tone makes the gesture feel like more than just paper and ink. He falls into step beside you, guiding you gently toward the door, hand a heavy, almost comforting presence on your back, the scent of him beside you pulling emotions up through your body which you didn’t even know were possible to feel. The room feels impossibly small now, as if the walls themselves are watching this final moment.

Before you reach the threshold, Noel pauses, his hand resting briefly on the edge of the doorframe. He looks at you, something in his posture unguarded, almost vulnerable, a side of him that rarely surfaces, “Stay,” he says quietly, his eyes searching yours. “Not because I’m paying you. Because I want you to.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and sincere. There is no arrogance, no charm here—just honesty, raw and unpolished.

You meet his gaze, heart tightening, and shake your head gently. “I can’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. He nods slowly, as if he understands, even though the subtle ache in his eyes betrays him. There’s a brief pause, and then you close the distance between you. Your lips meet his in a gentle, lingering kiss, a small punctuation to everything unspoken. You stay like that for a little longer than you’d initially wanted to, comforted by the cool spearmint of his breath, the way his hands slide up onto your shoulders like he’s physically trying to keep you here. But, like anything, this has to end too.

Pulling back just slightly, you whisper against his cheek, “See you later.”

He watches you, words catching in his throat, but you’re already gathering your bag and stepping toward the door. You pause at the threshold, turning back just once. “I think you’re gonna do great things, Noel,” you say, voice carrying both encouragement and farewell.

Then you step out. The door clicks shut behind you. The sunlight of the city feels sharper now, the hotel room suddenly quiet, empty, leaving Noel standing there, still, silent, his chest rising and falling slowly, the echo of your presence lingering in the air long after you’ve gone.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Noel stands in the middle of the hotel room, the door still closed behind you, the faint click of the lock echoing like a full stop in the sudden silence. The city outside hums faintly, distant and detached, but inside the room everything feels impossibly still. He looks around slowly, eyes sweeping over the slightly messed up room, the scattered papers, the bed where you had sat just hours ago. Every small detail, the hotel robe you’d claimed as yours tossed on the chair, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air, the slight crease in the bedsheets, all reminds him that you’re really gone. He knows it’s irrational to feel this aching pull in his chest. I mean, this was all purely transactional, you were his employee for the week. It’s irrational, but, now he’s realising. He’s truly alone. No wife. No you.

The room feels too large now, the space swallowing him up instead of containing him. It’s quiet in a way that almost hurts, like the walls themselves are aware of the absence. He runs a hand across the back of a chair, fingers brushing against the fabric you had leaned on, and the touch brings a sudden sharp awareness, the room is empty.

Not just the physical space. The warmth, the lightness, the easy humour, you took it all with you.

He exhales slowly, shoulders slumping slightly, and for the first time since you arrived, those seven days ago which feel more like years, Noel allows himself to feel the weight of the emptiness. It presses in from all sides, echoing through the room, in the silence between the scattered papers and the untouched coffee cup on the nightstand.

For a moment, he simply stands there, hands in his pockets, eyes distant, as if willing your presence back into the room, but knowing it’s impossible. And in that quiet, suspended moment, Noel realizes, no matter how much he wants it, you’re not there anymore. The hotel room, once a place of laughter, tension, and intimacy, has become just a room. Cold, empty, still.

He closes his eyes briefly, letting the quiet wash over him. The distant hum of Los Angeles outside continues, indifferent, while inside, Noel is left with nothing but the echo of what was, and the unspoken ache of what might have been.

❥. to be continued

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it was an mtv award night, one that you had been to what if feels like a thousand times already and yet, your dress was still ironed. shoes already picked out.

only this time, you had one thing unlike the other times. your nose had been runny the whole day, your head felt like it weighed a ton and your body felt like a truck had driven over it. this time, there was noel.

well. at least there was supposed to be a noel, he was in new york. you’d already seen it on the papers that oasis had arrived – that and knowing it before hand from mr. gallagher himself. a phone call, the kind that both of you pretend it’s no big deal at all, even though every time it turns out to be hours and hours of talking about everything and nothing.

those always made you feel giddy in a way that made your eyes roll back into your skull at the realization of what tugged inside your chest after every time you hung up. yuck.

maybe that’s why you didn’t let him know that you weren’t actually going. no big deal, is it? he’ll live. he’ll shag other women. he’ll drink and have fun with or without you around.

that’s what it’s supposed to be like, at least. hes on the same page in terms of that, too. because this whole thing is a secret, isn’t it? that’s why when he turns up at the venue, he forced himself to relax his brows that automatically furrowed when he didn’t see you around. that’s why he kept his ear perked up in case anyone mentioned your name, despite having that permanent bored expression on his face. that’s why he found it strange you weren’t beside jack – fuck me, that’s the first time. he’s usually jealous of the bloke, now he wishes you were hanging off of him like the other times just for sake of seeing you.

he’s glad that the whole british-dry humor and the silly bickering fueled by the press when it comes to anything brit or american pop allows him to say things that are true and pass them by as piss taking. that’s why, after an undefined number of drinks, he places his hand on jacks shoulder. patting it like they were old mates and all of this is just an inside joke.

“where’s the mouthy one, eh?”, noel teased. slurring it out, pretty much.

jack didn’t mind, equally drunk. he laughed along, shaking his head and for a second forgetting about the fact that he knew this little question had a secret glasto-kiss underneath. and bless his heart, because he thinks that’s it.

jack shook his head, “she’s at home!”

noel’s brows furrowed, his smirk budging for a moment. too drunk to disguise it, and thankfully everyone around is too drunk to notice. “how come?”

“she’s sick! sore throat and a fever”

noel huffed out a laugh, shaking his head and patting jack on the back as he walked away. “needs to be sick in order to not run her mouth for one night, eh? cheers”

he could hear jack’s laugh fade away, maybe even a light hearted “fuck off” too. but noel’s mind was already on hunting down his driver.

you were already passed out on the couch when a very persistent knocking disturbed your peace. you were curled up with pillows and a blanket when your eyes opened, a slight panic immediately settling in at your hazy brain thinking that it could’ve been a stalker. oh god. i shouldn’t have dismissed the body guard. now i’m gonna get killed. great. a girl can’t even have a runny nose and peace anymore? jesus c—

“oi!”

if it wasn’t for the unmistakable voice, maybe you could’ve kept believing that perhaps it was only a british stalker. well. kind of. not a stalker, but definitely a fan.

you padded down the hallway barefoot, wincing at the feeling of the cold wood underneath your oh so warm feet. your eyes were still droopy when you opened the door, barely watching him sneak in quickly.

he closed the door with a soft click while your brain was still catching up. you rubbed your eyes, “what…”

“fuck me. who ran over you?”, he cut in.

you sighed, head tilting. “ha ha”, you deadpanned. and a smirk immediately grew on his face, stepping closer to you at the same time his hands found your cheeks, cupping them and closing the distance with a soft press of his lips against yours.

you whined, eyebrows furrowing and hands limply pushing his chest away. “what are you doing here?”

“party was borin’. your little boyfriend told me you were sick. thought dr. noelly might come to check up on ya, hm?”, he teased. like it wasn’t a big deal, like this is very normal.

you pushed his chest away again, softly. lingering there as you looked up at him with a certain struggle you didn’t really want him to see, because your eyes burnt in that annoying way they always do when you have a fever. and you probably didn’t look your best either. he kept kissing your mouth anyway, he only stopped because your hands slid up his shoulders and squeezed them. “noel”, you whined quietly.

“hm?”, he hummed. hands still holding your face, secretly adoring the fact that your eyes were closed, because you couldn’t see him fondly smirking at the sight of you. you looked cute like this.

“i’m sick”, you said quietly.

“mhm”

another peck. another whine from you accompanied by another squeeze on his shoulders.

“you’re gonna be sick, too”

“hmmm”, he hummed.

another kiss.

you breathed out a little laugh at it, allowing yourself to lean into his palms and, fine. give him a tiny peck back.

“noel”

“yeah. heard you loud and clear”

you sighed, tilting your head and looking at him. the corner of your lips curled up despite yourself, shaking your head at the sight of his drunk gaze glued to your face.

“you’re an idiot”

he laughed, nodding and wrapping his arms around you. you melted into it. you’re sick, aren’t you? that’s… a normal reaction from someone who’s sick and oh so fragile. he huffed out a tiny laugh at the sound of you groaning in bliss, his hands sliding towards the middle of your back and rubbing it gently. “right”, he started, his hands drifting down to your ass and patting it softly before he placed a kiss on the top of your head. “off you go. bed. cmon”

you whined, lips still curling up despite scrunching up your face in mock annoyance. he laughed at it, grabbing your hand into his and dragging you closer as he walked down your hallway. “come on, come on”, he said quietly. teasing and fond all at once.

that night, for the first time – out of many, you two just didn’t know it then – he just slept beside you. that was the first time he realized that even sick you looked insufferably cute.

curled up against him and chasing his warmth even though you were hot, drooling over his chest in a way he’d tease the next morning to pretend like he didnt spend a good amount of minutes laughing fondly to himself at it, wishing he had a camera right now to capture the image of the mouthy rockstar so vulnerable and so adorable.

that was the first time he laughed at himself at what tugged inside his chest at the sight of you like that. fondly telling the little voice inside his head to fuck off when the thought that he might actually be in love with you sparked inside his brain.

𝜗𝜚July 6th 2017

The next morning arrives slowly, sunlight already spilling bright over the city by the time the two of you step out onto the street.

Los Angeles feels very different during the day. The air carries the comforting scent of street food and diesel, combining strangely with the sweetness of budding trees planted along the sidewalks. Traffic hums somewhere beyond, horns blaring as cars inch their way through the endless grid of streets, but here the atmosphere is softer. People drift through the streets in loose clusters, some with coffees, others walking dogs or talking loudly into phones as they pass by the wide stone fountain that sits in the centre of it all.

You’re walking a few steps ahead of Noel, though “walking” might not be the right word.

Instead, you’re balancing along the raised stone edge of the fountain, arms stretched loosely out to either side as if you’re crossing a tightrope. The morning sun glints off the moving water beside you, scattering little reflections across the pavement as you take another slow step forward.

Behind you, Noel watches the performance with slight amusement.

His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders relaxed, dark sunglasses hiding most of his expression even though the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth is still visible. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply following your path as you wobble slightly on the narrow edge before steadying yourself again with a quiet laugh.

After a moment, you glance back over your shoulder at him.

“I’m starving,” you announce suddenly, like the thought has only just occurred to you, your gaze drifting across the street and immediately brightens.

“Oh!” you say, pointing toward a small cart parked near the corner. “There’s a snap dog vendor over there.”

Noel stops walking entirely, raising thick brows so they peek over the top of his sunglasses, “A what?”

You hop down from the fountain edge with a soft thud, the hem of your airy dress fluttering lightly around your legs as you land. Turning to face him, you tilt your head slightly, studying his expression as if trying to figure out whether he’s joking. “A snap dog,” you repeat patiently.

Then, without missing a beat, you add, “You got any money?”

He stares at you over the top edge of his sunglasses, expression flattening in slow disbelief.

“I have money,” he replies after a moment, voice calm but laced with the faintest trace of dry irritation, “I just don’t know what a snap dog is.”

You blink at him like that might be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard, “It’s a hot dog.”

Noel frowns slightly, “Then why didn’t you say hot dog?”

“Because it snaps when you bite it,” you explain like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, already starting toward the cart like the conversation is settled.

He exhales a short, disbelieving laugh under his breath and falls into step beside you, “Sounds like a medical condition.”

You snort quietly at that, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you approach the vendor.

“You’re gonna love it.”

“I doubt that.”

The vendor hands the two of you wrapped hot dogs a moment later, grease already starting to soak slightly through the paper. You barely wait before taking a large bite, humming happily as you chew while the warmth of the food spreads through your stomach.

Beside you, Noel studies his own like it might be suspicious, “You Americans will eat anything,” he mutters, turning it slightly in his hand as though inspecting it for hidden dangers.

“Oh relax,” you say around a mouthful of food. “It’s just a hot dog.”

He takes a cautious bite. For a moment he says nothing, chewing slowly as his expression shifts into something thoughtful behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

You watch him closely, “Well?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He swallows.

“S’alright.”

Your entire face lights up immediately, “See?” you say with obvious satisfaction. “Told you.”

With your free hand, you gesture toward a wide patch of grass beneath a tree nearby, its leaves casting a comfortable pool of shade over the ground.

“Come on,” you say casually. “We’ll cop a squat over there.”

Noel stops mid-step again, “Cop a what?”

You turn back toward him, already halfway across the grass, “Cop a squat.”

“What does that even mean?”

You stare at him, baffled. Pausing in your steps as you scrutinise him with a slight glare, as if he’s the weird one,  “It means sit down.”

“Then just say sit down.”

A laugh slips out of you as you shake your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“No,” he replies calmly as he follows you across the lawn, adjusting his sunglasses slightly with one hand. “You just speak like someone who’s been hit on the head.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You settle beneath the wide tree just beyond the fountain, where the grass grows thicker and the shade falls in soft dappled patches across the ground. Noel spreads his jacket out with a small flick of his wrists before lowering himself down beside you, the fabric creating a makeshift blanket against the slightly damp grass. The sunlight filtering through the leaves above breaks into scattered flecks across the ground, shifting every time the breeze moves the branches.

You sit first, tucking one leg beneath you while finishing the last bite of your hot dog. Noel follows more slowly, stretching his legs out in front of him before leaning back against the rough bark of the tree trunk. His white shirt has already been rolled up to his elbows, the sleeves pushed back carelessly, as if he’d done it without thinking. The dark lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight every time he tilts his head, making it impossible to tell exactly where his eyes are resting.

For a moment the two of you simply exist there, the quiet hum of the park drifting around you. The city noise sits just far enough away to feel distant rather than overwhelming, blending into the background with the low splash of the fountain and the chatter of people walking past on the nearby path.

You lean back after a while, letting your shoulders settle against the tree beside him. The bark presses gently through the thin fabric of your dress, warm from the sun. Without much thought Noel shifts slightly, lifting one arm so it rests loosely behind you along the trunk of the tree. A moment later it slides down, settling around your shoulders in a way that feels completely natural, like he’s been doing it for years rather than days.

Neither of you mention it.

People drift past the park path in a steady stream. Some walk slowly, others hurry by with headphones in and determined expressions like they’ve got somewhere important to be. Noel watches them in silence for a while. Eventually his head tilts toward a man a few yards away who’s standing barefoot in the grass, stretching one leg behind him while carefully balancing in some complicated yoga pose.

Noel lets out a quiet scoff, “Look at this one.”

You follow his gaze, squinting slightly in the sunlight.

“What about him?”

“He’s standing on one leg in a public park,” Noel mutters. “That can’t be healthy.”

“He’s doing yoga.”

“No he’s not,” Noel says calmly. “He’s showing off.”

You laugh softly, leaning further into his side as you watch the man wobble slightly before correcting his balance. A woman passes next, clutching a large plastic cup filled with something bright green and suspiciously thick.

Noel nods toward it, “And what’s that supposed to be?”

You glance at it, “A smoothie.”

“Looks like pond water.”

“It’s probably kale or something.”

He shakes his head slowly, “Everyone in this city looks like they’re either about to run a marathon or sell me a smoothie.”

You laugh again, the sound escaping before you can stop it. The warmth of his arm around your shoulders shifts slightly as he glances down at you, the corner of his mouth curling upward in quiet satisfaction at having earned the reaction. Another jogger passes by, this one holding a tiny dog tucked awkwardly under one arm as she runs. Noel stares openly, “What’s the dog for?”

“She probably didn’t want to leave it at home.”

“Then don’t go running,” he replies simply.

You grin, shaking your head as you settle more comfortably against him. After a moment you nod toward a man walking briskly down the path in a sharp grey suit, his phone pressed tightly to his ear as he talks in quick, frustrated bursts.

“That one’s definitely cheating on his wife.”

Noel glances over at him briefly, “No he’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s a dentist.”

You blink at him.

“Come on, dentists cheat the most, Noel” You say softly, sitting up so your hand rests carefully against his thigh, resting where he makes no effort to push it away.

“That’s not even remotely scientific.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” You reply with a shrug. “You can just tell.”

He shakes his head, scrunching his face up in a way that tells you you’re being ridiculous. Soon the game becomes automatic. Each person who walks past becomes a small mystery the two of you try to solve. A woman in oversized sunglasses becomes a runaway heiress hiding from her family. A man with a camera becomes an undercover detective. A couple arguing near the fountain are apparently actors rehearsing for a play.

Each theory grows slightly more ridiculous than the last, the two of you quietly debating them while the park continues moving around you without noticing.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Gradually the conversation slows. The laughter fades into something softer, replaced by long stretches of quiet as you both continue watching the world drift past. At some point Noel’s thumb begins moving slowly against your arm where it rests across your shoulders. It’s a slow gesture, small and repetitive, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. The warmth of his hand spreads gently through the thin fabric of your dress, grounding you there in the shade beneath the tree.

You tilt your head slightly, resting it more comfortably against his shoulder. The sunlight shifts again through the leaves above, dappling across his shirt and the grass at your feet. Somewhere nearby a bird chirps loudly before taking off into the branches overhead.

Neither of you say anything for a while. And in the quiet, something settles between you both. Not the playful teasing from earlier, not the charged tension from the night before.

Just something simple. Easy.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Eventually the shade of the park begins to thin as the sun climbs higher, the air growing warmer and heavier with the slow hum of the afternoon. People keep drifting past the path in loose clusters, the quiet rhythm of the park continuing without much change, but your stomach reminds you fairly quickly that a single hot dog wasn’t nearly enough to keep you satisfied. You sit up first, brushing stray grass from the skirt of your dress as you stretch your arms above your head. Beside you, Noel watches with what appears to be curiosity, his sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he tilts his head, “You still hungry?” He asks.

You glance over at him, smiling sheepishly, “A little.”

He snickers softly under his breath, pushing himself up from the grass with a slow stretch that pulls the fabric of his white shirt tight across his shoulders. He shakes his jacket out before draping it over one arm again, then gestures lazily toward the street beyond the park.

“C’mon then. Let’s find somewhere that sells actual food.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Not far from the park sits a small grill tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, the kind of place most people might pass without noticing. The sign above the door flickers faintly in the bright daylight, its lettering slightly faded, but the smell drifting out onto the sidewalk is warm and inviting. Inside, the place is simple and a little worn around the edges. Red booths line the walls, their surfaces slightly cracked from years of use, while a long counter stretches along the far side of the room where a cook moves back and forth behind a grill. The faint smell of frying onions and grease hangs comfortably in the air, blending with the low murmur of conversations from the handful of people already sitting inside.

You slide easily into a booth near the window, like you’ve been there a hundred times before, tucking your legs underneath you as you reach for one of the laminated menus sitting on the table. Across from you, Noel lowers himself into the opposite seat a little more carefully. Even sitting still, he somehow looks slightly out of place in the small diner. The crisp white of his shirt, the dark sunglasses still resting on his face, the faint air of effortless confidence he carries with him all seem slightly mismatched against the casual hum of the room.

He picks up the menu slowly. For a long moment he studies it in silence, brow furrowing slightly like he’s trying to translate something written in a language he doesn’t fully understand.

You watch him over the top of your own menu, already trying not to smile. After another few seconds he finally lowers it a fraction.

“Why does everything come with ranch?”

The question is delivered with complete seriousness. You laugh immediately.

“It’s just a dipping sauce.”

“It’s on every single thing.”

“That’s because it’s good.”

He shakes his head slowly, glancing back down at the menu like it might suddenly start making more sense, “You people put sauce on things that don’t need sauce.”

“You’re just jealous,” you reply lightly. “You guys eat beans on toast.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

You grin, resting your chin lightly in your hand as you watch him continue studying the menu with exaggerated concentration. Eventually a waitress wanders over, and after a moment of deliberation Noel orders something simple while you rattle off your own order with the ease of someone who’s been eating in places like this for years.

The food arrives quickly. Plates slide onto the table between you, steam rising from freshly cooked fries and burgers while the faint clatter of dishes and cutlery fills the space around you.

The conversation drifts easily while you eat. At first it stays light.

You ask about Manchester, curious about the city he mentions so often. He describes grey skies, crowded pubs, and narrow streets that seem permanently soaked in rain, “It’s not exactly sunshine and palm trees,” he admits, leaning back slightly in the booth as he talks.

You smile, shrug, “Sounds nice.”

He raises an eyebrow behind his sunglasses.

“You’d last about two days.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I absolutely do.”

You nudge his foot lightly under the table, “Well LA’s not perfect either.”

“No,” he agrees, glancing briefly toward the window where bright sunlight floods the street outside. “But it’s got its moments.”

The conversation wanders from there, music comes up naturally, of course, the topic shifting easily between the two of you. He talks about songs he loved growing up, bands that shaped the way he hears things even now. You admit to some embarrassing teenage favourites that make him laugh openly.

Food becomes another subject of debate. He’s still deeply suspicious of anything involving ranch dressing, while you attempt to convince him that American diners are one of the best parts of the country.

The topics move quickly, jumping from one thing to another without much thought. Nothing heavy. Nothing serious. Just the easy rhythm of two people discovering small pieces of each other. And through it all, you seem lighter somehow.

You laugh easily, leaning across the table when you talk, your eyes bright in a way Noel doesn’t think he’s seen before. The tension you sometimes carry has slipped away entirely, replaced with something relaxed and open.

You look comfortable, happy.

Not the forced kind of happiness people wear when they’re trying to impress someone, but something quieter and more genuine. Noel notices it even if he doesn’t say anything. He watches the way you grin when you talk about some childhood memory, the way you gesture with your hands when you get excited about something small, the way your shoulders relax every time you laugh.

And for a brief moment, sitting there across from you in the small diner booth, he realises something that settles quietly in the back of his mind. You look like someone who hasn’t felt this carefree in a very long time, the thought lingering longer than he expects it to.

He doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he just leans back slightly in the booth again, taking another bite of his food while the conversation drifts onward, but his eyes stay on you a little more than they had before.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The car ride back is quiet.

The late afternoon sun hangs low enough now that the light slants through the tinted windows in long golden streaks, warming the leather seats and painting the inside of the car in soft amber tones. Outside, Los Angeles crawls past in slow fragments, palm trees sliding by, storefronts blurring together, the occasional flash of traffic crawling through the junctions.

You’d been talking at first. Something about the diner, about the waitress who’d called Noel “sweetheart” and the look on his face afterward. He’d muttered something dry in response that made you laugh again, the sound lingering warmly in the small space of the car.

But somewhere between one streetlight and the next, the conversation fades, and you grow quieter beside him.

Your voice trails off halfway through a sentence, your head tipping slightly toward his shoulder without much thought. The movement is slow, unconscious, the sort of thing your body does before your mind has fully caught up with it.

Noel doesn’t move at first.

He feels the shift when your head finally settles there, the soft weight of it resting against the side of his shoulder. A few strands of your hair brush lightly against his neck as the car rolls gently forward through traffic, catching against the collar of his shirt with each small turn.

Your breathing evens out not long after. Slow. Steady.

Sleep comes easily to you, the steady motion of the car rocking you into it like a quiet lullaby. Your body relaxes further against him, the tension slipping away from your shoulders as your hand falls loosely against your lap.

Noel glances down after a moment. Behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, his gaze settles on you with quiet curiosity. Your face looks softer in sleep, the faint crease between your brows gone entirely now that you’re not thinking about anything at all.

The city noise hums quietly around the car.

For a while he just watches the streets pass by outside the window, letting the silence stretch. Then his eyes drift down to you again.

He probably shouldn’t like this. That thought arrives slowly, settling somewhere uncomfortable in the back of his mind.

The whole thing is temporary, he knows that.

This isn’t real life. It’s a few days, a strange arrangement built on money and coincidence and circumstances that will eventually untangle themselves whether either of you want them to or not. You’re being paid to be here.

That’s the reality of it, and yet, with your head resting against his shoulder and your breathing slow and warm through the fabric of his shirt, it doesn’t feel like that at all.

It just feels nice, comfortable. Normal in a way he hadn’t expected.

He exhales quietly through his nose, shaking his head slightly at the thought before shifting just enough to reach for the jacket draped beside him. And carefully, so he doesn’t wake you, he lifts it and settles it loosely over your shoulders. The fabric falls softly around you, shielding you from the cool air blowing through the car’s vents.

You stir slightly at the movement, your head pressing more firmly into the side of his neck before settling again. Noel stills for a second. Then he relaxes back into the seat, letting you stay exactly where you are while the car continues gliding through the warm evening streets toward the hotel.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Later, you step into the bedroom after slipping into your silken gown, the fabric smooth against your skin, sliding softly over your shoulders and down your arms. The quiet rustle of silk fills the otherwise still room. You brush your hair back from your face, your fingertips lingering on the strands, catching the light from the bedside lamp. The world feels hushed, suspended in the soft glow, and you take a moment to breathe it in.

He’s asleep by the time you return, sprawled across the bed, the white sheets rumpled around him. You pause at the edge, drinking in the relaxed ease of his posture, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the subtle rise and fall of his chest. A smile curls your lips. “So he does actually sleep,” you murmur, teasing, but warm with affection.

You settle onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly, eyes tracing the line of his face. Slowly, deliberately, you kiss your fingertip and press it gently to his lips. He stirs, barely, a soft exhale against your touch. Encouraged, you lean in to press a tender kiss to his cheek. Almost, you think, almost to his lips, but you pause, savouring the quiet intimacy.

His eyes flutter once, ever so slightly, nor rousing him from his sleep as he adjusts softly, brows furrowing just once, almost as if his subconscious is battling with the idea of waking up. The sight makes you smile, eyes trailing down his seemingly relaxed frame lay against the bed, his guard completely down. Vulnerable in a way that makes your heart clench in your chest, suddenly overcome with the urge to pepper kisses to his face.

And you do, leaning in slightly so your lips ghost over the smooth skin of his forehead, trailing the slightest, softest little kisses down to his cheekbone, the corner of his eye, across the thick hair of his slightly greying eyebrows. Your hand finds his where theyre clasped over his stomach, slowly shifting yourself over onto his lap, the soft breeze filtering in through the window hardly doing anything to cool the warmth in your heart as your hands move to cup his face.

He awakes at the feeling of you settling over him, groaning slightly as his hands scrub at his face, taking one of your hands with his as he laces thick fingers through yours, the ring he so diligently wears on his finger cool against your burning skin.

“What’re you up to then?” He says softly, groggy from the brief nap, but a smile plays on his lips. Not a smirk, a true, genuine smile, his eyes sparkling ever so slightly in the yellowed dim of the buzzing lamp on the bedside table, “Tryna hit a man while he’s down?”

His tone is nothing short of playful, yet this time, you can’t even bring yourself to bite back, tugging your hand from his so it can rest against the supple skin of his freshly shaven cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone ever so slightly.

Your lips dart down to his.

He catches it. And says nothing, breath mixing together in the space between you, so small that if you tilted your head just right, you’d be kissing him. And you don’t know what comes over you, maybe it’s the soft way he’s been treating you the last couple of days, the way he seemed to shine a spotlight over you that you couldn’t turn off. You could tell yourself it’s the money, the fame, choosing to ignore the panicked cries of Kit, practically hearing them bounce around your brain at the endless lectures you’d received in the beginning about not kissing your clients on the lips. About not getting too emotionally attached.

You can’t bring yourself to listen.

And you commit arguably the most cardinal sin of prostitution. You lean down, lips brushing over his ever so slightly, hands manoeuvring his face to meet yours as you lock your lips into the softest kiss. It stays just like that for a moment. No movement, your chests rising and falling in tandem as sleep-warm hands find your hips where you’re pressed against him, and then your lips start to move. Together, like this was always meant to be the case, his brows furrowing like he’s been waiting for this the entire time. And he isn’t too ashamed to admit it.

“God” He pulls back slightly, knocking his forehead against you as you pant breathlessly into the shared space between the two of you, “Y’know how long I’ve fuckin’ waited for you to do that?

He sounds absolutely wrecked, like the force of your lips finally locking with his is just as intoxicating to him as it is to you, tilting his head up once more, catching your lips in a slow lazy kiss. That is, until you let your tongue brush against the soft skin of his lower lip. And then, well, he’s a gonner.

Warm hands slide up under your silken dress, groaning low and heavy into your mouth as he flips you, hardly allowing you the time to register exactly what he’s doing, before he’s kissing you again. It’s slow with an unsaid desperation, the complicated feelings brewing increasingly every day between the two of you finally coming to aa head as he slips his tongue into your mouth, humming softly when yours starts to fight for dominance.

“No, no no, baby” He murmurs, one hand coming to push your bent knee to the bed, allowing him to slot himself fully between your thighs, a light smile playing on his soft features, “None o’ that, lemme take care of you, yeah?”

Your hands slow where they’re attempting to unbutton his shirt, resting your palm gently against the soft smattering of hair over his chest, the cross necklace that you had no idea he was wearing cold against your skin as he leans down, hands smoothing over your ribcage under silken fabric in a way that feels like pure heaven, kissing along your cheekbone to your ear, “Y’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, just lying here”

“Lettin’ me do whatever”

He leans back slightly, “Up you go baby,” Coaxing your arms up over your head to he can pull the soft fabric up, leaving you completely bare to him, “Awh,” He pouts softly, chuckling as your chin raises in a way that’s obviously searching for him, “N-noel”

“M’ right here darlin’,” He whispers, one hand stroking up and down the smooth skin of your torso, the other resting lightly over one of your breasts, squeezing slightly as you whine gently, pulling yet another soft whine from your lips, “Needy thing tonight aren’tcha? Need me to sort it out f’you”

“Y-yeah, please” You hush, face heating up at the pure intimacy of the moment, thighs clenching ever so softly as one calloused hand dips, brushing through your folds at a ridiculously slow pace, two thick fingers gliding gently into your hole, stroking the spongey spot inside of you he knows gets you all needy. And that’s exactly what he wants, grinning as your hand comes out to clutch hopelessly at his wrist. But he doesn’t relent, just mutters slightly under his breath, “Pretty”

He slides ever so slowly onto his stomach, big hands coming to wrap around your thighs to pull you closer. Immediately, he slips his fingers back into your clenching entrance, and all you can do is sigh at the contact, hips bucking towards his hand ever so slightly, the other palm resting flat against your stomach to slow the soft roll of your hips, “Calm down, pretty thing, got ‘ya here all night”

And the breathy sighing catches in your throat as his head leans down, shaggy hair tickling the insides of your thighs ever so softly as he leans, pressing a soft little kiss to your clit, chuckling to himself as you whimper suddenly, fingers tightening in his hair where your hands had found their purchase in an attempt to ground yourself, “See what I said?” His breath ghosting softly against the buzzing bundle of nerves desperately asking for his contact, “Needy”. And he leans in once more, giving you a teasing suck just to watch the way your mouth drops.

He’s teasing you. Mouth dropping open to match your expression as his fingers glide slowly in and out, not missing the way they come out soaked in an embarrassing amount of your own wetness, walls fluttering gently as he continues to gently guide his fingers towards your sweet spot, fingers curling slightly. He laughs when you moan, brows knitting to match your own expression, “God, Noel”

“God, Noel” He repeats back to you, mumbling slightly against his clit, letting his tongue glide gently over you, “Y’hear that? Sound so pretty, told ‘ya you did”

You can’t even respond to his teasing in a proper way when he quietens down. Usually you’d respond with some form of a clever quip, but nothing comes to mind. All you can focus on is the way he seems to stop those torturous little mumblings, solely focused on the gentle pistoning of his fingers inside of you, the thick digits stretching you out ever so slightly as he prepares you for his dick, the way his tongue flicks once more over your clit, causing black spots to form in your vision.

Already teetering dangerously close to the edge, already to come for him. And just for him. If the world could stop right now, you’d leave it happily, focused only on the way he seems to divert all his efforts into supplying you the pleasure so soft in comparison to your past experiences with him, so mind numbingly addictive as his tongue flattens against you in one final lick.

But then he’s pulling away, a teasing grin on his face as his hands slide up your thighs, chuckling ever so slightly as your head snaps up with a huff, “What’re you stopping for?”

“You’re wet enough” He shrugs, smiling at the way a faint blush rises in your cheeks at the simplicity in the crudeness of his words, “Wanna see for yourself?” He mutters gently, pushing himself off the bed to hover over you, tapping at your lips with his fingers, “C’mon” He urges gently, eyes sparkling down at you as he waits for your obedience.

And you comply, eyes trained on his as the room seems to zero in on just the two of you, here. All you can focus on is the scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to his half unbuttoned shirt, the heaviness of his fingers as they slide into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself soaking his fingers, “That’s it” He coos gently, fingers pushing back and forth against your tongue, fucking your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t even know possible, the action not sinful. Just playful teasing. But he’s looking at you with such adoration you can’t help but moan around the digits, mouth stuffed full as your eyes dart to the way he slowly starts unbuckling his jeans.

“Y’think you’re ready for me yet, sweetheart?” His voice uncharacteristically soft as he leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth where the drool spills over from the heavy weight of his fingers pushed between parting lips, the action muffling your quiet hum of admission, eyes glazing over, “It’s my job, asshole” But the insult is without bite, Noel himself clearly unable to take you seriously at the way you’re trembling, at the way your thighs clench around his thighs ever so slightly, as if your body itself is trying to pull him back into you.

“Y’sure are, darlin’” He mutters quietly, hand reaching to tug his jeans and boxers down in one slow, dual motion, cock springing free as one heavy hand wraps itself around the base, stroking himself lightly to relieve some of the pressure built up in the soft pink flush of his tip, cursing lightly under his breath, “Always ready, aren’t you? So fucking perfect” He whispers it in a way that’s almost reverent, guiding the tip of his heavy dick to your now pulsing entrance.

“Watch with me?” He whispers ever so softly, free hand coming up to slide around the back of your neck, tugging your head with cautious gentleness, pulling you up onto your forearms as you both watch the way he slides inside of you at a pace too soft to be dominating, something more like love. You push the feeling down, both of your mouths dropping open in desperate expressions as he finally bottoms out inside of you, hips stilling against yours, the added friction of his well-trimmed pubic hair nudging so softly against your clit dizzying as you let out a breathy whimper, looking up.

And he’s already watching you. With an expression that’s something deep mixed with underlying tension. Neither of you can even speak for a moment, just soaking up the other’s presence as his hips rest against yours.

It feels too tender. Too real. And now, you’re both recognising it. And you both push it down, like it’s something to deal with in the distant future.

Noel curses slightly under his breath as your walls flutter torturously around him, hands coming up to push you gently back onto the bed, hovering over you as he hikes your hips up and around his waist, the position allowing him to push deeper inside of you. You smile softly at his twisted expression, the satin sheets soft against your back, lulling you into a strange state of comfort as you tilt your head, “Who’s needy now, daddy?2 You mutter softly, enjoying the way the nickname makes the intricate lines of veins pulse deep inside of you, crossing your ankles at the base to tug him impossibly deeper inside of you.

“That’s playin’ fucking dirty, baby” He chuckles slightly, forearm resting on the pillow just beside your head, hand snaking its way back to your hips as he rolls his gently into yours, both of you seemingly drunk on the pleasure alone already as he slowly fucks into you, “Jus’ needed daddy to take care of you, yeah? That right pretty baby?”

All you can do is nod, clutching at his shoulders desperately as you whimper gently at the feeling of his dick hitting just the right spot inside, “God, oh my g- it’s… so- ah, so big” You whine, almost completely gone at the feeling of him as you roll your hips in time with his, the pleasure curling hot and low inside you. And he nods. He nods like he knows exactly how you’re feeling, tilting his head to plant the gentlest of kisses back down on your lips, the action sloppy and wet with saliva, hardly able to pull himself away as he mumbles, lips hardly breaking from yours, “I know, daddy’ll sort it, yeah?”

“Just let it come baby”

You nod again at his words, the way he’s making you feel like no other man ever has before, the way he’s fucking you so impossibly tenderly and gently, the way his lips mash against yours slow and gentle, practically becoming one with the other as your bodies move in tandem with one another, chasing your highs. You’re both too gone to even speak, mouths pressed together, too caught up in it all to pull away as you breathe raggedly into each other’s mouths, his hand gripping your thigh so hard it might leave a bruise, but you can’t even bring yourself to care.

“F-fuck” He whispers quietly, head dropping down to your collarbone as he rasps, your hand immediately sliding up to his hair, keeping him pressed against you as his hips fuck slightly harder into yours, lost on the way his low groans seem to morph into quieter, more breathy moans, hands sliding their way to your waist to pull you down into his thrusts that grow increasingly sloppy in their rhythm, pressing little desperate kisses along your jugular, pressing his nose into the column of your throat, “Y’feel so good, god,” He sounds caught between a groan and a sob, “My fuckin’ girl yeah? Daddy’s girl”

He sounds like he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. You can’t even bring yourself to string together the babbled sentences muttered into your neck, too gone on the way he pulls you down into each thrust, chest bouncing with the slightly increased force a your orgasm licks a hot flash of pleasure up your spine, helpless whines tumbling from your lips as your hand reaches out, searching blindly across the sheets for one of his, sighing softly as you finally find it, his warm hand holding yours tightly as you both slowly become undone together, “T-That’s it, baby, oh God” He whines slightly into your neck, lifting himself so he can stare down at your ruined expression with glazed eyes, holding himself over you, free hand coming to rest against your neck. Not choking. Just holding. Forcing you not to tear your eyes away from his as your brows knit together, mirroring each other’s hopeless expressions as the faint outline of stars flash across your vision, “M’, ah fuck- m’ gonna come, Noel, baby”

Your pleasing causes him to hiss slightly, hands tightening both in your grip and against your thudding pulse as he nods, “I know, I know me too darlin’, same time, yeah?”

You nod, and he smiles softly, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as his come to mush against yours once more, both your eyes fluttering shut as his hips snap at a deliciously torturous pace against yours, forcing you both closer to the edge.

And eventually, over it, gasping almost animalistically into each other’s mouths as your orgasm crashes down over the two of you, your back arching as Noel’s mouth drops open, ripping his hand from yours to glide hurried circles over your clit, each intense pulse of your walls forcing his own release to shoot inside you, the warmth of his white come flowing steadily down your cunt, leaving the mixed combination of the two of you under your ass as you both whine helplessly into each other.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Much later, he’s holding you from behind, chest pressed lightly against your back, arms curved around you so that you can’t see his face. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is the only sound, and it feels impossibly intimate. You press a small, quiet smile to your lips, letting yourself Savor the warmth and the rhythm of him behind you.

Softly, teasingly, you murmur, “I love you.”

The words hang between you, light, playful, but there’s a weight to them you can’t quite place. Noel stiffens slightly against you, a tightness in his chest he can’t quite ignore. There’s something unsettling in the honesty of it, a pang he didn’t expect, a quiet stir of feelings he’s not ready to confront.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move. He presses a little closer, spooning you so that your face is hidden from him, a small, protective wall between your eyes and his. Choosing not to respond, he lets the silence stretch, letting the warmth of your body press into him while keeping the words, and whatever they mean, unacknowledged.

You tilt your head back slightly, still smiling, unsure if he heard you, unsure if he’s taking you seriously, unsure even if you meant it fully. The ambiguity hangs between you, playful but sharp, comforting and unsettling all at once.

He shifts just a fraction, thumb brushing over your arm, and the touch is gentle but deliberate, a quiet claim, a silent acknowledgment of your closeness, yet still, the words remain unspoken, unanswered, leaving the air thick with uncharted feelings.

You shift slightly against him, nestling closer as the day’s exhaustion finally tugs at your eyelids. The warmth of his body behind you is comforting, grounding, and you let yourself sink into it fully. For a long moment, you stay there, quiet, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest lull you toward sleep.

Finally, with a soft sigh, you murmur, almost to yourself, “Goodnight.” Your hands find a resting place against his forearm, and your head tilts back just enough to press against his shoulder. There’s a small smile on your lips as sleep finally claims you, gentle breaths evening out into a quiet rhythm.

Noel stays still for a while after you drift off. He can’t see your face, can’t hear your thoughts, and that only makes the knot in his chest tighten. Your words, “I love you”, echo faintly in his mind, both teasing and terrifying in their honesty.

He knows he can’t respond, can’t define what he feels without risking everything, yet the pull is there, undeniable. A swirl of emotions churns inside him. Longing, fear, guilt, desire, and something heavier he doesn’t want to name.

Finally, he exhales slowly, pressing his face just behind your hair, inhaling your scent, the soft warmth of you against him, letting the room settle around the two of you. Sleep will come eventually, but for now, he’s left alone with the quiet, complicated weight of what your words, and the way you are, have done to him.

❥. to be continued

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𝜗𝜚July 5th, 2017

The day had passed so quickly around him he hadn’t even had time to miss you. Not like he was planning on it, he’d never admit that to himself. ‘Who Built the Moon?’ Had quickly stolen his attention from him, hours kept holed up in a studio which, despite having been built on American soil, had no air con, and seemed to house the most irritating crew he’d ever worked with.

God, he missed Manchester.

The day had seemed almost methodical, listening back to numerous mixes of the exact same song, heated arguments with a producer about guitar levels of all things, tossing out sarcastic comments to some new tech lad who’d been overthinking a track.

But eventually, bliss comes, and they wrap up for the day. His back rolls with the kind of tired that can only come with the satisfaction of a long, eventually successful recording session. The scent of cigarettes and coffee still lingering in the air, guitars half leant against walls, empty tea mugs scattered across the mixing desk as he collects his things, jacket grabbed from the back of a chair, heading towards the blinking green exit sign hung above a door more glass than wood.

Fucking Americans.

He passes his assistant, well, temporary assistant, stood almost cowering in the face of his unsaid fame, the poor girl practically trembling as she watches him come to a halt, his thick brows furrowed as he speaks, almost an afterthought, “Did you send the tickets to the hotel?”

She nods, a polite smile. People were far too polite here, confirming that the concierge dropped them off earlier. He shrugs his jacket on over his button up, nodding cooly as his lips quirk up in a lazy smile, “Good, I have a date”

As he turns to leave, he hears Phil shift by the door as if wanting to say something. Why he’d insisted on coming to the studio with him Noel had no idea, although he was starting to get a pretty good idea as the man, still sweating, pads up to him, “With the hooker?” He attempts a smile, as if he thinks he’s the funniest guy to ever walk the Earth.

Noel doesn’t find him funny. He stops for a moment, sigh laboured like he’s already sick of hearing about it, hardly listening as he shoulders through the door, Phil following him out to the waiting car like an anxious chihuahua, babbling out some poorly thought out string of words, “You’re a public figure, Noel, things like this have a tendency to become messy”

Noel shrugs it off, cool as anything as the driver opens the door for him, one hand clasped against the dark metal, looking over at his lawyer waiting skittishly in front of him, “Relax, mate, I’m taking her to a concert” He laughs lightly, shrugging once more as if Phil’s logic is completely bizarre, “I’m not marrying the bird”

But Phil doesn’t laugh at that, a slightly uneasy expression crossing his face, “Just…Just be careful”

Noel just shakes his head, patting the driver on the arm as he slides his way onto the cold leather seats of the cab, the air con immediately washing over his tired features as he scrubs a hand down his face, sunglasses resting on tan leather next to him.

Sure, women like that usually have a habit of causing trouble, especially when money and fame are involved.

But somehow, Noel already knows you’re not like that.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You’d woken that morning, feeling more well rested than you had in years, revelling in the feeling of satin sheets, so expensive just to the touch that you don’t even dare to think about what the cost might’ve been, slowly getting used to waking up like this was dangerous, you knew that well. And you fucking loved it.

Your hand had made contact with a little paper note folded on his now evidently empty side of the bed, head tossing up groggily as you peered down at it, his scrawling, barely legible handwriting coming into view. It was written with a pen that clearly was on its last legs, the dappled sunlight shining through half open blinds, your hand coming up to shade the poorly written note.

‘Be ready by 7pm. Sharp’, the last word underlined so harshly it’d pierced the paper. You laugh softly, voice hoarse from sleep and the late night conversation you didn’t feel like unpacking, rolling over onto your back. The ceiling spins ever so slightly at the new position, smiling ever so slightly to yourself, “Couldn’t have sent a text?” You murmur into the quiet morning air.

But your hand closes gently against the slightly crumpled note, almost like you want to keep it close.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

And that’s how you find yourself here, one of the dresses he’d approved the other day with a slow smile that read nothing like desire, but pure adoration, clinging to your frame. The fabric is smooth, expensive, yet fitting effortlessly around you as you lean towards the mirror, hair fluffed, swiping at the slightest smudge of lipstick underneath your lips.

You hear the faint sounds of the tv wafting in through the slightly open door, taking one last glance at yourself, the sounds of him setting a crystal glass down on the table, the expensive sound ringing true to his pretence he isn’t impatiently waiting, and the thought of that makes you pause, a gentle smile making its way over your features.

When you finally step out into the room, you pause in the doorway for a second before stepping in. The dress sits perfectly against you, the fabric smooth and soft as it falls over your hips. You brush your hands down the sides of it without thinking, flattening a crease that isn’t there.

Across the room, Noel is already looking. He’s leaning back against the sofa, drink in hand, but the moment you appear his attention shifts entirely. His eyes travel slowly down your frame, taking in the dress, the way it fits, the way your hair falls loosely over your shoulders.

The silence stretches just long enough to make you self-conscious.

You shift slightly, clearing your throat, “Do I look okay?”

He hums thoughtfully.

“Mmm.”

You narrow your eyes, “Mmm what?”

He tilts his head slightly, studying you again like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Something’s missing.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s already reaching into his jacket pocket. A small box appears in his hand, and immediately your eyes narrow.

“Oh no.”

Ignoring you completely, he flips the lid open.

Inside is a necklace.

Even without knowing much about jewellery, it’s obvious it’s expensive. The stones catch the light from the lamps, scattering small flashes across the dark velvet inside the box. And all you can do is stare at it, eyes flitting warily between his and the little box in his hand.

Noel glances up at you and lifts a finger.

“Don’t get too excited.”

You huff under your breath, but you don’t move as he steps closer, lifting the necklace carefully from the box.

“Turn around.”

You hesitate, “This feels illegal.”

“It’s not illegal,” he replies flatly. “Turn around.”

With a small sigh you do as he says, gathering your hair over one shoulder. The chain brushes cool against the front of your neck as he brings it around, his fingers grazing the back of your skin while he fumbles with the clasp.

“Hold still,” he mutters.

“I am holding still.”

“Well stop breathing then.”

You roll your eyes, but a second later there’s a quiet click.

“There.”

You turn back toward him, immediately reaching up to touch the necklace. It’s beautiful. Ridiculously so. Your fingers trace lightly over the stones before you glance up at him again.

“They really let you borrow this from the jewellery store?”

Noel has already stepped away again, picking up his drink like nothing unusual has happened, “I’m a very good customer.” His eyes twinkle with unsaid mirth as he brings the little tumbler to his lips, downing the dwindling of the amber liquid with an amused smile.

You look back down at it, still a little stunned. After a moment you glance up again.

“How much does it cost?”

For the briefest moment, he hesitates.

Then, casually, “Quarter of a million.”

Your head snaps up.

“Are you serious?!”

Your hand immediately drops away from the necklace like it might burn you.

Your eyes widen suddenly, hands flexing by your sides as if you’d been burned by the delicate crystals, staring down at it like it might fall apart. “What if it breaks? What if I lose it?”

Noel watches you with growing amusement, leaning one shoulder casually against the edge of the table, “It’s not made of glass.”

“That’s not the point!” You insist, still staring at it nervously. “Why would they give you something like this?”

He lifts the small velvet box again, idly holding it between his fingers.

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you say quickly, which only proves you absolutely are not. You’re still eyeing the necklace like it’s a ticking bomb when Noel suddenly reaches toward you.

Instinctively your hand lifts again to steady the necklace.

And snap.

The box slams shut around your fingers. You jump.

“Jesus!”

Your hand jerks back as you glare at him in shock. For a split second there’s silence.

Then Noel completely loses it.

A sharp laugh escapes him, the kind that breaks through his usual cool composure as he bends forward slightly, shaking his head, “Oh, that was brilliant.” He laughs loudly, face flushing slightly with the force of his sound as his shoulders shake almost viokently.

You stare at him, half offended, half stunned, “You’re unbelievable.”, Your hand darting out to smack at him as he narrowly dodges, body still shaking gently with his laughter.

He’s still laughing under his breath, rubbing a hand across his mouth as he straightens again.

“Should’ve seen your face.”

You shake your head, muttering something under your breath as you glance down at the necklace again, carefully adjusting it. After a moment you look back up at him, “You’re paying if this thing falls off.”

He snorts lightly, “Come on then,” He says, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

You raise an eyebrow, “Where exactly are we going again?”

He slips the jacket on, already heading toward the door.

“It’s a surprise.”

You follow a few steps behind, still touching the necklace nervously.

“If I get mugged, I’m blaming you.”

He glances back over his shoulder, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“If you get mugged,” he says casually, “I’m nicking the necklace back first.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The elevator ride down is quiet.

Not uncomfortable exactly, just filled with the soft mechanical hum of the lift as the doors slide shut behind you. The mirrored walls reflect the two of you back from every angle, and for a moment you’re distracted by the sight of yourself, the dress, the necklace resting perfectly against your collarbone, the faint glow of the lights catching the stones.

Your fingers rise to it again without you even realising. You turn one of the stones gently between your fingertips, still half convinced that if you look away for long enough it’ll vanish and someone will appear demanding it back.

Across from you, Noel notices. Of course he does.

He’s leaning back against the wall with that same casual slouch he seems to carry everywhere, one shoulder resting against the metal, arms loose at his sides. His eyes flick down briefly to your hand hovering over the necklace before drifting back up to your face, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You pretend not to notice.

The lift begins its slow descent, the numbers above the door lighting one by one. After a moment you glance over at him.

“So,” you say lightly, tilting your head, “You gonna tell me where ‘we going?”

“Or do I have to guess?” You tilt your head teasingly, heeled foot coming out to lightly brush under the fabric of his slacks against his ankle, a knowing smile on your face as you attempt at a tease.

Noel doesn’t move much. He just shifts his weight slightly against the wall, expression maddeningly calm, but his eyes betray his absolute delight at keeping you in the dark, “Told you, sweetheart, it’s a surprise.”

You narrow your eyes at him for a second, but there’s no real challenge behind it. You already know he won’t tell you.

With a small shrug you lean back against the wall, crossing your arms loosely as the elevator continues downward. The quiet stretches again, comfortable enough that you find yourself speaking before you’ve really thought about it.

“If I forget to tell you later,” you say casually, eyes still fixed on the glowing numbers above the door, “I had a really good time tonight.”

There’s a small pause.

When you glance back over, Noel is looking at you like you’ve just said something slightly ridiculous, “We haven’t even left the building yet.”

You let out a soft laugh under your breath, “I know that,” You say, pushing yourself lightly off the wall again. “I just meant, y’know, so far.”

His eyebrows lift slightly at that, amusement flickering across his face as he watches you fidget with the necklace again. He steps forwards, big hands brushing against your worrying arms, pulling your hands down into his, the warmth, the callouses, all serving to ground you as he leans in close, cool spearmint breath billowing over your face gently.

“Bit early for a review, isn’t it?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The two of you step out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby together.

Your arm is tucked lightly through Noel’s as you walk, the polished marble floor stretching out beneath your heels. The place is busy tonight, the quiet murmur of conversation, the soft clink of glasses somewhere near the bar, the low music drifting through the open space.

People notice. They noticed earlier in the week too, but this feels different.

Before, the looks had been curious. Judging, maybe. The kind of glances people give when they’re trying to quietly figure out who someone is and why they’re there.

Now the looks linger in a different way.

A couple seated near the lounge bar glance up as you pass, the woman giving you a small approving smile. A man in a dark suit nods politely to Noel as he walks by, clearly recognising him. Near the front desk, one of the hotel staff straightens slightly, offering Noel a professional greeting as you pass.

“Evening, Mr Gallagher.”

Noel acknowledges it with a brief nod, his free hand lifting in a small wave without breaking stride. You try to act like you’re used to it. Like walking through a place like this, dressed like this, with someone like him, is completely normal. You’re a long way from home. And you’re beginning to revel in it, loving the feeling of being taken care of so completely, clinging desperately onto the fairytale you know will end soon.

But you have a feeling neither of you want it to.

Your own free hand smooths unconsciously down the side of your dress, flattening fabric that doesn’t need flattening as you walk.

Next to you, Noel notices. He seems to notice everything, cold blue eyes constantly surveying you in a way that was both intimidating and dizzying.

Then, after a few steps, he leans slightly closer.

“When you’re not fidgeting,” he says under his breath, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond the two of you, “you look very beautiful.”

You blink, caught slightly off guard. Your hand pauses halfway to the necklace, already having been getting ready to adjust it over the smooth expanse of your collarbone, faltering as you register his words.

There’s a small beat of silence as you glance over at him, trying to decide if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.

Noel keeps walking like he’s just made a completely ordinary observation.

Then after a moment, he adds thoughtfully,

“and very tall.”

You stare at him.

The seriousness in his tone lasts exactly half a second before the meaning clicks, and a laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Your head dips slightly as you shake it, still smiling.

“You’re weird,” You mutter, unable to fight the smirk pulling at your lips as you squeeze his arm in yours to relieve some of the excitement bubbling in you.

Noel just shrugs lightly beside you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the two of you continue toward the doors.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The car pulls up outside the venue not long after.

From the outside it doesn’t look particularly grand, no flashing lights, no screaming crowds, no huge glowing sign announcing the night’s entertainment. Just a modest theatre tucked into the street, its warm lights spilling out onto the pavement. The kind of place you might walk straight past if you didn’t know what was inside.

Noel steps out first, nodding briefly to the driver before turning to offer you a hand as you climb out after him. The night air is cooler than you expect, brushing gently across your bare shoulders as you straighten your dress. Immediately, however, soothed by the warmth of his hand resting heavy against the small of your back, chest pressed to your side as he watches you catalogue the unassuming venue looming in front of the two of you.

You glance up at the building again, curious. He’d been so secretive about this all evening that you’d half expected something enormous. But this just seems quiet, hardly grandeur, a crisp packet blows across the floor in the front of it, the streets uncharacteristically empty for California at this time of night.

The two of you start toward the entrance together, the muffled sound of music drifting faintly through the walls as you get closer. The closer you get, the more nervous you suddenly feel.

Your hand slips down to your clutch as you check the time quickly.

“Oh God,” you whisper, your pace quickening slightly. “Are we late?”

Noel doesn’t even look concerned, just waves a hand dismissively, guiding you forward with a gentle pressure at your back.

“Relax.”

“But what if it’s already started?”

“It hasn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m here.”

That apparently settles the matter in his mind.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Inside, the theatre is softly lit, people already filtering into their seats as the quiet murmur of conversation fills the space. The ushers barely glance at your tickets before guiding the two of you further down the aisle, past rows of neatly arranged chairs toward your seats.

You sit down, smoothing your dress beneath you as you glance around.

The place really is small. The stage sits only a short distance away, close enough that you can clearly see everything set up beneath the warm golden lights. And then you notice something.

Your eyes widen slightly as you lean forward., pointing obviously, childlike glimmer casting across your eyes as you exclaim, “There’s a band!”

Noel exhales slowly beside you like you’ve just made the most obvious discovery in human history.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

You shoot him a look, but he’s already leaning back comfortably in his seat, one arm resting casually along the back of the chair. For a moment he watches the stage too, his expression shifting slightly, not annoyed exactly, just thoughtful in a way you haven’t seen much from him yet.

Then he glances over at you, “Y’know, if you love music,” he murmurs, a little quieter now, as his hand slides up across your shoulder, keeping you close to his side, pink lips slightly thinned with age brushing the edge of your ear with a faint tickle of his breath, “you’ll always love it.”

Your brows knit slightly as you listen.

“But if you only learn to appreciate it,” He continues, eyes drifting back toward the stage lights, “It’ll never become part of your soul.”

You study him for a moment after he says it, surprised by the seriousness in his voice.

For someone who spends most of his time being sarcastic, he suddenly sounds very certain.

The lights dim slightly across the theatre, and the room falls quiet. Suddenly, the playfully tense atmosphere that’d been circling the two of you drops, and you see him, truly for the first time. His profile lit up by warm stage lights, hand resting casually where it strokes up and down the top of your bicep, almost as if the action is more comforting to him than you, focused as the band starts playing with an interest only a man who truly loves this art can hold.

You’re suddenly taken with the urge to kiss him.

You settle, instead, for leaning into his side, into his warmth as his hand tightens on your arm, smiling faintly down at you, before his attention gets captured in the performance again.

At first it’s gentle, just a few instruments easing their way into the silence, the sound swelling slowly as it fills the space. You sit back in your seat, head brushing against Noel’s shoulder, hands folded loosely in your lap, watching politely.

You’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to be listening for.

The musicians move with quiet confidence, the notes rising and falling in a way that feels almost second nature to them. For the first minute or two you just observe it, glancing between the stage and the people around you, trying to follow along.

Beside you, Noel has gone completely still.

His posture has shifted slightly, leaning back in his seat with one arm now resting along the backrest, eyes fixed on the stage with a focus that’s different from his usual laid back indifference.

You notice it out of the corner of your eye. And gradually, without really meaning to, you find yourself paying closer attention too.

More instruments join in, the sound layering on top of itself until it fills the entire theatre, vibrating softly through the floor beneath your feet. Something about the rhythm begins to pull at your attention, drawing you in piece by piece.

Without really realising it, you lean a little further into Noel.

The shift is small, almost unconscious, but he notices it anyway. After a moment his hand drifts down from the back of the seat, coming to rest lightly against your thigh.

It’s a casual gesture, warm and steady through the fabric of your dress. You don’t move away.

The music continues to build, the melody swelling into something bigger now. Louder, richer, the instruments rising together in a way that makes the air in the room feel almost electric.

And suddenly something about it hits you. You’re not even sure what exactly. Maybe the way the music lifts and crashes like waves, maybe the sheer force of it filling the room, or maybe it’s just the strange beauty of it all. Whatever it is, it catches you completely off guard.

Your throat tightens slightly. Your eyes sting. You blink quickly, glancing down for a second as if you can just shake it off. It’s ridiculous to get emotional over something like this, especially in a room full of strangers.

But when you look back up at the stage the sound rises again, sweeping through the theatre in one huge, soaring movement. And that’s it. Your eyes water properly this time.

You blink again, trying to hide it, pressing your lips together as you pretend to be very focused on the performance.

Next to you, Noel glances over briefly. He doesn’t say anything, his hand just stays where it is, resting lightly against your leg.

By the time the final notes begin to fade, the entire theatre is silent.

Then the room erupts.

Applause breaks out all around you, people rising slightly in their seats, clapping loudly as the musicians take their bows. You’re already clapping too, harder than you expected to.

The sound echoes through the theatre as you smile toward the stage, clearly moved in a way you hadn’t seen coming at all.

As the applause swells around you, Noel leans slightly closer, voice low enough that only you hear over the clapping.

“Oi, don’t tell me you’re crying over a bloody clarinet solo.”

He smirks, eyes glinting with mischief, hand still resting lightly on your thigh, and adds under his breath, “Although, I do like it when you look like you’ve been properly moved.” Voice teasing, laughing as you swat at his arm, his own hands slipping into applause as you dab at your eyes, poorly attempting to conceal your emotion.

As the lights come up and the crowd starts filing out, someone near the exit, a friendly enough looking usher catches your eye and smiles knowingly, gesturing towards the two of you as he moves to allow you space to leave.

“So, how did you like it?” He asks.

“Like it?” You blink, completely dazed, the words tumbling out before you can even think of a proper way to respond, “It was so good I almost peed my pants.”

The moment leaves a strange echo in the air. Noel freezes mid step, his brow raising in disbelief. For half a second, he looks like he might actually lecture you in that trademark sarcastic way.

Then, just as quickly, he grabs your hand and pulls you along, weaving through the crowd before anyone else can respond, “Right,” He mutters over his shoulder, his voice a mix of amusement and mock horror. “See you later, mate.” He nods at the young man, hardly concealing the true smile on his face as he shakes his head at your antics. You can hear the faintest laugh in his tone, even as he hustles you down the hallway.

“You’re unbelievable,” he adds quietly, shaking his head as you stumble slightly to keep up.

“I know, I know,” You reply, grinning, “but you love it.”

He glances at you sidelong, smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t push it.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Back at the hotel, the city lights glow softly through the half-open blinds. The night feels different now, quieter, warmer, like the world outside has paused just for the two of you. Your heels are kicked off precariously by the door, Noel’s own joining yours in a messy little pile. You’d shimmied off the dress, having stood there in just your underwear as you allowed Noel to precariously extract the necklace from around your neck, the two of you having gotten caught in a mock argument as his hand rests too heavy against the jewellery, dissolving into laughter at your out of proportion reaction

You’re sitting cross legged on the carpet, one of Noel’s shirts draped baggy against your frame, Monopoly spread out between you, while Noel lounges on the edge of the bed with one leg dangling over the side. Empty glasses and a nearly finished bottle of something amber sit on the nightstand, the air carrying a faint scent of whatever he poured.

The game is supposed to be simple, but somehow it’s already devolved into chaos.

“You can’t just mortgage that,” you insist, pointing at one of his properties.

“I bloody well can,” he says, smirking, leaning forward from the bed, sliding a stack of money toward him. “I’m the banker as well as a player, remember?”

“Being the bank doesn’t mean you can cheat,” you argue, laughing as he raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never cheated in Monopoly before,” he teases, leaning back on his hands, tilting his head down at you in amusement.

“Cheating’s one thing. You’re rewriting the rules entirely!”

He snorts, picking up the Chance card pile and rifling through it like he’s searching for some secret advantage. “It’s called strategy. You’re just bad at it.”

“Bad? I own half the board!” You snap, throwing your hands up as you wave one frantically over the mess of multicoloured bills lay next to your thigh sprawled over the carpet, the bills that you’d, admittedly, stolen when Noel had risen to refill his drink.

“No,” he says, shaking his head dramatically as he leans forwards, mock seriousness colouring his features softened by the alcohol and the dim lighting, “You think you own half the board. But you’re missing the bigger picture, sweetheart.”

You snort, shaking your head, and lean forward to snatch a property card from his stack. “Then explain the bigger picture, genius.”

His grin widens, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “The bigger picture is I’m winning, and you’ll be paying rent on Boardwalk by the end of the night.”

You roll your eyes, but the sound of your laughter fills the room before you even realise it, “I already pay rent on Boardwalk, genius”

It’s absurd, this little domestic scene, trading money, arguing over hotels, teasing each other like you’ve done it a thousand times before. And yet, somehow, it feels exactly right. When he slides a hotel onto one of your properties and laughs at your exaggerated groan, you catch yourself smiling, shaking your head.

“You’re impossible,” You mutter.

“And you love it,” he replies, voice low and teasing, reaching over to flick the top of your head lightly with his finger. You grin, leaning back onto your hands, and the two of you continue playing, the city lights and soft music from the minibar radio painting the room in a golden glow.

For the first time in a while, everything outside the hotel, the fame, the noise, the day’s stress all feels miles away.

It’s just you, him, and a ridiculous board game.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Eventually, Noel glances at his watch and lets out a soft sigh, “Why don’t we finish this tomorrow?” he says, voice lazy but tinged with mock disappointment, “I need to get back to the studio early tomorrow”

You look up at him from where you’re sitting on the floor, the scattered Monopoly pieces between you, and say softly, almost hesitantly, “Why don’t you stay here with me?”

For a moment he freezes, just the slightest pause, like he’s weighing the question in that slow, deliberate way he has. Then, almost casually, he tilts his head, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Well,” He murmurs, voice low, “I do practically own the place.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. He smirks, shrugging lightly as he stands from the bed, taking a slow step closer. “But don’t get used to me being soft.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, shaking your head as he sinks down beside you, letting the soft lamplight fall across the two of you. For a quiet moment, the game, the studio, the city outside, none of it matters.

He slides his way down onto the floor next to you, the two of you now staring at the game, at the jumble of mixed coloured bills so mussed in the relentless arguments of property ownership you can hardly tell who’s assets are who’s now, the game seemingly lost its tempo.

But, an idea crosses your mind, turning to grin up at him mischievously. You don’t speak for a moment, just wait as his gaze meets yours after he’d reached back to grab your glasses, handing yours, still half full with amber liquid, to you, blinking as he assesses the twinkle in your eye.

“Y’know,”, You purr softly, the air shifting ever so slightly as you plant your hand on the floor beside his thigh, ducking your head to catch his gaze as he tilts his head to follow your movements, watching the way he bites at the inside of his cheek at the tone of his voice, “I have another game we could play”

It sounds entirely innocent, but the sultry tone of your voice makes him let out a sigh that sounds like it hurts, a soft chuckle rippling from his chest as he leans down closer, large hand coming to brush at the wispy strands of your hair having fallen into your eyes, “And what’s that, sweetheart?”, his tone matches yours.

This should be fun.

You just shrug lightly, smiling, such an innocent expression, coloured sinful by the way you look up at him from beneath your lashes, “You ever sixty-nined before?” You whisper playfully.

He hisses at that, a low grumbled ‘fuck’ spilling from his lips as his jaw tenses, eyes darkening. But there’s no pushback when you rise to your knees, hands creeping their way over onto his shoulders to push him down, kicking one thigh over to straddle his middle, leaning your forearms against his chest, smiling softly. Your eyes flit over to the dregs of his alcohol left, a smirk making its way to your lips as you lean over to grab it.

Noel grunts slightly as your breasts press up against his chest, own head spinning as his eyes flutter shut, hardly registering when you sit back.

“Will you take my shirt off for me?” You pout gently, watching him carefully. He laughs softly, vein tensing in his forehead as he nods his head, just once, brows raised, “Fuckin’ course I will” Warm hands sliding up your naval, tugging his shirt up and off over your head, leaving you in just the delicate blue lace of your panties. His hands linger against your ribs for a moment, licking his lips as he attempts to lean in to press a kiss to the stiffened peaks of your nipples. You just tut softly, hand snaking its way into the back of his hair, tugging him back slightly by the scalp.

And he almost lets out a pained moan at what you do next, brows furrowing as his mouth drops open ever so slightly.

You’ve leant back on him, now seated fully in his lap. The glistening crystal of the glass glinting softly in the faint lamplight as you tilt it, the remnants of the amber liquid rolling in cold golden rivulets down your collarbone, between the dip of your chest, eventually gathering just over the delicate bow placed in the front of your panties.

You watch each other for a minute, his breathing growing slightly huskier at the tension buzzing between the two of you, eyes dark with restraint as he looks up at you, completely devastated. You just smile softly, leaning in to brush a kiss against the throbbing vein on his temple, “Didn’t say it was an easy game, did I Noelly?”

He hesitates, before laughing, slow and soft rumbling purring from the back of his throat, watching you with a cocked brow, “Yeah, yeah, y’re all talk though, aren’t ya?”

But his eyes still glisten with that playful teasing which subverts the dominating tone of his voice, leaning down to lick the stripe of alcohol shimmering down your body, pink muscle warm and wet against your skin, causing you to giggle slightly.

You feel the huff of his own breath against your chest as he laughs, his forehead knocking in the dip between your breasts, “Fuckin’ childish”

He pulls back, hands holding your hips to keep you steady against him as he tilts his head to meet your gaze, both of your profiles illuminated by the warm lighting, “Don’t see you holding up to your promises, though, darlin’”

You smirk, hands coming up to push at his shoulders again, and he lets you, falling gently to the floor as he grins up at you. His hands push and pull at your thighs, the atmosphere low and warm with the sounds of your ragged breaths, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone hurriedly in one of his large hands as you position yourself above his face, feeling the warmth of his breathing coming in and out too fast to conceal his utter arousal at the sight of you hovering over him.

You tut softly when his hands come to slip into the waistband of your panties, shaking your head as you turn, twisting so you can look down at him, smiling softly to yourself at the almost desperate look on your face, “Don’t’cha want some loving first?”

“Daddy?”

It sounds almost innocent, but the second the name slips from your lips he’s groaning again, hand splayed flat now against your stomach tightening over the soft flesh, “Don’t fuckin’ talk like that” He hisses through gritted teeth.

You just chuckle to yourself, shuffling your knees either side of his head. But you don’t sit down yet, just let your back arch slowly, so softly it’s hardly noticeable. But when you lean to grip his hardness through his boxers, you can see him perfectly through the gap in your thighs, neck flushed red, brow slightly sheened with sweat from the pure tension. And you grin, hand slowly moving across his boxers in featherlike motions, enjoying the way his thick hardness strains pitifully against his boxers.

You slip your fingers into the waistband, pulling them down ever so slightly so you can slip the tip into your mouth. He sounds practically broken at the sensation of your warm, wet tongue swirling lightly around his tip flushed pink from pure arousal, the gasps caught in his throat as you sink deeper on him, eyes fluttering shut as you resist the urge to gag bubbling up your throat.

The filthy sounds he’s making almost too intoxicating, you can’t help but pull off with a light pop, humming as he groans in protest watching as he sits himself up on his forearms to glare at you, hair sticking to his forehead ever so slightly, gently greying eyebrows knit together as he looks up at you. You just tilt your head, soft palm wrapping around his dick once more, feeling the way blood pulses harder through the intricate veins popping out on the side of his hardness, “Y’like when I call you that, yeah?” You whisper, sultry, “Like bein’ my daddy, even though you’re falling apart under me like a little fuckin’ bitc-“

But you get cut off, cut off from the way he huffs loudly, “You little fucking tease” The usually collected Mancunian rasp in his voice sounds utterly ruined.

And then he’s flipping you, the entire world spinning on it’s axis at the speed in which he swaps your positions. And he hardly gives you a second to think before he’s thrusting his hips down into your mouth, “That’ll shut you up, yeah?” He says with mock softness, hips rolling slowly down into your mouth. You can hardly breathe, not with the way his dick forces its way down your throat, drool spilling down your chin helplessly as you let him fuck all soft and slow down into your mouth, hands clutching anywhere for something to cling to.

“Poor baby,” He whispers softly, taking in the way you’re struggling to take him, pulling out from your mouth. But he chuckles at the way you seem to whine at the loss of contact, clutching at the backs of his slack clad knees, tutting down at you, “S’ alright darlin’, ‘m right here”

His hands come, uncharacteristically gentle to flip you both once more, letting you lay lazily atop him, your cheek nuzzling against his lap, pressing warm kisses along the edge of his stomach in search for his cock, “Y’already cockdrunk, love?” He chuckles softly, hands sliding up over your ass, thumb hooking in the delicate fabric of your panties to slide them to the side, too impatient from the smell of you alone to take his time pulling them off you. You feel the way he spreads your folds with a low hum, a breathy moan pulled from your lips as his tongue effortlessly finds your clit, one thick finger slowly easing it’s way into your dripping entrance, “N-nah,” You whisper softly, trying to hold in the whine threatening in the back of your throat as he suckles gently on your clit, “S’you”

He chuckles warmly, the vibrations sending tingles through the buzzing bud of nerves, up your spine, “Sure is”

You shake your head, lips finding his dick again as you kiss up the pretty vein on the outside, taking him into your mouth gently, lazily, drunk off of both him and the alcohol that’d lowered your inhibitions.

For a while, it’s lazy, soft, your hips grinding lazily against his face as you ease your way down on his dick, gagging lightly as the tip hits the back of your throat, moving your head up and down. His free hand slides over your ass again, looping around you to pull you back further against his face as he loses himself in the taste, the scent of your cunt dripping into his mouth, flattening his tongue to lick long lazy stripes up your cunt, shaking his head gently to further the stimulation.

You whimper softly as you pull yourself off his dick, resorting to little kitten licks against the throbbing tip, completely losing yourself as you begin to roll your hips against his face, chasing the buzzing sensation of your orgasm already looming over you. It’s not hard, not rushed like the times before may have felt, just playfulness devolving into something much more simpler as he whispers into your folds, “Daddy’s got ‘ya, sweetheart, all mine tonight aren’t ya?” He chuckles against your pussy as you whine, nodding as you slip his tip back into your mouth, allowing his hips to slide up gently to match the languid roll of your hips against his face, each of you chasing your respective orgasms as the tension builds and builds, the knot tightening even further as he slips a second finger into you, twisting them so they’re curling just against that spot you needed him in the most.

Your hand reaches down to wrap around the part of his dick you can’t quite reach, slowly jerking your hand up and down his length. He lets out a shaky breath against your cunt, pulling back ever so slightly, cheek pressing against the inside of your thigh, whispering, slightly slurred, “Keep that up n’ I’m gonna fuckin’ come early like a teenager”

You smile in response, wanting to see him undone. Wanting to see him unravel beneath you. So you speed up your hand, tongue swirling almost desperately against the soft tip of his dick, revelling in the broken sound which escapes his lips, his hips bucking slightly desperately up into your face, dick throbbing harshly under your influence, “F-fuck” He whispers, the sound shaky as his fingers falter, unable to fuck into you further as he gets lost on the feeling of you throating his cock like your life depends on it, “C’mon” You whisper, “C’mon daddy please, w-ah, want your come, need it so fucking bad”

And much to his embarrassment, the desperate tone of your voice causes him to buck his hips almost violently against your face, spilling hot ropes of his release down your throat with a hoarse groan, teeth clenched as he pants softly.

You pull off his dick with a satisfied smile, blinking all slowly down at him with a grin. He chuckles in response, neither of you feeling the need to say anything as his fingers slide further into your walls, curling gently as he resumes the rhythmic roll of his tongue against your poor clit.

And the way you respond so easily, god, he’s a fucking gonner, the sound so intoxicating, he almost can’t take it anymore. None of this is even about his own pleasure anymore, it’s about getting this pretty little creature above him to where you need to be, “Want you to come on my face, darlin’, think y’can do that f’me?”

You let out a breathy whimper, allowing the pressure of his hand against your stomach to pull you to sit up, the new angle of his hot tongue flicking at your folds making your head spin, his hand sliding out of your cunt to wrap around your hips, forcing you to fuck your hips against his face.

It doesn’t take long before you’re coming too, a broken whimper fluttering from your lips, walls clenching around his tongue as you ride your orgasm out on his face, just using him for your own pleasure.

Nobody’s ever let you do that before.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Eventually, you’re asleep, curled into the sheets, your throat sore but your body warm and still. The room smells faintly of whisky and smoke, the remnants of a night that somehow stretched too long and ended too soft. The Monopoly board lies on the floor, half-forgotten pieces glinting in the lamplight, a monument to laughter and dares that came before this.

He sits in the chair by the wall, knees drawn up, hands loosely clasped, staring without really seeing. His eyes trace the curve of your shoulder, the rise of your chest with each breath, memorizing the small, perfect shapes you make in sleep. There’s a tightness in his chest, something heavy and tender he can’t name, a mix of awe, longing, and the quiet ache of knowing he’s lost in you in ways words can’t touch.

In ways he won’t allow him to admit. You’re just a prostitute, he needs to remind himself of that before this does truly get messy.

Sometimes he shifts, the wood creaking under him, but he doesn’t wake you. He just watches, letting the silence stretch, letting the night hold you both in a quiet orbit. He thinks about how reckless you were tonight, how reckless he was too, and how it all feels like a song he can’t get out of his head, sweet, messy, and just a little dangerous.

Outside, the city hums with indifferent light and sound, but in here, there’s only him, you, and the scattered fragments of the night. And for a long while, that’s enough.

❥. to be continued

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★ 1990.

the pool was chaos in the best way. not like you can expect any less from a the band and the roadies that have worked their arses off the past months and finally can get some time to relax.

you’re not sure whose idea it was, but everyone was immediately game for staying at a country house for a couple of days. and you thanked god that people were really focused on really relishing the opportunity to have fun. doing as many drugs and drinking as much alcohol they could before reality crept back in.

because it kept them distracted. oblivious to what’s been happening since amsterdam.

not like it’s a top secret or that people would loose their minds over it. it was just something you two agreed on keeping it just to yourselves. made things less complicated and, quite frankly, much more exciting.

you and noel were half-submerged at the far end, arms resting on the edge, shoulders just breaking the surface. the water was cool and the side of his body was touching yours. deliberate but casual enough to look accidental. he leaned closer to your ear, his voice low, almost lost under the noise. “everyone’s pissed”

you hummed in agreement, eyes closing while your chin rested on your arms over the pool’s edge. lips curling up and body already buzzing from just feeling his eyes on you. could’ve been the weed, too.

his laugh was quiet, breath warm against your ear and your neck. “dunno how you do it”

you turned your head just slightly, meeting his eyes and yours darting down to his lips because you simply couldn’t help it. “do what?”

he couldn’t help but smirk at the look on your face, licking his lips and leaning closer to your ear again: “stand there like that” he said, voice dropped further. “getting hard just looking at you”

a smile grew on your lips, slow and undeniably turned on. “you’re just easy, noel”

that earned you a soft laugh from him, shaking his head. “fuck off”. you rested your head on the pool, just so you could look at him: eyes red from the chlorine or the weed, hair wet, his nose slightly sunburnt already. watching the way he kept looking at you, too. and his eyes dipped again, slow and shameless. “smug little shit, aren’t you? that look on your face. like you don’t even have to try”

you laughed quietly and raised a brow. “oh yeah?”

“yeah” he said. “prettiest one here by a mile. drives me fucking mad”, his knee nudging your leg under the water, staying there. you could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding himself too still.

you licked your lips, smiling as you got closer to his ear and whispering: “that’s because you don’t know what i’m thinking right now”

he groaned instantly, dropping his face into his crossed arms on the pool edge and swearing under his breath. his shoulders tight. “don’t” he said, muffled.

you smiled, not letting his reaction stop you: “been thinking about it all day”

he inhaled sharply, turning and resting his cheek on his arms, facing you. “yeah?” he whispered back. and you nodded, slowly. eyes darting to his lips again.

“mhm… fucking desperate for you”, you confessed.

he exhaled sharply, a sound halfway between a laugh and something else. “got it yesterday, you fucking nympho”

you laughed and bit down a smile. “so? can’t help it…”, you said lightly. then, glanced over your shoulder at everyone else. turning back to him at the realization they didn’t give a fuck regarding anything else other than a very heated and drunk discussion over joy division. so, you whispered to him again: “want your cock again, noel… inside me. in my mouth… anywhere”

he lifted his eyebrows slowly, mouth tugging into that familiar crooked grin. teasing:

“anywhere?”

you laughed quietly, splashing a bit of water at him with your hand, not enough to draw attention, just enough to make a point. “bastard”

he hummed, smug and soft. “you like it, you minx”. you laughed, shrugging and closing your eyes. because he’s not wrong. and he smiled back, nudging his ching towards you and saying quietly: “say the word and i’m gone, yeah?”

you let out a soft huff, tipping your head back and letting out a long soft exhale.

he watched, smirking because he knew what was about to come. curious to see what was going to be the excuse this time.

then you stretched, slow and lazy. “gonna take a shower” you said lightly, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “chlorine’s starting to make my arms itch”

a few people groaned. someone splashed water your way. and you just laughed, climbing out and bending over just a bit more than necessary to grab your towel. making sure to give him one last look just to see the look on his face: fighting back a smirk and lightly shaking his head at your cheekiness.

a couple minutes later – enough to not raise suspicions and let the bulge in his pants return to something closer to normal –noel sighed loudly, rolling his shoulders. “i’m knackered” he announced, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “might lie down for a bit”

── .✦

the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, but you didn’t lock it. you peeled your bikini off already inside the shower, water streaming down and hitting your skin that has been warmed up by the sun the whole day.

the door creaked open a minute later when you were about to grab the shampoo.

then it locked.

“starting without me, hm?”

you smiled, turned your head slightly so you could look at him. smiling wider when you watched him fumble with his wet trousers, licking your lips and shrugging like the sight of his already hard cock wasn’t what you wanted to see since the moment you woke up. “wasn’t gonna wait around” you teased.

he let out a soft huff, a quiet and taunting “yeah?” coming out of him the same time his hands found your hips, making you smile even wider when he pressed your front against the wall. hands grabbing your sides and dragging down to your ass before giving it a hard squeeze. he leaned down in your ear, his hand finding his cock and guiding it to your folds the moment you arched towards him. unspoken, already familiar. and whispered: “look fucking unreal like this”

you bit down a smile and tilted your head back, eyes looking for his. humming as your hips moved against him, tipping your toes and doing an effort to make him cut off the teasing. gasping softly just like him when his tip slid in your entrance, almost sucking him right in.

he swore under his breath, smiling despite himself, pushing in and pulling back just to taunt you. his hand sliding up your back and his fingers tangling inside your hair, pulling your head back and whispering in your ear: “cheeky”. then, leaving a sharp slap on your ass that got a startled and unexpected laugh out of you.

“noel! people could hear”, you whispered-yelled, scolding him – even though you were not bothered at all. he smirked, eyebrows raising softly while his hand that was in your hair slid towards your mouth, covering it while his other one lined himself up with you again. this time, pushing himself all the way in with a low groan coming out of him and a moan out of you that was muffled by his hand.

“then you better stay quiet, hm?”

your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping back allowing him to look down at your face as he started moving his hips. deep, steady thrusts. his palm still firm against your mouth allowing you not to hold back as much as you probably needed to with the moaning. he didn’t exactly hold back either, leaning down to your ear and letting out quiet and raspy moans just for you as his cock dragged out and slammed back in. his other hand steady on your hip and keeping you arched to him – fingers twitching on the grip the moment he looked down at where you two were connected.

his mouth fell agape at the sight of his hips hitting your ass over and over. the way your body moved as a result of his cock sliding in and out, the sight of the water drops glistening on your skin making the faint tan lines look even sexier getting him to speed up.

his hand twitched on your face, pressing in even harder and somehow adding even more to the feeling. you moaned his name against his palm, muffled but going straight to his cock. he brought his lips closer to your cheek, leaving a sloppy kiss there before he slurred out while not letting up on the thrusts, perfectly paced and perfectly deep: “best fucking pussy i’ve ever had, love. god. so tight. always so fucking tight, so fucking wet”

your eyes find his. both still slightly red and droopy, your eyebrows furrowing and your hand searching for his wrist and wrapping around it, making his palm move away just a bit so you could get it out. “y-yeah?…” – still struggling to keep your moans in. but it wasn’t that big of a problem with the water streaming down to disguise it.

he hummed and leaned in, kissing your lips and immediately sliding his tongue inside. you kissed him back, moaning inside his mouth and tongues relaxed, lazy and sloppy in the most delicious way. you murmured against his lips, “f-for you…”

he let out a low moan, hips speeding up just slightly while his hand slid to your torso, sliding over your lower belly and trailing down slowly, almost unplanned. “yeah? lucky me then, hm? could spend hours fucking you like this. watching you take me”

you moaned, lips parting and panting softly while keeping the eye contact. he kissed you again, not minding you broke it when his fingers found your clit, rubbing sloppy circles on it that absolutely got the job done. his thrusts getting deeper, just a bit sloppier from overwhelment and faster simply because he couldn’t help it. “watchin’ you squirm around it, fuckin’ moaning f’me. look so pretty. so fucking good when you’re cumming ‘round it, love”

you head tipped back, your grip on his wrist tightening as you whispered in between moans, “g-gonna… fuck, noel… d-don’t stop…”

he wouldn’t dare to stop, keeping up with the pace of his thrusts and his fingers rubbing you and whispering right back, trying to keep quiet – even though the wet skin slapping sounds weren’t exactly discreet. “yeah? want it? go on, cum on it. squeeze me fucking tight. yeah, just like that”

you felt it wash through you, the tension snapping all at once. you desperately grabbed his wrist and guided his hand back to your mouth again, his palm pressing in and muffling your moans while your fingers dug into him, a broken moan leaving you and teeth catching his skin to stay quiet.

and he followed right after, letting out a low groan pressed into your hair and pulling out, stroking his cock and spilling hot spurs of his cum all over your lower back and your ass. his vision was hazy but he still pulled away just a bit so he could watch the pretty mess being made over your skin.

your head rested on the cold tile wall as you panted, arching yourself to him like it was second nature. you felt his free hand wrap around your waist, his hands sliding up your wet skin until they found your tits, giving them a soft squeeze – more out of comfort than anything. grounding himself as he panted against your hair.

“alright?”, he asked softly, his hand going up to the side of your face and caressing it while making you face him. you let out a soft huff of a laughter at the gentleness, and nodded. he smiled back, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. “right, then”

“is it too messy?”, you asked, already laughing. and only then he pulled his gaze away from your face, looking at the traces of him he left behind over your wet skin, and he let out a short snort and nodded.

“a bit, but…” – he guided his fingers there, picking up some of his cum and smearing on his fingers before guiding it towards your mouth – “s’okay, hm?”

your lips curled up, biting down a tiny smirk before slowly darting your tongue out while looking at him. his fingers slid inside your mouth, a smirk growing on his lips as he watched you suck them softly. “good girl”, he said quietly, leaning in and replacing his fingers with his tongue inside your mouth.

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𝜗𝜚July 4th, 2017

You’d almost laughed when you’d awoken that morning to Noel dressing in a shirt that was just a little crisper than the others, in jeans he’d clearly made a (poor) attempt to iron, turning to you saying you were going “To the races”

“You? Taking the likes of me to go and watch horse racing?”

You’d smirked at him from where you were tangled up in the sheets, but he’d just shot you an incredulous look, deftly buttoning the top button of his shirt with practised ease, a smooth wink sent your way.

You didn’t believe it, but here you were.

Santa Anita park was absolutely beautiful, you could see that as soon as Noel’s car pulled up along the lush green grass. The sunlight beat down on the scene, dappled in the shadow of overhanging trees, people who, quite frankly, were worlds different from both you and Noel sat around chatting about everything and nothing. The air was crisp, tinged with the smell of horses you’d grown up around, carrying the murmurs of the higher society. You’d never been to anything like this.

And it was obvious.

You hesitate in the car before immediately getting out, eyes darting between the people idling past in large groups, their tone, outfits, and the grace they carried themselves with all screamed wealth. You feel vulnerable, exposed, dressed in some pretty little polka dot dress that you would’ve never even dreamed about owning a few days prior, miles out of your comfort zone.

Noel’s warm voice eventually coaxes you out of the car, yet it’s not without fuss. You lean yourself against the cool metal, smoothing down the ride-wrinkled skirts of the little dress, hands fussing at your hair as you pop your lips anxiously, the cold steel of the car working to ground you, yet anxiety swirled in your gut all the same. It made you uncomfortable to be feeling this anxious, I mean, this was just work, right?

And it doesn’t help that Noel’s stood in front of you, hands shoved in his pockets, sunglasses hiding his eyes yet not the smug grin plastered lazily across his face as he watches you fuss.

“What if someone recognises me? I can’t exactly afford to have my cover blown” You joke anxiously, but your voice is slightly shaky along with the stuttering of your breathing. And Noel just looks at you like the idea is entirely ridiculous, “Recognise you from where?”

You gesture awkwardly, limbs flailing slightly as you try to reach for conclusions, “Hollywood Boulevard?” Yiu say, sticking your neck out like the answer’s obvious. Noel just snorts slightly, shaking his head with a fond smile plastered on his features, “People at shit like this don’t spend their Saturdays walking down the Boulevard, darlin’”

You shoot him a look, looking down as you attempt to smooth down the flowy skirt with shaking hands, “You did” You mutter quietly.

Noel takes a moment to survey your anxious fretting, gently reaching forward to take your hands. The action grounds you more than you’d like it to, relaxing a little as you force your gaze to meet his, concealed by the dark lens of the shades, “Oi, quit it” His voice is softer, uncharacteristically soft, “You look great”

You sigh, unconvinced. And he just smirks slightly in response, a glance cast back to where the people are mingling, hardly even looking your way twice, “Seriously,” He begins, “You look better than half the women in there, and they paid someone to make them look like that”

That eventually pulls a laugh from you, the sun suddenly feeling warmer on your back as you sigh gently, squeezing his hands slightly. He squeezes right back, the action more comforting than anything, calloused hands sliding over your exposed arms, straightening your shoulders.

“Right, don’t fidget”

“Remember to smile”

He offers you a grin, the action so infectious you can’t help but smile softly in return, focused just on him in this whirlwind. His thumb comes up to press lightly in the dimple formed on your cheek, “See? Beautiful”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, just hooks your arm, pulling you towards the chaos.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The atmosphere inside the racing club screams old money. Glimmering champagne flutes resting on every surface, the men in suits, the woman in hats. Betting slips being used as fans, a sight you never quite thought you’d see.

It’s clear Noel is his own little celebrity amongst these people, many of them greeting him casually, handshakes, back slaps, nods, and he just navigates through it all with carefully practised ease, hand squeezing yours every few moments when someone introduces themselves, your head held high in false confidence as you answer.

You’ve shook more hands in these past 15 minutes than your entire life, forcing you to act completely composed through the overwhelm.

You let out a sigh of relief as he guides you towards the railing with a warm hand on the small of your back, watching in silence for a moment as horses gallop alongside their jockeys, warming up for a sport that you couldn’t explain even if you tried, “Well, this is nice” You murmur playfully, watching as jockeys ride their horses up and down, so monotonous you could almost yawn.

He laughs, the sound low and smooth as he rests his forearms against the cool metal, pursing his lips as he nods, “It’s total fucking shite”

You laugh in return, the playful banter serving as your own little bubble. And for a moment, it doesn’t matter that you’re a complete outsider here, it just matters that you’re here. With Noel. Your somewhat employer. Although every day you spend with him, the lines get more blurred. But that’s a question you don’t really want to ask yourself right now.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Noel’s briefly intercepted by a man in a suit some ten minutes later, leaving you alone, trying to sip on champagne like it’s a completely normal activity. Champagne. The one drink you couldn’t understand why people drink willingly, “Stuff’s like carbonated pee” You mutter to yourself, setting the crystal flute down with a clumsiness that screams you don’t belong. Although, you can’t bring yourself to care, the California sun beating down on your face is nice. It’s peaceful. Until the beautiful warmth of the sun gets blocked, two women dressed in clothes which make them look utterly ridiculous, suits disguised as dresses, is all you can really think as they approach.

They smile their twin smiles which hide something much more sinister behind them, as if sizing you up. Yet you just watch on uninterested as they flap about around you, introducing themselves. Total drivel.

But the one on the right, the one clad in an obscene purple number says something that piques your interest, “So you’re Noel’s flavour of the month then?”

Your eyes narrow gently, standing up straighter. You’d been doing your best poker face, sucking every little bit of shit you’d received since starting this contract with Noel, but you weren’t one to take disrespect, “I’m sorry?” You mutter gently. The women just seem to laugh, exchanging a knowing glance.

“Well we were just saying, Noel’s quite the catch”

The other one laughs, placing a claw like hand against the others forearm, laughing as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard, “All the women are trying to land him, you know, you should consider yourself very lucky indeed”

Her tone carries something like awe. But, you’ve tunes out the pleasant background noise, the sound of horses huffing, the murmuring chatter of the others in the club drowned out into simple muffle as you push yourself off the railing, a shrug, a glance to see if Noel’s listening. He’s not.

“I’m not trying to land him,” You fire back, cool, unapologetic, “I’m just using him for sex” You mutter, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You smile, woman number one’s face totally draining of colour, mouth hanging open as she gapes like a fish, woman number 2 having the total opposite reaction, mouth snapping shut like you’d just slapped her, face colouring a shade you could only describe as beet red. You laugh ever so slightly, deftly raising the little champagne flute, downing the bubbling golden liquid, extending it towards one of the women. She took it. You smile, you’ve still got it.

“It was nice meeting you ladies” You call over your shoulder as you begin to pad back over to where Noel’s standing, leaving the woman in the long grass where they’re trying not to look at each other for shame.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The day seems to drag on impossibly slowly, Noel flitting from person to person as you trail behind him dutifully, laughing as someone cracks a joke which is the total opposite of funny, fanning yourself politely when the glaring sun settles itself directly above you, eventually letting Noel pull you away so it’s just the two of you, watching as horses bolt up and down the field. Nobody’s even watching, you can’t help but notice, too captivated in their own little worlds as you and Noel sneak off.

“Tell me something” You say softly, hip leant against the railing. He just cocks a brow, tilting his head to look at you, “What?”

“Why are we here?”

He looks down at you like you’ve just grown two heads, arms spreading towards the racetrack, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Business” He says lightly, laughing when you pull a face twisted half in confusion, half in exasperation as he leans his forearms back down against the railing.

“Not a lot of music going on” You mutter, eyes still darting around the surrounding elite.

He just laughs, “It’s horse racing”

And he just laughs even harder when you stomp on his foot with the back of your heel, nudging you slightly with his elbow as you shake your head, turning away to conceal the smile pulling at your lips.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You let Noel, eventually, drag you over to a balding, stout man in a suit, watching with a twisted expression as he seems to be caught in an argument with a woman who looks far too good to be in his league, pudgy hand dabbing at his shimmering forehead with what looks to be what once was his pocket square.

You eventually learn, through Noel’s casual whisper in your ear, that this is his lawyer. The one that Noel has actually been complaining non stop about. The secret that the two of you hold causes you to smile, quickly schooling your expression as the little man spares you a second of his attentions, extending a sweating hand towards you.

You accept graciously, yet end up pulling away when he murmurs, albeit a little distractedly, “Always a pleasure meeting one of Noel’s girls”

It seems that today, everybody is hell bent on sizing you up, figuring out your true intentions. It makes you miss home in a way you never thought you could, life was much easier when days consisted of sleeping off a drug haze, colouring in your cracked leather boots with a sharpie to go and repeat your nightly routine all over again, missing the rhythm of it all. You had no idea what to expect in Noel’s society.

Eventually, the man slinks off behind the woman, still gesturing wildly as he complains endlessly about something, leaving you and Noel alone.

The sun feels a little less intense now. The low murmur of the music combining almost liquidly with the conversations of those around you, the gentle galloping of hooves rhythmic, comforting.

You turn to Noel after a minute of comforting silence, watching him as he scrolls mindlessly on his phone, a smirk tugging at your lips as he scoffs at a message, shoving his phone back in his pocket, allowing his blue gaze, shimmering in the early afternoon light, the eyes you’d usually only seen cast in the soft light of the hotel suddenly looking a lot more intense as your eyes lock on each other’s.

You gesture lightly to the others after a while, clearly sensing this isn’t noel’s usual crowd, “These are your friends?” You ask, brow cocking softly as you tilt your head teasingly, a hand coming to shelter your eyes from the soft sunlight.

“These are…” He trails off for a moment, surveying the way a gaggle of women throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, eyes darting back to you as you raise your brows, leaning in with a hint of something that shows you to be waiting on his words, “These are the people I spend time with”

He doesn’t sound exactly sure of the statement himself, a smile pulling at his own lips as he leans back against the railing, looking down on you with an expression almost fond. You let his words hang in the air for a moment, eventually shifting yourself so you’re stood a little closer, “Well no wonder you came looking for me then”

The atmosphere seems to shift around the two of you, a smile making its way to his lips as he shrugs once more, turning back to look at the races with a smug look dancing across his features, the sun catching as he tugs his sunglasses back onto his hooked nose, quiet in a way that doesn’t exactly tell you you’re right, but doesn’t exactly deny it either.

You let a smile wander back onto your face. You’ve noticed you started smiling a lot more ever since meeting Noe. Maybe this all doesn’t need to be so difficult.

And as you settle back against the railing, matching his stance with forearms leant against the cool metal of the railing separating you and the frantic rush of horses just metres away, he lets his hip bump against yours playfully. You don’t look at him, don’t need to. Just let yourselves stand in the comfortable silence you’re slowly growing to find peace in.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Noel stands solitary when you eventually slink off to the bar, searching for the promise of something a little stronger to help get you through this never ending day, standing by himself for a blissful moment, finding peace in himself.

A man in a suit brushes past him, clapping a shaky hand down on Norl’s shoulder, drink sloshing ever so slightly in his hand, clearly having gotten a little too lenient with the open bar, a lazy smirk tugging as his lips as he leans in close,

“She’s nice Noel”

“Where did you find her?”

The man’s tone is teasing, the implication hardly hidden behind his words. Noel looks over at you, leant against the bar, chatting all friendly with the girl shaking something in a smooth metal tumbler, smiling ever so slightly to himself as he watches you laugh your ridiculous laugh, shrugging as he turns to look back up at the man, “She found me, didn’t she?”

That earns him a laugh, his face calm as he turns to watch the horses once more time, brushing off questioning with practised ease that neither confirms the fact you’re a prostitute, but doesn’t deny it either.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The day passes just like this. Drinks swapped out from your hands, a new fruity sensation hitting your tongue as you allow yourself to relax, chatting with people far more loosely now. Noel finds you quickly again each time. Standing by as you come into your own, hand either finding it’s way to your shoulders, the small of your back, your hand. He seems strangely unwilling to let you wander off alone.

You watch the races together, quickly learning the ‘ruled’ of the sport, which seem to be loose within themselves. Watching carefully as the horses muscles ripple, laughing together as you hear some stupid comment ring from above the noise reduces to a murmur in the background, walking through the lush green grass as he points out something ridiculous in the distance.

It’s nice, you find yourself thinking. Actually enjoying yourself for the first time in a while, the sun on your face, Noel’s low husk whispering in your ears, cracking jokes which seem like they’re just there to make you laugh, his hand tightening evr so slightly when you quip back with that same witty banter you always catch yourselves falling into.

You could get used to this.

The jockeys eventually make their way off the tracks, immediately stormed by everyone giving congratulations, despite the fact you had no idea who was who, and who even got a score on. You watch the way people flap about, waving betting slips like it was them themselves that won the races, carefully surveying the crowd scrambling like headless chickens.

All of a sudden, a very familiar pair of eyes meet yours. You would recognise that face anywhere, you just didn’t expect it to be here. A classmate, one from your old life, when things were simpler and you weren’t trapped in this ever present uncertainty, a smile breaking across your face as the man raises a hand in a wave, clearly recognising you right back.

“Ill be back” You say to Noel, already pulling away as your friend begins making his way over, unfortunately intercepted by a group of middle aged woman gushing over him like he’s something special. It was weird to see someone of the same social standing as you once upon a time, to be wrapped up in all of this drama too. It provided you with an unexpected sense of ease, twisting your head to look at Noel still hanging onto your hand.

But Noel just shrugs lightly, half caught in a conversation as he pats your backside absentmindedly letting you rush off to your friend, a man who greets you with a big smile and a hug that signifies that you may actually belong here.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You walk and talk, catching up on any life events, the conversation almost as easy as breathing as you let him lead you to a horse currently grazing in the long grass, your hand coming to stroke the gentle beasts strong neck, laughing at something your friend says.

You cast your eyes back to Noel, almost doing a double take as you watch him stood there, arms crossed as if he’s waiting for you. But, the smile on his face, and the gentle expression in his eyes are so soft that all you can do is smile, turning back to your friend, hand still stroking absently against the horses nec not even noticing as Noel’s lawyer sidles up beside him, “I should probably get back, Noel’s waiting for me”

A comforting hand rests on yours against the horse, the action entirely innocent, “Stay a little bit, missed your face, y’know?”

It seems entirely innocent to you, but the lawyer apparently begs to differ, watching you with a prejudiced scrutiny in his eyes, narrowing them as he takes his position, almost as a guard, next to Noel.

The two men stand in silence for a moment, before the lawyer leans in, “So… she in work?” He asks lightly, maintaining Noel’s line of sight as the man shuffles on his feet, tearing his gaze away from you to settle back on his lawyer.

Noel frowns, suddenly a little stumped as his gaze flitters between the man stood expectantly in front of him, and you currently fussing over a horse like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen one, becoming slightly distracted as he watches the way the sunlight ripples off the soft wave of your hair.

“She’s in sales” Noel manages, slightly blunt as he drags his gaze back to his lawyer, taking in the way he’s sweating almost profusely in the Californian heat.

“What does she sell?” The man narrows his eyes as if accusing. The event is technically specifically for the musical elite, many familiar faces dotted around the track. This Is just the type of shit Californian musicians tens to get up to, Noel rationalises, but he can see the way his lawyer is gawping at him almost baffled, “Women like that appear out of nowhere, take your money and move on to the next”

Noel wonders for a moment if his lawyer has sussed out your actual profession, but then the sweaty little man leans in further, almost conspiratory, “What id she’s trying to get information-“

“Phil-“ But the little man keeps rambling, conspiring, “Production deals, contracts…”

Noel cuts him off with a glare that seems in a way a punctuation, cutting the man off with a flat,

“Listen”

A beat.

“She’s not a- not a spy” His tone is almost amused as he sighs gently, eyes darting around the field, taking in the way you’re too distracted to even have noticed the situation, the other people too concerned with making their own good appearances to catch onto the husked whispers. Noel just sighs gently, pinching the bridge of his nose, “She’s a hooker”

And he thinks that that’s it, no more questioning, he’s gotten off easy with it, allowing another to be in on your little secret wouldn’t even get back to you, right?

Wrong.

Because when you finally manage to drag yourself away from your friend, with a hug and a happy smile resting on your face, Phil intercepts you before you reach Noel, a jolly smile on his face, “Already picking out your next client, I see?”

Your expression darkens, hardly even giving the comment any thought as your eyes settle back on Noel, who’s chatting obliviously to a couple of music execs not even ten metres away, a wounded feeling piercing your chest as you sigh.

Turns out the fairytale may not be real after all.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It’s dark by the time you and Noel make it back to your hotel you’ve been lovingly referring to as home for the past couple of days. You’d hardly said a word to him since you left the races, Noel had initially chalked it up to you being tired from all the relentless socialising. But the tense set of your jaw on the car ride back, the way you’d angled yourself away from him, not giving into his playful banter on the way, had made him sit back in his seat, the realisation finally dawning on him.

The hotel room looks nothing like the pristine environment it had been at the start of the week. Clothes strewn on the floor, allowing it to hold that loved in look, the smell of smoke and sex still clinging to the walls, circulated by the cool breath of air trailing in from the open balcony doors, a bottle of whiskey set opened on the chest of drawers. But tonight it feels cold, less like the safe haven you’d found in it.

You waste no time as he finally lets you in, barging past him as you shove your heels off by the door.

He blinks in surprise, thick brows furrowing as he lingers in the entryway, “You alright?” He asks, brow cocking itself as he watches the way you huff almost dramatically, busying yourself by fixing your makeup in the ornate mirror hung above the desk, “Fine”

He doesn’t buy it.

“Well, I’ve been given ‘fine’ since we left, can I have another word please?”

That makes you bristle, filled with restless energy, anger bubbling just beneath the surface as you tug on the bow that’d been cinching your waist in, hands coming up to rid the stupidly expensive earrings he’d bought in order for you to truly ‘look the part’, storming through to the bedroom as you call back, “Asshole, that’s another word”

Noel stands there, confusion written across his features the sound of you carelessly letting the earrings clatter down against the cool porcelain of the sink, staying stationary as you storm back out, dress strap hanging off one shoulder just adding to the growing tornado of your fury, hands on your hips as you snap, “Why’d you make me get all dressed up?”

He blinks like the answer’s obvious, gesturing with one hand, “It was appropriate”

“Appropriate?” You laugh like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’d heard in your entire life, hands coming to cross almost insecurely across your chest, heart clenching with the weight of embarrassment it’d been holding since that stupid lawyer decided to run his big mouth, “Hardly appropriate if you’re going to tell everyone I’m a hooker”

Noel advances forwards, face contorting into a frown as you step back yourself at the action, lifting his chin slightly in his own defiance, “Look, I’m not happy with Phil saying that, you think I’m daft enough to tell him that if I knew he was gonna turn around and throw it in your face?”

But you’re not having any of it, nodding like it’s all just so convenient as you pace, glaring at him in an expression that matches your hurt, “So, what, you think you’re my pimp now?”

“Think you can just pass me around all your friends?”

Your abrasiveness causes Noel to bristle himself, stepping towards you slightly as he snaps back, “Well, you are a hooker, sweetheart, don’t know who you think you’re kidding really”

And with that you scoff loudly, the anger bubbling over as you storm back into the room, throwing your possessions into a corner as you explode, “You don’t own me, you know? Don’t know why you think you can just fuck around with my” You let your hand jab against your chest, the action trying to convey an emotion you’re not used to feeling. You’ve been mad with clients, sure, over trivial things such as underpaying you by ten dollars. This is different, this is something you don’t feel you can express properly, you’re genuinely hurt. “MY feelings, going around spreading MY business”

You throw your purse into the pile in the corner, the situation escalating far too much for Noel to keep up as he stalks in after you, attempting, quire poorly, to diffuse the situation, “Look, I’m not gonna sit here arguing with you for the next few days-“

You laugh loudly at that, the sound frantic where it bubbles from the back of your throat, “God, I’m sorry I ever met you”

“I’m sorry I ever got in your fucking car”

Then you pause for a second, your breath suddenly hard to catch, “Nobody has ever made me feel as cheap as you did today”

Noel stops the argument brewing inside his mind, no longer focused on the need to defend himself, just registering the genuine hurt in your voice as you shove everything into the bags still left from your little shopping trip, watching as your hand comes back up to brush at your eyes, “Darlin’…” He begins, but you cut him off, turning back to him with an outstretched hand, “I want my money, I’m outta here”

And Noel just stands there for a moment, brows knit together, not in fury anymore. But in hopelessness, arm extended like he wanted to reach out and grab you.

But he doesn’t.

The leather chair groans slightly as he settles his weight into it, calloused hands deftly flipping open the wallet, the little black square slightly weathered with use totally unassuming. But it’s all you can focus on right now, shifting your weight as you turn to look up at the glistening chandeliers up above, the causal display of wealth no longer fascinating to you, just serving now as a cruel reminder that this isn’t actually somewhere where you could fit in. You’d always just be this, a hooker. A rent a girl, a lowlife. And that’s exactly how he’d made you feel today, blinking away the slightly fracturing in your eyes, the warm light bouncing off the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, sniffling as quietly as possible as you cross your arms.

The money lands on the table with a heavy thud, catching you attention as your head snaps towards it, expecting to see Noel sat there, waiting. But he’s not. All you see is his retreating form heading back into the bedroom alone. But the vision of him sat looking at you with that upset restrain burns in the back of your mind as you collect your things, hauling them along with you.

Leaving the money on the table.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You’re stood with your head down, hair hanging around you as a form of curtain, guarding you from the unexpected vulnerability coursing through your veins, looking down at the glittering marble of the elevator floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the entire world.

But then, the rushed thudding of footsteps catches your attention.

And the hand with the familiar guitar callouses, the glimmering ruby ring shoots out, stopping the doors just before they close around you for good.

Noel. Stood there with an expression so desperate it almost hurts to look at. Gone is the middle aged man who usually looks so confident in himself, instead now, he looks almost normal in this soft lighting, looking so apologetic.

And he does apologise this time, holding the elevator doors open with one hand caught on the glimmering gold glass, his voice soft, not that usual low purr he usually speaks to you with.

“I wasn’t prepared for people asking questions about us”

“It was stupid”

“But, I didn’t mean it darlin’, just wasn’t thinking, honest”

He watches you for a moment, tongue coming to lick at his lips as he takes in you, you and the surrounding bags which essentially make up your entire possessions, blue eyes softening as they land on your face, “Please stay”

You inhale a sharp take of breath, trying to ignore the way your body seems to want to gravitate towards him, ignoring the way your lower lip wobbles ever so slightly. Your voice sounds wrecked when you finally muster up the courage to speak, “Why?”

He hesitates for a moment, as if he doesn’t really know himself how to put into words the need to keep seeing you, the need to keep you as his, “I saw you talking to that bloke, at the races” He says it so softly.

You don’t understand his point, heel clicking ever so slightly against the polished floor of the elevator as you adjust yourself, shifting the bags from one hand to the other, brows furrowed, “What’s that got to do with anything?” You mutter quietly. Yet you can’t tear your gaze away from his face, still so captivated with him through the hurt, the anger, the upset.

He laughs slightly awkwardly at that, scrubbing a hand down his face as he exhales a rough sigh, “I didn’t like it” He admits quietly.

And to most, that wouldn’t make much sense. But to you, it means something much more heavy. The first quiet admission that he knows this is going deeper than just a contract, the jealous from he’s exposing something much more different than meets the eye. It’s true, raw emotion.

And something behind that makes you sigh gently, allowing him to duck forwards, hand brushing ever so slightly against yours as he takes the bag from you, waiting as you step from the elevator, hand finding his bicep.

You’re slowly beginning to realise, you were never going to leave.

You couldn’t.

You’re in far too deep now.

And that terrifies you. The both of you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

But that’s how you find yourself here, the two of you stripped completely naked. It’s more vulnerable than the other times you’d fallen into bed together, his hand wedged gently between your thighs as he curls his fingers against the soft spot inside of you, lips kissing a slow trail down your neck as you keen softly, hand flying to grab at his wrist.

He chuckles gently against your neck, the hot muscle of his tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe up the column of your skin, nipping slightly at your earlobe as you whimper gently, tugging on his hand needily, “All that fight earlier” He hushes, kissing the underside of your jaw with unspoken tenderness, “N’ just look at you now, fallin’ to bits”

“Such a good girl” He whispers quietly, smirking against the sharpness of your jaw when you let a breathy moan escape from your lips, his hand slipping free to rub gentle circles over your clit.

He laughs softly, breathlessly as you twist your head, forgetting yourself for a moment as your lips attempt to seek his in the dim light, he just pulls away, smiling fondly down at you, “Y’want a kiss baby? I don’t think so”

“Lose yourself the second this cunt gets some attention, don’t you?”

All you can do is whine softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze, “Please…”

You trail off, hips bucking gently against his hand, free one pushing your pelvis down gently, preventing the slow roll of your hips to try and convince the stimulation, “Needy” He comments softly, words muffled where his mouth presses against your cheek, dropping one more wet kiss lingering just too close to the corner of your lips as he manoeuvres himself over you, smiling down at you with a softness you would’ve previously thought to be unimaginable, “Want me to fuck you baby?”

He tuts softly as you nod blearily, hardly able to talk with the way his finger stay curled just slightly against that spongey spot inside of you, the way the soft weight of his hand against your pelvis presses down ever so slightly, forcing his fingers to jut against you once more, causing your eyes to flutter softly, “Nah, none o’ that nodding shite, use your big girl words”

Your eyes eventually fixate themselves on his face, a shy smile creeping its way across your lips as you shrug, already half fucked out from the gentle stimulation, “Well, you are paying for it, so”

“Guess you can- ah, do whatever you want with me” You purr coyly, chuckling slightly hoarsely as his mouth parts gently with the admission.

He wastes no time settling himself fully above you, one hand propping just next to your head, smiling as you nuzzle against the warmth of his forearm, hand gripping the base of his dick as he pumps himself lightly, before letting the heavy weight of his tip nudge against your clenching hole.

And when he pushes in, it’s unhurried, not frantic like all the times prior, just letting the both of you relax into the burning stretch, hissing through clenched teeth as he bottoms out inside of you, hand coming to brush a calloused thumb against your clit as he slowly starts fucking into you.

“Eyes on me” He murmurs, his tone slightly tense at the way your walls flutter around him desperately, pulling his hand away from your clit as he grips your jaw, tilting you up to face him, he chuckles slightly when your eyes, half lidded in desire, fixate on his, your mouth falling open, brows knitting as you let out another breathy moan.

He laughs softly, the sound low and warm, causing goosebumps to raise over your skin as he lets his hips roll gently, unhurriedly against yours, letting his own mouth drop ever so slightly to match your expression, forehead knocking against yours.

And when you whimper again, he matches it with a low groan of his own, the wet sound of his dick plunging so deep inside of you it makes you see dark spots in his vision mingling with your intertwined moans, the pleasure burning slow, yet not unbearable. You’ve never been treated as softly as this, and that’s the most dangerous part.

He looks down eventually, letting out a strangled groan as his eyes fixate on the spot where the two of you are joined, seeing the slick of your growing wetness connecting the soft hairs of his pelvis to your clit in gooey strings, “Christ- look at us darlin’”

His hand slides its way to the back of your neck, tugging your head forwards so your eyes fixate on the spot where you’re connected. The sight is downright sinful, yet you don’t feel dirty, just let out another slightly strained whimper, the endlessly soft roll of his dick against your walls pulling you closer and closer to the edge, “G-God, Noel”

Your whimper is tinged with an edge of desperation, eyes flickering up to his in a warning as the slow burn of your orgasm creeps its way up your spine, and he understands immediately, already so tuned to every one of your movements as he nods, eyes fixated on yours, “I know baby, I know, I got ya’” He tilts your head in his grip, pulling one of your kegs up so it’s hiked over his hips, the new position causing him to hit so impossibly deep within your walls, “Come f’me baby, so pretty like this”

His hips snap a little more harshly against yours, holding you close to him as your thighs wrap impossibly tighter around his hips, back arching ever so slightly as his hand moves to rub circles over your clit once again, murmuring the softest words of praise as you cry out gently, head falling back against the pillows as your walls tense around him, throbbing gently as your orgasm washes over you in gentle waves, eyes squeezed so tightly shut as you whimper quietly.

Noel can feel his own release building, ducking his head into the crook of your neck as one hand pushes your knee down onto the bedding, hips speeding up until he’s delivering short sharp thrusts against you, shushing you when you whine from overstimulation.

You feel the way the veins of his cock throb against your inside, the feeling so intoxicating as you squirm beneath him, he pulls back, gentle hand on your cheek guiding you to look up at him, “Where do ya’ want me, sweet thing?”

And his heart stutters a little as you whine gently, “In- inside, m’ on the pill, please”

And that hits harder than anything that’s happened today, you’ve never let anybody do this before, yet you’re trusting him so completely, he just gulps gently, nodding, hips rutting against yours desperately.

With a quiet groan, his head falling down against your collarbone gently, his hot breath billowing over your skin as he releases inside of you, riding out his orgasm buried in your warmth, allowing both of you to feel the way his come coats your insides, the action so soft yet so possessive at the same time, it makes you whimper quietly, hand coming to brush through his hair as his thrusts slow, eventually coming to a still.

Still buried inside of you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

About ten minutes later the room has gone quiet.

The soft urgency has faded into a heavy warmth that hangs between the two of you, the air thick with the lingering smell of sweat and skin and the faint city noise drifting up through the hotel windows.

Noel is lying back against the pillows, one arm tucked behind his head, chest still rising and falling slower now. The other arm is draped loosely across your back where you’ve curled into his side, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his chest. His skin is still slightly damp beneath you, warm and solid, and you absentmindedly trace shapes across it with your finger.

Your nail drifts over the faint rise of a scar near his ribs and then back again, like you’re trying to draw something you can’t quite see.

For a while neither of you says anything. Noel’s hand moves slowly up and down your arm, almost instinctively, fingertips dragging gently over your skin as if he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. His breathing has evened out now, though every now and then his thumb shifts slightly where it rests against your shoulder.

You let out a small breath through your nose, still staring at the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand.

“The first guy I ever loved,” you say eventually, voice quiet and slightly rough from earlier, “was a total nothing.”

Your finger traces another slow circle.

Noel doesn’t interrupt. He just glances down at you from where his head rests against the pillows.

“The second one was worse,” you add after a moment.

That earns a small huff of amusement from him, your lips twitch slightly.

“My mom used to call me a bum magnet.”

You say it lightly, like it’s a joke you’ve told before, but your finger slows where it moves against his skin.

“Always the same story,” you continue softly. “I’d find some guy who looked like he needed saving. Thought maybe if I stuck around long enough he’d sort himself out.”

You shrug slightly against him, “Never worked.”

Noel’s thumb drifts slowly over the curve of your shoulder blade as he listens.

“So there I was,” you murmur after a moment, gaze fixed somewhere across the room now, “no friends, no money, following bum number three across half the country.”

There’s a quiet beat.

Then Noel’s voice breaks it, low and dry, “And that’s how you became a prostitute, darling?”

There’s no bite in it. Just the familiar edge of teasing. You let out a small laugh against his chest.

“Not immediately,” you mutter. “I had to screw up a few more life choices first.”

Your hand drifts lower across his stomach now, tracing the line of muscle there before wandering back again, “I met Kit not long after that,” you say, your tone softening slightly at the name.

“She was already working the Boulevard. Took one look at me sleeping in my car and decided I needed a crash course in survival.”

Noel glances down again, “You make it sound like a training program.”

You smile faintly.

“First night I tried it,” you admit quietly, “I cried the whole time.”

The words sit there for a second. Your finger stops moving.

“I mean, full on sobbing,” you add with a small, self conscious laugh. “Guy kept asking if I was alright and I just kept saying yes because I needed the money.”

Noel’s hand stills slightly against your back.

You shift a little closer against him, resting your chin now on his chest so you can look at his face properly.

He’s watching you in that steady way he does when he’s actually listening.

Not joking. Not deflecting.

Just listening. After a moment he exhales slowly through his nose.

“You could be so much more than this,” he says.

His voice is quieter now. Not dramatic. Just matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You shrug lightly, eyes drifting away from his again, “People put you down enough,” you murmur, your finger starting its slow wandering pattern across his chest again, “you start to believe it.”

Noel’s brow creases slightly. He watches your hand moving over him for a moment before speaking again.

“I think you’re a very bright…” he pauses briefly, searching for the word before finishing, “…very special woman.”

You let out a small breath through your nose, a faint smile touches your mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“The bad stuff’s easier to believe,” you say quietly.

For a moment the only sound in the room is the distant hum of traffic far below the hotel windows.

Then Noel shifts slightly beneath you. His hand slides up gently to the back of your head, fingers threading loosely into your hair as he tilts your face up toward his.

He studies you for a second, something softer sits behind his eyes now, something that wasn’t there earlier at the racetrack.

Then he leans down and presses a slow, warm kiss to your forehead.

Not rushed. Not playful. Just gentle.

You close your eyes briefly at the contact, your hand flattening against his chest instead of tracing circles now.

After a moment you settle back down against him, cheek resting over his heart again. Noel’s arm wraps loosely around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer without saying anything, and the room grows quiet again.

And this time neither of you feels the need to fill it. ❥. to be continued

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𝜗𝜚 July 3rd, 2017

The morning light dapples its way through the curtains. The room feels peaceful in a way life hasn’t for at least a few weeks, the warms of the Hollywood sun casting it’s shadows across your back lulling you further into sleep. The room is messy from the night prior, clothes on the floor, empty glasses, the smell of sex and smoke lingering in the air like an expensive perfume.

Noel’s already awake, sat on the edge of the bed- watching, just like he always is. Cigarette in hand, he takes a thoughtful drag, leaning over to tap the crumbling ash off in the little tray by the bed. He leaves the cigarette there, blowing white clouds of smoke just out the corner of his mouth as he watches you. The sheets half wrapped around your bare waist, your hair messy against the soft white pillow.

A guitar calloused hand comes to shake at your shoulder, and through your sleep you practically hear the smirk wrapping around his soft Mancunian lilt, “Wake up”

You groan, the sound pulling a laugh from him as his hands grip your shoulders gently, pulling you around so you’re looking at him. His hand grabs something from the side, extending a little black card to you, “Time to go shopping”

You grumble gently, head pounding from the late night, rubbing at your eyes as you take the card, turning it around in your hands, peering at the little numbers, the sure engraving of his name in silver letters on the back. Your eyes meet his for a moment. And hes smiling, his face soft in the morning light, blue eyes settling on you in a way that feels familiar. His finger comes out to tap on the little black square.

“You have any trouble with that, give us a ring”

You grimace up at him, his smile widens at your expression. But all you can do is sigh, sitting up. Bringing the soft white silk of the sheets up with you, “More shopping?” You ask with a light sigh, watching as he nods, his hand coming to rest on your thigh above the sheets, “Mhm”

He stands then, not without patting his hand gently against your leg, picking up the still smouldering cigarette as he brings it to his lips, “Was surprised you didn’t by more than the one dress yesterday”

You hesitate, eyes flickering from the little card that feels far too heavy in your hand, and him, the way he’s stood across the room, the blinds sending golden shadows across his sharp jaw, the way he’s stood there witing, as if he’s been hanging on to every word coming from your mouth. “It wasn’t as fun as I thought it’d be” You mutter softly, throwing the card back onto the bedside table, crossing your arms.

He turns slightly at that, thick brows slightly greying with his age furrowing as he looks at you, “Why’s that?”

“They were mean to me”

He laughs at that, and you can’t help but smile in response, the smoke clouding around his face as it gets pushed out by the force of his laughter, his head tilting as he watches you, one brow cocked, “Mean to you?”

“Well, we can’t have that darlin’”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The late morning sun over Rodeo was almost blinding, beating down on the expensive shop windows and glittering off the parked cars. Everything looked immaculate, palm trees perfectly spaced along the pavement, storefronts gleaming. It was the sort of street where people walked slowly on purpose, as if they had nowhere else to be.

Noel moved through it like he owned it.

His hand was wrapped loosely around hers, fingers laced in a way that felt casual but steady, guiding her along the pavement. He walked with the same relaxed confidence he seemed to carry everywhere, shoulders loose, sunglasses on, completely uninterested in who might be looking.

You, on the other hand, were almost too aware of every single pair of eyes.

The dress you’d worn the first night clung differently in the daylight, suddenly feeling far more noticeable than it had under neon lights. Noel’s white shirt was tied around your waist in a knot, sleeves hanging loose against your hips. It helped, a little, but not enough to stop the tense feeling crawling up your spine.

You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice.

“People are looking at me.”

Noel didn’t even slow down. He flicked a glance into one of the shop windows they passed, more interested in his reflection than the people walking behind them.

“No they’re not.”

“Yes they are.”

He gave a small shrug, like the whole thing bored him.

“They’re looking at me.”

You frown at him, chewing your gum a little harder.

“These stores are not nice to people.”

That finally made him stop.

He turned to face you properly, pushing his sunglasses down his nose just enough to look at you over the top of them.

“Grow up.”

The word landed bluntly, but there wasn’t much bite behind it.

You rolled her eyes and blew a small bubble with the gum.

That’s when he noticed it.

His expression shifted instantly into mild disgust.

“Spit that out.”

You blinked at him.

“Why?”

“Because,” he said flatly, “you look like a teenager.”

Your jaw set stubbornly.

“No.”

For a moment they just stood there, staring at each other in the middle of the pavement while a few well-dressed shoppers drifted past them.

Noel sighed, shaking his head like you were the most ridiculous person he’d ever met.

“Unbelievable.”

Then, without another word, he grabbed your hand again, this time with purpose, and turned sharply toward the nearest shop. The glass door swung open before you even had time to protest, and he pulled you inside with him, straight out of the bright California sun and into the cool, quiet air of the shop.

The moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

The glass door clicked shut behind you, sealing out the bright California sun and the soft hum of traffic. Inside, the air was cool, scented with a mix of florals and leather, the sort of subtle scent that reminded anyone entering that this was a space for the elite. The lighting was soft and warm, highlighting the crystal chandeliers, reflecting off the hardwood floors so perfectly it looked like even the ground was glowing. Every surface gleamed, every item of clothing was precisely arranged, every display seemed completely anal in its order.

And then there was everyone else in the store.

The sales assistants froze, their gazes flicking between Noel, and then you stood slightly awkwardly beside him. First, they recognised him, he carried that same confidence, the sort that announced himself without needing to say a word. Then, slowly, eyes moved to you. Your outfit, despite its casual confidence, immediately marked you as an outsider, the same blue and white dress from the other night, your hair slightly messy from the walk, and Noel’s crisp white shirt tied in a knot at your waist.

The room felt frozen for a minute. You could feel the judgement before it was even said, quick, fleeting glances that measured you from head to toe. You tugged slightly at his hand, self-conscious, but he didn’t slow.

Noel walked across the floor with easy, calculated steps, each movement relaxed but carrying that authority that made the entire shop bend around him without anyone realizing. He approached the man behind the counter at the back of the store, the manager, whose posture stiffened as soon as he registered the presence of someone famous.

Noel leaned lightly on the counter, an elbow resting against the cool wood, sunglasses pushed down on his nose so he could look over the top of them.

“Alright, mate,” he said, casual, yet there was an edge of something else in his tone. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

The manager blinked, confusion flashing across his face.

Noel let the silence stretch for just a moment, letting it sink in. Then he added,

“I’m about to spend a stupid amount of money in this shop.”

Every assistant in the room straightened a little, and heads shot towards you.

Noel gestured toward her with a relaxed gesture, as if introducing a work of art.

“So I suggest everyone starts being very helpful.”

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, teasing, knowing the effect it had. Then he added lightly, just to make the room pause entirely:

“Do you have anything in here that’s as beautiful as her?”

For a brief moment, silence stretched like it could snap. Then the room shifted. The tension in the air broke, and suddenly the shop was alive.

Assistants moved like they’d been trained for this, appearing from behind racks, disappearing again, hands full of dresses, shoes, and accessories. A tray of champagne appeared as if by magic, complete with little flutes glinting under the soft lighting.

One assistant brought a pale silk gown to the dressing room entrance, while another carefully lifted a box of shoes, flipping it open to reveal delicate heels. A third spread out a selection of handbags on a glass counter. There was movement everywhere, a rush of energy, as the shop came alive around you like some sudden tornado.

You vanished behind the velvet curtain, swallowed by fabric and mirrors, leaving Noel leaning casually against a chair. He sipped from a flute of champagne, eyes flicking toward the curtain as if judging a contest.

A few seconds later, the curtain drew back. You stepped out in the first dress, sleek, black, sculpted to your figure in a way that was simple but held that same sensual tone you’d hoped for. The fabric caught the light with every movement, subtle fabric tracing the curve of your hips. Noel’s head tilted slightly as he studied you.

“Looks expensive,” he muttered, tone flat but approving.

An assistant offered a proud smile.

“It’s one of our most popular pieces.”

Noel took another sip, letting the quiet assess the room.

“Yeah. Next.”

The curtain closed. Another dress emerged, brighter, tighter, shimmering in a way that made you feel both gorgeous and yet, completely vulnerable. You took a step and nearly wobbled on the heels. Noel winced immediately.

“She can’t walk in that.”

The assistants moved swiftly, adjusting straps, swapping shoes, smoothing fabric.

The curtain opened again. Another dress, deep red, velvet, heavy enough that it swished around your ankles. Someone was adjusting a strap, another smoothed the hem, and a third held up a mirror so you could see yourself from every angle.

Noel watched it all with amusement, hands crossed over his chest, occasionally lifting the champagne glass. He shook his head at certain outfits.

“Too much.”

“That looks uncomfortable”

“Absolutely not”

Finally, the curtain opened one last time. You stepped out slowly, this time in something simple, elegant, yet the very air seemed to bend around you. The fabric clung in all the right places but moved with you, almost breathing.

Noel lowered his glass and studied you quietly, lips quirking up into a smile so gentle. He wasn’t assessing you anymore, he was looking at you as if you were equal, as if you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he made his decision.

“That one.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You tug at the zipper of the dress again, hoping maybe this time it’ll budge on its own. The fabric clings stubbornly around your shoulders and back, smooth but unforgiving, and you can feel the slight strain where it hugs your waist.

“Noel?” You call softly, your voice just above a whisper, but it echoes slightly in the small space of the dressing room.

From outside, you hear the faint scrape of a chair against the floor and the low murmur of his voice on the phone.

“What?” He mutters, distracted, as if he’s weighing some silly problem against something far more important.

“I can’t reach the zip,” You admit, trying not to sound frustrated, though your fingers are starting to fumble against the expensive fabric, terrified you’ll somehow damage it.

A sigh drifts through the curtain, low and dramatic, carrying that familiar edge of irritation that makes your knees weak, makes your head spin.

“Unbelievable,” He says.

Before you can think too much about it, you feel him at your side. The curtain shifts as he steps into the dressing room, just close enough that your bodies brush lightly. The air is suddenly warmer, heavier, the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint perfume clinging to the fabric of the dress.

He reaches slowly, deliberately, and you feel the brush of his fingers along the small of your back as he slides the zipper upward. Your skin tingles where his touch lingers, just above the curve of your neck, sending warmth down your spine.

You turn your head slightly to watch him, catching his eyes in the mirror between you. The sharp lines of his face are softened by the quiet, the faint shadow of amusement lingering behind his gaze.

“Thanks,” you murmur, voice barely audible, and there’s a pause, a breath stretched long enough that neither of you moves away.

Everything feels suspended in that tiny space, the quiet hum of the store outside, the weight of the dress between you, the brush of his fingers, the steady warmth of his body so close that it’s too hard to ignore.

You both know it’s more than just a zip.

The air is thick, the room small, and for a moment, nothing else exists but the brush of skin, the tension in your fingers, and the faint electricity humming between you.

And yet, still, you hesitate, holding that shared space, neither stepping back, neither breaking eye contact, letting the moment stretch just long enough before anything else happens.

He tilts his head softly, holding your gaze in the mirror as his hands slide up, over onto your shoulders, the elegant fabric smooth beneath his fingers, palms warm, electrifying, against your skin. His hand brushes your hair resting against your shoulder away.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart” He mutters gently, hand resting against the further side of your neck as he tilts his head down, pressing soft kisses, holding the weight of something deeper, something you can sense by the way his hips seem to oppress against yours in the cramped dressing room.

“You think?” You tease softly, trying not to let him hear the way your breath catches in your throat, the way you subconsciously lean further into him. His hand sets its course, sliding to the front of your dress, down your stomach, resting just above your pelvis.

“I know” He mutters, nipping slightly at your ear. You can’t help but gasp lightly as his hand trails down over your pelvis, dipping just under your skirt, rough pads of his fingers dancing over the gathering wetness between your thighs, “What’s this then?” You can practically hear the crude smirk tugging at his lips, the warmth of him pressing against you in the cramped dressing room almost too much to handle as his fingers brush just over where you need him, “Are you seriously getting this wet over some clothes? Knew you were a dirty girl but-“ He cuts himself off with a chuckle, it’s ever so slightly mean, so perfectly him as he nips at the pulse point in your neck, “Christ, y’re so fucking wet”

His hands slide back around your hips, crudely tugging the expensive material of the dress up and over your hips, exposing black lacy panties to the cool air, the murmur of the shop behind you pounding in your ears as his hands stake their claim over your body. Thick palms coming to each side of your ass, tugging gently, exposing you in a way that only he can, in a way that you’ll let him. “Fuckin’ hell… just letting’ me do this in public?”

He breathes out gently, eyes meeting yours where they’re cast warily in the mirror, wondering where he’s going to take this next, he just grins up at you. And you can’t help but smile back, the expression quickly wiped from your face as his thumb teases at your hole through your panties. He snickers, cruel.

“Y’want me? Don’t ya?” He whispers, the thumb teasing through your folds. Your breathing quickens, pulse racing at the idea of him having his way with you, hidden just slightly by the thin satin curtain of the dressing room. His lips feel hot and heavy against your neck, “Noel” Is all you can really whimper, voice quiet. You may be a prostitute, but something about the way he treats you, the way he’s taking care of you, the way he fucks you, makes you feel like a virgin.

You hardly register when he eases his way to his knees, head resting against the abnormally soft velvet couch they’d somehow managed to fit into the dressing room, his salt and pepper mod resting against the soft fabric. “Don’t take your panties off,” He mutters, warningly, hands coming to pull you towards him just under the curve of your ass, tugging you so your warmth brushes just against his lips, not enough to stimulate, but enough to remind you of the compromised position you’re in, “Y’hear them all out there? Bet they’d figure out you’re a fuckin’ slag right away if I let you get what you want”

You can hardly hear him over the pounding in your ears, “D-don’t..” You trail off as he tilts his head, nose bumping against your clit slightly, making you falter in your words as he grins up at you, “This your job ‘nd you’re sat here fallin’ apart the second I’m beneath you? God you’re something else” He chuckles to himself, but it’s a sound without warmth, full with that condescending teasing his tone carries more often than you’d like it.

You inhale a sharp take of breath, a quick glance to ensure the curtain is tied tightly, ignoring the swish of the curtain as a body passes it, breathing shaky as you tilt your head, meeting his gaze. His brows are slightly furrowed as they breathe in the scent of you, you can’t see the smirk that tugs at his lips, but you can see the way his eyes light up at the action, watching you carefully, calculated.

“You can’t tell me what to do” You compose yourself, looking down on him with your own composed hush, hand coming down to card through his shaggy hair. He hisses slightly when you pull his hair, gently, so as not to elicit a gasp from him which would expose you, “You’re forgetting who’s in charge here” You purr gently.

“I say who, I say what, I say when”

He seems to gasp slightly at your words, eyes trained on you with that dark undertone he refuses to ever admit. He’s as turned on as you by this, allowing himself to mutter, “What’re you saying right now then?” A challenge.

“You want me to fuck you, Noel?” You breathe slightly, you catch the way his breathing hitches in the back of his throat, the way his hand resting on the soft skin below the curve of your ass tightens ever so slightly.

You don’t let him answer.

Just shift your hips, lace clad clit resting just on his mouth, eyes never leaving his.

You don’t even let him register the fact this is happening, just slowly begin rocking your hips, clit bumping against his waiting tongue at every gentle rut of your hips, dragging a hushed whimper from your parted lips. He tries to speak, tries to quip back, but you just sit down further on his mouth, grinding panty clad clit against him, “Look at you,” You coo gently, hand coming to brush away the short strands falling onto his forehead, “Big talk from a guy who has to pay to get laid, huh?”

The vibrations from the groan your degradation pulls from him sends a shimmer of pleasure up your spine, head falling back ever so slightly as you feel the desperate way his tongue pushes at your panties, tutting as you shake your head, “Not fair, is it, Noelly?” You whisper gently, nodding along with him, the shake of his head furthering the stimulation of your clit.

“Y’gonna eat me properly? Gonna make me come with just your tongue?” You whisper softly, lifting hips from his stubbled jaw for a moment to tug your panties down, pretending not to crave the stimulation, sitting your clit back down on his mouth.

And he whimpers. A true, whiney sound pulled from the back of his throat, hands tightening against your ass as he tugs you closer to him, tongue snaking through your folds like he owns it.

And honestly? Right now? He does.

The soft pink muscle of his tongue lapping at your folds feels borderline intoxicating. A hand clamps itself over your mouth to quieten the moan threatening to tumble out as he suckles your clit, strong hands kneading the supple skin of your ass, pretty blue eyes fluttering shut at the taste of you.

You see the faint outline of stars threatening to burst behind your eyelids, the relentless roll of his tongue against your throbbing clit almost too much to take.

But then it’s gone.

Ripped away as you gaze down, eyes bleary ass you register him pulling away, lightly stubbled chin glistening with your wetness, a soft smirk tugging at his lips as he stands, chuckling softly at your helpless expression.

“Awh” He tuts softly, looking down at you, eyes flickering briefly to the curtain still wafting from the air of people. All you can do is glare up at him, slightly breathless, clit throbbing dangerously as he invades your space, “You’re a fucking tease Gallagher”

“Well, that’s not nice is it? I’m protecting your dignity”

You scoff softly, but it’s cut off from the way his calloused fingers make their way to your clit, brushing soft, slow circles on the buzzing bundle of nerves. A soft sigh escapes your lips, head falling down onto his shoulder. And the way his free hand comes up to stroke the back of your hair, holding you against him, it’s almost sweet. Until he’s pulling away again, cruel.

Without another word, he tugs your panties up, letting the elastic snap ever so slightly against your hip, just to hear the way you hiss ever so slightly at the pain. He doesn’t speak as he grips your jaw with one hand, the other sliding his slick soaked fingers between your lips.

“G’on” He mutters quietly, tilting his head approvingly as you suckle on his fingers, tasting yourself, the sweet taste of your wetness mingling with the slight saltiness of his fingers.

He laughs softly, letting you go as you let yourself knock back against the wall of the dressing room, glaring up at him, “You’re gonna pay for that”

“Well, right now I’ve got to go and pay for all these pretty dresses, haven’t I?”

You stare at each other for a moment.

The dressing room slowly settles back into quiet.

The velvet curtain still sways slightly from where Noel had shoved it aside earlier, letting a brief draft of cool air from the shop floor slip into the warm little space. It smells faintly of perfume and cigarette smoke now, the last one his fault.

You stand in front of the mirror, tugging carefully at the front of the dress, smoothing the fabric down over your waist. The material is soft, expensive, almost slippery beneath your fingers, but the zipper is slightly crooked from where it had been yanked up in a hurry.

Behind you, Noel exhales a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

He’s leaning back against the wall beside the small velvet couch, one ankle crossed loosely over the other. His hair is slightly worse for wear after your hands had been in it, greying strands falling forward over his forehead in uneven pieces.

You glance at him through the mirror, a slight smile tugging on your lips, brow cocked.

“Your hair’s a mess.”

He barely reacts, dragging slowly on the cigarette before flicking the ash into the tray on the side table.

“So’s yours.”

You squint slightly at your reflection. Your lipstick has smudged just enough to be noticeable, and the soft waves in your hair have turned into something closer to chaos. You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip, trying to fix it, trying to make it not look like he’s just had his fingers stuffed between those same lips.

Noel watches you for a moment before pushing himself off the wall and stepping closer. His hand reaches up automatically, adjusting the strap of the dress where it’s twisted slightly on your shoulder.

The gesture is quick, almost careless, but his fingers brush the side of your neck as he lets it go. Neither of you say anything about it. Instead, Noel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the bright screen lights his face in the mirror. His eyes flick across it once, twice.

The relaxed look he’s been carrying all morning fades just a little.

“Ah,” he mutters.

His thumb scrolls again, before he sighs quietly through his nose, scrubbing a hand down his face,  “Bollocks.”

You turn halfway toward him, “What?”

He locks the phone and slides it back into his pocket, already looking mildly annoyed.

“Studio.”

The word lands like something unavoidable. You groan dramatically, letting your head tip back against the mirror behind you.

“Oh no,” you say flatly. “Your terrible rockstar responsibilities.”

Noel snorts softly, picking up the nearly finished glass of champagne from the side table and draining the rest of it in one swallow.

“Yeah,” he says, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “Hard life.”

You cross your arms loosely, “Rockstar duties.”

He shrugs one shoulder. The movement is casual, almost dismissive, like the entire career that made him famous is nothing more than an annoying appointment he can’t cancel.

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

You watch him for a second before nodding slowly toward the lightly swishing curtain, teasing smile back in place on your lips.

“Well go on then. The world of music might collapse without you.”

That earns you a small smile. Noel reaches for the black credit card sitting on the edge of the chair, spinning it once between his fingers before flicking it toward you.

You catch it easily, the card cool against your palm, heavy in a way that still feels slightly ridiculous.

“Try not to bankrupt me,” he says.

You turn it between your fingers, examining the engraved silver letters again, “No promises.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and for a moment he doesn’t move.

He just stands there watching you, the dress, the slightly messy hair, the way you’re already studying the card like you’re planning something. Beautiful, he thinks. But, that’s before he catches himself, pushing away from the chair with a quiet sigh.

“Right,” he mutters.

You glance up. And he’s already heading toward the curtain, cigarette balanced between his fingers.

But just before he pushes it open, he pauses. Only for a second.

He glances back over his shoulder at you.

“Try not to cause too much trouble.”

You smile sweetly, “No promises.”

He shakes his head slightly, amused under his breath, before stepping through the curtain and disappearing back onto the polished shop floor. The dressing room suddenly feels very quiet.

You look down at the card again. A slow smile spreads across your face.

“Well,” you murmur to yourself.

“Let’s see what this thing can do.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The hallway of EastWest Studios smelled a little like stale coffee and guitar strings, the kind of smell that clung to studios no matter how expensive they were. The carpet was worn in the middle from years of people pacing up and down it, guitars slung over shoulders, waiting for their turn inside.

From behind the heavy studio door came the low thrum of an amplifier and someone lazily plucking chords on a guitar.

Noel barges the door open with his shoulder.

The room inside looked exactly like it always did, cluttered, slightly chaotic. Half empty coffee cups scattered across the mixing desk, lyric sheets covered in scrwaling handwriting lay spread across the floor, and three different guitars leaned against a battered couch that had probably been there longer than half the equipment.

Someone looked up immediately.

“Nice of you to show up.”

Noel barely glanced in their direction as he shrugged his jacket off, tossing it onto the nearest chair like he owned the place.

“You’re welcome.”

A quiet chorus of laughter came from the far side of the room. One of the bandmates was sitting cross legged on the floor, absent mindedly strumming a guitar while watching Noel.

“Thought you were hiding out in LA with someone.”

That made Noel pause. Only slightly, just long enough for it to be noticeable.

He reached for a guitar leaning against the wall, running his fingers once across the strings before slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“Who says I’m hiding?”

The guy on the couch smirked.

“Everyone.”

Another voice drifted lazily from the back of the room, where someone was stretched out across the couch staring at the ceiling.

“Sara’s been calling the label, wondering when you’ll be back to sign divorce papers, trouble in paradise mate?”

The room didn’t go silent exactly, but the easy background chatter dipped just enough for the comment to hang there.

Noel rubbed a hand across his forehead, already looking tired of the conversation.

“Can we go through the album or what?”

Someone behind the mixing desk leaned forward and slid something, preparing.

“Alright then,” they said. “From the top.”

A quick count in.

The drums kicked first, steady and familiar. The guitar followed, Noel’s fingers moving automatically across the strings, muscle memory taking over.

For a minute the room settled into the rhythm, but  Noel missed a change.

It was small, barely noticeable. Bit it enough that the guitar slipped half a beat behind the drums before he corrected it.

Someone glanced over at him with a grin.

“You’re miles away today.”

Noel didn’t look up, adjusting his grip on the neck of the guitar.

“Jet lag,” he muttered.

But the way his focus drifted again a moment later said otherwise.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

By the time you leave the previous shop, you barely recognise yourself.

The dress Noel had chosen fits perfectly, fabric moving smoothly with every step. Your hair has been brushed out and styled properly now, falling neatly over your shoulders, and the subtle makeup one of the assistants insisted on applying has softened the roughness of your eyes. The heels click lightly against the pavement as you walk, the sound sharp and confident against the bustling murmurs of Rodeo Drive.

For the first time all morning, people look at you differently.

Not with suspicion, with interest.

You slow when you pass a small display window filled with men’s accessories. Silk ties hang neatly arranged inside, deep colours folded invitingly.

Your gaze drifts over them.

Then you stop.

A dark navy tie catches your eye, simple, expensive, the kind of thing Noel would probably pretend not to care about while secretly liking very much.

You step inside.

The assistant greets you immediately.

“Good afternoon, miss.”

It’s strange, you think, how easy everything becomes when you look like you belong there.

You pick up the tie, running the smooth silk between your fingers before nodding once.

“I’ll take this.”

A few minutes later, the small black bag swings lightly from your hand as you step back out onto the street.

You glance across the road, and smile.

Because the shop sitting opposite is the same one from yesterday. The one where the assistants had looked you up and down like you were something  stuck to the bottom of their shoes.

Without hesitating, you cross the street.

The bell above the door chimes softly when you step inside, and the reaction is almost instant.

Two sales assistants straighten, bright smiles already in place. “Welcome!” The shop looks exactly the same as yesterday, spotless displays, perfectly arranged clothing, soft music drifting through the air.

But this time they’re looking at you like you matter.

You walk slowly through the store, trailing your fingers lightly across the edge of a rack of dresses before turning toward the counter.

“Hi,” you say pleasantly.

“Remember me?” The two assistants exchange a quick glance before turning back to you with polite smiles. “Oh no,” one of them says smoothly. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

You tilt your head slightly. “I was in here yesterday.”

There’s a brief pause, recognition flickers across one of their faces before it’s quickly smoothed over. “You wouldn’t serve me.”

The smiles falter, and the room suddenly feels a little smaller. You study them for a moment, calm and composed. Then you ask lightly, “You work on commission, right?”

One of them nods slowly. “Yes.”

You smile, a teasing smile making its way onto your face, the soft music providing the perfect backdrop as you hold up the countless bags that are starting to cause strain on your forearms.

“Big mistake.”

The pause stretches just long enough.

Then you add,

“Big. Huge.”

And with that, you turn and walk out, not looking back. Because you don’t need to, because now with Noel, you’re finally being respected.

And the thought of that terrifies you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Yesterday, walking through the hotel felt uncomfortable. You could feel eyes on you, silently judging, measuring. You weren’t sure where to look or how to carry yourself, and every step felt slightly out of place.

Today is completely different.

Your heels click confidently against the polished floor. The dress moves smoothly as you walk, sunglasses resting on your face, shopping bags hanging casually from your hand.

Staff greet you as you pass, “Good afternoon, miss.”

A doorman quickly pulls the door open for you.

People still look, but now it’s different. The glances are admiring instead of curious.

A woman nearby leans toward her friend and whispers quietly, “She looks incredible.”

You allow yourself a small, satisfied smile as you keep walking, finally gaining the respect you ought to be due, making a mental note to thank Noel for his efforts later, a plan already hatching in your mind as you thumb the silken material of the tie within your bag.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It’s late by the time Noel eventually makes his way back to the hotel room, flexing his hands ever so slightly cramped from the relentless hours spent riffing on the guitar, writing chord and lyric changes. Who knew trying to juggle writing and recording an album in such a short time frame would be this difficult.

He shoulders open the door, the quiet beep of the keycard catching your attention as you lounge lazily on the hard wood of the desk. The windows open, casting a soft breeze inside the dimly lit room.

But that’s not the first thing he notices.

No.

The first thing he notices is you, perched on the desk, as if you were waiting up for him. Dressed in nothing except a navy blue satin tie, draped lazily around your neck. You hold his gaze as he falters in the doorway, letting one thigh cross over the other leg slowly, brow cocked as you watch him set down his coat with a slowness that feels like restraint.

His eyes burn as they flit over your frame. Over the way the slight coolness of the room has stiffened your nipples into pretty little peaks, the soft curve of your belly, the way the lazy crossing of your legs leaves little to the imagination. And then he smirks, “Nice tie”

You tilt your head, the soft breezes rippling through you, sending a shiver down your spine. You pretend it’s that, and not the way he’s walking towards you like a predator sizing up its prey, “I got it for you,” You coo gently, as if the phrase is just an afterthought.

“Seems a bit selfish that”

You just shrug softly, hands coming to grip the edges of the desk  as you scoot yourself forwards, allowing your back to arch ever so slightly, your thighs parting gently, exposing yourself to him. He sucks in a breath, eyes now entirely fixated on your bare cunt, on the contrast of the blue against your skin, “You benefit” You mutter softly, before you catch yourself, a teasing smile making its way to your lips as you hop off the desk, prowling slowly towards him, “Well you would, if you hadn’t been such a dick earlier”

You watch as his brows furrow, mouth opening, “Hang on-“ You shush him, slim finger pressed against his lips as you circle him, letting your chin drop to his shoulder. Your palm flattens itself against his mouth, keeping him quiet as you tilt your head to whisper in his ear, “Y’think that was fair baby?”

“I mean, just because you’re paying for my pussy, doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want to it”

Your words elicit a quiet groan from his lips, you giggle sweetly at the sound, taking your hand away from his mouth, trailing it down to grab his, thumb brushing over his ruby ring, as you tug him towards the bed.

You sit him down, hands brushing against his shoulders as you push him down so he’s laying on the bed, eyes watching you carefully, “You annoyed me earlier today, didn’t you Noel”

He stays quiet.

You let yourself tut quietly, leaning so you’re hovering over him, the tie dangling just above his face, “Say it”

“You must be dreamin’ if you think you can tell me what to do” His voice is low, hoarse with desire. And the tone of it sends shockwaves to your clit, a feeling that you choose to ignore ass you tilt your head down at him, cooing softly as you grip his jaw in a similar fashion to what he’d done earlier. “Don’t backtalk, Noel”

And the commanding tone in your voice seems to shut him up, Adams apple bobbing ever so slightly as he swallows, lips parted gently as he waits on your next move.

You watch for a moment, as if deliberating what to do, hands sliding up his chest, meeting at his throat. Both hands clasped around his neck, shifting over him as you glare down at him, “Say sorry” You whisper softly, you can feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, voice cracking slightly as he rasps, “S-Sorry, m’ sorry, darlin’”

You smile softly, tilting your head to press a kiss against his forehead, lips lingering for just a second as you lean into his ear, “Try not to come,” You whisper playfully.

His eyes widen as your hands work deftly at his belt, tugging his jeans down as you settle yourself over him.

And then you’re sitting down with practised ease, smiling softly as his face screws up, an expression caught between pure pain and desire, calloused hands flying to your hips as you sit stationary. You slap his hands away, catching his wrists as you pin them down to the bed, laughing softly as he utters a little, “F-fuck”

And then you’re moving, hips lifting and slamming back down on him repeatedly, his hands straining against your arms as you fuck yourself on his dick, knees bent either side of him, digging into the bed to propel yourself up and down his length, throbbing tip nudging against your insides, causing you to clench down around him. Hard.

“You are pathetic” You whisper, his eyes rolling back ever so slightly at the degradation, hands straining against yours almost desperately as he looks up at you with bleary eyes, “Y’-hah, Y’re the one gettin’ off on it though” He challenges, a fucked out smirk making its way to his face.

He lets you bounce yourself on his dick another couple of times as he collects himself, a bead of sweat dripping down his furrowed brow. And, with a groan, he breaks free from your grip, grabbing your hips as he slams you over into the bed, hoisting you up by the hips as he sits back on his haunches.

Bouncing you on his dick himself.

The pure strength in the action makes you cry out, hands scrambling at the sheets as your whole body bounces relentlessly with every sharp thrust of his throbbing dick against your walls, a breathy moan ripped from your lips as he fucks into you.

“Yeah, who’s pathetic now, darlin?” He mocks, shoving you down onto the bed, dragging your legs to lie precariously on his shoulders, leaning so your thighs press against your stomach, hips snapping against yours with cruel ease, laughing at you, “Thought you was in charge, yeah? Look at the state of you”

The degradation hits hard, forced into a position that nocks the breath out of you as you whimper pathetically, bleary eyes searching for his, “Y-you can fuck me harder than that”

“Can’t you, daddy?”

His thrusts seem to slow as you call him that, but he quickly recovers, leaning his weight over you as his hips snap into you with renewed fervour, one hand slipping between your thighs to rub frantic circles over your clit, the double stimulation causing black spots to bloom in your vision, moans struggling to fall out past the jolting pants, practically breathless from the force of his hips snapping against you, “Y’gonna cum for daddy? Make a mess all over my dick?”

He chuckles as you nod blearily, shaking his head.

Slap.

His hand smacks its way across your cheek, the other never faltering its frantic circling of your clit as you cry out, the force of his hand against you, the painful stinging in your cheek driving you to the edge as you clamp down around him, release spurting out in jolted squirts, thighs trembling madly around his shoulders as you squirt.

He laughs in disbelief.

“You just fuckin’ squirted?”

“Dick feel too good darlin’? Yeah, yeah daddy knows… but y’can give me one more, yeah?”

And then he’s flipping you, burning cheek immediately cooled by the soft silk of the bedsheets. But the relief is short lived, his hand slamming down on the back of your head, pushing it down into the mattress as he slips back inside, hips rolling against yours, slightly gentle as you cry out in overstimulation.

He can hear the way you’re groaning pitifully into the pillow, hands desperately grabbing at the sheets for something to stabilise yourself, and he just smiles.

You faintly hear the way he picks something up off the bedside table.

And then his hand tightens in your hair, lowering himself against you as his dick slowly its endless barrage against the soft, spongey spot inside you, tugging your head up roughly, cheek resting against yours. And you’re faced with a camera.

Your eyes blearily peer up at the screen, taking in the scandalous sight in front of you. You, flushed a delicate shade of pink, eyes unfocused, tears slipping down your cheeks, mouth swollen, lips parted in a breathy moan, and Noel, arguably looking just as ruined as you, “Say cheese, darlin’”

He laughs mockingly as you manage a smile, the action tense as your brows furrow from the pleasure of him still deep inside of you, but the way he tilts his head, eyes fluttering closed to land a soft kiss against your cheek as he snaps the photo, it feels somewhat soft.

But then, he snaps back into it. Sitting back on his haunches once more, letting you flop helplessly back down on the sheets as he pulls you back against each thrust, each one bringing you closer and closer to the edge as you cry out, “D-daddy…” Is all you can manage, Noel doesn’t slow his thrusts, just rasps lowly.

“Y’can come baby, been such a good girl f’me yeah? Pretty thing like you deserves it”

And then, almost like clockwork, you clamp down on him again, whole body trembling as you let out a choked moan, lulled through it as you faintly hear his low, Mancunian husk talking you through it,

“Thaaat’s it, let it go”

“Look so pretty when y’cum for me darlin’”

He follows not long after, one calloused hand gripping your ass as he pulls out gently, stroking himself until release, shooting hot ropes of his come across your back with a low groan.

And when he shifts back over you, fingers coated in his own cum to press between your parted lips, you let him do it, eagerly suckling his release from his fingers.

It doesn’t feel dirty, not like the other people you’d been with.

It feels possessive.

And maybe that should scare you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The bathroom is warm and heavy with steam, soft light glinting off the tiles and catching on the surface of the water. You sit behind him in the wide tub, legs straddling either side of his hips, your hands sliding gently through his damp hair. His head rests against the edge, tilted back, eyes closed, shoulders loose in a way he rarely allows. His soft, low voice echoes gently through the bathroom, having mindlessly been talking your ear off about his entire life, it seems little by little, he’s allowing himself to open up more. It feels like this isn’t just sex anymore, it’s connection. You can feel the subtle shift of his weight as he relaxes into your touch, every small movement a quiet surrender.

“You always talk this much?” you murmur, massaging the shampoo into his scalp.

“Only when someone’s washing my hair,” he replies, voice low, almost teasing, but the usual sharp edge is softened by how he leans back against you.

You laugh softly at that, letting your fingers linger along the nape of his neck. The scent of him, faint soap, cigarette smoke, and something so uniquely him fills your senses.

He sighs and starts talking, almost as if the bath itself invites confession. “Started with a couple of guitars and too much attitude,” he says, voice casual but carrying the weight of memory. “Me brother’s a nightmare.”

His solo career. You’d asked, he was delivering.

You hum in response, amused. “You don’t seem easy either.”

“I’m delightful,” he deadpans, and you can’t help but grin against his damp shoulder.

He goes quieter after that. You keep washing, slow and deliberate, tracing circles into his scalp, letting the warmth of the water and your hands speak where words are too heavy.

“Dad was a bastard,” he mutters abruptly. Short. Blunt. Nothing dramatic.

You don’t press. You just continue, fingertips tracing through the strands, letting the silence fill the space between sentences.

“Band breaks up. Brother hates you. Lawyers start counting your money,” he adds after a moment, shrugging as if it’s all standard, nothing worth anger.

“Wife leaves you” He continues, thinking out loud.

“Standard stuff,” he says. “Half of everything I’ve got. Gone.”

The sigh that follows isn’t full of fury, just weariness. You can feel it vibrating against your front as you cradle him, the warmth of the water wrapping around both of you.

You shift slightly, wrapping your legs around him, letting the weight of your body hold him gently against you. He flinches just slightly, a quiet acknowledgment that he’s still learning how to let someone in.

“Well,” you murmur softly, letting your voice carry a teasing edge, “you’ve got ten grand wrapped around you right now…”

A pause, long enough for him to look down at you, faintly curious.

“…so I’d say things are looking up.”

The laugh that escapes him is real, unguarded, echoing softly off the bathroom walls. You feel it vibrate through him into your own body, and for a moment, the water, the steam, the world outside, all of it, fades away.

You rest your cheek lightly against his back, just holding him there as he exhales again, finally letting himself settle completely, even if only for a while.

❥. to be continued

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