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cw: 2000!noel; pr!reader; sex deprivation and drunk sex (both parties); unprotected sex; creampie; spit kink; dirty talk; public-ish sex but not rlly; a bit of degradation and rough sex; soft!domnoel; porn with very little plot lol.
𑣲 word count: 2,5k. ˊˎ-
wn: another short little something inspired by this ask. rereading this i realized this is kinda like amsterdamage but hornier? lol anyways, i think this is a little boring (and not proofread) but i hope you guys like it! 🤍 hbd ng!!! 💐
“okay, noel gallagher,” you slurred out, plopping down the seat beside him. he looked at you with his eyes already far too glazed, lips curling up at your bossy tone that, quite frankly, you always held. “what’s crawled up your ass?”
only this time, you were drunk. proper. and he was too.
he let out a short huff, shaking his head and asking in an almost disbelief tone. “think something’s crawled up my ass, darlin’?”
“oh, i’m sure. you’re always grumpy, but this…” you start, gesturing over his face with a small grin. “this is faaaar too much”
“is it?” he teased back, eyes heavy from the drinks.
“mhm.” you hummed, nodding. “now spill”
he scoffed lightly, the corner of his lip curling upwards despite himself. “yeah, piss off.”
“hey, no!” you started, already laughing and putting up a finger close to his face like a playful warning. “don’t do that. cmon. i’m your friend, you can talk to me!” you said with a smile, pointing at him.
“think you’re just nosy,” he said, but there was no bite to it at all.
“fuckin’ rude, you!” you said, playfully shoving his shoulder. “i’m drunk. not nosy! now come onnn, tell me. maybe i can help.”
“can you write me a proper album?” he said.
“oh, definitely not,” you said immediately, getting a laugh out of him. you tilted your head, eyebrows raising and a smile growing even more in your lips, “i can make you laugh though, see? you’re already looking better.”
he let out a short huff of a laugh, shaking his head and lips curling up. his body slumping slightly on the cushioned booth when you playfully shoved his shoulder. “and hey, fuck you. i do many, many things for you lot.”
he laughed, shaking his head. then he sighed, saying it still lightly. “just stuff doing my head in”
“stuff…” you said, giving him a hint to carry on.
he sighed. god, you’re stubborn. “album, liam, the divorce... and i can’t even do coke anymore so, guess what’s left for me is being a grumpy cunt.”
“that’s not all there is!” you said lightly.
he gives you a look that screams oh, really?
“look at me for example, haven’t got laid in… fucking months, and i’m still bubbly and cheerful! yay” you say simply, shrugging and then taking a sip you definitely didn’t need afterwards.
you’re not lying about that. why would you? sure, the tone sounds like it’s a joke, but you definitely mean every single word you said.
noel swallowed, his gaze darting down to your lips for the same reason his stomach is twisting in a way he always brushes off when it comes to you. because yeah, you’re fit.
but he can control his impulses, he’s done a pretty damn good job so far. despite never seeing the point in condemning himself having these kind of thoughts, he’s a man after all, those are normal – no point in talking about it either, or acting on it. god, no. that’s a liam thing to do.
“yeah. as always.” he said, casually. you really are bubbly most times, not in a way that’s annoying. he doesn’t think so, at least.
which is actually the whole reason you’re both still here. it was a combination of things actually: you for some fucking reason knowing how to speak the language of the bar’s owner plus knowing a friend of a friend of a friend – or just being fucking great at convincing, that’s why you’re their pr, after all. so that’s why the owner gave you the keys of the bar when everyone protested when he called out last rounds. sure, the oasis celebrity status helps, too.
“mhm. not making it everyone’s problem. because i’m an adult.” you teased.
he huffed, taking another sip of his drink. then, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “why aren’t you gettin’ laid then? you’re a fit fucking bird, y’are.” he said casually.
you tilted your head, eyebrows raising as you took another swig of your glass. you swallowed it down harsher than you’ve been doing all night. for no reason. shut up.
you leaned in closer teasingly, your tone playful: “well. that’s none of your fucking business, is it?”
he smirked, nodding and tilting his head when he caught your gaze darting down to his lips just like his has been doing since the moment you sat down beside him. “guess not.” he said lowly.
your lips twitched. your chest went up and down a little heavier. the sound of the last three people from the crew – or the band? god, you really weren’t paying attention to that right now – singing along to whatever song they’ve drunkenly made up fading away as they walked towards the exit. “see you!” you heard someone shout from a distance.
but noel didn’t budge.
fuck.
“funny you say that, yknow.” he said lowly.
“what?” you ask quietly despite already knowing. you feel it.
“jus’ haven’t had it in a while, too.” he said.
you blinked. then scoffed lightly. “fuck off.”
“serious.”
“no groupies?” you asked quietly, eyebrows raising softly.
he scrunched his nose, shaking his head. “too old for that shite now.”
“huh,” you say, amused. and he raises his brows, not breaking the eye contact. then, you slap the table like you’ve just solved a murder mystery, “well… there you go then! you need to get laid, noelly.”
he stared at you for a second too long.
too still. too quiet.
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“yeah?” he said finally, voice low, rougher now, and still so fucking smug. his eyes didn’t leave your face. “that’s what you reckon?”
you laughed, leaning closer because you were drunk enough not to care and brave enough not to stop. your knee knocked into his under the table. you didn’t move it away.
“mhm,” you nodded, grinning. “what you need is a proper shag.”
his mouth twitched. and you could see something passed behind his eyes – hunger, frustration. the weight of months of pressure and no release and pretending he was fine when he wasn’t. you could see the restraint slowly becoming background noise in his head.
“funny” – he muttered, tilting his chin up – “say that like you’re offerin’.”
“don’t flatter yourself” you said quietly.
but you didn’t lean back.
neither did he.
the bar felt suddenly smaller. quieter. the air thick with that electric, stupid tension that only shows up when you’ve wanted someone for too long and never crossed the line.
another beat.
“fuck it.”
and then he kissed you.
his hand found the side of your neck at the same time his body pressed against yours so hard it made your back hit the cushioned sofa with a soft thud.
a small sound escaped from your lips as his tongue searched for yours, immediately letting him in. he wasn’t gentle or careful now, instead, it was like he’s letting out what he’s been holding in for years.
his other hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your head back, your mouths fitting in a way that was electric.
you let out a shaky breath as you were kissing him back just as hard. your fingers found the back of his head and softly tugged it as an attempt to pull him closer, while your free hand grabbed the fabric of his jacket.
he kissed you deeper, desperate, before he pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, pupils blown searching for yours.
“not understandin’ this wrong, am i?” he asked, already panting.
you shook your head quickly, your breathing ragged and your fingers now fisting his collar like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.
“no” you breathed out. “fuck, no.”
then, you closed the distance again. your hands remained in his hair as you threw your leg over the other side of his lap, straddling and letting out a heavy huff of air when his hands grabbed your ass harshly. you couldn’t help but break the kiss with a moan once you felt his warm and hard length under the fabric of your jeans the moment you shifted on his lap.
his hands were already everywhere, trembling with adrenaline and too much whiskey. his fingers started clumsily fumbling with the buttons of your blouse until he gave up and just yanked the fabric aside. he was messy, desperate, leaning down and sucking the skin right above the lacy fabric of your bra before managing to get the fabric out of the way. then, noel eagerly pushed it down and took one of your nipples into his mouth. your head tipped back, a broken and needy moan coming out of your throat as grinded against his lap at the feeling.
his hands stayed firm on your ass once he stood up from the booth, pulling a needy moan out of you at the sudden change. your nails digged into the back of his neck and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. his head lifted from your chest and his lips slick with spit found yours again as he sat you down on the table, standing up between your legs.
he sat you down on the edge of it and he didn’t say a word, just reached down and fumbled with the button of your jeans, impatient.
“fuckin’— christ, hold on.” he muttered lowly.
he worked it out quickly once you lifted your hips, tugging the jeans down your legs along with the soaked lace of your panties in one eager move. the soft thud of your clothes hitting the floor went completely over your head the moment he leaned down closer to your cunt. his hands wrapped around your thighs, spreading them as he he pooled a heavy amount of saliva in his mouth and let it drop onto your warm core.
you bucked, a strangled moan leaving your throat at the feeling – eyes scrunching up and head falling back once his thumb followed his own spit dripping down your slit, smearing it over your clit with a pressure that had your toes curling.
“look at you.” he rasped, his posture straightened again just so he could watch your expression, his gaze darting down to his own hand disappear between your legs because he simply couldn’t resist. “always this needy or is it just me, huh?“ he asked, low and smug.
before you could reply, his free hand went to his own belt. clumsy and swearing under his breath as he freed himself, his immediately wrapping his hand around his cock that was already warm and leaking.
you whimpered softly, bucking your hips closer to the edge and rubbing your thighs up and down on his sides as an attempt to pull him in. but then, he paused – his thumb mid tracing the head of as the reality hit him.
“fuck.” he breathed out, leaning until his forehead rested against yours. “don’t have a cond—”
you reached out, fisting his hair and interrupting him with a kiss. “i’m on the pill.”
at your pleading words, he huffed out a laugh. in that smug, mancunian way you usually cussed him and liam out for – suddenly becoming the hottest thing you’d ever seen right about now, fuck sake.
he let out a soft huff. “yeah?” he teased and guided his cock to your folds, and definitely not pushing in. fucker. he teased you with it, giving your pussy little, mocking slaps with the head of it, watching the way you whimpered and tried to push back against him. “want it that bad? want it to just fill you up?”
“noel, pleas— fuck. just fuck me.”you moaned, looking down and shifting until you were closer.
his free hand went to your face, grabbing it and forcing you to keep looking at his face – not at the tip of his cock, that now rubbed slowly along your slit, dragging it up and down and inevitably coating himself in your wetness. you moaned, your hips lifting off the table in a desperate search for friction.
“say it. tell me what you want,” he whispered, his breath warm and smelling like whiskey.
"fuckin' do it, noel," you gritted out, arching your chest closer to him.
just then he pushed forward, cutting you off as he buried himself inside you with one heavy thrust. the air left your lungs in a loud moan as you felt him stretch you, and he didn't give you time to adjust – he started moving immediately, his hands tight on your legs to make sure they were spread while he began to pound into you.
your hands grabbed the table harder, head throwing back as you moaned. his hands grabbed your thighs harshly, cussing and groaning as he looked down at his cock disappearing inside you. “fuck,” he moaned, one of his hands going to the back of your head and grabbing a fistful of your hair – almost yanking your head as he shifted your gaze to where your bodies met, smirking at the sight of your eyes already droopy with pleasure.
“look at it, love,” he said, voice shaky with pleasure. his fingers spreading over the part where your leg and hip meet and one of them applying pressure in your clit in perfect sloppy circles. “yeah, fuuuck, look at it. stretching this pretty cunt out. jesus, fuck.”
you threw your head back with a loud moan and propped it back up immediately, your hands grabbing his hair and tugging him close, making him hiss and thrust into you harder. “dirty fuckin’ girl. lettin’ me fuck you raw like this, eh?”
you whimpered, nodding dumbly and moaning loudly again once his hand went to your jaw, grabbing it tightly and slipping his thumb inside your mouth. your tongue immediately darted out without him even telling you to, you lapped at his finger, sucking it messily – dirty and filthy in a way neither of you had expected this would go down.
but fucking hell, weren’t you glad.
“yeah? cunt’s squeezing my cock like you've been waitin' for this. s’what you wanted all along innit?” he grunted, his pace becoming even more punishing, his hands bruising your jaw as he held you in place. “wanted this… too fucking long. shouldn't have let you wait, should i? should've just bent you over months ago.”
“y-yes, fuck! yes!”
“yeah? should’ve give it to you like this, hm? fucking you like a fucking slut? that’s what you wanted?”
your only reply was a loud moan, eyes scrunching tight as the sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt filled the space.
“fuck, so fucking tight,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “god, you’re so fuckin’ tight. gonna go in two minutes if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” he gritted out, crashing his lips against yours once more and huffing out heavily once you started to pulse around him. “good girl. takin' it so fucking well, such a good girl, love... go on, cum f’me.” he slurred against your mouth.
your mouth fell agape as you immediately complied to his command, eyes squeezing shut and feeling your body go limp as your orgasm washed over you. his thrusts got sloppier through it, and your hands grabbed onto the edge of the table for dear fucking life as your shaky body calmed down.
your back fell slowly onto the table and arching as he didn’t let up on his fingers messily rubbing your clit until he started to spill inside you.
he groaned and kept thrusting into you as he panted, finally scratching that itch that had been there for months. “fuuuck, that's it,” he whispered and slowed his thrusts down, licking his lips and panting as his hands twitched and grabbed your thighs. he breathed out a “fuck” as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, breathing heavily. his hips now still and his cock still throbbing inside you as tired and warm breaths from his nose hit your skin.
he stayed there for a long time, slumped over you as you panted just like him. your hands limp on your sides and your legs twitching and still tight around his waist while his face stayed hidden in the crook of your neck as your breaths eventually slowed down. the silence of the empty bar returned, heavy and thick.
“jesus,” you cut into the silence with an amused huff of a laugh. and it got a quiet and tired laugh out of him, only then pulling away to look at your face.
“reckon you were right,” he said teasingly.
and you laughed, genuine and warm, nodding. “well, when aren’t i?”
cw: 2000!noel; pr!reader; sex deprivation and drunk sex (both parties); unprotected sex; creampie; spit kink; dirty talk; public-ish sex but not rlly; a bit of degradation and rough sex; soft!domnoel; porn with very little plot lol.
𑣲 word count: 2,5k. ˊˎ-
wn: another short little something inspired by this ask. rereading this i realized this is kinda like amsterdamage but hornier? lol anyways, i think this is a little boring (and not proofread) but i hope you guys like it! 🤍 hbd ng!!! 💐
“okay, noel gallagher,” you slurred out, plopping down the seat beside him. he looked at you with his eyes already far too glazed, lips curling up at your bossy tone that, quite frankly, you always held. “what’s crawled up your ass?”
only this time, you were drunk. proper. and he was too.
he let out a short huff, shaking his head and asking in an almost disbelief tone. “think something’s crawled up my ass, darlin’?”
“oh, i’m sure. you’re always grumpy, but this…” you start, gesturing over his face with a small grin. “this is faaaar too much”
“is it?” he teased back, eyes heavy from the drinks.
“mhm.” you hummed, nodding. “now spill”
he scoffed lightly, the corner of his lip curling upwards despite himself. “yeah, piss off.”
“hey, no!” you started, already laughing and putting up a finger close to his face like a playful warning. “don’t do that. cmon. i’m your friend, you can talk to me!” you said with a smile, pointing at him.
“think you’re just nosy,” he said, but there was no bite to it at all.
“fuckin’ rude, you!” you said, playfully shoving his shoulder. “i’m drunk. not nosy! now come onnn, tell me. maybe i can help.”
“can you write me a proper album?” he said.
“oh, definitely not,” you said immediately, getting a laugh out of him. you tilted your head, eyebrows raising and a smile growing even more in your lips, “i can make you laugh though, see? you’re already looking better.”
he let out a short huff of a laugh, shaking his head and lips curling up. his body slumping slightly on the cushioned booth when you playfully shoved his shoulder. “and hey, fuck you. i do many, many things for you lot.”
he laughed, shaking his head. then he sighed, saying it still lightly. “just stuff doing my head in”
“stuff…” you said, giving him a hint to carry on.
he sighed. god, you’re stubborn. “album, liam, the divorce... and i can’t even do coke anymore so, guess what’s left for me is being a grumpy cunt.”
“that’s not all there is!” you said lightly.
he gives you a look that screams oh, really?
“look at me for example, haven’t got laid in… fucking months, and i’m still bubbly and cheerful! yay” you say simply, shrugging and then taking a sip you definitely didn’t need afterwards.
you’re not lying about that. why would you? sure, the tone sounds like it’s a joke, but you definitely mean every single word you said.
noel swallowed, his gaze darting down to your lips for the same reason his stomach is twisting in a way he always brushes off when it comes to you. because yeah, you’re fit.
but he can control his impulses, he’s done a pretty damn good job so far. despite never seeing the point in condemning himself having these kind of thoughts, he’s a man after all, those are normal – no point in talking about it either, or acting on it. god, no. that’s a liam thing to do.
“yeah. as always.” he said, casually. you really are bubbly most times, not in a way that’s annoying. he doesn’t think so, at least.
which is actually the whole reason you’re both still here. it was a combination of things actually: you for some fucking reason knowing how to speak the language of the bar’s owner plus knowing a friend of a friend of a friend – or just being fucking great at convincing, that’s why you’re their pr, after all. so that’s why the owner gave you the keys of the bar when everyone protested when he called out last rounds. sure, the oasis celebrity status helps, too.
“mhm. not making it everyone’s problem. because i’m an adult.” you teased.
he huffed, taking another sip of his drink. then, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “why aren’t you gettin’ laid then? you’re a fit fucking bird, y’are.” he said casually.
you tilted your head, eyebrows raising as you took another swig of your glass. you swallowed it down harsher than you’ve been doing all night. for no reason. shut up.
you leaned in closer teasingly, your tone playful: “well. that’s none of your fucking business, is it?”
he smirked, nodding and tilting his head when he caught your gaze darting down to his lips just like his has been doing since the moment you sat down beside him. “guess not.” he said lowly.
your lips twitched. your chest went up and down a little heavier. the sound of the last three people from the crew – or the band? god, you really weren’t paying attention to that right now – singing along to whatever song they’ve drunkenly made up fading away as they walked towards the exit. “see you!” you heard someone shout from a distance.
but noel didn’t budge.
fuck.
“funny you say that, yknow.” he said lowly.
“what?” you ask quietly despite already knowing. you feel it.
“jus’ haven’t had it in a while, too.” he said.
you blinked. then scoffed lightly. “fuck off.”
“serious.”
“no groupies?” you asked quietly, eyebrows raising softly.
he scrunched his nose, shaking his head. “too old for that shite now.”
“huh,” you say, amused. and he raises his brows, not breaking the eye contact. then, you slap the table like you’ve just solved a murder mystery, “well… there you go then! you need to get laid, noelly.”
he stared at you for a second too long.
too still. too quiet.
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“yeah?” he said finally, voice low, rougher now, and still so fucking smug. his eyes didn’t leave your face. “that’s what you reckon?”
you laughed, leaning closer because you were drunk enough not to care and brave enough not to stop. your knee knocked into his under the table. you didn’t move it away.
“mhm,” you nodded, grinning. “what you need is a proper shag.”
his mouth twitched. and you could see something passed behind his eyes – hunger, frustration. the weight of months of pressure and no release and pretending he was fine when he wasn’t. you could see the restraint slowly becoming background noise in his head.
“funny” – he muttered, tilting his chin up – “say that like you’re offerin’.”
“don’t flatter yourself” you said quietly.
but you didn’t lean back.
neither did he.
the bar felt suddenly smaller. quieter. the air thick with that electric, stupid tension that only shows up when you’ve wanted someone for too long and never crossed the line.
another beat.
“fuck it.”
and then he kissed you.
his hand found the side of your neck at the same time his body pressed against yours so hard it made your back hit the cushioned sofa with a soft thud.
a small sound escaped from your lips as his tongue searched for yours, immediately letting him in. he wasn’t gentle or careful now, instead, it was like he’s letting out what he’s been holding in for years.
his other hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your head back, your mouths fitting in a way that was electric.
you let out a shaky breath as you were kissing him back just as hard. your fingers found the back of his head and softly tugged it as an attempt to pull him closer, while your free hand grabbed the fabric of his jacket.
he kissed you deeper, desperate, before he pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, pupils blown searching for yours.
“not understandin’ this wrong, am i?” he asked, already panting.
you shook your head quickly, your breathing ragged and your fingers now fisting his collar like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.
“no” you breathed out. “fuck, no.”
then, you closed the distance again. your hands remained in his hair as you threw your leg over the other side of his lap, straddling and letting out a heavy huff of air when his hands grabbed your ass harshly. you couldn’t help but break the kiss with a moan once you felt his warm and hard length under the fabric of your jeans the moment you shifted on his lap.
his hands were already everywhere, trembling with adrenaline and too much whiskey. his fingers started clumsily fumbling with the buttons of your blouse until he gave up and just yanked the fabric aside. he was messy, desperate, leaning down and sucking the skin right above the lacy fabric of your bra before managing to get the fabric out of the way. then, noel eagerly pushed it down and took one of your nipples into his mouth. your head tipped back, a broken and needy moan coming out of your throat as grinded against his lap at the feeling.
his hands stayed firm on your ass once he stood up from the booth, pulling a needy moan out of you at the sudden change. your nails digged into the back of his neck and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. his head lifted from your chest and his lips slick with spit found yours again as he sat you down on the table, standing up between your legs.
he sat you down on the edge of it and he didn’t say a word, just reached down and fumbled with the button of your jeans, impatient.
“fuckin’— christ, hold on.” he muttered lowly.
he worked it out quickly once you lifted your hips, tugging the jeans down your legs along with the soaked lace of your panties in one eager move. the soft thud of your clothes hitting the floor went completely over your head the moment he leaned down closer to your cunt. his hands wrapped around your thighs, spreading them as he he pooled a heavy amount of saliva in his mouth and let it drop onto your warm core.
you bucked, a strangled moan leaving your throat at the feeling – eyes scrunching up and head falling back once his thumb followed his own spit dripping down your slit, smearing it over your clit with a pressure that had your toes curling.
“look at you.” he rasped, his posture straightened again just so he could watch your expression, his gaze darting down to his own hand disappear between your legs because he simply couldn’t resist. “always this needy or is it just me, huh?“ he asked, low and smug.
before you could reply, his free hand went to his own belt. clumsy and swearing under his breath as he freed himself, his immediately wrapping his hand around his cock that was already warm and leaking.
you whimpered softly, bucking your hips closer to the edge and rubbing your thighs up and down on his sides as an attempt to pull him in. but then, he paused – his thumb mid tracing the head of as the reality hit him.
“fuck.” he breathed out, leaning until his forehead rested against yours. “don’t have a cond—”
you reached out, fisting his hair and interrupting him with a kiss. “i’m on the pill.”
at your pleading words, he huffed out a laugh. in that smug, mancunian way you usually cussed him and liam out for – suddenly becoming the hottest thing you’d ever seen right about now, fuck sake.
he let out a soft huff. “yeah?” he teased and guided his cock to your folds, and definitely not pushing in. fucker. he teased you with it, giving your pussy little, mocking slaps with the head of it, watching the way you whimpered and tried to push back against him. “want it that bad? want it to just fill you up?”
“noel, pleas— fuck. just fuck me.”you moaned, looking down and shifting until you were closer.
his free hand went to your face, grabbing it and forcing you to keep looking at his face – not at the tip of his cock, that now rubbed slowly along your slit, dragging it up and down and inevitably coating himself in your wetness. you moaned, your hips lifting off the table in a desperate search for friction.
“say it. tell me what you want,” he whispered, his breath warm and smelling like whiskey.
"fuckin' do it, noel," you gritted out, arching your chest closer to him.
just then he pushed forward, cutting you off as he buried himself inside you with one heavy thrust. the air left your lungs in a loud moan as you felt him stretch you, and he didn't give you time to adjust – he started moving immediately, his hands tight on your legs to make sure they were spread while he began to pound into you.
your hands grabbed the table harder, head throwing back as you moaned. his hands grabbed your thighs harshly, cussing and groaning as he looked down at his cock disappearing inside you. “fuck,” he moaned, one of his hands going to the back of your head and grabbing a fistful of your hair – almost yanking your head as he shifted your gaze to where your bodies met, smirking at the sight of your eyes already droopy with pleasure.
“look at it, love,” he said, voice shaky with pleasure. his fingers spreading over the part where your leg and hip meet and one of them applying pressure in your clit in perfect sloppy circles. “yeah, fuuuck, look at it. stretching this pretty cunt out. jesus, fuck.”
you threw your head back with a loud moan and propped it back up immediately, your hands grabbing his hair and tugging him close, making him hiss and thrust into you harder. “dirty fuckin’ girl. lettin’ me fuck you raw like this, eh?”
you whimpered, nodding dumbly and moaning loudly again once his hand went to your jaw, grabbing it tightly and slipping his thumb inside your mouth. your tongue immediately darted out without him even telling you to, you lapped at his finger, sucking it messily – dirty and filthy in a way neither of you had expected this would go down.
but fucking hell, weren’t you glad.
“yeah? cunt’s squeezing my cock like you've been waitin' for this. s’what you wanted all along innit?” he grunted, his pace becoming even more punishing, his hands bruising your jaw as he held you in place. “wanted this… too fucking long. shouldn't have let you wait, should i? should've just bent you over months ago.”
“y-yes, fuck! yes!”
“yeah? should’ve give it to you like this, hm? fucking you like a fucking slut? that’s what you wanted?”
your only reply was a loud moan, eyes scrunching tight as the sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt filled the space.
“fuck, so fucking tight,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “god, you’re so fuckin’ tight. gonna go in two minutes if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” he gritted out, crashing his lips against yours once more and huffing out heavily once you started to pulse around him. “good girl. takin' it so fucking well, such a good girl, love... go on, cum f’me.” he slurred against your mouth.
your mouth fell agape as you immediately complied to his command, eyes squeezing shut and feeling your body go limp as your orgasm washed over you. his thrusts got sloppier through it, and your hands grabbed onto the edge of the table for dear fucking life as your shaky body calmed down.
your back fell slowly onto the table and arching as he didn’t let up on his fingers messily rubbing your clit until he started to spill inside you.
he groaned and kept thrusting into you as he panted, finally scratching that itch that had been there for months. “fuuuck, that's it,” he whispered and slowed his thrusts down, licking his lips and panting as his hands twitched and grabbed your thighs. he breathed out a “fuck” as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, breathing heavily. his hips now still and his cock still throbbing inside you as tired and warm breaths from his nose hit your skin.
he stayed there for a long time, slumped over you as you panted just like him. your hands limp on your sides and your legs twitching and still tight around his waist while his face stayed hidden in the crook of your neck as your breaths eventually slowed down. the silence of the empty bar returned, heavy and thick.
“jesus,” you cut into the silence with an amused huff of a laugh. and it got a quiet and tired laugh out of him, only then pulling away to look at your face.
“reckon you were right,” he said teasingly.
and you laughed, genuine and warm, nodding. “well, when aren’t i?”
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the year turned after that, and it’s obvious neither of you addressed it. you just pretended like nothing had happened and it stuck – the same way wonderwall was permanently stuck to #1 in the charts, the same way noel and liam’s faces were glued to every magazine cover and telly screen.
the same way meg stayed on noel’s side, pretty and blonde. made for this rockstar girlfriend part – despite being far more clever than the press gave her credit for. she was a nice girl, she really was. that almost made it worse.
claire would tease about it in private, mock something she had done in that non-mean way of a friend who’s just trying to make her mate laugh, just because she knew, even though you had never said it out loud.
she thought it might make you feel better, nudging your side and whispering. you’d roll your eyes, shake your head fondly, tell her to grow up.
still, sometimes you wondered if she knew what noel would be up to during nights on tour. casually cruel in a way that made your stomach flip – for her, mostly. and for the small, shameful part of yourself that wondered what he’d be like in some other universe where you’d been the one standing next to him.
you shut those thoughts down fast. anything related to this childish jealousy or to noel that wasn’t oasis.
▸ rhiannon - fleetwood mac
because you were busier than ever.
oasis had never been bigger. awards being handed to them for doing so much as blinking and promoters nearly slapping each other to book them for gigs. you were everywhere at once – boots clicking against marble floors, notebook tucked under your arm, sunglasses on indoors because you couldn’t be bothered. icy, efficient, a little untouchable.
men would approach you at award ceremonies with that annoying confidence, assuming you were just another pretty face orbiting the chaos. you’d smile thinly, cut them off mid-sentence with something polite and walk away before they could finish introducing themselves.
still, every time someone lingered too long, you’d instinctively look down instead of across the room.
because you didn’t want to meet noel’s eyes already on you.
you told yourself it was easier that way.
liam was dating a hot shot actress, patsy. also blonde and also a sweetheart to you, but she didn’t nag something ugly inside your chest like meg did. which is also why you managed to talk to liam about not being a prick and not fucking it up any further without feeling like your voice could break at any moment.
because the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, he was up to no good just like noel. even worse to be honest – especially because when you’d pull down his ear and tell him patsy didn’t deserve it, he’d nod with that lost and regretful puppy expression while muttering “you’re right, you’re right”.
just to do the same the following weekend.
but you weren’t their nanny. and besides, you had bigger concerns: knebworth was knocking at the door.
two nights of history making.
the pressure was obscene. phones ringing nonstop. logistics stacked on logistics. and you fucking thrived in it. bossing around security, double-checking stage specs, snapping at promoters who thought they knew better.
and the lads trusted you more than anyone, even when they pretended they didn’t.
the night before the first show, the air felt electric. you were all drinking backstage, plastic cups in hands and too much adrenaline flowing through your bloodstream alongside the alcohol.
you were looser than usual. laughing a little more and swearing more freely. the edge softened by alcohol and the absurdity of what was about to happen, how far the lads from down your street and your brother had come.
“remember when we couldn’t even fill a pub?” liam snorted.
“remember when she used to cry if someone nicked her crisps?” bonehead teased, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and shaking you as you tried to shove him off.
“fuck off” you laughed.
it didn’t take too long for the four of you to wonder out to the stage half-drunk and giddy, staring at the sea of empty field that would be packed by tomorrow. it felt unreal. the quiet before something massive.
you sighed at the sight, truly in awe, your brain ignoring liam and bonehead singing something out of tune. you certainly didn’t notice noel picking up a guitar lying near the amps and plugging it in lazily, either.
you only snapped back when a few slow, unmistakable chords floated out.
you turned your head slowly, already holding a disbelieving smile on your lips. “absolutely not.”
rihannon.
liam howled, bonehead started clapping and cheering you on. noel kept smirking, fingers still picking at the intro. “i’ll triple your salary.”
you scoffed, rolling your eyes, but already kicking your boots off and tossing them aside. “play the fucking song then, gallagher.”
liam whistled and bonehead bent over laughing, and you still stepped forward, like you used to do all those years ago. the same dramatic hand to your chest, the ridiculous spin even more ridiculous now, committing fully to the bit as you sang the first line in a mock-serious and over-the-top voice. bonehead clapped along off-beat and liam swayed behind you like the worst backing dancer ever.
you were laughing through half the words, nearly tripping over a cable as you strutted across the stage like it was yours.
noel kept playing, but he wasn’t really watching his hands anymore.
he was watching you. your hair loose from the wind. boots abandoned revealing mismatching socks just like you wore when you were fifteen. notebook nowhere in sight and not at all the icy manager. just you – loud, ridiculous and carefree.
you were glowing – not in a soft way or delicate. happy and alive. hair messy and skin glinting from drink and adrenaline. you looked small against the scale of the stage, but somehow bigger than it too.
he felt it then, clear and inconvenient deep in his chest, tightening at the sight of you throwing your head back laughing under the knebworth sky.
yeah. some things never change.
▸ fade into you - mazzy star
1997 arrived, and by then, knebworth became part of history and be here now was the next step. you’d seen how noel worked himself up over it, secretly scared that it wouldn’t be as good as the first two and making sure he’d write every single track in this new one – demanding himself to write good songs, even though he knows the best ones don’t really come like that.
they don’t come that easily when he’s in a million dollar spanish villa with his girlfriend, a getaway with the only purpose of relaxing and disconnecting with london so he could get inspired.
sometimes, they come in random hotel rooms late at night. sometimes, they come when someone important has a raging fever in the middle of tour.
it hit you fast. in the morning, when you tried to get up from the bed, you realized that maybe trying to brush this one off wouldn’t be that easy. your skin felt too warm, your head too heavy, your hands were shaking when you turned on the shower.
you made your way to the venue for soundcheck with sunglasses glued to your face anyway, couldn’t be arsed to even put makeup on – also because you didn’t want anyone to see how your eyes tightened shut every time someone spoke a little louder, a normal volume for everyone else but way too much for someone with a pounding headache.
during the whole day, you felt like utter shit. on the phone, your voice came out strangely soft compared to the way it always is when speaking to men who think so highly of themselves.
you skipped lunch, said you weren’t hungry. picked at only two or three chips chip and left the rest, hoping no one noticed.
someone did.
later, on the way to the gig, a few other people did too. mostly because you leaned your head against the cool window and closed your eyes “just for a minute.”
kinda hard to miss that. bonehead told you you looked pale, and liam was hovering. you told them both to fuck off, no real bite to it.
you said you were fine already walking away once inside the venue. and during the gig you just stood side stage just watching.
everything was already managed. so you told yourself you could just… observe tonight. you didn’t really have the energy to boss people around.
halfway through the encore, your vision fuzzed at the edges. you swallowed it down, giving a tight smile whenever someone looked at you. still, you slipped out a few minutes before they walked off stage, didn’t wait for the usual chaos fueled by the post-gig adrenaline. not bothering if they would find a bar or a pub for an after party, you were already in the car back to the hotel.
back at the hotel, your keycard slipped from your fingers twice before you managed to get into your room. the second the door shut, you plopped down on the soft mattress and you swear you could cum just at the feeling of not having to stand on your tired legs anymore.
you didn’t move a muscle until a knock came ten minutes later.
you ignored it.
another knock.
“go away” you whined.
silence, then another knock. more insistent this time.
“fuck off!”
then, firm, not leaving you any room to discuss or protest:“open the door.”
you closed your eyes and huffed. of course.
you dragged yourself across the room and pulled the door open just enough to glare at him. noel stood there still half in stage mode – hair messy and properly knackered.
he was also holding a plastic bag, taking a good look at you and the sharpness in his expression shifting softly.
“christ—”
“yeah.” you already knew what he was going to say, turning away and letting him come in as you walked back to the bed. collapsing on it again, face down over the matress.
he stepped inside, nudging the door shut with his foot. “you look awful,” he said simply, shutting the door and walking towards you.
you huffed. “think i don’t know that?” you said, muffled.
he sat down on the bed beside you, putting the bag down and pulling things out one by one. soup in a takeaway container. paracetamol. a bottle of gatorade. some flu tablets he clearly didn’t if they worked, but bought anyway.
“cmon,” he said, softer now, patting your calf to make you look at him.
you just turned your face, cheek resting on the matress and eyes heavy and red as you looked at him. “you went out?” you asked, blinking.
“yeah” he replied simply.
a beat.
“why?” you asked.
he simply rolled his eyes in response, like the answer is obvious, taking out the last item from the bag – one chocolate bar, the one that have been your favorite ever since manchester – and crinkling the plastic material on his hand, tossing it to the side.
“you didn’t have to.” you said anyway, despite the lack of answer.
“i know.” he replied just as simply.
you sighed, pushing yourself up and already swaying even while kneeled on the mattress, body tipping to the side and thanking god noel put his hand on your waist, firming you back into place before your stubbornness could speak louder and make you fully stand on your feet.
“lay back down.”
“i’ve got it—“
he cut in, hand squeezing your waist once. “fucking sit back down.”
“noel, i’ve got work tomorrow. stop fussin—”
“you’re not doing anything tomorrow.”
“i am.”
“no, you’re not.” he said firmer now.
“noel—”
“will you stop being a fuckin’ pain? jesus, you’re sick” he quipped back, quietly. and the snappiness wasn’t mean, it was just tired and worried.
you opened your mouth to argue again, but he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. his expression shifted immediately. “you’re burning up.” he said quietly, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.
“i’m fine.” you insisted weakly, just like your arms still propping you upwards on the matress.
“lay back down.”
you huffed.
he gave you a look.
“stop fucking ordering me around” you murmured quietly, stubborn, as you laid back down again.
“then stop being so stubborn.” he said as he stood up.
“it’s just a fever,” you murmured, watching him make his way towards the mini fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.
“yeah, and you’re rubbish at being ill.” he said as he walked back, sitting down again and nudging his fist closer to you, holding the meds. “take it.”
you shifted just enough to take them. then, he pushed the soup into your hands next.
“eat.”
you glared but obeyed. muttering how annoying he was while you ate it, despite it being very good – noel watched it and nodded slowly, unimpressed and unbothered by your tiny protests. because, yes. he knew you’d like the soup.
after you finished, he waited a couple of minutes until you seemed like the normal version of yourself again – at least a less dizzy one. then, he nudged his chin toward the bathroom.
“go have a shower.”
you groaned.
“go.” he said anyway.
“no.”
“yes.”
“noellll,” you whined.
he sighed, then said quietly, “you’ll feel better”
“no i won’t” you whined.
“yeah. you will” he said calmly.
you squinted at him. “y’just wanna see my tits.”
he huffed a tired laugh, rubbing down his face. “yeah. that’s exactly what this is,” he said softly. you managed the smallest smile at it. he looked back at you, head tilting and looking at the bathroom and back at you. “go.”
you sighed, muttering a small “fine” before dragging yourself into the bathroom.
minutes later, you came out in an oversized t-shirt that had a stubborn pasta stain from that one time in italy, sweatpants, hair damp and cheeks warm from steam. and noel had already dimmed the lights and drawn the curtains halfway – laying back on the bed with his shoes off, the button on his jeans undone for comfort and his forearm over his eyes.
for a second, you just stood there, watching him. he looked tired. chest rising slow and heavy like the adrenaline had finally drained out of him. he hadn’t even bothered taking his belt off, just enough to breathe properly.
“you decent?” he asked without moving his arm.
you let out a quiet huff that might’ve been a laugh. “yeah,” you said quietly as you padded back toward the bed, climbing in on your side and pulling the duvet up to your chin. the shower did help, but you still felt achey.
he shifted his arm from his eyes and looked at you properly. “better?”
“a bit.”
he nodded. “good”
silence settled between you – not awkward or heavy, unlike the weeks after that pool conversation. right now, it was just tired. then, he turned onto his side to face you, propping his head up slightly on his hand.
neither of you said anything, you just stared at each other for a bit.
after a second, he reached out and pressed his palm lightly to your forehead again, checking. “still hot,” he muttered.
“stop fussing.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
he sighed, closing his eyes like he was saying jesus, you’re stubborn. you let out a tiny huff of a laugh at it, winding him up would never not be funny, not even when your eyes were practically closing already – from the tiredness catching up added to the way they burned.
“just like that one time,” you murmured with eyes closed.
“hm?” he hummed absentmindedly.
“sleepovers,” you said quietly.
he snorted softly. “pirates” he added quietly.
that made you smile properly. small. “yeah… pirates.”
he thought about saying something else, but he noticed how not even a minute after you drifted off. breath evening out and your muscles finally relaxing after the whole day.
he kept watching you, something about you like that reminded him of the childhood years. he even laughed quietly at himself – for staring like a creep, but also at the memories rushing through his head of you two before all this noise.
you looked younger in your sleep. softer and less armored. his eyes darted down to your lips and he smiled again at the realization that you still had them slightly parted when you were out, just like back then. he reached out before he could stop himself, brushing his thumb lightly along your temple, not enough to wake you. just enough to move a stray strand of hair out of your eyes.
then, his mobile phone buzzed over the bedside table. he turned his face just to look at it, considering not answering. but it buzzed again, and he glanced back at you – you didn’t stir.
carefully, he slipped out from the bed and stepped toward the window before answering, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. meg had flown back down to london for a friend’s birthday. noel had insisted he didn’t need fussing over.
“yeah?”
a pause.
“yeah, gig was good.”
another pause.
“she, uh… she’s sick. yeah, i’m actually here in her room now,” he looked back at you again, curled slightly into his pillow. “no, ’s fine. everyone else went out, meg.”
silence while she spoke.
“yeah. even claire. bonehead too”
that wasn’t the truth, because on the way back to the hotel claire had asked if she should come check with you. he’d told her he would handle it. bonehead and liam were probably watching the telly down the hall in their own rooms.
“couldn’t have been on her own, could she?” he added, tone even and reasonable, like it was just logistics.
another beat.
“yeah. course i’ll head back later.”
he knew he wouldn’t.
“alright. yeah, love you too.”
the words landed flat in the quiet room.
he hung up and stood there a moment longer, staring at the reflection of himself in the dark window – tired, wired and something else in between.
then, he walked back to the bed. when he laid down, you shifted instinctively toward the warmth, forehead brushing lightly against his arm. and, just for tonight, he let his hand linger close to yours. just like that one time.
▸ jigsaw falling into place - radiohead
one night in new york during tour, you found yourself in a rooftop. somewhere too high up to feel real, the drinks making the skyline feel even more surreal.
noel had been disappearing into bathrooms all night, coming back brighter and sharper. pupils too wide, eyes too glassy. his hand was fidgety even as it rested on meg’s waist. she stayed, despite noel drifting from her orbit more often than she’d like.
you were sat at the bar, giving your feet a rest from standing on heels while nursing a drink. you’d mastered the art of existing at these things without being consumed by them. you were halfway through your glass when a voice cut through the noise.
“hi,” and then you turned. he was handsome. properly handsome. familiar in that i’ve-seen-you-on-a-screen way. easy grin. confident but not obnoxious, despite being an american actor currently riding his own wave of success. “don’t think we’ve met.”
you smiled, shaking your head. he introduced himself – and yes, you knew exactly who he was – but he didn’t lead with it. didn’t lean on it. just asked how you were finding new york, what did you do and asking more questions about it. he seemed interested, and he listened, properly. it was disarming.
across the room, noel noticed. of course he did. you didn’t notice it at first. didn’t see the way his jaw tightened mid-conversation with a producer or how his eyes flicked back to you every few seconds.
“it’s a bit loud in here,” he said after a few minutes, glancing toward the balcony doors. “would you like to come out with me for a second?”
you hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “yeah, alright.”
he pushes the terrace door open for you, one hand resting on the small of your back, polite. the air feels cooler out there, it carried that new york night smell. traffic below, sirens somewhere distant, the skyline still showing off. you step into the terrace and let out a quiet breath, like you didn’t realise how tight your chest was inside.
“that’s better,” he says, his hand drops easily from your back, no lingering. not pushy, still confident.
“yeah, much.” you agree, leaning lightly against the railing. you rub your hand up and down on your arms, while somewhere a siren wails and fades.
then, you look at him, he’s leaning his elbow on the railing. and he’s already looking at you.
you let out a short huff, not really sure why the corner of your lips are curling up, “what?”
he answers with a small laugh, shaking his head once like he’s embarrassed by his own thought. “nothing. just… one time for a movie i did an accent kinda like yours.”
while he says it, he takes his coat off and slips over your shoulders without even asking if you want it. you do, so you take it gladly, giving him a small smile as a thank you that soon enough shifts into a small laugh at his words, tilting your head and closing your eyes. “oh, no…”
“yeah. realizing now why the critics said it was bad. sounded nothing like yours,” he said easily. a smile on his face matching yours, resting his elbow over the railing again while his other hand ran through his hair.
“i’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” you say lightly, still laughing a little.
“it was. had a dialect coach and everything but was no use, really,” he joked.
the terrace door banging open cuts your laughter midway. you feel it immediately, that shift in the air.
colin didn’t, why would he? he just kept talking.
noel walked closer anyway. eyes glassy and pupils blown. he clocks the distance between you and the actor, the way you’re angled toward each other.
the actor watches noel walk closer and only cuts himself off at that, holding a small smile that only comes from someone who’s so painfully unaware of everything, “hey, man. great show”.
noel doesn’t answer that. just stares.
he goes on anyway, “i’m—”
“i know.” noel cuts in, rudely.
the actor lowers his hand slowly. “right.”
a beat.
“need a word,” noel says, now looking at you. not polite. not casual. annoyed and bitter in a way it makes you want to punch him in the face.
you hold his stare. “i’m in the middle of something, noel.”
“won’t take long.”
colin glances at you, gives you a tight smile before hesitating a second longer, then says quietly to you: “i’ll be inside.” before slipping past noel without touching him.
the door shuts.
▸ purple rain - prince
silence. then your head snaps back to noel.
“what the fuck was that?” you ask, quiet enough so no one else will hear but angry enough to let him know you’re not happy with it.
he gestures vaguely toward the door, then at you, a small bitter frown on his lips. “don’t have to do it in my face.” he says simply, like that itself makes it all make sense.
you blink, eyebrows furrowing. “do what in your face?” you ask, harshly.
he scoffed out a short laugh – bitter, irrational and high. “fucking come off it. you’re flirtin’ with some hollywood pretty boy in the middle of a room full of people.” he says lowly.
you scoffed, shaking your head and nearly laughing in disbelief just because you can’t fucking believe him.
he went on anyway, cutting in before you could snap back. “looks pathetic.”
your head turned at him quickly, facing him now. “you look pathetic, noel. what the fuck are you on about?” you snapped back, trying to keeping your tone at a civilized volume.
he didn’t reply, but you could see the way his nostrils flared, the way his eyes searched for your face for something to say that wouldn’t make him seem like even more of a prick. too late, though.
he didn’t say it. he deflected, nastier. “he’ll be gone in a week.”
“so?”
“so don’t stand there like it means somethin’, like it’s something’ you’ve gotta yell at me for. you’re not that fucking daft”
“you think i’m yelling at you because i’m in love with the fella? are you even fucking listening to yourself? you cheat on your girlfriend like it’s breathing and you’re nagging me about flirting? i’m fucking single. i can do whatever the fuck i want, you fucking prick”
you’re too into it to notice people making their way inside the covered part of the building once again, you just notice the reason when you feel a drop of water land in the middle of your forehead, then your lashes.
“s’not about that. it’s about meaning something,” he says. he knows he doesn’t even make sense, that he sounds like a right fucking hypocrite. he does his best to now show he’s aware of it, though.
“the groupies that you’re shagging mean something too? the coke you’re putting up your fucking nose, huh? maybe this fucking doesn’t mean anything either.” you quip back.
“bullshit. you’re not like that. you’re not—“ he says with a scoff, angrier now.
“i’m not like that? you fucking think you know me better than i know myself?” you cut in, he doesn’t stop talking.
your voices overlap. the rain starts falling harder.
“no. you’re not. cause i’ve fucking known you since—“
“you don’t fucking know me anymore. you don’t get to stand here and decide—”
“i’m not deciding fucking anything. i’m tellin’ you,” he shoots back, a layer of raindrops covering his face. “you’re not like that and you know it.”
“don’t pretend like i’m doing something wrong so you can feel better about whatever the fuck this is—“
“it’s not about me feelin’ better—”
“it’s always about you!” you cut in, louder now, your voice getting swallowed and thrown back at you by the raindrops falling harder.
“it’s about you!” he nearly shouts, and that’s the first honest thing he’s said, but it comes out too wrong, too late.
you let out a harsh, disbelieving breath, shaking your head. “you’re such a fucking liar.”
he steps closer anyway, eyes locked on yours despite the water running into them. “everything is about you.”
“you’re such a fucking liar,” you repeat, angrier.
“everything i do—”
“you’re such a fucking liar.”
“everything i do is about you.”
“you’re such a fucking liar, noel!”
“you’re not— you’re not just some fucking—” he starts, stumbling over it.
“what, noel? now i can’t enjoy my life? i have to just stand here and fucking watch you failing to get your shit together?” you said, just to wound him. “you think i’m gonna marry the bloke just because i flirted back? is that it? is that what’s got you in a fucking mood?”
“failing to get my shit together?” he mocks, talking over you.
“do you really have to fucking ruin my life?!” you push, voice louder, shakier now. “is this not enough? is this not a complete fucking mess already?” – your hand coming up to point between the two of you – “do you have to make it worse?”
he scoffed, rubbing his forearm over the drops of water that cling over his lashes. “you’re fucking ridiculous.”
“no, you’re fucking ridiculous. you’re the one trying to make me the bad guy because you’re jealous for five fucking minutes.” you say.
that snaps him back into it, he scoffs, eyebrows raising like you’re being the one that’s acting insane. “five fucking minutes? you’re seriously that fucking thick?”
your mouth opens, but he cuts you off before you can say anything. “you think he gives a shit about you?” he retorts, breathing uneven now, rain washing down his face and his neck.
“and you do?” you fire back instantly. you shake your head, walking closer. the rain pours harder now, soaking through everything, dripping off your lashes, your jaw, his shoulders. “you don’t get to act territorial.” you finish.
“i’m not territorial.”
“you’re off your fucking head, noel! you’re the fucking pathetic one. you followed me out here.”
“yeah.”
“why?”
he says it before he can fully comprehend what’s coming out of his mouth, eyes locked onto yours. “because i didn’t like seein’ you with him.”
“how is that my problem?” you shot back, dragging a hand over your wet face. “why the fuck would your discomfort be my responsibility?”
“discomfort, fucking hell.” he scoffed bitterly, mocking your choice of words. “you think that’s what it is?”
“isn’t it?” you mock.
“no.”
“what is it then?”
“you turned your face away” he snapped back.
you blinked, eyebrows furrowing.
your breath hitches. he swallows gruffly, rubbing a hand over his wet face.
“what?” you ask. angry, overwhelmed.
he sighed, then added angrily, “that one time at the pool. you turned your face away.”
you let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. “you’ve gotta be taking the fucking piss.” you shake your head, beginning to turn your face away from him like that’ll keep you from throwing him off this fucking rooftop. “oh my god. you cannot be serious.”
“i am.”
“you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, that’s what,” you say, snapping your head back towards him again. you point your finger at him, but it’s as shaky as your voice. and your eyes fucking sting. great. “you were with someone, you fucking prick! you still are! all this because i didn’t kiss you while you had— while you have a girlfriend?”
he doesn’t speak, mostly because he knows he’s in the wrong. because he knows he’s being an irrational twat right now. but the anger shifts anyway, into something heavier. something more exposed and deeper.
you cut in anyway, “you don’t get to storm out here and all fucking pissy. you’re with meg. you’ve always been with her. and you’re implying it’s my fault? that me turning my fucking face away was on me?”
he just looks at you.
you continue, “you’re saying all this like it’s a big fucking gesture? like it’s romantic? it’s not. it’s selfish, you fucking cunt.”
silence. thick. uncomfortable.
you scoffed at his lack of response, pointing at his chest. “you’re a coward. you’re a fucking coward, noel. you throw out this blabbing nonsense and you expect me to fill in the blanks and fucking sort it out for you.”
“don’t call me a coward,” he warned.
“then fucking stop acting like one.”
“you’d rather i spell it out, yeah? make a proper mess of it?”
“it’s already a mess. has been for years.”
his mouth opened.
closed.
his eyes searched your face like he was calculating the damage.
and then, they darted down to the unfamiliar jacket around your body.
right.
he scoffed, choosing the easier way out. “whatever. fuck you.”
you scoffed, bitterly clapping. “good man, noel! well done. classic fucking noel, brilliant.”
but your voice is shaking now. you hate that it is.
“fuck you,” you snapped, shoving his chest. he wobbled back, but didn’t pull his eyes off from your angry expression. “fucking prick. get the fuck out of my face.”
for a second you thought he might stay. from the way he looked at you. from the way his chest heaved just like yours. the way his hands twitched at his sides. the way his eyes flickered like he’s still deciding.
you think – or maybe, stupidly, hoped – that he’d grab you by the shoulders and argue harder. push it further. say the thing and ruin everything properly once in for all.
instead, he shook his head once and stormed back inside without another word. the terrace door slammed behind him.
and you stayed.
as you stood there, you began to think this city was haunted. the rain made your hair plastered to your face and your clothes clinging to skin.
the wind kept blowing your hair and your face, it even made you shiver but still wouldn’t make your cheeks cool down. it seemed that the air wouldn’t go inside your lungs, either. stubborn air.
it seemed almost unfair how people kept talking, laughing and drinking when the rain and something else poured down your cheeks. how life kept moving the same way it always had.
it seemed even more unfair when you realized that noel gallagher still had this power over you, in this haunted rooftop. in this haunted city.
and as noel made his way through the bar, pushing through the crowd without looking at anyone or addressing curious looks that wondered why his clothes were dripping – he thought the same thing. i need to get out of this fucking haunted rooftop, in this fucking haunted city.
▸ seven - taylor swift
but haunted places were never a thing.
not now, not when you were five and he was nine.
still, that was the age when you’d decided that his house was haunted. you never said it out loud, and even at that age, you never meant ghosts, exactly. you mean the way the air felt heavier that one afternoon his dad came by.
you didn’t understand the words, not really. just the tone peggy used when you four came through the door, only then snapping her gaze away from the brunette man standing in front of her.
noel cut himself mid-sentence, liam suddenly went very quiet, which never happens unless something’s wrong. but before you could say anything, peggy perked up:
“go on, off you all go. her mum won’t mind.”
so you all ended up at your house instead.
your mum pretends it’s a treat. she puts crisps in bowls, pours fizzy drinks into plastic cups like it’s a party. by nighttime, she’s dragging chairs into the middle of the living room and throwing blankets over them. “pirate camp,” she’d say.
you think it’s the best thing that’s ever happened. you’re five, small and sleepy and dragging your favourite blanket behind you like a cape. noel is nine, trying very hard to act unimpressed. he chooses the spot closest to the wall and keeps glancing at the window when he thinks no one notices.
later – 9pm, which is late enough for kids – liam crashes first, curled up in a pile of cushions with biscuit crumbs on his cheek. bonehead passed out on the couch because he’s “too old for sleeping in a fort.”
you wake up because you can hear someone shifting, you blink in the dark, hair stuck to your face, blanket twisted around your legs and teddy in your arms.
“what are you doing?” you whisper.
he glances down at you, “nothin’. go back to sleep.”
“why’re you up?”
“not tired.”
that’s a lie. you can tell, even at five.
you scoot closer without thinking, humming, your small hand catching on the sleeve of his t-shirt. you press your cheek against his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“noelly?” you said quietly.
“hm?”
“i like when you’re here,” you mumbled, even quieter.
he doesn’t answer straight away. but he looks back at you, being met with your sleepy expression.
“yeah?”
“yeah... mum doesn’t let me be a pirate.” you continue sleepily. “but she doesn’t mind when you lot are around.”
that almost makes him smile. “girls can’t be pirates. they can be… princesses.” he said softly.
you lift your head, offended even through the fog of sleep, eyebrows already furrowing. “that’s stupid.”
he huffs quietly. “is not.”
“well,” you say firmly, but you’re already yawning and settling back against him, “i can be a pirate princess.”
he looks down at you properly then. your hair’s a mess. your eyes are half-closed and you’re completely serious.
“that’s not a thing.” he mutters.
“is.”
you yawn again, wide and dramatic, eyes nearly watering from how sleepy you are. then tuck yourself closer under his arm without asking permission. he stiffens for a second before he lets it happen.
“you can be my crew,” you whisper. “or my first mate. but not the boss. i’m the boss.”
he lets out the tiniest breath of a laugh. “course you are.”
his arm hovers awkwardly before settling around your shoulders. not tight. just there.
“noelly?” you murmur again, barely awake.
“what?” he asks quietly.
“are you okay?”
he huffs out a little breath, the corner of his lip curling up softly properly for the first time today. “yeah… yeah, ‘m okay.”
“okay…” you mumble, accepting that without question.
you’re quiet for a second. then, “i’m not gonna be a princess pirate when i grow up, though,” you mumble.
he glances down again, sleepy and amused. “no?”
“no… pirates have to travel all the time. i’d miss mum.”
he huffs a quiet, soft laugh. “would you miss paul?” he teases quietly.
“not really… he’s really annoying.”
that makes him smile properly. the corner of your lip curls up softly as you hear the small huff of a laughter he lets out.
it fades softly, silence settles in again. your breathing slowing.
“noelly?” you ask.
again.
he’s not bothered by it.
“yeah?”
another pause.
“i’d miss you.” you admit quietly.
“yeah?…” he asks, just as quiet now.
“yeah…” you murmur. “i really do like when you’re around.”
your voice fades halfway through the last word, finally drifting off. he stays awake a little longer, a small and sleepy smile on his lips as he stares at you, now dead to the world.
then, he stared at the inside of the blanket fort, listening to the quiet hum of your house. your breathing evened out by his side. liam mutters something incoherent in his sleep.
it feels different here.
he shifts just enough to make sure the blanket is tucked around you properly. and after a while, his eyes close too.
that was then.
right now, you’re 26 years old. still standing in this rooftop, frozen like a fucking idiot that can’t even shield herself from the rain. with millions of people in this city, you only want one – the same one that makes things that should be simple complicated.
right now, noel is 30. already hailing a cab with a confused meg beside him as of why they’re leaving earlier.
and next week he will kneel.
or maybe he won’t kneel at all. maybe he’ll just shrug like it’s no big deal, like it’s the most casual thing in the world as he slides a stupidly expensive engagement ring onto meg’s finger with that same careless confidence he uses for everything else.
next week there will be champagne. there will be congratulations and his mates clapping him on the back once he breaks the news.
he’ll smirk, like he’s pleased with himself. like this is what is right, despite something in his gut telling him otherwise. like this isn’t pretending, like this is the real thing. like it isn’t wearing him out.
and you’ll watch.
somewhere close enough to see it, but far enough not to let anyone see that your smile isn’t genuine.
wn: please read the first part if you haven’t! i thought about this idea for part two and got rlly excited but im afraid it’s not as good as i imagined… and def not as good the first one that’s lowk my optimus prime # that friend who loves somno. anyways, hope u enjoy!!! 🩷
nothing loud or obvious in a way anyone else could point at. there was no change in the way you still carried your role with the band, you were still functional as ever – the only sane one, as they’d often tease. the way liam carried himself around the band was the same too.
but you two knew.
it slipped out in tiny moments, the kind of thing only happens when there’s an elephant in the middle of the room no one is willing to discuss.
but, sometimes, it showed. in the way your body tensed whenever he got too close. in the way liam would fully avoid your gaze – clearing his throat and blushing in a way it was so unlike him whenever he simply thought about making eye contact.
he thought about saying something, he really did. apologize for being a disgusting prick who got too carried away in the heat of the moment.
he didn’t even have the courage to ask you if you were on the pill. god, can you imagine? what a fucking disaster if you weren’t – he had a gut feeling you did though, you were a smart girl ever since he could remember.
you even started smoking a little more. what once was one or maybe two cigarettes when drunk became a few every day.
“stress” you said. oasis was getting bigger, right? that’s a good excuse.
noel even teased once, “birdy good shoes took up smokin then?”
you just rolled your eyes, flicking ash to the ground and watching it fall like your mind wasn’t replaying the same thing over and over again. you’d always reply to noel’s tease with a quiet “stop”, but your mind went mushy every single time. because little did he know.
little did he know that his sweet smart manager let his prick of a little brother fuck her in a cramped bed in paris.
little did anyone know that the wide eyed good girl moaned in her sleep while liam pounded into her cunt like a little fuck toy without even asking so – perfectly syncing up with the dreams you were having, as filthy.
and the worst part, in your opinion, is that you loved it.
you think should have been disgusted. the logical part of your brain insisted that he’d taken advantage of your sleepy surrender.
but every time you closed your eyes, you didn't feel violated. you felt starved, and only for him. for his breath close to you. for his words slurred, desperate and filthy right by your ear.
every time you thought about his cock sliding in with no resistance, you could swear your underwear would get wetter in the middle of production meetings.
it made goosebumps rise on your arms just at the thought. you’d be standing there, listening to whatever chaos the band had gotten themselves into that day, and the memory would just hit you every time you heard liam’s voice chime in.
you couldn’t even tell if the words that resonated inside your brain were from the dream or the actual thing, if the whole thing you remember was still your subconscious or a memory.
but the feeling would creep up every time anyway. impolite and maddening.
the way his voice sounded in your ear. the way your body had responded without hesitation, without shame, without thinking twice like you always did.
and then, you’d sneak off to light another cigarette, just to calm yourself.
liam didn’t make it easier. because he didn’t stop being liam. he still had girls hanging off him like it was second nature.
you’d watch it happen. not on purpose, but you wouldn’t look away fast enough, either.
he would snog some random bird against a wall backstage post gig, his hands remained unapologetic and lazy, in that way that used to make you roll your eyes.
now, it made your lower stomach twist.
because sometimes his eyes would flick open, and they’d find you. and you’d swear there was something in that look. something that made you wonder if he was thinking the same thing you were – like maybe that would trick his brain into pretending a random bimbo groupie is you.
it made heat crawl up your neck. it made your thighs press together without you meaning to. it made your breath come just a little too shallow.
and then, you’d look away. every time.
── .✦
now, the bus is quiet again.
you’ve been tossing and turning for what feels like hours, the thin mattress doing nothing to ground you, your mind running in circles.
you try closing your eyes, focusing on the hum of the engine.
it doesn’t work.
so, with a quiet sigh, you push yourself up, rubbing your face as you swing your legs over the side of the bunk. you adjust the waistband of the soft pajama shorts you’re wearing as you pass through the thin curtains. you have a soft cotton tank top on – a fucking cliché, a walking invitation, you feel like. but you told yourself you just needed water. just a little bit of distance from the sounds of bonehead snoring.
the aisle is dim, the low light barely enough to see where you’re going as you make your way toward the front.
and then, you see him.
slouched on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. his hair’s a mess and his shirt is wrinkled, and he looks like he’s been failing to sleep as badly as you were.
his head lifts when he hears you.
you hesitate for a second, swallowing before you speak. “couldn’t sleep?” you ask, voice quiet as you walk towards the couch.
he lets out a soft huff, dragging a hand over his face and shaking his head in response.
you nod, barely. then you sit at the other end of the couch.
space. yeah. space is good.
“you?” he asks.
you shake your head, “no.”
he nods.
god, this is awkward.
it wasn’t like this before. you used to be easy with each other. loud, careless, familiar. now every tiny thing feels loaded.
liam shifts slightly, glancing at you, then away. “right.”
then he stands. and before he can take two steps or mutter a tense “good night.” you cut in with a sigh. frustrated, tired, and, quite frankly, tired of this bullshit.
“sit down, liam.”
he stops in his tracks. and he doesn’t even look back at you as he slowly sits back down with a small sigh, not as relaxed this time.
there’s another moment of silence, and this time you cut through it with a huff, placing your head in your hands and saying quietly. “this is so fucking weird,” you mutter.
“yeah,” he agrees. you can feel it, the tension rolling off him in waves. it’s not just awkwardness, it’s restraint.
you glance at him, he’s not looking at you.
“shouldn’t have—” he starts, then cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, dragging a hand through his hair. “fuck me”
you swallow, your fingers toying with the hem of your shorts, you shake your head slowly. “no. shouldn’t have.”
he even sounds more convinced of it than you, which is funny, because you’re the one who had always been the proper one – and you’re still trying to be, but failing miserably.
silence again.
he lets out a dry, almost humorless laugh, shaking his head. “can’t… even fuckin’ look at you normal anymore.”
you lick your lips, watching him continue.
“every time i look at you i—” he stops again, jaw tightening.
you lean forward slightly, asking barely above a whisper, “what?”
he breathes out a dry huff of a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re even asking it. “fuck sake, tryin' to be a good lad here. i’m tryin' not— to be a total prick.”
you inhale, and it comes out shaky. “bit… too late for that, isn’t it?”
he sighs, closing his eyes. “just… remember it, don’t i?” he says, low. “all of it.”
you swallowed roughly, darting your eyes back to your hands on your lap. you shrugged, small and nearly embarrassed.
“i wanted it, liam.”
he huffs out a breath, nearly pissed now. “think i don’t fucking know that? were so fucking wet.”
“liam…” you start, quietly, as a silent plea for him to not make this even harder.
“were… squeezin’ me. so fucking tight, love.”
the words hang there, heavy. too heavy for something said in that low, rough voice of his.
your breath hitches as you let it out, you don’t answer straight away. your throat feels tight anyway, fingers still fidgeting with the hem of your shorts. “i…” you start, but it comes out softer than you meant it to.
he huffs, dragging a hand down his face again, restless. “what?” he mutters, not looking at you this time. “s’not like i can just— fucking stop thinking, can i?”
you swallow. because the answer’s no. you know it well enough, simply because you can’t stop either.
you shift slightly on the couch, turning just enough to face him properly now. your knee brushes his, barely, but it’s enough to make both of you still for a second.
you swallow gruffly at it, licking your lips and meeting his gaze that’s been on you for a couple of seconds now. there’s something in his expression that wasn’t there before. not just embarrassment. not just guilt. it’s want, and it’s raw and obvious in a way that makes your stomach twist.
it’s just like the look you have painted on your face as well.
“going mental,” he confessed quietly. “wanking myself fucking stupid every time i think about you.”
you swallow again, exhaling shakily.
“think it’s any easier for me?” you whisper.
that gets his attention. his brows raise slightly just for a second, leaning back just enough to look at you properly.
you hesitate. just for a second. “i remember it too, liam. all of it.” you admit quietly.
you can see the way his breathing changes, the way his gaze flickers over your lips like he’s slowly giving up on restraint.
“yeah?” he says, barely above a whisper. then, he shifts closer, slowly placing his hand on your thigh.
“liam, we— we can’t… do that again,” you say immediately, looking at his hand. but your tone holds absolutely no real conviction to it. the words come out breathy and needy and shaky.
he notices. his breathing gets heavier despite himself, his thumb softy digging into your flesh. “doesn’t have to be that.”
“liam…”
“i’m so fucking hard right now. and you’re not even doin’ anything.” he cuts in, slowly. his voice still low, breathier and shakier now.
you take in a shaky inhale, head tipping to the side as you feel him slide his hand down to your inner thigh, his thumb brushing the hem of your shorts for a moment as he shifts even closer.
you try again, “liam…”
doesn’t really stop him, because now his nose is on the side of your neck, taking in your scent. it’s less shamelessly than the last time – and strangely enough, it feels even more charged now. your heart picks up at that, and the way you’re tensing under his touch tells on you.
“you wet right now?” he whispered in your ear.
it pulls a deep breath out of you like someone’s punched you in the stomach. “liam…” you whisper, his name coming out in a breath, but there’s no real warning in it.
“fuck sake, gotta stop sayin’ my name like that if you want me to be good.” he said lowly, his voice rougher. his hand kneads the soft flesh of your thigh slowly, his own lips parting at the warmth of you underneath his touch – unaware that you’re doing the same, given how dark it is.
your breath hitching is the only thing telling him to not stop, that he’s a bit of a prick, sure. but fuck me, you’re just as bad.
“know what’s doin’ my head in?” he asks in a whisper, right by your ear. you lick your lips at the tone, feeling your lungs fill roughly and your hardened nipples nearly dig a hole through your shirt. he takes a shaky breath before continuing, “wasn’t even the fucking.” he says lowly.
you swallow hard at the raspiness in his voice, the accent now thicker that’s possibly blame of nights without sleeping. your eyes land on your inner thigh, watching his hand. “what, then?” you ask quietly, already breathless.
“didn’t get to… take my time, did i?” he mutters, spreading his fingers across your inner thigh just to grab it again. “didn’t get to do it proper.”
“liam, fuck… don’t—“
“not fuckin’ yeah, i know.” he rasps, cutting in your plea.
he couldn’t care less now, and you don’t fucking mean it, do you? course you don’t. look at how you’re arching your back, tilting your head closer to his side, lips permanently agape and your chest heaving. fucking hell.
he licks his lips, nibbling your earlobe as he whispers, “just… let me see.”
then, he took his hand off your thigh and brought it closer to his mouth. he gave his fingertips an unhurried lick, guiding them back to where they were, almost. “let me feel you a little bit, yeah? just a little.”
his slick fingers passed by the loose waistband of your shorts, feeling the way down your mound until they found the damp fabric of your knickers, already clinging to your wet folds.
he huffed out a breath at it, like he could cum just at the touch. “soaked, aren’t ya… see? even when you’re tryin’ to be good.” he said quietly, taking advantage to the way your head fell back and leaning until his nose was pressed right over your pulse point, dragging over the curve of your neck and inhaling.
“kept thinkin’ about it after…” he adds, quieter, rubbing slow circles over your covered clit, feeling his way through and swallowing roughly at the sensation of it throbbing under his touch. “what i didn’t do.”
you moaned his name, hand reaching out and involuntarily wrapping around his thigh – hearing him swallow down a moan as you dug your nails in.
he shook his head more at himself than anything, keeping up with the taunting circles. “could make you fuckin’ scream, love. swear down. no cock. just me. just my mouth.”
you whispered his name, voice coming out in a whimper as your hand involuntarily reached higher. he let out a rough exhale at the feeling of your palm over his erection, applying more pressure on your sensitive clit without even being aware of it.
“f-fuck… yeah… wanted to… clean y’up after. bury my face there and lick you ‘til you were all nice ‘n fucking clean, babe.” he gritted out, his breath warm in your ear.
you had goosebumps all over your arms, head tipping back like you couldn’t help it. your fingers curling around his clothed cock, he smirked at the sight – despite breathless. “bit gross, innit. with my own cum drippin’ out and all that.” he said lowly in your ear.
you breathed out his name, he kissed your neck to muffle a moan of his own. “but i’m not that kinda lad, yeah? fuckin’ eat every drop out of you. let you fuck my face, yeah? go fuckin mad on it. don’t care.” he said quietly in your ear.
you stiffed a moan in, your hand involuntarily going to the waistband of his trousers. he swallows a moan, hooking the side of your knickers and immediately pressing the tip of his finger against your entrance once the fabric is out of the way.
“wanted to. so fucking bad. all i’ve been thinkin’ about. fuckin’ my hand thinking about how pretty you’d look riding my it, making a mess all over me.”
“liam… we can’t— fuck. we can’t fuck, liam.”
he huffs out a breath deep from his chest. his hand moving away from your cunt until it’s on your hip. and before you can even protest, he shifts you. “heard ya the first time,” he says quietly, placing you on his lap.
the moment you’re straddling him, all good judgement of yours is immediately out the window. you kiss him needily, hands flying to his cheeks and cupping them as he parts his lips for you with a low groan that you swallow.
his hands slid up to grip your ass, pulling you hard against his crotch. he was already rock-hard, the thickness of him underneath the fabric of his sweatpants pressing right over your cunt, only covered by the thin layer of your sleeping shorts.
you were a walking contradiction. because your mouth said one thing while your hips, chasing for fiction, did another.
you broke the kiss only by an inch, just to quietly choke it out, “we're not fucking,” you whispered, shaking your head – more to yourself than anything – as you began to grind your hips down, desperately. already far too in it to stop.
liam’s brows furrowed, a needy and shaky breath falling from his parted lips. he nodded eagerly, only leaving his hand from your ass to fumble with the waistband of his pants down – not even freeing himself from the restraint of his underwear. a quiet moan left his mouth at the feeling of your swollen clit bumping right over his tip, the fabric sticky with his precum already.
“y-yeah. no fucking,” liam said, voice breaking. his hands were everywhere. they dig into your waist hard enough to bruise, they roamed up your back and your ass until they slid to the front of you – fumbling with the hem of your shirt and pushing it up messily.
your hand flew to the back of his head, grabbing his hair roughly as he leaned in without even asking. he took one nipple into his mouth, messily sucking and licking the hardened bud. you let out a strangled moan, eyebrows furrowing and head falling back as you breathed harder since you couldn’t moan as loudly as your body ached for.
your fingers digged into his scalp, pulling him closer. the touch made him grab your ass harder, dragging you over his length with more intent. you were soaking through your shorts, “please,” you whimpered, without even knowing what you’re asking for.
liam pulled back, his pupils blown out with lust. “please what? want me to get it out? wanna feel it?” he gripped your hips, holding you tighter. “can’t. fuck, m'gonna put it in and i won't stop.”
“liam...”
“yeah, fuck— cum in ya again ‘til you’re dripping, yeah? think it… fuck. be a good look for your lad, hm?” he grunted out, bucking his hips upwards as sloppily as the rhythm of you grinding over his cock. he leaned in, his teeth grazing your earlobe as his voice dropped. “fucking liked it, huh? yeah? liked it when i was deep in you, didn’t you. me cummin’ inside this tight cunt, hm? your lad does it like that?”
you shook your head blindly, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. “no, he... liam, stop.” you tried, cheeks burning up as intensely as the desire in your lower stomach.
“bet you don’t even let him," he hissed, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub roughly over the soaking wet patch of your shorts. “and fucking look at you now. want it so bad you’re fucking rubbing yourself on me.”
you cried out a tiny moan, hand tightening in his hair as you crashed a messy kiss on his lips. tongues bumping into one another and swallowing down the tiny sounds you let out – trying to hush them but not really being good use, since the friction sounds and the slickness in your knickers were too loud for two people that were supposed to be quiet.
“anyone could see. anyone could walk through those curtains and see the pretty manager being a fucking slag f’me.” he muttered into the kiss, shutting himself up as he slid his tongue inside your mouth.
the shame should have burned, but it only made the feeling tighter in your gut. you were desperate for it, your head lolling to the side as he took advantage of it and leaned in right in your ear. “yeah? what d’you think r’kid would think? seein’ the good birdie begging for his brothers cock instead of her boyfriend’s,” liam taunted, his own breathing becoming shakier.
you were close, so close. your cunt clenched around nothing, your mind was a haze of his smell and the heat of his cock underneath you. you leaned in, biting his neck to keep from screaming as the first wave hit you.
“i’m so close. ‘m so fucking close, liam…” you whimpered, babbling by now, slurring against the warm skin of his neck.
his hand slid under your shirt again. his palm was big enough to give both of your tits a greedy grab, squeezing them together clumsily and eagerly. his fingers pinched your nipples that still glistened with his spit. “bet the prick doesn't even touch 'em right. i bet he’s all polite. i’m not polite, am i? wanna bite—fuckin’… suck them ‘till you’re all fucking sore. fucking whin— fuck. don’t… stop. don’t stop.”
it pulled a sound out of him like he was in pain from how turned on he was. “yeah, love? fucking… make a fuckin’ mess all over it.” he managed to get out, every word coming out restrained, hushed and shaky. your hips started to twitch over him, your head nodding desperately as your lips fell agape, hanging off to every word he breathed out in your ear. “yeah? gonna fucking cum on it without even getting a proper fuck? hm?” he said, voice breaking and his own climax seconds away.
his hands are groping you properly now, greedily. one squeezing your breast while the other digs into your ass, pulling your pelvis down to meet his sloppy thrusts.
you sobbed into his neck, your body shaking. “please— gonna… i’m gonna cum, liam... don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” you cried out quietly, babbling needy words and his name like it was a prayer. your fingers grabbed his hair, you were so lost in the feeling you couldn’t even notice how hard you were tugging his head back.
he gave into it, head lolling back and eyes closing so tightly shut small white dots invaded his pitch black vision. hips pathetically thrusting up and hot spurts of his cum releasing into his white underwear at the same time your own orgasm washed through you.
even as the feeling faded, your hips kept twitching on top of him, smearing the mess he’s made and slicking yourself with the sticky fabric underneath you even more. at the sloppy stimulation on his already far too sensitive cock, liam buried his face on the side of your neck with a broken whimper, his hands tightening on your ass – hips still twitching upwards at the overwhelming friction.
your body still shook as you slowed down, panting against the side of his head and your fingers tightening inside his hair once you inhaled the scent of his shampoo.
you exhale slowly. “we said we—”
“we didn’t.” he shoots back quickly. then, he licks his lips, shifting until his face is right in front of yours, his breath brushing your lips as he whispers, “not properly.”
“yeah…” you said quietly, lips brushing his and still not pulling away.
your fingers are still tangled in his hair, softer now. you let them stay there, you let yourself feel him throbbing underneath where you need him just as bad. just for a couple more minutes.
then, you break the silence. so quietly it nearly doesn’t.
“we can’t again, okay?”
that’s a lie.
he swallows softly, nodding and still not pulling away when his nose softly rubs against yours, still slow and still dazed.
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