#gas panic

HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY ₊˚⊹

Casual hookups with Noel suddenly become something deeper after one fateful night together.

[PART ONE] [part two] [part three] [part four] [part five]

2.2 k. late 90s NG x reader. based on (?) this request. [18+]

a/n: i just went to link the ask for this and……. i think i went off the rails. like what the fuck. i’d completely forgotten what the original request was while writing. like i practically blacked out apparently. WHAT THE FUCK. I’M SORRY to whoever sent that request because i’ve literally just went off on my quest here. i’m gonna try to comply more to the og ask for future parts i’m sorryyyryryryryyy !!!!!

It started off as merely a mutual release of tension.

One particularly drunken night, where the light seemed to hang a thousand miles above your head, indiscernible from the stars, and the dance floor seemed a thousand miles from your eyes, you had bumped into him. Not loudly, not dramatically—it was a quiet encounter where words were solely a theatrical act for the eyes watching. The night ended, not romantically but satisfactory.

It had continued like that for a while. Celebrations with mutual friends and after-parties with groupies and journalists ended with the two of you, locked in a bathroom or against the wall of someone's bedroom. It was impersonal, anonymous, distant enough where it ended with awkward shuffles to find discarded clothing and low mumbles of friends and drinks.

That is, until last week.

You didn't know whether it was on purpose or not. You'd invited him over after drinking smooth wine at a mutual friend's house and didn't promise much apart from privacy and champagne. He accepted. It started off as nothing out of the ordinary—drinks, cigarettes, slow conversation. His hand came onto your thigh, glasses were put down, didn't bother to leave the couch. Then, in the midst of it, his head fell against the couch cushion beside your head and, so quiet you could barely hear it: Your name. Over and over, no more than a whisper. He said it like a prayer. A sacred, ancient text repeated a million times until it echoed in one's mind when they clamped their hands together, whether they wanted to hear it or not. You weren't even sure he aware of what he was saying.

When his body caught satisfaction and his breathing stilled, reality seemed to crash over his wine-drunk mind. He'd hurriedly dressed in silence and left without saying goodbye.

There’d been an eerie silence after he left. Not just for a couple lingering minutes, but days. Of course, there was never any contact between your hookups. He didn’t have your phone number and you didn’t have his, that was the way you’d both preferred it. Only, this silence stuck to the back of your mind, always present no matter how much you tried to ignore it. It grew louder than the actual noises around you. You thought that night was the last time you would see him.

Until yesterday night.

The lights were buzzing like flies were trapped inside, yellowish and sickly, and the hallways to the venue were damp and cold. It was some secretive party, not exclusive but definitely not accessible either as you had practically guessed your way to the right time and place.

You hadn't exactly wanted to find him. He didn't owe you anything. Though it'd never been spoken aloud, there was an agreement that you'd both shook hands on. If he decided you had reached the end of that contract, you were no one to argue.

But he couldn't stop you from going to parties. An accidental encounter could hardly be your fault. Your circles had sort of ended up as a Venn diagram after all.

The room where the actual party was located was dimmer than the rest of the building, lit by candles and floor lamps. Leaned against a wall, you spotted him. Cigarette in hand, drink in the other. Indifferent as ever.

His sunglasses obstructed you from the knowledge of whether he saw you or not—though you could assume by the way he shifted from one foot to the other when you entered. Silent hours passed and as the night grew older, you began thinking he really did want nothing to do with you. In the moment, you had thought it was childish of him. Something so minor to any other person—a name, no more—had it embarrassed him so greatly he had to cut all contact to save his own ego? You knew the scent of his skin, where your kisses had the biggest effect, how his throat tightened when he came close—but he drew the line at vulnerability?

Just as you were about to exit with someone else, you felt a familiar hand around your wrist.

Yesterday night, he went along with you to your apartment. There was no mention of last time and, strangely enough, there was no awkward tension. It was like nothing had happened and you wondered if it was all something your mind had made up, or dreamt, maybe. It'd had been almost a week by then; you considered if your memories had warped and distorted from time.

You didn't talk. Kissed, in the hallway and the entire way to the bedroom. His hands trailed up your body, shedding your clothes piece by piece as you helped him out of his too. His grip on you was like a madman's: Harsh and bruising, bordering possessive.

By the time your back hit the mattress, you were only in your panties. It was like there’d been all this time for dramatic buildup, a small uneasiness that grew to become disorienting, and now you were on the very edge of that mountain looking down at a thousand feet drop.

His kisses came down greedily against your neck, your collarbone, your chest as he unclipped your bra. There was a haste in his actions, like he couldn’t bear to wait another second.

When he hovered above you, stark naked, his eyes burnt so intensely you could almost see the fire behind them, raging and eating at his sense of logic as it spread from his fingertips to your skin. He pushed inside and the familiar stretch of him sucked the air out of you, not necessarily from the pleasure of that action itself but more so from what your body knew was coming.

His kisses returned, half paralysing and stammered as he struggled to multitask, and you almost expected there to be big, charcoaled marks where his lips had been. Biting and breathing hard, it was like he had no control of himself. His thrusts came at a relentless, almost resolute pace.

It was so bizarrely unlike how it all began; Noel’s torpid, virtually greedy self-indulgence as he pulled you on top of him. How it had slowly transition into him on top, his hands and fingers working laboriously for something outside of himself. Now, it was like he believed he was on verge of death with the way he so ravenously clawed at you and you egotistically thanked the existence of whatever drug he had taken.

Noises left him in broken divisions, received as prayers in your ears. He groaned and fought with his own voice, crazily trying to contain his vocal pleasure within the lines of his polished image.

His pace grew erratic and something no less than a fervent moan left him as he came, pushing deep into you as thick, hot ropes emptied into you.

You squealed and breathed against the side of his face as you came too, broken into a million pieces only held together by Noel’s warm hands, clawing at his shoulders like it’d pull you back to earth. You held him closely for one still moment before you woke up from your dazed pleasure and let go of your painful grip on his hair.

He seemed to be quite spaced out too as he fell onto the mattress beside you, chest still heaving wildly. You found yourself inert, only capable of lying still and focusing on staying conscious, as the minutes drifted by. When your breath had caught and your mind was back in its normal state, you kept your eyes closed as you waited for the rustle and shift in the mattress of Noel getting up. Only, it never came. You stayed there with your eyes closed as you listened to his now calm breaths, like a dream you were afraid would disappear.

Nonetheless, you cracked your eyes open to find his physical self still there—not an illusion or a dream. Motionless and dead asleep.

For a moment, you considered waking him. It’d never been his milieu to linger, let alone stay overnight—but the way his face relaxed into sleep was a contrast so grave against the animalistic hunger that had consumed him just a couple minutes before that it had to be for good reason. You decided to let him sleep. He was so picturesque you couldn’t find the courage to reach out and touch him in fear of startling him so you stayed there, unmoving and slowly dozed off to the image of him.

You woke in the summit of night for no apparent reason. Your bedside lamp was still on, left forgotten before you fell asleep. The memories came back to you slowly as you breathed in the scent on the sheets.

Noel. He'd fallen asleep with you—the memory risen from his scent still tangled in the blanket. But as you lay there, wrapped tightly in the blanket, you noticed you were alone.

You hazily propped yourself up on your elbows to scan the bedroom—frozen in your action as you saw Noel, perched on the edge of the bed.

He was half dressed, only missing socks and a shirt, his back to you with his elbows resting against his knees. You couldn't see his face as it was covered by his hands—flat, trembling palms against his skin.

"Noel?" you tried.

He didn't respond. His back rose and fell with alarming haste, his knee bouncing wildly beneath his elbow. There was no indication that he'd heard you or even realised that you'd woken up. Or maybe he had heard you, though couldn’t distinguish the sound of your voice from the blood rushing through his ears or his heaving, gasping breaths.

You crawled hesitantly over the bed, taking the blanket with you. You stretched your hand out slowly, fingertips grazing his shoulder, cold and clammy.

He jerked, hands leaving his face as he looked back at you with wild eyes.

"Are you alright?" you asked, unsure of whether he wanted you in a moment like this or not.

Beads of sweat glazed his forehead. " 'M sorry," he mumbled, voice smaller than you'd ever heard it before.

"You’re sorry?" you repeated, confused, allowing your shy fingertips to become a sturdy palm against his skin. "What for?"

"Waking you." The muscles in his face flexed and relaxed, his head in small, jerking motions like he was struggling to keep still.

Your mouth formed a small, round “o” shape. “Don’t be. It’s alright. Are you alright?” You felt the panic in Noel progress into you, though you tried not to show it. You put a slow hand in his hair when he didn’t respond. Easing into him slowly, you placed your cheek against his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his back. You didn’t know what to do—how to help. This was unmapped territory, and tremendously precarious territory at that.

His eyebrows quivered into a frown at the contact, eyes closed tightly as his head returned to his hands. He rubbed his eyes, a palm against his forehead, or cupped both his cheeks like he was just trying to keep his hands busy. Then, you felt him stop, like he was hesitating.

He sat up straight, though not with much confidence. When he turned his body to you, his eyes didn’t meet yours but his trembling hand crossed your back and anchored itself to your shoulder, the other finding your waist over the blanket.

You were half stunned and half reflexively wrapping your arms around him as your back hit the mattress. You didn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say. This was most definitely overstepping the agreements in your nonexistent contract, though you had a condoling feeling that it was the last thing on his mind right now.

He was lying, half on top of you, his face somewhere in your neck, with his trembling hands in fists against your skin. You rubbed slow, steady circles over his cold skin. You could still feel his face twitching in strain against your neck and you, for some reason, wanted so desperately for him to go back to normal.

Not because of selfish reasons. Not because you were embarrassed that you were still naked beneath the blanket he was lying on top of. Not because you were uncomfortable with his weight squeezing the air out of you. But because you cared. You could feel his racing heart through his back and it was like every despairing beat hit you right in the chest.

The walls Noel had spent decades building and strengthening to protect himself were torn down at a moment’s notice, leaving him completely defenceless and unnerved. He’d been so careful surrounding what parts of him you got to see and what you didn’t, what no one did. Now, he was shivering in your arms with no sense of himself anymore and it tore at your heart like a physical thing.

Eventually, his heartbeat slowed down and his grip on you loosened to something less frantic. His muscles relaxed and turned to slop, exhausted from the constant flexing and relaxing. His breath came slow against your neck and you didn’t ask him to move. Didn’t ask if he was okay. If he should leave.

You held him there with your hands in his hair and on his skin as his eyes eventually fell closed and the tension in his eyebrows left.

In the still of the night, you knew, even then, that it was the beginning of something irreversible and unspeakably complex.

[go to: PART TWO]

…… did you get whiplash from that. sorry. i didn’t think this through before writing……….. i’m impatient.

anyway—PART ONE OF SITUATIONSHIP NOEL IS FINALLY HERE. idk if this is up to standard, i’m hesitant myself, but i just. gotta get something out so i can proceed. i’m gonna try to write the next part a little more thought out !!! stay with me.

ok. need to write something stupidly cheesy now to cleanse my palette.

February 28, 2020 (SOTSOG 20th Anniversary):

*camera quickly pans to Tommy*

Tommy: Check this out!

(COBRA TRANSITION)

Screeno: Ladies and gentlemen, "Oasis" with Who Feels Love!

(we then see a tribute band of Mixels performing Oasis' Who Feels Love)

(after the song, a graphic appears onscreen stating that the premiere of Mixels' Every Knight Has Its Day (Extended Version) was next)

================================================

This was a pretty big night, not just for me, but also my friends.

If you don't know, back in late 2019, me and some Mixel friends formed an Oasis tribute band. This appearance on Fridays (dedicating the 20th of Standing on the Shoulder of Giants) would be our first proper gig, with a big outdoor stage set up in Mixel Park for us.

By February 2020, we had been setting up what I considered an alternate lineup for playing Oasis songs from the 2000s:

Davis (me) - Liam Gallagher

Footi - Noel Gallagher

Jinky - Gem Archer

Glomp - Andy Bell

Flain - Alan White

However, Footi was out of town at the time, so Torts of the Glorp Corp played lead guitar instead.

Speaking of Glorp Corp, we hadn't settled on Glomp playing bass for the group until a day or so after this concert. In the meantime, Vampos of the Glowkies served as our temporary bassist (think of it like our own Paul Stacey).

Starting around 8:00pm, we would play most of the songs off the Shoulder of Giants album in-between shows. This was the setlist:

1. Go Let It Out

2. Who Feels Love?

3. Put Yer Money Where Yer Mouth Is (shortened but also cut from broadcast because no one likes it)

4. Let's All Make Believe (controversially used playback because I was worried of ruining what is probably one of Liam's best vocal performances on any song)

5. Gas Panic!

6. Where Did It All Go Wrong? (acoustic)

7. Sunday Morning Call

8. I Can See A Liar

9. Roll It Over

Schedule-wise, we premiered an extended/edited version of Every Knight Has Its Day, mainly so we could include the following:

More character interactions.

Mixadel's guilt for unleashing the Mixelopters taking a bit longer to settle in (Mixadel: *turns to camera* I make good decisions!).

Camillot and Mixadel's rivalry being more developed.

Implications of Mixadel being punished for what he did (Teacher: Meet me in the principal's office when we get back, please?).

An after-credits scene with the MCPD still stuck in the cage, with a Mixelopter now in there too (Kuffs: We are so screwed...).

The Mixies (including Tapsy) have a scene or two together to explain why this music group is attending Mixopolis Middle School.

A few removed conversations from the original storyboards were added in (including that one where Mixadel says "Are you deranged? I would love to have my ass kissed all day!")

Here was the full lineup for that week (repeats will be listed in italics):

7:00 PM - Mixels Watch (NEW)

7:30 PM - The Powerpuff Girls

8:00 PM - A Bird's Eye-View (NEW)

8:30 PM - Mixels: Every Knight Has Its Day (Extended) (PREMIERE)

9:15 PM - Codename: Kids Next Door

9:30 PM - Mixels Watch

10:00 PM - *no programs as concert continues*

10:30 PM - A Bird's Eye-View

11:00 PM - The Hero of Aura City