“this is the last one,” your new manager gives you half a smile as he slides a document covered in legalese, clauses and words you've never seen before. you tap your pen against your cheek, looking up at him with a little bit of confusion. “it's a form consenting to everything and verifying that everything you've signed off on is true.”

you read through the contract, a little nervous especially with your last studio's scandal dragging behind you. but it never came up. not in the phone call, not in the interview, and not even once since you began filling out the paperwork. your last studio was nothing “glamorous.” it was old and shitty, everything a budget porn studio could be without being illegal. but it was a job.

you had been competing with your now new studio, and honestly, it was unfair that you hadn't been offered a contract here sooner. you suppose you had a lack of experience at this new studio, and they seemed to take professionalism a lot more seriously than your last one. you had heard about them through your other co-stars, specifically a name.

liam gallagher.

you were no fool, you knew exactly who he was. you had shamefully watched his videos a little more than you'd like to admit, but how could you resist? every girl he'd been with always looked like they had the time of his life — it didn't even look like acting. it looked like something so real, like they were actually enjoying themselves. and honestly, you weren't sure if you longed for him or just longed to be fucked like the girls.

black ink glides across the paper, smooth and formal. your manager tucks the paper into your file before extending his hand. your palm presses against his in a firm handshake and fixes you with a meaningful look.

“welcome,” he says before opening the door for you and leading you out of the small room. “ready for your first shoot?”

“ready as i'll ever be.” you respond automatically, a smile making its way across your face as he nods.

“perfect, follow me.”

⋆˚꩜｡⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢*ੈ✩‧₊˚

before you can overthink too much, you're already at the door with your manager in front of you. you can hear the chatter of voices inside, mainly the relaxed tones of conversation, and a familiar, loud mancunian floating through the thin walls. your manager opens the door, and all heads turn towards you.

“there's our lady of the hour!”

your entire body locks up as none other than the liam gallagher is standing in front of you, shaking your hand like it was the most casual thing in the world. you're a little gobsmacked and taken aback, unable to stop yourself from blinking incredulously a few times.

“name's liam,” he announces with a humble jerk of his thumb like he isn't the biggest star in the industry currently. his voice trails off, something about the camera crew standing to the side, but you don't really hear it — you're more focused on just how big he is. he's a lot taller than you, and his energy is smooth and yet uncontained and ecstatic at the same time. the corner of his lips tug into a sleazy, disarming smile and you can feel your inner thighs quiver. “—there's bit more improv in this one, but yer' manager seemed to know i was the right guy for the job, guess he thought ya' would need someone a little more... experienced.”

he's standing in front of you, his beefy arms now crossed over his chest with a friendly smile on his face, his tone dripping with smugness as he talks. he knows how good he looks, and you can't help but succumb to the heat beginning to burn through your cunt.

“yeah i think so too,” you smile back at him despite the way you blacked out at some point while he was talking. you'd seen him on camera and had watched a countless amount of his videos before. guiltily, you would admit you had watched some of his videos before shooting with your ex, unsightly co-workers. an electric thrill sizzles through your stomach, nerves bubbling in your thought. despite your obvious nerves, you figure it would only be polite to introduce yourself to him. “nice to meet you though, liam. i'm y/n.”

“trust me babe, i know who you are,” liam clicks his tongue as the corner of his mouth stretches into a devilish smirk, the predatory glint in his eyes making you shrink underneath his gaze. “'s a pleasure to be working with 'ya.”

the nickname slides off his tongue so dangerously it makes your cunt clench, leaving a sparking hot trail to descend between your thighs. your breath hitches in your chest, cheeks heating as you stare up at him, eyelashes fluttering. the tension coils in the air, as you maintain eye-contact, his teeth teasingly sinking into his plump lower lip, eyes trailing down over your body before sliding back up to meet your gaze.

“good afternoon, y/n,” the director steps in, saving you from the thick tension now sizzling through the air with a polite handshake. “i'll just give you a brief rundown of the shoot today, if that's alright? it'll be a simple, low-key debut for your first video.”

shamefully, your eyes shift back over to where liam stands behind the director, still towering over the both of you. his arms are still crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms twitching as he shifts his weight between his feet, his smile knowing as he catches your eye once more. your thighs squeeze together, and his grin only grows wider. you shift, suddenly starting to feel like his prey more than anything.

“— alright, now that that's out of the way,” the director's voice pulls you back into reality, causing you to swallow harshly, relieving the dryness in your throat. “if you want to take a seat on that couch right there, we can go ahead and get started.”

you nod before turning on your heels and walking over to the couch, deliberately avoiding any more prolonged eye-contact with liam out of fear of ruining the shoot. you adjust the hem of your skirt, smoothing out the fabric and adjusting your skimpy shirt before looking back over at the director and their crew.

a few people busy themselves with angling the cameras towards you and liam, others situating the microphones and such around you. hanta situations himself in a chair behind a desk, his hands clasped together over the table, looking like he's in command of everything. the director looks through the camera a few times, lifting his head up and tilting to the side to make sure everything was in order before shooting a thumbs up.

“ok, remember guys, you can call cut at any time,” the director repeats before nodding at the two of you, waiting until both of you nod back in confirmation. “okay and...action!”

“so,” liam immediately snaps into character, his voice husky and deep, carrying that tone of confidence that makes your knees weak. “how'd you hear 'bout us? what brings a pretty thing like yerself to our label?”

“oh y'know,” your voice wavers for a second as you unintentionally focus on the multitude of cameras filming you from every angle possible. liam's gaze hardens for a second, his chin tilting upwards. and suddenly, all your attention is sitting right on him. “i've seen quite a few ads online and through magazines and stuff, but i've also heard really great things from some friends.”

“oh, is that so, darlin'?” clear and effortless, his words roll straight of his tongue, dripping with that charisma that just came so naturally off him. he leans forward, looking at you directly in the eye. your breath hitches, the twitch of your throat so miniscule that only liam sees it. “tell me, what “really good things” have ya' heard then, hm?”

“i've heard that you guys are quite...experienced,” your voice slips into something sultrier, allowing the two of you to slip into the mood a little more. your face grows warm as liam leans back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head, exuding that sleezy confidence once more. “i haven't really been in the rock and roll scene before, but i wouldn't mind given it a try!”

liam's lips curl into a devilish smirk — like the one before — and his eyes narrow behind his sunglasses. it's acting. it's fake, and yet, your thighs are squeezing together as his eyes shamelessly rake down your clothed body; silently daring you.

“'ya seem nervous,” liam mentions offhandedly, swivelling around in that damn office chair like he owned the place. “am i making 'ya nervous, sweetheart?”

“....no,” you mumble, fumbling over your words for a second. you suck in a harsh breath before replying, smoothing your sweaty palms over the fabric of your skirt. “i'm just so incredibly grateful to be here, really.”

liam's eyebrows shoot upwards at your response, his smile growing wider as if he was proud of your quick recover. for someone so “inexperienced” in this industry, your acting was rather...good, if he dared so say himself. especially for a “newbie.” a quiet chuckle fell from his lips, only causing your cunt to twitch at the sound.

“now, now, bit eager, are we?” liam questions through a chuckle, leaning back against the table, his hands clasped together, knuckles resting underneath his nose. “i will say, our producers are gonna love 'ya. might even be able to get 'cha a shoot by tomorrow mornin', if i pull some strings f'ya.”

a genuine smile spreads across your face, as well as a small, surprised gasp. and fuck, you don't even realise how innocent it makes you look. and you especially don't realise how much it turns liam on. he's getting fidgety in his seat, and he leans forward even more, propping his chin up on his fist.

“really?” your voice swells as you speak, a hand finding its way to your chest. “thank you sooo much mr. gallagher! you will not regret having me on board! oh gosh, how could i ever repay you?”

oh. you even sound so excited!

“i reckon i've got a few ideas,” liam snickers sleazily, tilting his head downwards against his fist. your smile wavers, a nervous expression flickering past your face, suddenly feeling like prey under his heavy gaze. he spins his chair around to the side, resting his cheek on his propped-up fist while his other hand beckons you over with a flick of his index and middle finger. “c'mere, babe.”

you hesitate, nervously looking over at the director with a gulp, though you play it off as naturally looking around the room as if you were surveying the area. the director nods, making a “scooting” motion.

“c'mon,” liam repeats, his voice lighter and more comforting, lips pulled into a small wince as he juts his head in the same direction as where he's seated away from you in tandem with the flick of his fingers. “promise i won't bite.”

“what are you gonna make me do, mr. gallagher?” you murmur, with a pout as you walk over to him. liam almost leans his head back, a sweat beginning to break underneath his collar at just how well you're playing along with the scene; you're selling this nervous, virgin-turned slut image so fucking well that liam's cock is twitching behind the fabric of his jeans. “...didn't know this offer came with strings attached.”

“part of the industry, innit?” liam murmurs, eyes hooded with barely contained desire. you're standing in front of him on his side of the desk and he's looking at you like you're about to be his next meal. you can't help but shudder at how intense it all feels. “on yer' knees babe.”

you immediately drop onto your knees, so pliant and obedient that it almost makes liam shudder. instead, a surprised laugh is ripped from his throat as you stare up at him through your lashes, your wide doe-eyes making his knees feel a little weak.

“that easy, huh? thought 'cha was a singer, not some kinda pornstar.”

“i could be both.” you shoot back, eyes meeting his in a heated glance. liam's eyebrows shoot upward, amazed at both your confidence and immediate response. you've forgotten the director and camera crew were even there, solely focused on the man sitting in front of you, legs spread wide and his heavy cock sitting hard against his slacks.

“is that right?” liam's voice drops an octave, leaning forward until his entire hand cages the top of your head, forcing your head forwards until your face is pressed against his crotch. you let out a small yelp as you topple over, the sound muffled by the thick denim as your slightly open mouth lands on his clothed crotch. you can feel how thick and heavy is cock, and the mere thought makes your entire cunt quiver. his fingers thread through your hair, pulling your head back to allow you to position yourself a little neater between his thighs. “tch, thought you'd be better than this since you were so incredibly eager, hm?”

“'m sorry mr. gallagher,” you damn near whine, the sinful sound making liam's cock stir as you stare up at him before opening your mouth, your tongue rolling out to slide against the fabric. he gasps, the grip on your hair tightening out of surprise. you smile with your mouth open before continuing to slide your tongue over the fabric, even going as far to mouth over his clothed cock. “is this okay? just wanna show how thankful i am, sir.”

“...shit,” liam breathes out, head falling back as the soft, barely noticeable warm spreads through his abdomen. he really shouldn't be so damn excited off something as simple as this — something he's had plenty of during his time in this industry. but you just look so fucking cute, eyes wide and curious like you're genuinely wondering if you're doing good. “yeah, baby, be a bit better with the real thing though, don't 'cha reckon?”

“i—okay. yeah—yes, um. i'll do it for the, um, job.” your true persona shines through in your breathless response, and you can both feel and see the way his cock twitches in his jeans. you catch yourself as you begin to unbuckle his belt before hooking your fingers around his waistband and dragging his jeans down his thighs. “i'll do anything for the job, mr. gallagher.”

you yank his boxers right off his ankles and toss them behind you, seeming a little more eager than you wanted. liam chuckles again, the sound making your cunt clench around nothing, the desperate, annoying throb settling between your legs making your head dizzy with impatience.

liam's cock springs free, and your eyes widen as it slaps up against his lower abdomen. it looks nearly as good as you imagined — if not better. it's thick and long, the pretty pink tip glimmering with small beads of pre-cum, twitching as you stare at it with bright eyes. his chest swells with pride, and yes, he is well aware of how well-endowed he is. but seeing you stare up at him with stars in his eyes only strokes his ego. quite literally.

your hand apprehensively wraps around the base of his cock, and his spine straightens eagerly, fingers tightening around your head as your warm breath dances across the sensitive skin of his cock. you look up at him once more before your pretty pink tongue experimentally laps at the head of his cock, the salty beads of pre-cum flooding your tastebuds. it tastes musky and it's so undeniably him that it makes your head spin.

you smile up at him nervously as one of the crew members silently steps closer, holding onto a large camera. they tilt it downwards just as you tentatively open your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip and sucking ever so lightly. your tongue languidly swirls over the underside of his cock before curling around the tip. liam sucks in a harsh breath as you sliding further down towards the base, his pure girth stretching your jaw open with each bob of your head.

hips twitch forwards involuntarily, forcing his cock further into your mouth. yet, you don't falter, you just stare up at him with bright eyes, falling into a rhythm that works for you. with each bob of your head, you slowly take his cock inch by inch until your lips are kissing against the small trail of hair against his lower abdomen. a dull ache settles in the corners of your jaw as you open your mouth wider to curl your tongue around the underside of his cock, dragging your silky tongue across the prominent vein. liam's spine straightens as a harsh shiver crawls through his spine, a warm, soft pleasure spreading through his lower body and beginning to burn through his lower abdomen.

“that's it, baby, fuck, just like that,” liam murmurs, his head tilting backwards for a brief second. his voice is almost clipped, a tint of strain held deep within the octave as she speaks. “reckon yer' a natural.”

the taste of him — something earthy and subtly sweet — has your cunt clenching around nothing, a desperate pulse settling within your clit. and it's heavy on your tongue, the weight of his cock sliding even deeper with each movement of your head; tears of both strain and delight dot against the corner of your eyes, causing you to clench them shut as his tip hits the back of your throat. you gag involuntarily, and everything tightens so deliciously around him that he can't help but let out a moan, fingers winding even tighter in your hair.

“shit, baby...” his voice is breathless and airy. you moan ever so softly around his cock, your mouth stuffed so damn full that saliva begins to build up at the corners of your mouth. liam laughs, all cocky and full of himself, but so ruined while you can feel your clit throb with desperation. his free hand cups your cheek, wiping away the beads of spit away. “that desperate, are we? just fuckin' gagging fer it.”

you moan in response, struggling to breathe as his heavy cock continues to stuff your mouth full, your pace only increasing and growing a little sloppier with each bob. your free hand reaches up to caress his balls, and liam's eyes roll backwards. something salty gathers faintly in the back of your throat and he drags you off his cock, drawing his hips backwards. you look up at him with wide eyes as his hand slides over his cock, the other holding you in place right in front of him.

you instinctively open your mouth, tongue lolling out and liam's gone. warm spurts of his cum land over your cheeks and tongue, a soft, dirty moan escaping liam's lips as his hips buck forward into his fist. he's a little embarrassed that only your mouth had him cumming over your face like a damn teenager.

nobody has ever had him like this before.

you're both sitting in the shocked silence before liam remembers the cameras are rolling. his thick fingers run across your cheeks, scooping off the residue of his cum before swiping his wet fingers across your tongue. his lips curl into a smile as you eagerly swallow it without another thought, the warmth of his palm heavy against the top of your head.

“yeah, there's our cute lil' rockstar there, huh? look at 'ya...dirty lil' slut.” liam says with a wolfish smile, and you're swallowing harshly, the musky aftertaste of him still sitting heavy against your tongue. your thighs squeeze together, and his eyes flicker downwards towards your clothed cunt, his smile growing more devilish and wider.

god he just wants to fucking ruin you—

“cut!”

the camera stops rolling in the nick of time, and liam's immediately helping you up onto your feet and carefully smoothing his fingers back through your hair. with a soft sound, you push yourself upwards with the help of his hand. your eyes have glazed over with a noticeable desire for more, but the director steps forward before either of you can do anything off camera. cause lord knows, liam's struggling to contain himself with the way your legs are visibly shaking from pure need.

“that was really good, guys! are you both doing okay? i've got some water for you guys as well,” the director is immediately fretting over the two of you, and it warms your heart to realise this really might be the place for you. and if you had to do more scenes with liam...you would gladly. “also liam...haven't seen that from 'ya before.”

“what can i say? she's just fuckin mad,” liam chuckles, hardly embarrassed as he takes a bottle of water and hands it to you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. he tilts his own bottle of water towards you before speaking once more. “guess i've gotta pay 'ya back now, hm?”

“oh it's okay—”

“nah, nah,” liam immediately shuts down your polite refusal after taking a sip of water before handing it back to the director. “i insist, babe. i've seen 'ya videos, and trust, yer' missing out. just want your debut video to be fuckin' sound, alright?”

you hesitate, looking between him and the director with a small smile. your thighs squeeze together, and the three of you already know the answer.

“'s alright, babe,” liam gently pats your shoulder. “i'll make it good f'ya, baby, promise. you'll be okay.”

a bundle of warmth ignites in your chest as a shy smile dawns across your face. you nod silently before he leads you back over to the couch, and he quickly looks over his shoulder at the director.

“we'll fade away to the next scene, if you'd like to undress, y/n.”

“i reckon it'd be better if we showed me undressing her, yeah?” liam suggested slyly, shooting you a quick wink before turning back over to the director. “make it more suitable for the plot, d'ya know what i mean?”

he turns back to you, a sly grin on his face.

“plus, i'd like to savour it as much as i can, yeah?”

his words make your face warm and your heart flutter. you avert your eyes with a shy smile, before standing back in front of the couch, staring at him expectantly. he winks at you again before turning back to the director and shooting him a thumbs up.

“just let us know if yer' uncomfy, 'right?” he says with a meaningful look in his eye, his hands reaching out to caress your waist. “promise i'll make 'ya feel good, 'kay?”

“and... action!”

liam makes quick work of your clothes, snapping back into his “character” once more without another word. his hands loop under the underside of your skimpy little shirt, slowly pulling it up and off your torso, but not without pressing a small kiss against your cheek. it seems a little too intimate for the scene, but it has your legs shaking, your cunt beginning to slick up the fabric of your panties once more.

“'s alright, 've got 'cha,” he whispers, almost too quiet for the nearby mic to pick up. “just gotta see if yer' really...rock star material, babe.”

he helps you shimmy your skirt off until you're left into your matching set, the lacey, baby pink fabric make his heart stutter in his chest. liam can hardly believe he finally has you, and god, he's on the verge of losing his restraint. he steps closer, his thick fingers beginning to unclasp your bra before letting it fall off your body.

liam gently shoves you down onto the couch before dropping to his knees, his hands soft and gentle as he slowly pushes your thighs apart. his fingers dance over your inner thighs, his eyes shifting downwards to look at your clothed cunt. there's a cute little wet spot beginning to form on the fabric.

the calloused pad of his fingers slides down towards your cunt, each gentle drag of his fingers over the fabric sending warm shocks up your spine. you're already shaking — your breaths coming out in short, quiet pants, thighs beginning to tremble with anticipation. he draws the scene out — mainly for your own sake — by beginning to rub small, teasing circles over the wet spot with a devilish grin on his face.

“so worked up already darlin',” he murmurs, voice airy while his other hand begins to rub small circles over the skin of your hip. he leans down, continuing his ministrations while pressing a delicate, chaste kiss across your lower stomach. he feels you tense, a quiet shaky breath falling from your lips. “calm down, haven't even given 'ya the job yet.”

your face burns with embarrassment, the tip of your ears growing warm as you swivel your head away, avoiding his intense gaze. his fingers finally move away to hook around the side of the fabric stretched over your cunt, silently asking for permission. you nod eagerly, shifting your hips side to side as the cool air hits your bare cunt.

he lets a small chuckle slip from his lips before lowering his head, eyes continuing to linger on your own. you suck in a quick breath, tilting your head forward to watch him. it wasn't like you hadn't done it before — but this time was different. you were about to let the liam gallagher have you — all of you. arousal brewed under your skin, burning low and hungry in the depths of your abdomen, your neglected clit beginning to pulse with hungry desperation.

“fuuuck, look at you,” he coos, voice doting and sweet but also holding a slight strain. “all spread out 'n' cute, fuckin' perfect f'me.”

his warm breath billows across your cunt, eyes falling shut as he places a soft, longing kiss directly atop your puffy clit. you shudder at the warm feeling, immediately growing desperate and hungry for more. he chuckles before flattening his thick tongue against your cunt, dragging upwards until the tip of his tongue curls over your clit. his hands find their way to your hips, gripping so tightly like he's worried to lose you.

you taste exactly like he expected — all sweet and easy on his tongue. and fuck you're so responsive that you're already rolling your hips up into his mouth, forcing his tongue to roll over your swollen clit, each flick of his tongue making a sigh of pleasure escape you. liam remembers all your cheap little videos he watched, watching you screw your face up into faux pleasure as your useless co-stars spent little time between your legs, not even bothering to make you really cum beforehand. but he'd fix that for you, wouldn't he?

your body is burning, warm heat spreading all throughout your body as you gasp, hands gripping his hair as his lips wrap around you, only amplifying the waves of pleasure rolling through you. your thighs are clenching, quivering around his head. each and every movement of his is perfectly calculated precise, and it only makes you incredibly overwhelmed. you've never felt like this before, too used to sloppy, uncalculated movements from all the men before. it's overwhelming and just enough at the same time — he knows exactly what you like, what you need. he knows everything, and yet, there's still more to give.

your hips buck sharply against his mouth as a rough pad of his finger gently circles around your entrance, collecting your abundance of slick dripping out of you. his lips curl into a smirk as you clench before he's gently pressing his finger inside of you, eyelids fluttering open to look up at you. he moans against you as your expression morphs into something sinful but real.

you let out a little whimper as he pulls his mouth away from your drenched cunt, his plump lips covered in a mixture of saliva and slick, and his chin already beginning to glisten. you're beginning to whine as he curls his finger up inside of you, hitting that little spot inside of you that makes you gasp.

“o-oh shit.” you moan before your mind falls completely and utterly blank, causing liam to chuckle. it feels so good that a pathetic plea leaves your lips, the words leaving your mouth despite knowing what you're actually begging for.

“atta girl,” he praises, slowly dragging his fingers against your walls, hitting every little spot you need. “takin' me so easily already. yer' my dirty lil' girl, aren't cha, sweetie?”

“ah! yeah—yes!” you cry out as he increases the pace of his finger inside of you, his head dropping back down on your clit just as quick as it left. his tongue laps up each and every drop of arousal leaking from your clenching hole before sloppily sliding his tongue back over your needy, throbbing clit. “just f'you—oh fuck!”

your mind is filled with a thick, hazy desire that begins to cloud your conscious, rendering you completely insatiable as his tongue flicks over your messy cunt, his finger ruthlessly pressing inside of your cunt, fucking you so hard you can already feel your orgasm beginning to brew within you. once your thighs begin to tremble, muscles clenching and unclenching rhythmically like your body doesn't know what to do with itself, liam's pressing another finger inside you.

it burns through you so deliciously, your spine curling as another pathetic plea leaves your lips. it curls inside of you, the calloused pads of his fingers pressing that little spot inside of you with every intention of ruining you for every other man. liam's tongue lashes over your clit, the tip of his continuously sliding around your clenching hole, desperate to collect every last drop of your syrupy slick like he'll never have you again.

“liam—” you cry out, breathless as your hips try and arch off the couch. you know you probably shouldn't be calling him that in the scene, but you're so fucked out you can't even bring yourself to care even a little. his free hand grips tighter around your thigh, pulling your back down while staring up at you through half-lidded eyes. he's afraid to miss it, but he's glad they're filming because he'll be watching this video over and over again until he has another chance to ruin you.

he's panting into your wet cunt, his mind thick with haze, and he's losing himself in the taste of you, needing you. needing more. he sucks your clit back into his warm mouth, tongue flicking relentless over it with quick, ruthless strokes. your moans fall into something higher-pitched, and needier. and he knows he's got you.

“c'mon, babe,” he hums low in his throat, voice muffled by your messy cunt. “show me how cute 'cha look when 'ya cum 'round my fingers.”

"liam—fuck!" you whine, voice pitched with a sense of urgency as your orgasm began to burn throughout your stomach. his words unravel you completely, your body curling inwards as you press the warmth of his body harder against you, craving his contact. your cunt clenches around him, clit throbbing and twitching as he presses a soft kiss over it, only extending the length of your orgasm. small after-shocks ebb through you, your body unwinding as you fall back against the mattress, breathing in as much air as you can.

you're spread out against the couch, skin burning warm and covered in a thin layer of sweat with one arm slung over your eyes, toes still curling as you come down from your high. you've never felt like that before, your aftershocks still twitching through you as liam caresses your waist.

“you okay, love?”

“cut!”

“nah, nah,” liam calls out, not even bothering to look over at the director. “let's finish the scene now, yer' okay with that right?”

you nod with a dazed smile, your cute little stunned expression only making his cock throb harder. liam doesn't wait to hear the director out before he's smashing his lips against yours, hungry and desperate. one hand reaches up to cup your cheek, guiding your jaw in tandem with his own rhythm, his other hand sliding up over your body, gripping at whatever he can. he pulls away, hands finding their way to your bare chest and squeezes your tits lightly before sliding his hands back down to your hips.

before you can gather your thoughts, liam's turning you around and bending you over the couch, his warm palms sliding over your bare ass to give the crew enough time to reposition their cameras to film you. your cunt swipes against his cock as you adjust yourself, lifting your hips a little higher. his fingers dig into your hips and anticipation bubbles in your chest, only fuelling the heavy tension and desperation held thick in the air.

you turn your head over your shoulder to look at him, bambi-eyed and nervous as you instinctively spread your legs open wider. liam lets out a heavy sigh, leaning his head back, overwhelmed and honestly, a little light-headed by the sight of you bent over for him, ready to give him all of you. your pulse thrums under your skin, adrenaline and anticipation coursing thick through your veins as liam spits on his hand before giving himself a few preparatory strokes.

your breath hitches as the wet tip of his cock presses against your entrance, the pressure suddenly incredibly real and daunting. he looks back up at you with a small smirk, and you don't even have to say anything before he's sinking his thick cock inside of you. it's a tight fit and an even tighter stretch —each inch punches a gasp out of your lungs and leaves you breathless, shaking against him.

he leans forward over your small frame, his free hand sneaking underneath you to begin rubbing small, tight circles over your sensitive clit. you gasp, cunt clenching down against his thick length. your entire body warms before liam pulls back until only the tip is left inside before slamming the rest of his length inside of you.

“fuck!” you gasp out, fighting the urge to keep your eyes from rolling backwards as the sharp pleasure cuts clean through you. liam snickers before grinding his cock deep inside of you, continuing to rub small circles over your puffy bundle of nerves, planning on fucking you so hard you forget it's all being filmed.

incoherent mumbles and whines begin to slip out of your mouth, nothing that he can understand, but he just leans over you to press a chaste kiss against the nape of your neck before looking to his left, and then his right. he reaches for your discarded panties and offers them up to your mouth. he's planning to make you scream, and this is a better chance of preventing your desperate little sounds from being picked up as background noise on the other videos being filmed nearby.

“good girl,” liam hisses out through gritted teeth, his voice low and quiet, quiet enough for the microphones to not pick up what he's saying. “keep your eyes on the lens babe, want all of this on camera, yeah?”

you nod feverishly in response, barely able to keep your head up as he rams his cock inside of you, stuffing you so full to the brim that you swear you can almost feel him in your chest. he bullies his cock deep inside of you, stretching your cunt out in a way that renders you absolutely speechless. a graceless, whiny sob tears out of your throat, just barely muffled by your wet panties, and it only spurs liam on even more.

you can feel yourself getting all worked up all to quickly; your cunt is clenching uncontrollably as liam grinds his hips against yours, your eyes rolling backwards as each rough thrust sends your body forward, slamming you against the raggedy old couch. your cunt swallows him whole, slicking dripping down your thighs as your entire body moulds to him, stretching you open like you were made for it. made for him.

“o-oh, oh shit!” your mouth falls open in a sob as the tip of his cock kisses that same spot inside of you, causing tears of pleasure to bubble against your waterline. stars shoot across your vision, small sparks of electricity coursing through you as he fucks you into oblivion. he's panting behind you, ragged breaths hot and balmy. “right there—oh god—right fucking there, don't stop, fuck, please don't stop!”

“shh, babe, 've got 'cha,” he murmurs through clenched teeth. “takin' it so fuckin' well.”

slick pours from your soaked, stuffed cunt and makes the slide of skin against skin all the more filthy. his cock is thick and curved, lodged in all of those places you could possibly want it; each nudge of the tip just grazing your cervix is controlled. just barely. but you can feel the strain of restraint behind his thrusts.

god, just the thought of him destroying your cunt this much — ruining you for every other man — while also still holding back is enough to push the tears over your lash line. liam chokes out a groan, his grip on your hips beginning to throw you back into his thrusts, only making your audible sobs louder and needier.

“fuck—fuck! i can't, i'm gonna—i'm so close!” you sob. you've stopped making sense, and liam can almost make out what you're babbling through your wet panties; each word is broken and choked, thanks to him knocking the air from your lungs with each thrust. your head is falling forwards, teeth clenching around the panties and impending euphoria surges through you, burning and coiling so tight inside of your stomach you fear you're going to burst. spurred on by your words, he drives his hips harder into you, pulling you back into his cock; each thrust hits so much harder than it did before. “p-please, liam, 'm gonna cum—you're gonna make me cum—!”

liam grins, wicked and vicious. you can hardly focus on anything with the way his fingers slide messily over your clit. the burning pleasure cuts through you, your mind falling blank as liam brings you to the edge. that's right. he's going to make you cum.

“that's it, babe,” liam moans, no longer caring if it's picked up on the video or not. “tell 'em. tell everyone who's fucking you this good.”

your breath escapes you in a vicious sob of his name again, hands scrambling at the tattered fabric of the couch, trying to cling onto something to keep yourself stable. but you're so fucking gone, it's just too much. you can hardly breathe — you can't think, can't move, just forced into submission underneath him. and you fucking love it. your cunt struggles to take his length, constantly fluttering and clenching as he bullies it inside of you, and your body just...takes it.

“i wanna hear 'ya cum all over me, yeah? fuck i—”

your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure snaps through you, your legs shaking and almost falling inwards as your orgasm crashed over you. his fingers continue to rub over your puffy cunt, trying to draw everything out of you. you cum all over him with a loud, noisy cry of his name, riding your orgasm out as you throw your hips against him. his name is the only thing on your tongue as you ride it out. liam follows shortly afterwards, spilling hot and thick inside of your ruined cunt with a weak, slutty moan of your name.

you both lay there in the warm silence, and liam wishes he could spend all day with you and keep stuffing your cunt full and to fuck you like you really deserve. but the director stands behind the camera with his thumbs up before zooming in towards the two of you. liam steps off to the side, his thick fingers forming a 'v' shape and spreading your messy lips open for the camera to showcase the mess between them.

if he had it his way, he'd be fucking his tongue inside of you, pushing his cum back inside of you with his fingers before flipping you over and fucking you into a state of overstimulation. he knows what you need — what your pussy needs.

but yet, he stares at the camera with a cocky little smirk and a small click of his tongue.

“welcome to the label, sweetheart.”

© strwbryluver 2026. do not plagiarize, re-upload, translate, or feed my work into ai

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1996

You meet Carmen on an overcast morning at some model agency casting in 1988. That’s how it all starts, with both of you having nothing to your name but cheap headshots, tight clothes, and stars in your eyes. The hallway they put all the girls in smelled of cigarette smoke, mothballs, and disinfectant, with the cloying perfume of what seemed to be over fifty girls desperate to get their big break. 

“D’ya have a fag?” you asked her then, totally unaware of where it could all lead years down the line. You don’t even know if you would go back and stop it all from happening. All you knew was that that’s where it all began, with two young girls smoking a cigarette out of a sketchy warehouse casting, dreaming of bigger things. 

“Good luck in there,” she tells you as soon as you stub your cigarette out with your heel, crunching it down on the gravel. Back then, you weren’t so sure about her sincerity. It was commonplace for models to have petty catfights and jealous fits during castings. Nowadays, you still aren’t sure if that glint in her eye was kindness or hunger. Still, you smiled and told her you didn’t need luck. 

You see her again at another casting, weeks later. Then another one, then another, then another, and another. Each time with a laugh and a shared cigarette as every girl around you wrinkled their nose and clomped away from the smell and the obnoxious sound of your laughs mixing together. Because even then, the two of you had been mean, doling out insults like they cost nothing to your souls. I thought the casting was for a size two, not for maternity clothes. How hard is it to match your foundation to your skin tone? Oh, her blush is making her look like she’s about to fit herself into a tiny car with a bunch of other clowns. 

Carmen was mean, everyone knew it, and you knew it. But what did it matter to you when you were just as wretched?

By your luck, the two of you get hired at the same time. You at some small start-up agency with only five other girls, her at a sketchy lingerie-only deal. You work your way up from there, no-name brands who can’t afford higher-rate models, adverts for shoes and watches that don’t even show your face, billboards with questionable taglines that you always felt embarrassed by. And still, you and Carmen stick together like glue; phone calls, brunches, and the benders the two of you would go on that would leave both of you with pounding headaches. 

Carmen had been dating a dealer back then, one of the good ones that could score premium class anything as long as you had the money to pay for it. You couldn’t even remember the bloke’s name; Baker, or something stupid like that. All that you knew was that whenever you were with Carmen, ditzy and dumb off liquour, you were always guaranteed to score a good few grams of coke. 

And fuck, were they good. So good that it sends your head spinning and your smile stretching widely over your face, the club lights blinding and the music blaring so loudly that you could feel the bass of it at your feet. It was a buzz like no other, snorting those lines in the bathroom with Carmen, getting so high off her boyfriend’s supply that you don’t even notice your faces moving closer together until your mouths are melding under the harsh bathroom lights and she’s pushing you into the bathroom stalls with her lips latched to your neck. 

And really, what’s a few kisses between friends? With sloppy mouths, mussed up hair, and smudged lipstick, the two of you laugh and laugh and laugh and surrender to the feeling of it, there in a nameless bar bathroom. 

It continues on like that for what seems like ages — two friends climbing up the ranks of the modelling world, living the glamorous life under the party lights, killing boredom by snogging in dodgy alleyways, the back of cabs, and pub bathrooms. 

“Kisses don’t count,” Carmen mumbles against you lips one time, pressed up against the rough brick wall of whatever party the two of you had managed to weasel your way into that night. You hum and press your lips to her neck, suckling at the skin to hear her squeal and try to push you away. “‘S’not cheating if it’s with ‘yer best mate,” she reasons. 

You laugh, caging her in with both hands on her hips and her hands on your arse. “And I’m sure he won’t mind sharing you with another bird,” you say, nipping teasingly at her bottom lip as she gives your arse a rough squeeze. “He seems like the type of fella to enjoy that kind of thing.”

Carmen rolls her eyes, pupils dilated from the coke she had snorted off the tops of your tits just a few minutes ago, the crowd roaring in amusement at the sight. “Just shut up and kiss me.” And you do. 

The two of you fall into that rhythm for what seems like ages. Lazy snogs and wandering hands could only go so far before a line gets crossed. And it happens on the night that you get the call from Victoria’s Secret, being dubbed as one of their official models alongside Carmen. 

Obviously, it called for a celebration; one with too many drinks, too many models, too much coke, too loud music, and adrenaline buzzing in your veins. One shot turns into two, then two into three, three into four, then you’re going to the bathroom for a line, then two, then three, then suddenly you’re off your box and Carmen’s pushing you into a mildewed storage closet with a whine and her fingers already at the seam of your knickers. 

It was frantic and frenzied, with just a dim lightbulb leading the way. But still, the memory of it was seared in your veins. The way that she had ripped off her own knickers in her haste, the way she had got down on her knees and suckled tentatively at your clit before diving fully in, the way that her keens seemed to echo so loudly within the small space as your fingers worked her open, the orgasm that washed through you at the feeling of her freshly manicured fingers working at your clit with precision. 

Neither of you even notice how far you’ve crossed the line, laughing as you pick up stray pieces of clothes, kissing each other’s glossy mouths shut, and walking out the storage closet just to run straight out of the party and take a cab back to Carmen’s flat. 

The line becomes less of a warning and more of a suggestion after that. Neither of you speak about it, but you’re over at her place more often than not, Friday nights were reserved for dinners at your favorite Chinese take-out spot, you went into Victoria’s Secret fittings together and left the same way, the lingerie that the brand would have you take home always ended up on the floor after an impromptu ‘practice’ session, and Baker or whatever the fuck her boyfriend’s name was faded into the background until there was no one left but you. 

“He was just starting to annoy me,” Carmen sniffed one night, her feet on your lap as you watched some silly soap opera on the telly. “And the coke isn’t even that good anymore.”

You hum and let her lie. You let her prance around parties like she doesn’t beg to eat out your cunt, you let her hang off the arm of nameless men, you forgive her when she goes to fuck a man in the bed that the two of you sleep in, you tell her that it’s alright. After all, it’s what you do too. You lie, and you sneak, and you jump through hoops only to end back up in bed with Carmen’s wet cunt calling back to you every time. 

But somewhere along the line, the lies start to get heavier. She starts rolling her eyes whenever you bring up Friday dinners, she stops looking for you in rooms she knows you’d be in, you start leaving with other people and spending the night with them instead, you drink too much and start to say shit about Carmen — the pudge of her stomach, the way the lingerie she modeled made her hips look monstrously wide, the way that her tits weren’t even real and were just silicone things she had gotten a few years back when the two of you were just starting out.

And Carmen isn’t one for backing down, choosing to fire back with nastier insults through whispers in the hallways and suggestions made in that snarky way of hers. 

It all comes to a head when you get named the muse for the newest Victoria’s Secret collection, becoming the envy of every woman in your circle as they congratulated you with their sharp teeth and insincere eyes. 

It isn’t a coincidence that Carmen starts getting less projects after your rise to fame. It isn’t a coincidence that rumours of you and her begin swirling around. It isn’t a coincidence that girls begin to complain about having you in the dressing room, in case you perved out on them. It isn’t a coincidence that Carmen insists she was just drunk and stupid when it happened and that you were the one chasing her all the while. And it isn’t a coincidence that the whispers go high up enough for you to get a notice of termination. 

Everything after that is a blur. One well documented by the press, but a blur nonetheless. You remember taking a few pills, snorting a few lines, drinking more than you should on the night of what was supposed to be the highlight of your career. You had been asked not to come, not to make a scene, to stay quiet. But that was never your forte. 

It happened quick; finding the brand director and her husband and getting in their faces, spitting at their feet. Getting up on the runway, still not stumbling after all those substances, walking the catwalk as you shed your own clothes and showed people how it was really done. Finding Carmen amidst the sea of models and jetting straight to her, pulling her hair by the ends and dragging her down to the floor just to humiliate her in front of an audience of hundreds. 

And if you end up leaving the party with a police escort and the brand director’s husband’s number in your pocket, then it was all understandable.

Years after that meeting, you stare at Carmen now, at her pathetic scowl and the cigarette she idly smokes as she listens to a conversation you know she’s not making any effort to listen to. 

It’s been months of the constant media circus of you and Noel splashed on the front pages, people debating the morality of your affair, boycotting his music, calling you a nasty slag for going after your best mate’s fella. You snort, remembering all the headlines, even going as far as to mail your favorites to Noel who sent them straight back, the papers wrapped in his trash. 

Noel isn’t at this party. Shamefully, you feel a tug of disappointment.

He wasn’t one for parties these days, keeping a low profile as he works on the new Oasis album, staying away from the eyes of the press after the stunt that you and him just pulled. 

It was boring, not having Noel around. No heads to fuck with, no one to get on your level and spit at your feet, no one to fuck you good and rough in a way that only he ever did. You shake your head, ridding yourself of the thought of him before catching Carmen’s eye across the crowded room. 

You laugh as her frown grows deeper at the sight of you, then you wave calmly, as if you hadn’t just blown up her life a mere few months ago. Her face morphs into one of pure anger, whole body animated as she stands up from her place between two nondescript men and marches straight to you. 

You recognize a camera flash as she heads straight for you, and you smile, satisfied at the thought of seeing tomorrow’s papers. Maybe you could send another headline to Noel, it might fuck with him seeing his ex-girlfriend with you. 

“Can you stop?” Carmen hisses as soon as she stands next to you, mouth pressed into a grim line as her eyes burn through you. “Haven’t you fucking done enough?”

You hum, considering it for a moment before responding. “Still bored, though,” you drawl. 

She laughs incredulously, the sound piercing through the heavy bassline of the club’s music. “You’re always bored, aren’t you?” she sneers. “So bored that you’d stoop low enough as you did.”

You roll your eyes and get in her space, making her jump back. “And how about how low you stooped, hm?” you challenge. “We gonna talk about that?”

Carmen scoffs. “So, this is revenge?” she asks, voice heavy with contempt. “Is that it? You’re mad that I told a bunch of people that you fucked me and you just couldn’t handle the consequences?”

“Couldn’t handle the consequences?” you echo with disbelief. “Do you hear yourself? You got me fucking fired from my job. You got me blacklisted out of the modelling industry!” you shriek. 

She shrugs, like it meant nothing. “You always knew what you were getting into,” she tells you, eyes heavy and set on yours as she remains steely with her resolve. 

The thing is, you did. You really did know what kind of person she was, what kind of person you are. It was always going to end with an explosion big enough that neither of you could come back from. Still, you remain stoic as you face her head on and say, “Well, the next time that I see our good friend Noel, I’ll tell him hi for you, yeah?”

Carmen sucks in her teeth like she’s bitten into something sour. “You can have that halfwit,” she spits. “Enjoy my seconds, you fucking copycat.”

You shake your head and smile, as graciously as you could with annoyance still buzzing in your veins, then, you lean over and plant a peck on her cheek, one so close to her mouth that your gloss leaves a mark that overlaps her own. 

You leave before she could say anything else, still burning with fury as the cameras take a quick snap. When the paper arrives at your door in the morning, you grin widely and immediately mail it out to Noel before heading out to the studio. 

In the midst of all the chaos, you and Noel had to work out a somewhat custody agreement with Liam in the studio. Oasis needed Liam at the studio on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays while you got him on Tuesdays and Thursdays until he finished all his sessions for the tracks he was in. 

That its, that would be the case if only Noel would stop hogging his brother and halting your recording process. Months have gone by and Liam hasn’t set a single Adidas clad foot in your studio, Noel and his management sending you their apologies as Liam is currently occupied with matters related to the band. 

Walking in this morning, still no sign of Liam Gallagher, you knew what you had to do, stomping to the nearest phone and dialing a number you know that Noel would answer to. You let it ring, tapping your foot impatiently against the linoleum, your coat still on as you scowled at the receiver. Then, the line clicks and a chirpy voice greets you, “Good Morning, Creation Records speaking. May I ask to whom this call is —”

You huff, having heard enough, arms crossed in front of your chest as you spit, “Get me Noel Gallagher now,” you demand, not an inch of a plead in your voice.

The poor girl on the other end begins to stutter, “I’m sorry. I don’t —”

You cut her off with a roll of your eyes and bored click of your tingue. “No, I’m sorry,” you say, voice dripping with annoyance. “Did I fucking stutter when I spoke? Get me Noel Gallagher on this fucking phone right now or I swear I will come over there and cause a scandal.”

The girl holds her own for one moment, two, three, before finally relenting, “Hold on,” she says shakily before the irritating sound of the hold music invades your ears and you lean against the wall of the studio’s halls, watching people pass and give you questioning looks as they go. You don’t mind any of it, though. Not as long as they’re looking.

Then, the line clicks once more and you straighten up without meaning to, Noel’s drawling and smug voice crooning in your ear, “Hi, honey. How are you?” he teases. And by fuck, you could almost see the smile he’s sporting with the way he spoke, the tilt of his lips as he leans into the telephone. 

But you’re not falling for it. “Cut the bullshit, Noel,” you spit. “Where’s Liam?”

“Here,” he says, in that way that sends your nerves into an aggravated flurry, annoyance burning through you as he took his time answering.

“Noel,” you bite.

He laughs, “What? I thought you liked playing games,” he tells you, still horsing around. “Just givin’ you what you wanted, yeah?”

“Tuesdays and Thursdays are mine,” you remind him. The two of you had even sent in representatives to talk about it, not willing to be in the same room together after the last time.

Noel hums, a buzzing sound that irritates you further. “Yeah, but he’s our singer.”

“It shouldn’t take three fucking months to finish vocals for a feature on two tracks,” you sneer, getting on the receiving end of more than a few funny looks as people passed you. “You’re delaying my album and we both know it. What?” you taunt, “Scared I’ll overtake you on the charts?”

The sound he makes his half laugh and half gasp, “Overtake us on the charts?” he echoes through a chuckle. “‘Yer funny, you. Y’know what? Go do your silly fuckin’ album before opening ‘yer fat fuckin’ mouth ‘bout my band,” he bites at you.

“That’s what I intend to do,” you say, resolutely. “Just get Liam here in the next hour before I come over there and make a mess.”

“Not gonna say please? You’re good at sayin’ please,” he says, testing both his luck and your patience.

“Oh, go suck my dick, Noel,” you scowl.

He laughs, the aggravatingly smug sound echoing in your ears as he bids you goodbye. “Bye, doll,” he drawls easily. “Liam’s on his way.”

You snort, already ready to be done with this stupid call, “Fina-fucking-lly,” you say before hanging up and marching right back to the studio, ignoring everyone’s funny looks and placing yourself in the audio booth, eager to prove Noel Gallagher wrong.

The next hour passes by like that — with you in the studio, banging out a few vocal tracks as everyone else worked around you like bees making honey. By the time Liam arrives, his signature swagger intact, you’re midway through berating a poor sound engineer who looks like he’s found god after you ditch the argument in favor of greeting Liam with a friendly kiss on the cheek instead.

“Hi, Liam,” you coo as he kisses your cheek back, “How’re you? How’s Pats?” you ask. 

He nods in that jaunty way of his, “She’s good, yeah. She’s grand, both her and James are havin’ a good time and all’at.”

You smile, “That’s lovely to hear,” you say, your smile turning vicious as you turn the point of conversation and begin to ask, “And how’s Lis—”

He shakes his head vigorously and draws the line in the sand as he firmly tells you, “We’re not doin’ that.”

You laugh easily, diffusing any tension, “Alright, Casanova,” you say patting his shoulder before your attention snags on the studio door and the man entering it, acting like the room owes him something just by being there. Noel. “Now, what the fuck are you doing in my studio?” you explode, all attention on him now as Liam scampers away to do fuck knows what with fuck knows who. 

Noel shrugs, not an ounce of care in his body, “Lending you my singer,” he replies steadily. 

You scowl at him, “He’s a grown fucking man.”

Noel snorts and points to Liam who had gotten himself tangled in microphone wires, cursing under his breath as he tries to hop himself out of the situation. “Barely,” says Noel. 

“Noel,” you say, steely. 

He only smiles, the self-satisfied fuck. “What? Not happy to see me?” he jeers, crowding you as everyone in the studio watches. 

You lean in closer, testing the waters as you speak into the shell of his ear, “Get the fuck out,” you say, as sweetly as you could before shoving at his chest. 

He jolts back before recovering, “Aw, don’t be like that,” he says. “You and me, we’ve been though a lot, haven’t we?” He titls his head at you and doesn’t let his smile falter one inch. 

You laugh, uncaring of the fact that everyone had gone silent, watching you and Noel like bombs ready to detonate. “Flirty little fuck, aren’t you? Had a taste of it and now you’re just gaggin’ for it?” you sneer. 

Noel shakes his head. “You’re about to crash and burn,” he tells you, so sure of himself that it makes you laugh. “I want a front row seat.”

You shake your head then point at the leather couch, unoccupied save for two sound techs doing anything but making eye contact with you, “Then sit,” you demand from him, like an owner would to their dog. Then you let yourself smile, the familiar sharklike one that stretches over your face and makes Noel shiver. “And watch how it’s done.”

The next few hours are spent in a state of productivity that you knew you wouldn’t have achieved had Noel not challenged you in front of your own team. Liam records some of his vocal tracks, then you burst into the audio booth and don’t come out until it’s time for Liam to record his own vocals again. That cycle continues, on and on and on, the sound engineer cycling coffee cups on his desk as Noel watches it all with arms crossed and his signature scowl on his face. 

You smile to yourself, observing him as he observes you, taunting him as you sing, swaying your hips as you bent down to check out whatever the sound engineer was showing you, standing a bit too close to Liam in between breaks and in the audio booth. And by the time the afternoon shifts into the later hours, the amount of people in the room dwindling and dwindling until everyone’s left, and all that remains is you and Noel. 

That’s when you say it, the words at the edge of your tongue for the entire afternoon since he showed up, sulking and scowling on your couch, not saying a word to anyone. “You fucking fancy me, don’t you?”

His thick brows furrow and his face twists as he spits, “What?” he chokes. “No?”

You laugh standing in the corner opposite from where he’s sitting, his legs splayed open lik the king of the fucking world. You tilt your head and survey him calmly, “One shag and you’re already mooning after me, Gallagher?”

He laughs, that deep chuckle of his that you know is just him putting on a confident act. The rockstar that he was. “You wish,” he snorts. “I was just watching after Liam.”

You smile, like you’re in on a joke that he hasn’t yet heard. “Hm,” you hum, condescending. “And the man you’ve been watching out for just walked out the door five minutes ago. Yet you’re still here,” you point out, gesturing at the door that Liam already walked out of quite some time ago, shooting an odd look at Noel as he went. 

Noel shrugs defensively. “Your music’s shite,” he tells you simply. 

You scoff and put your arms across your chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he doubles down. “In Your Eyes is a hit, yeah. But this album, man …” he says, whistling lowly as if he can’t even form the words to explain how shite he finds your album. 

You sneer, moving in closer to him. “Fucking wanker,” you spit, “You’re sitting here because you want to act all big and tough and tell me how much more you know about music than me. That it?” you ask, getting closer to him just so he could feel the words land in his chest. “Just because Carmen’s not around to hear you whinging, doesn’t mean that I’m up for it,” you say, making him flinch just the smallest amount at the mention of Carmen. 

Still, he doesn’t let up, standing his ground as he looks up from you from the couch. “Let me produce,” he demands, chin tilted up like he knows you’ll relent. 

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Noel,” you say through gritted teeth. 

Noel shakes his head, ‘I’m not letting Liam put himself in an album that sounds like a second rate Madonna copy, d’ya hear?”

You laugh incredulously. “Stop using Liam as an excuse, Noel. By god, he’s a grown man who can make his own decisions,” you say, irritated. 

“And he’s also my frontman,” says Noel stonily, all business now as you move in closer to him. “And my frontman shouldn’t go around associating himself with this kind of shite. It’d be one thing if it didn’t trace back to the band, but it does.”

You consider it for a second too long, and Noel notices, his eyes glinting as he recognizes the impending victory. “Go on, then. Tell me to my face, what’s so shit about my album?” you ask.

Noel raises a brow before relenting, giving you what he’s been dying to say since he stepped inside the studio. “Your voice is drowned out by the production and the amount of reverb they’ve been layering onto your voice, everything is set in a key that you can’t reach so you should maybe lower them by a semitone, and your drummer’s to busy staring at your tits to play on the beat,” he lists, brow still arched as if to say there’s more where that came from.

Instead of the simmering irritation in your gut, you only smile and ask, “Jealous?”

He snorts, ‘As if.”

You really shouldn’t say yes. This was supposed to be your victory, your name on people’s lips, your career that takes off. But Noel’s stare is unwavering as he watches you decide, already acting like the cat that got the cream. You think about it then, that you’d rather die than let your album be some forgettable piece of shit. And really, Noel was the one offering. So you hold out your hand, and Noel shakes it without second thought, the deal sealed between the two of you. “Work your magic then,” you demand of him. 

He does, getting up from the couch for the first time since he walked in, groaning as he stretched his back, only to sit back down by the controls and jerk his head at you, “Get in the booth,” he says without preamble. 

You snort, “Bossy,”

“Now,” he insists roughly, eyes not leaving yours as he waits for you to move. 

You roll your eyes and move at a glacial pace, complaining all the way, “Jesus Christ, this is my album, y’know?”

Noel’s quick to reply, “And I’m your producer.”

“Yeah, you seem to get off on that fact,” you say drily, getting nearer and nearer to the audio booth, watching as Noel frowns at your slow strut, before wrenching the door open and placing yourself back in front of the microphone, headphones back on as you ask, “All good?”

He wastes no time, speaking into his own microphone as his voice blares over the speaker, “Recording vocals for the track Crush,” he declares, before saying to you, “Semitone down, remember?”

Then, the track plays in your headphones, your head bobbing along as you keep to the beat and sing, “It’s just a little crush, not like I faint every time we touch,” you croon. “It’s just some little fling, not like everything I do depends on you.”

You’re midway through the second verse when Noel shakes his head, aggravated as he speaks into the microphone, “No. Again,” he demands. “Too high, take it down a notch or you’re gonna start sounding like Kermit the fuckin’ Frog, alright?” 

You sneer and flip him the bird, “Bite me.”

He pays you no mind, already speaking again into the microphone, “Take two for vocals on Crush,” he says, before mumbling to himself, “Stupid name.”

You roll your eyes and sing, enunciating the lyrics with more bite as Noel observes you from the other side of the glass, his eyes roving down your form as you continue to sway, only for him to lazily reach his hand out and speak into the microphone again just as you’re about to enter the chorus. 

“No. Stop switching up the words. Lyrics aren’t optional,” he berates. “Again.”

You grit your teeth and glare, letting the track play all over again as Noel cues it up, the words pouring out of you as you sing. 

Then, that stupid fucking microphone crackle. “Again. You’re singing too far away from the mic.”

You take your headphones off and throw them to the ground, jeering at him as you deman, “Then you fucking do it, then.”

He huffs, just as irritated as you are as he stalks into the audio booth, wrenching the door open and slamming it closed as he nears you and the microphone, picking up the headphones and gripping them in his hands as he sneers, ‘How fucking hard is it to sing in tune? You’re a singer, ain’t you? Christ.” He shoves the headphones at you, jaw going tight as you refuse to move a muscle. Instead, he does it for you, arranging the headphones so you’re wearing it, and shoving at the back of your head so that your lips nearly touched the microphone, his hand gripping at your neck warmly as he tells you, “Now do it.”

You arch a brow and look to the control booth warily. “Now?”

“I’m recordin’,” he explains simply. And who were you to argue?

You sing, voice a bit strangled as Noel continues to grip the back of your neck, jerking you everytime you stray too far from the microphone and tugging at the strands of your hair everytime your voice goes higher than his instructed tone. 

You last until the first chorus before you’re throwing the headphones back down and spinning around to face him, hands reaching for his face before you could even think. 

It’s frenzied and heavy from the start, his mouth hot and slick against yours as he presses you against the mic stand, a few wayward pieces of equipment falling as he crowds against you, his hands roaming down to give your arse a rough squeeze, your own hands flying up to give his hair a sharp tug, earning a moan from him. 

“Knew you fuckin’ fancied me,” you whisper teasingly against his lips, biting at his bottom lip as he rolls his eyes.

“You wish, cheeky bitch,” he hisses before silencing you with a kiss, moving you backwards until your back hits the padded wall, your breath leaving you at the impact as Noel continues to let his tongue roam around the cavern of your mouth, angling your head just the way he likes it. 

You fight back, shedding his coat with eager hands, letting your mouth wander down to his neck to mark him up in a way that you knew the paparazzi would inevitably catch. You gasp as his hands make their way up your skirt, flirting with the hem of your knickers before deftly pulling them down with one hand, the lacy scraps falling down and pooling at your ankles. “So sure I’d put out?” you tease.

He grunts, pressing into you so that you could feel the weight of his growing erection against your slick cunt. “I’m kind enough to give it to’ ya,” he says, so self assured that you have no choice but to reach down and squeeze the bulge in his jeans just to see him falter and his mouth open in a helpless moan. 

You laugh, licking your lips. “Missed me, didn’t you?” you ask, head tilted innocently as you begin to fondle him over his jeans, his glare waning the more you feel him up, letting your tongue dance against whatever skin it could reach. 

“Still recordin’” he reminds you as soon as you drop to your knees, your eyes wide and trained on him as you begin to tug at his belt, pulling both his jeans and his underwear down in a quick motion.

You hum and kiss his angry red tip, tasting the pre-cum already leaking from the head as you whisper, “That’s the point,” you tell him. “Gonna make a hit, Noel-y,” you say, sultry and sweet before finally taking him in your mouth, suckling at the head as he throws his head back and groans, his large hands coming down to tug at your hair like his own personal marionette, already bucking his hips into your face to fuck your mouth, your gags spilling out of you along with the drool already slicking his cock. 

“Should have brought my camera,” he pants as you look up at him, mouth so full that you can’t help the gagging sounds that escape you. “Show everyone how much of a slag you are.”

You roll your eyes and bite down, just hard enough to make him yelp pathetically and attempt to scramble away from your mouth. You hold in a laugh and instead take him deeper, nose buried in his thatch of pubic hair as he stretches his neck in pleasure, already lost in the sensation as your hands reach down to cup at his balls, already slicked up with your drool. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he whispers, entranced by the sight of you on your knees, bobbing your head so enthusiastically that he thinks this might just be the best head he’s ever had. You pop of him, the sound so lewd that it echoes against the walls, only to lean down further and kiss his balls with the same amount of attention you’ve been giving his cock. 

“Your cock tastes weird,” you tell him through soft whispers of kisses. “Fix that.”

He snorts as best he can with the amount of pleasure coursing through his body. “For next time?”

You laugh in his face and leave his cock aching for your touch, his hands automatically grasping at your waist to push you against the padded walls, an involuntary moan leaving your lips as your bare cunt comes into contact with his dick. You smile, satisfied with yourself as you reach down and tug at him, slow and sure as his breath shudders and his head falls to your shoulder. “Hm,” you hum, kissing his hairline. “Gonna fuck me now?” you say, not leaving him with any more time to answer as you line him up with your entrance and sink down on him with a desperate moan. 

You’ve been thinking about shagging Noel Gallagher for three months. It was pathetic, the way that he’s got you reaching for your vibrator every time you see him on the telly. But you couldn’t help it, the memory of Noel inside you searing your body and making you ache for his touch, for the way he feels inside you, for the way he’d fuck you until you saw spots of white in your vision. 

And now, you’ve got it. 

Noel wastes no time in thrusting up into you, punching all the breath out of you as he reaches down to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding his cock into your g-spot and leaving you breathless at every thrust. You moan into his mouth, eyes furrowed as you focus on the intense feeling at the pit of your stomach, at the slick sounds of him thrusting inside you, at the guttural groan that leaves him everytime he slams home. 

“Perfect cunt,” he mumbles against your lips, the two of you sharing a single breath as he you meet his frenzied thrusts, your hands coming to his shoulders to score their desperate marks, the pleasure so overwhelming that your toes curl within your heels and a whimper escapes you. “No one can fuck you like I do, yeah?” he mumbles. 

You grit your teeth. “You wish,” you say, shaky and uneven as he continues to thrust inside of you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit so perfectly that your head lolls back. 

He laughs, coming to grasp at your neck, leaving just the right amount of pressure to make your cunt clamp down on him and your clit throb. “Oh yeah?” he says. “D’ya hear the way your cunt’s talkin’ to me, doll?” he asks, angling your head down by the grip he has on your neck, forcing you to focus on the slick sound of the two of you. “But it’s no matter. We can listen back to the track.”

You moan, your lips reaching for the thumb at the edge of your jaw to suckle at it, his eyes burning against yours at the action, your breasts bouncing against your top as you met each thrust with your own. “Almost there,” you pant, mouth full and voice rough from the grip he has on your throat. “Noel, goddamnit, fuck,” you whine, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you finally succumb to your orgasm, cunt pulsing as you came, rendering Noel helpless to his own orgasm as he he grunts animalistically into your ear, biting at the shell of it as he fills you with warmth, his cum dripping down even as he’s still seated deep inside you. 

You pant, swallowing roughly as you look to the ceiling, avoiding the way that he was still sat inside you, still holding you like you were his, still shoving his cum deep in you like he couldn’t help it. Then, you reach up and run your hands through his hair. He stiffens at the contact, before melting right into it, the two of you a sweaty pile pressed against the studio wall.

And if the next day, three sound techs fill in resignation forms without the courage of looking either you or Noel in the eye, you know exactly what they’ve stumbled upon. Still, you let them talk, delighted to see the story in the next week’s tabloids.

You don’t need to send the headline to Noel that day. Instead, he sends it to you. 

1997

Amber York. That’s the name of the girl he’s got his arm around. An actress with big doe eyes and a bell-like laugh, a perfect little angel that everyone loves to coo about. It’s quite serious and intense, she says to the press for an interview of whatever stupid fucking movie she’s starring in this time. He’s a gentleman, my Noel. He isn’t what the papers print him out to be. 

You almost laughed at that. Because Noel Gallagher is every bit of a rockstar as people expect him to be — the arrogance, the unbothered air, the sex, the drugs, the women he pretends not to have around him backstage. 

And well, most of all, because Noel has always been a filthy fucking liar. Some dumb bird wasn’t going to change him or whatever she thinks she’s done. He’s always going to be searching for the next thrill, he’ll always crave the buzz of a line, he’ll always be thinking about you and all the ways you had him in the studio. You know this because you made sure of it. 

You made sure of it as you wrapped everything up in a neat little bow, your album fully ready and everything set for release. You planned the dress you would wear to the celebration you had up your sleeve, you made sure not to wear any knickers underneath your dress, the two of you had plied yourselves full of food, champagne, and enough drugs to keep the entire party entertained before slipping away into the night and fucking him so good that you knew that he won’t ever forget. 

Because after that, you went your separate ways. Irresistible got announced later that year, and you and Noel had cut ties, neither hide nor hair of him visible to you as you went about your promotion cycle, admitting that yes, both Gallagher brothers were a big help to your record, knowing that somewhere out there, Noel was already fucking some other random bitch. 

It was no matter to you, you had found your own string of lovers to entertain you in the nights that you weren’t busy with being either a singer or a host. You had Carlos who had a cock so big that you could feel it in your throat, you had Amara who whispered filth in your ear as her fingers worked you open, you had Tanya who had a penchant for bending you over various pieces of furniture, and you had Lance who did anything and everything you said. 

But they all fade into background noise whenever Noel was in the picture. Like tonight.

You had won four Brit Awards tonight, four fucking awards all in one night — Best Pop Act, Song of the Year for In Your Eyes, Best Pop Album for Irresistible, and Breakthrough Artist of the Year. You had held the award firmly in your hand each time you were called, smile unbreakable as you preened at the camera and looked out to the audience that you knew doubted you every step of the way but still listened to your voice in the speakers whenever it came on in the club.

And of course, your eyes found him easily. Who wouldn’t with those bushy fucking brows, the rowdy table with drinks flowing freely, and the woman perched on his lap like his very own trophy? It was easy for you to spot him, really. And it was even easier for you to lift your award up in his direction, mouth moving before your head could catch up. “And special thanks to Irresistible’s producer, Noel Gallagher. Everyone give him a hand!” you cue, smiling gracefully as everyone follows your instructions and gives out a round of appluase, Noel only nodding once, eyes not betraying any emotion as his arms cradle his girl. You hum and continue, “Really, I wouldn’t know what I would do without Noel on this album. He really gave me a lot of special attention,” you say teasingly, letting the crowd roar with laughter and hoot at the innuendo, remembering the headlines from a year ago. 

From your vantage point on the stage, you could see Noel shift, his jaw clenching as holds on even more tightly to his girl. You grin, eyes alight with mirth at his obvious discomfort, letting the hollering guide you as you near the microphone again.

“And even though you made my life so hard,” you preen, “We ended up making something so beautiful. Like our little baby!” you cheer joyfully, pointing at him with the tip of your trophy, the crowd roars once more, amused. “So here’s to Irresistible! Mine and Noel’s lovechild! Cheers, everyone!”

Laughter guides you down from the stage, your dress swishing behind you as you strut, waving at people like the Queen of England herself, heels making muted sounds on the carpet as you make your way back to your table, buzzing off the high of victory and the feeling of having Noel’s scowl directed back at you. 

The night flows as smoothly as the drinks do, you make your rounds and catch up with both friends and foes — though the latter was much more common to you. You dance when the music starts, you snort lines with anyone who asked you to, and you end up going to whichever afterparty sounded the rowdiest. 

And of course, Noel was there too, like a magnet for trouble and all thing rock and roll. You smile to yourself as you spot him, already anticipating whatever move he’d make.

But Amber sticks by him like a magnet, as if she knows what kind of man she snagged, as if she knows that you’re lurking somewhere in the shadows, ready to make the latest headline with your favorite little toy. Her manicured nails are firm on his bicep, and he stays with her like the good and obedient pup he never was. You snort to yourself, downing a glass of champagne at the thought — Noel Gallagher could never be a tamed man. And you were about to test that theory tonight. 

By the time that you saunter out for a cheeky cigarette, your head is already spinning and the earth feels like just a wisp beneath your palms. Victory flows through your bloodstream along with whatever else substances you’ve been handed all night, everyone wanting to congratulate you on your victorious ascent into the music industry even though you know for a fact they all call you a frigid cokehead behind your back. But who cares when you get a few free lines out of it?

To your luck, Noel is already out in the alley, no girlfriend in sight and his cigarette lit up against the dark background of the night. You smile, already chuffed as you approach him on steady feet, your stilettos announcing your entrance and turning his head your way. “Noel-y,” you croon, drawling as you near him, his own eyes rolling as you approach him to leave a friendly kiss on his cheek. “Congrats on the victory, darling.”

He snorts and takes a puff of his cigarette. “Not here for the awards,” he tells you simply. “Just here for the party.”

You shrug and lean next to him, pulling out a cigarette. “Well, you’ve got both,” you say, putting the fah to your mouth and turning to him. “Light it?” you prompt, eyes wide and as innocent as they can be as he chuckles sarcastically, moving to take out a lighter from his jeans pocket. You stop the motion with fast hands, holding onto his wrist before he could reach the lighter. And instead, you surge forward, indicating for him to light the cigarette with his own. 

He curls his lip but obliges you anyway, crowding against your space as he waits for the end of your cigarette to catch, his breathing so close that you could feel it on your face. You shudder as he moves away as soon as the cigarette is lit, both of you leaning against the rough brick wall and taking a deep drag. 

Neither of you say anything, just letting the space between you speak and letting the smoke reach the sky as the night moves forward and the party rages on inside. And then, Noel makes a move you didn’t expect — he puts out his cigarette against the bricks, throws it to the ground, and puts his hands in his pockets and walks away from you, leaving you with just four words before he disappears back inside. “Amber’s waitin’ for me.”

As soon as the door slams shut, you’re left alone, laughing in pure disbelief. Amber’s waiting for him? You snort. Since when did he care about the women in his life? Since when has he been Mister Monogamy? Since when has he ever turned down a good shag?

You stew, inhaling the rest of your cigarette with contempt before storming back inside, blinded with annoyance as you ignore everyone calling out to you and zip straight to the bar, taking two bottles of vodka with you before leaving on a cab that you demand go faster than it should have. 

Who the fuck does he think he is? You grit your teeth and slam the cab door shut as soon as it parks outside your home. Steaming up the stairs of your townhouse and opening the front door with as much finesse as an angry drunk woman would have, you hear a few things clatter to the floor with the force of your ire. 

You huff, taking off your coat and shedding it by the floor, kicking your heels as you wander around the house, setting your awards on the sofa, and jetting up to your room to let out a frustrated groan. Fuck, you knew you shouldn’t count on Noel for anything. Not even for a good victory shag. 

You shed your clothes in a rage, your glamorous dress falling down on the floor, leaving you in just your knickers as you grit your teeth and place yourself on the bed, so irritated that you crack open the bottle of vodka and take a swig with your eyes screwed shut. “Ugly fucking twat,” you growl out. “Thinks he’s god or something,” you say, taking another swig directly from the bottle before your eyes land on the phone right next to you, sitting innocently as an idea stews in your head. 

Noel’s number wasn’t meant to be used for any other purpose than for the making of the album. That much had been made clear. Still, his scrawled out digits were sitting primly in your phone book, like a bomb waiting to be detonated. 

And tonight, it would explode. 

You dial his number with shaky fingers, rage and liquor making every sensation in your body heighten, the burn of desire and anger coursing through you as the phone line rings and rings and rings, then, it clicks, Noel Gallagher and Amber York’s residence, please leave a message. You smile, satisfied. The pair of them were probably still at the party, unaware to the plan brewing in your head as you opt to leave a message, your receiver already waiting to record as your fingers fly up to your mouth, your lips already suckling them in to wet them just as the recording starts. 

Showtime.

“It’s me,” you whisper down the phone, hoping that it catches the way your breath hitches as your finger play with the waistband of your lacy knickers, a pornographic gasp leaving you as you trace your already soaking entrance, needy and desperate. “Congrats on the win,” you say, inhaling sharply as your fingers, slick with saliva and your wetness circle your clit teaisngly, leaving no room for wondering what you were doing on the phone.

You hoped that when they came home to this message, they’d hate your guts. You hoped that they’d remember it forever. You hope that the sound of your moans were forever stamped in their minds, never to be replaced by anything else. 

You shut your eyes and keen as your hand begins to move faster against your clit, the circles growing tighter as your legs try to shut involuntarily at the sensation. “Mhm,” you moan, drool collecting in your mouth. “I’m so fucking wet,” you hum against the phone before grinning, a nasty idea in your head as you take the phone out of its position between your ear and shoulder, and move it down to your cunt, just in time for two of your fingers to stretch you out and for the lewd squelch to be caught by the receiver. “Hear that?” you moan, jaw opened wide as you hit the spot inside of you that makes your hips buck and your legs shake. “All for you,” you say, moving the phone even closer so it could pick up every sound that your cunt makes, each wet sound your own little act of revenge. 

You move the phone so close to your pussy that you begin grinding your clit against the handset, getting the plastic soaked as your hips continue to buck, seeking the pleasurable sensation as your orgasm crests inside you. You moan loadly, keening as your head falls back against your headboard, the slick sounds so loud that you had no doubt that the phone was picking it up. 

“Think you could just fucking forget me?” you spit, intentionally rubbing the handset against your clit, your fingers working you open tirelessly as you moan helplessly, stars in your eyes. “Think you can find some goody two shoes bitch to fuck you like I could?” you punch out, punctuating the sentence with a choked out moan fit for a pornstar, your slick dripping out of you and soaking the bedsheets beneath you as you continue to writhe helplessly. “Hear that?” you ask again, making your cunt squelch against your fingers as you moan. “Could have been yours tonight,” you pant, bucking against the handset so wildly that the bed began to shake underneath you and the springs began to creak in time with your thrusts. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, eyes screwed shut and legs trying to close on the handset, your orgasm washing through you so violently that nothing but ragged pants escape your mouth, your toes curling and your mouth opening without a sound. “Let’s see if you could ignore me now,” you whimper, still stuttering as your cunt clenches down on your fingers, wishing that they were Noel’s instead. 

He doesn’t break up with that librarian of a girlfriend he has. But you wake up the next day to Noel banging on your door and falling into bed with you. Just like you wanted — a dog answering to his master’s beckon. 

1998

By the time that 1998 rolls around, you and Noel have come up with somewhat of an understanding. No matter who you were with, who he was with, where you two were — sex was always an option. Amber’s out of the picture, but another dumb whore takes her place. You didn’t bother learning her name this time around.

It was unspoken, only agreed upon by the way that neither of you managed to go a week before finding yourselves with his cock inside of you and your fingers in his mouth. In his hotel room, in your townhouse, in someone else’s bathroom, in Liam’s coat closet, in the studio while Oasis was out on a lunch break, in a pub alley when both of you were too sloshed to walk back to his place.

Just sex. Because for all intents and purposes, Noel Gallagher was still a cunt, a man that you loved to toy with in the papers, the food you played with before eating, the bitch who slagged you off everytime you did something worth a damn. 

So the fact that the American leg for your tour of your second album, Graceless Minds coincides with the American leg for Be Here Now was just a mere coincidence, something neither of you planned on happening. Because the two of you didn’t talk about business. How could you when everything that came out of your mouth were insults or pleas for him to come so deep inside you that you feel it for the next week?

You don’t plan for it to happen, but it happens anyway. First, you run into him in New York, with Liam insisting that you come and watch their gig, with you obliging him even as Noel scowled and told you how he wouldn’t want anything less that to have you there. 

“Really?” you crooned to him backstage that night, your hand working on his cock so fast that you knew you’d feel it in your wrist later that night. But it was worth it to see the way that Noel suppressed a moan against the impromptu gag of your knickers in his mouth, his muffled groans like music in your ears as the opener for their gig closed out their set. “You’re telling me that you don’t want me here? Hm? Don’t want me jerking your cock off backstage when you’re supposed to be on stage in …” you trail off looking at the clock and smiling as you saw the time, “In two minutes?”

He moans helplessly, hips bucking against your hand as he tries to reach for you and speed the process up. You slap his hand away, tutting as he spits out his gag to say, “Just do what you do best and make me cum,” he growls out, voice breathier than it should be. 

You lick your lips and twist your wrist as your hand glides upwards, making him go dumb as his head falls backwards. “Mouthy fuck,” you tell him. “‘S’that how you talk to me? Hm?” you challenge him, eyes sparkling as he continues to leak so profusely that he soaks your hand in precum. 

He frowns at you, “I could find any other fucking slag to do this for me,” he threatens. “You’re not as special as you think you are.”

One eye on the clock and the other on the way his dick twitched in your hands, you laughed and let him go, causing him to whimper involuntarily. “Oh, yeah?” you challenge backing away from him as his brows knit at the interrupted pleasure. “Well, you’re onstage in a minute and I doubt you could find any other bird that would wanna touch you now,” you say, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door. “So, tick tock, Noel,” you say, licking your wet palm and waving goodbye at him. “I’ll see ‘ya out there, rockstar.”

When the band walks out and Noel trails behind them, his guitar slung on his hips and hiding his obvious hard-on you laugh and leave the venue. If he didn’t want you there, then you wouldn’t be there. Serves him right. 

The next time that you see him is in Fairfax, the two of you unintentionally booking the same hotel, much to your ire. 

Clad in a volominous fur coat and sunglesses big enough to cover half your face, you groan as you spot him and his band in the lobby, checking in to the floor below you. “Well, well, well,” you drawl as they all turn around to see you, their faces betraying the fact that they sense trouble as you walk towards them. “Look who it is,” you say, unimpressed.

Noel’s the first to speak, already matching your attitude as his face betrays no emotion. “Didn’t know that the hotel came with free hookers,” he remarks dryly. 

You hum and draw closer, invading his space just to pat his cheek patronisingly. “You’re funny,” you coo, pinching his cheek as he slaps your hand away, making Liam laugh jauntily behind him. “Acting like you won’t come crawling to my room later tonight.”

He snorts, “Already begging for some cock,” he tuts. “Shameless fuckin’ slut.”

You laugh in his face and reach behind him for the key that the receptionist was handing you, telling her casually, “Duplicate this key and give it to ‘im, yeah?” you say, gesturing to Noel who was scowling fiercely. “He needs one, see.” And before he could answer, you saunter off, letting your hips sway as you make your way to the elevator and wave at him just before the doors close and you ascend up into your floor. 

He finds you in your hotel room at an unreasonable hour, both of your gigs done and dusted and the night being home to just a few crickets peppering the otherwise silent air. 

You grin as the door opens, sitting up in bed as Noel makes his way in, stumbling lightly in a way that betrayed his drunkenness. “Missed me?” you ask, setting your magazine aside and tilting your head at him appraisingly. “Glad I gave you a spare key?”

“Shuddup,” he grumbled, making his way to the bed and, flopping in top of you gracelessly. You hum and immediately thread your hands through his hair, scratching at the roots and making him groan in pleasure. 

You hum, the sound reverberating in your chest and making him burrow deep into the valley of your breasts, already mouthing at your clothed nipples as you carress his head. “How was the gig?” you ask lightly, voice almost a whisper as he soaks the fabric of your thin pajama top.

“Better than yours, for fuckin’ sure,” he tells you smugly, face tilting up so you could see his crooked grin, one that you only see whenever he’s had something to drink. 

You laugh, and push him away from you, with him landing on the spot beside you and grinning as he put his hands behind his head, just as you straddle his hips. “‘S’that so?” you tease, running your hands down his chest and fiddling with his belt buckle. 

He hums, watching your hands work at the metal and disposing of his belt. “Ain’t even a question, doll,” he drawls, confident and easy. 

You chuckle, placing a hand on his cheek, so gentle that it was almost like it wasn’t there at all. “Feeling lucky tonight?” you ask, the question whispered against his lips, nipping against his skin so softly. 

He cracks a smile, hands still behind his head and making no move to even touch you. “As ever,” he confirms. 

You shake your head and shift, smiling gently as you say, “Oh, Noel.”

By the time that your hands find the headboard and your weeping hole is placed on his face, sitting on him as you smother all the air out of his lungs, he’s not as cocky as he was going in, his hands gripping at your hips to help you ride the crooked ridge of his nose, his jaw hinged open to collect all the gathering slick at your hole, his tongue flicking against your clit as he slurps you up and leaves you a panting mess, only held up by his steady hands on your body and the white-knuckled grip on the headboard. 

Las Vegas is last in your itinerary, and it wasn’t a surprise anymore to find Oasis was there at the same time as you. And why not surrender to it? It was the last night of your tour, the last night of theirs, and you were in the city of sin, a perfect place to reign over as you and the band hit every possible place you could after your gig. 

Liam, of course, predictably drags you to a strip club, one with burlesque dancers, and tight garters, women with feathers in their hair and jewels covering their nipples. The lad hollered at every woman that came close, even at every woman that stayed far away. Basically, Liam hollered at every pair of tits that he sees, even a few firm arses that he whistles at. 

Meanwhile, you sat by Liam and stoked the flames, drinking whenever he did, sneaking to the bathroom to do lines with him, pointing out curves and tits and perfect little cunts that were bared to your eyes. You yell along with him as women take items of clothing one by one, the two of you fight to insert dollar bills in a woman’s thong, and the two of you end up buzzing as the rest of the band beg to hit the strip. 

So you do. Bonehead drags all of you to some smoky casino, all of you betting insane amounts of money, just to laugh it off when you lose and rave about it when you won. You find joy in the Blackjack tables, so mesmerized by the shuffle of cards that you don’t notice how much you’ve lost until Noel’s dragging you out with a hand on your waist. 

You smoke as you walk to the next haunt, some themed wild-western bar that serves cocktails that could sedate an elephant. It’s there that Guigsy meets up with some sketchy dealer he’s been talking to for a while, and it’s there that all of you snort the best line of cocaine that all of you have ever done. You dance on a couple tables, drink more than you should, and make out with a man triple your age just because Liam and Bonehead dared you to do it. 

Meanwhile, Noel looks on, the jolliest drunk of them all as he snaps a picture with the cheap tourist-y disposable camera that he stole off some souvenir shop, knowing full well that he’d be the one to send the pictures to The Sun as soon as he sobers up. He laughs when you pull away from the old man, laughs as you and Liam do an inebriated rendition of Wonderwall on karaoke, and laughs when you sit on Bonehead’s lap, drained of all energy. 

Everything’s a blur after that. You snort a few more lines with Liam, you sneak a puff of Guigsy’s weed, you drink another gigantic cocktail whose portion size only exists in America, then you hit the strip once more. 

Somewhere down the line, you lose Liam to a busty blonde and a shapely brunette who’ve been making eyes at him, the three of them disappearing to do god knows what in god knows where. Then, two bars later, Guigs calls it a night after Bonehead throws up on his new pair of boots, the two of them stumbling off back to the hotel. It leaves you, Noel, and poor Whitey who gives up on the bar crawl another two bars in after you start sitting on Noel’s lap and start grinding on his growing erection a little less subtly than you intended. 

Which leaves two. 

The night turns into one big neon haze, every single substance mixing in your body like a cocktail for trouble as you and Noel lean against each other as the night grows louder and rowdier the later that the hour gets. You can’t read the signs as you pass them, every face begins to morph into one, and your laughter grows higher and higher each time Noel’s stubble tickles your jaw.

It’s him that suggests it first, spitting it out with slurred words as his eyes alight at a familiar establishment, the two of you just wandering aimlessly through the strip at that point “We should fuckin’ …” he says, trailing off and his eyes blinking profusely, the pupil so dilated that you laugh giddily and lean against him. “We should get married, yeah?”

You laugh even harder, bending at the stomach as you cling to him like magnets, the two of you looking like a pair of lunatics as you laugh freely in the middle of the sidewalk, your hands around his waist and his own around your shoulders. “Lunatic!” you accuse him, still laughing uncontrollably. “We can’t get married, I don’t love you!”

He shakes his head, smiling, “Nah, nah, nah, babe,” he mumbles, stumbliver the words as he peers at you blearily. “But the sex is good, ain’t it?”

And how could you argue with that? The sex was mindblowing.

The two of you end up getting married at the Little Vegas Chapel after a brief detour to the shops. You buy a nice white slip dress and a veil, Noel buys a suit jacket and a clip-on tie printed with a heinous floral pattern, the two of you buy wedding rings —- yours a cheap silver one with a Betty Boop shaped diamond, and his a chunky silver Playboy ring that’s the only one in the shop that could fit his thick fingers. 

Then, giddily, with the two of you in your wedding attire, you speed to the nearest payphone, calling up Liam’s room only for the man to answer, clearly in the throes of passion, “Busy,” he spits out, two girlish giggles punctuating his statement. “Call later,” he says perfunctorily before hanging up. That sends you and Noel into another fit of laughter, the sound lost in the haze of the chaotic strip as you try to find people off the road that would act as your witness now that Noel’s brother had RSVP’d no to the wedding of the decade. 

And at 4:27AM, you and Noel Thomas David Gallagher are pronounced man and wife, the paperwork signed, sealed, and delivered as Elvis Presley sings his catalogue of songs to the two of you, sending his best regards as you and your husband race out the chapel and make a break for the hotel, eager to start your drunken honeymoon as soon as possible. 

You don’t so much as stumble over your heels, the perks of being a model, as you and Noel run towards the blaring lights of your hotel room, taking quick stops at every seedy alley to snog the faces off each other, giggling hazily as you called one another husband and wife. 

By the time that the two of you reach the hotel, the sun’s beginning to rise in the horizon, and Noel is insisting that he carry you over the threshold of the hotel, paying no mind to your laughing protests as he ducks down and catches you with one hand behind your knees and the other looped around your waist, your own arms circling his shoulders as you laugh and laugh and laugh, people congratulating the pair of you as Noel continous to stumble over his feet. 

“I’m a fuckin’ size two!” you screech in his ear as he pants, nodding at the hotel lobby receptionist. “Why are you panting?” you demand. 

He huffs as he punches the elevator buttons. “You forgot the fact that your ego’s the size of the UK,” he says drily, but softens the blow with a kiss to your decolletage. You snort and stretch out in his arms, cheering as the elevator finally opens and Noel steps in, settling you down beside him. 

Then, like he can’t wait a single moment more, he moves forward, traps you against the elevator wall, and surges in for a kiss, his hands already wandering as his lips move sloppily against yours, the two of you moaning so loudly that you knew you’d somewhat be ashamed of it in the morning. 

But for now, you let Noel’s rough hands tug your dress up and move your knickers to the side, the calloused pads of his fingers feeling like heaven against your clit as he works you in fast tight circles. You open your eyes and train your gaze on the moving numbers atop the elevator. 

“Worried someone would see you like this?” murmurs Noel, circling your wet hole and slicking his fingers up teasingly before taking his hand off you and offering up his hand to you, the request clear as you open your mouth and suck him in, the taste of yourself making your eyes roll to the back of your head as he places his thigh between your legs, letting you hump it like a bitch in heat. “Don’t worry, doll,” he coos at you as you screw your eyes shut, his hands tugging the hem of your dress down to expose your tits to his hungry mouth. “The penthouse is a long way up. Just gotta pray no one’s gonna get in, yeah?”

You nod, panting against his mouth. “No one’s gotta know,” you say, chasing his lips eagerly as his bites your nipple lightly, making you cry out and writhe against him, moving your hands down to fiddle with his buckle, pulling his zipper down and getting his cock out with practiced eased, offering your hand out to him, saying, “Spit,” you tell him, to which your husband obliges, a glob of spit falling in your hand as you move it back down and use it to slick his cock up.

Everything pauses as the elevator dings, opening its doors as you and Noel look at the opening like a deer in headlights. You wait a beat, then two, and breathe a sigh of relief as no one waits on the other side. Noel moves quick, shutting the door and latching himself back to you. “That was close,” he mumbles, hissing as you tighten your grip on his cock.

You hum. “You liked it,” you observe slyly, noting the way his dick hardened even more in your hand the moment that the elevator door opened. 

He rolls his eyes, “Just shut the fuck up and get on,” he shoots.

You kiss the corner of his mouth delicately before guiding him to your entrance, the two of you giving twin moans that echo in the chamber of the rising elevator, the numbers ticking up steadily as you begin to slider yourself up and down on his dick, his hands guiding the motions as you buck into each other like animals in the wild. You keen, a wrecked sound as he shoves into you so hard that your head hits the metal wall of the elevator, your cunt clamping down on him and slicking him up.

He smiles at the sight of you, dumb with pleasure and head tilted back, bearing the marks he had left on your neck in the numerous times he had nipped at it on the way back. Your breasts bounce in a hypnotizing way, captivating Noel’s gaze as he pinches a nipple and grins even wider at the way you moan for him. “My pretty wife,” he coos, working faster against you as you near your floor.

You grit your teeth, the smacking sound of your arse against his thighs so deafening, the smell of sex and sweat so prominent that you could get high off it. “My stupid fucking husband,” you whine, clutching at him desperately, your nails scoring down his back as he presses against you, wanting nothing more than to meld into you at that very moment, to have you so close to him that you become one.

He slaps your thigh and you keen in response, the sting so pleasurable that it brings a thin sheen of tears in your eyes. “Who the fuck you callin’ stupid?” he slurs dumbly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he pants like a dog into your ear.

You tug at the roots of his hair harshly and his, “You,” you manage to groan out just before reaching your orgasm, hips wildly moving against his and your legs shaking uncontrollably as your body convulses against his. 

He follows soon after, spilling into you with a loud groan, his cum dripping down your legs as he fucks it into you dutifully. It’s then that the elevator doors ding open, while the two of you are panting against each other, half naked and glowing with your orgasms, faces red and flushed with pleasure.

“Erm,” Bonehead says from the other side of the door, in his pajamas and clearly still drunk. “Hello?” he asks, so disoriented that you and Noel can’t help but laugh, uncaring of the state you’re in.

You hold up your ring finger, still hooked around Noel’s shoulders and give Bonehead a winning smile, “We got married!” you cheer.

The man only nods blearily and begins to walk off. “That’s a funny joke, guys,” he says, voice garbled as he leaves you and Noel to ringing peals of laughter, the very picture of drunken marital bliss and Las Vegas indulgence.

The night is spent in pretty much the same state, writhing on top of the sheets of Noel’s penthouse suite, moaning so loud that you two were quite sure that there was a noise complaint incoming, and kissing each other lazily as the sun came up. 

“Jus’ put it in,” you whisper lazily as your eyes begin to shut, exhausted and sleepy as the wild night you had begins to catch up. You tug at Noel’s arm, wrapped around you from behind. “C’mon, Noel,” you urge, face planted on the pillow, exhausted and voice garbled. “Don’t be a pussy.”

He grunts as the head of his cock meets your ruined cunt, running it through the folds that were slick with both his and your cum. “Y’wan’ it?” he mumbles, kissing your nakes shoulder. 

You huff and push back against him, your sore cunt taking him in easily as the two of you sigh in relief, the slide so slick that you have to swallow down the surge of pleasure as your eyes flutter closed. “Wanna sleep with it in,” you tell him, whispering now as you begin to drift off, Noel surrounding you in every way possible as you pulse around him, too drunk to care about infections or anything practical. All that mattered was this. 

Hum hums, pushing you closer to him as he fits his head in the crook of your shoulder and tells you, “G’night.”

You hum, the weight of him inside you addicting, “Night-night, Noel.”

It isn’t a shock that you wake up to an absolute fucking mess on your sheets, making you feel an uncharacteristic surge of embarrassment for whatever scene the housekeeper is about to stumble on. But you and Noel pile a tip large enough to make them turn another cheek, and leave the hotel room, bow-legged and giddy. 

The band, predictably, reacts to the news with wolf-whistles as you and Noel stumble into the brunch buffet marked up like envelopes about to be sent through the post. And while you and Noel grab a bite to eat, you hear it. Liam bets a thousand pounds that you and Noel would divorce after a year, Bonehead bets a thousand pounds that it’ll be after two years, Guigsy optimistically bets that you and Noel would stay together, and Whitey bets that you would call it quits after six months. 

And as soon as you and Noel get back to London, you instantly know that Whitey would end up wining that bet.

The press hound you from the minute you step out of the plane, they hound you as you and Noel stare at each other, confused outside his home after you tell him that there’s no way in fuck that you’re living in Supernova fucking Heights, they hound you as you leave Noel outside his home and head towards your own. They hound and hound and hound, and sniff the two of you out like police dogs sniffing for drugs. 

And so the first month of your marriage is spent in separate houses, visiting each other whenever the other felt like shagging, watching some mindless telly, or snorting a line with someone they found entertaining. 

The second month is spent finally purchasing a house — a mansion, really, that’s big enough to fit you, Noel, and the two gigantic egos that have to live in the house with you. You pack boxes and boxes of your stuff, he packs boxes and boxes of his, then you unpack it in your large home and fuck in the foyer in celebration. But neither of you sell your previous homes, Supernova Heights still belongs to Noel and your Highgate townhouse is still under your name. A great way to start a marriage between two known cheaters, the London Telegraph once wrote about the situation, to which you responded by going on your show and ripping the writer of that article to shreds, even though you knew he was right. 

The third month is when things seem like they’re going good. Oasis takes a bit of a break, Noel starts talking about going off cocaine for good, and your days are spent languidly laying out in your sofa and laughing over things that you weren’t sure were actually funny to anyone but the two of you. You catch popcorn in your mouth on movie nights, he helps you pick outfits for big events, you console him after a Manchester City loss, and you experiment with cooking dinner that always ends up getting burnt because neither of you could keep your hands off each other. 

In the fourth month, you receive a bouquet of flowers from none other than Carmen Beavouis congratulating you and Noel on your nuptials. Neither of you respond. 

On the fifth month, Noel starts getting twitchy — the result of going off coke and cheating on his wife. You weren’t dumb. In fact, you’ve said the same lies yourself once upon a time. You recognize the marks on his neck that you knew you didn’t leave, you spot lipstick stains in a shade you would rather die than wear, you smell tacky perfume and even tackier hairspray on him as he comes home — if he even comes home. Because most of these days, Noel says he’s over at Liam’s to help with what the kid’s been going through. Like it was Noel’s fault that Liam had gone off and decided to get his mistress pregnant while still married to Patsy. 

Still, it’s Liam that spills the beans. Unintentionally though, poor lad. 

“He’s got a trip to New York this weekend,” Liam slurs, just as you planned. You had specifically called him that night for this very purpose; to wring the truth out of him with lager and coke. “Says its for the new album and all that shite,” he says hiccupping as he grips on tightly to his glass. “But he booked tickets for two. Him and that Vera girl he’s been shagging.”

You hum and raise a brow. “Vera?” you prompt.

Then, Liam’s eyes widen as he begins to slap his mouth, “No,” he whines pitifully. “No. ‘Ye aren’t supposed to know,” he says before putting his index finger to your mouth. “Shhhh!”

And that confirms your suspicions. You let him have his fun on that trip, even going so far as to leave him his privacy by not calling, not asking, not nagging him while he’s gone. Then, when he comes home, rejuvenated and refreshed after his business meeting, you tell him;

“I’ve got a special episode of Sex, Scandals, and Secrets in the countryside,” you tell him as he’s unpacking his suitcase. 

He hums. “Really?” he asks, focused on unpacking as you sit on the bed and watch him. “Anythin’ interestin’ there?”

You shrug and stretched yourself out, “Yeah, we’re hitting a few countryside studios that were home to the best albums of all time. It’s a whole thing,” you say. “Shooting starts on Wednesday, it’ll take up a whole week,” you say, setting up the bait. 

He doesn’t even blink. “Gonna miss you,” he says automatically. 

You stand and pat his shoulder, moving to leave, ready to take the plan in action, “I’m sure you will, baby.”

You count down the days until you have to ‘leave’, excitedly looking at the calendar as you anticipate the next few days, calling up your lawyers as you ask for papers and necessary documents, and heading to the studio to cause a ruckus in your talk show. 

Marriage has made you boring. Marriage to Noel has especially made you uninteresting. It’s like the finish line had been reached the moment that you said I Do, like anything crazy was never going to happen again, as if you’ve reached all the limits of what you can do. So maybe him cheating on you was something more of a blessing, you think this as you pack up your suitcase and leave him with an enthusiastic kiss, excitement buzzing through your veins as you wait and wait and wait. 

You stay at Liam and Patsy’s for a day, both of them owing you their silence as you make up some fake story about how heartbroken you were over Noel’s affair and whatnot. Liam, for his sake, doesn’t say a word to his brother under your threat that you’d tell his wife about his newborn baby to the woman he swore he’d never see again. 

Then, well rested and anticipatory, you hail a cab and jet back to yours and Noel’s home, feeling joy when what greets you as you silently open the front door are moans. 

“Oh, Noel! Noel, Noel, Noel!” the pitchy voice cries as the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall that you and Noel painted yourselves, eager to be the picturesque husband and wife, not knowing that this is the life that’s for you. “Fuck, baby, your cock is so big!” she whines loudly, making you snort as you begin your ascent up the stairs. Is that why Noel found someone else? Because you rarely complimented him on his size?

You near the master bedroom, the sound of their affair growing louder and louder the more that you pad towards them. “Yeah, baby?” you hear Noel’s familiar drawl. “C’mon, show me how much you want it, yeah?”

“‘S so good, Noel,” she cries out, sounding pornographic as the bedsprings creak. 

You roll your eyes and wrench the door open without preamble, making the couple shriek at the intrusion, rushing to cover up as you hiss, “Oh, calm the fuck down, bitch,” you sneer at her. “He’s not that fuckin’ good.”

They scramble even more, with her trying to get off her shameful position on her hands and knees in the bed you picked out yourself and Noel behind her with his cock still fucking into the dumb slag. It’s not fear that you see in his eyes, or shame, or an apology. You know it for what it is because it’s the same fire burning through you right now. You know the glint in your husband’s eyes were excitement the thrill of the game between you and him not being over, even when you sport rings on your fingers and have houses with both your names on the deed. He sees the challenge in your own eyes and rises up to it defiantly. You smile, long and slow as he drawls, “Sorry you had to see this, doll,” he says. “But I thought you were going away for a week.”

You roll your eyes and sit on the edge of the bed, right by his mistress’ head. “Do you take me for a fucking idiot, Noel?”

“I – I’m so sorry, I —” says the girl, stuttering with wide eyes as she pleads with you. 

You screw your face up in displeasure. “What?” you ask her, mimicking her nervous stutter as you get up in her face. “You wanted my husband’s cock so bad, didn’t you?Oh, Noel! It’s so big! It’s spearing me open!” you taunt, copying the way she was moaning. 

“I’m really —”

You shake your head, eyes tearing away from the girl to land on Noel who was looking at you with a raised brow and clear eyes, a question in it; So, what now?

And the answer is; “Keep fucking her,” you tell him, pointing at the woman bent over in your shared bed. “Go on then, show me what you had to go looking for outside our marriage, Noel.”

He does exactly what you say, your ever dutiful husband and pulls Vera back into his thrusts, the girl confused as little huffs of pleasure escape her mouth at every violent thrust of Noel’s cock insider her. You smile down at her and pet her soft hair gently, cooing, “Aww,” you say, surveying her tearful eyes and her drooling mouth. Noel always did like a crybaby. “Shh, darling. It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“What?” she stutters out, eyes rolling at the back of her head as Noel continues on behind her, nearly pushing her up the bed with the force of his thrusts. “Wh-what is this?” she asks before moaning long and loud as Noel reaches down to circle her clit, her back bowing and her arms losing all strength as she falls face down into the mattress. 

You stroke her back, like a stray cat. “Didn’t know Noel was into redheads,” you tell her softly, hands coming back up to reach for her hair. “But don’t worry, hon. This is a game, alright?”

“Can you shut ‘yer trap?” Noel grits out, panting as he glares at you. 

You glare back, “Just do your damn fuckin’ job, Noel,” you shoot back, bending down to soothe Vera with whispered assurances as she goes back to moaning loudly for your husband. Pornographically loud, in the way that makes you screw your face in disgust at Noel as if to ask Really? This is what you’re into?

He shrugs and nearly bends Vera in half with the force of his thrusts, the girl reaching her orgasm as Noel begins to lose his pace, bucking fast and wild before spilling into the condom that he thankfully remembered to wear. That’s when you tug at the strands of Vera’s hair, pulling her up with the force of it as she whimpers, face a blotchy mess as you hiss, “Now, get out of my fucking bed if you aren’t gonna be any more useful than a sex doll.”

As soon as she scampers off the bed like a fawn learning how to walk, you train your eyes on Noel and arch a brow, “Well, isn’t this awkward?” you drawl lazily.

He sighs, getting rid of the condom and throwing it in the nearest bin, slumping back against the bed as he meets your eyes. “Sorry,” he tells you, so simply that you laugh out loud, the sound grating and amused as you reach forward and tut at him, already reaching for his flaccid dick, making him wince and whine. 

You tilt your head and widen your eyes. “Oh?” you ask. “You wanted to be a slag, didn’t you?” you ask him, pumping his cock up, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut in overstimulation, his head slick with the remnants of his cum. “That’s what you wanted, right? So let me give it to you?” you challenge him, hand moving faster on his cock, making schlick sounds that made your clit pulse in need as he gripped onto your wrist just to have something to hold on to. 

You kept going as he came a second time, not even fully hard as he did so. You kept going as he grumbled and groaned about it being too much for him to handle, tears in his blue eyes. And you kept going as you finally got him hard enough to ride, making him leave a sticky mess between your thighs as you pat his tearstained cheek and bestow him with the sweetest kiss. 

“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” you whisper to him, and he nods. But you both know how much of a lie it was.

So you go on, living life as the picturesque husband and wife as you attend each event, hanging on to each other like everyone in the world can’t spot how much of a sham it is. You let the weeks pass by, noticing every time Noel would come home late, every receipt for jewelry that you wouldn’t be caught dead in, every phone call to a mysterious person that he won’t tell you much about. Then, he books another flight to America.

You knew the signs, you saw it for what it was, and you knew what you had to do. And on July of 1998, you make a splash that was sure not to be forgotten by anyone, especially Noel Gallagher. 

You invite his mother over for a special edition episode of Sex, Scandal, and Secrets, talking about how it was like raising two rockstars like Noel and Liam. Childhood anecdotes come about, laughter ensues as she tells you about how much of a little loner Noel was growing up, you talk about how it was like growing up with your own neurotic mother and how nice it is to have someone like Peggy around in your life now that you and Noel were together. 

Then you tell her, everyone in the audience, and the millions of people watching at home that you can’t wait until she meets the baby you’re carrying in your womb right now. And predictably, the media circus explodes — articles, news segments, magazine covers, speculation upon speculation at each talk show. 

And most predictably, Noel cuts his trip short and jets back home frantically, searching for you at home, wide-eyed and in shock. Pleading about how he’ll shape up, how he’ll be a great father, how he supports your decision to keep the baby you flaunted in live television. He begs, he pleads, he gets on his knees. By god, the stony man even begins to cry. 

Only to find divorce papers in the console behind him, your signature already in ink, just waiting for his just beside it. 

And oh, you aren’t pregnant either. 

Checkmate.

Paradise lost? Gallagher and missus split after brief five month marriage

July 19th, 1998

Written by Juliana Bell

Who hasn’t seen this coming? Our favorite scandal couple have just reportedly filed for divorce after only five months of marriage. Which, if you ask anyone on the streets of Britain, is five months longer than they thought the pair would last. 

The two met in early 1996 after the ex-model and then talk-show star made quite the stir after inciting rumors of Carmen Beauvois’ pregnancy to Liam Gallagher. Beauvois had been involved with Noel Gallagher for around three years at the time of the incident, and it is rumored that her and our model have been locked in an intense rivalry since the beginning of their modelling days at Victoria’s Secret, up until Little Miss Mouthy finds herself blacklisted from the industry, hence her pivot to hosting. 

Gallagher has since gone on the record to extensively detail his hatred for the model, calling her a slag with not much to her name other than a great pair of tits. Whew, what a great foundation for a marriage!

1996 sees the pair’s feud, fueled by their common connection to Beavouis, through a series of talk show guestings, A-List parties, and contractual agreements such as Noel taking the time to buy shares for Starstruck Productions, known as Sex, Scandals, and Secrets’ production home — only for him to stand in as producer for the host’s show, limiting her capabilities under the guise of a new contract. Subsequently, she retaliates by signing under Creation Records that same year, even going as far as to get Liam Gallagher on two of her records on her debut album, Irresistible.

And though 1996 is filled with their shared hatred and vitriol, it also comes to a head at the afterparty for the screening of Graceless Souls, to which both Gallagher and her attend with their then partners Beavouis and Manchester City’s Marcus Hernandez, only to ditch them in the bathroom line to have a quick chat in the bathroom.

What precedes is an event that had everyone’s mouths moving in shock — with the pair hooking up in the venue’s bathroom as the press and their significant other’s stood helplessly. And as soon as the two of them walked out, looking like they had just come out of the WWE ring, our lovely host takes the opportunity to plug the release of her debut single In Your Eyes to the awaiting cameras of the press. 

Since then, the two have been locked in an unspoken on-and-off relationship. Liam Gallagher, Noel’s brother and bandmate states, “Dunno what the fuck they’ve got goin’ on. Don’t even wanna ask some days. It’s best we leave those two alone to whatever fucked up foreplay the got goin’ on, yeah?”

And in news that shocked the nation, the two wed in a Las Vegas ceremony during Oasis’ Be Here Now Tour, in a sweet Valentine’s Day commemoration. Neither Noel’s brother or our host’s model friends made an appearance, instead, they had a scantily clad stripper and local sixty-two year old gambling man as their witnesses. 

Now, five months later, we find ourselves with the news of the pair’s split. It’s such a shame to see such an entertaining couple go. We wish both parties our best wishes during this time. Neither camp issued a further statement, though Gallagher has been spotted with his arms around a mysterious beach blonde in Ibiza and our host has been cozying up with Producer Warner Gerry as of late. It’s seems like the pair have already moved on, leaving us to scramble after them. What an adventure it has been!

1999

1999 is the year that Noel Gallagher goes steady with Meg Matthews, it’s the year you break up with Warner and meet Billy Frederick, it’s the year that the storm calms down and everyone finally thinks that you and Noel had had enough of each other. The divorce is done and dusted, the trial lasting as short as your marriage did. But little did everyone know, everything was far from over.

2000

Wedding bells toll for you once more, the life of being a wife calling to you as Billy gets on one knee and proclaims just how much he wants to marry you. And of course, you oblige. 

Your first wedding didn’t involve as much planning as this one. In fact, it didn’t involve any planning at all, just a shit ton of drugs and drinks and a wedding chapel in Vegas that was open twenty-four hours. But this time, you make a grand old time of everything; flowers, dresses, table runners, the venue, the centerpieces, the color of the carpet, every last fucking detail down to the bridesmaids and the color of their manicure. Everything was planned out to a tee, ready to be the wedding of the new millennium. 

And just because you’re still that same thrill seeker you’ve always been, you mail out two invites that make you laugh as you mail them out. One for Carmen as your Maid of Honor, and the other for Noel without an option for a plus one for his new wife, Meg. 

Both parties accept, much to your delight. So, you count down the days, preparing every little detail, even going so far as to invite Carmen to your wedding dress fitting just to ply her so full of the complementary champagne and watch her cry and lament her single life. You snicker to yourself as she weeps, happy to have the upper hand as you sit beside her and coo about how she might catch herself someone nice if she just lost weight. 

That earned you a slap. But still, at least it was far from a boring life. 

By the time your wedding had rolled around, you felt an odd sort of peace building up in you. A feeling that prevailed all throughout getting glammed up, putting on your stellar dress that you got custom made, and while walking down the aisle to your moviestar husband and his moviestar good looks and his moviestar money. 

You said your vows with a kind of tenderness that didn’t exist in your drugged up first wedding, and you finally got to wear a ring with a real diamond that wasn’t shaped like a cartoon character. You were the picturesque bride, a doll in all white as everyone fawns over you, congratulating you with kisses to your cheeks and hugs that you knew were insincere. 

Carmen plays her role, standing beside you like your second in command, and you take advantage of that fact — sending her out on useless errands that end up taking hours, distracting her from flirting with a few guests that she fancied, and making her take pictures even though there was a fully qualified professional photographer doing that same job. 

You shake your head, disappointed. She had really let herself go, not even putting up a fight with you when she could easily douse you in wine or push your head into the cake. 

Beside you, a voice speaks up, eyes on Carmen as she fret about the venue in the heinous flour sack of a dress you picked out for her. “Jesus, she’s just takin’ it, ain’t she?” Noel says, the first words he’s ever said to you since your divorce got finalized. 

You smile and turn to him, mouth drying up at his shaggy hair that framed his face perfectly, swallowing your champagne as your wedding ring glinted heavily in the light. “She’s mellowed out,” you muse. “Which is a shame.”

He shakes his head. “She used to be a spitfire,” he laments.

You hum, “And now she’s doing everything I say like a little bitch,” you bemoan. “I really thought she’d cause a scene.”

Noel arches a brow, his suit looking devastatingly good on him as you sip on your champagne once more, your clit throbbing just by looking at him. “That why you invited her?” he asks.

You snort. “Obviously,” you say without preamble. “That’s why I invited you, too.”

He hums and laughs under his breath, flashing his own wedding ring at you, “Chill out, yeah?” he says to you, amused. “Taken man over here,” he says.

You roll your eyes, smiling with amusement, “Like that’s ever fucking stopped you,” you tease.

He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “It’s different this time, yeah? She’s pregnant,” he tells you, then after a brief pause, he tacks on, “Like, actually properly pregnant. None of that crazy shit you fuckin’ pulled with your show.”

You laugh, the sound catching the attention of everyone near you as they arch their brows at the odd sight of you and Noel together. You smile at them, gracious in a way that comes with practice as they turn back around, at ease after your reassuring smile. 

Noel arches a brow at the display, “So, you mellowed out, too?”

“As if,” you laugh. “Y’think I’d invite you if I mellowed out?”

He shrugs. “Could be a peace treaty.”

You lower your gaze as you speak the next words, drawling them out like honey, “Noel,” you coo. “There could never be peace between us,” you say.

He shakes his head, then changes the subject, eyes trailing down your dress, clad in the skintight wedding dress that you adored. “Why didn’t I get some of that, eh?”

You huff, “We got married while high off coke and weed and what I’m pretty sure was crystal fuckin’ meth,” you say dryly. “Not to mention the fact that we were drunk off our arses.”

“Still wanted me, though,” he hums.

You hum back, “And you can still have this if you want,” you tell him, dangerously towing the line as his eyes widen and his face morphs into shock, then into one of familiar amusement, as if he already saw this coming from miles away. As if this was the entire reason he even came to your stupid fucking wedding in the first place.

It isn’t a shock to either of you when you end up dragging him to a secluded alcove in the venue, one that you saw months ago while scouting for a venue, one that you marked as somewhere you can have him without anyone interrupting.

And that’s exactly what you do. His mouth is a familiar weight against yours, like a vice you can’t quit. He moves his lips with so much surety, like he isn’t afraid of anyone catching the two of you like this, as if this was always how it was meant to be, as if he had a right to have you like this — in your wedding gown and with a ring on your finger. 

“Noel,” you groan, arching your back as he reaches down to shift your gown up, up, and up, until his fingers find what he’s looking for, a dirty grin taking over his face as he comes into contact with your lacy garter, immediately falling down to his knees, his blue eyes locked into your as he takes the lace into his teeth, kissing the skin of your inner thigh, and slides it down your leg. “Noel, Billy’s gonna have to go looking for that in the reception,” you protest but make no move to stop him as he stands back up and silences you with a firm kiss. You grip onto his shaggy hair and moan into his mouth as he presses into you, caging you in between the wall and his body. 

“Jus’ tell ‘im I had first dibs,” he says, mumbling against your lips and smudging your lipgloss everywhere as he opens your mouth and plunges his tongue inside, savoring the taste of you. “He’d understand.”

No, Billy wouldn’t understand. But you let Noel tuck away the lace garter in his trouser pocket and let him kiss you breathless. You let him pull the hem of your gown up and you let him unbuckle his trousers. 

And by the time he’s pushing into you, you’re more or less a mess. He’s taken down the pins in your hair, he’s smattered his saliva all over your skin, he’s smeared your lipstick all over your chin, he’s scratched your face with his stubble, and he’s bitten your lip more than he should have. 

But Noel’s like a man possessed, pushing into you with a groan of longing, his eyes screwing shut as he presses his forehead against yours and thrusts into you so slowly that you feel every single ridge and vein of him inside of you. 

“Been thinkin’ about you,” he admits, moving so torturously slow as you let your head loll back dumbly in pleasure. 

“Mhm?” you prompt, whining. “Missed me?”

He nods against your skin. “Can’t fuckin’ cum without thinkin’ of you.”

You laugh even though it’s much of the same for you, the only thing that can bring you over the brink being the thought of Noel. “Yeah?” you taunt. “That’s fuckin’ pathetic.”

He shakes his head and snaps into you with so much force that your tits bounce, making Noel groan as he gropes at the globes of your breasts, mesmerized by them as he continuous his torturous pace, making you feel every goddamn inch as you pant and whine like a bitch in heat. 

“Knew you’d let me do this,” he groans as if in pain, beginning to speed up his thrusts. “Knew it from the moment you sent that invite.”

You take the shell of his ear into your mouth and lick at it, making him buck helplessly into you, “I’ve been so bored,” you lament, keening as he hits the spot inside of you, making your toes curl in your wedding shoes.

“I know,” he coos at you, pecking your lips sweetly. “I know, babe. I know.”

You keen and cling onto him, not letting go as you let him rail into you, ruining you even further like you knew you’d always do. “But we can’t keep doin’ this, yeah?” he whispers, even as his cock slams into you filthily. “‘S’wrong.”

You nod, “‘S’wrong,” you echo, beginning to meet every single one of his thrusts, cunt squelching obscenely as you panted without a care in the world. “Shit,” you breathe out, brows furrowed. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “You get it, hm? ‘M’about to be a daddy,” he tells you softly, kissing any part of your face he could. “Can’t go around fuckin’ dumb birds like you.”

You bite at his shoulder in retaliation for his comment, making him laugh. “That’s what gets you g-goin’ nowadays, hm?” you ask, going a bit cross eyed as he starts circling your clit with a calloused finger. “Bein’ called daddy?”

He laughs lightly and pinches your clit harshly, making you keen and cry at the same time, legs trying to slam shut. “I already fuckin’ told you what gets me going,” he tells you.

You squeeze your cunt around him purposefully just to hear him moan pathetically. Then, you take his left hand in yours, both of your rings aligning as you surge forward and kiss him, messy and hard as he nips at you, hands roving to your hips to turn you around, tracing a pathy up your arms to place them on the balustrade, before returning them to your hips to fuck into your with no limits. 

You bend over for him, moaning like a whore as he presses down on your clit and thrusts relentlessly against your g-spot, making you cum with a white hot sensation that sends your body shaking against his, supporting you as he bends down with his chest to your back and his hands on your tits as he keeps going, kissing your bare shoulder as he whispers words that you can’t catch in your post-orgasmic state. And when he finally cums, he holds you with so much force that you think he might just squeeze the life out of you, his cum filling you up as you vaguely think about what lie to tell your new husband. 

By the time you turn around and get cleaned up, Noel’s already back to how he was before.

“Call me when you get that divorce,” he tells you, buttoning up his trousers. 

You hum and fluff your hair back up to its normal state. “Let me know when you get yours,” you shoot back, giving his cheek one last kiss before sauntering out, ready to be the picture perfect wife. 

Well, one who just shagged her ex-husband in a hidden alcove of her reception, that is. But who cares? You sit by your husband in front of everyone, you kiss him when the champagne flutes chime in a chorus, you dance in that practiced routine you’ve been fretting about for days.

And though Noel leaves the reception early, claiming that he needs to get home to his pregnant wife, it’s hard to miss the gift he leaves you. One that was definitely not on the registry as it sits out in the courtyard of your reception venue, a large bow tacked to the hood and a number plate that spells out your initials. 

A fully restored vintage Rolls Royce sits there waiting for you, your name on the ownership papers, the tag on the ribbon spelling out something that makes you laugh out loud. 

Here’s something fun to ride

xx Noel

A star is born: Noel Gallagher and Meg Matthews welcome baby girl Anais

January 27, 2000

Written by Diane Dickinson

It seems like it’s time to put the cigarettes and alcohol down and start putting those nappies and milk bottles up. Party girl and columnist Meg Matthews gives birth to a glowing baby girl with rocker husband Noel Gallagher of Oasis today, marking the beginning of a new chapter for the happy couple.

The new parents met in 1998 after Gallagher’s divorce from his then-wife. They spent some time getting to know each other under the Ibizan sun, soaking up the rays and letting go of their pasts. They officially stepped out as a couple at the 1998 Brit Awards, making a splash with their covert displays of affection and their intimate whispers to each other over the smattering of conversation.

Noel’s brother, Liam has welcomed two of his own children in the past three years, his hands even more full now with a baby niece to take care of. “I’m on my way to the hospital now, yeah,” says Liam as our reporters requested a statement off him as he leaves his Camden home with his signature swagger. “But ‘r’kid says that she doesn’t have our eyebrows. Thank fuck for that.”

We here at the London Journal congratulate Gallagher and Matthews for the new addition to their family. 

2001

You wanted to give Noel’s hairdresser the sloppiest fuck they’d ever had in their life. 

Noel looked unfairly good with that new haircut of his, rendering you soaking wet whenever any of his new stuff hit MTV and left you so desperate that you’d end up shagging your clueless fucking husband instead. The same husband who was wondering why you were insisting on him having his hair cut in a particular way, the same husband that doesn’t understand how that haircut has led him to having the best sex of his life, the same husband that thinks that he’s got the picture perfect wife. 

It’s been ages since you and Noel had last fucked. In fact, the last time had been at your wedding, only thirty minutes after you’ve said I do to Billy, and you were already off and busy getting fucked by your ex-husband. 

But it was no matter. It wasn’t a big deal. You had many other things to worry about, like your show, and your new album, and a new tour, and rehearsals, and every single thing aside from how good Noel looks with that fucking haircut. 

He hasn’t divorced Meg. In fact, Noel becomes the husband of the year alongside being father of the year. He’s splashed all over the papers, the new family man of Britain, as you snort to yourself and try not to think about how he said he’d find you after his divorce. 

So you don’t divorce your husband, either. Not even when he’s been boring you to tears and you’ve been shagging his co-star behind his back. 

So even though you were busy with the up and up of your career, you’ve grown terribly bored once again. So bored that you even bring out your vibrator for a fun little romp, pathetically waiting for the interview you’d had an eye on since it had been announced. And as soon as Noel is shown on screen, you turn the dial up on your vibrator and let the image of him take you away.

It’s annoying, the way that he’s got you like this. Does he ever see you modelling for those new lingerie brands and gave himself a tug? Does he ever think of you when he’s deep inside his wife and pretend that it’s you? Does he ever wish that he could call and just drop by your house for a shag just like old times?

You bite a groan and throw the vibrator away frustratedly, staring at contempt at Noel and his stupidly good looking face. You’ve had fucking enough of whatever bullshit level you were in this game. So with a bitten off growl, you rise from the couch and go back up to your room to rummage for something to change the tides once more.

Wonderballs: Oasis’ Noel Gallagher’s sextape with ex-model leaked!

April 05, 2001

Written by Philippe Jay

It seems like this dynamic duo still hasn’t had enough of their time in the spotlight. You may remember them as a pair of hellraisers back in the 1996 entertainment scene. There seemed to be no day in that period of history where the two haven’t managed to weasel their way in to a headline or two, and most of the time — they did it together. 

Known for their public feud over Gallagher’s then girlfriend Carmen Beauvois, the two made quite the stir as they constantly tried to ruin each others’ careers — Noel in music and our lovely ex-model with her hit show Sex, Scandals, and Secrets. But that same year, the two create the headline of the century as they hook up in a public bathroom, both of their partners stood behind the door just waiting for them to emerge. 

The pair wed in 1998 at a drunken Las Vegas wedding to which none of their friends or family attended. They subsequently file for divorce just five months later with both of them admitting to infidelity during the court proceedings. It’s only then that Gallagher meets his now wife, Meg Matthews and our loudmouthed host cuddles up to producer Warner Gerry, who she eventually broke up with after three months. She is now married to actor Billy Frederick, star of the critically acclaimed Pillowhead franchise. 

But it seems that history has a way of coming back as today, the pair’s intimate videos have been leaked to the press and have been made accessible to people all over Britain. Now, we at the London Herald aren’t one for vulgar details, and we urge everyone to respect Gallagher and our host’s privacy.

We asked for a statement from Noel’s brother, Liam, only for the man to shove at one of our reporters and say, “Why the fuck are people always askin’ me questions about those two?” he cries frustratedly before walking off. 

We wish the pair all the best in these trying times. And if anything, this serves as a reminder for everyone to stay safe with any naughty videos they’ve got with them. 

2002

What happens when you put a bunch of rowdy musicians in one yacht? Furthermore, what happens when two divorcees find themselves in the same party on the same night? Well, give them enough drinks and …

“I, Noel Thomas David Gallagher, take you to be my lawfully wedded wife,” he says, hands holding onto yours as everyone in the yacht cheers, your minister the captain of the ship, smiling as he looks on at you and Noel. “I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

And as everyone hollers their commentary, drunk off the overflowing liquor that the party yacht had been serving all night, the captain pronounces, “I pronounce you, husband and wife,” he says, the words bringing you a sense of deja vu as you waggle your brows at Noel who does the same. “You may now kiss the bride!”

Truthfully, you weren’t as drunk as you had been on your first wedding. And looking at Noel, you knew that he wasn’t either. But what else would possess the two of you to get hitched in the middle of the ocean in front of the industry’s current greats after not seeing each other for more than a year?

“I, Marcus Hernandez, take you, Carmen Beavouis to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

That’s what. Because apparently, there wasn’t a better time than then and there to get married — not when Carmen has researched the fact that captains can officiate weddings, not when her and Marcus have been hiding their love and can’t help it anymore, not when the two of them proclaim than they’d die if they don’t get married right that second. 

And for the first time in a year, you and Noel lock eyes and share twin looks of disgust at the proclamations. A clear provocation from Carmen, who had gone and gotten her attitude back and was now back on track to ruining your life. 

Well, good on her. But she’s been out of the game for a while and is clearly a bit rusty if she thinks that you won’t stoop down to her level. 

Noel agrees to your proposal without fanfare, nodding like you had just asked him to go out for a ice cream rather than get married to each other again. And when pressed about it, he merely shrugs, “We’ve done it before,” he says. “We can do it again.”

So the two of you do it again, outshining the bride and groom as you proclaim that both you and Noel would throw yourselves overboard if the captain refuses to marry you right that second. Which leaves you here, married once again, sporting ugly rings again, and seasick on a yacht as Noel holds your hair for you while you throw up into the water. 

“Is it that awful bein’ married to me?” he asks jokingly as you gag. And when you glare at him he laughs. “Oh, come on. You weren’t like this the first time around!”

Your second marriage to Noel is less turbulent. Though Liam still believes that you and Noel could still implode at any moment (and if you’re being honest, so do you), things settle in a way they haven’t before. 

Noel agrees to live in your old Highgate townhouse, the two of you buy a chateau in France, then a villa in Spain, playing monopoly with your shared money and jetting to your properties whenever you needed a vacation and a classy fuck. 

Noel’s daughter is a peach, coming over at yours for the weekend and playing Barbies and princesses with you and her dad until she passes out in her cute pink comforter. 

It’s all deceptively domestic, the way you build routines around one another, the way your lives meld into one, the way that Noel becomes the one you wake up to and the one you come home to. 

And when the boredom creeps back up, Noel fixes it by making sure that you stay; he brings home Butter, a tiny Maine Coon that looks up at you with docile eyes that somehow tear up whenever you tell her no and cries whenever you so much as leave the couch for a glass of water. She purrs when you so much as look at her and butts up against you wherever you go. She trails after you with her tiny paws and she flicks you with her tail whenever she pleased.

“It’s like you’re baby trapping me,” you lament to him one night as you brush your teeth right next to him, Butter sitting pretty between the two of you. “How can I fuckin’ leave her?”

He grins at you, foamy toothpaste in his mouth. “That’s the fuckin’ point,” he says. “She loves me, she loves you, and she’d fuckin’ throw a fit if you ever leave.”

You glare at him. “Is this your way of letting me know you don’t want me to leave.”

He spits the toothpaste out on the sink. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

By the time that Noel leaves for America once more, Butter has reluctantly been added to the family. Which means that on the night that you get that fateful call from an American hospital, the one asking if you were Noel Gallagher’s wife and if you could come quick because he’d been in an accident, you had nowhere to leave the stupid cat. So you pack your bags in the middle of the night, you knock on every door in the street to ask for a pet carrier, and you jet to the airport and demand a ticket for you and your cat in first class. 

The headline makes Noel laugh when he sees it, laying in the hospital bed and looking worse for wear as you scold him. “Not fucking funny, Noel,” you say, glaring at him as he gazed up at you with amusement in his eyes. “You could have died.”

He arches a brow. “Mad that you couldn’t get to do it yourself?”

You huff. “And you’d leave me all alone with the cat, too,” you say. “He’s your fucking cat!”

2003

Oasis hits a plateau just as you rush up the ladder. Doors to the fashion industry once more as you finally close out a final episode with Sex, Scandals, and Secrets and start a new show under Britain’s Next Top Model. 

You start getting invites to walk runways, you release another album that goes to the top of the charts, and Butter is still Butter who likes to seat herself between you and Noel on the couch. 2003 is good, the headlines are filled with your name, but with less scandal this time around. 

2004

Noel meets Sara MacDonald in a hazy Ibiza night club and proclaims that he loves her enough to leave you. So you let him. Why would you keep around a man who didn’t want to stay? So you file for divorce once more and go through the entire cycle all over again. Besides, you had been getting bored again as of late, the itch in the back of your skull telling you that you’ve been too domestic with Noel as of late. Him and his daughter and that stupid cat. 

The same cat that can’t go two days without looking for you. Which is how Noel ends up outside your doorstep, frowning as he carries a bushy looking Butter who looked like a jolly little fuck. “You took your time answering,” he greets dryly as you swing the door open. 

You hum and pay him no mind, immediately reaching for Butter whose tail was swinging like a pendulum as you scratched at her chin. “Hello, fatty,” you coo, more fond than you’d ever admit. Then, because you knew it’d annoy Noel further, you called out behind you, “Liam! Noel and Butter are here!”

So, you shacked up with Liam after the divorce. Sue you if you were a bit bitter of Noel ending things over some chick he met in a nightclub. And Liam knew what he was getting into, a divorcee himself, he just wanted something fun and light with someone he didn’t have to work to woo. That’s where you come in, with a proposal that he couldn’t pass up; buying a house in Camden together, splitting utilities and being housemates, and shagging whenever either of you got the particular itch for it. And if Liam ever needed help with Molly or Lennon, he’d come to you. 

So it wasn’t anything serious, both of you knew that it was just for convenience and appearances. But if the pair of you stirred trouble by pretending it was more than it was in front of Noel …

Well, Noel wasn’t too happy about that. But Butter’s mood had swayed him to visit at least once a week, making sure that he always saw you and Liam in the house you bought and shared. 

Liam clomps his way out of the kitchen and greets his brother with a nod, grabbing Butter off his arms and plonking her in your awaiting arms instead. “See you at the studio?” Liam asks perfunctorily. 

Noel nods, not betraying a single emotion. “I’ll pick up Butter tomorrow.”

Liam salutes. “Aye, aye!” 

Noel rolls his eyes. 

You smile and kiss Butter’s fur, driving the knife further as you wave her little paw and say, “Now, say goodbye to daddy!”

Liam shuts the door in Noel’s face before he could even reply.

2005

You find out through Liam that Noel and Sara break up that Fall. He saunters through the front door of your shared home, plonks himself down on the couch and begins his tale. Noel had grown tired, she had stolen his passport and gone berzerk, Noel had even sought refuge at Gem’s house for a short while. You listen to him with rapt attention, eyes furrowed as you follow along before asking the important question;

“Now what the fuck’s that gotta do with me?” you ask, to which Liam only shrugs and turns the telly on to some mindless thing that the two of you loved gorging on. 

So what if Noel and Sara had broken up. Serves him fucking right, if anyone asks you.

You and Noel see each other every week, now. And he had made no mention of this development in his relationship. Just last week, the two of you had brought both Butter and Anais to the park, and you pretended not to preen as the paparazzi caught photos of you. 

It wasn’t the frist time that happened either. The month before, you and Noel were spotted taking Butter to a dog-friendly ice cream parlor that you wanted to try. The week before that, you and Noel brought Butter to the beach. The week before that, you and Noel brought Butter to a playdate with one of your modelling friends. It wasn’t uncommon for you and Noel to spend time together, Butter or Anais acting as a buffer between the two of you. And it wasn’t uncommon either for you to get so worked up from hanging out with him so casually that you end up tumbling into Liam’s bed right after. 

The game’s over, you think to yourself. He had chosen Sara over you, and what you and Liam had was neither stable nor boring — it was a landing strip for wherever else you wanted to go. So you let the news of their break up slide past you instead of letting it fester. You continue as a judge on Britain’s Next Top Model, you walk the runway once more for Vivienne Westwood, and you sign a deal to make a record for a charity album. 

And as it turns out, Noel signs that same deal. And Liam, the cheeky fucker made no mention of it to you. 

“Oh,” says Noel as he walks in to see you on the studio couch. “You,” he says.

“Me,” you answer dryly. 

Noel coughs. “Didn’t know that you were on this album.”

You shrug, not looking him in the eye. “Didn’t know I had to tell you every fucking thing.”

He jolts back before rearranging his features, shifting as he says, “Well, this is a nice start,” he tacks on making you roll your eyes, to which he snaps, “Oh, don’t fuckin’ do that.”

You roll your eyes again just to spite him. “Do what?” you challenge. 

He grits his teeth. “Act like I’m the one that went and fucked your brother then went and bought a fucking house with ‘im!”

You laugh in disbelief and push at his chest. “You’re the one that wanted a divorce so you could go and chase after that angel that appeared out of the smoke of a nightclub,” you say mimicking his words from an interview you had watched and pretended not to be hurt by. 

He frowns. “But you said that that marriage wasn’t even fuckin’ real! Jus’ something to piss Carmen off!” he yells, the emptiness of the studio echoing his words back to him and piercing you right in the heart. 

“I lied!” you explode. “I fuckin’ lied, Noel. And if you haven’t noticed after two marriages, then I hope you’re noticing now that I tend to fuckin’ do that a lot.”

His nostrils flare as his blue eyes search yours in confusion. “Then stop fuckin’ lyin’ and just say what you mean for once in your goddamn fuckin’ life!”

You grit your teeth, your head pounding and blood roaring in your veins as you speak with vitriol and longing coating your words. “I’m tired of this fucking game,” you push out. “I’m exhausted and I’m frustrated, and I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

He huffs. “You’re the one that started it.”

You blink at him before bearing your teeth in annoyance. “Ten fucking years ago, Noel!” you yell, so loud that the glass of the console table rattles. “It was ten years ago in my stupid talk show that doesn’t even exist anymore. But then you go and continue it and chase after Sara. So I go and give you the divorce you so clearly wanted, and you get mad when I run to Liam for some comfort.”

“Some comfort,” he scoffs. “You mean a shag.”

You let your features twist with displeasure, “Yes, Noel,” you growl out. “A shag. I shag your brother because I get so fucking lonely with this game we invented. There’s no one out there that could match me the way that you do. Not even Liam. But he’s as close as I can get to you, so what does it matter if I shag him?”

“It matters ‘cause he’s my brother!” protests Noel. “He’s my brother and your my missus —”

“Ex-missus!” you correct him, annoyed. “You signed those divorce papers willingly, Noel!”

“Yeah, and I’m fuckin’ regrettin’ it!” he finally says. “I regret ever goin’ after Sara, I regret asking for that divorce, I regret saying that that second marriage wasn’t ever real because it was. It was the only time I felt normal and the only time I’ve let my guard down like that. You — you fuckin’ keep me on my toes, and you drive me mad, and I think I’d actually die if you stop fuckin’ paying attention to me,” he huffs out, eyes desperate and wide as he tells this to you, the first time you’ve ever heard Noel speak about his feelings, and most probably the last time as well. “And I want you to stop doin’ whatever it is you’re doin’ with Liam and pay attention to me instead,” he huffs. 

And before you could answer, the door swings open and the crew along with the band walks in, intruding on a moment they didn’t even know was happening as they greet you and Noel with easy smiles and delightful chirps. 

Noel’s shoulders deflate and that’s when you make the decision. You lean over, just so that your mouth was near his ear to whisper, “Nice speech, Casanova,” you snort. “Wanna talk more about it over dinner tonight? That old Chinese place we used to go to the first time around? You can have Liam catsit Butter, he hasn’t much going on, anyway.”

For the first time, you see the twitch of hope blooming in Noel’s smile as he agrees. 

It’s a date.

2006

Third time’s the charm? Oasis star Noel Gallagher and ex-wife of two marriages tie the knot … again

December 08, 2006

Written by Yancy Salvador

It is often said that third time’s the charm, but could this be applied to Noel Gallagher and our dear model? 

The pair have had a turbulent history, dating back a decade as 1996 sees the era of vitriol and harsh headlines between the two of them. From the very beginning, the two of them start off on the wrong foot — with both of them being locked into relationships as they hook up in the bathroom stalls at an afterparty for a film viewing. 

But that didn’t seem to stop them. That was only just the beginning of their decade long on-and-off relationship, with the two getting married in February of 1998 before divorcing in July of the same year. 

Their patterns seem to catch up to them as they begin another tumultuous affair, with Noel married to now ex-wife Meg Matthews and our host married to actor Billy Frederick. 

Ten years later, the pair still haven’t calmed down, instead choosing to test their luck and get married at an uncharacteristically quiet civil registry ceremony with only their parents in attendance. 

Gallagher is a father to Anais Gallagher, whose mother is Meg Matthews. He is a dedicated co-parent and a stellar father, according to sources close to him. Meanwhile, our host does not have any children from her previous relationships, only having Butter, her Maine Coon with whom she shares with Gallagher. 

When asked for a statement, brother Liam says, “Ah, didn’t they divorce already?” he asks confusedly to one of our reporters. When informed of the news of the recent marriage, he only shrugs, “Well, congrats to those crazy cats. Maybe they could finally invite me to the next wedding. F***ers.”

But if the bump she was sporting this morning at a Givenchy showcase was anything to go by, we’d say that another hellraiser is on the way. We at the Telegraph congratulate the couple on their third nuptials, continuing their tradition of keeping us on our toes. 

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six thirty.

the dreaded hour.

you lazily slam your hand onto your buzzing alarm clock, letting the piercing sound finally cease.

you groan once, running a hand down your face as you squint from the sunlight peeking through the silky curtains in your bedroom.

you trudge towards the bathroom, your feet dragging on the cold tile as you position yourself at the sink.

you look up at your reflection in the foggy mirror, your hair a crazy mess from sleep, deep eye bags, and chapped lips.

you sigh, let out a loud yawn, and then start the makeover process.

one. shower & shave.

two. brush your teeth & skincare.

three. journal.

it's stupid, really. your neverending, gigantic crush on your boss which never seems to end in the words, "it was just a phase."

every morning you'd enter something in your small, pink diary; the one with far too many dried up coffee and lipstick stains on each page.

you'd write about your day at the office, your day as his employee, and if you were lucky, what he said if he noticed you.

noel gallagher is the one and only mr. right for you. he's perfect, polished, talented, and...well maybe polished is the part you had done up in your head. he's loud. annoyed very easily; and always complaining. whenever he sees you, he never remembers your name, so he'll call you "birdie".

this morning's entry is all about your interaction with him yesterday.

and it all went like this.

you sip your coffee at your desk, spinning around in your cushioned office chair. a pile of papers for oasis's upcoming tour sits in front of your face, and you dread opening it. noel had probably marked new additions to the tour that you had already completed, and now you'd have to re-do it all over again. your job: review contracts, submit tour requests by each band member and report approval of each request that was confirmed.

"y/n." matt, your (favorite) coworker slams his hands on your desk, jolting you to life. you're mid sip, so startled that hot coffee splatters all over your new white blouse.

"shit!" you gasp, gently sucking your thumb that burns with the spill of hot coffee.

"whoops." matt sucks his teeth shortly before handing you a tissue.

"thanks." you mutter while snatching the tissue, blotching as much of the brown coffee stains as you could off your pretty blouse.

"didn't mean to scare ya, but james needs you in room six."

"what for?" you toss the tissue into the garbage can, placing the coffee cup down on your desk.

"noel. he wants to review the contracts you were given to review yesterday." matt says while adjusting his ugly blue tie. you won't tell him you hate it because he's your best friend, but it's the most hideous tie you've ever laid eyes on. the tiny vibrant dolphins on the fabric could get him fired if you were in charge of the office.

your eyes widen, trying to focus on his statement rather than the Ugly Dolphin Tie.

"uhhhmmmm..." you start, trying to remember if you even packed those contracts. you didn't know they were due today.

matt squints his eyes, eager for your answer.

"here we go." you bite your lip, pulling out about one hundred thin files you reviewed last night.

you were up till midnight with the papers in front of you, watching "pretty woman" and painting your toenails a sexy red color that noel will never see, considering you wear black ballet flats to the office every day.

"good. room six, remember? mr. gallagher isn't a very patient man," matt sings as he hurries back towards his desk.

you shoot him an "i'm aware," before stacking the papers into your arms and moving down the hall towards room six.

you stand in front of the large glass door, looking inside to see an angry noel sat at the long conference table. he's shaking his head, clearly disappointed by something. maybe it has to do with the misconception with the roadie. he quit for 'blur' last minute.

you take a deep breath while trying to keep your heart on a leash in your chest. it's about to jump out at just the sight of his cloudy blue eyes.

noel lifts his head, his eyes scanning past the glass doors and landing on you. your heart goes feral as warmth rises to your face, your cheeks flaming red.

his eyes trail down to your shirt, and for a second your brain thinks he's finally catching how amazing your sense of style is...or maybe he's shamelessly eyeing your tits. you look down like the weirdo you are, but for once, you're glad you did.

the fuckass coffee stain.

which now makes one section of your blouse see-through, your maroon colored bra you just bought peeking through your shirt.

noel tried his best to hide a laugh.

seriously, matt?

one of your bosses follows noel's gaze, pointing at you through the glass. you are officially embarrassed. "there she is!" you hear someone say muffled, reaching for the door.

the glass door flew open, and your face is as red as the bold lipstick shade that's lying in your purse underneath your desk.

"hi." you greet the room with a loud sigh, without making eye contact, setting the stack of papers down on the large table.

noel's eyes don't leave yours for a second. he's waiting for a proper "hello" from you.

your eyes slowly advance from the expensive glass table with cursed coffee mugs on it to noel sitting at the head of the table.

a smirk teases his lips and his fingers scratch lightly against his stubble. he's watching your every movement, the way he's leaning back in his office chair like he owns the place. well, y'know maybe he does. he's the rockstar. he's the whole reason for your company.

you clear your throat, trying to distract yourself from the incredibly gorgeous-without-any-effort type of man that sits across from you.

"mr. gallagher." you say a little firmer this time.

his eyes widen at the way you choose to address him. "morning." he greets you back with a tiny smile, clearly amused by your entrance.

"matt said something about contracts?" you avert your eyes while placing a strand of hair behind your ear.

your eyes try to focus on anything other than noel. you try the coffee pot. it makes you even more angry. maybe the man next to you? okay, he has a weird staring problem. back to noel it is.

"mhm." he takes a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes not leaving yours.

you can't help it. your eyes fall to his lips shamelessly. you curse yourself for it.

he clears his throat which drew your attention back to his face.

"good coffee, hm?" he said while leaning back in his chair, then nodded towards your stained blouse.

your cheeks flamed even hotter. you needed to get out of there.

"clumsy me." you muttered with a tiny shrug.

"your name is?" noel asked quickly while reaching for a contract at your end of the table.

the tiny patch of chest hair that peeks out of his shirt as he reaches over has you captivated for a split second before you remind yourself to stay focused.

you gulp as you told him your name.

he repeats it once, and then he reaches for a pen next to him. noel pops open the cap with his teeth, then signs his name at the end of the contract with black ink.

"send this out for me, will ya birdie?" he asks politely as he capped the pen.

your mouth goes dry as you nod slowly. yep. he forgot. like always. but you didn't care.

"mhm." you squeak out, taking his paper and tucking it under your arm.

you head towards the doors as quickly as possible.

"oh, and" he calls you back with a finger pointed in the air.

your head swivels around to look at noel, your fingers tightening on the glass doors with every second that passes.

"i've always liked the color maroon." he says while leaning back in his chair.

your expression drops as your face goes as white as the creamer the barista pumped into your coffee this morning.

you stare for a while, his words replaying in your head one million times over. did he really just say that? is it all in your head? it's confirmed once he tilts his head and widens his eyes, even more amused by your surprised expression.

you head for the door, making sure you hear it click before letting out a massive sigh. "holy fuck" you breathe out as you pull stray hairs back and straighten your browned blouse.

you turn around once more, not expecting to catch noel's eyes still on you. your heart leaps in your chest as his lips bend into a dangerous smirk.

your breath hitches, and you turn your head as quickly as possible, hoping he didn't notice how pink and stupid your face turned. you dash down the hallway, far away from room six.

°˖➴

and now here you are, every morning you sit with your diary, entering your thoughts and experiences with noel gallagher into your little pink notebook.

you sit in your bed, kicking your legs against your wooden headboard as the black ink glides across your loose leaf page. you wrote about an interaction each day you had one. and this one had to be the most embarrassing, yet your favorite. no matter how hot you felt your face get, he had spoken to you. maybe you were a little delusional, but at least you were able to speak back. and he had commented on your bra.

your cheeks got hot just remembering his face when he said it. the way he tilted his head. the way he smiled. the way his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t even identify; you were so lost in him. 

you're going mad. and you pray to God he would just get your name right. you write about the coffee, about your stupid loss for words, about the bra, about his radiant smile.

you stand in front of your closet for at least ten minutes deciding on a blouse that's dark enough and coffeestain-proof. you are not going to unintentionally tease noel gallagher again. it's far too embarrassing. 

dark blue blouse. long sleeve. perfect.

black skirt? no, it looks like you were attending a funeral or a really depressing goth wedding.

you settle on a white blouse after praying you'll be careful and stay away from coffee today. the black skirt goes well with the white blouse. you pair the outfit with some ruffle socks and your signature black ballet flats. right when you are about to leave, you notice small paint chips at the edges of your flats. you frown, grabbing a black marker and filling in the chipped spots until you can buy new ones this weekend. 

you head out the door around seven thirty. you had made sure you looked nice, your lips covered in strawberry lip balm and your hair is slicked back with fine gel so you won't have your hands fiddling with loose strands during the day. 

inside your brown purse lay your water bottle, a pair of sneakers to change out of just in case your feet get cut on the back of your flats, extra hair ties, pens, and your diary. you don't know why, but you carry it everywhere. on your lunch break you'll journal at the nearest park and will plan your weekends on the back of the notebook- because yes, the other half is an organized planner and you are running out of diary space. 

“morning, matt” you pat his desk as he gives you a tiny wave and then mouths to you, “im on a meeting”

you suck your teeth before gesturing with your hands that your mouth is zipped. then, you scurry over to your desk and take out all your belongings, setting up your computer and checking your mailbox for any new information you had to review for oasis’s upcoming tour. 

one letter from miriam lays in your mailbox. you squint and turn the letter over, ripping open its envelope. inside are details for a celebration for the release of “be here now”. 

it reads, 

hey! i couldn’t type this online or else i would risk the whole company seeing this. dropping this in your box because i just got word of a release party! please please please wear something sexy! i know how you can be, but please risk it all and trash those ballet flats. y’know, i saw them chipping at the edges yesterday. 

you look down at the chipped spot that is now covered with a small frown. 

anyway, i heard there’s gonna be drinks and karaoke. and the hot one never comes to these things, but i heard he is! gonna shoot my shot with liam if you know what i mean  -miriam

P.S. its tomorrow night :)

you chuckle at the last section. miriam has a massive crush on liam. she isn't your best friend, but you know her from around the office. she is the queen of gossip and is always making an excuse to send you some sneaky notes in your mailbox that are totally classified as "along the lines of getting fired" just by the way she writes to you about liam. it’s a good thing she doesn't know you have eyes for noel, she’d go and tell the whole office.

but tomorrow night? how are you gonna show up to a fancy release party? you only have one nice dress in your closet which probably isn't even release-party-appropriate. (the only time you wore it was to a wedding).

"matt." your hands land on his desk, and he gazes up at you with suspicious eyes.

"you never come to my desk during work hours. what's the emergency?" he asks, his tone careful.

you squint. are you a bad friend? whatever. not right now.

"do you have any good...shopping places?" you scratch your forehead nervously.

"sit down, hon." he pats the office chair next to him, and you scoot closer to him on the gray carpet.

"i need a dress for the release party." you admit, your voice going quiet.

"damn, shit spreads fast. i only heard about it this morning." matt shakes his head.

"i know!- wait, did miriam send you a note too?" you exclaim.

people around the office turn their heads at your excitement, clearly annoyed by your loud voice. you smack a palm against your mouth, sinking deeper into the office chair.

"no..." matt says cautiously with a chuckle. "charlie told me."

you nod in understanding.

"miriam's allowed to send you notes?" his eyebrow perks up.

"uhhh...no." you avoid his gaze and start picking at a tiny hole in your tights that will eventually get bigger the more you touch it.

he laughs and then shakes his head. "so, you need a dress."

you nod once.

"from a....shopping place?" he smiles at your choice of words.

you sigh deeply. "i don't know, like the mall or sumthin'?"

he stares at you blankly. "hon." he starts suspiciously.

you scoot even closer, ready to listen to your fashion icon. if anyone can help you, it's matt. he used to study fashion but dropped out cause his company didn't pay as well as other companies outside of london. he loves to say he's still working with "the arts of fashion" even though he is managing the most famous and most chaotic band of your time.

"do you still buy your clothes at the mall?" he asks while reaching for your hand.

"no! it was just a suggestion." you shake your head quickly.

you totally still buy your clothes at the mall.

"okay, well we need to get you something nice from the fancy stores on the boardwalk."

your lips part. "that's expensive."

"yup." he nods enthusiastically. "but they have super nice stuff."

you listen carefully as he feeds you highly important fashion information.

"try tessa's."

you nod your head and repeat the name on your lips a few times.

"mhm." he nods slowly. "got it?"

"i got it." you give him a smile, and then you thank him for his help.

instead of returning to your desk, you pop by miriam's cubicle. hers is fancier than yours; she has a door. no fair.

you knock once on the glass door, and she jumps in her seat. she's eating her lunch, which is odd considering it's eight in the morning. you can hear her muffled behind the door, but she waves you inside and says "come in!" enthusiastically.

you step inside with a kind smile, closing the door behind you.

it didn't even properly click shut before she asks, "did ya get my note?" with wide eyes as she wipes her mouth with a white napkin and places it down next to her cesar salad.

"uh, yeah." you adjust your skirt and approach her desk.

"i need your advice," you begin quietly. then you clear your throat. if you're gonna ask her this, you have to be confident about it. "on like..." you scratched your neck. "what to wear?" you cringe at the words.

she squints. "m'kay," she closes her plastic salad box and clasps her hands together in her lap. "for the party?"

"yeah. but like, not a dress." you clarify, fiddling with your fingers behind your back.

she nods slowly.

"and like, i have a dress shop already, so yeah. that's why i...said that." you chuckle nervously, not even making proper sense anymore.

"uhm, so it's not shoes, cause you said they were chippin' and i gotta get new ones, but-"

"you want me to help you buy lingerie?" miriam blinks.

busted.

fuck. how'd she know?

"what? why would you- no." your cheeks grow pink.

you can never ask matt for that.

"you know i'm gonna tell you to go 'the chateau' for that." miriam licks her finger once and flips open a notebook page, ripping out one piece and writing down the address of the store.

you take it, and then examine the address. it's one block away from 'tessa's.'

"thanks," you say shyly, tucking the paper into the pocket of your cardigan.

you try to slip outside, but she stops you.

"why do you need lingerie for the release party?"

you freeze, your back to her. you close your eyes and mutter a curse under your breath.

"uhh," you turn around with a fake smile, fiddling with your hands.

"just cause?" you admit cautiously.

"okay," she hums, spinning around in her chair and flicking her short brown curls behind her shoulder. "you don't want to impress anyone?" she shimmies her shoulders playfully.

you nearly wince at the action she just did. and you will never open your mouth about your crush on noel.

"nope. i just ran out." you say confidently with a clearing of your throat.

"you ran out of lingerie? Jesus, how many did'ya have?" she says with a loud chuckle.

great, now she thinks you're a stripper outside of the office.

"not a lot, that's why..." you stop yourself, not wanting to get caught in more lies. "anyway, it's not for the party, I just happen to run out around the party's date." you chuckle nervously again.

what the fuck were you even saying?

her eyebrows lift with a slow nod. "ah."

wait- didn't you tell her its for the party? whatever- focus.

"uhh, i gotta run. thanks for that." you give her a small wave, slipping out of her cubicle before she can ask you any more follow up questions.

°˖➴

you have your earbuds in, pink floyd's "the wall" playing as you departed the bus. your black boots hit the wood of the boardwalk, and you remove your sunglasses, looking up at 'tessa's' dress shop. you take in a deep breath, removing one earbud and pulling the door open.

a jingle sings above your head, and all heads turn to you in the store. a woman greets you hello, and you smile back with a small wave. you travel around the store, utterly confused about what you're looking for. what type of dress is suitable for a release party?

then, someone taps your shoulder. it shakes you to life, and you drop the expensive leather dress between your fingers. you turn around, removing the other earbud and giving the woman in front of you a smile.

"hi. do you need help with anything?" she asks with a creepily large grin.

you smile back and consider her question before denying her like you would in any other store where the staff is overly bothersome.

"yeah, actually." you titter lightly.

"what can i help you with?" she clasps her hands in front of her stylish brown belt and dress pants, looking like she just walked out of a political magazine.

"I need a dress for a release party, but I'm not sure which is suitable for the event." you explain to her.

she taps her chin. "you'd want to be looking at cocktail dresses, darling."

she guides you to the back of the store where a beautiful rack of cocktail dresses lay, all shiny and silky and waiting to be bought.

matt was right. this place is expensive but has very beautiful varieties of fabrics.

you try on three, and the same woman who helped you to the back of the store waits for you to try on each one. she says they normally don't have lots of customers because of the weighted prices, and usually richer tourists arrive on the weekends- not on random thursdays after work.

"i love that one." she claps her hands as you step out past the curtain in the dressing room.

you blush, running your hands down the lacy black fabric.

"marjorie, come look at her!" the woman who you now know her name is tessa, the owner of the store yells.

marjorie erupts from behind the counter and her eyes widen.

"oh, that's the one." she points her finger up and down at your figure.

"you have nice hips, i must say." she nods eagerly.

"thank you," you giggle.

"what about the white one, though?" you point back at a silky white dress that comes with a matching neck scarf hanging on a gold hook.

"i think this one is sexier. more bold." tessa points out with a tilt of her head.

"i agree." marjorie states.

tessa lifts off the cushion and walks over to you in the middle of the dressing room, adjusting the dress at your waist.

"i like the tight fit near the waist, don't you think?" she asks you with a safety pin secured between her teeth.

you nod your head.

"there. all done." she smiles, tapping your shoulder so you can look in the long mirror behind you. you turn around, absolutely astonished by the sight in front of you.

"whoa." you breathe out, eyeing the material and the way it grabs your waist so perfectly.

"that's the one." tessa whispers while squeezing your shoulder.

you laugh and nod your head.

°˖➴

after that purchase, you know you can't spend like that for a while, but you almost never treat yourself. it feels good. next stop, 'the chateau'. you hope there are nice ladies in that store that can help you find things.

you walk inside, the light pink walls and black polka dots all around the store are almost blinding you. you haven't been in one of these in a while, considering you do online shopping and find nice underwear in the catalogs you were sent.

your earbuds are back in, the song "young lust" blasting loudly in your ears.

you can't hear, but one woman waves to you and mouths the words, "good afternoon" and you just nod with a smile. you travel deeper into the store, looking for the lingerie section. hell, the whole store is full of lingerie but you really just need tinier panties and a suitable bra.

you find the tinier-panties-section and your eyes widen at each one. how the fuck is that called underwear? you shake off the thought and pick up another one with a chuckle.

you have always lived in a shadow at work. the only two people who know you are matt, because he's your best friend, and miriam because she knows everyone and as much as everyone's business as she can. not even noel can remember your name for christ's sake-

a tap on your shoulder.

it's probably just a worker.

you're holding a pair of lacy black panties as you turn around to address the worker.

your eyes trail up to the person in front of you, until they widen a large amount and your cheeks flush hot.

noel???

definitely not a worker!!

he's smiling down at you, his hands are jammed in the pockets of his denim jeans. his eyes dart down to the panties in your hand, and you immediately close your eyes in embarrassment.

"hey, birdie." he greets you, tilting his head, trying to get your eyes to meet his again.

"hi mr. gallagher." your voice is small.

"whatcha buyin' there?" he asks, nodding towards the lace bunch in your hands.

"nothing." you throw it back into the pile behind you.

shit. shit. shit.

he chuckles, and then for the tiniest second his eyes drag down to your lips. "uhh...what are you doing here?" you clear your throat.

he huffs a laugh. "girlfriend. wants sumthin from the new collection?" he looks just as puzzled as you in the store.

"oh." you nod, trying your best not to act weird around him. it needs to end right now. where's the nearest exit?-

"what about you?" he asks.

your face freezes and your palms start to sweat uncontrollably.

"just...shopping." you manage to say.

he smiles. "right. sorry."

"no, it's fine." you rub your head in embarrassment.

"I just saw you and thought I might say hi. you're from the office."

you nod your head with a tightlipped smile.

"the coffee spill." he points out with a wave of his finger around your torso.

you chuckle once. "yep."

"what were you listening to?" he points to your earbuds.

"oh," you chuckle twisting the wire between your fingers. "pink floyd."

his eyes widen. "really? which album?"

"the wall." you tell him.

"i love that album."

"really?"

he nods his head once. then says, "fuck, i had your name on the tip of my tongue..."

you tell him again, and he nods slowly. "yep. i remember you."

you try to look around at anything but him, but he won't stop looking at you. his gaze is too intense, you don't want to be rude. your eyes always find their way back to his.

"we're havin a release party tomorrow night." he tells you.

"are you?" you act oblivious to the fact that oasis is going to throw a massive party for their new album just before the tour.

"yeah. the whole crew is invited. you should stop by."

you're here buying lingerie for the party. but he doesn't have to know that.

you smile at him. "i will."

"great. see ya." he turns around, ready to walk away.

"i'll see you at the office, mr. gallagher." you say.

he stops in his tracks, a smirk on his face. "you know you can just call me noel, right?" he says.

your eyes widen. "oh-"

"im around your age- s'bit weird, don't cha think?"

you stay quiet.

"makes me sound like some old grump." he chuckles.

"bye, noel." you mutter, returning to your underwear hunt behind you.

°˖➴

you take off from work today so that you could buy a new pair of ballet flats and get ready for the release party. it's silly, but you haven't taken a day off since last year.

you meet everyone at the office at six pm, and you spot matt talking to charlie at his desk. as soon as he looks up at you, matt's jaw drops to the floor. charlie whips his head around, his jaw open as well. you blush, setting your purse down at your desk and walking over to matt's.

"thank you." you give matt a tight hug.

"tessa does the trick. did you see her?"

"yep. she helped me with this one." you twirl around in your black dress, letting matt clap for you and charlie laughing as he does so.

you never did dress up. but you need mr. right to notice you. it's so out of character for you; maybe because he's already seen your bra and watched you shop for underwear. you can't tell anyone- it would be so embarrassing. maybe if you just take care of yourself and make more of an effort to look beautiful, maybe he'd remember your name.

but you heard him in the store. he has a girlfriend. he was buying her a scrap of fabric from a new lingerie collection you had no idea about.

the phone rings, and matt picks it up as soon as possible.

"hellooo?" he spins around in his chair.

you watch him nod as he replies, and then hangs up.

"the printer room has contracts ready that you need to review for noel." matt tells you.

your heart almost jumps out of your chest again just at the mention of his name. as long as you aren't going to room six, everything should be fine.

"alright. will he be there?" you breathe out, swiping stray hairs that have fallen from your bun out of the way.

matt and charlie's eyebrows perk up. "i'm not sure...why?" they look at each other, then back at you.

you freeze. "I meant- I don't wanna go talk to the chief looking like a dumpster diver, right?" you chuckle anxiously.

their mouths drop. "holy shit," matt sings.

you roll your eyes.

"you fancy the chief?" charlie asks with a playful gasp.

"so that's why you asked miriam about lingerie yesterday." matt snaps his fingers.

your expression drops. "how do you know about that?" you nearly shout.

"you should know by now to never tell miriam anything."

"true." you sigh.

that bitch.

"don't stress. you look good." matt reassures you.

"thanks."

"do you want me to check where he is?"

"yes." you don't need to hesitate.

running in to noel with a sexy black dress is not on your bucket list.

"he's supposed to be in a tour meeting in room four right now."

"great."

you walk down the hallway towards the printer room, pushing the door open without thinking.

you gasp at the sight in front of you, not expecting a very sweaty vision of liam and patsy eating each other's faces off in the printer room. his hand squeezes her waist and her hands are buried in his chest. it's dark in there, so they must have noticed the bright light that shone on them once you cracked open the door.

her blonde hair stands out in the light, and she whips her head around to see you in the doorway.

your lips part. "shit, sorry-" you click the door shut, your chest heaving.

you should just quit your job at this point.

you smack your palm against your head. "fuckin stupid-"

"y/n?"

"what?" you snap.

they didn't answer. your eyes fly open, only to be met with noel's face again.

"Jesus- fuck," you shake your head quickly.

"did i startle you?"

"no, its not you-" you stutter, trying to find the words.

his brows lift.

you take a deep breath before you spill out and make no sense.

"your brother's snogging some blonde bird in there," you gesture towards the printer room, waving your fingers around lazily.

"sorry about him." noel shakes his head.

"its fine." you sigh. "sorry. shouldn't you be in a meeting?"

he squints. "how'd you know?"

"matt checked your schedule."

"you stalking me now, birdie?"

you chuckle. "i thought you knew my name."

"i do." he steps closer to you.

your breath hitches, and he notices.

"you all dolled up for the party?" noel asks.

"yeah." you place your hands out at your sides, revealing your dress.

his eyes drag up your figure, and then his cheeks go pink. "i like your dress."

you smile. "thanks, noel."

your dress is black, the hem ending mid-ankle. the top is a beautifully constructed black corset with lace lining the edges, along with tiny black straps that hang on your shoulders. you're wearing your signature black ballet flats, (of course). heels would kill you for sure.

he turns around to get back to the meeting down the hall, but then snaps his fingers and spins his head around. "you got the contracts I sent you, yeah?"

you nod your head. "they're uh, in the printer room."

he giggles. "gotcha."

°˖➴

the release party is loud.

the venue is so big, the DJ in the corner near the bar, a pool of people sticking to each other.

"the fuck is this, then?" you hear noel yelling at your boss james.

"noel, just listen to me-" your head boss fights back.

you sip your martini carefully in the corner, watching the way noel's lips move as he argues. he's sweating, the buttons on his shirt flying open at the top.

you look over at his girlfriend; meg, you remember miriam told you her name once. she's laughing with liam and patsy, a cig between her fingers. she's just perfect. wearing a beautiful leopard dress and her striking blonde hair; her smile lighting up the whole room with a smoke ring around her head.

your eyes move back to noel, and you bite on your straw without even realizing. his eyes find yours through the crowd, and your chest heaves. your fingers grip the cold glass as you sip your drink.

before you know it, you're in a staring contest with noel gallagher and your drink has finished; the empty slurping noises filling your ears over the loud music.

your eyes don't leave his as you glide over to the bar, leaning on the counter and asking for another martini.

a few minutes passes, and now you're on your third martini. your vision blurs, but isn't that the point? you have to let go. you take a drag from the cig that's between your red manicured nails.

someone lands next to you at the bar. and you don't know if your senses are extra hyper now that you're dazed, but you know exactly who it is. he's sneaked up on you way too many times.

you smell his cologne from behind you, and you want to drink in that scent.

"noel." you greet him as he grabs the cig that lies between your fingers, taking a long drag.

you turn your head and rest your chin in your hands as you look at the man that stands next to you. the previous wave of anger still lingers on his face.

"why the clenched jaw?" you ask, waving a lazy finger in his face.

he looks at you, your eyes blown wide and your face slightly pouted. you are definitely drunk.

"that fucker is supposed to be managing me," he points at james, both you and his head boss. "but he has no idea what the fuck he's making me look like," noel shakes his head.

"what'd ya mean?" you ask with an unhurried blink of your eyes.

"i never asked for a fucking DJ. and he's playing stupid pop hits. seriously- who in their right mind plays the spice girls at an oasis release party?"

you laugh loudly at that.

apparently your laugh is contagious, because his lips curl into a smile before he breaks into a chuckle. then he shakes his head.

once you start, you can't stop. and you were fully blaming the alcohol for that. you covered your mouth as you laughed.

"whats so funny?"

"you."

his eyes widen. he isn't expecting that. "me?"

you nod. "yes. when you're angry." you take another sip of your martini.

"right." he nods slowly. "how many of those have you had?"

you shrug once. "two," you trace the wet rim of the glass with a red lipstick mark on it. "maybe three?"

"okay, that's your last one." he points at your half full glass.

you frown. "what? says who?"

"says me." he takes the last drag of your cig, dabbing it into the ash tray.

"you aren't the boss of me." you pout.

"actually, i am." he says with a wink.

oh, yeah. how could you forget that?

your eyes flicker and drop to his lips. you think about how soft they are. but you have to stop yourself.

he chuckles, following your gaze. too late. he's noticed.

you bite your lip and drop your head, trying to shake off the thought of his lips on yours.

"are you alright?" he asks, your head tipping to meet his eyes again.

you nod slowly, your teeth still sinking into your bottom lip as you scoop your hair out of your face.

you looked nothing like you did when you arrived at the office at six. your pack is now missing three cigs, you're drunk on mysterious orange martinis, and your hair tie broke so now your hair is a loose mess in your face. the humidity in the crowded room is not helping your case, by the way.

"would you like another?" the bartender shouts over the music, a towel hanging off his shoulder.

you smile at him, and then look back at noel.

"she's fine." noel puts his hand up.

"actually," you cut in with an extended finger.

"one more would be great." you wink at the bartender while licking your lips.

it's like he forgot noel existed, his statement going out the window. the bartender nods, returning to the drinks behind the counter.

noel scoffs, shaking his head slowly.

you widen your eyes at his expression. "what?" you ask innocently with a little shrug.

"i'm thirsty." you say as you pick up the maraschino cherry in your empty glass and bite it off the stem with a sharp pop.

he watches your mouth, the way you effortlessly bite it and drop the stem back into the glass.

you had unintentionally started another staring contest with noel gallagher. and this time, you didn't shy away. you're far too dazed to even care about your appearance.

you openly laugh, your cheeks don't flame each time he speaks a word to you, your hair is really, really frizzy. and- you don't care.

"if you're thirsty, you should be drinking water." he proposes, waving over the bartender for a bottle.

"no! noellllll," you groan, your head dropping to the cold, grimey counter.

he thanks the bartender who also slid your fourth martini across the counter to you. noel taps some blonde bird and offers her the martini with a kind smile. she laughs, smacks his shoulder once, and then travels deeper into the crowd.

he's grateful you don't see.

"drink." he slides you the cold bottle.

you frown. "where's my martini?"

"guess he forgot. drink." he nods towards the water bottle.

hm. that's weird. you thought your flirting skills were pretty good.

you crack open the cap with a small pop and down the whole bottle in seconds.

"damn, birdie. I didn't have to force you." he pats your back as you swallow the water.

"I told you I was thirsty."

°˖➴

it's midnight. you're dancing in the middle of the venue with hundreds of people surrounding you. you lost matt and forgot where noel told you he'd be when he said, "I'll be right back, don't move"

when you grabbed his arm to ask him where he was going, he told you, and you nodded even though the fact disappeared the second it had entered your brain.

someone taps your shoulder. it's rough. it's rushed.

you turn around with a sweaty grin on your face, your hair sticking to your face.

it's noel. a glare is plastered to his face.

your grin falters at his expression. he's clearly upset. at you?

"what the fuck are you doing?" he asks sharply.

your eyes flicker. "dancing?" you say it like it's obvious.

"i told you to stay put."

you squint at him. "no you didn't"

he shakes his head. "yes i did." he argues.

"i don't remember." you admitted.

he looks at you. hard. "did you have another martini?" he searches your wide eyes, clearly drunken.

you felt like a kid caught stealing candy from a candy store.

"no."

"no?" he lifts a brow.

"no."

you obviously had another martini.

his hands are on his hips as he looks down at your lips, trying to keep himself together. he wouldn't lose it on you. but he knew you were fragile. anybody could take advantage of you. he didn't know why he was so attached to you- or why he couldn't stop thinking about the shy girl from the office.

"let's go." he says.

"go where?" you ask.

"i'm taking you home."

your head jerks back. "no you aren't."

"yes i am."

you frown. "i'm not ready to go home."

he sighs, clearly exhausted by your questions. "come on, love. you're wasted." he reaches for your forearm, dragging you towards the door of the party room.

"noel, wait-" you adjust the falling strap of your purse, nearly tripping over your feet as he guided you out the doors.

the cool london air hits your back, sending a shiver up your spine.

"you cold, birdie?" noel asks, his hands already on the hem of his jacket.

you nod once, rubbing up your arms in a soothing motion. he drapes the fabric of his suit jacket around you, and you inhale the scent shamelessly.

he adjusts it tightly around you, helping you button it. the navy blue shoulder pad hit your cheek as you turn to look at him with wide eyes.

"where's your place?" he asks with a sigh.

"i can't go back yet." you say simply.

his expression flickers with exhaustion. "why not?"

"cause i left all my stuff at the office."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

the office was forty-five minutes away from the venue.

"alright, I'm calling a cab." he dials the buttons on his flip phone, and you zone out as you hear him speak to the cab company on the phone.

°˖➴

the cab arrives around a few minutes later, and noel guides you into the vehicle. you're a stumbling mess, the strap of your dress falling down your shoulder beneath his oversized suit jacket.

you sit in the car with noel for forty five minutes, and it's full of silence. but weirdly, not an awkward silence. a comfortable one.

you drift off to sleep, your head falling onto his shoulder once you've gotten on the highway, and his expression softens as he adjusts your head on his chest for more comfort.

you and noel arrive at the office around ten to one, and you stumble towards the lift.

you sink back against the metal doors, forgetting to hold onto the railing as noel presses the button for the eighth floor and the doors come to a close.

the lobby music ceases as the doors close and he second the lift moves, you trip over your feet, blindly searching for something to hold.

noel grabs onto you quickly, holding you up. "you alright?"

you nod once quickly. no, you were not alright. you hadn't even heard him; ever since the cab ride you would nod at everything he said regardless if you heard. and you were glad he hadn't noticed yet.

"hold on to the railing." he tells you and then lets go of your arm.

the lift climbs higher and he's standing an appropriate distance from you. the lift finally jolts in place as it arrives on the eighth floor, and you stumble over your feet again and fall flat on your face.

"shit!" noel's eyes widen and he rushes over to you, making an effort to pull you up by your biceps.

you groan, rubbing your tired eyes, refusing to move.

"didn't i tell you to hold the railing?" he stands above you.

you obliviously nod again.

he sighs. "come on, love. get up."

"i'm fine here." you slur your words.

"fucking hell, would you please get up?" his tone is sharper now.

you don't respond, just yawn from your spot on the carpeted floors of the lift.

he huffs once and then grabs your forearms and forces you off the floor.

he guides you out of the lift, the hard grip of his fingers on your arm is pinching you.

you groan, trying to push him off of you. "i can do it myself" you mumble.

he stands there helpless as you nearly fall on your face again, holding onto the nearest cubicle like a lifeline.

he sighs, shakes his head, and then catches up with you.

you finally reach your desk, slamming your hands against the glass. you bend down to find your things under your desk.

noel accidentally lets his gaze wander, his eyes finding the open hole in your tights that you picked at, near the top of your thigh. his cheeks burn hot and he looks away quickly.

"gotcha." you mutter to yourself under your breath as you slam your black work bag on your desk. things fly out of your bag, spilling onto your desk and onto the floor of the office.

"shit," you mutter, trying to gather your things.

he comes up behind you. "do you need help?"

you roll your eyes. "no. i thought i told you i could do it myself."

he huffs a laugh. "alright then."

the red apple that was once in your bag rolls around on the floor, along with your diary and a black pen, open to a previous entry. it catches his eye, he tries to read it, but his eyes blur as you slam your hand against his chest for support, the other hand plastered on your desk.

once you think you can stay balanced, you sigh, removing your grip on his chest.

"can you stand?"

you nod in response.

"i have to pee." you run a hand through your hair with a sharp sigh.

once you trudge towards the bathroom and unintentionally slam the bathroom door, noel bends down to pick up your fallen items.

he throws the apple in the air and juggles it once, then places it back into your bag. he collects each writing utensil and puts it back. his eyes finally land on the pink diary in the corner near the leg of your office chair.

he was going to close it and replace it like all the other items, but something catches his eye.

his name. in your diary. in fancy cursive, all pretty and perfect.

noel squints, reaching for the diary and letting it settle between his fingers. he doesn’t know what to feel. happy? disturbed? no, he’s just intrigued.

his eyes scan the page before properly reading all of your entries. he flips back to your first one with a small chuckle.

1/9/97

dear diary, I think I've fallen in love. and I'm not exaggerating when I say my heart stuttered when I laid eyes on noel gallagher. everything about him is perfect. my favorite feature is his smile. because even though he is a grump most of the time, I watched him smile today and it was the most beautiful smile i've ever seen. I wish he would do it more often. christ, his smile wasn't even meant for me and i felt it just as deep. I can't explain how he makes me feel, but it's contagious. whenever I caught him smiling, I had to bite my lip so I wouldn't. i've watched him before, but not like the last few days. something sparked inside me, and now I cant stop thinking about him. maybe one day we'll get to know each other. maybe one day his smile will be meant for me.

he smiles just like you had described. then flips to the most recent page. yesterday morning.

8/20/97

dear diary, I've never been more embarrassed in my life. noel gallagher had seen my bra. he'd looked at the color, made a comment, and then shot me the most dangerous smile. and it wasn't like all the other times. he didn't remember my name again, but he repeated it on his lips. my name on his lips did something horrible to my heart. I swear I'm going mad and he'll never be aware of it. I'm just the girl who spilled coffee on her blouse and accidentally flashed noel gallagher. and maybe that's all i'll ever be to him.

his expression softens at the most recent one, but something in his heart flickers. sadness, maybe?

all of a sudden, the door to the bathroom opens with a loud click. he hesitates, slamming your diary so quickly it flings out of his hands and falls back onto the floor.

"shit." he mutters, scrambling for the diary, unable to find it.

you're standing in the doorway of the bathroom, a few feet away from noel, your head resting back against the wall with a small thud.

"alright?" he asks nervously with a tightlipped smile, trying to brush off whatever he saw a few moments ago.

you nod slowly. "yeah."

"good. ready to head home?" he gathers the rest of your fallen belongings on your desk and throws it into your black bag, darting his head under each desk to look for the diary.

you don't answer. he furrows his brows, zips up your bag, and then walks over to you near the bathroom.

"what's wrong?" he scans your face.

your face is pale and your expression goes serious. "noel." you whisper a warning.

"what, love?" he searches your expression curiously.

"i..." you start, trying not to choke.

he drops your bag on the nearest desk, forgetting about the diary, moving closer to you.

"i think I'm gonna be sick." you gag.

"shit." he guides you backwards into the bathroom, forcing the light on.

you groan loudly, falling to your knees over the toilet as you wretch all of your martinis.

he holds your hair away from your face, letting you spill into the toilet. your hands grip the bottom of the porcelain toilet, barfing your guts out in that very office, past midnight, with noel gallagher behind you.

"let it out, birdie." he pats your back with his free hand.

after a few minutes, you sink back against the tile wall. he grabs a napkin from the dispenser above your head, dabbing it with water and handing it to you. you lazily snatch it, swiping it across your lips.

"thanks," you slur, dropping the napkin into the toilet and flushing it away.

"you all done?" he asks.

you nod your head once.

"alright, come on-" he heads for the door.

a loud noise of you wretching again fills the room.

"fuck!" he positions your body over the toilet properly as you lazily spill again.

"i had too many martinis," you moan as your head rests against the wall again.

"you should have listened to me." he passes you another napkin.

°˖➴

the car ride back to your place is eventful. the cab driver must have been drunk aswell, because the way he's swerving on the highway makes noel pray you don't surprise-vomit again. your head flaps onto his lap like a dead corpse, and he cradles your head to keep you steady.

"where's your place?" he asks, shaking you to life.

"huh?"

"where's your flat, love?" noel squints down at you.

"uhm," you sniffle. "where are we?"

he looks out the window. "crossfield," he tells you.

"make a right" you slur.

he repeats it to the driver, which makes another very unsafe turn.

"we're here." noel says as he reaches over to pay the driver and then picks up your head. you hold your head as you get up to fast, trying to steady your vision.

"thanks, mate." noel pats the driver's shoulder roughly, and then gently escorts you out of the car.

you grab the railing of the entrance to your flat, carefully moving up the stairs. he grabs your waist as you clumsily trip over your feet again.

"careful, birdie." he adjusts your position, moving you into your flat. he takes your keys, asking you which one goes in the lock. once he figures it out, he directs you inside.

"it's so fucking hot in here" you groan, trudging towards your bedroom.

"I'm gonna make you some tea, okay?" he tells you.

"m'kay" you rub your eyes, grabbing the wall for support as you travel deeper into your flat towards your bedroom.

the second you hit your room, you unzip your dress and slip out of it, and your tights are next.

you stand clad in your bra and underwear, the matching black set you bought that day at 'the chateau'.

"i've got tea," noel kicks open your bedroom door, carefully balancing steamy a mug between his hands.

his eyes drag up to your face, but are met with the sight of your soft skin. the orange lamp light casting a glow on your skin as you stretch your arms over your head with a yawn.

you turn around, your hands buried deep in your frizzy hair. "thanks." your lips curl into a smile.

heat rises to his face, and he clears his throat. he tries to avert his eyes, but your figure is so perfect, he finds it hard to look away.

when he finally manages, his eyes fix on the carpet and he picks up your lacy dress, tossing it into your hamper.

you slump down onto your bed, stretching your limbs across the soft white sheets. he takes a seat at the edge of the bed, looking back at you.

"i gotta go now." he says.

"aw, come on noely," you slur, resting on your elbow.

he chuckles and shakes his head.

"it's really late." he pats his thighs, moving off your bed.

"it's a friday night." you excuse his statement.

"i know."

“which means it’s almost the weekend.”

“i know.”

"i don't want to be alone." you confess.

he gives you a sad smile. "i know."

"is it her?" you ask, completely unfiltered.

his eyebrows furrowed. "what?"

"the blonde girl." you nearly groan at the thought of her face.

he laughs, scratching his neck. "dunno, love. its just late. I should get some sleep."

"so she isn't waiting for you?"

he stares blankly at you. "how do you know about meg?"

"everyone knows about her. she's perfect." you admit with a pout.

he huffs a laugh. "i s'pose she's still at the party."

"if she's still partying then its not too late for you to go home." you say.

he chuckles once. you may have been drunk, but you weren't stupid.

he lays down next to you, with a respectable distance, telling himself he’ll stay just until you fall asleep, but time gets away from him. around four in the morning, noel sneaks out and leaves you a tiny note by your bedside.

you wake at seven, rolling around in your bed with messy hair draped over your eyes. you groan, the impact of a pounding headache sinking in. you’re only in your black set that you bought the other day, and you wonder, where the hell did my clothes go?

you get out of bed and get ready for the day, your eyes finally meeting your black dress in the hamper along with your pantyhose. when you pull on a fresh t-shirt and house shorts, you realize a note on your nightstand.

a messy, rushed, and script handwritten note lies on your white table near your lamp, and you slowly lift it close to your eyes.

birdie,

last night was eventful. im glad i got to know ya. please take care of yerself- i left you some hangover shite on the counter. hope that helps.

P.S. i haven’t forgot your name.

your lips part, and then curl into a smile. he had left a note. he had remembered your name.

you drop the note back onto your dresser, carefully padding into the kitchen. the floors are ice cold, sending a shiver up your body. you rub your arms that were covered in goosebumps, searching for a nearby sweater to cover your body.

you spot noel's blue suitjacket hanging off the stool near your counter, and you scurry over to wrap it over your body. on the counter was a bottle of water, painkillers to cure the headache, and another note with his phone number just in case you needed him.

why was he being so nice? he was never explicitly kind to you, let alone would ever take notice of you.

you pop the painkillers into your mouth, downing the whole bottle of water in just a few minutes. you've never been hungover before, mainly because you only had one drink whenever you went out.

you walk back to your bedroom, sinking back into the sheets again. you stay like that, wrapped in his suit jacket that still smells like his cologne, and you inhale it softly as you slowly drift off to sleep.

5:15pm. a knock.

5:16pm. the doorbell.

then again.

then an, "open the door, i know you're in there."

5:17pm. the doorbell again, this time over and over again until your head is pounding even harder and you're fully awake.

you groan, tripping over your feet as you scramble for the door, where the doorbell is still ringing, someone pushing at the noisy button rapidly.

"what?" you moan, swinging open the door.

noel stops, his hand frozen on the button.

his eyes drag up your figure. you're still in your black lacy scraps, your chest partially covered with his dark suit jacket that hangs off your arms and drops to your hips.

he clears his throat, his eyes crawling back to your exhausted face.

"don't you know how it pick up the phone?" noel snaps at you.

you jerk your head back at his tone with a tiny scoff. "i was sleeping."

his face softens, his expression reading the words, "oh."

"i called you like, fifty times" he scratches his neck in embarrassment.

you look at him; study him, and tilt your head. why did he even care? it intrigued you how he wanted to be there for you.

"why?" you asked.

his expression dropped as he cleared his throat again. "dunno. wanted to check on you, i s'pose," he avoids your eyes with a small shrug.

"okay. well, i'm fine." you stand in the doorway, barefoot and barely covered.

it's clearly a distraction for noel. he can't look you in the eye.

"well, you forgot something at the office, so I came to drop it off." he says once he's recollected himself.

your head lifts off the door in curiosity, not expecting him to pull out your pink notebook with your diary entries inside it. your eyes widen in horror, snatching it out of his hands.

you press it tightly against your chest with a loud gulp. "why do you have this?" you freak out.

he's nearly scared of your tone. "uh, last night a bunch of things fell out of your purse, and you...forgot it."

your chest heaves, and you almost forget how to breathe. there was extremely embarrassing, super private, your-eyes-only type of stuff in there. did he read it?

you scooped your hair out of your pale face, trying to calm yourself down. he wouldn't invade your privacy like that.

"did you uh," you start, your breath shaky. "see anything?"

his brow perks up. "see what?"

"did you read it?" you ask hesitantly, your cheeks turning a firey shade of red.

he stays quiet. every second that passes by makes you more anxious, your diary being choked by your sweaty fingers.

"noel." you ask tentatively.

he looks away. "i..."

you want to crawl up into a ball and hide. he had seen your diary. your entries. your love notes. your confessions. everything.

"what did you see?" your voice is shaky, and you might cry from embarrassment.

"come on, birdie-" he puts his hands out in front of him to calm your nerves.

"what did you see?" you repeat even louder.

"do you really need me to clarify?" he mumbles while averting his eyes.

you practice deep breaths, still clutching your notebook tightly to your chest. maybe you can explain.

"you saw..." you start, cutting yourself off. the reality of it all was very terrifying. you were going to have an anxiety attack.

"yeah." he nods slowly.

everything starts to come together in your brain.

oh my God. he had invaded your privacy.

you look up at him with disgusted eyes. "you went through my things?" you ask shyly.

his eyes flash with panic, and he's quick to deny it. "what? no- it wasn't like that-"

"noel, just leave me alone." you move to close the door, trying to shut him out.

he drops his foot in the door, his sneaker standing in the way. your breathing trembles as your eyes crawl back up to his face with pure embarrassment. "you weren't supposed to see that."

"i figured." he says with a small chuckle.

you shake your head. this wasn't even a tiny bit funny.

he notices your discomfort. "listen, birdie. it fell out of your bag while you were in the bathroom, and it was open-"

"but you still read it." you shoot back.

his expression drops. "but-"

"no." you cut him off. "you knew it was private and you still read it."

"you don't have to be embarrassed-" he starts, but you interrupt him again.

"are you serious?" you nearly shout.

he falls silent. "of course I'm embarrassed. that wasn't meant for you to see." you run a shaky hand through your hair.

"i'm sorry." he shakes his head frantically, trying to get you to relax.

"just go." you mutter through tears.

"shit- i didn't mean to, okay? please don't cry, birdie" he looks helpless at your door, wanting to comfort you and tell you that you had nothing to be embarrassed about.

"please. just go." you sniffle, not looking at him. your hand tightens on the doorknob, ready to shut him out.

he keeps his distance, nodding once and moving down the hall, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

you don't watch him leave, way too overwhelmed, and you shut the door the second he departs. the door slams, and you press your back against it as the tears begin to fall.

you swiped your palm against your wet, tear-stained cheeks, sniffling helplessly. once you stopped shaking from embarrassment, you slid down the door and dropped to the floor.

you tug your knees tightly to your chest, sobbing into noel's suit jacket. you pick up your diary that's on the floor next to you, flipping through the pages. your tears splatter on the white pages, causing the ink to run; ink that was once carelessly glided across your page.

you rip out each page with a loud sob, and the room fills with tearing noises. your fingers shake unintentionally as the words fall from each page into tiny bits on the wooden floor of your flat.

once you finish, you throw the pieces of paper into the garbage can and dig your palms into your eyes so roughly, you start to see stars.

°˖➴

the next day at the office is full of fake smiles and longing stares. for once, you don't peer into room six and watch him smile. you don't see him argue with your boss or sip black coffee. you just do your work like everybody else in the office. and it's boring.

"the chief wants to review contracts with you in room four." matt covers the telephone with his spare hand and calls to your desk.

"can't. it's my lunch break." you say, scooting out of your chair and grabbing your bag.

he lifts a brow. "no it's not. you already had your lunch break at twelve."

you stare blankly at him, and then steal a glance at the clock. it's eight at night. "whatever." you hurry out the door and press the button for the lift. your eyes wander to room four, and you see noel leaning on the desk, flipping through a few pages. he's sitting with liam and the rest of the band, as well as their tour manager lisa.

his eyes look through the glass and find yours like memory. your heart stutters, and the second your eyes meet his, you whip your head back around. the lift dings, and you step inside.

noel's expression drops, and he watches you through the glass. your eyes are on him as the lift's doors close, travelling down.

"noel?" lisa asks with an exasperated sigh, tapping her pen against the glass table.

liam knocks his shoulder against noel's, and he's brought back into the world. "what's wrong with you today, lad? yer so out of it" liam lifts a brow.

"huh?" noel asks while clearing his throat.

lisa's chin is in her hands. "i was just asking you if you wanted to add any songs to the setlist before we submit it."

"oh."

she lifts a brow.

uh, no. I'm fine with it if he is." noel fakes a smile.

lisa looks at liam, then back at noel.

"i like the new you." liam chuckles, taking a drag from his cig.

"I'll be right back." noel pushes out of his chair without hesitation, heading for the door.

"we're in the middle of a meeting, noel-" lisa shouts back at him, but is cut off by the sharp sound of the door closing.

"never fuckin' wants to listen to me, now he's fine with the setlist?" liam mumbles and shakes his head lazily.

°˖➴

he's sweating by the time he races down the stairs to the ground floor of the office, (the lift took too long). he pushes the door open as his button up is flapping open, his sunglasses resting above his head. he peels his eyes out for you, and they dash across the street. you're nowhere to be found. he crosses the street, looking around once more. as he turns his head right, he spots you. his heart flutters, watching you sit on a bench with your earbuds in, your unmistakable pink coat wrapped around your body and buttoned to the top.

the wind plays with your hair, sending a few strands into your eyes, and he watches you carefully. your legs are crossed, and you gaze into the distance, your expression saddened.

he takes a deep breath, stretches his hands out, and then opens the gate to the park. he gazes at you across the way, in front of the large waterfall, and your staring into the pennies at the bottom of the pond like you were hoping for something revolutionary to happen.

maybe you were.

he takes a cautious seat next to you on the bench, his movements steady and slow. he wasn't here to fight, or to embarrass you. you noticed him, but chose not to say anything. if you did, you'd probably just embarrass yourself even more.

"listen," he starts, but then cuts himself off. he thinks about what he's gonna say, realizing he shouldn't feed you information. you know exactly what you did and he knows exactly what he saw. there was no room for explanations. he just wants you to understand. maybe an apology is enough.

"i'm sorry." he says simply.

you blink once, slowly, and then turn your head in his direction. the swift london breeze is teasing your hair, and noel so badly wants to tuck it behind your ear and run his fingers along your freckled cheeks.

"its fine. you already saw it, it's not gonna fix anything." you tell him.

he sighs. maybe an apology isn't enough.

"you're not listening." noel clenches his jaw with a shake of his head.

you squint at him. "I hear you perfectly, noel."

he scoffs.

you roll your eyes at him. "cause seriously, now all I am is just a fucking weirdo to you. it's the truth, isn't it?" you snap.

he just watches you.

"I'm just the clumsy girl who daydreamed about you and spilled her coffee. the girl who you caught buying scandalous lingerie," you get up from the bench and zip up your work bag.

"just the crazy girl who writes about her stupid, childish, mr. right in her notebook," you ramble loudly, people starting to gaze over at you two now.

noel clears his throat, trying to keep things on the down low, not anything people knowing your business.

"just the girl who has a weird obsession with seeing you smile, right? i'm just fucking crazy?" you throw your arms out in defense.

he gets up from his place on the bench, his face centimeters from yours.

"you aren't crazy." he says, his voice low, while stepping even closer to you.

your breath hitches, but him being close to you isn't important right now.

"so then what is it? mental? peculiar?-" you squint at him from the blinding spring sun.

his fingers come up to brush your cheeks. your expression softens at the contact of his fingers on your skin. "i was going to say," he starts, his eyes searching yours.

you gulp loudly, utterly confused and waiting for his words.

"you shouldn't be embarrassed because I don't think it's weird. I think it's cute." he admits with a tiny smile.

you scoff. "like 'cute' is any better than weird. of course it's cute, noel. its childish." you try to shake your head, but he forces your eyes to his.

"i'm not mad at you." he clarifies, staring deep into your eyes.

"what?" you whisper.

he shakes his head softly in confirmation.

"why didn't you just talk to me?" he inquires, his lips curling into a smile.

"i couldn't. i was stupidly in love with you." you chuckle while kicking a rock with your boot, but there's no amusement there.

your eyes meet his again and he asks, "was?"

your heart flutters. "uh..."

he lifts a brow. "are you not in love with me anymore, birdie?"

you gulp loudly, trying to calm your breathing so you wouldn't stutter. "of course i still love you."

he's full on grinning now. "good. can i tell you something?"

you nod eagerly as he leans in, his lips at your ear. "i think I'm in love with you too." he whispers.

°˖➴

he presses your back against the wall next to your flat, kissing you passionately as your hands tug at his hair.

"get the key," he mutters between kisses, and you nod before looking down and scrambling for your keys at the bottom of your purse.

his kisses advance from your lips down to the length of your neck, unbuttoning your pink coat so he could gain more access to your skin. your fingers find the golden key, and you push it into the door.

you and noel tumble inside you flat, the keys falling onto the front table as he forces off your coat and then you reach for the zipper of his jacket. he chuckles and kisses your neck again as you pull off his black sunglasses and throw them on the couch.

his hands trail from your waist to your thighs, picking you up and carrying you through your flat. you smile as your hands clasp around his neck, not breaking the kiss. he hums as you tug the hair at the nape of his neck gently, and you giggle in response.

when you arrive in your bedroom, he doesn't bother with the light, kicking the door shut with his sneaker. he drops you and your feet hit the floor. you immediately reach for your button up, popping open the buttons and shrugging it off.

he laughs and shakes his head, looking down at your stunning black bra again. "you're gonna fuckin' kill me" he nearly groans, tugging his shirt out from his belt. you pull it off in one motion.

you press your lips to his tenderly, letting him savor your taste as he walks you backwards towards your bed. your ankles hit the wood border of your bed, and you giggle as you both fall down.

he adjusts on top of you, turning his head to kiss you deeper you groan at the feeling of his lips finally being on yours. after daydreaming about them, you can confirm he kisses better than you thought.

he runs his hands up and down your thighs, his fingers roaming your body teasingly as you shiver under his touch from the sensation of the cool metal of his silver rings touching your bare skin. "noel," you whisper, pulling his head closer to you so he can kiss your neck again.

"what, birdie?" he asks with a sigh as he peppers kisses all over your neck, making sure to suck the skin after. he does it again, trying to make you squirm.

you giggled instead, which makes him kiss you harder.

"nothing. i'm just really happy." you confess.

he smiles, shakes his head, and then leans back on his calves to unzip your black skirt. he kisses your neck once, and then pulls your skirt off swiftly. "believe it or not, but you look really fit in these grandma skirts,"

"shut up," you smack his chest lightly, and he gazes down at you again.

he shakes his head at you. "what's wrong?" you ask, disappointment flickering on your face. why'd he stop?

"you're so fucking beautiful." he nearly groans at the sight of you, crashing his lips against yours.

you sigh sweetly, the sound so beautiful to him. he tenderly rubs his thumbs along your waist to keep you steady, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, and then the crook of your neck.

he runs his soft nose along the length of your neck, and then stops to look down at you again. what was it now?

"noel?" your shaky hands run up his bare biceps and cup his face.

"sorry." he says, shaking his head.

"what is it? tell me." you try to slow your rapid heartbeat.

"nothing, i just-" he repositions himself atop of you, his strong arms settling beside your head.

your brows furrowed in confusion. "did i do something wrong?" you ask innocently.

his eyes widen. "what? no." he shakes his head quickly. "no, no. fuck- it's not you." he squeezes his eyes shut.

your hands run up his chest in a soothing motion. "tell me." you ask again.

"i just..." he gulps. "i don't wanna rush things with you."

your whole body stills. "you mean, you don't want to..." you gesture to the both of you in your bed, half clothed.

he chuckles. "no, not like that. of course i want you, but i don't want it to be over so soon." he clarifies.

oh.

you smile slowly. "i want you too." you bite your lip.

"good." he settles over you properly, pressing his lips to yours once.

his eyes search yours as he stills, just drinking you in, taking a moment to really look at you. at your beauty. your originality. he's never met anyone like you before.

you sigh, growing tired of not having his mouth on yours. you curl your fingers around his silver chain, pulling him closer to your lips with it as the cold metal hits your face. you tug his strands of hair.

"eager, are we?" he laughs through passionate kisses.

"shut up already." you mutter back.

he traces the hem of your lace set, clicking his tongue. "did you buy this the day i ran into you?"

you bite your lip and nod teasingly.

"this is the one you were holding?" he asks with a smile.

you nod again, and he chuckles. "looks great on you." he kisses the strap at your shoulder, his hands firm on your waist.

°˖➴

you haven't slept this peacefully in years, the cool morning air slipping through your bedroom and washing over your skin. noel got up at six, slipping on his boxers and ruffling his hair as he looked over at you, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder.

he grabs his jacket on the floor and grabs his cig pack in the pocket, walking over to the window and lighting the cig over the bright sunlight.

you twist in bed, the sun nearly blinds you. you rub your wrist over your eyes gently as you yawn like a newborn kitten, stretching your limbs out across the sheets.

his eyes wander from the quiet rustling trees to an open drawer you forgot to close. your pink notebook. it's flipped open to the first and only page, looking like you had previously ripped the rest out. it's the first entry you had ever written about him. noel smiles, and then looks back at you, putting out his half-used cig and leaving it in the ashtray sitting on your windowsill. he rips out the last page, and then he crawls back into bed, forgetting to close the window.

his fingers dance on your arm, slowly soothing you and letting you drift back to sleep. his head sits on his elbow, intrigued by you and your soft breathing. after a few minutes, your eyes flutter open. you immediately smile, but then sink into the pillow and try to hide it. you turn so you're laying on your chest, the golden streak of sunlight sneaking through the window now casting a gleam on your bare back.

"morning, baby" he scoots closer to you running his nose up your back. the feeling tickles you, and you turn over with a quiet yawn.

"morning." you say as you move the sheets up to cover your bare chest, cupping his face and capturing him in a sweet kiss.

"so...are you gonna write about me again?" his fingers twirl in your hair.

you smack his hand away with a tiny smile. "what?"

he lifts the first entry he ripped out of your notebook, the folded piece of paper between his fingers.

you snatch the paper, opening it. "Jesus..." you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment once you see that it's your first entry.

"that one's my favorite." he kisses your cheek.

"really?"

"mhm." he brings his finger up to move your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead.

"what would i write, noel?" your brain returns to his previous question.

he shrugs. "maybe this time you could totally lose yer shit and talk about how i'm in your bed..." he drawls his words, moving over you again to pepper kisses all over your face.

you smack his face. "you're so annoying."

he smiles.

"fuck, you have a really pretty smile" you blurt out.

he widens his eyes. "some really great author wrote about it once. said sumthin like 'its the prettiest one they've ever seen?'" he taunts you.

"I hate you," you groan, trying to hide your face.

"well, I love you." he says it so casually.

you freeze, slowly removing your head from the pillow. you told each other the same thing last night, but now it feels more real. especially because the thought of meg arrives in your head.

"noel." you cover your mouth in pure horror.

"what?" his thumb brushes your shoulder softly.

"what about your girlfriend?"

he sighs. "I broke up with her."

your eyes nearly bug out of your head. "what?"

he nods solemnly. "yeah, uh-"

you sit up in bed, grabbing the sheet along with you as you sink back against the headboard and prepare for him to tell you.

"after I saw your letters, I noticed me and meg...we're always playing around, us. I don't want that, y'know? I want sumthin' real. and yer like...the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

your heart flutters. he's seen so many other pretty women before, an he chose you.

"was she mad?" you ask while biting your lip.

"nah," he shrugs it off. "we were drifting apart. she saw it too. and I've seen her give eyes to some posh artist who lives in new york...so"

"oh" you nod slowly.

"d'ya want breakfast?" he asks.

you nod. "do you need help finding things?" you ask as he moves down the hall.

"nah, i made ya tea before, remember?" he calls back to you.

you chuckle softly.

°˖➴

9/26/97

dear birdie, i have to say you take the crown with the cutest laugh i've ever heard. i saw you talkin to that lad at your desk, and i watched the way you tucked your pretty hair behind your ear and bit your lip. you're the most beautiful girl i've ever laid eyes on, so don't go forgettin' it.

P.S. tell that lad to fuck off. I have a feeling he knows I'm your boyfriend, so he shouldn't be making you laugh like that. (even though you're really adorable when doin' it.)

P.P.S. I love you.

P.P.P.S. don't forget to meet me in the printer room today at four. ;)

- noel

you bite into your apple as you chuckle from his note, looking into room six at his face as he watches you read it. he licks his lips as he takes a sip of coffee. you drop his note into your secret drawer where all his other love letters are, opening the cap of your pen with your teeth as he watches your mouth teasingly.

you start your own note.

9/26/97

dear noel, my laugh could never beat your beautiful smile. besides, matt is gay. he's not hitting on me, so you don't have to worry about that. he's my best friend. regarding your recent concerns, i could never miss the printer room. i've been thinking about it ever since i sat down and opened my computer. i love you.

- your birdie

he watches you write, and his gaze doesn't leave yours as you slowly pull out a blank envelope, opening it and swiping your tongue across the sticky seal. you kept your gaze on him the whole time, slipping the note inside the envelope and sealing it shut. then, you slowly got up out of your seat and walked over to noel's mailbox, slipping it inside.

"sending the chief sexy notes?" matt whispers with a playful gasp from his desk.

you giggled, putting your finger up to your lips and telling him to "shh".

"you know you can get fired for that, right?"

you shrug. "miriam's not the only one who's sending notes now."

"sneakyyyy" matt winks at you and returns to his work.

the door to room six opens, and noel slips out. he reads your note right then and there in front of his mailbox, not waiting to go somewhere secret to read it first. when he's done, he gives you hungry eyes and nods towards the printer room.

he mouths the words, "now."

your lips curl into a large grin as you toss your apple into the trash and walk towards the printer room.

he waits a few minutes before slipping inside not to seem suspicious, and he locks the door behind him.

"hi." he says with a loud sigh after turning around. you two are finally having alone time after a lot of teasing stares across the room.

your teeth are sinking into your bottom lip and your legs are crossed.

"hi." you wave adorably, and he nearly groans at the sight of you.

noel backs you up against the wall, crashing his lips against yours. "yer so fuckin sexy," he runs his nose along the length of your neck.

his big hands tuck under your thighs, pushing your skirt up until your lifted off the floor and into his arms. he sits you on top of the printer with a small thud.

"you locked it, right?" you ask through kisses and heavy breaths.

he hums against your lips. "yep. wouldn't wanna get caught by some shy office girl, right?"

you giggle at his reference, remembering how embarrassed you were after walking in on liam and patsy. they had found a new spot now, the printer room being you and noel's hideout.

"i love you." you kissed him hard as his fingers dug into your waist.

"love you more, birdie." he smiles the same smile that did something to your heart all those months ago. and it damaged your heart the same exact way as it did the first time. and you never wanted to forget it.

°˖➴

Curious now, you set your book aside and padded over, checking the peephole. Sure enough, there he was, standing in the dim hallway light, looking equal parts irritated and defeated.

You opened the door, leaning against the frame. “You alright?”

Noel sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah. Just—" He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Locked meself out, didn’t I?”

You raised a brow, arms crossing over your chest. “No way.”

“Oh, aye. Took the wrong fuckin’ keys. Can’t get in till mornin’ now, and it'll probably take ages to sort the new keys out tomorrow.”

You bit back a grin. “Fuckin’ hell, lucky you.”

His expression flattened. “Yeah, I’m buzzin’.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “What are you gonna do, then? Camp out in the hallway?”

“Well…” He rocked back on his heels, giving you a pointed look. “Could I come in?”

You huffed, pretending to consider it. “I dunno. Can you?”

“Don’t be a dickhead.”

That only made you laugh harder, but you stepped aside, motioning him in. “Alright, come on. Before someone calls the cops on you for loitering.”

He muttered something under his breath, but you caught the smirk as he passed. He took a quick look around your flat, warm lighting, a few records stacked near the player. Definitely lived-in.

“Sit down, get comfy,” you said, closing the door behind him. “Brew?”

He gave you a look like you’d just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Obviously.”

You snorted, heading to the kitchen while he dropped onto your couch with a sigh, stretching his legs out. By the time you came back, tea in hand, he’d made himself at home, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’d just utterly fucked up his night.

You handed him his mug and flopped down beside him. “So,” you said, glancing toward the record player. “Fancy putting some music on?”

He took a sip, considering. “Yeah, go on.”

You grinned. “Any requests? Anything in mind to properly amplify your misery?”

Noel chuckled, shaking his head. “Jesus. Dunno why I bothered knocking on your door.”

You just smirked, waiting. And after a moment, he leaned back, tapping his fingers against the mug, and said, “Put on summat good, then. Not arsed, long as it’s not shite.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to flick through your record collection. “Not shite, he says, as if he’s got impeccable taste.”

Noel scoffed from the couch. “Oi, I do have impeccable taste. I’ve got the best taste outta anyone in this fuckin’ building.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “That’s a low bar, mate. Half the building would turn into ash if you blew at them too hard and probably have long forgotten how it feels to have a workin' set of ears.”

Noel pulled a face. “Right, well, still counts.”

You chuckled, finally pulling out a record and dropping the needle. The warm crackle of vinyl filled the room before the opening chords rolled in, smooth and easy. Satisfied, you sat back down beside him, tucking your legs up under you as you sipped at your tea.

For a while, the two of you just listened, the music filling any gaps in conversation. It was… nice, actually. Comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected. Noel seemed at ease too, legs stretched out, fingers idly tracing the rim of his mug, head tilted slightly in thought.

Then, out of nowhere, he exhaled sharply and muttered, “Lord, when will you stop lookin' at me like that? People lose keys alright?”

You smirked. “Oh, poor you.” You set your mug down and turned to him, feigning sympathy. “D’you want a hug, Noel? Will that make it better?”

He shot you a dry look. “Piss off.”

But you were already shifting closer, throwing your arms around him in an exaggerated squeeze, swaying him side to side. “Awww, there you are love” you teased. “Must be so hard bein’ you now.”

He groaned, but he didn’t pull away. In fact, he actually leaned into it, his arms hesitating for only a second before wrapping around you properly.

You expected him to crack another joke, to roll his eyes and push you off with some sarcastic remark. But he didn’t. He just sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, his grip firm but lazy, like he wasn’t in a rush to move.

Your smirk faded slightly. “You alright?”

“Mm.” A beat passed, then, quietly, “Yeah. This is alright.”

The teasing had melted into something else, something softer. Your fingers flexed slightly against the back of his shirt, and you let out a slow breath, suddenly more aware of how close he was.

Noel must’ve felt it too because after a moment, he lifted his head slightly, his nose brushing against your cheek as he shifted to look at you properly.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but before you knew it, his lips were on yours. Tentative at first, but when you didn’t pull away, he pressed in properly.

Your hand slid up to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and he hummed softly against your mouth, shifting to pull you closer, as if the space between you had suddenly become unbearable.

By the time you broke apart, you were both breathing a little heavier. Noel swallowed, his thumb idly tracing a line against your side where his hand had settled.

He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers still tracing idle patterns against your side.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly.

He shook his head, biting back another laugh. “Nothin’. Just—” He exhaled through his nose, still grinning. “I see you, y’know.”

You blinked. “See me where?”

His smirk deepened. “See you lookin’ at me through the window. Every time I come back from the shop or whatever.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—”

“Always pretendin’ you’re doin’ summat else,” he went on, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Flickin’ through a book you’re not readin’, fannyin’ about with the kettle that’s already boiled—”

Your face went hot. “Alright, shut up.” you cut in, reaching up to shove at his shoulder.

Noel just laughed again, catching your wrist before you could push him away properly. “Didn’t say I minded, did I?”

That should’ve helped. Should’ve calmed the heat rising up your neck. But it didn’t, because the way he was looking at you was doing absolutely nothing to help your already scrambled thoughts.

So, you did the only thing you could think of.

You kissed him again.

It was meant to shut him up, but it did a little more than that. Noel inhaled sharply against your mouth, surprised but not at all unwilling. His grip on your wrist loosened as you shifted, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him without really thinking.

You felt him smile against your lips. “Oh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

You huffed, pulling back just enough to glare at him. “I will actually kick you out.”

Noel just hummed, hands settling comfortably at your hips. “Nah, you won’t.”

You tried to hold onto your glare, but with the way he was looking up at you, so damn pleased with himself, it was a losing battle. His hands, firm but easy at your hips, flexed slightly, like he was testing the weight of you on his lap.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re very cocky for someone who’s at my mercy right now.”

He tilted his head, considering that, then smirked. “Yeah, but you like it.”

You clicked your tongue, fighting back a grin, and leaned in just enough for your noses to brush. “Debatable.”

Noel’s breath hitched, but he didn’t falter, not even a little. “Prove me wrong, then.”

So, you kissed him again. Just a slow, deep kiss, one that had him exhaling sharply through his nose as his fingers dug into your sides.

He kissed you back just as eagerly, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours. The heat between you was simmering now, building with each press of lips, each slight shift of your hips against his. You barely even noticed the way his hands had started to wander, trailing up beneath your shirt, rough fingers tracing over warm skin.

It wasn’t until you rolled your hips against him that he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his forehead dropping to rest against yours.

You smirked, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair. “Summat's wrong?”

Noel groaned, low in his throat, and his fingers dug into your thighs. “You really are a menace.”

You just dipped down again at that, pressing your lips to his jaw, sucking along the curve lightly. His back arched, and a soft, strained moan escaped him. He tilted his head to give you more room, and his hands roamed with a possessive insistence, keeping you flush against him.

“Should've locked meself out way earlier.” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

You pulled back slightly. “What?”

His eyes flicked open, hazy but still full of mischief. “Nothin’ love.”

______________________________________

might do a pt.2 to this tbh

feels biblical to be back but also sort of foreign so excuse any shite parts I need to get back into the groove ya lot x

love ya all !!

What he didn't expect was for her to come trotting his way. Head low, unable to notice him until the tips of his shoes were in her sight of vision. Looking up he was already watching her. Soft eyes rimmed with boredom. A sudden interest for her forming in them the longer she stared at him in silence.

Neither saying a word, she sat down next to him. Placing her jacket on the ground so her skirt wouldn't get dirty. Picking the skin around her fingers, trying to ignore the burn she felt through her body at his gaze.

"Where are your friends at?" Liam asked, sliding down next to her. Thankful as she extended her jacket so he could sit on it as well. A gesture he didn't see coming, neither one he took for granted. Especially not from someone like her.

Popular, smart, beautiful.

Not popular like him, not everyone thought she was the best thing to have in their bed, rather the best thing they could have the pleasure of seeing a smile from. A true genuine one that made your heart fall to the pit of your stomach where you know it would never recover from.

At least that's what he felt when he saw her smile at him for the first time.

And his heart never healed from it's fall. He was still falling, just in secret.

"Don't know. Probably spying on some lad from chem class. It got boring after a while, he didn't even look that good," she answered, turning her head to look at him. Leaning against the wall and almost laying on his shoulder if she moved it a bit further.

Liam's breath caught in his lungs when he watched her be so close. The size of her jacket pushing them closer together. Looking up at him through her lashes it almost felt like he was made to look at her like that. So close and so tender.

"Where are yours at? Aren't you friends with basically everyone at school?" Straightening her spine, he watched her brows furrow in confusion as to why he was sitting all alone when there were a hundred people dreaming of having him sit with them.

"Sick. Those lazy bastards ditched me, now I'm here on my own. Don't care bout any of those other cunts, they don't know shit about me." Turning his head, he made sure to not let any smoke get her way.

"They seem very persistent to do so though."

With her voice so low, he only now noticed the difference in their accents. Her words were more carefully selected from the massive dictionary in her head, meanwhile his were whatever came to his head. Lazy mouth and all that. But she didn't flinch when he'd swear and he didn't feel the need to laugh at her posh accent or the way she structured sentences.

Somehow it made sense for them to talk differently.

"They just like me cause I'm pretty."

The corners of his lips perked up when he witnessed the sweet laughter echoing from her mouth first hand. A slight blush creeping up his neck and cheeks at the welcoming interruption of their silence.

He'd made her laugh and he never felt better about anything.

"Are your friends still gonna be sick tomorrow?" Her voice was quieter when she talked this time. Laughter dying down and embarrassment creeping in when he didn't answer right away.

She was aware of their opposites, her friends made it obvious when they caught her looking his way too long across the hallway.

'As if you're interested in someone like him. He's from Burnage, you know that right?'

'Heard his father left them, only his mum now. Poor lad.'

"I can pretend they are," he suggested, inching closer at the possibility of her being interested in him as much as he was into her. It was a 1% chance, but it wasn't zero.

"You'd do that?" Shocked at his willingness once more she wanted to see how far he'd go.

"Only for you, love." He was willing to go very far for her. But the edge in his tone and the smirk on his lips told her that not everything he said was with clear intention. It was a game, a bit of fun because he had no one else.

"Alright, alright. Don't get too ahead of yourself now." Placing her hand on his shoulder, she pushed him a bit away. Making him frown but not disappointed. She didn't lose her hand from his shoulder. "You barely know me, how are you so sure I'd be worth it?"

"Just know it. I've got a sixth sense for stuff like that."

"Sure you do."

When he walked back to their place the next day he didn't expect her to be sitting there again, waiting. Waiting for him. Taking his designated place next to her, he didn't bother lighting a new cigarette.

"What did you tell your friends? I saw they were back again today," she asked as he sat down. Unpacking the lunch her mother made for her every morning. Laying it on her knees before giving one of her slices of bread over to him.

"Just sum about having to go to some teacher because of something that happened yesterday," he answered, taking the food without asking how she knew what he liked.

"Won't work again tomorrow then, will it?"

"Probably not, but yer could come over after school. I've got no one round until 8."

Watching as he practically shoved half of the sandwich into his mouth, chewing it while talking to her, she couldn't help the smile that formed on her face at the sight. Cheeks aching when he finished talking and looked her way.

Slowly closing his mouth as he felt the pieces of bread sticking to the edge of his mouth. Chuckling in embarrassment and looking down at his feet. Chewing with his mouth closed and swallowing before he spoke again.

"That's not really what you're used to with all those other posh lads, is it? Just made a complete fool out of meself, didn't I?"

"I've seen worse actually," she said, making his head perk up at her revelation. "The horses in equestrian camp drooled a lot more."

"Ha, ha, ha," he slowly said, trying not to laugh as he watched her head falling back in amusement. "Aren't you funny."

"I know, very funny." Taking a bite of her own slice, she was far more delicate than he was.

"Wait, you were in equestrian camp?"

"Against my will, I must say," she said, holding up her hand so he'd wait while she chewed. "All of my friends went and I didn't want to be left out, so I went as well. As if you never done anything like that."

"Not really, no. If people don't like what I'm doing I'm gonna do it alone."

"I wish I could do that. I'm far too obsessed with fitting in to be my own person."

"Yer raised that way, not yer fault. Still've got time to change that though."

Sitting in silence, she offered him some of her vegetables as well, which he declined. Claiming, that vegetables never did him any good.

As the bell rang, both of them stood up. Liam offering her his hand when he was on his feet first. Picking up her jacket and dusting it off for her too. Walking back together, she turned to him before turning down the hall.

"Yours after school then tomorrow?" she asked, remembering the offer from before.

Nodding his head, he couldn't trust himself to form words as he watched her walk away. A skip in her step as she didn't want to be late. And when she looked back, he was still standing there. Waiting for her to walk into her class before he made his way to his own.

Late and blushing like a mad man.

Only when he walked down the street to his house with her it dawned on him what it meant. She wasn't like his other friends, she wasn't used to the neighborhood or the leaking roof. He didn't care to clean up the whole space. If he did, his mother surely would've known something was going on.

With shaking fingers, he pushed the door open. Letting her in first before slowly closing it behind himself. Giving her enough space to run out again if she wanted. But she didn't. She stayed, looking around his living room like it was any other. Putting her shoes next to his. Admiring the pictures that stood lined up on the shelves, laughing when she watched his beaming face stare back at her.

"You were a really cute kid," she commented, looking over her shoulder at him as Liam slipped her jacket down her arms, hanging it next to his. "Much cuter now though."

And when he smiled, dimples formed on his cheeks. Staring down at the floor beneath his feet, he shifted his weight to his toes and his heel, whipping as he tried to fight the faint he felt to overcome him any second he looked at her too long. A knowing look reflecting in her eyes as she watched it happen.

Liam Gallagher became shy because she complimented him.

An accomplishment she never wanted to stop getting. Hoping by the end of the year her room would be filled with trophies.

It was cute, watching him growing back into the sunshine boy he once was. The one she saw in the picture, placed next to his brothers or in his mother's lap. Running around their small backyard or flying high on the swing-set.

"You want a cuppa? Anything?" Retreating to the kitchen, he turned the tap on. Splashing his face with water to bring him back down to reality. Gripping the edge of the kitchen sink he had to remind himself that this would never be more than a bit of fun for her and maybe a friendship behind closed doors.

"I'm fine." Still he made one for her.

Sitting down on the sofa and turning on the telly. But once she turned her body to face him, they didn't stop talking. Catching up on every topic they missed out on over the years. Forgetting their surrounding and forgetting the time. The house was quiet, only their laughter etching itself into the cheap wallpaper and the loose carpet until a key turned in the door and a third body walked in. Peggy, complaining to Liam how he should help her out with the grocery bags, didn't take notice of the girl sitting next to her son. Tea cups abandoned in the sink a while ago.

Without a second thought, Liam jumped up. Walking outside with quick feet before returning with two bags in his hands. Putting them down in the kitchen, Peggy turned to him. Her gaze straying from his face to a body sitting in their living room. Eyes widening in horror that she just ruined one of her son's dates.

"Honey, I didn't know you had someone over." Her Irish accent pierced through the words. Hurrying past Liam to greet the girl who smiled kindly at her.

"It's no problem, Mrs Gallagher. I have to go anyway, it's already pretty late." Shaking Peggy's hand and introducing herself, she made her way over to her shoes and jacket. Liam already handing it over to her. Blushing sheepishly as he saw his mother in pure shock at the action. Hands stuffed in his pocket. Eyes focused on her.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she quietly asked Liam. Turning towards him, hands fidgeting. Hopeful eyes brightly staring at him. He couldn't say no, not when she looked so genuine about enjoying his presence.

"Yeah, definitely." Opening the door for her, he waited till she was around the corner and he couldn't see her anymore before he closed it again and turned to his mum. The woman stood with her hands clasped together, tears welling up as she saw the soft features she missed on her son's face.

"It's nothing," he brushed it off, walking past her into the kitchen. Starting to sort the grocery to where they belonged. "She's just a friend."

"Of course she is." Leaving her son be, she started cooking dinner. Looking at him every time his movement stopped only to see him looking out the window, smiling softly.

Fucking hell, he was head over heels.

"Maybe you could invite her over for Sunday Roast this weekend," Peggy suggested, catching Liam out of his train of daydreams. Laughing as horror etched itself on his features. The comfort replaced by nightmares.

"Nah," he said clearly. "I'm not gonna scare her off that fast."

"She seems nice enough to not run out. It's just us after all. Some company would be nice, don't you think?"

He had thought about it before he asked her. A hundred possible outcomes stretching themselves out in his mind. Taking up all the space in his thoughts until he stood in front of her. Hands stuffed in his pockets, voice quiet. Scratching the back of his neck, running his hands through his hair. He could feel the sweat running down his back as she listened carefully to his shaking voice. Expecting every answer but yes, he didn't smile when she said it. Only a 'it's totally fine, I never wanted you to say yes-' before it hit him.

"Wait? You really wanna come and spent your Sunday with me and me mam?"

"I mean, only if you want."

"Yes, fuck- Totally. Sorry, didn't think you'd actually want to."

A nervous encounter turned into tradition and soon enough, she was sat at the Gallagher's table every Sunday - sometimes for dinner in the middle of the week as well. Turning into family almost, laughing about inside jokes she created with Peggy, torturing him with baby pictures Peggy showed her, slipping into his room afterwards - with the door open, just in case - laying on his bed. Cuddling into his side but never more.

It was never more.

"Alright, I'm almost finished," Peggy announced, making both of them stand up from the sofa. It was a sign for them to start setting the table. Liam taking the plates and her taking the cutlery. A new set her parent's got them for Christmas.

As Peggy set down the food, the door opened. All three faces looking at each other confused until a boy - a few years older than Liam - stood in the middle of the living room. Letting his baggage fall to the ground, groaning in delight at the smell from the kitchen. And when he came into focus, Peggy ran towards him without hesitation. Arms stretched out open wide, throwing herself around his neck. Her face filled with happiness.

"No fucking way," Liam groaned from beside her. His head falling down on the table with a loud thud at the sight in front of him.

"Who's that?" The unfamiliar voice made her eyes snap back towards the stranger. His finger now pointed at her.

"That's Liam's girlfriend," Peggy said enthusiastically. Pulling him over to meet her.

A blush creeping on her cheeks at the label, one she wasn't. Liam made that clear. Fear stretched out on his face as those words left his mother's mouth.

"She's not my girlfriend."

And she knew that, they'd never talked about it. They'd never even kissed, but somehow it felt like something between them, didn't it? Could it be that he felt nothing?

Forcing a smile on her face, she stood up. Stretching out her hand to introduce herself as a friend. The words tasting bitter sweet on her tongue as she said them.

"Noel," he said back, eyebrows raised in amusement. Eyes flitting back and forth between her and his brother.

The name was familiar, being one in many stories Peggy had told her over the few months she'd known her.

"You're Liam's brother," she invoiced.

"We've got a fucking genius here, huh?" Noel said, smirking as he saw the threatening look spreading across Liam's face. He was back two seconds and already got him winded up. It was too easy.

"Sit down, sit down." Peggy urged her middle one. Pulling out the chair next to her and setting another place for him.

Inspecting the shiny new fork by his plate, his eyes darted across the table. "Where've you got that from?"

"Her parents got it as a Christmas present," Peggy proudly said.

It didn't settle any nerves in Noel though. His face shot around, turning towards the girl sat next to him. Eyes traveling over her face. Clean make up, fitted shirt, straight posture.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. Smirking like he knew what everything meant. The pieces falling into place.

"Noel, language," Peggy warned him but he didn't seem to hear her.

"You're one of those fucking posh people, aren't you?" He continued, leaning closer. Arms crossed in front of him. Smiling sickly at her like he could see right through her. Laughing when her eyes nervously snapped towards Liam.

"Noel," Liam tried it. His voice sharp as he spoke a name he hadn't used in a long time and wasn't sad about it either.

"It's fine, Liam. I think I should go anyway," she announced, taking notice of the building tension in the room. "You should get to enjoy your reunion in peace."

Standing up, she thanked Peggy for the food even though she hadn't tried it yet. Grabbing her coat and shoes as Liam dashed after her. Staring daggers at Noel as he watched in amusement.

Stopping her with his hands on her upper arm, he looked at her. Watching a small smile stick to the corner of her mouth every time she looked at his face, though now it just seemed apologetic, not thankful anymore.

"I'll see you at school," she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek like she'd always do before leaving the house she'd grown so fond of. Listening to Noel's laughter hallowing through the walls until she closed her own front door. Biting back the tears all the way back home.

"What is your fucking problem?" Liam turned to Noel back in their home, watching the door a second longer before striking back to his brother.

Peggy had stopped trying to interfere in their arguments a long time ago, she just wanted to keep their bickering at bay when she was around. It didn't work though, so now she put back her plate and cutlery from her designated place.

"My fucking problem? You're dragging some posh bird here, not me," Noel said back, standing up but he wasn't taller than Liam anymore. He had missed a lot, including his brother's growth spurt. Now he was barely eye to eye with him.

"She's my friend."

"You're friends with someone like that? As if she'd willingly be around you cunt."

"We get on, what's your fucking problem?"

"Nothin, nothin," he brushed it off, hiding his laughter in the neck of his bottle. "But you can't be serious, can ye?"

"Serious with what?"

"Actually liking her, you used to despise anyone living in her street."

"She's different."

"Sure, she is. She's interested in some scum like you, as if." Rolling his eyes, Noel tried acting cool until he felt the back of the stool push into his back. Liam's hands still outstretched from pushing him.

"What are you fucking going on about?"

"'m just saying, no one like her genuinely likes someone like you. Probably got dared or sum."

"She likes me." He wasn't even sure who he tried to convince anymore. What if Noel was right? What if she was just like everyone else.

"Sure, r'kid. Just don't come running when it turns out that I'm right."

"As if you've ever been right."

"That bloke, Tim, he just made fun of you. Was right 'bout that. Julie, she never liked you - also called that. You just trust people too easily."

"It's enough, alright?" Peggy crashed their war zone. Tears pricking in her eyes. "You've done enough damage already. You" - pointing at Liam - "go to your room. You" - pointing at Noel - "Are taking a shower before cleaning up your mess."

"But we haven't eaten yet," Liam complained, trying to compromise with his mother, but to no use.

"Go to your room," she repeated herself. Turning around and walking back towards the room.

"Fucking great," Liam spat out at Noel while walking past. "Not even ten minutes and you've already fucked everything up."

Slumping into his back, loudly throwing his door shut, his eyes were now solely fixated on the necklace she'd forgotten a few days ago.

It still lingered in his pocket Monday morning when he was walking through the halls, eyes searching everywhere for her. Half hoping he wouldn't see her, half praying that she was falling right into his arms in front of everyone. Though wherever he looked, whether that be her usual seat in class or her friend group, he always only saw the back of her head if she even was there.

Until he was stood behind the building, cigarette in between his lips, kicking rocks like he'd done the first day. Nostalgia and melancholy washing over him all at once. Eyes focused on his feet until a second pair appeared in his sight. Familiar shoes that used to stand next to his on a normal day. Looking up, she stood in front of him. Biting her lip as their eyes met. Arms crossed over her chest. Not leaning next to him. Not sitting down. She just stared, knowing there were questions on his mind. Letting him space to ask her if he wanted to.

And he did.

Stepping out the cigarette, he took a few steps forward, standing next to her. Eyes looking into the distance. Not at her as he asked.

"Do you like me?"

The laugh sounded genuine as the bluntness caught her off-guard when it really shouldn't have. Still it mocked him out of shock. "What? Of course I like you. Why are you asking that?"

"No, I mean. Are you just round for a laugh afterwards or do you actually like me company? Because if it's the first one, yer can gladly fuck off."

"What? Liam, where is all this coming from?" Taking a step forward, he took one backwards. Tilting his head as her hand was on it's way to take a hold of his arm, warning her to stop.

"Look, you never talk to me in school, you ignored me the other day at the pub when your friends came in, you're fucking posh. Just tell me when I embarrass ye."

"I'm not embarrassed of you, I thought you were." Taking another step towards him, his back hit the wall. No way to escape, he stared at her like her touch could burn him.

"What? Why would I be embarrassed of you. You're fucking beautiful." Throwing his hands up as he was talking, they landed on her hips before he pulled them away. Making her stumble in the process. Her body crashing into his, fingers stretched across his collarbone as their breaths entangled.

"You were the one only inviting me over when no one else was at home at first until your mam found out. You always looked away when we saw each other at school. And in the pub, your friends were literally right beside me when I saw you. How was I supposed to act normal when you can't even do that? I didn't even know if you actually liked me." Her words pierced like daggers into his chest as her tone was sharper than ever before. Lips almost brushing his jaw as she spoke.

"Fucking hell, are we stupid."

"Absolutely." Letting her head fall on his chest as she laughed, she could feel the rapid beating of his heart against her skin. One question still lingering on her mind. "Why would you think I was using you?"

"Noel, that bastard, he has these mental issues when it comes to posh people. But you're pretty chill, he'll know that on Sunday."

"What?"

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he leaned closer, hands gripping her waist. "You're coming over for Sunday Roast like every other week. I don't care that he's there and when he looks at you weirdly, you bet I'll fucking stab his eyes out."

"As if." Her fingers played with the collar of his shirt as she spoke. Nails tracing over the nerve in his neck that caught her attention the first time she saw him up close. His breath catching in his throat at the feeling of her touch against him.

"Dead serious. Only for you though, love." Lips brushing over hers, not yet kissing, he felt her parting her lips like she wasn't sure if words would still come out when she tried to talk.

They did.

"What if your friends come round the corner?" A breathy tone accompanying her doubts and desires.

"They better leave me alone and turn right around so I can keep on doing this."

Pulling her flush against him, his lips landed on hers.

Bonus: The following Sunday Roast

She hadn't tried looking more laid back then usually, more fitting for her surrounding. But when she saw Liam's eyes widening when he opened the door the following Sunday, she almost expected him telling her to go back home and change. Instead, he pulled her in. Gently kissing her - something he had been doing all week every time he saw her.

"That's my shirt, isn't it?" He mumbled against her lips, eyes slipping down as they still stood close. A blush creeping up her neck at the realization.

Before she could answer, Peggy pushed him away. Telling him to go into the kitchen and get the table ready. Pulling her into a tight hug, happy to see her return.

"I was so sure that my boys scared you off," she said, shooting Noel a look as they walked past him sitting in the living room. "Told them to behave this time."

"They could never," she answered, not elaborating on which statement she answered. Making Noel smirk into his lager as he noticed the punch line.

Sitting down next to Noel, his eyebrows raised as she looked at the telly critically. Top Of The Pops.

"They're fucking shite," she declared as Take That was doing their boy band choreography on stage.

Liam's head wiped around as he heard her cuss for the first time. Shock written all over his face as he heard Noel laugh at her statement.

"Yer don't have to tell me that."

"Well, you're watching it, aren't you?"

Looking over, eyebrows raised, he muttered, "Smart mouth." Still not changing channels. "What do yer like then?"

"More of the older stuff. The Doors, Beatles, Velvet Underground. There's nothing good around at the moment." Hearing Liam clear his throat in sass, she turned around. Looking apologetic as she corrected herself. "Until Liam's in the charts of course."

"As if he'd get there."

"Oi! Don't underestimate me, old man. Yer talking 'bout the future rock star in the house." Liam swiped the kitchen towel across his brother's head as he spoke. Noticing the unimpressed looks on both their faces. "Are youse both against me now? Fucking unbelievable. The torture in this household!"

"I see, you've taught him a new word." Receiving another hit with the towel before Peggy took it from her youngest, it didn't ease the laughter that came from her.

"Took me a whole week."

"I should've left yer heartbroken for fuck's sake."

I found it because three different people had sent it to me, two gossip accounts had clipped it, and someone on Twitter had written, in all caps, NOEL GALLAGHER JUST BASICALLY SAID HE’S HOT NOW BECAUSE HE’S GETTING LAID.

So, naturally, I watched it. Twice. The third time, Noel walked into the room.

He had that look on his face already — the one he wore whenever he knew he was guilty but had decided, preemptively, that apologising was beneath him. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower, his shirt half-buttoned, his expression caught somewhere between boredom and self-defence.

“What are you watching?” he asked.

I looked up from my phone. “You.”

He stopped. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Oh, it’s brilliant, actually.”

“No,” he said, pointing at my phone. “Don’t go reading that rubbish.”

“I’m not reading it.”

“Good.”

“I’m watching it.”

His face dropped. “For fuck’s sake.”

I turned the volume up. On the screen, the interviewer was smiling too much, leaning forward like he knew he was about to get something useful out of him.

"People have been saying you look different lately," the man said. "Happier. Healthier. Younger, even."

Noel, on the tiny screen, looked deeply offended. "Younger? Fucking hell. That’s bleak."

Real Noel, standing in front of me, sighed. “Turn it off.”

“Absolutely not.”

The interviewer laughed. "Come on, you must’ve seen the comments. Everyone wants to know the secret."

And there it was. Noel on screen, leaning back, dry as anything, like he was commenting on the weather.

"Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you’re getting properly shagged, mate."

I paused it. Then I looked at him.

Noel looked at the ceiling. “I was joking.”

I stared. “Were you?”

He shrugged. “I was being asked stupid questions.”

“So your solution was to tell the British press you’re glowing because you’re getting fucked properly?”

He winced. “I didn’t say glowing.”

“No, they did.” I looked down at my phone and scrolled. “Repeatedly, actually.”

“Don’t read the comments.”

“Oh, now you’re shy?”

“I’m not shy. I just think civilisation took a wrong turn when people started having opinions under videos.”

I ignored him and clicked into the first thread.

The first comment made me laugh before I could stop myself. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

I turned the phone slightly away from him. “No, you’ll get unbearable.”

“I’m already unbearable.”

“Good point.”

I cleared my throat and read, “‘Whoever she is, thank you for your service.’”

Noel blinked.

I kept going. “‘Noel Gallagher discovering moisturiser and shagging in the same year was not on my bingo card.’”

He came closer. “Give me that.”

“No.” I turned away, laughing, holding the phone against my chest. “Wait, this one says, ‘She fixed his posture, his wardrobe and his will to live.’”

“That’s defamatory.”

“That’s accurate.”

“My posture’s fine.”

“Your posture is Victorian orphan.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Tiny. There and gone too quickly.

I scrolled again, and the smile slipped off my own face before I could prepare for it.

There was a picture attached to the next post. Him, outside some restaurant a few weeks ago, looking down at me like I had just said something stupid enough to make him laugh. My face was half-hidden, blurred by movement and bad lighting, but his wasn’t. He looked… Happy. Not smiling-for-a-camera happy, just happy.

“What?” he said, softer this time.

I didn’t answer straight away. I read the caption instead. “‘This is the woman behind the Noel Gallagher glow up and honestly we should all be sending flowers.’”

The room shifted around us, suddenly too quiet.

“I suppose,” I said, trying to sound casual and failing badly, “we’re doing this, then.”

Noel watched me. “Doing what?”

“Making it public?.”

His face didn’t change much, but his eyes did. Just a little. I hated when he did that. When he made barely any movement at all and somehow said too much.

“I didn’t exactly make a statement outside Buckingham Palace,” he said.

“You told a journalist you’re having good sex.”

“I said properly shagged.”

“Noel.”

He sighed, but not like he was annoyed. More like he had been caught somewhere he couldn’t joke his way out of fast enough.

I looked back down at the phone. “They’re going to keep digging now.”

“They already were.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because the point was suddenly everywhere. The point was in the comments. In the photos. In the fact that people had seen him change before either of us had admitted what we were. In the fact that I had spent months slipping out of restaurants separately, waiting in cars, ducking my head when cameras appeared, telling myself privacy was easier than wanting too much.

The point was that he had said it like a joke. But it didn’t feel like a joke.

“You were the one who said people didn’t need to know everything,” I said.

“They don’t.”

“Then what was that?”

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, “That was me getting tired of pretending you’re not the reason I don’t look like I’ve been dug up.”

And, stupidly, horribly, my heart squeezed. Actually squeezed. Like he had reached into my chest and closed his hand around it without even trying.

I looked down quickly, because I didn’t want him to see my face do whatever it was about to do. But Noel stepped closer anyway. He didn’t ask if I was alright. That would’ve been too direct. Too kind in a way he didn’t like being caught at. Instead, he slid one arm around my waist from behind and pulled me back against him, resting his chin near my shoulder like he had any right to be that soft after causing this much emotional damage.

I kept staring at my phone. “You can’t just say things like that,” I muttered.

“Clearly I can.”

“You know what I mean.”

His mouth brushed against the side of my neck. “I usually do.”

I tried to keep reading.

“Here’s another one,” I said, my voice a little less steady than before. “‘Noel Gallagher getting a hot young girlfriend and immediately becoming less miserable is proof women are carrying society.’”

He huffed a laugh against my skin. “Hot, are you?”

“That’s the part you heard?”

“I heard young as well.”

I elbowed him lightly. He kissed just below my ear. “Noel.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“You’re doing a poor job.”

His hand spread over my stomach, lazy and warm, holding me there while I kept scrolling through strangers dissecting our life like it was a new album cycle.

“‘Thanks to whoever gave Noel the glow up,’” I read. “‘The nation owes you.’”

His lips touched my neck again.

“Very patriotic of you.”

I snorted despite myself. “Stop.”

“Stopping.” He did not stop.

He kissed the spot under my jaw, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth when I turned my head to complain. I tried to angle the phone away from him, still pretending I cared about the comments, but his other hand came up and gently pushed it down.

“No more reading.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m older. Wiser.”

“You told the press you’re hot because of sex.”

“And look how well it’s gone.”

I turned in his arms, phone trapped uselessly between us. His face was close. Too close for someone who had just made my entire bloodstream inconvenient.

“You’re impossible,” I said.

“I’ve heard.”

“You’re smug.”

“Also heard.”

“You’re going to make my life hell.”

His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth. “Probably.”

I should’ve made him suffer a little longer. Honestly, I had every intention of doing that. I wanted to lecture him about boundaries and tabloids and the difference between privacy and secrecy. I wanted to tell him he couldn’t just decide, in the middle of an interview, that we were done hiding.

But he kissed me before I could organise the argument properly. And that was unfair. Because Noel kissed like he argued. Like he already knew where the weak spot was and had no moral issue using it. Slow at first, almost irritatingly controlled, one hand at my waist, the other sliding up my back, keeping me close enough that I forgot I was supposed to be proving a point.

I gave in with a small, annoyed sound against his mouth. Maybe it was the absurdity of it. The comments. The headline. The way he’d said girlfriend without saying girlfriend, public without saying public, mine without saying mine. Maybe it was the way his hands tightened on me every time I tried to pull back. Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t really want to pull back.

I looked at him, breathless enough to be embarrassing. “Well,” I said.

His brow lifted. “Well?”

“I suppose I’ll have to live up to the reputation you’ve given me.”

He frowned slightly. “What reputation?”

I slid my hands up his chest, slow enough to make his expression change. “The indecently young girlfriend who wants to fuck all day.”

For once, he had absolutely nothing clever to say. Then his mouth twitched, his hands found my hips, and his voice dropped into something rougher.

“Yeah?”

I leaned in, brushing my mouth against his without quite kissing him. “Apparently.”

His grip tightened. “Then stop reading the bloody comments.”

I smiled into his chest, and for a moment, I let myself stay there—warm, lazy, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns on my skin.

I shifted, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. His hand stilled on my arm.

"That's nice," he said, his voice a low murmur.

I didn't answer. I kissed lower, over his collarbone, the spot where his pulse beat steady and slow. His breath caught just a little.

"I know," I said against his skin.

His hand slid into my hair, not pulling, just resting there. "You're a menace."

"A menace?" I lifted my head, raising an eyebrow. "You're the one who did all the work. I'm just giving you your daily-glow-up routine."

He made a sound and tugged my hair gently. "Cheeky mare."

I grinned and kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that made his breath hitch. I let my hand wander down his chest, over his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans.

"Can I?" I asked, my voice softer now.

He looked at me. His eyes were dark, his mouth curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You don't have to ask."

"Good."

I moved, straddling him properly, my knees sinking into the cushion on either side of his hips. His hands found my waist automatically, steadying me, and I felt him harden against my thigh through the denim.

His gaze flickered down to where I was pressed against him, then back up to my face. "You're in charge now?"

"I thought I'd give it a go." I rocked my hips, just a little, just enough to make him draw a sharp breath. "See if you're as good at following orders as you are at giving them."

His jaw tightened. "I'm not good at following orders."

"Then it'll be a challenge." I leaned in, my mouth brushing his. "I like challenges."

I kissed him, slow and deep, and while he was distracted I worked at his belt buckle. His hands tightened on my hips, guiding the rhythm as I moved against him. The denim was rough, the friction building through both layers.

"Off," he said against my mouth, tugging at the hem of my top. "This, off."

I sat back just enough to pull it over my head, then reached behind to unhook my bra. His eyes tracked the movement, and when I dropped it to the floor, his hands came up to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until I bit my lip.

"Still the indecently young girlfriend?" I asked, breathless.

"Decidedly indecent now," he said, and pulled me down for another kiss.

We worked each other's clothes off in a tangle of hands and breathless laughter. His jeans were harder to get off than mine—he had to lift his hips, and I had to tug, and at one point his belt buckle caught on the sofa cushion and he swore under his breath. By the time he was naked beneath me, we were both laughing, and the tension was still there—hot and urgent—but wrapped in something lighter.

I reached down, wrapping my hand around his cock. He was hard, the skin hot and smooth, and he let his head fall back against the sofa cushion as I stroked him slowly.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said, his voice rough.

"Probably." I lined myself up, my hips hovering over his. "But you'll die happy."

He opened his mouth to say something—probably something dry, something to deflect—but I sank down onto him before he could speak, and whatever he was going to say turned into a low, broken groan.

I stilled, letting myself adjust to the stretch of him inside me. His hands gripped my thighs, his knuckles white, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"Christ," he muttered.

I smiled, slow and satisfied. "Good?"

"You know it's good." His eyes were dark, half-lidded. "You're just fishing for compliments."

"And?"

He laughed—a breathless, reluctant laugh. "You ride me like you've been practicing."

"I have been, with this boyfriend of mine."

That made him blink. Genuine surprise flickered across his face before he masked it with a smirk. "Fuck me."

"That's the idea."

I started to move, slow at first, finding a rhythm that made his breath catch and his hands tighten. He tried to take control—his hips thrusting up to meet mine, his fingers pressing into my skin—but I held his wrists, pushing them down against the cushion.

"Ah, ah," I said, my voice breathless but firm. "I said I was in charge."

He made a sound and let his head fall back. But his eyes never left me. They tracked every movement, every shift of my hips, every tremble of my breath.

I rode him slow, then faster, then slow again, drawing it out until his hands were fisted in the cushion and his breathing was ragged. I leaned forward, my breasts brushing his chest, and kissed him while I moved—sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that tasted like salt and want.

"You feel that?" I whispered against his mouth. "That's what I do to you."

"Fucking hell," he gasped. "You're going to—don't stop—"

I didn't. I kept the pace, steady and relentless, and when I felt his body tense, when his hands flew to my hips to hold me still, I didn't let up. I rode him through it, watching his face twist with pleasure, listening to the sounds he couldn't hold back.

He came with a groan that was almost a growl, his body shuddering beneath me, his grip bruising.

I slowed, then stopped, my own body humming with the leftover tension. I hadn't come—not yet—but I was close, wound tight and waiting.

He didn't let me wait long. Before I could move, his hands were on me, flipping us so suddenly that I landed on my back with a startled laugh. He was above me, his hair a mess, his skin flushed, his eyes dark and determined.

"Can I be in charge now?" he said.

He didn't wait for permission. His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, my breasts, and his hand slid between my thighs, finding me slick and ready. He pushed two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I arched into his touch.

"Don't you dare come yet," he murmured against my skin.

"You can't—tell me—when to—"

"I can." His thumb found my clit, circling slowly. "I'm in charge now."

I wanted to argue. I opened my mouth to say something clever, something sharp. But then his mouth closed over my nipple, and his fingers kept moving, and every thought scattered.

He worked me slowly, deliberately, bringing me to the edge and backing off, then bringing me back. I was a mess by the time he finally let me come—gripping his shoulders, gasping his name, my body trembling with the force of it.

He watched me the whole time. That smug, dark gaze, drinking it in.

When I finally stilled, he kissed my forehead and lay down beside me, pulling me against his chest with a satisfied hum.

We lay there, tangled and sticky, until my breathing evened out and his hand resumed its lazy tracing on my arm.

"So," I said eventually. "The internet was right. You are glowing."

He scoffed. "I told you. I'm sweaty."

"That's post-coital radiance."

"It's post-coital sweat."

I lifted my head to look at him. "And whose fault is that?"

He met my eyes, that wry half-smile playing on his lips. "Yours.”

I stared at him. He held my gaze, unblinking.

"I mean it," he said, and his voice was quieter now, less defensive. "I know I don't say things like that, but I don’t think it’s just the sex that got me radiant."

I felt my chest tighten. "Noel."

"Don't make it weird." He pulled me closer, pressing his lips to my hair. "Just—take the compliment."

I did. I took it, and I held it, and I let the warmth of it settle into my bones.

"Okay," I said softly. "I'll take it."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then his hand found mine, threading our fingers together.

"Good," he said. "Because I'm not saying it again."