Elite Taste

(Requests are always appreciated.) Smut=*

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐩𝐨𝐩-

Liam Gallagher: 

Like A Virgin- Y/N, Is finally ready share an intimate moment with her boyfriend. *

Nothing Matters, But Knowing Nothing Matters- Y/N was considered by others to be tied down by her religion. She didn't think she needed anything apart from her bible, but upon meeting Liam Gallagher, he shows her the pleasures of life she was taught was taboo and opens her up to a world of Enlightenment. *

Paint The Window- After moving into their new flat, Liam has an idea of how to make the place feel more like theirs. *

Damon Albarn: 

Picture This- After the purchase of a new polaroid, Damon and Y/N can't get enough of snapping pictures of one another. 

Close To You- After a small outburst, Damon reassures Y/N of her place in their relationship. * 

Take A Break- Damon wasn't making time for himself and Y/N noticed and one evening, she finally got through to him.

It's A Crazy Idea, Right?- Damon and Y/N get away to Iceland on a whim and share a private and intimate moment.

That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore- Y/N'd been a friend of Damon's for a long time, which often led to rumors of a secret relationship, rumors that the two loved to feed. It was a joke, that was all there was to it. Right?

Love At First Photo- Y/N is hired as Blur's photographer for their tour and catches the eye of the lead singer.

My Man- It's Damon's birthday and Y/N makes him feel special.

The Silent Fears- After Y/N falls pregnant, Damon expresses his fear of the next step, but she's ready to reassure him.

Forever Young- While doing some cleaning, Y/N finds an old photo of her and Damon that unlocks an old and pleasant memory she hadn't thought about in a long time.

Noel Gallagher: 

Jealousy, Jealousy- When a childhood friend of Y/N's comes back into her life, a green-eyed monster slowly creeps up on Noel. Things come to a head during a party, where Noel's jealousy is confronted. 

Such A Heavenly Way To Dine- After a long day at work, Y/N is given a very pleasurable stress-reliever by her boyfriend. *

Bitter Sweet Symphonies- Y/N, a violinist, falls for Noel, who's her mate. Their feelings come to a head after one of her auditions.

Meg x Noel :

Sorrow's Native Son- Meg and Noel hide away to an Italian countryside to get away from the press and everyone else.

Graham Coxon:

Way Back When- During school, Graham Coxon and Y/N left without dealing with their unspoken feelings. He realised just how wrong he'd been about how she felt about him when the two reunite at a Blur gig and share an evening neither of them would forget.*

In The Eye Of The Beholder- When Y/N and Graham pair up for an art project, hidden feelings emerge, and they realise how wrong they'd been.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐬- 

Johnny Marr: 

Papa Don’t Preach- Y/N, after an intense argument with her father about her relationship with Johnny, gets kicked out. She seeks solace from Johnny who in turn comforts her. 

Mike Joyce:

coming soon...

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-

Ian Brown:

Cheeky Bastard- Y/N is coerced into going to a Stone Roses gig after unknowingly meeting the lead singer.

Cheeky Bastard(PT.2)- Y/N goes to the Stone Roses' gig and to her surprise, she enjoys it for more than one reason.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬-

Ringo Starr-

coming soon...

Paul McCartney-

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Plot: While doing some cleaning, Y/N finds an old photo of her and Damon that unlocks an old and pleasant memory she hadn't thought about in a long time.

Word count: 1.5K

A/N: I do apologize for being away for so long. Exams fucked me up. But now I'm back and ready to write again.

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It felt as if I had been waiting forever for this moment.

A moment of peace, away from my job. 

There wasn’t anything I had planned, maybe a long walk down the neighborhood, or spending some time Damon.

Unfortunately, neither of these things came to fruition.

For one, as per typical English weather, it was pouring—raining cats and dogs. 

As for Damon, he and Graham were attached at the hip, ready to get this new single out.

I wasn’t fussed about it; from what I had so far from the song, it was a good one—a bit unorthodox, but, hey, had Blur ever been truly normal?

I laid on my bed, my fingers clasped together and resting above my stomach. It was quiet, save for the sound of gentle knocks and taps against the window caused by the rain.

A soft sigh slipped past my lips. 

Boredom was present and had made itself comfortable in my room. 

The “room” could hardly be considered a room. It was a mess—clothes and other things were all over the floor, in piles or in corners by themselves. With my focus all over work, I didn’t realise just how bad it had gotten. 

I sat up, looking around. 

It wouldn’t hurt to clean up a bit.

I pushed myself off of the bed, stretching my arms a bit. I started by picking up the scattered clothes and making a pile of them on my bed. With the floor clear of slipping hazards, I moved to the closet, adjusting the hanging clothes and pushing them further back into the closet so they wouldn’t stick out. In the process, I had knocked down a stack of clothes and a few other clutters that rested above it. 

My annoyance couldn’t have been masked.

With the clothes, a small cardboard box had fallen open.

I didn’t recognise it.

Is it Damon's?

I knelt down, picking up the box. Inside it were things I recognised—things belonging to Damon, those he had gifted me. A small locket with a photo of the both of us, as well as a small beaded bracelet. It came back, I remembered this box. 

God, was another symptom of overworking myself memory loss?

I shook my head. I didn’t know.

There were other items of the same sort, what really caught my attention was a photo. It wasn’t just any photo, it was a photo of Damon and I. 

The photo was different from that inside the locket. 

This one had captured a moment I could never bring myself to forget.

He stood by my side, his arm around my shoulders, a huge grin plastered on his face. My awkward grin could be seen in the photograph too. It had been a spur of the moment thing.

We looked younger.

It had been a dreaded sunny day when I met him…

The festival was lively, incredibly so—as expected for a music festival. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of something truly delicious.

The noise was a mixture of cheers, yells, and some guy advertising whatever merch he was selling.

I wasn’t too familiar with any of the acts performing, I had only came in order to get a story for the paper.

The crowd was large, too big for my taste, honestly.

As I looked around to see what I could jot down on my notebook, I narrowly avoided shoulder checking a bloke, but in the process, I quickly threw myself in a corner, turning straight into a tall stature—Not tall relative to my size, but tall nonetheless. A warm, solid and stature. 

“Oh, shit—I’m sorry.” He apologised, just as my notepad fell onto the grassy turf.

Honestly, I was compelled to get annoyed and I had expected some half-arsed, “my bad”. Instead, my eyes were met with another pair of blue eyes and suddenly, a small “sorry” hadn’t bothered me all that much.

He bent down, picking up the now slightly damp sheets. He inspected it briefly with a grimace. “Bit wet now, hope it wasn’t anything too important.” He handed me the book. “You a writer?”

“Just Journalist.” I corrected, but then I quickly added. “Although, I think it’s the same thing.”

“That’s dangerous. What’s someone like you doing here, then?” I could tell that it was meant to be something of a sarcastic joke, but it hadn’t come out in the way that I was assuming he wanted it to.

“Writing a paper for The Sun on this festival.”

“Pretty cool. Now I have to really be careful about what I say.” he nodded, chuckling. 

“Have you got anything interesting written down so far?”

I looked back down on my notepad and what I had written down. “Large crowd. Sweaty. Loud. Seems pretty interesting to me”

“Seems about right.” He smiled. “You just go around writing about sweaty festivals for fun?”

“Must be if I haven’t figured a way to pass this assignment to some poor intern.” I shrugged. 

“I suggest you add something else.”

“What’s that?”

“Legendary. After the performance I’m about to give.”

I quirked a brow. “You’re one of the performers?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Sorry, are you famous or something?”

The man placed a hand over his chest, releasing a theatrical gasp. “You mean you don’t recognise me?”

I shook my head.

He nodded. “Damon Albarn. I sing for this band, a bit skint—Blur.”

“Blur?” I restated. “Like…a stain on a photo?”

“Exactly like that, except Blur’s stain is strictly on the musical sphere.”

I shook my head. “Never heard of it.”

Damon placed his hand over his chest, pretending to be wounded. “That’s humbling.” He placed his hands in the pocket of his jeans, a slightly crooked grin formed from the corner of his lips.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all good, I’m just messing with you.” He waved his hand in the air, his smile remained. 

There was a small moment of silence before the guy—Damon—spoke again. “You gonna tell me your name, then?”

“Uh, yeah.” I responded, giving him my name.

He repeated the name under his breath, testing how it sounded coming from him. “Nice name.”

We spoke some more. There wasn’t really much I got from the conversation, except some additional notes on my notepad. 

Before I left Damon to his own devices, a voice had called out. “Smile for the photo, Damon!”

Damon turned towards the source of the voice, a grin already plastered on his face. What I hadn’t expected was for his arm to go over my shoulder, pulling me close. “Get this,” he laughed. “She said Blur sounds like a stained photo.”

My brain almost hadn’t registered the flash of the camera as it went off. 

“Alright,” he said. “There’s proof you met Blur before we took over the world.”

I clutched the photo in my hand, a smile had crept onto my own face. 

I didn’t know it then, but that stranger was going to change my life, as he did.

The photo against my fingers kept me locked in the memory when the sound of jingling keys snapped me out of my thoughts. I blinked. 

Through the opened bedroom door, eyes focused on the view of the front door. It had opened—briefly allowing me a better listening experience of the rain that hadn’t let up, poured harder. In stepped a wet Damon, soaked to the bones. 

His hair flopped from side to side as he shook out the water like a dog.

“Love, I’m home!” Damon called. 

“I’m in here!” I responded.

Through the sound of my voice, Damon came into the bedroom. 

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hi,” I responded. “I thought you were staying late at the studio.”

Damon shrugged, “I was, but then I remembered that you were here and suddenly being in the studio didn’t sound as fun.”

I smiled. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just cleaning around.” I lifted the photo, my grin growing wider. “Look at what I found.”

Damon moved closer, crouching towards me. A small smile slowly made its way onto his face. “Look at that, you looked so small.”

I nudged his shoulder. “You did too.”

He took the photo from my hand. “This needs to be framed.” He looked around the room, until his eyes landed on the framed photo on top of the nightstand. Damon picked up the frame, tucking the photo in one of the corner pockets. The photo stood out like a spring, but it was held on by the corner it was tucked into.

Damon turned towards me. “I missed you.” He extended his arms towards me, I took his hands in mine, allowing myself to be pulled in. My head rested against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart for a few seconds. 

“I missed you,” He mumbled. There was a small vibration in his chest when he spoke.

“I missed you too,” I smiled, curling into his chest. “Even if Graham got you on weekends.”

“Trust me when I say, he’s not as cuddly.” He chuckled.

Damon’s rough hands adjusted my chin, moving my head to face him. His lips pressed onto mine softly, like they belonged together. They moved slowly against one another in perfect harmony, made for each other exclusively. The frame and the photo smiled at the two of us, this felt like another photo worthy moment. It wouldn’t have captured the magic that was done on the frame, but this…

This was enough for me.

No seriously girl I’m joking take ur time,exam season are no joke

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): Swearing.

Plot: Y/N, a violinist, falls for Noel, who's her mate. Their feelings come to a head after one of her auditions.

Word count: 1.7K.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat in my chair, surrounded by other instruments as well as musicians. My violin settled on my shoulder, my fingers in position as the conductor lifted his baton into the air. My eyes read the first few measures, engraving the notes in my mind before my eyes fell back on the conductor, awaiting his signal for the downbeat.

Upon the first stroke of the thin stick, sound ruptured throughout the orchestra. I got through the bars, playing each dynamic with the intensity required as written. The notes left the wood of my instrument precisely and with accuracy. I felt entranced within the isolated movement, each note sparking low levels of ecstasy in my chest. 

Music had that effect on myself, since I was little. It was one of those unexplainable bits of life—when something had the ability to bring you the kind joy other people just couldn’t bring to you.

I played well until we reached the Allegro section of the piece—a section that not only tortured musicians via time signature, by switching to Alla Breve time, also known as the hell that is…Cut time; but also changing the key to E Major Flat, four fucking flats.

I groaned internally, dreading the inevitable feeling of embarrassment when I would hit the wrong note. 

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait too long. Four bars into the measure, and I had missed a written accidental. I wasn’t one, but still. 

The conductor made a stop motion, effectively cutting off the ensemble.

He released a heavy sigh, dragging his hand through his greying hair. All of his years of conducting and going to school and playing with prestigious orchestras just to lead him here. Disappointment.

“Please, check your key signatures.” He said it using the kind of tone that made you feel like the daftest person in the world. I could tell that he was fighting the urge to add a C’mon, mates, you aren’t in year nine, this stuff isn’t rocket science.

I knew that I wasn’t the only to have messed up, but still, that felt very much targeted at me.

And, of course, it had to be right around chair auditions. I was grateful that we were allowed to run through the piece, but also riddled with nerves over how difficult this was going to be if I wanted to earn that first chair position.

—

Noel sat on the opposite seat from me, a small circular and wooden table acted as a barricade between us. He gulped down his second pint, already waiving the bartender for another cold one. My own remained untouched before me, my focus was entirely stolen by the large booklet–like paper, the score of Lincolnshire Posey, I’d been flipping through for the last hour. I’d only look up briefly responding with a simple nod and a “Uh huh,” of affirmation.

When he had finally gotten sick of it, he’d switched from tapping at the edge of the table like he was waiting for the guitar to magically fall on his lap, to snatching the paper from my hands looking over it. 

“Hey!” I exclaimed.

Noel ignored me, moving away slightly when I tried to reach for the score back. “What’s this, then?” He inquired.

“It’s sheet music.” I reached for it again. “Now give it back.”

Noel held it even further. “Crazy shite, this.”

I placed the paper down on the table when I had finally managed to gain a grasp on it. “I’m not sure who he thinks we are—who he thinks I am.” I expressed in exasperation. “I’m not even first chair and this is giving me a headache.”

“Who are you talking about?” Noel asked, pulling my drink towards himself and taking a sip.

“My director.” I answered. “He gave us a song that’s clearly written for a concert band—”

“Concert band?”

“It’s an orchestra but without strings. All instruments are wind, except for percussion. You do know what that is right?” I teased. 

Noel’s eyes narrowed. “I know what it is.”

“Just making sure,” I laughed, pulling the drink back towards me and taking a sip. “Right, like I was saying. The song’s transposition is just so wrong, and he expects us to learn this by the end of the week, on top of chair audition with another piece.”

“Don’t know I can help you with that.” Noel stated, leaning back against his seat. “Why do you do it? The whole orchestra thing sounds like hell.”

“Because, Noel,” I gave him a look. “I love playing the violin and one day I wanna play in one of them big theatres, y’know?”

Noel shrugged. “You gonna play in one of them posh theatres?”

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes. “By learning how to play these pieces and getting first chair, that’ll happen sooner.”

“It’s like you and a guitar. You get it now?”

“A little bit,” he grinned.

God, he was a charmer and he didn’t even know it. It was in the way his face could scrunch up and turn into the damn softest thing, despite his constant denial. When I saw his face, there wasn’t anything I wanted to change, even if he felt the contrary, especially in comparison to Liam. 

I promised myself that I would come clean about my feelings for him when the time was right, but every moment with him felt right. The only heaven I’d be sent to was when I was with him. 

“So this is important to you, then?”

“More than anything.”

“Jesus, alright, try not to get all teary-eyed. I’ll help, yeah?” Noel said it as if the offer caused him some kind of pain or cost him something, but the spark I saw in his eye him away.

“You?” I cocked a brow.

“Yes, me.” He scoffed. “You’re lucky I’m offerin’, this kind of help doesn’t come around often.”

“Right.” I rolled my eyes, “Christ, Your ego’s massive. God’s fuckin’ gift to the world.”

“Exactly,” Noel smirked. “And if it gets ya to stop sulkin’ like a tosser, I’ll do it.”

Which in Noel’s love language was basically an act of camaraderie.

That made me smile.

Days passed and Noel made good on his word. He wasn’t efficient—he couldn’t read sheet music—however, the implementation of his guitar was a great help. I don’t know why, maybe it was because they were classified in the same instrumental family. It didn’t matter to me, I wasn’t about to question my luck. 

Chair audition day had arrived and as we stood outside of the auditorium, my hands would stop shaking, as if I suffered from Essential Tremor. 

Noel stood beside me, putting his originally lit cigarette with the bottom of his trainers. There was a slight annoyed expression on his face after I told him that he couldn’t smoke inside the building. 

Honestly, I needed that smoke more than him at that moment.

“Christ, yer shakin’.”

“Nerves.” I responded.

Noel muttered something under his breath, looking down at the ground. Before we could enter the building, some girl bursted out of the doors in tears, clutching her instrument case. I recognised her—one of the low brasses, though I couldn’t quite remember what she played—and from what I could see, her audition hadn’t gone well. 

“Hey. Hey, none of that,” Noel seemed to notice the fear that instilled in me. “She was probably just bad, doesn’t mean you will be.”

“Yeah, maybe.” My body grew tense and I felt like ditching all together, but knew what consequence that would bring—immediate demotion to last chair.

“Look,” Noel placed both hands on my shoulders. His blue eyes were staring directly at my eyes with intensity and honesty. “You are one of the most talented people I know. You’re bloody good, alright? Even I can see that—and I barely knew what the hell you’re playin’.”

I looked at him, gaging for any sign of deception from him, there was nothing but sincerity. His thick brow twitched, he’d wanted to add something, maybe a joke of something else, but he held back.

I nodded, taking a deep breath. 

Noel opened the door, allowing me to enter first before he did the same.

With a deep breath, I took the stage, immediately greeted by the stone cold face of my conductor. He sat behind a small table below the stage, papers scattered all around its surface. I shivered, slowly approaching the edge of the stage so he could have a better look. Noel had found a seat towards the back of the nearly empty auditorium, adjusting his posture to see better. 

Adjusting my stand and getting into position, with another deep breath, I played the tune. My fingers danced on the cold strings, a jolly tune—a disparity against what I was feeling inside. Joy and anxiety clashed against one another, causing a narrative-like conflict internally. While I was feeling like I didn’t want to be here and fighting the urge to jump off the stage, at the same time I felt like throwing up, I was reminded why I loved playing the violin so much. I felt like I was transported to another dimension. 

The change hadn’t even phased me this time around and when I hit the final note, I felt powerful. 

I met Noel outside of the building straight after, engulfing him in a tight hug. 

“Reckon, it went well.” Noel chuckled. 

“Did you hear me?” I grinned. “I was amazing.”

“Who’s ego’s massive now.” He laughed, earning a hit on the arm. “No, but seriously, you were great up there.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you here.”

“You would've been fine without me—not perfect, but good enough, I suppose.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling away, but still remaining close. I looked at him, really looked at him. I couldn’t help myself. 

I moved closer and our lips touched.

Noel moved away, clearly caught off guard. My stomach dropped, I had kissed him and he looked astonished. Like I had poured cold water on his or slapped him

That was it, I ruined everything.

I opened my mouth and before I could utter an apology, Noel pulled me back in and kissed me back, he moved slowly against my lips as his hands found their use resting on my waist. His lips moved against mine with passion and fervour. I might have felt ecstatic when I played the violin, but this moment couldn’t compare at all, it was paradise. When we pulled away, our faces stayed close. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” I muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): Swearing.

Plot: When Y/N and Graham pair up for an art project, hidden feelings emerge, and they realise how wrong they'd been.

Word count: 1.5K.

A/N: Hope the person that requested this enjoys it.

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I leaned against my locker, my stacked books held against my chest and barricaded by my arms as my fingers absentmindedly trailed up and down the synthetic material of my books. My eyes were focused on the tall, brunet-haired, almost lanky figured man who happened to be in the process of sketching furiously on his leather bound sketchbook.

Graham Coxon was his natural habitat.

The corridor was nearly devoid of students, minus the few—including myself—that had decided to arrive early for whatever reason.

Instead of spending my free time doing something useful like catching up on coursework, my procrastination had been raging in full form and I was spending my time staring at the bloke.

My mind raced with what could be reliable conversation starters that wouldn’t disappoint me like the ones before had done those other times I’d tried to engage in a conversation with Graham. They never amounted to anything, those moments, just fleeting passes of what could have been.

Time hadn’t allowed me to indulge in my pleasant pastime any further, classes had begun. 

The morning shuffles began as the hallways’ daily crowding had started.

Fortunately, I wasn’t too far from my class, so the morning rush wasn’t going to get to me in the slightest. 

I sat towards the back along with some of the class’ stoners—the ones who’d managed to get to courses anyway. It wasn’t because I was stoned myself, far from it, I just wasn’t well acquainted with anyone in the class well enough to subject myself to that kind of torture; and I wasn’t in the mood to be called on by my professor early in the morning to answer some complicated answer.

Graham sat somewhere towards the middle of the class, adjusting his bag and belongings to get comfortable. 

Professor Arnstein was going over some Romance Era-esque painting, attempting to pry answers out of the class over underlying meanings. Nobody shared his enthusiasm, much to his irritation. 

“Alright,” Professor sighed, hands on his hips as he’s clearly given up. “Since no one wants to participate, you’re doing a project.”

There was a row of simultaneous groans throughout the room.

“It’s seven in the bloody mornin’.” Someone complained.

Professor ignored the statement, adding, “Get in pairs and choose wisely, this project is worth forty percent of your grade.”

More complaints passed on for the rest of the class, but the professor paid them no mind—in fact, it seemed to amuse him. He went on, explaining the directions of the project—one that required us to work as pairs to examine ancient English paintings and attempt to replicate the style used. 

Great.

Class was finally dismissed after what seemed like forever. Students hadn’t left straight away, a majority asked one another. Graham hadn't looked particularly keen on asking anyone.

After a long day of more courses, it was after school when I made my move. 

Graham had been retrieving a book from his locker. With a soft exhale, I approached. 

I tapped his shoulder twice because he hadn’t noticed the first time. 

He turned and, “Oh” was the first thing to slip out of his lips when his eyes landed on mine. He was a bit taken aback.

I began talking before I regretted coming up to him. “Hi,” I began, already wincing. “You’re—Graham, right?”

He nodded, his brow raised.

I realised how bad of an opener that was. Of course he was Graham, we have spoken before. I fought the urge to smack myself in the face with the books I held in my hands.

“Right.” I fidgeted my books. “We’re in the same Art History class and I was wondering if you already had a partner for the project.”

Graham shook his head. “I haven’t got one yet.”

“Great.” I nodded.

God, the awkwardness was too much to bear. 

“I mean that—I don’t have a partner either. So, um…I was hoping you could be my partner,” I added quickly, “for the project”

Graham stared at me, his face was unmoving. For a moment, I thought that rejection was inevitable despite the effort. To my suprise, he slowly nodded. 

“Sure,” he said. “That’s...good. Yeah—it’s great.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

I smiled, before turning away. 

Mission successful, I suppose.

—

We met at a library beside the school and sat in front of a small table with our books spread out on them. Hardly anything was spoken about the assignment. The painting we were assigned was a gorgeous one, it was a small painting in scale of background. The focus was placed primarily on the subject—or rather subjects.

Two lovers entwined, as they passed by. 

There was a lot I wanted to say about the painting, but Graham wasn’t talking and neither would I. 

Finally, after a few more minutes of awkward silence, Graham had asked me a question. “What do you think this painting is saying?” His voice was soft spoken, almost hesitant. I’d never really noticed how much of a gentle lift his voice carried—mainly because we didn’t really speak much.

“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” I responded, “But there’s also subtle symbolism. It’s a thing that the picture does, makes you think you’ve got the full story.” I pointed at the smaller details within the painting, like the woman’s hand—that one that wasn’t holding the lover’s—facing a different direction, one that had another man in the path. “Then picture includes details like that and it really fucks you over.”

Graham’s demeanor shifted, he sat up in his chair, moving the painting closer to himself to see my point of view and could tell that he found it. “Didn’t think about it that way.”

“It’s easy to miss the small stuff when the bigger picture is so in your face.”

“I'll say,” Graham said, staring at the image for another moment. “It’s kind of true, isn’t? For other people too.”

“I think so.” I looked back at him, a bit taken back at the sudden interest in the philosophical. “Like how we only really know someone by what they want you to see.”

He slowly nodded. “Or maybe we’re too scared to look closer.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead of a response, I smiled. “But too philosophical for a Monday.”

That statement made him laugh, a small chuckle. It was quiet, yet it was real and managed to melt the ice properly.

Graham searched through his bag, pulling out his sketchbook and a pencil. He paused, briefly looking up at me. “Do you want me to do the drawing or do you want me to be the subject?”

“Either one works, I’m not fussed.” I shrugged. “Just try not to make me look too Victorian, I'm not too fond of resembling a corpse.”

“No promises.” Graham grinned.

“I’ll draw then.” He flipped through an empty page in his sketchbook. “Try and sit still.”

I adjusted my position in my chair, moving my hair away so it didn’t keep anything out of sight. 

I sat there for minutes at a time, unmoving until I had to sneeze. My body jerked forward as I sneezed, my hair falling in my face. Graham moved closer, pushing the strands behind my ear as he kept drawing.

When he was finally finished, he turned his notebook, allowing me to see. The sketch was nothing short of beautiful. The picture almost looked exaggerated, but not in a ridiculous or comedic manner, but in a way that captured my essence better than any camera had ever had. There was a presence of books throughout. I knew it was for one of two reasons. One, he was inspired by the background(library) and used it as a backdrop; Two, he was using that as subtle symbolism, like the painting had, one for intelligence.

“This is beautiful.”

Graham smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think you believe me, this is really gorgeous.” I laughed. “If I knew you were this good at drawing, I would’ve made more of an effort to talk to you.”

Graham looked up at me, surprise invading his features. “You tried to talk to me?”

“Multiple times, didn’t think you liked me very much.”

Graham looked genuinely surprised at what I was saying. “I’ve, uh…actually wanted to talk to you before,” He played with the spiral rings that bounded the sketchbook together. “I’ve never found an excuse that didn’t make me look like an idiot.”

My heart skipped a beat. “You could have said ‘hi’, I thought I was the idiot for trying to talk to you.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I was trying to go for a mysterious and aloof kind of thing. Guess I ended up closer to social malfunction.”

I laughed. “That’s kind of cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We were both smiling, the awkwardness and tenseness had evaporated, leaving something much lighter and easier.

“If you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind hanging outside of school.” I mentioned.

Graham’s smile widened. “I’d like that.”

also i love your fics so so so much, keep going xx🫶

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Warning(s): Swearing.

Plot: After Y/N falls pregnant, Damon expresses his fear of the next step, but she's ready to reassure him.

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: I know I said that I would get Graham's out before Damon's but Graham's one was a bit difficult to write and I figured I should at least get a story out otherwise it'd look like I've disappeared. Rest assured; Graham's is coming out next. I promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon seeing the double lines on the test clutched in my hands, all of what had been happening to me finally made sense. I mean, it should've made sense, but things like this often went over my head. Those symptoms—instead of being from some inflicted infection or something of the sorts—had been occurring because I was expecting.

I didn’t keep the news from Damon. 

As soon as he had stepped into the flat that evening, he was engulfed in a tight hug. The bone crushing kind. 

“Woah, what’s this about?” He chuckled, his hands resting on my hips, steadying my body as he assessed what was going on. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s got you in such a chipper mood?”

I moved back, excitement overtaking my native features. My hands still gripped his upper arms. 

It was too much. Adrenaline from nothing in particular, really, just exhilaration. At that moment, I felt like I could do just about anything. I could probably jump into The Thames if I wanted to. 

I pulled out the test from my pocket, handing it to him.

Damon stared at the object blankly, trying to make an understanding. 

“Isn’t this great?” I beamed.

Damon continued to stare at the object, his expression didn’t change.

“Hey,” I placed a hand on his shoulder, concerned about settling on my features. “Is something wrong?”

Damon snapped out of whatever trance he had caught himself in. His expression quickly changed and he shook his head. “No. No, this is great.” He pulled me into a hug.

Not thinking much of it, I just smiled.

With the days passing, the excitement was ever-present and was in a constant crescendo. Still, Damon’s behavior was rather…strange.

One evening, after catching him in one of those ‘moments’—the kind when he’d just sit and stare blankly ahead. Despite the stillness, I could just sense that there was a tempest in his mind.

He sat on the sofa, his hair tousled, eyes plagued with fatigue—yet, he was a prisoner of his own thoughts, whatever they may have been.

I moved the small jumper that occupied the seat beside him, before settling down on it with a small plop. Damon’s stature tensed a bit before it settled down upon realising it was just me.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s been going on with you?” I spoke gently, my voice laced with fatigue.

Damon shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong.”

I gave him a look—that look he knew very well, the one that told him that I wasn’t buying any of his shite. “Try again, love.”

Damon tried to give me his best smile, however, it very evidently didn’t reach those ocean eyes of his.

“Damon,” I took his hands in mine, interlacing our fingers together. “When we started dating, we promised each other that there’d be no secrets between us,” My thumb stroked his knuckles. “You’ve been acting strange since I told you about the baby.”

Damon sighed. 

“I’m serious,” I reached for his chin, turning his face to face mine. “Talk to me.”

There was a small moment of silence. I assumed he wasn’t going to talk, but to my surprise, he cracked. With a rake of his hair, he finally spoke. 

“I’m so sure about this.”

My eyebrows scrunched together. “What are you talking about?”

“The baby.”

“The baby?” My face fell. “You don’t want the baby?” That last bit came out more like a hushed whisper. A question I hadn’t considered up until this point and it wasn’t one I wanted an answer to.

“No, that’s not it.” He shook his head. “I–I just…”

His speech trailed off. The stutter caught me by surprise. It was something that he only did when he was in true despair when he was riddled with nerves.

“What if I mess this up? I mean, look at me. D’you think I’m cut out to be someone’s dad?” He moved his gaze downwards—almost in shame. “I’m not sure that I’ll be good enough for the baby.”

“Good enough?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be a good dad, I don't know how.” His eyes looked at mine, earnest and honest. I appreciated how vulnerable he was able to be with me, it made our relationship that much stronger.

My expression softened. “Oh, Damon.”

I couldn’t understand it—someone like him being terrified of fatherhood.

“You are going to be more than good enough, love.” I smiled, moving my hands to cup his face. My thumbs gently stroked his soft skin. 

“You mean that?” His voice cracked, ever-so slightly

I nodded. “If that’s all that’s bothering you, you’re going to be fine. Great even. The fact that you’re concerned shows that you care.” I continued, “any kid’d be lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you.”

Damon smiled, moving close and locking his lips against mine. 

Finally, I had navigated through the maze that was his feelings. His clouded mind had finally allowed sunlight to break through. 

That conversation had allowed for the domestic bliss that followed as the months passed.

Whether it was waking Damon up in the middle of the night when my cravings were intense, or needing him to do a lot of the things for me, he took it in stride. 

He never complained, Damon. Not from the lack of sleep of the constant foot massages. 

I could be cranky or crying and he’d be right there beside me, his arms opened and ready to pull me in. 

When the moment finally came—the moment we met our little girl, I honestly could tell you what was going through his mind. 

When he took her in his arms and set his eyes on her, it looked like a scene straight out from the movie. That satisfying moment when the hero finally gained that satisfying reward.

He fell in love.

His eyes were moist with unshed tears. 

“Hold her correctly,” I instructed. “You’re not supposed to hold her like that, the midwife told me.”

Damon, who held the little baby with her head dipping slightly low, turned to me. “How do you hold her, then?”

“I don’t know, but her head isn’t supposed to fall back like that.”

Damon adjusted her in his arms, holding her head with his hands. I wasn't sure if the adjustment was correct and I knew he didn’t either.

“She’s breathtaking.” Damon sniffled.

I nodded. 

There was something almost beautiful about the moment. Une tendresse that just couldn’t be explained. 

Im so sorry if it’s soo detailed but still pretty vague ,and also I have a problem in tumblr so if I already sent this yesterday im genuinely sorry for spamming

speaking of can we get some more graham fluff? maybe they’re both in sixth former and reader is even shyer than him and damon makes the confess, that typa beat :)

Based on them getting together from Alan Mcgees book he explained that Meg worked as a PA for Betty Boo in a office close to Creation and All the offices were linked and Meg had seen Noel in the office and gone a bit gooey, Alan had noticed so started to get them to both come in on the same day, and it became like Chinese whispers

There wedding day and night in Vegas so something romantic/ rockstar smutty

Taking baby Anais out for the first time in London and Meg being really proud of Noel for giving fans his time as well and making there day

Course there's no rush for them

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Warning(s): None.

Plot: It's Damon's birthday and Y/N makes him feel special.

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: I'm a little late to the party, but it's a special happy birthday post for Damon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the first sliver of light slipped through the worn-out blue shutters, I was already up.

I did my best to shuffle out of Damon’s grasp. Lifting his hand, which had been draped over my waist in a possessive manner. It was as if holding onto me kept him tied to reality even as he was off in dreamland—like he couldn’t be apart from me.

It was sweet.

Really.

He was the type of lover who’d never keep anything from me, always expressed what was going on in that beautiful mind of his, but it was also the little things that had me weak at the knees. The way his hands would instinctively grasp mine whenever we were out and about; or when his jacket found itself draped over my shoulders if I so much as shivered near him. Small things—and yet, it only made my love for him that much stronger.

I smiled down at his sleeping stature, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.

He deserved this.

I crept into the kitchen, making sure the wooden floors didn’t creak.

I opened the cabinets, bringing out all the ingredients and materials I needed. Placing a pan on the stove, I turned it on. I whisked the ingredients together until the batter was smooth against the whisk, then poured it into the heated pan. I watched as it sizzled and formed small bubbles. One by one, I flipped them until the buttermilk batter was golden.

The process was repeated until I had four to five hot pancakes on a plate.

Placing the plate of pancakes on a silver tray, I grabbed a glass cup, pouring an orange juice three-fourths of the cup.

I picked up the tray, ready to go back into the bedroom and present Damon with breakfast in bed. In my excitement, I forgot one of the most important parts. Syrup.

I grabbed a bottle of maple syrup from the pantry,  pouring webs of syrups all over the pancakes.

Satisfied, I picked up the tray and left for the bedroom.

Damon was still very much sprawled out on the mattress, snoring without a care in the world. I placed the tray on the nightstand, beside Damon’s side of the bed. I gently shook him awake. 

Damon stirred, omitting a low and tired groan. 

“Damon, c’mon, wake up.”

Damon cracked open an eye and groaned, staring right at me. “What’s the fuss for? S’too early.” he muttered.

“Get up.”

“No. Gimme five minutes—no, an hour.” He turned his head away. 

I shoved him, pinching his arm. 

“Oi!” He gasped, “Alright. Alright, I’m getting up.” He sat up, his bare back pressing against the headboard as he rubbed his face. 

His gaze fell onto the food on the nightstand. “Breakfast in bed? What’s the occasion? You poisoning me?”

I gave him a look.

 Damon recognised the look. It was a very unimpressed look, like disappointment. “Oh, uhm—is today an anniversary?”

“No, Damon.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s your birthday, you div.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “Sorry, it must’ve slipped my mind.”

I shook my head. Of course that was the case. When it came to me, there was never any forgetting from him—except our anniversary, apparently. But, remembering anything about himself was always a challenge.

I picked up the tray, placing it on his lap. “Eat up.” I kissed his cheek.

“Thanks, darling.” Damon smiled. 

He ate up quickly, but still held space for the flavor, savoring it, whilse humming some bits of Coffee and TV. When he finished eating, he was surprised to find that there were more surprises that laid ahead. 

“Breakfast was the bare minimum,” I told him. “I’ve got more in store for you.”

We found ourselves at an ice ring. Something that seemed like a good idea a few weeks ago, but clearly I hadn’t thought things through. We made it work—which meant clinging on to each other and the glass walls as skaters zoomed past us. 

“Look at us,” Damon said, his arm interlocked with mine as he felt around the glass wall. “Reckon we’re getting better, eh?”

“Right.” I deadpanned. 

We were about to make a full clockwise rotation, when suddenly a small girl zoomed past us, causing me to fall and pulling Damon down with me. 

Damon burst into laughter, properly cackling. It was infectious, and for no particular reason I was laughing too.

The small girl looked back, shooting us a judgemental look. 

Perhaps adults with the mental age of toddlers just didn’t appeal to her.

After embarrassing ourselves some more, Damon and I stopped at a small bakery. A French one. 

“Open wide.” I instructed, pointing a fork-stabbed pain-au-choc at Damon.

“This your master plan to fatten me up?”

“Depends,” I smirked. “Is it working?” 

Damon rolled his eyes, leaning forward to eat the pastry, but before his lips could touch the fork, I swerved it away. Damon raised a brow.

“Is that how we’re gonna play?” He asked.

“No.” I giggled. “I’ll stop.”

I allowed him to take the food from the fork, wiping the remnants of chocolate that had stained the corner of his upper lip.

When the evening rolled around, we were back at our flat and I had one more thing in store for today. 

Damon settled on the sofa, knackered. “One more thing? You’re spoilin’ me.”

I shrugged, leaning back to pull open a drawer. I grabbed a small black box I’d tucked in there weeks in advance. With a smile, I handed it to Damon. “Go ahead, open it.”

Damon did so, finding a bracelet. It was made of a variety of colours and materials, beads all around—-almost like the necklace he had around his neck.

“I wanted to get you one that matched your necklace. And—” I picked the bracelet, holding it up, showing the two dangling letters.

“Our initials?”

I nodded. “You like it?”

Damon grinned as he slipped the bracelet onto his wrist. “I love it.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“‘Course not,” His smile grew wider, looking at me like he couldn’t quite believe that I was there. “Y’know, you’re pretty amazing.” muttering, almost to himself, but I caught it.

I was taken aback by the comment, I hadn’t done anything extraordinary, and yet—with his head propped up by his hand and a lazy smile on his face, he just casually said that; it was as if there was no thought about it, no question.

He pulled me close, locking his lips onto mine. It moved slowly with fervent and passion. He poured his love into it. With the way he was kissing me, he didn’t need to tell me that he loved me. He was showing it to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): None.

Plot: Meg and Noel hide away to an Italian countryside to get away from the press and everyone else.

Word count: 0.7K

A/N: @ngmyfav, Hope you enjoy this story. I'm sorry your request took so long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had only been a few weeks since Meg discovered that she was pregnant. She wasn’t panicked, not in the slightest.

With Noel, however, it was a different story.

It wasn’t so much worry, just the fear that the media’d get involved someway, somehow. 

His fears were proven valid when one morning—all over The Sun, and everywhere else—headline after headlines were some variation of,

“Oasis’ guitarist expecting—or stepping into the realm of fatherhood”, some bollock like that.

It didn’t take long for the paparazzis to become even worse of an issue. Things came to a head in France—where the band had been working on an album—when Meg had been ambushed by a row of photographers who’d been shoving her around, wanting a photo of the newly pregnant missus. 

Meg hadn’t been fazed by the situation, not even a little bit. Noel, on the other hand had been furious. Those were the list of events that led the two to be cooped up where they were—a rural and agricultural landscape in Italy. 

Even there, Noel’s protectiveness hadn’t waivered.

Their late-night conversations had a vulnerability to them—hidden beneath Noel’s usual quips of banter and sarcasm. Meg had known the bloke long enough to know that it was just a front and she could easily see through it. 

It was another one of those chilly early mornings, Meg had left a sleeping and snoring Noel in bed—opting for a more relaxing way to start her morning, sitting on a wooden rocking chair on the front terrace. One hand held the porcelain cup that contained her tea—ginger tea, while the other absentmindedly ran up and down her swollen belly. 

She stared ahead at the horizon, sighing contentedly.

The sky had been rife with a myriad of warm, yet explosive colours—pink, red, and orange—as the sun slowly elevated itself back to its rightful place after a well needed respite.

Meg’s soft exhales fogged up as her warm breaths made contact with the cold exterior one. Her tranquility was interrupted with the creaking of the door, she turned, taking up the sight.

A tousled haired Noel, scratched at the small hairs on his lower stomach as he yawned.

“What’re ya doin’ out here?” He asked, his voice soft and still very much laced in sleep.

“I was thirsty.” Meg held up the teacup proudly, as if her response was enough to satisfy the Gallagher.

“Yeah, well, you can be thirsty inside.” Noel yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Don’t want ya out here alone.”

Meg smirked, taking a sip of her tea. “What, scared a pap’s gonna jump outta the bushes and nick me?” 

“Don’t even joke about that.” Noel ran a hand down his exhausted face. “Still got one of those knobhead’s camera lens.”

Meg stifled a quiet laugh, settling her cup on the small wood surface that stood beside her chair. “Come sit with me. Sun’s about to rise.”

She pulled him close by tugging at his pants. Noel rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to argue with his pregnant missus. 

“Just for a bit, then that’s it,” he insisted.

Noel took a seat beside her on the floor—beside her chair, resting his head on her lap. Meg’s fingers combed through Noel’s hair. 

It was a gesture he’d passed off as daft but he never really tried to get away from Meg’s grip when she did so, and she swore she could hear his contented sighs. 

“What’d you reckon we’ll call the little one in there?” Noel mumbled, nodding weakly towards her belly. 

“I was thinking…Thomas for a boy; and maybe Alice for a girl.”

“Thomas?” Noel repeated, leaning back to make eye contact with Meg. He looked up at her like the name had personally offended him. “No. No way, that’s daft.”

Meg looked down at him. “Alright Mr. God himself. What were you thinking of name it?”

Noel was silenced for a few seconds. “Don’t know yet, but we are not naming our kid Thomas.”

Meg shook her head, feeling Noel’s own head falling back down on her lap. She continued the up and down motion in his hair. 

The couple rested in a moment of silence where they just enjoyed each others’ present and touch. Noel wasn’t usually the affectionate king, but with her, she got him feeling softer than he’d ever been. 

The stillness of the small atmosphere lasted only a few minutes before Noel was getting up. 

“Alright. Let’s go back inside.”

“Inside?” Meg raised a brow. “But you just got here, you barely lasted ten minutes.”

“Yeah, well, s’cold.” Noel muttered, shrugging as he stood up, pulling her up. 

“Oh, you poor baby.” She teased, allowing him to pull her inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): (Liam Gallagher smut), swearing.

Plot: After moving into their new flat, Liam has an idea of how to make the place feel more like theirs.

Word count: 1.6K

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liam grunted as he dropped the last few of my boxed belongings on the wooden floor, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back with a wince. 

“Bloody hell, what’s in this? Fuckin’ bricks?” He asked in disbelief, running a hand through his hair, not believing that something could be that heavy.

“The essentials,” I shrugged. “Shoes.”

“Shoes?” His brows shot up. “Feels like you packed a whole building.”

“Aw,” I cooed, “you poor baby, you’ll live.”

“Yer lucky I like ya, else I wouldn’t have done that.” 

Sure.

I shook my head, laughing as Liam went on about some “bloody back pains.”

Turning my attention away from him, I took in the flat. It was bare, devoid of any decorative furniture, save from the few plants I’d bought on a whim a few days ago to “spruce up” the new place. Liam had thought they were daft, but didn’t do anything to get rid of them like he’d do for something he really disliked.

I glanced up at the large window that faced the large sofa adjacent to its smaller twin.

Taking a few small strides, I reached it, pushing the white curtains aside and allowing the bright sunlight in.

The light was bounced off the spotless glass, not a smudge in sight. 

Stainless. Absolute perfection.

That had caught me off guard. I was surprised, with how many times Liam had popped by when we were in the process of moving, I expected some stain.

There were none.

I stared blankly ahead. The view was to die for, it helped that it was pretty high up, tilted at an angle that gave anyone below a pretty good idea of whatever was occurring inside–if the curtains were wide open.

I felt a strong pair of arms engulf my waist, a familiar weight settling against my shoulder. 

I stood there for a moment, soaking this moment in. It was surreal—the kind of thing you dreamed about, but never really believe you’d achieve. This place was ours.

“Beautiful, innit?” Liam’s breath fell against my neck, interrupting the silence.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Can’t believe it’s ours.”

“Better believe it, babe” His lips brushed my shoulder, lazy-like. “Got an idea of how we can make this place feel more like home though.”

I turned my head, facing him. “Oh yeah, rockstar?”

 The nickname made his lip curve into smirk. He didn’t answer, his lips met mine.

 They molded and moved together perfectly. There, Liam used a slow pace that I appreciated from him. 

He was brash, loud, and abrasive to the outside world–mainly because it was how the media framed him to be like. 

But when you really got past all the rough and troublesome thorns and reached his heart, he was the dead softest thing you’d ever seen. 

I moved my body in kind, turning to face him fully. My hands cupped his soft cheeks, my thumb rubbing slow circles on his soft skin.

His hands adjusted their place on my waist, his fingers digging into my skin. It wasn’t done in a way that was meant to hurt me, but to stake his claim. 

His possessiveness was present and I was feeling my drive accelerating rapidly. 

I moved closer, not allowing there to be even an inch of space separating us—I needed him closer. Everything truly felt like it depended upon how near he stood to me.

His tongue slipped past my mouth’s barrier and into my mouth, my startled gasp soon morphed into a deep nasal exhale.

“Yeah? That’s it, babe. Knew you’d love it.” His voice was low, the teasing wasn’t missed in the tone—pure fucking arrogance. A cheeky chuckle escaped his lips, giving me a few seconds to catch my breath.

I didn’t let him keep talking, highly intoxicated on intimacy and desperate to feel his lips on mine. My lips crashed back against his. Liam’s fingers rubbed small circles on the small sliver of exposed skin my marginally ridden shirt had exposed.

He slowly pushed me back against the window, its cool surface contrasting my warm body. His lips trailed down, attacking my throat with feather-like kisses.

I gasped, soft and airy gasps.

“Fuck. Tastes so good.” Liam muttered against my skin. 

The voice—rough, low—had me trembling. His finger traced the outline of my clothed back, his ring cooler than the window surface. 

Liam, without so much as a warning, turned me back around. The quickness of which he did it, startled me, causing me to hold on to the window for balance. 

The perfectly polished window? Now tainted by our filth and a witness to our sin. 

Liam’s fingers worked to undo the button of my shorts, while his lips worked on my collarbones. Once he had, he wasted no time diving in. 

A hand slid inside my shorts, between my legs. My legs shook slightly as Liam ran his hands up and down teasingly.

The bastard’s smug expression was clear in the reflection of the pane. Watching me come underdone in his arms was clearly something he’d had dreams about. 

A soft, pleading whine of his name escaped my lips. 

“Holy…fuck,” I moaned, my eyes fluttering shut. 

Liam’s other hand, which had been idly resting on my waist, finally found purpose. Slowly, it inched upwards until it found my breast-filled silk bra. Liam cupped a tit, rubbing thumb over the already erected nipple, evidence of my arousal, earning a sharp inhale for me. 

The way we were going, there was no way we were going to stop. I knew where this led—the same thing it always led to. Paradise. But now I had a bigger concern. It stemmed from the public show we were giving to anyone who were to make the mistake of looking up for even a sliver of a second. 

When he slipped his finger inside me, all semblance of logical and critical thinking flew out the window. My thoughts died in my throat. Try as I may have to get a word out, I couldn’t utter a thing.

“You tryna say summat, love?” Liam mocked, amusement laced in his voice.

I tried again, and still…

“Shut…” I weakly gasped, but that sentence too was killed before it had a chance at life when Liam inserted another finger. 

My legs clenched unavailingly, trying to escape the stimulation that was being given—desperate for some sort of relief, but my attempts were futile as Liam’s grip kept me in place, at his complete mercy.

I tried to speak, but only broken trains of breaths had been birthed as Liam’s fingers thrusted in and out of my folds, the accumulating moisture in his fingers of my arousal made slick noises, the wet sounds echoed about in the room along with the noises I’d tried restraining by biting my lower lip.

“So nice and wet for me, eh?”

 I bit down on my lower lip harder to block a particularly loud moan. Liam wasn’t having it. He drove in harder, kissing down at one of the many love bites he had left on my skin. 

Pressure was building up, like the string of an arrow being wound back, getting ready for attack. I felt myself tightening around Liam’s fingers. When it finally got to be too much, a final utter of a swear was uttered as I came onto Liam’s hands.

My head tipped back as I allowed the pleasure to consume me, only bringing it back up when Liam had helped me ride out my orgasmic pleasure. 

Liam removed his fingers when he saw that I had softened beneath him like putty. He brought his fingers to his lips—his blue eyes maintaining contact with my eyes as he licked them clean.

I’d truly never seen a more erotic sight, it was turning me on even more.

I hadn’t even caught my breath when Liam’s belt was unbuckled and his pants fell to the floor. He gently tugged my shorts down, then my panties followed, reaching my socked ankles. 

Liam bent me down forward at a certain degree–just enough. The tip of his cock teased my entrance, a slow glide that made me whimper in frustration.

Even now, as we were in the heat of this passionate moment, ready to become one, he was still being a pain in the arse. 

“Liam,” I whined. “Stop being a knobhead.”

“Sorry, love. You’re going to have to beg.”

“Liam, I swear, I’m gonna–” my threat was cut off, when Liam pushed himself inside me. A loud moan erupted from my mouth. The air from my lungs were completely knocked out. 

“Fuck,” Liam groaned, pleasure consuming him. 

A row of filthy phrases were expelled from his mouth as he fucked me through and through, harder and faster. There was no time to settle into the pace, not slow and gentle build up. Just complete desperation and need. He continually struck that spot that kept my eyes rolling back. Tears shed from the corner of my lashes, making contact with my mascara and smearing it down my eyes. 

Our breathing had grown rapid, my heart felt like it was running a marathon.

“Tell me how it feels…” Liam moaned.

“So—umph—so good, Liam.” I’d barely managed between gasping breaths

Liam’s pace grew faster and frantic as he chased that place that was bound to bring us joy.

When he reached it, euphoria ruptured through my body, I clenched around Liam’s member and his throaty groan told me that he had reached it too. Liam thrusted some more, allowing me to ride out the climax with him.

He groaned, throwing his head backwards as he spilled his release inside me.

Our frantic breaths lost their momentum and as I finally caught my breath, I noticed something. 

Someone. 

Mouth agape, staring up at our window.

Well…

I’ll try to send a request if I can think about something,I love your writings btw !!!!

For sure. It's up now I wanted to post it yesterday, but YK, shit happens

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): Swearing.

Plot: Y/N is hired as Blur's photographer for their tour and catches the eye of the lead singer.

Word count: 1.8K

A/N: Hope the person that requested this enjoys it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The passion for photography had returned sooner than I’d anticipated.

One second, I was wallowing away in my bedroom after the funeral, staring at the last gift my father had given–his very own camera, a relic that acted as the glue to our relationship through common interest had simply brought me painful feelings and unwanted nostalgia.

Then one afternoon, it was picked up. Perhaps it was curiosity or just boredom, but before I knew it, I was taking small polaroids of the springtime butterflies at a park just outside my flat.

When I had touched it, a wave of feelings came rushing–the flash and the fantasy, it was all coming back to me–those weren’t the only feelings I felt, but the good ones overpowered the ‘bad ones’. 

Slowly, my relationship with photography had grown back and stronger than before. When I was offered a job to photograph a band–Blur, I think that was their name–I couldn’t pass it up. 

I’d heard of them briefly in passing–small snippets of Parklife, Girls & Boys, and whatnot, other than that, they were strangers.

I knew myself well enough to know that I didn’t fair well around strangers, but this was my job.

What was talking to a few strangers if I was getting paid for it?

Absolutely nothing was what it was.

I stood outside a run-down building. The brick walls were covered in green ivy that was slowly inching throughout the entire perimeter, green’s sticking out through the cracks of the bricks with chipped cement. 

Nature was slowly reclaiming what was hers. It was a slow process, but it was evident.

I pulled out the small camera I had tucked away in my small knitted bag. I brought the small technology to my face, snapping a wide shot.

A picture like that at face value could have easily been passed off as nothing too special, but it easily entailed millions of words–not necessarily forming a cohesive story, but enough to put the pieces together and allow you to come up with various interpretations. It was poetic.

I sighed softly. As much as I would have wanted to stay there and lament over the meaning of time, I had a job to do.

I stepped inside the building, immediately enveloped in an atmosphere of warmth. The interior looked like the exterior’s anthesis.

It was gorgeous and well adorned.

The saying, Don’t Judge A Book By A Cover couldn’t have been more applicable in this moment. 

I slowly paced around, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

“You lost?” A voice rang out. 

I turned, met with the sight of a shaggy-haired, dirty blond pretty boy. 

‘Pretty boy’, not as an insult, merely stating facts.

The lad was gorgeous, paired with a set of ocean eyes that most attractive people were blessed with.

“Excuse me?” I said, raising a brow.

The man chuckled, a small raspy sound that made it known that whatever was going on was already amusing him. “Sorry, you just look lost.”

I shook my head. “I’m meant to be meeting with a band–uh, Blur.”

The gentleman’s face fell into a charming smile, one that emphasized his best facial features.

My goodness, the man could have easily passed as a model. Maybe he was.

“Oh, Are you the photographer?”

I nodded, stating my name. “And you are?”

“Damon Albarn.” He extended his hand towards my direction. 

I shook his hand. 

“C’mon, I’ll show you where to go.” Damon said, his hand losing its grip on mine, nudging his head towards the direction of a corridor.

He didn’t wait for a response before walking off, I quickly trailed behind him. He moved quickly, knowing every turn and room in the place. There wasn’t an ounce of shyness or anything of the sort between us–the aura simply lacked it.

I was led to a small room, equipment scattered about like the people occupying the room. Puffs of smoke shot up in the air before it dispersed. From the few equipment I could recognise like mixing boards and microphones–also the large glass window dividing the room–it was obvious this was a recording room.

Damon quickly gathered the room’s attention, introducing me to Blur and vice versa, quickly and casually adding that he was the lead singer.

I was sat in a small chair in the middle of the room, getting to know everyone in the room. When the tour manager had arrived, procedures were gone over talks of pay and other factors we’d managed to correspond over.

I’d been allowed to travel with the band. The only responsibility I really had was taking great photos, which I was very well certain I was going to do.

Throughout the first few days of the tour, everything went smoothly. The band played and I took photos. I couldn’t lie, they weren’t arse. I even found myself moving along to some of the music. After the gigs, Damon even invited me to the pub with the lads.

He was great. He was really great. 

Being around him had slowly began increasing the amount of butterflies in my stomach whenever he was around.

It wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing. It was one of gradual development, slowly creeping in like a song stuck in my head. He was a charmer to the core–even when he didn’t want to be. 

When he smiled at me, placed his arms on or around my shoulders, I knew I was a goner.

There were no issues–really there weren’t. At least that’s what I was telling myself.

My ‘struggle’ came with the photos. They were there and they were by no means terrible, but…

Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t quite capture the band in the way that I’d wanted to. The problem wasn’t with the band per say, but with my inability to capture Damon the way I captured the other members.

I scrolled through the camera’s gallery, disappointment flashed across my figure. It was well past midnight and I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep unless I got this done and dealt with. 

So, I did the only logical thing I knew I could do.

I stood in front of Damon’s hotel door, knocking lightly. 

A disheveled and very visibly tired Damon opened the door, wiping at his eyelids and blinking rapidly to adjust to the corridor lights. 

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, his voice no louder than a mutter, “It’s two in the bloody morning. You better be on fire, or I’m going back to bed.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I spoke quickly, nervously toying with my fingers. “I just–I need you for something. It’ll be quick.”

Damon just stared at me, there was an expression on his face I couldn’t decipher. With a sigh, he pushed his door open wider, revealing a sleeping Graham on one of the two beds in the room. “D’you wanna come in or…”

I shook my head. “Don’t wanna wake Graham, we can go to my room.”

Damon let out a tired sigh, but followed me anyway scratching the back of his neck. 

“This is spacious.” Damon stated, sarcasm laced in his tone as he looked around at the smaller room I was meant to enhabit. 

“It’s a room for one, not exactly something you’d expect to look like a penthouse.”

Damon chuckled at the unexpected bite back, plopping down on my bed. “Alright, what do you need?”

I turned on the small lights I had displayed, pointing them straight at Damon. He winced at the abrupt startle.

“Sorry.” I picked up my camera, adjusting the lenses’ focus. “I need you to pose.”

“Pose?” Damon’s brows knitted together. 

“I’ve been having an issue with the photos, mainly with you.”

“What?” Damon blinked.

“They’re good, but they’re not great.” I explained. “You’re the common factor in that predicament.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Damon. Would you like me to repeat what I’ve just said again?”

“No, sorry.”

“It’s not intentional. I just…I’m not capturing you as well as the others. So I need to take a few more shots of you.”

“That’s why you called me here?”

“Sorry,” I winced. “I couldn’t sleep unless I at least cracked down on what I’m doing wrong. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nah, If I did, I would have gone back. D’you know how early it is?” Damon moved around on the bed, striking different ridiculous poses. “Does this work?”

I wanted to give him a look, but an involuntary giggle escaped my lips. “C’mon, take this seriously.”

“Right. Right, sorry.”

My camera was brought up to my face. 

Snap.

A few more shots later and still…I wasn’t satisfied. 

I scrolled through the gallery.

I had no idea why the fuck my brain acted up like this sometimes. It was either perfect, or it would never see the light of day. 

“Still nothin’ good?” Damon tilted his head.

I shook my head, grunting in frustration.

Damon chuckled, “Quite the perfectionist, are you?”

You have no idea.

“Comes with the job.” I responded without looking up at him.

“How’d you come about becoming a photographer anyway?” 

The question caught me off guard. 

“My dad was a photographer. Followed in his footsteps.”

Damon nodded, absorbing the information. “Do you like it?”

The answer was very clear in my head. Pictures told a million words and millions of stories. With pictures, there didn’t need to be much said, it was a simple and easy form of connection.

Saying it out loud, however, there was only a simple, “Yes.” stated. 

“It’s a bit like music for me.”

“Is it?” I turned to him, finally facing him. 

Damon’s hands were stretched out behind him, holding him up as he nodded. “With music, everything clicks in a way that you just can’t put into words. You don’t have to say it, you just…get it.”

I did.

“You really like music, uh?”

Damon smiled fondly. 

That was it. 

“Don’t move.” I instructed, moving my camera up. 

I snapped the shot. 

I’d finally caught it, captured him. It was perfect.

I finally understood him, through the photo, I could understand him.

I sat on the bed beside him, showing him the photo. 

“Does that make the cut?” He asked.

I nodded, smiling. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“It was nothing.”

My heart fluttered, as it had been doing so often when I was around the band, around Damon. The slow, but increasing feelings had finally surfaced. With minor hesitation and before I could overthink it, I left a soft peck on his cheek. 

“Thank you, really.”

Damon froze, his blue eyes locked onto my own eyes, my stomach flipped–did I misunderstand.

A slow and knowing smile crept onto Damon’s face. His hand reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear with his soft yet calloused fingers. 

“You’re welcome.” He murmured, his voice a lot less sleepy and more just soft and tender.

He leaned in, his lips hoving over mine just enough to allow the anticipation to build before I finally made contact. His lips were warm against mine, moving along with it at a nice and slow pace. It felt like we had all the time in the world despite both being in very need of sleep.