zia

The door to the stingy little hotel room clicked shut behind you and Liam.

You kicked your shoes off the second the latch clicked. Jacket gone. Liam followed suit, clumsily throwing his off.

He didn’t wait. His hands were already sliding up your waist, thumbs hooking just under the hem of the tank top he’d been staring at all night, practically drooling at the sight of your breasts straining against the fabric. The cool night air made your nipples press visibly through the thin material, making it even harder to resist. Close to stopping in some alley and just take you there on your walk home.

He shoved you back against the wooden door, and the kiss that crashed into you was a complete mess - hot, sloppy, and desperate.

Stubble scraped at your skin, his tongue claimed yours, and you could still taste the faint, bitter tang of beer and weed clinging to his mouth.

Liam’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide from the adrenaline, the beer, and the weed they’d passed around earlier - everything that had left him buzzing and half-gone.

Not that you were any better.

He shot a quick glance towards the other side of the room when the two of you caught your breath.

Noel was passed out, one arm flung over his head, snoring like a chainsaw.

He’d left right after the gig, grumbling about being tired and skipping the partying with the rest of you.

Good enough.

Liam grinned. Smug. Cocky. That signature grin of his that always made your stomach flip and your brain short-circuit.

He pulled you onto the mattress. The old wooden frame creaked under your combined weight.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, hands rough and calloused as they dragged up your bare sides and wandered beneath your top.

The stubble on his jaw scraped deliciously along your throat while he mouthed his way down, sucking a fresh mark just below your ear - not bothering about the complaints you’d inevitably make in the morning.

A soft shift came from the other side of the room.

Liam froze for half a second, then laughed under his breath, low and filthy.

“Shh, love,” he whispered, but there was no real heat in it. Just that lazy, half-drunk cockiness he got when he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t wanna wake the old man, yeah?”

You tugged at his hair, amused.

“Gross. Don’t mention your brother right now.”

Liam’s grin widened, eyes lidded, mumbling the following:

“Just sayin', love. Don’t want to traumatise r'kid...again."

Then his mouth moved back onto yours, devouring it. One hand tangled in your soft hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you even deeper, tongues clashing. The other slid beneath the hem of your skirt, squeezing the soft skin of your thigh like he owned it.

Noel mumbled something incoherent from the other bed - something that might’ve been “fuckin' noisy” if you cared - followed by the rustling of sheets.

Liam didn’t even flinch.

He shoved your tank top up, baring your chest, and kissed his way down your collarbone, shoulder, and the swell of your breasts. He groaned softly against your skin, the sound almost swallowed by it.

“Need you,” you breathed.

Liam’s whole body tensed. His eyes snapped to yours, dark and reverent.

“Yeah?”

He didn’t wait.

His shirt came off in one frantic motion, the fabric dropping to the floor, and suddenly there was nothing between you but skin and heat. His chest was warm, still damp with sweat, with soft tufts of hair scattered across it and that faint scar from the last time he’d fallen down the stairs while drunk and trying to impress you.

You admired him for a moment, letting your fingers trail from his chest and down to his happy trail, savouring every inch until they reached his belt and made quick work of it.

"Love," he rasped against your neck, voice wrecked.

You stroked him once, then twice. Heavy in your hand, hot, hard - perfect. Then you yanked his jeans and boxers down in one smooth tug, just enough to free him.

“Fuck.”

He reached for the waistband of your own black lacy knickers - his favourite - and pulled them down your legs in one motion.

Then without a second thought he buried his face between your thighs for exactly five seconds - breathing hot, tongue dragging slow and filthily - before you grabbed his hair and yanked him back up. His mouth fell open, a tiny hiss escaping as you tugged on his strands.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, desperate. “Need you.”

The look in his eyes was pure sin.

He obeyed instantly, kicking the rest of his clothes properly off and lining himself up. The first push was slow, careful, letting you adjust - then deeper, making both of you groan.

“So good,” you moaned, loud enough the whole hotel could probably hear. The chipped, paper-thin walls leave little to the imagination about what’s going on.

Liam’s control snapped. He kissed you hard to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The bed was already creaking like it might give out and take the entire hotel with it. His rhythm turned frantic - deep, hard thrusts that made your thighs shake and the frame scream in protest.

Noel shifted again.

Liam broke the kiss just long enough to grin against your throat.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you gasped, legs locking around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. “Keep going.”

He did.

Liam’s face was buried in your shoulder, one hand groping your chest, fingers rolling your nipple until you cried out. The other slid between your legs, rubbing tight, perfect circles over your clit.

Your head turned without thinking, making room for Liam’s assault on your neck, when suddenly another pair of familiar blue eyes locked with yours.

Across the room, propped on one elbow, was Noel. Moonlight cut across his bare chest - slightly damp with the heat in the room. His eyes were open, although lidded in sleepiness. Watching.

You couldn’t look away.

Neither could he.

He's unmoving, bushy eyebrows furrowed - a signature frown on his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was (rightfully) angry at us interrupting his sleep.

Well, part of him probably is.

Yet the evident bulge under the cheap sheets gave him away. His hips gave one tiny, involuntary twitch, followed by his hand quickly moving under it, pushing against the bulge - attempting to hide his arousal.

You moaned again - head thrown back, louder this time - and the sound of it hit Liam like a truck. His rhythm stuttered. He came with a deep, broken groan, spilling inside you, hips stuttering through every pulse. He stayed there a second longer, kissing your shoulder, your neck, and your jaw - soft, messy, and loving.

“Love you,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice wrecked and sleepy. “Love you, love you, love you-"

You smiled, turned back to face Liam now and pressed one last kiss to his mouth, then tugged the blanket higher and curled into his chest.

Behind you, the bathroom door slammed shut, not even having noticed Noel getting up.

The shower started fast, angry, and ice-cold. Obvious to just what he's doing.

Liam was already drifting, arm heavy around your waist, snoring softly into your hair.

Eventually Noel stepped out, hair damp and messy, a clear scowl still lingering on his face. He dropped onto his bed face-down, a loud, frustrated sigh escaping him. After a moment, he turned his head towards Liam’s side of the room, one blue eye peeking over the pillow.

Watching once more.

You shifted in Liam’s arms, settling so you were spooned against him, his arm automatically tightening around your waist.

Your eyes met Noel’s once more.

You let the blanket slip just enough to bare your shoulder and eventually your chest - the blanket bunching up right where Liam’s arms rested.

Noel’s breath caught.

You smiled, softly, in faux innocence.

“Goodnight, Noely,” you whispered, your voice sweet as honey.

Time passed.

Despite Noel worrying enough for everyone and Liam not worrying at all, the band finished the new album and released it in late 1995.

(What’s the Story) Morning Glory?

The title sounded ridiculous the first few times you heard it. Then it became the title of the biggest thing any of you had ever been a part of.

The first album hadn’t been a fluke.

You guys were good.

No, scratch that.

You guys were biblical. Liam’s words - yet you can’t help but agree.

Every single song on the record seemed to explode. The singles were everywhere: radios, pubs, taxis, telly - what have you.

Winning Best Newcomer at the BRITs after the first record had been exciting.

This was different.

This was madness.

Every magazine wanted interviews. Every photographer wanted pictures. Every tabloid wanted gossip. You couldn’t walk down a street without someone recognising you.

For a while, it felt incredible.

You were living the dream. Everything you’d ever hoped for and more.

Until you remembered Noel Gallagher existed.

Because Noel Gallagher, as it turned out, was a complete fucking idiot.

It all started the night you’d slept together. He’d become almost suspiciously relaxed after. That same night he’d sat in the studio chain-smoking and drinking beer while scribbling lyrics for what would become “Wonderwall”.

At some point he had looked up, clearly tipsy, grinning like a lunatic.

“Your pussy’s fucking magic.”

You had laughed so hard you nearly choked on your own beer. At the time you’d told yourself not to read into it. He was stressed and now he wasn’t - that was all that mattered.

But the problem was you’d always liked Noel.

And after what had happened between you, a small part of you had wished something between you would change. Anything.

Instead, nothing changed at all - not for better or worse.

No awkwardness. No conversation. No acknowledgement.

Just Noel carrying on exactly as before.

So a week passed. Then a month. Then several.

He kept writing songs. Kept going out. Kept chatting to you like nothing had happened. Acting like he hadn’t been balls-deep in you before, like he hadn’t watched you come undone. Still patting your head when you did well after a recording or gig, posing with you affectionately with no problem, all smiles.

He even had the nerve to describe you “like a little sister” in an interview when someone questioned your closeness.

Which, frankly, made you want to gag.

You wouldn’t have minded that descriptor previously, despite your puppy crush on him -convinced you two would ever go past being “just friends”. Now it just made you want to quit the band and disappear forever.

He still acted like your same old Noel.

And you would’ve honestly preferred awkward silence.

You started wondering if you’d imagined everything.

Maybe you weren’t built for casual sex.

Maybe there’d never been anything there in the first place.

Maybe you’d been the only idiot involved.

So you carried on.

Parties.

Drinks.

Drugs.

Studio.

Repeat.

One of those many nights out you complained drunkily to Liam about his big brother, still able to consider that man your best friend at least, a month or so after the new album’s release.

All he offered you for a reply was, just as drunk:

“That’s rock ’n’ roll, love.”

You just nodded along, accepting his assessment. Pretending like there wasn’t a storm brewing inside you.

So needless to say, it was only a matter of time until you snapped.

Your breaking point came at the BRIT Awards afterparty - or more accurately, the morning after.

In early 1996, Oasis took home three awards. The victory tasted even sweeter because all of them snubbed from Blur.

The lads were ecstatic. For a little while, so were you. Looking around the room, watching everyone celebrate, it was impossible not to feel proud of how far you’d all come.

So why did you feel miserable?

You nursed the same drink for most of the evening, perched on a barstool while the party swirled around you.

People stopped by now and then. You exchanged a few words, smiled when expected, and laughed when necessary. But as the night wore on, everyone worth talking to became too drunk to hold a conversation. Or they were busy talking to Noel. Or Liam. Or anyone whose name carried more weight than yours.

Not that you were bitter.

Definitely not in a mood because the last time you’d seen Noel he’d been kissing a blonde bombshell in some corner.

Not at all.

Liam had vanished somewhere half an hour ago aswell, probably in search of a bathroom to take whatever thing was in the baggy you saw tucked away in the pocket of his jacket.

The rest of the band had also long disappeared into the sea of people, effectively leaving you by yourself.

Not that you minded.

You took another sip.

Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. You were happy. You were.

Someone dropped onto the stool beside you.

Without looking, he ordered a beer and leaned forward to catch the bartender’s attention, his warm hand resting on your bare back for balance.

You glanced sideways.

Then snorted.

Of course.

Damon Albarn.

The rivalry between Oasis and Blur had never interested you much - you’d chalked it up to some dick-measuring contest in this testosterone-driven space you were in.

Most of the time it felt like a very public competition to see who could be the bigger pain in the arse and, in your humble opinion, Oasis also won in that aspect.

Still, Damon, or Graham for that matter, have always been perfectly pleasant the handful of times you’d spoken.

“You’re trying to start something, huh?” you asked with a grin, tilting your head amused. “Trying to piss of Liam, don't ya?”

Damon laughed.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He accepted his beer from the bartender before turning toward you.

“Just wanted to enjoy the company of a beautiful triple-winning lady. Congrats, by the way.”

“Cheers.”

His eyes flicked over the room.

“Though I am surprised to find you on your own.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not-”

“Where’s Noel?”

The question landed harder than it should have.

You took a drink.

You gave him a deadpan look, shrugging nonchalantly, yet unable to not briefly glance at where you've last seen Noel.

Damon followed your gaze across the room. Unfortunately, it led directly to Noel - still attached to the same blonde.

Damon let out a quiet hum, putting a cigarette into his mouth and holding the pack out to you, almost in consolation.

“Right.”

You quickly accepted the cigarette he offered and started digging through your bag for a lighter. Before you could find one, Damon produced his own.

“You know,” he said as he lit your cigarette, “I always thought Gallagher would be more territorial.”

You nearly choked on the smoke.

Maybe Liam was right after all - Damon does resemble a rat.

“What’s that supposed to mean, then?”

He grinnded, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“It means everyone can see he fancies you.”

You stared at him. Then barked out a laugh.

“Does he know that?”

Before either of you could say anything else, a familiar voice erupted from somewhere across the room.

“OI! OFF ME BEST GIRL!”

You closed your eyes.

Both you and Damon turned your attention to Liam, who was now stumbling toward you, very clearly hammered. He gave the two of you a glare as he slouched himself into your side, arm throwing around your shoulder. Damon let his hand drop from your back, an amused huff coming from the older man.

“Jesus Christ,” Damon let out with an incredulous snort at the state of Liam.

“Excuse me,” you said deadpan, turning to Liam and helping him stand as he attempted to take a step forward, squaring up. “Oh fucking hell,” you all but grumbled, used to his antics.

Liam let out a drunken groan, attempting to lean against you for balance while mumbling something nonsensical. He looked down at you with lidded eyes before his head fell against your shoulder - clearly trying to keep it together.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fineee.” he mumbled, though his current state told a completely different story.

“Hm,” you hummed sarcastically, hand moving to stroke his sweaty hair slightly.

“Come on then. Let’s get you home, love,” you said, stubbing out your cigarette and shooting Damon a quick smile, saying your goodbyes as Liam whined.

You quickly tracked down Bonehead, who was chatting up some bird and casually sipping his beer, clearly not having partaken in whatever was now cursing through Liam’s system.

He quickly got the hint, helping you drag Liam out.

A few minutes later, Liam - obviously having to attempt to pick a fight with the paparazzi outside the venue - you successfully got him into a taxi after all.

Bonehead looked back and forth between the venue and you two, you sighing and giving him the go just to get back in.

“I’m tired anyway. You guys have fun.”

Bonehead paused for just a second, clearly hesitant to leave you. His eyes flickered back between you and the party going on inside.

“You sure?” he asked, a frown on his tipsy features.

“Bonehead. If Liam stays any longer, he’s going to end up in jail. Or dead. And he wouldn’t be able to get home by himself, now would he?” You snorted slightly.

“Tell Noel and the others we’re off. Cheers.”

The drive home was a blur, making you realise just how tired you were. Also making you realise that maybe you drank more throughout the night than you realised, all but passed out the second your head hit the pillow.

Atleast you could sleep through Liam's horrendous snoring from the guest room for once, finally having some peace.

But peace doesn't last forever.

The next morning arrived far too soon.

Woken up by someone hammering on your front door for the past two minutes, effectively pissing you off.

Liam groaned from the guest room.

“Christ. Make it stop.”

Another knock. Then another.

You dragged yourself out of bed after all, still half-asleep and dressed in nothing more than an old tank top and shorts. You felt like shit, your head pounding from last nights alcohol and Liam's nonsense.

The knocking continued.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, unlocking the door.

Noel stood on the other side, fist raised as if he were about to knock again.

He looked irritated. Which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual.

“Took your time,” he said, quickly dropping his raised hand.

You blinked at him.

“Noel?”

Without answering, he brushed past you and marched into the flat.

“Good morning to you too.”

He tossed a magazine onto the coffee table.

You looked down. There you were on the cover. You and Damon at the bar. His arm around your back. You were laughing. A ridiculous headline stretched across the page.

OASIS WON THE BRITS...BUT DAMON ALBARN WON THE NIGHT.

You stared at it for a moment.

“Thought paps weren’t allowed at the afters.”

Then shrugged, leaning back against the couch.

“Bit dramatic, innit?”

Noel folded his arms.

“That’s your takeaway?”

“What exactly am I supposed to be upset about?”

“The picture.”

“It’s a picture.”

“The point is someone took it. Probably to stir shite up, fucking vultures. I already called them and-”

You looked at him, deadpan.

You just hope he didn’t get the same poor assistant fired with his complaints.

“Noel.”

“What?”

“I genuinely do not care.”

His jaw tightened.

Clearly, that wasn’t the response he’d been hoping for.

You dropped the magazine back onto the table.

“Besides, there are worse things they could’ve photographed.”

Noel scoffed.

You nodded toward the guest room.

“For example, your brother.”

You snorted slightly, pointing at another picture in the corner of the cover - one in which Liam is currently attempting to fight the paparazzi while you and Bonehead drag him away.

From somewhere down the hall came a muffled groan, almost like he could feel we were talking about him.

Noel ignored it.

His attention remained fixed on you.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

For a second he didn’t answer.

You watched him search for words - an unusual sight.

Finally, he replied:

“You’re wrapped around Damon for everyone in Britain to see.”

You stared. Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Noel, are you hearing yourself?”

“I’m serious.”

“Clearly.”

His expression darkened.

You suddenly realised he wasn’t angry about the magazine. Not really. The magazine was just the excuse. The thing underneath it was something else entirely.

And somehow that annoyed you even more.

“You’re wearing practically nothing, in the arms of another man, and I’m supposed to be okay with that?” he asked, his arms still crossed over his chest defensively.

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say whatever that was.”

Noel took a step forward toward you, bushy brows still furrowed in his signature scowl.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Are you going to try and pretend that my words just flew over your pretty little head?”

“Well, you are very good at pretending something didn’t happen, no?” you said a little bitterly, irritation clear, obviously referring to the hookup.

And maybe the couple of shared drunken kisses over the months.

Noel paused at your words, his anger faltering at the way you said that. His dark eyebrows sprang up.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked defensively, though there’s a twinge of guilt in his eyes now.

“You heard me," you say sarcastically, repeating his earlier words.

“Yeah, and I’m asking you what you meant by it,” he said with an annoyed tone, taking another step closer to you.

“You spend months acting like nothing happened between us.”

His face immediately changed. Only slightly. But enough.

“There it is.”

“Oh, don’t.”

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to show up at my door acting like I personally wronged you because I spoke to another man. Especially when you spent the whole night snogging some random girl.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Spoke to another man?”

“That’s what happened.”

“He had his arm around you.”

“So did your ma when I visited for Christmas.”

He started for a moment, jaw clenched.

“You know that’s different.”

“Is it? I have as much romantic interest in Damon as in your mum.”

The silence stretched.

Neither of you was willing to back down, so you decided to keep going.

“Just- fuck- Just what’s your fucking deal, Noel? We fuck and you act like it never happened. Then you go and say I’m like a little sister like a month after in an interview. You know how fucking weird that is?” you all but ramble, your grievances spilling out of you.

He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly, just listening as rant.

He knew this conversation was coming eventually - he just didn’t expect it here and now.

He’s silent for another beat as he continues to look down at you. Clearly contemplating something.

“You think I don’t know it’s weird?” he asks, his voice lower now.

“Well, you’re the one making it weird.”

“...I know.”

“We slept together.”

“I know.”

“You kissed me.”

“I know.”

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

Then you asked the question you’d been carrying around for months - the one you were tired of avoiding.

“Do you like me?”

Noel froze.

The room suddenly felt very small.

“What?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

No answer came.

And somehow that hurt more than anything else.

You nodded once.

“Right.”

You turned away.

“No, wait.”

“Take Liam and go home, Noel.”

He stepped forward.

You stepped back.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked with frustration.

Months of confusion, jealousy, hope, embarrassment finally spilling over.

“I’m tired.”

Noel stood there for a second. Then another.

Eventually he looked toward the guest room and let out a long, defeated sigh.

The argument wasn’t over. Not even close.

But neither of you knew how to finish it.

So he collected Liam and left.

The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls.

You waited until the sound of the lift disappeared.

Then dropped back onto the sofa and buried your face in your hands, palms pressing into your eyes.

You were not going to cry over this bullshit.

For the first time in months, at least everything was finally out in the open.

You didn’t know if this made things better or worse.

Thank god you didn't have to find out, atleast not for a couple of weeks. All of you taking a short break, soaking in your wins.

You took a short trip out of the country with Liam and his girlfriend, spending days in the sun and nights in beach bars getting wasted with the two.

Life was actually looking up - temporarily forgetting all about your troubles.

Then the break ended.

The band returned to the studio.

And suddenly everyone was in a bad mood.

Why?

Because Noel was worse than usual - which was saying something.

Every instrument sounded wrong. Every take was shite. Every conversation seemed to irritate him.

By day three, even Bonehead started avoiding him.

By day five, Liam had started openly threatening violence.

You yourself did your best to ignore Noel - Which was suprisingly easy, the man seeming to do the same.

Yet you can't help letting you gaze linger on him desperately waiting for him to look at you, to talk to you, to touch you-

But the worst part?

Now that you’d finally asked him the question, you couldn’t stop thinking about his reaction. Not the silence, but the real panic in his eyes.

For one brief second, Noel Gallagher had looked terrified.

And that meant something.

You just weren’t sure what.

On day seven Noel pressed the talkback button for what felt like the hundredth time as he gazed at Liam through the glass.

“No.”

Liam groaned.

“No, what?”

“No to all of it.”

“Helpful.”

“It sounds shite.”

Liam ripped his headphones off.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

The room went quiet.

Everyone immediately found something very interesting to stare at that wasn’t the Gallagher brothers when Liam stormed out of the booth and stopped right in front of Noel.

All of us have long learnt it’s best not to get involved in their spats.

Noel leaned back in his chair, nonchalant.

“It does.”

“You’ve said that six times today.”

“Maybe because it’s true.”

Liam stared at him.

Noel stared back.

The silence crackled.

Then Liam pointed across the room. At you. Then at Noel. Then back at you again.

“Oh, just shag again.”

The entire studio froze.

You closed your eyes at Liam’s big mouth, feeling a headache coming on.

Liam threw his hands into the air.

“I’m serious. That's when you were the most sufferable.”

“Liam-”

“No. I’m done.”

He says irritably, reaching for his cigarettes.

“For the entire week it’s been this-”

He frustratedly pats his pockets until he finds a lighter, taking a deep inhale once he feels the familiar burn.

“- this weird, moody, divorced-couple shite.”

“We are not-”

“I don’t care.”

Liam grabbed his jacket. The others, while not as brash, quietly agreeing.

“You both fancy each other.”

Neither of you spoke.

Liam nodded dramatically.

“Exactly.”

He jabbed a finger toward Noel.

“He’s miserable.”

Then toward you.

“You’re miserable.”

Then toward himself.

“And now I’m miserable.”

“You’ve always been miserable, twat.”

“See?”

Liam pointed at Noel again.

“That. That’s what I’m talking about.”

A laugh escaped someone, but quickly shutting up when Liam’s heated gaze turns to them briefly.

“I’m going to the pub.”

He pointed toward the door.

“Everyone else is coming with me.”

Nobody argued.

Within seconds everyone was standing, gathering jackets. Dickheads.

Every last one of them.

The door shut.

Silence settled over the studio, except for Liam’s retreating voice down the hallway as he continued complaining.

You remained on the sofa.

Noel remained by the mixing desk.

Neither of you looked at each other.

For nearly a full minute.

Finally, Noel speaks in a whisper - you’re unsure if he’s even talking to you or himself.

“He never knows when to shut up.”

You snorted.

“At least he speaks his mind.”

Noel glanced over.

There was less fight in his face than usual.

Just pure exhaustion.

“You still angry with me?”

You looked at him, brows raised.

“You still a twat?”

“Fair.”

Silence again.

He rubbed a hand over his face and you noticed just how tired he looked.

The dark circles. The stubble. The way his shoulders slumped whenever he thought nobody was paying attention.

And suddenly every bit of fight leaving you, concern taking over.

“Noel.”

“Hm?”

“What are you actually scared of?”

The question hit him harder than he expected.

His gaze dropped.

For a moment he said nothing.

Then he laughed.

A short, humourless laugh.

“Bloody hell.”

“What?”

“You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Ask the question I don’t want to answer.”

“Someone has to.”

Noel stared at the floor.

Then finally looked back at you. Really looked at you. Not as his bandmate. Not as his friend. Not as the person he’d spent months pretending not to want.

Just you.

And suddenly he seemed like he was done lying to himself.

“You asked me if I liked you.”

You nodded.

“You never answered.”

“I didn’t.”

His jaw tightened.

Then loosened. Like he was forcing himself past something.

When he finally spoke, the words came out quietly.

“Yeah.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes stayed on yours.

“Of course I do.”

Something in your chest lurched.

Months of frustration suddenly gone with three simple words.

Noel looked away first. Almost embarrassed.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” you exclaim with a soft huff. You get up and walk over to him, him immediately standing at attention the second you stop in front of him, eyes wide.

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumble, gazing at him for what felt like forever. Then, almost sweetly, your hand moves up to stroke his stubbled cheek, admiring his pretty blue eyes.

Noel’s eyes flicker at your touch, letting them flutter shut and all but leaning into your touch like cat, soaking up the feeling of your hand against his face.

He let himself bask in the moment before a cheeky smile spread across his face - his eyes crinkled in his typical half-moon state.

“I’m not cute, princess,” he puffed out...cutely.

“Oh?” you asked as he moved his hand above yours still resting on his cheek, shifting it to press a soft kiss against the palm of your hand, all the while keeping eye contact.

“Yeah...I’m a manly man, no?” he added, smiling unseriously, pressing a few more soft kisses to the inside of your palm, his eyes not leaving yours once as he glances up at you from behind his bushy eyebrows. He then leaned in for an almost shy kiss, eyes closing.

“Nuh-uh,” you said, manicured finger wiggling back and forth before poking his forehead, pushing him back just when he startled leaning in.

Noel’s eyes snap back open, brows furrowed annoyed as you pushed him back, his expression turning to a frown. He stepped forward again, this time moving to grab your hips.

“What? You backin' out now, princess?” he asked arrogantly, his grip on your hips tightening, swallowing his nerves.

“Not doing this again,” you said simply, head held high. “You’ll have to ask me first.”

Noel raised an eyebrow in confusion, his grip on your hips never loosening.

“Ask you what?” he asked, staring down at you with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“To be your girlfriend.”

Noel blinked blankly at your words. His grip on your hips loosened and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

“...What? Already told you I like you, didn’t I?” he finally managed to choke out in disbelief.

“I’m not letting you shag me again without some commitment.”

Noel stares at you like a kicked puppy, almost making you feel bad. Almost.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly taken aback by your straightforwardness.

“Right now?” he stuttered out.

“Come on, you got it, tough guy! Don’t get shy now...”

Noel let out a small huff.

“I’m not shy,” he mumbled under his breath. He took a breath to regain his usual confidence.

“Fine. I’d be stupid not to have you as my girlfriend,” he stated with an annoyed huff, though his hands were nervously fiddling with the bottom of your top.

“That’s not a question.”

Noel rolled his eyes at your words but still took a deep breath, hands now steady and holding onto you firmly with both hands on your waist.

“Fine! Alright, alright, will you be my girl?” he asked exasperatedly, a frown on his face, obviously bothered by you making him spell it out.

“Will you be my girl?” You mimicked him, voice low to imitate his.

Noel rolled his eyes once again at your response and let out a small sigh at your cheekiness.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, though there’s no real heat in his tone. His fingers digging deeper into your waist.

“I don’t think you asked nicely enough yet...not feeling the passion, you know what I mean?”

Noel let out a groan, realising you won’t make this easy for him.

“Fine! Will you please, please, please be my girlfriend?” he finally pleaded, a little desperate and humiliated.

“On your knees.”

Noel’s eyes widened at your request, speechless for a moment.

“I just asked you to be my girlfriend, and you’re makin' me get on my knees and beg?” he asked through gritted teeth.

You didn’t reply, staring expectantly, almost bored.

Noel stared back at you. His jaw clenched as he stood his ground and tried to call your bluff.

“You’re takin' the piss...” he grumbled.

But despite his complaints, he did as he was told, kneeling with another muttered cuss, hands holding onto the back of your bare knees below your skirt.

“Will you please?” he mumbled, pressing a kiss against your knee.

“Please,” he uttered again, lips moving higher.

“Please,” he said, pushing at your skirt slightly.

“Be my girlfriend?” he asked, another soft kiss left on your now bare thigh, before he glanced up at you once more.

He continued to press his lips higher up your thigh - maybe to regain some sense of control.

It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds being the soft pecks against your thighs and your quickening breath.

You smile to yourself, flushed, and finally decide to end his suffering.

“Yeah,” you utter, voice already shaky, as his hands slid further under your skirt, gripping the fat of your ass and yanking your hips flush against his face. Caught off guard, you braced one hand against the sofa arm behind you while the other shoved your skirt up to your waist, leaving your lacy white panties barely covering you.

“I’ll be your girlfr-” you started, soft and breathless, but the words dissolved into a moan the second his nose dragged along the soaked, aching fabric.

He groaned low and filthy, the sound vibrating straight through you. “Missed this pretty little pussy,” he rasped, eyes dark and locked on yours as he pressed his face against you, breath hot through the thin material. “Been thinkin' about this, princess. You too, aye? You're soaked.”

You nodded frantically, lips parting on another whimper. He hooked his thumbs in your panties and dragged them down your thighs in one rough tug, shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans.

"So they won’t get lost," he excuses, though both of you fully know he's lying.

He couldn't wait any longer. Neither could you.

He shoved your thighs apart and buried his face between them, tongue flattening and dragging slowly up your slit, mouth moving against you like a starving man.

“Fuck- yes,” you gasped, head falling back, hands fisting in his hair. “Noel-”

He answered by sucking your clit into his mouth with a low, guttural moan, sucking hard while two thick fingers plunged inside you without warning. The stretch burned so good. He curled them, pumping fast, thumb grinding against your clit in tight circles as he devoured you.

“Shit, you're drippin- down my chin,” he growled against your swollen flesh, voice wrecked. “Taste so fucking good. Missed this cunt so much.”

You were grinding shamelessly against his face now, chasing the edge he refused to let you have. Every time you were close he'd pull back with growl and yank you right back, tongue fucking deeper, fingers stretching you open until you were basically sobbing with need.

“Don’t tease me,” you hissed, tugging harder on his hair.

He smirked around your clit, the vibration shooting through you, and only pressed in harder. He ate you out like a man possessed - messy, relentless, spit and your juices shining on his chin as he sucked and licked and devoured every drop. When he finally pulled back just long enough to speak, his voice was wrecked.

“You gonna cum for me, princess? Hm?"

You could only nod, eyes glassy, thighs shaking around his ears. He buried his face again, sucking your clit hard while his fingers curled relentlessly. The orgasm ripped through you so fast and so hard you saw stars, thighs clamping around his head as you came with a broken cry, pulsing and clenching around his fingers. He didn’t stop - kept licking you through it, gentler now but no less hungry, until the last aftershock made your legs give out.

You shoved him back, voice hoarse. “Fuck, Noel-"

He let himself be yanked up, eyes blown wide with lust and something softer. You crashed your mouth against his, tasting yourself on him and groaning into the kiss. His hands roamed your body possessively, fingers digging into your hips as his tongue slid deep and filthy.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, studying his flushed, wrecked face. Your slick was still dripping down his chin, cheeks burning red, that dopey, cocky smile on his lips that made his eyes crinkle up in half-moons.

“Your turn,” you whispered, already sliding your hand toward the waistband of his jeans.

He caught your wrist before you could reach him, chest heaving.

“No need- tonight’s about you,” he mumbled, voice cracking.

“But I want to taste you too,” you murmured, leaning in to suck a fresh hickey just below his ear. He hissed, cock twitching in his trousers.

“Really..No need.” You tugged his hair lightly at that, suspicious, staring him down until he finally let out a frustrated huff and pulled you into a slow, deep kiss.

“Give me 10- no 5 minutes, alright?” he muttered against your lips, half-gone.

You waited, curious. He groaned, forehead dropping to yours, then finally admitted, “Fuckin' hell, woman...I already came in my fuckin’ kecks, alright."

You pause at that, blankly gazing at him.

He lets his hands slide down your sides, still holding onto your waist, waiting for a reply - His confidence faltering at your persistent silence.

“You’re makin' me nervous, Princess. What are you lookin' at me like that for?” he asks with slightly widened eyes, still trying his best to sound unbothered.

You finally let out a surprised giggle and cupped his face, squishing his plump cheeks until his eyes crinkled again and his mouth curved involuntarily as you press another quick, dramatic peck on his lips - a “mwah” sound escaping you as your mouths connect.