axelakim

[axelakim]

[axelakim]

shove it down my throat and make me gag

[axelakim]

𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑮 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

2017 era dilf noel x age gap reader

You were younger then, and it was only a crush. Something harmless born in the long hours of a studio summer. But now Noel’s here, newly divorced and quieter then you remember, sharing a house on your family’s holiday. He’s more distant, harder to read, and somehow even more gorgeous with age. Suddenly the feelings you thought had faded are back in full force. But he’s still off limits… isn’t he?

* denotes smut

⟢ Prelude

⟢ Saturday

⟢ Sunday

⟢ Monday

⟢ Tuesday*

⟢ Wednesday*

⟢ Thursday*

⟢ Friday*

[axelakim]

can someone watch them while i go smoke

[axelakim]

1970s slay

[axelakim]

"one giant leap for manc kind"

[axelakim]

take what you need, but just leave my guitar alone. [18+]

hi. this is my first fic for noel on here. I hope you like it. requests are open. ♡

Summary: You get a bit jealous of Noel's guitar. He can't have that. THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT. [18+]

Word count: 1.9k

You had dated your fair share of guys who had their interests: football, war films, even going to the pub to get pissed. You had understood over the years that while Noel loved all those, he held music above them all. Any man who can stand on stage for over two hours playing to thousands of sweaty, inconsolable fans and then go right back on the bus to write songs has to love what he does. You found his reverence for music admirable. 

There were so many musicians in the scene who only cared about their image or the lifestyle that came with being a rock star. And while Noel indulged in hedonistic tendencies occasionally, he let nothing get in the way of the music; that much was clear. It was his lifeline, his escape from a melancholy world that he left behind in Manchester, a world that he refused any part in going back to.

You’re not sure when you noticed it, the almost indecent infatuation he had with his guitar. The way his palm would rub the slick sheen of the wood, how his stocky fingers would so easily glide from chord to chord. What drove you insane the most was when he would bounce his leg ever so slightly while trying to work out the tunings of a song he was writing, his guitar bouncing in rhythm with his thigh. To sit across from him, in his own world, and watch the man you love create in that way was lecherous. Almost pornographic.

 You were sitting in the armchair across from the loveseat that Noel was camped on. A sofa made for two lovers, or in this case, your boyfriend and his guitar. Noel didn’t like anyone watching him work. He found it invasive and anxiety-inducing; it threw him out of his groove, but with you, he was starting to come around. 

“What’d I say ‘bout starin’?” His low Mancunian drawl woke you from your impure thoughts. It took you a second to realize that he was talking to you, even though you were the only other person in the room. “Hm?” you hummed. Noel let out a small chuckle, his eyes squinting the way they always did when he was genuinely amused. It was one of your favorite things about him, to see his usually stoic and cross face fill with warmth. He points at you, his hand adorned with his ruby ring. You had come to know what every side of that ring felt like against your bare skin. “I told ya, no starin’. You’re lucky you’re ‘ere, y’know. I don’t even let Liam watch me graft.”

 You smiled softly, watching his lips curl into that familiar mischievous grin. “Well, that’s ‘cause Liam doesn’t know how to keep quiet. ‘M just admiring the view. That’s all.” You smirked, your cheeks flushed, realizing he had caught you. He cocked his head, his grin falling only the tiniest bit. After so much time spent together, he still found it a bit incredulous when you complimented him. He’d look at you, sizing up all of your features to determine whether there was even an ounce of deceit in your words. There never was, he was starting to realize. “The view?” He quipped. “The view.” You said with a soft nod and no hesitation, confirming that he was, in fact, one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

He scoffed softly, almost at a loss for words. If you knew Noel, you knew that was rare; his gob always seemed to be running, whether he was taking the piss or telling some story you had heard hundreds of times before. “You’ve gone a bit mad, y’know.” He teased, even though you knew better. He never could take a compliment. You shook your head softly in defiance, your eyes never leaving his baby blue orbs. “No. You just… you have it, y’know? You love what ya do. It’s admirable. I feel honored to sit here with you.” You spoke softly. He parted his grin only to serve another cheeky remark. “That so? ‘Cause I thought I’d lost ya for a second. Didn’t even look like you knew where ya were.” 

You laughed softly, bringing one knee to your chest, your hand holding it in place. “What, a bird can’t daydream? That it?” You retorted. That was one of his favorite things about you. So many girls in the past had taken offense to his cheeky remarks, his harsh edges made from being from a family of brothers, but it was all in good fun. You knew how to dish it back and still have fun with it. “Well, my bird can. As long as she tells me what about.” He smiled softly, his eyes fluttering as he spoke like they so often did.  

You bit your lip, wondering if you should finally reveal the thoughts you seemed to have every time you watched him work. Almost as if he had read your mind, you heard him groan softly. “C’mon. On with it.”

 You sighed softly, dropping your leg back to the floor and crossing one over the other, your arm moving to the armrest to hold your chin up. “It’s just… The way you play. The way you hold your guitar. It’s quite…erotic, is all.” You spoke softly, feigning a laugh to make the words hold less weight. His eyebrows furrowed together, his lips turning into a crooked grin. “Erotic? As in, you think I want to shag me guitar?” He laughed, making light of it, but you remained resolute. “I dunno ‘bout that. All I‘m sayin’ is I wish you’d hold and touch me like that. Got me sitting here jealous of a damn Gibson.” 

He chuckled softly before catching the look in your eyes. He knew you were being cheeky, but there was something deeper, almost like you were maybe a bit jealous. He couldn’t have that. “C’mere.” He spoke softly, his voice thick. He rested the acoustic guitar against the side of the couch, extending his arm out for you to join him. 

You were like Pavlov’s dog when it came to him. If he wanted you, you were there. You crossed the living room, moving to sit on his lap, where he wrapped his arms around you, his face burrowing into your neck, kissing your soft skin. After a moment, his lips murmured against your flesh. “Someone’s a bit jealous, yeah?” You scoffed slightly. Jealous of a guitar? That made you sound a bit mad. He'd always been able to see right through you. 

Before you could respond, trying to think of a witty remark, his fingers were moving to the button of your jeans, deftly undoing them. “Can’t have my missus in need, can I?” He murmured lowly against your skin as your breath hitched. He bounced the leg you were sitting on intentionally, your legs spreading, one moving on either side of his thigh almost by second nature. Your core pressed against his thigh was enough for you to let out a low moan. His hand undid your zipper, slipping under the denim. “That’s my girl.” He murmured. 

His thick fingers slid down, rubbing your clit through your panties. His eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell, love. You’re soaked. Watchin’ me play got you all bothered like this?” Your head was leaned back onto his shoulder, the pleasure from his digits almost overwhelming to your aching core. All you could do was nod and let out a strangled whine.

 Just as soon as he had graced your body with pleasure, he took it away. You whined, but before you could protest, he spoke in a gruff voice. “Stand up.” You did as you were told, and as soon as you were up, he was up behind you, ridding you of every article of clothing. He pulled you back down, seated in the same position you were before. It was almost too much, your wet core against his denim-clad thigh. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, the other returning down to your core. 

“So it’s me fingers you want, hm?” He spoke, rubbing your clit teasingly. You moaned softly, swallowing to speak. “Yes…” you spoke breathlessly. He laughed almost tauntingly in response. His one hand working on your aching clit, the other moving under your armpit to knead your breast. “Christ, Noel.” You whimpered. All those times you had sat and watched him as he played his guitar with sheer affection and reverence, and now it was your turn.

 You moaned out, his finger pressing harder on your clit. “That’s it. Good girl. Keep making those sounds for me, yeah?” He murmured into your ear, his warm breath traveling down your neck. His fingers on your breast went to your nipple, rolling your bud between his fingers, his hand never stopping their ministrations on your pussy. 

“You want my fingers?” He spoke, kissing and sucking lightly on your neck. You swallowed; the pleasure was already too much, but you needed more. “Yes, please, Noel.” You whimpered, your voice cracking almost pathetically. He chuckled softly, almost like he was getting off on the way you needed him. “I got ya.” He murmured. 

He picked you up in one fell swoop, his body moving to sit in the farthest corner of the couch, allowing your body to lay against the armrest. Your ass on his lap, he moved his fingers through your wet folds, the sound of the slickness almost taunting him. He slipped one finger in, eliciting a whimper from you. Your stomach clenched as he worked you, your head falling back slightly. “More.” You whimpered. He smirked, taking the invitation and inserting two of his thick fingers into your dripping core. 

He curled them, hitting your G-spot as he pumped into you. His lips parted, watching you unravel in pure ecstasy. “I don’t do this to me guitar, do I, huh?” He asks, his voice dripping with lust. Your eyes were closed from the sheer pleasure, too fucked out to respond. “Look at me.” He spoke with sternness, something he rarely did with you. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his own. “Who do I do this to?” 

“Me.” You breathed out, every breath getting more labored as you felt the familiar warmth start to build in your lower stomach. He had no intention of stopping until you came on his fingers, each pump pushing and curling deeper inside of your walls than before. He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours. “Just you.” He spoke softer. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes clenching. “Noel…” You whined, feeling your orgasm build. He could feel you starting to clench around his digits; he continued to finger-fuck you, his thumb angling to rub your clit. 

“You close for me, love?” He spoke sweetly; the way in which he could change in a mere matter of seconds never failed to catch you off guard. You nodded fervently, whimpering. “Yes, fuck yes… I’m gonna…” 

“That’s it, that’s my girl. Just let go for me, doll.” He murmured into your ear; the feel of his breath on your neck was enough to send you over the edge, and soon your orgasm was overtaking you as you bucked your hips in his lap, moaning a slew of profanities and his name. 

As your breathing returned to normal and the stars in your eyes started to clear, he pulled his fingers out, covered in the proof of the pleasure he gave you, and stuck them in his mouth. Your jaw went slack, watching him lick his fingers clean. He hummed softly, enjoying the taste, before pulling them out. “Now, my guitar can’t do that, can it?” He smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

[axelakim]

mess [18+] ⋆｡°✩

pairing: dilf!noel gallagher x younger!fem!reader genre: smut !!, pure filth word count: 1270 warnings: age gap, face fucking, tears, choking, hair pulling, gagging, degradation + praise, minors dni !! summary: you tell him you want to make him feel good. he takes you at your word. a/n: hi babes this ones based on this ! req; anon that asked for this, you have taste. this is messy and maybe a little too detailed lol. hope it ruins you <3

you were straddling him on the couch when you said it.

knees sunk into the cushions, arms looped around his shoulders, mouth warm on his jaw. it had started sweet—kisses traded slow, syrupy, like sunday heat. the kind that made time melt a little. that made you feel like the only two people left in the world.

his hands cradled your hips, thumbs brushing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. your thighs bracketing him, heart thudding wild. he tasted like coffee and cigarettes and something warm beneath, something steadier. grounding.

he hummed into your mouth, low and pleased, when your fingers slid into his hair. when your teeth scraped gently at his bottom lip.

“wanna make you feel good,” you whispered against his mouth. voice low. honest. a confession wrapped in lace.

he went still. just for a second. just enough to feel it. his eyes dropped to your lips, then lower, then back to yours—half-lidded, hungry. the kind of look that made your knees weak, even when you were already on top of him.

“yeah?” he murmured.

you nodded, already sliding off his lap, sinking to the carpet between his knees.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, breath catching. “you tryin’ to kill me or what?”

“not yet,” you said, lips curved wicked. “but maybe later.”

he huffed out a laugh, low in his throat, as his head tipped back against the cushion. legs spread. thighs wide. he was still in his jeans, and you reached for the button with trembling fingers, mouth dry, heartbeat skipping.

“slow,” he said, voice gone scratchy with restraint. “you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you cut in, soft but certain. “let me.”

and maybe it was the age in his eyes, the years etched deep, but he stilled again. like he was trying not to ruin it. not to rush it. not to grab the back of your neck and shove you straight down. not yet.

but you had no patience left for gentle.

you tugged his jeans down fast, just far enough to free him. then paused—hands hovering over his waistband, fingertips grazing the heat beneath. the kind of pause that made him twitch.

he was already hardening, heavy against the cotton of his boxers, and you leaned in slow—mouth ghosting over the bulge, warm breath making him grunt. you mouthed at him through the fabric, tongue teasing the head, pressing kisses to the tip until it dampened the cloth. he hissed, hips twitching.

“jesus christ—don’t fuckin’ tease.”

you looked up at him, eyes wide, sugarcoated.

“thought you liked it slow, old man.”

“brat,” he growled, hand curling in your hair. “you don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

you smiled—soft, smug—and dragged his boxers down.

he hissed when the air hit him, cock flushed deep pink, already leaking. thick and heavy, just the way you liked him. your hand wrapped around him, slow stroke from base to tip, thumb brushing the slit just to watch him flinch. you leaned in again—tongue first, kitten lick to the head. one taste and your eyes fluttered. he tasted like sweat and salt and heat. earthy. intoxicating.

“you’re already drippin’,” you whispered, lips brushing the shaft. “needy fuckin’ mess.”

“yeah? keep talkin’ like that and i’ll fuck your throat until you can’t speak.”

you didn’t even flinch. just opened your mouth and took him in. hot. greedy. your cheeks hollowed around him, jaw already straining. the stretch made your eyes water, but you wanted it—you craved it. you loved the weight of him. the ache. the pressure. the low, punched-out breath he gave when you sucked him down deeper.

“fuck, that mouth,” he choked, voice wrecked. “filthy little angel, christ—”

your hands braced on his thighs, gripping tight as you bobbed your head. slow at first, then faster, wetter. your spit dripped from your lips, trailing down his cock, pooling at your chin. he twitched when you gagged, just a little. and then again when you swallowed around him. his hand tightened in your hair.

“good girl,” he murmured. “look at you—fuckin’ perfect down there.”

his other hand found your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as he began to thrust—shallow strokes at first, letting you breathe, then deeper. rougher. mean. you choked, spit splattering your chin, eyes glassy and blurred with tears. your mascara was wrecked, cheeks flushed, nose starting to run.

but you didn’t stop.

“gonna make me come already,” he growled, pushing deeper. “and you’re not even tryin’, are you? just sittin’ there lettin’ me ruin you.”

you moaned around him—high and strangled. spit bubbled from the corners of your lips. your hands gripped his thighs harder, nails digging in, trying to ground yourself as he fucked your mouth like it was nothing. like you were nothing but a hole for him to use.

he slapped his cock against your cheek once, twice—watched you flinch, watched your eyes flutter.

“open,” he ordered.

you obeyed, tongue out, waiting. he slid back in with a hiss.

“that’s it. take it, baby. take all of it.”

you gagged again—loud, wet, obscene—but didn’t pull away. he held you there, cock stuffed all the way in, your lips stretched wide, your throat clenched tight.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, sweat beading on his brow. “your fuckin’ throat. swear to god—”

you blinked up at him, vision swimming.

“keep goin’,” he urged, breath ragged. “you’re takin’ it so good. my perfect little toy.”

your jaw ached. your throat burned. your cunt throbbed. he was everywhere. in your mouth. your nose. your lungs.

and still, still, you wanted more.

he grunted, twitching again.

“don’t you dare fuckin’ stop, not till i say.”

you nodded around him, tears spilling freely now.

he grabbed the back of your head and held you down, fucking into you hard enough to rattle the couch. one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your jaw, thumb sliding into your mouth alongside his cock.

“such a pretty fuckin’ thing. all mine, yeah?”

you moaned. choked. drooled.

“say it,” he snapped. “say you’re mine.”

he let you off just long enough for you to gasp, “yours.”

then he shoved back in, fucking your mouth harder. his thighs trembled beneath your hands. his stomach clenched. he was close. you felt it in the way he cursed, the way he lost rhythm, the way his hands trembled on you.

“gonna fill you up,” he growled. “want you fuckin’ soaked in it. down your throat. on your fuckin’ tongue.”

he gave it to you. with a deep groan, his hips snapped forward one last time—cock buried to the hilt, thick and pulsing—and he came, hard and hot. you swallowed it all, even as he twitched, even as he hissed from sensitivity. he held you there through it—panted through gritted teeth, his chest heaving.

you whimpered, mouth wide open, tongue flat.

you stayed until he tugged you off gently, hand stroking your cheek.

“come here,” he said, voice hoarse.

you climbed into his lap again, dazed and glowing, your lips swollen and chin slick. he wiped your mouth, kissed your jaw.

“look at you,” he said, wonder in his voice. “fuckin’ perfect.”

you smiled, wrecked and content, cheek pressed to his chest. he brushed your hair back, fingers tender now. “you’ll be the death of me."

[axelakim]

let me take care of you [18+] ⋆˙⟡♡

pairing: 2005!noel gallagher x fem!reader genre: fluff, soft smut !! word count: 4194 warnings: fingering—f!receiving, soft praise, nothing crazy just tenderness, minors dniii summary: after a long day in the studio, you and noel come home in that warm, quiet way couples do—half-asleep with love, tangled on the couch, letting the silence speak for you. he runs you a bath, kisses your neck, holds you like he’s afraid to let go. a/n: got many noel fluff reqs and i tried to mix in some smut ones. i also think ive fallen for someone recently so theres a bunch of yearning here </3.

the door clicked shut behind you. outside, the sky was going violet, deep with the kind of summer dusk that made everything feel a little unreal. the streetlight buzzed on slow. a car passed. someone shouted two roads over. and inside the flat, it was all quiet. quiet, except for your breath. his keys landing in the bowl. the soft scuff of noel’s trainers on the hallway rug.

he looked back at you. hair a mess, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, guitar case still hanging off one hand like he hadn’t realized he was holding it. “you comin’ in, then, or just gonna stare at me like i’m the telly?”

you smiled. barely. just a little curve at the edge of your mouth, enough for him to see. “you’re prettier than the telly,” you said. he snorted. “cheeky.” but his voice was quiet. he waited. didn’t walk further in until you caught up. your hand brushed against his as you passed him. he let the strap fall from his shoulder and kicked the door shut behind you with his heel.

the flat smelled like lemon washing-up liquid and old wood. a tea mug still sat on the counter, half-full. there was a record sleeve on the coffee table, half-tucked under an ashtray. you toed off your shoes by the sofa and flopped onto the cushions, sighing like it was the first breath you'd taken all day.

noel followed, slow and soft-footed. the weight of the day still in his shoulders, but his eyes already gentler. he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. his hand brushed your arm. “how’re you feelin’, then?” he murmured. you shrugged, cheek pressed to the cushion. “tired.” “yeah.” he lowered onto the sofa beside you, groaning slightly like he was older than he was. “me too.”

for a while, there was nothing. just the hum of traffic outside. the click of the fridge as it settled. noel’s thumb grazing absentmindedly over your leg.

your body melted against him like it always did. your legs tangled. your arm slipped under his. he smelled like smoke and laundry detergent, like warm vinyl and something quiet. his lips brushed your temple. “you were brilliant today, y’know.” you smiled into his chest. “m’serious,” he went on. “reckon i haven’t written like that in years. not unless you’re there.” you nudged his ribs. “you’re full of shit.” he chuckled. his fingers found your hip. “maybe. but you keep me full of it. all that good stuff. ideas. lyrics. whatever.” he paused. “you’re my lucky charm or somethin’.” you tilted your head up. “like a rabbit foot?” “nah.” he smiled, soft and wide. “you’re the whole bloody rabbit.”

you snorted into his shirt. he kissed your hair.

minutes passed that way. no rush. no pressure. just the soft lull of being near him, the way your bones slotted into his like they’d been carved for each other. he played with the hem of your shirt. old band tee. one of his. you curled into him tighter.

“you cold?” you shook your head. “want tea?” “not yet.” he nodded. pressed his chin to your forehead. stayed there.

the studio felt a thousand miles away. no amps. no cables. no engineers fussing about acoustics. just you and noel, pressed together on the couch like nothing else mattered. you traced lazy patterns on his chest. he hummed something — low, familiar, the bones of a new tune he’d been working on. “that for me?” you asked. he smirked. “who else?” your heart twisted a little. in the good way.

he kissed you again. your cheek this time. then your jaw. then the corner of your mouth, barely there. “you’re mine,” he said, like it was obvious. like it always had been. you turned your face toward him. lips brushing lips. soft, slow, nothing rushed. “yeah,” you whispered. “yours.”

and when he pulled you closer, tucked you under his arm like a secret he meant to keep forever — it felt like coming home. like maybe the day hadn’t been so long. like maybe nothing would ever be that bad, not as long as he was here to hold you through it.

—

you both ended up tangled on the couch, like gravity had pulled you into each other. the telly hummed somewhere in the background—low, aimless, flickering light across the walls—but neither of you were really watching. noel had one arm slung over the backrest, the other resting lazily across your hip, fingers moving slow, absent-minded, tracing the curve of your waist through your shirt.

your legs were draped over his lap. bare, still warm from the studio heat, skin soft where it met denim. his jeans smelled like smoke and sweat and whatever cheap soap they kept by the sink at the label. you kept nudging your toes against his ribs like you couldn’t quite believe he was real.

he glanced down at you. half-smile. quiet.

“you always this clingy after work?”

you turned your face into his shoulder. mumbled something that didn’t quite count as a no.

his hand slid up your side. a gentle graze, like he was making sure you were really there. “didn’t hear you complainin’ earlier.”

“that’s ‘cause i missed you,” you said, voice soft, honest.

his mouth twitched. he leaned down, kissed your hair. didn’t say anything.

you shifted a little, enough to rest your cheek against his chest. his heart thudded beneath you—steady, sleepy, familiar. you could’ve stayed there forever. the rise and fall of his breath. the weight of his hand smoothing lazy patterns across your spine. the smell of whatever fabric softener you used on the jumper he’d nicked from your drawer last week.

his other hand found yours. fingers curling into yours like it was muscle memory. he toyed with your rings. twisted one gently, thumb brushing against your knuckles, the pads of your fingers. you watched him—watched the way he studied your hand like it was something worth writing about. like he might find a chord in your pulse if he touched it just right.

“your hands are so small,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

you hummed, leaning in closer. “yours are just massive.”

“not massive,” he muttered. “perfectly sized, thank you very much.”

you smiled. closed your eyes. let his voice wash over you. it was quieter like this—lower, softer. like the edges had dulled.

you reached up after a moment, fingers tracing his jaw. slow. reverent. you’d never really gotten tired of looking at him. the sharpness in his cheekbones, the tired ache around his eyes, the soft scatter of stubble catching the evening light. his nose. his lips. all of it familiar now. all of it yours.

“what’re you doin’?” he asked, eyes still half-lidded.

“nothing.”

“feels like something.”

“just lookin’.”

he raised a brow. you traced it with your finger.

“i like your face,” you murmured.

a laugh escaped him. low. breathy. he caught your hand and kissed the inside of your wrist.

“bit mad, you.”

“you love it.”

“yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. “i do.”

he cupped your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. held you there for a second, looking at you like you were the one who’d written his favourite song. like you were something golden.

then he leaned in, kissed you slow. soft. the kind of kiss that tasted like home. like the words he hadn’t said yet. his nose nudged yours after, lips still close.

“you tired?” he asked.

“not really.”

he tilted his head. looked at you again. slower this time. something different in his gaze now—heavier, but not dark. warm.

“come have a bath,” he murmured.

you blinked. “now?”

he nodded. thumb still stroking your cheekbone.

“you always run this hot. figured we could do with coolin’ down.”

you smiled, eyes soft. “you just wanna see me naked.”

he grinned, shameless. “well. that too.”

you rolled your eyes, but your heart was aching, and the smile wouldn’t leave your face.

he kissed your forehead. then your temple. then behind your ear.

“c’mon,” he whispered, voice like velvet. “i’ll even light a candle or two. make it proper romantic.”

you laughed against his throat. “you’re a menace.”

“m’serious,” he said, mock-offended. “i’m sensitive. thoughtful. a fuckin’ gentleman.”

you kissed his jaw, lingering just a moment too long. “then go on, gallagher. show me.”

he stood first, offering you his hand like it was some sort of ceremony. you took it.

his fingers laced with yours as he led you down the hall, warm and steady. the bathroom light flicked on. the tap turned. the water ran hot.

—

the bath was half-full, steam rising in loose swirls, curling against the tile. one of noel’s jumpers hung off the back of the door. your perfume lingered faintly in the air from this morning—sweet and a little floral, clinging to the mirror. there was only one candle lit, tucked beside the sink, but it threw gold all over the walls. made everything look softer. quieter.

noel sat behind you in the tub, legs bent to cradle your hips, arms looped loose around your waist. his chest was warm against your back. his skin smelled like soap and sleep and a little bit like the smoke from earlier. you could feel his breath moving with yours—slow, calm. like the rhythm of something you'd forgotten until now.

“s’too nice in here,” he mumbled, lips brushing your shoulder. “feel like i’ve been drugged.”

you laughed, head falling against his collarbone. “that’s the lavender oil.”

“that what that is?”

“mmhm.”

he hummed, drowsy. “makes you smell fuckin’ edible.”

you hummed too, shifting slightly against him. his arms tightened, just a little.

neither of you said much after that. the water lapped gently against the porcelain, warm and weightless. your thighs rested over his, slick with the steam. every so often, noel’s fingers would drift along your stomach—lazy, delicate little touches. nothing too much. just enough to keep you present.

your own hand found his where it rested on your ribs, thumb stroking over his knuckles. he kissed the side of your neck. soft. patient. like there was no rush.

you tipped your head a little, gave him more space.

his voice came low, against your skin. “this alright?”

“yeah,” you breathed.

he kissed you again, higher this time. just beneath your ear. you felt it in your toes.

his hand slipped from your stomach to your thigh. moved slow, dragging over your skin like he was tracing a map. every dip and rise, every curve he already knew by heart.

you didn’t speak. didn’t need to.

your breath hitched slightly. he noticed. of course he did.

his voice came again, quieter now. “you want me to stop?”

you shook your head, soft as anything.

he smiled. you could feel it against your skin.

“good.”

his palm grazed your inner thigh now, slow and reverent. fingers dancing featherlight, not quite where you needed them. he took his time. always did when he touched you like this—like you were something sacred. like you’d vanish if he rushed.

your back arched faintly. his other arm held you close, grounding you.

“you’re shivering,” he murmured. not a question.

“not cold,” you whispered.

“no?”

“just you.”

he laughed, breath warm against your neck. “that right?”

you nodded, one hand slipping behind you to curl into his hair. damp curls. still shampoo-scented.

“go on, then,” he whispered. “show me how warm i make you.”

and you did. slowly. gently. with nothing but the sound of water and his voice in your ear, coaxing the softness right out of your bones.

his fingers didn’t go any further right away.

instead, he let them wander—tiny, absent-minded touches, like he was sketching a song into your skin with nothing but warmth and want. your thighs, your hips, the softest part of your belly. like he could make a memory out of it. like he already had.

your head dropped back onto his shoulder with a sigh.

“you alright?” he murmured.

“mhm.”

he kissed your temple. “feels like your heart’s beating everywhere.”

“that’s you.”

you didn’t mean for it to sound so breathless. but it was true. he always had that effect, didn’t he? that quiet gravity. like your whole body leaned toward him before your mind even caught up.

he nuzzled into your cheek. “i like it when you talk like that.”

“like what?”

“like you need me.”

you turned a little in his arms, just enough to meet his eyes. soft. dark. unreadable.

“i do.”

and god, the way he looked at you then. like he could barely hold it in. like he wanted to drag you into his chest and never let you go.

he didn’t kiss you yet.

just brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheekbone, slow. let them trail down your jaw, your neck, the line of your collarbone.

“you looked so pretty on the sofa earlier,” he said softly. “all sleepy n’ curled up on me.”

you smiled. “you were falling asleep too.”

“yeah, but i’m always falling asleep. not the same.”

you rolled your eyes. “liar.”

“m’serious,” he said, nudging your nose with his. “i looked at you and thought—fuckin’ hell. that’s my girl. mine.”

your breath caught.

his thumb skimmed the edge of your mouth. “that alright?”

“more than.”

he tilted his head. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you whispered. “always.”

and there it was—that look again. like it cost him something not to kiss you. like it wrecked him to hold back.

so he didn’t.

he leaned in, slow and careful, like he was afraid of breaking the moment. and when his mouth finally met yours—warm, wet, open—it wasn’t greedy. wasn’t rushed.

it was soft. stupidly soft. like gratitude. like relief.

your lips moved with his, slow and gentle. a kiss that said i know you. a kiss that said i missed you. a kiss that said we don’t have to rush, not tonight.

you turned more in his lap. knees curling up, your back pressing to his chest, one of his arms slipping under yours. and even as your mouths moved together—slower now, wetter now—his hand stayed just there on your thigh. not pushing. not taking. just touching.

like he was waiting.

and you were letting him.

–

his hand slid lower, slow as dusk, tracing the lines of your hips like he already knew them but wanted to relearn anyway. fingers drifting across your thigh, then inward, slipping between where your legs met like he was following gravity. he was so close behind you, knees bent around your sides, chest pressed to your back in the bath. his mouth brushed your ear.

“gonna touch you, love,” he said softly. “just wanna take care of you. is that alright?”

you nodded — barely — but he waited anyway, fingertips resting just at your crease.

“tell me,” he murmured, lips skimming your temple. “just so i know.”

“yes,” you whispered. “please.”

his exhale was warm. relieved, almost. “good girl.”

then his hand moved, tender and patient. he cupped you first, palm warm, not trying to rush. just feeling. just holding.

“fuck,” he breathed. “already so soft for me.”

you let your head tip back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers began to explore — featherlight at first, like he was learning how your breath changed with each brush. he traced through your folds gently, circled your clit in slow, wide passes that made your belly flutter.

“there we go,” he whispered. “that feel nice, sweetheart?”

you nodded, breath catching. he kissed your jaw.

“you’re doing so well,” he said. “just let me look after you. you don’t have to do anything.”

his fingers dipped lower, easing down to your entrance. he teased there, so slow it made your thighs twitch.

“can i go in?”

“please,” you whispered. your voice was thin. watery.

“yeah,” he murmured. “of course you want it. such a good girl, lettin’ me take care of you like this.”

he slipped one finger in, slow and easy, warm from the bath and still gentle with every inch. you gasped — not from pain, not even from surprise, just the sheer tenderness of it. how deliberate he was. how careful.

his other hand curved around your waist, palm wide and steady against your stomach, like he was anchoring you there — keeping you from floating too far away.

“that alright?” he whispered, voice low against your skin, already threading through you like silk.

“mhm,” you breathed, almost too soft to hear.

“you’re so warm, baby,” he murmured. “so bloody soft. like velvet.”

his fingers moved slowly inside you, little thrusts that barely disturbed the water, just enough to let you feel the rhythm of him. just enough to let your thighs fall open around him, breath catching each time he pressed deeper.

he kissed the side of your neck. “relax for me, yeah? don’t need to rush. just wanna feel you open up around me.”

you whimpered, hips shifting in a quiet, unconscious plea. you didn’t mean to chase it. didn’t mean to fall apart so fast.

“that’s it. just like that. let me in.”

he slid in a second finger, just as slowly, just as gently, easing the stretch with soft circles of his thumb over your stomach. your breath caught hard in your throat. he kissed the curve of your shoulder, his own breath huffed against your skin like he was trying to stay grounded too.

“yeah. fuck,” he whispered. “takin’ me so well. knew you would. always so good for me.”

his fingers curled, finding a spot that made your back arch, made your breath stutter right out of your lungs.

“oh—”

“there she is,” he breathed, mouth brushing your ear. “you feel that, love?”

“y-yeah—”

“feel me inside you? stretchin’ you out just right?”

“yes—”

“mm. i know. you’re perfect like this.”

his thumb skimmed its way up to your clit, barely grazing at first, slow lazy circles that never quite settled. you squirmed, thighs twitching in the water. he kissed your cheek, then your temple, then the slope of your shoulder.

“don’t hold back,” he whispered. “you can make all the sounds you need. i’m right here. not goin’ anywhere.”

his rhythm stayed slow, patient. he touched you like you were music he’d never stop listening to. like he wanted to draw out every single sound, every shift in breath, every tremble that rolled through your thighs.

you turned your face slightly toward his, eyes fluttering. he looked down at you — eyes dark, mouth parted — like you were something divine. his fingers moved deeper, more certain now, curling again to find that spot and stroke it slow.

“feels good, doesn’t it? me inside you like this?”

you nodded, breathless.

“tell me.”

“feels… so good,” you whispered.

he hummed low, pleased. “yeah. i know. i can feel how you’re flutterin’ around me, baby. all tight and warm and sweet. you’re doin’ so fuckin’ well.”

you whimpered. your hands drifted underwater, one settling on his thigh behind you, the other clinging to the side of the tub like maybe you could grip onto the moment itself.

“don’t think i’ve ever wanted anyone like this,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “don’t think i’ve ever touched anyone like this, either. you’re so special, love. so fuckin’ beautiful when you fall apart.”

his voice cracked a little at the end — and that nearly undid you.

his fingers never stopped. slow circles. steady pressure. every movement designed to pleasure, to worship, to coax every inch of trust and surrender out of you.

you could feel it building — low in your stomach, slow like tidewater. gentle and strong all at once.

“you’re gettin’ close, aren’t you?” he whispered.

you nodded, a tiny movement, thighs pressing just a little tighter around his hand.

“don’t be scared of it. just let go. i’ve got you. always have.”

he curled his fingers again, thumb finally pressing just right — and you broke with a soft cry, gasping as your whole body arched into his, shivering even in the warm water. he held you through it, murmuring soft praises into your hair, kissing your cheek as your hips trembled with the waves of it.

“that’s it, baby. you’re alright. just let it happen.”

his fingers slowed, easing you back down. he cradled you tighter, hand still resting low on your stomach, lips pressed to your temple like a lullaby.

“so fuckin’ proud of you,” he whispered. “my clever, gorgeous girl.”

you melted against him, cheeks warm, thighs weak, heart slow.

and still, he held you. 

he didn’t rush.

just sat with you for a while, your body slack against his chest, your breathing warm and shaky where your face rested near his collarbone. the water had started to cool, but you were too loose to care — bones gone to honey, limbs floating soft. noel’s fingers drifted along your arms in light, absent little strokes, like he couldn’t stop touching you even now.

“still with me?” he murmured, voice a low hush against your hair.

you nodded, barely, cheek brushing his skin. he pressed a kiss to your temple, slow and tender.

“good girl.”

after a moment, he shifted — not away from you, never that — just enough to reach for the sponge beside the taps. his other arm stayed curled around your waist, grounding. you felt the warm drag of it sweep down your shoulder, over your arm, across your chest with aching gentleness.

he washed you like it mattered. like he was memorising every inch all over again.

“let me take care of you now,” he said, quiet, reverent.

his hands moved like lullabies. down your legs, over your hips, between your thighs — no teasing this time, just warmth and care and clean, the tenderness of a man who’d do anything to make you feel safe again. he poured water over your skin in slow cups, brushing your hair back with his fingers when it clung to your cheeks.

“so perfect,” he whispered, not even meaning to say it aloud. “look at you.”

he tilted your chin up and kissed you — slow and unhurried, lips damp and soft from the bath, his hand resting over your heart. you sighed into it, eyes fluttering shut.

“come on,” he murmured after a while, rising out of the water first. “let’s get you warm.”

he grabbed a towel and held it open for you. helped you stand — careful, slow, his hands catching your elbows when your knees wobbled. he wrapped the towel around your shoulders, tugged it snug like a blanket, then another around your hair. he rubbed at your arms through the fabric, eyes fixed on your face like he was still watching for signs you might drift.

you stood there in the low glow of the bathroom light, dripping and delicate, and he looked at you like he was seeing the sun rise over his own chest.

“c’mere, sweetheart,” he murmured. “bed’s waitin’.”

he led you down the hall, one hand at your back. didn’t let go until you reached the bedroom — and even then, it was only to pull the covers back and tuck you gently in.

you curled on your side beneath the duvet, damp hair against the pillow, and he joined you without a word. slid in behind you, warm and solid, his bare chest pressed to your spine. he wrapped his arms around you like you were something precious he’d found washed up on the shore — fragile and miraculous and his.

his nose nuzzled the back of your neck. he kissed it once, then again.

“you alright?” he whispered.

you nodded, your fingers brushing over his at your waist.

“feel like i’m floating,” you said, voice hoarse but content.

he smiled against your skin. “that’s alright. i’ve got you.”

one hand reached for yours beneath the covers — toyed with your fingers, twisted your pinky with his, then stilled, just holding.

“i like this,” you said softly. “you. here. this.”

“me too.” he pressed another kiss behind your ear. “could stay like this forever.”

you let your body melt into his. the blankets, the sheets, his warmth all around you. the smell of his skin — warm linen and shampoo and something faintly woodsmoke — made your eyes flutter heavier.

his hand on your stomach rose and fell with your breathing, matching it, steadying it. he stayed quiet after that. just held you, fingertips tracing idle shapes against your ribs.

you were halfway to dreaming when you heard him whisper it — so soft you weren’t even sure you’d caught it.

“never loved anyone like this before.”

your breath hitched.

you didn’t say anything. just reached behind you, blindly, and found his hand again. squeezed.

he kissed the back of your head one last time.

and the two of you drifted, wrapped in each other, wrapped in something bigger.

wrapped in the kind of love that doesn’t need anything else.

[axelakim]

Like Salt on Your Tongue [18+]

heyyyyy i've been thinking about this nonstop and had to get it down bc YEAH. two back to back noel fics #sorrynotsorry...I'll do liam next i promise.

Summary: just 90s noel doing coke off you💗

Word count: 2.7k

You were perched on your boyfriend’s lap, one arm slung lazily around his shoulders. His hand rested on your waist, thumb tucked beneath the hem of your shirt brushing slow circles against your skin.

The club was dark enough that you could get away with it—pressing sloppy kisses just behind his ear, along the curve of his neck. Noel wasn’t exactly a fan of public displays. You knew that. Normally he’d gently swat your hand away or give you a look that said not here. But tonight he was letting you have this. So you were taking everything you could get.

You couldn’t help it. The second an ounce of alcohol hit your system, you went wild around him. Couldn’t control yourself. It didn’t even matter if you weren’t near him. Sometimes just seeing him across a crowded room was enough to drum up a pulse between your legs. He was just too tempting. 

And the drunker you got, the worse it became. You always ended up beside him. On him. Touching him in any way you could. You’d come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t one for PDA. You really had tried to be good about it. To behave. But on nights like this when he gave you an inch, you turned it into a mile.

You were deep in one of those predicaments now.

You were wrapped around him, cocooned in the scent of his cologne and the heat of his body. Even the salt of his sweat was making you lightheaded. You were so close you could feel every vibration in his chest when he spoke or laughed. The two of you were passing a cigarette back and forth, feigning interest while some record exec across the table rambled through a story, trying far too hard to impress him.

Noel was bored. You could tell. 

His hand had drifted. No longer resting politely on your waist, his fingers had crept lower, tracing the v of your hips, stopping just shy of where you ached for him. Just the nearness made you squirm.

“Easy,” he said lowly, not even looking at you.

You leaned in toward his ear. “You’re not being fair.”

“If we’re talkin’ about fair,” he said, finally turning to face you, “then why haven’t you stopped squirming in my lap for the last hour, hmm?” His voice dropped. “Driving me fuckin’ mad.”

You bit back a smile. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said innocently, even as your body leaned in closer. The smirk tugging at your lips gave you away.

His eyes were heavy lidded and dark. You’d been at it for hours. Long enough that you were both well past tipsy and lingering in that blurry space where booze met desire.

He licked his lips, eyes sweeping over you. You shifted purposefully in his lap and felt him tense beneath you. He inhaled sharply, squeezing your waist in retaliation, but the hard shape of him pressing against you was unmistakable now.

It only made your grin stretch wider. Satisfaction bloomed in your chest like fire.

Just as he leaned in to say something—something low and filthy, you were sure—the record exec cut in.

“Whaddya say, Noel?” he interrupted, grinning too widely. “This is top notch shit. It’ll do ya.”

That caught both of your attention. You turned just in time to see him whip out a baggie, tapping a line of powder onto the table. The surface was sticky with spilled drinks and ringed with condensation. It half-dissolved the second he started cutting it.

Noel stubbed out the cigarette with the casual air of someone completely unimpressed. “Not the best surface mate,” he said flatly.

The exec faltered, clearly scrambling for a way to regain favor.

“Uhhh…do it off your bird's tits. I do it all the time it's great.”

A startled laugh burst out of you. The suggestion was so crude it almost didn’t register. But once it did…

Noel gave the man a look. “First of all, don’t be talkin’ about my missus' tits. Secondly, pass it ‘ere.”

A thrill shot through you. You’d half-expected him to shut the whole thing down. To mock the guy, brush him off, move on. But no.

He snatched the baggie then turned back to you slowly. His eyes moved over your body, like he was calculating the exact right spot. The heat in his gaze made your breath catch.

You were suddenly grateful for the flimsy top you’d worn, the low neckline giving him easy access. You slid your arm from around his shoulders and tugged the fabric down just enough to bare the curve of your breast. Reclining slightly, you shifted to give him room, and his hand slipped behind you to brace the small of your back. 

Noel tapped out a messy line, his focus solely on you. Then he leaned in so close that the warmth of his breath ghosted across your skin, sending goosebumps racing down your spine.

He glanced up at you through his lashes and then he was snorting the line fast and sharp, his nose grazing your chest. He lingered there afterward, head dipped, forehead resting lightly against your collarbone.

“Fuck,” he muttered, low and wrecked, barely audible over the music thudding around you.

When he lifted his head again, his eyes were glassy, lips parted. “S’good,” he slurred, voice rough. “S’real good.”

Before you could say anything he was leaning back in, licking up the faint trail of residue left clinging to your damp chest. His tongue was hot against your skin, dragging over the curve of your breast, tasting sweat and coke and salt. 

You felt him groan against you, savoring the rush. His grip on your waist tightened and then he was placing open mouthed kisses to your breast, slow and messy. More indulgent than hurried. Like he didn’t care who saw. Like he’d forgotten the club around you even existed.

Your pulse jumped wildly. You arched into him instinctively, one hand sliding to the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair.

He didn’t stop. His lips trailed up your chest, across your collarbone, and finally to the delicate space beneath your jaw. That’s where he started nipping. Soft, teasing bites between hot kisses.

“Er—Noel—” the exec interrupted weakly.

Noel didn’t even glance his way. “Piss off,” he muttered against your neck.

The man hesitated, clearly reluctant. Like he was only just realizing he'd handed his coke over to Noel Gallagher and should’ve known he wasn’t getting it back.

You heard the scrape of his chair as he got up and left, muttering under his breath. And then it was just the two of you.

Noel didn’t stop. If anything, he grew bolder now that you were alone. He mouthed hungrily along your neck. He lingered at every sensitive spot, sucking and biting gently, leaving heat and pinpricks of pleasure in his wake. His breath was hot. His hands possessive. Your breath was shallow now, heart pounding.

Your fingers tightened in his hair as he dragged his mouth up to your ear, tugging it lightly with his teeth. The sound that came from him was low and filthy and needy and it sent heat rushing through you.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You guided his face to yours and kissed him. It was hungry and messy, all tongue and teeth. His mouth opened against yours without hesitation and he kissed you like he was trying to crawl inside you, like he couldn’t get close enough.

When he finally pulled back he was panting—face flushed, lips swollen, hair sticking to his forehead. He looked wrecked in the most beautiful way.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’ve gotta try some of this.”

You stared at him, your own breath still ragged. His pupils were blown wide, glassy but fixed on you.

You glanced down, heart pounding. “Where should I—”

He smirked. “Anywhere you want darling.”

You swallowed hard, gaze skimming over his chest, his neck, the open collar of his shirt. Then lower. The way he was spread beneath you—cock hard against your thigh, shirt rumpled—it was a sight that made your stomach twist and your thighs clench.

You leaned in, dragging your fingers down his chest until you reached the exposed patch of skin just below his collarbone. He didn’t move. Just watched you, eyelids heavy, chest rising and falling a little faster now.

“Here,” you said quietly, peeling his shirt open further. You braced your palm against his sternum to steady yourself then looked up. “Don’t move.”

You tapped the bag carefully, teeth catching your bottom lip as you spilled a thin, crooked line across his skin. It wasn’t perfect. Some of it clung to his chest hair and some had started to slide. But it didn’t matter.

You bent over him, breath shallow. He was burning hot beneath you, every inch of him taut with anticipation. You could feel the way he stilled as your nose brushed his skin.

The powder hit hard. It stung as it rushed up your sinuses and you tipped your head back instantly, eyes fluttering shut against the sharp burn and sudden euphoric jolt.

“Fuck me that is good,” you muttered, nerves buzzing, blood rushing in your ears. 

Your head dropped again and then your mouth was on him.

You licked the remnants from his chest, slow and shameless, tasting sweat, salt, and the faint chemical bitterness. He groaned loudly and his hips jerked beneath you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped.

You kissed the spot once more, letting your tongue linger just to tease him, then sat up. Your own eyes were glassy now, pupils wide and buzzing.

“I should do one off your prick next.”

Noel looked like he was about to fucking combust.

One hand shot to your thigh, the other wrapped tight around your waist as he dragged you fully on top of him, muttering curses into your skin with his face pressed to your chest, almost desperate. Like he couldn’t get close enough.

You were both reckless now. High. Slick with sweat. Everything outside of him felt static. Just background noise to the heat pooling low in your belly and the throb between your legs.

“Noel,” you breathed, almost pleading. Your head was spinning and you could feel him straining beneath you, hard and impatient.

He pulled back just enough to look at you and the sight made your breath catch. He looked debauched in the most devastating way. 

“We need to get the fuck outta here,” he said hoarsely.

You nodded instantly.

He grabbed your hand and hauled you up, the two of you stumbling out of the booth in a blur of laughter and urgency. No one noticed. Everyone was too drunk, too wrapped up in their own worlds. You half-walked, half-tripped behind him through the crowd, his hand clamped tightly in yours as he led you down a narrow hallway. 

How he knew where he was going you had no idea. Didn’t care.

You crashed into a door together, some forgotten storage room or office, and he fumbled with the knob until it finally swung open. You barely made it inside before he had you pinned against the wall, door slamming shut behind you.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he muttered against your mouth. 

He kissed you hard, his hips grinding against yours as your fingers worked blindly at his belt. You were clumsy with need, too eager to slow down, but he didn’t care. His mouth had already moved back to your neck. 

One hand slipped beneath your skirt, fingers gliding up between your thighs like he already knew exactly what he’d find. How soaked you were. How ready.

“Noel—fuck—” you gasped, back arching against the wall.

“Been hard since you sat down on me, you know that?” he rasped, mouth dragging along your throat. “You fucking knew.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, almost delirious. “Oh, I was counting on it.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped low, fingers pressing against your slick heat through your panties. “Can feel how wet you are from this. Gonna show me what you were begging for?”

That’s all the permission you needed. You shoved his jeans low, wrestled his boxers down just enough, and reached for him. He was hard and thick in your hand, already leaking at the tip.

You stroked him a few times and he shuddered, a rough curse slipping past his lips. 

“No time for that.”

He hiked your leg around his hip, shoved your panties aside, and ground against you once, just to tease, before lining himself up and thrusting into you all at once. You cried out, the sound raw and broken, head hitting the wall behind you.

You were fluttering around him, stretched so perfectly it burned right through you. He didn’t wait. Didn’t pause. He just started moving, fast and filthy, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. 

One hand gripped your thigh while the other tangled in your hair, holding you in place as his hips snapped into you over and over. 

“Fuck—you love riling me up in public, don’t you?” he panted, breath ragged against your ear. “Gonna get us in trouble one day.”

You managed a grin through the haze. “I would if you’d let me touch you.”

He slammed into you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“And you wonder why I don’t?”

Another thrust, sharp and brutal, and a guttural moan tore out of you.

“I’d lay you out on every surface I could find,” he growled, each word marked with a snap of his hips, “and fuck the life outta you if the press weren’t always around.”

Your name spilled from his lips between words, breathless and broken, like he didn’t even realize he was saying it. 

“But I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely think. All you could do was hold onto him, nails dragging down his back, clenching around him so tightly you thought you might black out.

“Say it,” he said, voice rough.

He was manic from the coke now. Pounding into you with impossible speed, sweat dripping from his brow.

You tried to speak but all that came out was a strangled moan.

“Say it,” he growled again, biting into your neck.

You gasped, mind short circuiting, and fought through the pleasure fogging your brain to try and string together a sentence.

“Yes—fuck—yes, I’d love it,” you cried. “I’d get off on it so bad, Noel—”

He groaned, loud and wrecked, hips faltering.

Then he pushed your leg higher, pressing you harder against the wall, grinding deeper and that was all it took.

Your orgasm slammed into sharp and sudden. Your vision whited out. Your whole body locked around him, a string of breathy curses falling from your lips as you unraveled completely.

Noel followed with a raw, broken curse, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he spilled inside you, his breath hot and trembling against your skin.

The room was dead quiet except for your breathing. The air was thick with sweat and sex and something heady and electric between you.

Neither of you moved. You weren’t sure you could.

Noel stayed buried inside you for a moment, his forehead resting lightly against your shoulder. Your limbs felt loose and heavy. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat in your chest, in his cock, in the way his hands gripped your waist.

Then he laughed softly, still panting. “That was fuckin’ mental.”

You tipped your head back against the wall and grinned, chest heaving. “Yeah. Well. You started it.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Nah. You did. You always fuckin’ do.”

“I blame the coke,” you said, still catching your breath.

Noel snorted and finally slid out of you, both of you flinching slightly at the sensitivity. He took a step back, tucking himself away, then reached around to his back pocket. 

“Speaking of…” He pulled out the baggie and held it up between two fingers. “Were you serious about doing a line off my dick?”

A wicked grin slowly spread across your face. “Only if you can get it up again.”

He laughed, head tipping back, then looked at you like you’d challenged him. “Oh, I don’t doubt I can.”

Before you could fire back, he was on you again—mouth greedy, urgent, planting frantic kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, trailing lower. You laughed breathlessly, still pinned between him and the wall, heart pounding, head spinning.

Somehow, impossibly, it felt like the night was just getting started.

[axelakim]

Cherub [18+]

Noel's been looking EXTRA FINE with these shows and someone made this lovely request so i had to write ab it of course. Someone also requested noel beard smut a while ago and i never wrote about it soooooooo here it is. I NEED THIS OLD MAN SO BAD !!!!!

Summary: As Noel begins to doubt the way age has changed him, you show him there's nothing sexier than the man he is now.

Word count: 4.4k

You loved Noel. Were obsessed with him actually. Even after all the years together, you were still discovering new things to adore. But lately, one detail in particular had completely taken over your attention. You’d started noticing it a few years ago, subtly at first, but now you were fully aware. Consumed, even.

When he turned fifty, he’d been in the best shape of his life. Lean, sharp, stupidly sexy. His hair had gone perfectly salt and pepper, his jaw still strong, his frame wiry and angular. For a while, he’d been religious about staying fit—morning workouts, careful meals, clothes that showed it off. And then, slowly, he let it go.

You didn’t blame him. And you certainly didn’t mind.

Noel had always been on the smaller side. You were nearly the same height and sometimes you swore his jeans were smaller than yours. He just had that narrow build. Slender hips that didn’t quite make anatomical sense but somehow suited him perfectly. It wasn’t like you ever felt you had to compete with him physically, far from it. You adored that little waist. Loved how easily your arms could wrap around him, how your chin fit over his shoulder, your head tucked into the warm crook of his neck.

But in recent years, like any man his age, he’d started to develop a bit of a belly. It changed the way he dressed. He’d swapped his extra small jumpers for looser button ups that strained just a bit in the middle. And sometimes the buttons would pop open. Or he’d stretch his arms above his head, and the hem would ride up, revealing a sliver of bare skin at his side.

At first you thought it was endearing. You’d tease him with little pinches as you passed by and he’d laugh, eyes crinkling in that way you loved. 

But recently it had shifted. What had once been adorable had become provocative. Your fingers would find their way beneath his shirt when you curled up in bed or watched telly together, your hand absently stroking the skin.

There was suddenly more of him. More to see. More to touch. More that pulled your gaze every time it peeked out from under his clothes. You stopped giving him teasing pinches and would now just watch, silently entranced until the skin disappeared under the fabric again. It wasn’t overtly sexual, no more than a hint of cleavage was, but once your eyes landed there you couldn’t look away.

You’d especially noticed it during last year’s tour. There’d been an influx of button downs. And even more unbuttoned ones. Whether he didn’t realize how far down they got undone or just didn’t care, you weren’t sure. Maybe he liked it. You certainly did.

You’d hover side stage with bated breath, watching a shirt edge looser and looser with each song, hoping for it to fall open just a little more. Every flash of chest made you ache.

His hair had gone more grey lately, too. A bit longer. A little unkempt. More rugged. It only added to the appeal. And then jesus christ he’d started growing a beard. 

Noel had always been so clean shaven. Occasionally a bit of stubble, but never anything intentional. Never like this.

It had thrown you at first. You’d lean in for a quick peck, expecting the familiar softness of his cheek, only to be met with something rough and bristled. It would startle you momentarily but you’d grown used to it. Found it oddly comforting at times. 

The skin on your face, however, had been less quick to adapt. It wasn’t long before you found yourself nursing the occasional beard burn. He was apologetic about it, always offering to shave, but you never held him to it. Sometimes he followed through. Most times he didn’t. 

You wondered if he noticed how much more your hands wandered when he let it grow. How much tighter your legs would squeeze around his head when he’d go down on you, feeling that scrape between your thighs for days.

Now, with the beard longer than ever, flecked in white and grey, with his hair a little wild and his body a little softer, you found yourself restless. Constantly eyeing him. Wanting.

He’d been busy lately. Distracted, but never distant. Most nights he’d end up fast asleep on your chest, your fingers absently petting his hair. He carried so much. Worrying about the music, about how things were with Liam, about how everything sounded. You understood. And you never faulted him for it.

But it meant the grooming had fallen off. The beard had grown thicker, rougher, the lines of it darker, more defined. And you’d been truly, desperately horny for weeks now.

You were lying in bed one morning still half-asleep when you shifted down and rested your head on his stomach. The skin there was soft and warm from sleep, rising and falling gently beneath your cheek. Your fingers moved slowly, tracing absentminded patterns over the gentle curve of his belly, the fine hair tickling your face as you nuzzled in closer. Your nose brushed along the line of his hip and you let yourself sink into the scent of his skin, the faint thud of his heartbeat echoing through his body.

After a while, you began pressing warm kisses to the exposed skin. Your lips wandered across the soft expanse just above his waistband, dotting affection along the space. You didn’t realize how carried away you were getting until he made a low noise above you—a sleepy, half-laughing groan.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, voice thick from sleep. “You’re treatin’ me like I’m pregnant. Am I really that fat?”

You laughed gently against his stomach and kissed him once more beneath his navel before lifting your head, resting your chin on him. Looking up through the curtain of your hair you caught the way his brow furrowed slightly, the faint crease between his eyes as he squinted down at you.

“Course not,” you said with an affectionate smile. “Not like it’d matter anyways.”

He shifted slightly, almost like he was uncomfortable. You watched him carefully. He’d never been self conscious about his weight, not that he’d let on. So you weren’t sure if he was joking or if something in him had really stirred at your touch.

“What?” you prodded gently, still cradling his waist. “You can worship my body but I can’t do the same to yours?”

His gaze dropped to meet yours then, a flicker of something uncertain behind the fondness in his expression. “It’s not the same.”

You cocked your head. “Why not?”

He exhaled, like it pained him to say it out loud. “Because you’re…you,” he said finally. “You’re soft in all the right places. I’m just getting soft.”

You dragged your hand slowly across the plane of his stomach, letting your palm press meaningfully into the spot he seemed so unsure about. “You don’t think I like this?” you asked, voice lower. “This exact part of you?”

You punctuated the question with a playful little bite to the skin. A surprised laugh bubbled out of him and your lips lingered where you’d bitten, soothing the spot with a kiss.

Your gaze drifted back up to his face, more serious this time. “Noel, I adore you. All of you. I don’t think you’ve ever been sexier in your life.”

He scoffed lightly, embarrassed. “Come off it—”

But you cut him off, rising up just slightly so your face hovered above his chest, one hand still resting warmly at his waist.

“No, I’m dead serious,” you said, holding his gaze. “You’ve got no idea how mad I am for you lately.”

You let your eyes wander slowly over the exposed lines of his chest. The smattering of gray in the hair dusting his torso.

“It’s unbearable,” you whispered, words heavy with intent.

There was a pause. Then something shifted in his expression.

“This turns you on then?” he asked, voice low as if he was testing the waters.

A wicked grin pulled at your mouth. “You have no idea.”

He barely had time to respond before you were moving again, climbing up his body, kissing your way over his sternum. Then the slope of his shoulder. The curve of his throat. By the time you were face to face, you were half-draped across him, your hand sliding up to cradle his jaw.

Your thumb brushed gently through the scruff of his beard.

“And by the way,” you whispered, “the beard? Same effect.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. Something about the way he was looking at you, open and a little unsure, made your chest ache. He wasn’t the type to ask for reassurance, not directly, but it was written all over him now. And you wanted to give everything. Every piece of yourself that might remind him just how wanted he was.

You leaned in and kissed him slow and deep, trying to convey how much you wanted him just the way he was. He kissed back like he understood. Like he needed to believe it.

His hand slid up the length of your spine, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his. You could feel the shift then, the surrender in his body. His mouth grew hungrier against yours, the scrape of his beard dragging across your cheek, your jaw, and it made you smile against his lips.

“You don’t know what all this does to me,” you murmured, fingers trailing down his chest, slower now, dragging your nails lightly over the soft swell of his stomach.

A shaky breath escaped him. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you whispered against his lips. “You get better with age and I’m just…fucking obsessed with you.”

Your hips shifted slightly against his and you felt him twitch beneath you. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, a quiet curse slipping past his lips.

Your mouth trailed along his jaw, down the edge of his beard, settling just beneath his ear. “You think this is happening because I pity you?”

He groaned softly, hands gripping your waist.

“I love all of you,” you continued. “Even the parts you might not.”

He didn’t say anything. Just reached up and cupped the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss. His other hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, palm hot against your back.

You shifted against him, pressing a thigh between his legs and feeling the unmistakable heat there. A shiver ran through you, the rush to your head immediate, overwhelmed by the surge of love flooding your chest. It killed you that he felt this way. You needed to change his mind. Needed him to never feel insecure again.

You let the kiss stretch out a while longer before slowly pulling away. Your mouth moved with purpose now, trailing down his chest in slow, worshipful descent. You paused to flick your tongue over one of his nipples, smiling at the sharp intake of breath he gave you. Then you kissed it softly, letting your lips linger.

When you reached the trail of hair leading into his boxers, you brushed your lips along the line, nudging the fabric lower with your mouth as you went. By the time your face was buried in the tangle of hair at the base of his cock, you felt him twitch beneath your lips, already beginning to harden. Even that hair had started to go gray now. You smiled softly against it and looked up at him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” you whispered. “I hope you know that.”

He didn’t speak. Just breathed through his nose, a little uneven, and the hand resting in your hair gave a gentle tug.

You held his gaze for a beat longer then slowly pulled his boxers down and off, revealing all of him.

Your fingers wrapped gently around his right knee, guiding his leg up until his foot settled flat on the mattress. You moved slowly, giving him time to adjust, to settle into the moment. He tensed slightly, just for a second, but you kissed into the inside of his knee softly and felt him begin to relax again.

You trailed reverent kisses up the inside of his thigh, reveling in the way the skin jumped with each touch. The way his breath hitched, the way his fingers flexed in your hair—it made your stomach tighten.

By the time you reached the sensitive skin behind his balls, he was breathing hard. You nosed at them gently, letting out a soft laugh when you heard the low, helpless curse fall from his mouth.

Your tongue flicked out, slow and teasing, before you dragged it upward over the softness and closed your mouth around one of his balls. You sucked gently, letting your tongue cradle and warm him. Then you gave the same attention to the other, savoring the way his hips twitched and his grip in your hair tightened.

Then you let your tongue glide up from the base of his cock, tracing the sensitive underside, following the vein all the way to the flushed tip. He was fully hard now, thick and heavy and hot against your mouth.

You hovered there for a moment, your breath warm against the head of his cock. Then, without breaking eye contact, you leaned forward and let your lips part around the tip.

He hissed through his teeth, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping back to yours. You watched him watch you. He was completely still save for the clench of his jaw.

You started slow, taking him inch by inch, your lips wet and open around him. One hand stayed wrapped gently around the base, your thumb stroking lazy, affectionate circles into the underside. The other slid up to cradle the thigh you’d drawn up, fingers splayed just beneath the curve.

Every twitch of his cock against your tongue, every low sound that slipped from his mouth, only made you more devoted to the act. You weren't doing this to tease him. You weren’t trying to rush him over the edge either. You just wanted to show him your desire. How deeply you wanted him.

You drew back slowly then sank down again, your mouth stretching wider as you took more of him in. The weight of him pressed against your tongue and you moaned softly around him, loving the way he jolted in response. The way his hand tangled more tightly in your hair.

“Christ,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked.

You hummed around him again and the choked sound he gave in return made something flutter low in your stomach. Your hand shifted on his hip, guiding him gently, encouraging him to stay open for you. You couldn’t get enough of the sounds he made. The way he unraveled from your touch.

When you pulled off for a moment, your lips were swollen and wet. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of his shaft, then to his hipbone, then to the hollow just above where the hair began again. Your mouth lingered there, warm and soft, as your hand continued its steady rhythm around him.

You looked up at him, your voice low and sincere. 

“Noel,” you murmured. “I want to hear you say it.”

He blinked down at you, dazed. “Say what?”

“That you're beautiful.”

The words were spoken directly into his skin, your lips brushing against the soft slope of his stomach as you nuzzled into it. You needed him to claim it. Not just accept it, but believe it.

He scoffed and looked away. Like it embarrassed him just to consider.

But you didn’t let up.

“I mean it,” you said, your hand tightening ever so slightly around him.

He gasped, sharp and involuntary, his head tipping back against the pillow. But when he looked down at you again, he didn’t look away. You held his gaze, patient and steady.

Still, he didn’t speak. So you coaxed it out of him the only way you knew how.

You lowered yourself again, lips parting as you took him back into your mouth, deeper this time. You relaxed your jaw, letting him slide further until your nose pressed to the soft skin above the base, your throat swallowing around him as his entire body tensed beneath you.

The moan that spilled from him was low, torn from deep in his chest. One hand cradled the back of your head, while the other reached for your shoulder, gripping it with trembling fingers.

You moved in a steady rhythm, mouth worshipping every inch of him. Your tongue dragged slowly along the underside of his cock with every pull, savoring the weight and heat of him. You let yourself sink into it too. Into the smell of him, the occasional catch in his breath when your lips pressed down deep, the breathy sounds falling from his mouth.

You pulled off with a quiet pop only when you sensed he was getting close. You kissed your way back down to the base again, nuzzling, breathing heavily against him. You let your cheek rest there for a moment, then whispered again, more gently this time.

“Noel.”

He exhaled shakily, already understanding. You weren’t going to let him run from it. You’d bring him to the edge over and over again if that’s what it took, but he wouldn’t get to come without those words.

You looked up at him, eyes soft, lips still parted against his skin.

He swallowed hard. And when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and uncertain. “I’m…”

You smiled encouragingly and kissed his hip again. “Go on.”

Then you took him fully back into your mouth, easing him in deep as your hand resumed its pace at the base, your cheeks hollowing, your tongue pressing just right.

“Fuck—” he gasped, already on the brink. “I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful, I’m—”

The words dissolved into a moan as his body gave out. His hips jerked up instinctively, chasing the heat of your mouth. He came with a low, broken sound, and you held him through every wave of it. Swallowed everything he gave you, your hand stroking gently at the base, coaxing every last drop from him.

His body went limp beneath you, hand slipping from your hair, his breath coming in soft, unsteady exhales.

You pulled back slowly and kissed his stomach again. You rested your cheek right where you’d started against his stomach, your fingers stroking aimlessly over his thigh.

“You are beautiful,” you murmured into the skin. “I don’t want you to forget that. Ever.”

There was a long pause. Then his hand found your shoulder again and squeezed, firm but grateful.

You looked up at him. His eyes were wide and soft, full of something that looked a lot like awe. And love. So much love it made your chest ache.

“Come here,” he said, voice ragged.

You climbed back up his body and settled into his arms, your head on his chest, your leg thrown over his hip. A kiss was pressed to the crown of your head, and he let it linger.

“You’re beautiful too,” he whispered, his voice thick.

And you held him tighter.

After that, he started wearing tighter shirts.

Not by accident. On purpose.

They were the kind that clung just enough to his stomach, the fabric stretching ever so slightly across his middle. Buttons left undone a little too far down. He’d stretch in front of you in the kitchen knowing full well the hem would ride up and every time it did he’d glance over with that wicked little grin, mischievous and unmistakably aware of what he was doing.

He'd caught on. And there was no denying now that he believed you loved it because he could see it. The way your breath would hitch, how your gaze would track the sliver of skin at his waist, the subtle curve of his belly, the soft trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. The way lust would take over your entire expression before you could even try to hide it.

It drove you mad. And he knew it.

And the beard, god, he’d kept the beard. Not just kept it, but started maintaining it. Trimmed it just right. Full and coarse in all the ways that made you dizzy. He never mentioned the way your hands wandered more now. How often they cupped his jaw. How your fingers drifted through the scruff whenever he was close. But he noticed. You knew he did.

Because now he wore it all with something like pride. Like he’d finally realized that none of it diminished him. That he could be older and still make you wild. That you could love him even more now, with the gray in his beard and the softening of his waist, than you ever had before.

And fuck, nothing turned you on more than watching him start to believe it.

Rehearsals had started and he’d been in a good mood. And he looked better than ever. Maybe he even seemed a bit more confident. Your sex life had been crazy good lately. Not that it wasn’t before, but it had become more frequent. Like both of you were insatiable. 

Tonight wasn’t any different. 

You were sitting on the edge of the bed in just your underwear rubbing lotion into your legs, distracted by the memory of watching him earlier that day. Every time he passed off a guitar, his shirt would slide up and you’d catch glimpses of that bare skin. That little curve above his waistband. You’d had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from staring so openly.

Across the room, Noel peeled off his shirt. When he turned back toward you, his eyes locked onto yours, amusement tugging at his mouth.

“Felt you starin’ all through practice,” he said, voice low and smug.

You didn’t even try to deny it. “You were showing off.”

He smirked and stepped between your knees. “Can you blame me?” he murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “You’re always lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, feigning innocence as your hands slid up his sides, fingers trailing over the warmth of his bare skin.

“Like you’re gonna eat me alive.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss along the line of his stomach, slow and reverent. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Before you could say another word, he pushed you gently backward until you were lying flat on the mattress. You let out a small laugh, surprised, breath catching as his hands skimmed down your sides and hooked into the waistband of your underwear.

“Noel—”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he muttered, dragging the fabric down slowly. “The way you look at me lately…you don’t know what it does to me.”

Your pulse stuttered as he knelt between your legs, spreading you open with steady hands. He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and sure, like he was claiming you. Another kiss, higher. Then another. The rough scrape of his beard made you twitch.

Your breath hitched. “God, that…”

He glanced up, eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth quirking. “That what?”

“That—your beard,” you breathed.

He smirked, wicked and knowing, then ducked his head again. When he finally pressed his mouth to you, it was like your whole body caught fire. The contrast of his warm tongue against the roughness of his beard made you moan helplessly, head falling back into the pillows.

He groaned against you, clearly enjoying your reaction. His tongue moved slowly, parting you with ease, his mouth soft and open and consuming. He licked you with full strokes, messy and thorough, until your hips were lifting off the bed and your thighs were threatening to close around his head.

But his hands held you open, steady and unyielding, thumbs digging into the creases of your thighs just enough to keep you where he wanted you.

“Fuck, Noel—” You whimpered as the bristle of his beard dragged across your inner thighs, every nerve lighting up beneath the friction.

He pulled back slightly, eyes dark, lips glistening. “Too much?”

You shook your head, breath caught in your chest. “No. No, it’s perfect.”

His grin was devilish before he dove back in.

This time he focused on your clit, tongue circling slowly, lips sealing around it in a rhythm that made your vision blur. And that beard, god that beard, brushed against the most sensitive skin like he’d grown it just for this. 

You could already feel the burn setting in. The kind you’d carry with you tomorrow and think about every time your thighs brushed together.

Your legs began to tremble. Your hands fisted in the sheets then slid up into his hair, gripping him like you needed something to steady you.

He moaned again when your thighs squeezed tighter around his head and you felt the sound echo into your core, vibrating through every inch of you.

It didn’t take long after that.

Your orgasm crept up fast and brutal. When it hit, you cried out, hips jerking against his mouth, body pulsing beneath his grip. He didn’t stop. Not for a second. Kept licking you through it, working you down from the edge, mouth wet and patient, the coarse scrape of his beard dragging you back into your body even as you threatened to float away.

When you finally collapsed against the mattress, completely spent, he kissed the inside of your thigh again, gentler now, then nuzzled into the space just beside your hip, catching his breath.

You blinked up at the ceiling, chest heaving, heart still thudding in your ears.

After a long pause, you felt him shift, dragging his body up over yours until he was hovering above you, one arm braced by your head, the other trailing lazy fingers along your ribs.

You reached up and stroked your thumb along his jaw, smiling at the slight glisten still on his mouth.

“That was filthy,” you whispered.

He kissed you slow and deep and tasting like everything you’d just given him.

“Good,” he said against your lips. “Maybe now you’ll stop starin’ at me like that.”

You laughed. “Not a chance.”

“Well,” he said with a grin, “this should be an interesting few weeks then.”

You laughed again, full and helpless, and pulled him close, heart aching with love.

[axelakim]

all that she wants

pairing: (early 90s!)noel gallagher x reader

fluff, angst if you squint, kinda shy noel

summary: noel doesn’t know what you want. but he knows damn well what he does. he’s just too shy to act on it.

a/n: hi!! this is my first fic, so be nice plz, i’m not really proud but anyway. kinda inspired by noel singing ‘all that she wants’ in that video where liam sings girls and boys by blur to mock them. anyway.

word count: 0.9k

—

You walked backstage, your guitar still in your hands, your hair a mess and your mascara slightly smudged. This had been a really good show. Noel was waiting for you as always. He was your best friend. Or maybe less, maybe more. Neither of you really knew. What made it impossible to reach the more than friends stage, was because you didn’t even know Noel wanted it. He wasn’t really acting on his feelings.

You were bright, loud and confident. Just like his brother, Liam, who you were pretty close with too. Noel thought you needed to be with someone like yourself. Not the older, quiet, song writer, brother.

You put your guitar down and grinned when Noel complimented you on your performance. You took a bottle of beer that was sitting on the table. You winced at the taste of the cheap beer.

“This is shite. We’re all gonna meet Liam and his mates at the pub to celebrate this, wanna join?” you asked, a little – almost expecting – smile on your face.

“Uhm... Nah, I’ve got to, uh–” he started to find an excuse to to go, when the real reason was that he didn’t want to spend the whole night drinking and seeing you laugh with Liam– but then your bandmates arrived and said they were heading to the pub.

“Oh. Alright, well, I’ll see ya. Do whatever you have to do.” you answered, grabbing your jacket.

“See ya...” he muttered, without you even hearing it.

You walked out of the door, waving goodbye to Noel.

—

When you and your bandmates arrived at the pub, and that Liam saw you, he groaned, seeing that Noel wasn’t here. He excused himself outside, and called him.

“Noel, where the fuck are you? You were supposed to come and talk with her!” he spat through the phone.

Noel sighed. Long, tired, almost regretting.

“I dunno, Liam, I just... Don’t want to fail again. She doesn’t want–” he started.

“All that she wants is you, for fuck’s sake! Why can’t you see it? How she looks at you, for starters. It’s bloody obvious.” Liam cut him, saying what he always wanted to say.

Noel huffed. “You have no idea about how she feels...” he answered back, quietly, as if he was hoping Liam was right.

“Shut up and go to the pub.” Liam barked, and hung up the phone.

Noel thought it was no use. But he came anyway.

—

The night was long, technically, but everything was fast. How fast you got drunk. How fast you became less and less– some had went home, some were shagging with strangers in the bathrooms, and some– you and Noel, were sitting next to each other on the booth, his arm swung lazily over your shoulders. You were starting to fall asleep on his shoulder, until Noel gently squeezed your side and whispered.

“I’m gonna get ya home, yeah?”

“Alright... You’re so nice.” you muttered, looking up at him, your eyes half-lidded.

He chuckled, finding your drunken and sleepy state really cute.

“That’s who I am, I guess.” he answered, shrugging, and getting you up.

You didn’t live far away, so he decided to walk you home.

When you stepped out of the pub, the sweaty, hot, booze-smelled atmosphere became a fresh, cold air that licked your hot skin. But Noel was close, his arm around your waist, the heat he was radiating was perfectly enough for you.

“Can I ask you a question...?” you asked lowly, almost shyly, but honest.

“Yeah, anything.” he answered, looking at you, walking at your side.

A little pause. Then, you shook your head a bit and said with a small chuckle.

“Thank you for walking me home.” you thanked, looking down at the ground.

“...that’s not a question. But, yeah, you’re welcome, love.” he said after furrowing his eyebrows slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The rest of the walk was quiet, a comfortable silence installing itself.

When you finally reached your flat, you both stopped. You smiled, slightly shrugged.

“Thanks...” you almost murmured, realising you were pretty close, his arm still around your waist. “Good night, Noel.” you said his name like a promise.

“Good night, love.” he started getting his arm off your waist, when his subconscious, or drunken mind – he didn’t know – muttered: “Love ya.”

His hand froze on your lower back when he realised he said this out loud. You heard it, and it was visible, the way your breath hitched, how you looked up at him. He didn’t take it back.

“What?” you asked in a breathless whisper, to make sure what you heard was really what he said.

He shook his head. “Sorry, love, I... I’m drunk.”

You knew he was lying. You knew him too well.

“Say it again.” you murmured.

He sighed. “I love you.”

“Noel. I... We’re just friends for a reason–”

He cut you off with a huff. “I know, m’sorry I misinterpreted our friendship and–”

He stopped when you cupped his jaw with your hands.

“No... We’re friends cause... You didn’t look intersted, Noel. You’re... Always avoiding going out, and all that. But... You are?”

He nodded slowly.

“Say it again.” you murmured again, your face getting even closer to his.

“I love you.” he whispered back.

You smiled. His arms wrapped fully around your waist.

“I love you too.” you answered.

And with that, his lips brushed against yours in a tentative kiss. You pulled him closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, and kissed him fully.

Then you pulled back, your forehead resting on his.

“Call me in the morning if this was all just a drunken mistake.” he muttered, and you chuckled.

“It isn’t.”

—

sorry if this is shite, just tell me if you have reqs, or anything :)

[axelakim]

until the lining of my throat memorizes every vein

[axelakim]

[axelakim]

liam and noel in stage, 1994.

[axelakim]

love this concert so much, hearing all these oasis songs being sung by the man who wrote them :) i love you noel gallagher! this rendition of don't look back on anger (i know he's the one who originally sang it...) is wonderful