#oasis x you

[leaawrites]

No one's gonna tell her what I'm on about

Liam Gallagher x fem!reader

Summary: when Liam takes on a dare from his friends, he doesn't believe of finding himself making the biggest mistake in his life.

This part 1 of a series.

Warnings: swearing, lying, Liam being a player

Wordcount: 1.6k

Masterlist, Part 2

“I dare you to -”

It started simple - it really did. A shot here, a dare there and so on. Nothing too harmful, just little jokes on the bartender or the people around.

With the lights dimmed and the air in the pub growing thicker by the second, Liam could hardly tell apart what once was and what was happening right now. His friends’ words blurred together, creating a chain of sounds with no meaning behind them other than, ‘I dare you to’ and he’d do it. No matter what it was, he’d do it because in his eyes: What was shame if not loneliness? He’d still have the same people around after doing whatever and people might like him less but what did he care about them?

One of his friends looked around the room as he thought of a second part to his sentence, a challenge that would make him say “no” even when it seemed impossible for Liam to say that. It seemed like that word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary, like it was some foreign sentence he could only deny because he wasn’t aware of it’s significance and would rather go on with his day like normally.

“I dare you to,” he started again, his eyes lighting up with mischievous as they found it’s next prey. Bouncing his leg, Liam waited patiently for his task, cigarette burning down in between his fingers. Being the ‘cool guy’ made it easier, he had to admit, he was never lonely, there would always be someone around. “Go home with her.” His friend pointed somewhere into the crowd at a table.

Liam followed his finger, letting his gaze linger on all the people around until he finally found her. The girl he was dared to take with him tonight. Sat in a corner far away from them with her head hanging low over the pint in front of her eyes.

“Easy,” he mocked, starting to stand up and swagger over in his usual step.

Her eyes snapped up as soon as she saw the familiar body stand in front of her, elbows leaned on the table and a smug smirk on his face.

Liam Gallagher, a boy she only got to observe from afar in school or from her bedroom window, hanging with his friends behind one of their houses. There had never been more than a quick glance her way from his side, so why would he lean so close to her now?

“What do you want?” she asked, shifting the glass further away from her body.

“Nothing,” he casually answered. “What ya got there?” Taking the glass, he sniffed at it before taking a sip. "Eww, what’s that shite?”

“What do you care?” she asked annoyed, taking it back from his grip, brushing his fingers in the action.

“Just don’t want you having to taste something so awful.”

Without another word, Liam turned on his heel and walked towards the bar, holding up two fingers and saying something to the bartender before looking her way again, smirking at her and almost missing the moment two glasses were slid over the counter his way.

Returning to her side once more, he put one of the pints in front of her and taking the other one himself.

“What’s that now?” she asked, not quite trusting whatever he was having in mind.

“Guinness,” he answered, taking a sip himself. “Me favourite.”

“So it’s good?”

“Of course, love,” he answered, looking almost offended. “Everything I like is good.”

“Sure,” she muttered under her breath, still lifting the glass up to her lips and tasting the liquor held within. Twisting her face at the bitter taste on her tongue, coughing slightly as her taste buds took in the taste of the beer.

Liam let out a loud laugh as she put it down again, not just because of the uncomfortable crinkle in her eyes, but also the stain it left behind. Hiding his big smile behind his hand, he tried not letting it show.

“What? I can’t help that it tastes bad-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Liam shook his head and cut her off. “It’s not that, you just got-” Leaning across the table, he took the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers and gently removed the moustache she received from the foam.

She had always been an observer, never more than a candle in the back of a chandelier, now she stood under the light. Someone’s attention was only on her, making her insides churn and her heart pick up speed. Her heart aching as she lost his touch from her skin and he leaned back again, smirking at the crimson red colour creeping up on her face. Wide eyes staring back at him.

He had her now.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Sweet? As if.

She scoffed, her insides falling from the pedestal they climbed on to put him there as she recognized the charming way of talking he used on one too many girls in front of her eyes to make it seem genuine and believable.

“Yeah, right.” Laughing right at his face and shaking her head in disbelief with another sip of the beer. It still tasted awful to her.

Silence settled over the table. Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Liam looked around the room, back at his friends who were still gauging at him, waiting for them to walk out together. Waiting for a wink and smirk sent their way. Waiting for him arm over her shoulder.

A slap on the shoulder brought him back to where he was sat, some force shaking him out of his head.

“What’s up, Gallagher?” A guy he knew from his old maths class greeted him, saying a few words he didn’t quite understand but still nodded his head to. Exchanging a few words before he was off again.

“Isn’t that annoying?” she asked, taking another sip from her Guinness, the taste gradually normalizing itself to her taste buds. “Having all those people around you all the time?”

“How can that be fucking annoying?”

“Well, for starters, you never have space for yourself,” she started listing, making him roll his eyes at her posh accent. “People always surround you, which means they talk about you all the time.”

“I don’t care what people think about me,” he answered, leaning back. Acting nonchalant, and maybe he didn’t care, though she doubted it. He didn’t care what strangers thought, surely, he was way too confident for that. It were only those close enough to him that made his head reeling in conflict late at night, she supposed.

“Good and bad?”

“Don’t fucking care.”

“So, you never feel alone in a crowded room?”

It had been a feeling she felt most of her time when her friends weren’t around. Leaving her in a bar at a table, sat alone, while they were off with their boyfriends or some other guy they met, on nights like these.

“Why would I?”

“No reason, I just wondered.”

“Well, you can fuck yourself, as well as your wonderin',” he got more defensive the more she questioned him.

“I’m not the one who started talking to you, pretty boy. Maybe just turn around and go back to those friends of yours if you’re not interested in talking with me, eh?” She said, staring at him and making him understand that she wasn’t joking around with him anymore.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” The smirk crept back on his face, making her roll her eyes in disbelief. How could someone be so unbelievably relevant in his own head? A true joke, that he called her insufferable.

“One or two people have mentioned it before, yeah.”

He laughed quietly, nodding his head. His eyes trailing down her body, eyes peeking past the over-sized leather jacket she wore. Familiar words looking back at him.

“You like The Stone Roses?” he asked, looking back up at her eyes. Surprise lacing his voice.

“Of course, they’re class.” She said it like it was obvious, whereas half his friends found them to be pretentious and dumb.

He nodded, eyes swirling over her face, taking in the nervous look in her eyes and how he could see that she sucked in her cheek, biting on it. A nervous habit that had lead to her having to leave the classroom more than once because it started bleeding a lot.

“I heard you’re in a band?”

“Yeah, we’re mega. You should come see us this weekend.”

It was the best opportunity. He wouldn’t have to leave with her tonight, wouldn’t have to leave her behind in the morning and act like nothing had happened the next day. Inviting her to a gig and telling his mates that was his date made it easier for both of them.

He didn’t mind going home with different girls on different nights, though something about her told him that this wouldn’t just be one night and done if he started with it.

Without giving him an answer, she continued, “How did you get into music anyway. I mean, you never seemed interested in it at school.”

“Got me a hammer thrown on the head and ta-da, I’ve become a Rock star.” Pointing to the place where the scar was still visible when you look close enough.

“Those bellends truly gave you a future the day you could’ve died,” she said, remembering seeing him laying on the grass with his head bleeding. “It looked pretty scary though.”

“You stalking me or summat?”

“My bed is looking out the window, so I see almost everything happening in front of my house. You just happen to be standing there most of the time, so maybe you’re the stalker.”

“Maybe I am.”

[sanfangzhu]

📑The games appearing inside (in clockwise order)📑

▸the kid at the back ▸Mushroom Oasis ▸文字化化 ▸14 Days With You ▸A DOUBLE SIDED MIRROR ▸Our Life Beginnings & Always ▸Where Winter Crows Go ▸Duality ▸Error143 ▸A Date with Death ▸MonsterxMediator

Thank you very much for the existence of these games; they have healed my soul (´-ωก`)

[talkbycolor]

MC's kindergarden . . . ↷

Yanderes as toddlers AU

GN!Reader as a teacher who doesnt get paid enough for this.

CW: just a bunch of weird kids wanting to marry their teacher, keep scrolling

Sunny Day Jack.

the golden child, the angel of the classroom, he is a little devil in disguise, getting his classmates into trouble so that his teacher thinks he is the best

he looks like a mini teacher, he teaches colors to his classmates and shares everything (except the teacher)

uses guilt to convince his teacher, but with that little face and red cheeks, who wouldn't fall for it?

a very intelligent child but he is selfish, he learned to steal cookies from the kitchen and has not told anyone

he gives part of his lunch to his teacher, he likes to eat and sit next to him, he is the child who gives bouquets of flowers picked from the playground (MC already scolded him so he should look for other places to get flowers)

MC doesn't usually scold him often since he manipulates and makes kicked puppy eyes to get his way, a mini bastard

John Doe.

probably autistic and socially anxious child, very attached to MC, they must always accompany him to go to the bathroom, he eats in the classroom during recess time while MC teacher accompanies him

this is the child you have to make sure doesn't go through the trash or eat the crayons

he is actually a very sweet boy, MC usually combs his hair before school so it doesn't bother him, for some reason Doe always has it tangled and dirty

he can't count to 10 with his hands, poor thing

cat-like affection, gives insects or interesting things he found on the playground to his teacher

when the children play house, he is the mascot

Alan Orion.

boy obsessed with outer space, his lunch box and clothes are full of planets and stars

wants to impress MC with his knowledge about space, he usually tells them facts about galaxies and constellations during classes

MC of course would notice certain marks on Alan's little body, he would feel protective of the child (llamen al dif)

he steals things from his classmates, he was already scolded several times by MC

animal lover, once brought a moth he found on the playground into the classroom and Doe ate it, he cried for thirty minutes while MC comforted him

when he plays with puppets he pretends that one puppet is him and the other is MC, usually his games are of them getting married and living in the forest

Peter Dunbar.

a very sociable child simply because he is indifferent to all other people other than MC, he enjoys causing mischief to his classmates who play with MC

MC has to make sure Peter doesn't bite his fingers or scratch his face, a habit he has while concentrating

Peter looks like a bald rat when it's very hot weather, which MC finds funny, but they still puts sunscreen on him so the boy doesn't get sun-burned

even though there are many things that Peter doesn't like, like swimming, fruits or singing, he would do it for MC, adding the biggest embarrassment of his life by doing group dance with his classmates but happy to see his favorite teacher smiling

he would bring sweet lunches to share with his teacher, lying by saying that it is too much and he can't eat it all by himself (Peter loves sweet lunches but he loves his teacher more)

probably draws him and MC on the board with lots of hearts around them, causing the other kids in the classroom to start crying because they want to be the only ones for MC

Ren.

a cutie with his teacher, a bastard with everyone else, he knows how to maintain that image very well to fool MC

he sneaks into the staff room to see you, very attentive, isn't he? sometimes he leaves small gifts on your table

fights with Peter every time he tries to get him in trouble with the teacher, he must maintain his good boy reputation for you to love him!

the last time a girl confessed to him, Ren pushed her into the mud of the playground and made her cry, unfortunately the girl told MC and Ren also cried, not because of the scolding but because he didn't want MC to think that he was bad

once he saw you outside of class time, you were at the supermarket and he panicked because he had fake tattoos that he put on (they came in the packaging of the gum he ate)

MC would come to think that Ren lives in a super religious way since he always draws angels. Ren doesn't draw angels, he draws an angel (you)

Mycheal.

another little manipulator but this one cries every time he tricks MC and gets hugs illicitly (little baby)

he is a very hardworking child in class when it is time to do manual work, he likes to make small paper flowers for his teacher

the baby gets very sad every time he is left out of school projects, he doesn't know why no one seems to like him. surprisingly, he managed to get along fairly well with John Doe until he noticed his interest in MC

usually wraps his tail around MC's leg whenever he feels nervous or sick, that has been an indicator for MC to lull the child

kid who is a cotton candy fan, Peter pushed him while they were playing on the playground and his candy fell to the ground (he cried for 40 minutes)

kitten boy starts purring when MC praises his work

Keith and Tenebris.

as for them, I decided that they were twins in this AU (tenebris still has his blue skin and strange smile), they don't seem to get along very well and have a marked rivalry because they both want MC for themselves

Keith usually hates being in the classroom because his classmates are very noisy, MC has tried to help him with the overstimulation so that it is not an uncomfortable experience, since then Keith loves going to kindergarten

Tenebris does not get along with most of his classmates (if not all), he came close to befriending John Doe and Mycheal because they know what it's like to be treated differently because of how they look, but Doe scared him off by showing him a pair of beetles he found on the playground and Mycheal…well, just by being a liar

Keith is a very dedicated child, he likes to take care of the flowers in the playground with the help of MC, his teacher usually reads books about facts about flowers and apparently Keith is one of the few who pays attention (he cries every time that Jack plucks flowers from the garden to give them to MC)

Tenebris uses a toy guitar from the classroom to serenade his favorite teacher, that always kills MC with cuteness (Tenebris gets angry because it's not a real guitar)

when there are school trips, Keith always takes his teacher's hand and tries to pull them to see everything he finds interesting with them, whether it's a flower or a heart-shaped cloud

Tenebris always takes advantage when playing with swords with his classmates to satisfy his violent need to hurt everyone who likes MC, the game ends up turning into a real battle and Tenebris is scolded

Solivan Brugmansia.

at first glance, MC thought that the boy was always upset and didn't like him being around, but Sol just doesn't know what to do like when he's around his favorite teacher

the quiet child in the classroom, prefers to do his work alone, always takes the opportunity to draw MC with chalk on the playground

the boy is obviously obsessed (and not in a fun way) with his teacher, his parents came to the classroom angry because Sol had his sketchbooks full of sketches of you

you are the only person he allows to hold his stuffed animal, he leaves it with you whenever he goes to the bathroom and asks you to play with it, you don't think it's strange that Sol has a stuffed horse, children have strange toys all the time

Sol is clearly a target for bullying, you know it, you see it, so you have to constantly check that he is not hurt (Peter put gum in his hair once and he cried a lot)

SURPRISINGLY, he is one of the few children who has REAL friends, he has Hyugo, a classmate from another class, Hyugo knows about his crush on MC and is not very secretive, Sol has to cover his mouth or push him to the sandbox to make him shut up

Damon.

puppy love, usually chases other children on all fours and licks snot from his own nose

barks every time someone gets too close to MC but in the end the scolding is always worth it since MC teacher strokes his head when he doesn't promise it won't happen again (it will happen again)

he will believe anything you tell him, he is quite gullible with the things that MC says, if his teacher tells him that he can't dig holes in the playground because giant insects will come out of there that will eat everyone, Damon believes it

sweet tooth, loves chocolate, MC has to be careful with what his students eat, Damon often hides chocolate bars in his pockets and that always ends in MC confiscating the chocolates

Damon has a friend in another class who he calls DG, he is his best friend and again Damon is one of the few kids with real friends in your class, DG knows that Damon likes you but unlike Hyugo he is more secretive

when there are school dances, Damon gives his all, always trying hard, not only because he loves to dance but he also loves when his favorite teacher applauds and praises him

 ♡

[das-sena]

[myfavoritesstuff]

Visual Novels & Webtoons

Note: Please do not read if you are not okay with yandere tendencies or violence!

Discord!!!! Please join if you like reading and/or writing or just want to talk (text). It will be my way of talking or obsessing over these characters.

Note: The Discord Link is now updated! Feel free to join!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Dreaming Freedom

Nothing yet

The Kid at the Back

Through the Illustrated Veil

The Coffin of Andy and Leyley

“Your Andy”

Possession from Within

“Yes, We Really Do” (smut)

Through the Illustrated Veil

14 Days with you

Through the Illustrated Veil

Mushroom Oasis

Nothing yet

A Date with Death

Nothing yet

Favor

Embrace of Shadows (smut)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[baobei-bu]

"Don't tell me that's what you think I won't be able to endure?"

[ohthethingswedoforlove]

Caged

Character: Mychael from Mushroom Oasis

Summary: At what point does a house become a prison, and at what point did his kindness start to feel stifling?

Warnings: yandere character; descriptions of violence; imprisonment;

  The fire crackles softly in the fireplace as you observe him in near complete stillness. Sitting quietly on the floor, right in front of the source of warmth, he diligently works away at a knitting project from wool he made sure to be all your favorite colors. A heavy silence hangs over the room.

  And your contempt for him is as palpable as the sharp pain in your mangled leg.

  You wish things hadn't ended up like this, and you have a feeling that he felt the same, but you were also long over feeling sorry for him. It's his fault.

  Well. Maybe it had been your fault too, in some ways. Maybe if you hadn't blindly ventured into the woods, maybe if you had been firm in leaving as soon as you were conscious and able to move again, maybe if you had just called him a monster right from the start; maybe then you wouldn't have walked straight into this cage.

  He steals a quick glance at you, only to just as quickly go back to pretending that his focus was only on his knitting needles. You clutch the hem of your sweater, one he had made for you, as a thought passed through you that perhaps you should have used them as a weapon when you had the chance. No way he's going to leave anything sharp near you now.

  His tail flicks to the side and he heaves a sigh. "Are you hungry?" He tentatively asks, slightly nervous and unsure. But you stay quiet. You're sure he can feel your searing gaze on him, his ears drooping as if in response to your lack of an answer. It's not the first time he asked you that in the past few... Hours? It feels like it's been hours.

  After a moment, you actually decide to do him the favor to speak up.

  "I want to leave." You simply state. His ears move again, this time twitching in discomfort. It's not the answer he wanted from you.

  The tone he uses holds a bit of disdain. "You saw what happened when you did, so no." He then stands up, making sure to leave both the unfinished project and its respective needles far away from the bed you laid in, and starts heading towards the kitchen. Only to stop at the doorway.

  You catch yet another glimpse from him, and though you forced yourself to look away immediately, his posture softened. "I know you're hungry. I'll make you something you'll like, I promise!" He smiles at you.

  And you turn over to lay facing the wall.

  Another sigh escapes him, and you hear the sound of his footsteps disappear into the kitchen. But you stay unmoving, despite the tears welling up in your eyes.

  You want to go home.

  And your leg hurts. It still hasn't properly healed from the incident.

  As you think back on your last and only escape attempt, the pain only gets worse. You had grown suspicious of his behaviour, thinking that it was strange how much he insisted on you staying, how much he refused to elaborate how you had gotten here in the first place. Sure, he had been nothing but kind and hospitable towards you, but why? Why does he act like you have no reason to go back to your life?

  And so, with the accumulating suspicion and discomfort, you decided to run in the middle of the night. A terrible idea, all things considered, since you ended up lost in the middle of the dark woods and stuck in place by a bear trap to the leg.

  Your absence must have awoken him, but your screams certainly led him to you.

  He was in about as much distress as you, rushing to your side and immediately getting to freeing you from the trap, all the while scrambling over mortified ramblings of worry and disappointment over you not trusting him. You didn't even have the energy to fight back as he carried you all the way back to his cabin, while frantically muttering under his breath about how you'll never leave through that door ever again.

  The pleasant smell of his cooking suddenly snaps you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. You recognize the smell in annoyance, quickly realising that he's indeed making something you'll like.

  "Firefly?" You nearly jump out of bed at him calling you by the usual nickname, caught off guard by how you hadn't heard him make his way to now stand right to the side of the bed.

  You finally make the mistake of making eye contact. And your head starts to feel f u z z y.

  "Everything is going to be alright." He immediately leans into you, with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't need to worry about anything." It doesn't stop you from getting lost in his strangely glowy gaze however, as you suddenly find yourself weirdly... Tempted to agree with him.

  A look of guilt passes through him. It doesn't last.

  "I'll take good care of you."

[bredforloyalty]

go let it out - top of the pops, 2000

[biblical-chronicles]

Questioning

____________________________________________

where Noel asks the reader about a "dilf" sign he saw at his gig

____________________________________________

Noel adjusted his guitar strap as the final notes of "AKA… What a Life!" echoed through the venue. The crowd roared, hands clapping and voices chanting for more, but Noel was already striding toward the wings. The band sounded tight, the energy was right, and he’d once again proven that no one commands a crowd quite like him.

But halfway through the set, something strange had caught his eye. A poster, held aloft in the middle of the crowd, scrawled with three words in massive, bold letters: "yer a dilf"

He’d clocked it during the set and though it had thrown him for a moment, he’d carried on. Still, it had stuck with him in that niggling, puzzling way. What the hell did that mean?

By the time he showed up at the studio the next morning, the word had been shoved to the back of his mind. Now he was focused on his next idea—a guitar riff he wanted to experiment with—but naturally, he didn’t have the right pedal for it. Thankfully, he knew exactly who'd have it.

You.

You were tucked away in your studio room, most likely immersed in whatever you were working on. Over the past year, Noel had found himself wandering into your space more and more often. You weren’t just another musician sharing the same building—you were clever, sharp, and always good for a laugh. And as much as he hated to admit it, you had a way of making him feel... well, younger. Like the days when he was still figuring out melodies in Manchester, hungry and full of fire.

Not that he’d ever tell you that, of course.

He sauntered down the hall and knocked on your door. “Oi, open up. It’s me.”

The door swung open, and there you were, a screwdriver in hand, clearly mid-repair on a piece of gear. The moment you saw him, your lips tugged into a smirk, and Noel felt that familiar, irritating flutter in his chest.

“Noel Gallagher,” you said, leaning against the doorframe dramatically. “What’s it this time? Lost your capo? Need me to write a chorus for you?”

“Dead funny,” he said dryly, stepping past you into the room. “ I need your wah pedal.”

You crossed your arms, amusement sparkling in your eyes. “The wah? What happened to the one you already have?”

“Dodgy connection,” he muttered, glancing at your gear. “Won’t work for what I’m tryin’ to do, and can't be arsed to call someone to fix it.”

“So naturally, you thought, ‘I’ll nick hers,’” you said, grabbing the pedal and holding it behind your back.

“Borrow,” he corrected, narrowing his eyes. “What’s with all the dramatics? Just hand it over.”

“Hmm…” You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “What’s in it for me?”

Noel sighed, exasperated. “You want me to buy you a coffee or somethin’? Jesus. You’re not exactly doin’ me a massive favor.”

“Not a massive favor?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “You’re using me gear to record your brilliant idea. You don’t think I deserve a bit of compensation for that?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll give it back in one piece, all right? You’re actin’ like I’m takin’ your bloody guitar.”

“Maybe I should start charging you rental fees,” you teased, finally handing over the pedal.

He snatched it, muttering under his breath. “You’re a proper nightmare, you know that?”

“Aw, you love it,” you said, grinning as you leaned against the desk. “Anyway, how was the gig last night? Sorry I missed it—had a soundcheck that ran long.”

“Good,” he said, setting the pedal on a nearby stool. “Crowd was mad for it. But listen…” His expression shifted slightly, like he’d just remembered something. “I meant to ask you summat. Since you’re younger, you might know.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m some kind of translator for youth culture?”

“Something like that,” he said, smirking. “Right, so there was this sign in the crowd last night. Big letters, bold as anything. It said… ‘dilf’” He spelled it out carefully, like he was reading from a suspicious text. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The room went silent for a beat as you processed what he’d just said. Then your lips twitched, and before you could stop yourself, you burst into laughter.

Noel frowned, watching you double over with your hand pressed to your mouth. “What the bloody hell’s so funny?”

You shook your head, trying to catch your breath. “Oh my God, Noel. You really don’t know what it means?”

“That’s why I’m askin’, genius.”

You straightened up, wiping tears from your eyes. “No, it’s just—” You dissolved into laughter again, practically leaning against the desk for support.

He folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Go on, then. What is it? Can’t be that complicated.”

You took a deep breath, still grinning. “It’s… well… it stands for ‘Dad I’d Like to…’” You hesitated for dramatic effect, raising your eyebrows.

Noel’s expression shifted as realization dawned on him. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing again in disbelief. “You’re takin’ the piss.”

“I swear I’m not,” you said, your grin widening.

“So you’re tellin’ me,” he said slowly, “someone in that crowd held up a sign basically sayin’ I’m a fit dad?”

“Yeah,” you said, still giggling. “That’s definitely you, Noel.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. That’s gotta be a new low.”

“Are you kidding? That’s a compliment,” you teased. “Take it and run with it.”

“Brilliant,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Just what I always wanted.”

You laughed harder, clutching your stomach as you tried to calm down. “I’m sorry, but it’s hilarious. The fact you didn’t know makes it even better.”

Noel sighed, but he couldn’t entirely suppress his smirk. “Right, well, this is the last time I ask you for help with anything. Bloody hell.”

“You say that now,” you shot back, wiping tears from your eyes. “But you’ll be back. Especially when you break me wah pedal.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, though his voice was lighter now. He leaned against the desk, his earlier embarrassment fading into amusement. “Anyway, remind me not to look at the crowd next time. Clearly, it’s hazardous for me ego.”

“I dunno,” you said, grinning. “I think it’s good for you. Keeps you humble.”

“Humble?!” he repeated, his voice mock-indignant. “That’s rich, comin’ from you.”

You just laughed again, and for a moment, the teasing faded into something softer. His gaze lingered on you, the corners of his mouth still curved upward. There was an ease between you, a rhythm he found himself looking forward to more often than he’d like to admit.

“Right,” he said finally, standing up straight and grabbing the pedal. “I’d better get back before someone accuses me of bein’ a slacker. You’re still a nightmare, by the way.”

“And you’re still a dilf” you shot back, grinning as he headed for the door.

He turned in the doorway, his smirk widening. “See you later, yeah?”

“See you later,” you replied, your smile lingering long after the door closed.

Noel was making his way back to your studio with the pedal after he’d barely had the thing for a day, but something about your teasing yesterday had lodged itself in his head. Maybe he wanted to prove he wasn’t a total thief. Or maybe, if he was honest with himself, he just wanted to see you again.

He pushed open your door without knocking, the pedal dangling from his hand like a trophy. “Right, look at me. Returnin’ your crap like a responsible citizen. You can shut up about it now.”

You looked up from your desk, your eyes lighting up as a grin spread across your face. “Ah, me favorite dilf has returned!”

Noel groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For the love of God, are we still on about that?”

“Obviously,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “I told you yesterday, it’s your new title. You might as well embrace it.”

He dropped the pedal on your desk and folded his arms. “Don’t get too comfortable, because I’m not lettin’ this dilf thing stick.”

“Oh, it’s sticking,” you teased. “Everyone here will know about it soon enough.”

His eyes widened. “What, are you plannin’ to tell people?”

You smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Maybe. Could be fun.”

He groaned again, clearly frustrated. “Right, if you’re so bloody obsessed with callin’ me a dilf…” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone, really wanting you to drop it. “Would you like to do that, then?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “The whole DILF thing. Isn’t that the bloody point? If you’re gonna keep sayin’ it, might as well put your money where your mouth is.”

The second the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize what he’d just implied. His face shifted slightly, caught between frustration and awkwardness.

For a moment, you stared at him, your lips twitching as you tried to suppress a laugh. And then it burst out of you, loud and infectious.

“Oh my God,” you said, leaning back in your chair and clutching your stomach. “Noel, did you just—did you seriously say that?”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as his face flushed. “You’re impossible, you know that? I just wanted to shut you up.”

You grinned, still laughing. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Noel sighed, shaking his head. “I’m never hearin’ the end of this, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you said, your grin widening.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “You’re lucky I’ve got a thick skin, or you’d be in trouble.”

“You love it,” you said, standing up and leaning against the desk. “Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he said, though his voice had softened. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a moment, the banter gave way to something heavier, something unspoken.

“Still,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “you haven’t answered the question.”

“What question?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, teasing but with an edge of sincerity.

His smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something closer to vulnerability. “Maybe I would,” he murmured, his voice low.

The room fell silent. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly the space between you vanished. His hand came up to your cheek as his lips met yours, tentative at first but quickly deepening into something more certain. You felt your heart race as you leaned into him, your hands curling into the fabric of his jacket.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you found him watching you with a mixture of amusement and something warmer, something deeper.

“Still gonna call me that?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse but laced with humor.

“Absolutely,” you said, grinning as you leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, there was no hesitation, no lingering awkwardness—just the spark that had been building between you for months, finally ignited.

When you pulled back again, you rested your forehead against his, still smiling. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

“No,” he admitted, his smirk returning. “Though I reckon you’re still a pain in the arse.”

“And yet here you are,” you teased, echoing his words from the day before.

“Here I am,” he said softly, his gaze locked on yours.

When you pulled back from another kiss, you couldn’t resist one last jab. “So, was borrowing me pedal part of some grand plan to seduce me?”

“Obviously,” he deadpanned, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’m a bloody mastermind, me.”

“Good plan,” you said, stepping back slightly.

“Told you—got layers,” he quipped, his smirk softening into something warmer.

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on yours, and you could see him hesitate slightly, like he was debating something. Finally, he shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Listen,” he said, a little gruffly. “Since you’re so keen on seein’ me all the time…”

“Oh, is this about to be an elaborate way of asking me out?” you teased, your grin widening.

“Shut it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m bein’ serious. What’re you doin’ later? Fancy goin’ for a drink or summat? You know, if you’re not too busy comin’ up with more ways to wind me up.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I suppose I could pencil you in, dilf”

“You’re gonna regret sayin’ that when we’re out in public,” he muttered, though there was a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You love it,” you said, and he rolled his eyes, heading toward the door.

“You folded your arms, watching him as he finally made his way to the door. “Gonna come back tomorrow and borrow something else?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he said, though his tone was light.

“You know where to find me love, see you later” you called after him.

And as you sat back at your desk, your grin lingering, you couldn’t help but feel that the banter—and whatever came next—was far from over.

____________________________________________

Loved writin’ this one, and don’t worry you lot, I’ll be back to crackin’ on with requests soon x

Loosely based on that vid of Noel clockin’ a sign like that at a gig, if you ain’t seen it.

Let me know what you thought, love ya all loads xx

[deliasmoothie]

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[leaawrites]

Ask me again

Liam Gallagher x fem!reader

Summary: every new years he asks her for a kiss and every new years she denies him, until she doesn't.

Warnings: language, drinking, drunk noel,

Wordcount: 1.7k

Masterlist

Liam has always been a flirt. Growing up with the Gallagher brothers she became familiar with Noel’s quiet, sarcastic manner and Liam’s loud, flirty one. Going to school with him, she got the full experience of the ‘Liam Gallagher charm’ experience, watching from the sidelines as he leaned against a locker next to some bird, smiling at her like she wouldn’t be forgotten in a week.

It always made her chest ache, not just because all he did was use them, but also because she never got to experience first hand. She never got to stand so close to his hovering body, almost standing beneath him, feeling his breath on her face, receiving a cheeky grin at whatever she said and not just when he found it funny. She never wanted to be only used by him, but sometimes she thought she’d prefer that over simply being his ‘best friend’.

It wasn’t like he never tried it, on New Years, he’d normally catch her eye at the bar shortly before midnight, yelling her way with a grin his way. “Am I gonna get a kiss tonight?”

He tried it every year and every year she laughed it off, shaking her head at his antics and flipping off before going back to nursing her drink or talking to whoever was sitting next to her. It wasn’t like he was serious about it, she couldn’t imagine that.

This year, it was the same, a tradition almost.

The door to the little bar they were celebrating in opened, making Liam’s eyes snap up to the person entering. ‘Please, let it be her,’ he thought as he straightened his back to see the person lost in the crowd. He decided, if she declined him once more he would leave it be forever. No more trying anymore, no more flirting. If she wanted nothing from him, he’d get over her. Fly over her head in the plane he already booked tickets for, just in case.

Celebrating new years in her home country made it more complicated to simply go home after this. Staying at her parents house with her, in the same room, made it difficult to ignore her if this went horribly wrong. So, he made sure to have an escape plan.

It was bulletproof, he thought.

“Hey, love,” he greeted her, pushing past people to get to her side. Grinning at her like he’d just won the lottery. Not yet, he thought.

“Hey, Liam,” she greeted him back, smiling at him softly. In the same way that made his knees weak and his heart beat faster. He couldn’t believe she smiled at him like that and still couldn’t feel anything for him beyond friendship. She had to feel something, right?

She knew what was coming, it were the same seven words as every year.

“Am I gonna get a kiss tonight?”

And he’d receive the same answer every year.

A slight chuckle, a nervous glance down and a soft, “Keep on dreaming, Gallagher.”

She thought her answer was what made him laugh after his question, the realisation that she played the same game as him. Not the embarrassment he felt after every time he asked or the realisation that she didn’t want him the same way he wanted her. It was his final sign tonight, the last time he would’ve tried.

With a slight nod and a forced smile he said, “Cheers.” Lifting up his hand in surrender before disappearing into the crowd again. Leaving her speechless.

What has just happened?

There was no laugh coming from deep down his chest like normally, no invitation to do a shot together either. Just that and a kind of disappointment in his eyes that she’d never seen before. It made her heart ache, her chest tightened in fear. What had she done?

The ring of the bell over the door brought her back to her senses, a large hand touching her shoulder, bringing her body into a side hug made her blink back to reality. Noel was already pissed drunk, laughing at nothing in particular but his pure existence as he greeted her. Talking about something that had happened before she arrived.

“Has Liam already asked you?” he asked, seeming more excited about her answer than the new year that would be starting soon. Twenty minutes, she read from the clock over the bar. “Probably chickened out, didn’t he? Got too scared to be rejected once more. I must say, the way you keep on denying giving him a chance, it’s fun to watch though as his brother, it’s kinda sad how long he’s been trying to get you to kiss him? I mean, every year for six years now, that’s crazy. He really never gives up, eh? Our Liam. What a fucker.”

“What?” she tried making sense of his gibberish talking, though nothing besides the words, ‘got too scared to be rejected once more’ and ‘he really never gives up’ stuck in her head. “What are you saying? Liam’s just doing this for banter, nothing more.”

“Banter?” Noel looked almost offended at her wording. “That boy’s proper in love with you. If it was just banter, he wouldn’t be at the airport right now, would he?”

“What?” More questions formed in her head.

“Fleeing the country to flee the heartbreak, a heartthrob isn’t he?” Rolling his eyes in amusement he didn’t notice the realisation dawning on her face, her eyes growing wide and her mouth opening slightly as if she wanted to say something but it was all stuck in her throat. Because he wasn’t the one she had to say it to, wrong brother.

Noel didn’t notice her distress until she jumped out of her seat and dashed past him, out of the bar and down the street. Running down the street she tried to catch a taxi to take her to him.

Liam was sat in a waiting room, waiting to board his plane in thirty minutes and finally let go of all this. Sitting with his head in his hands, going over what could’ve happened if he wasn’t so dumb to try again. He could be sat at the bar instead, pint in front of him, surrounded by friends and her. She’d still be there. Now, he had nothing of it anymore.

Standing up, he went outside once more, into the busy halls of the airport. Searching for the nearest phone available, he grabbed the last cents in his pocket he still had from her as an exchange to get a pint at the same bar a few days ago. He hadn’t given it back yet, wanting to take it as a souvenir of the trip. Pushing the little pieces of copper into the slot, he dialled a number he knew all too well.

“Hello, mum.”

Talking with his mum always calmed his mind, she just knew the answer to everything.

“Some people just aren’t meant for more than what we know than as,” she said shortly before she had to hang up.

Some people aren’t meant to be more, but he prayed that she wouldn’t be one of them. He really wanted her to be more. No matter what it’d take, he always thought she’d be more.

“Liam!”

Snapping his head to another direction from where he heard his name being called, he was brought back to reality. His plane boarded in twenty minutes. Midnight was in five. He’d be left alone once more, his lips left untouched by hers.

“Liam!”

The second time his name was shouted he saw her. The girl he wanted to run from was running towards him, out of breath like she hadn’t got to catch a break since he left the pub. Not slowing down the closer she got, she crashed into his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck.

“You idiot,” she mumbled against his skin, making his heart sink. His arms hesitated before they wrapped around her waist. “You fucking idiot, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he asked confused, trying to pull back from her but she wouldn’t let him go.

“I had to find out through Noel. You never said anything, you just asked if you got a kiss. You fucking idiot,” she kept on rambling, not catching a break even now to consider his question. Pulling back from him she saw the fear running through his mind.

“Well, I never wanted more.” It was a lie. They both knew it was a lie and when she shook her head at his answer, he knew that she knew too.

“But what if I didn’t?” she asked.

“Didn’t want what?” This was it, he was sure of it. This was the end of it all.

“What if I didn’t just want a kiss? What if I wanted more?” she let out, hesitating a bit.

“Well, do you want more?” he asked, not quite catching onto what she was trying to say.

“Yes, god, Liam. I want way more than just one kiss. I’ve been in love with you for ages, I never wanted just a new years kiss, that’s why I always brushed it off,” she confessed, biting her lip to hold back the tears forming in her eyes.

“I want more too,” he said, a heavy weight lifting from his chest. “I want way more.”

Before he could lean in and capture her lips like he’d dreamed about so many nights, she pushed his chest back, making his brows furrow in confusion.

“Ask me again,” she said.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked with a roll of his eyes, but for her he would even do the most embarrassing thing.

“Only for new years?”

“No.” he shook his head. “Every day and every night and every hour in between.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Good.”

Without another word he pulled her closer, their chest flushed together. Lips moving in sync and the fireworks going off. It was perfect.

Some people weren’t meant to be more, but they were. They finally were more.

“You’re not gonna take the flight back home tonight, Gallagher.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[nagaytoe]

Dry Leaves

Yandere X Reader

Tags/TWs: Stalking, kinda mental health issues?, violence, abduction, yandere is delusional (obv), y'all can insert anyone you want as the yandere

One of the Yandere Fall prompts by @snoopledrooplecheesedoodle inspired this fanfic, i wrote it specifically in a way that doesn't mention a certain character so anyone can feel free to insert whoever they want into the role of the yandere!

Word count: 990

——————————————————————

It's the middle of October; the trees grew more colorful and started losing their leaves, which are now scattered along the sidewalk and crunch underneath your boots as you make your way back home.

You look around the park you are currently walking through, since it's a shortcut to your apartment, and see a group of kids playing around in a heap of leaves. Their laughter fills your ears, despite the headphones you are wearing. They seem so careless, so innocent and they are, of course. How you wish you could go back to those times, back when your biggest issue was having to be in bed by 7 p.m. and not…that person.

However, those times are over, unfortunately. You quickly avert your gaze, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden; the hair on the back of your neck is standing up and goosebumps stretch over your skin. It might be cold, but not that cold, especially not since you're wearing a thick jacket and lined boots, the cause for the goosebumps is more likely something, or someone, else. A feeling all too familiar is washing over you: The feeling of being watched.

Picking up your pace, you quickly leave the park and try to get home as soon as possible. Who's to say that you can't finish a route that takes five minutes on average in two?

As you walk on the quiet sidewalk, with not a car in sight, and the song you are currently listening to ending you try to concentrate on the sounds surrounding you and sure enough:

You hear a second pair of footsteps behind you, leaves crunching under the person's feet.

As soon as you try to walk even faster, the person behind you picks up their pace as well.

For fucks sake…

Should you turn around? No, that's most likely not the smartest idea. The closest group of people you've seen so far were the kids just now and they won't be much help in case of an attack.

There's a cafe nearby, you could use a warm drink anyways and perhaps you'll be able to either get the person to stop trailing after you or to spot whoever is following you.

You stop in front of a small cafe you visit quite frequently and enter, not daring to look behind you just yet.

Walking up to the counter you already know what you want to order, the same as usual, as you look over to the door and scan the entryway, but there seems to be no one coming in after you. You sigh, feeling a little relieved, maybe you were just imagining things. The barista, however, doesn't fail to notice that you seem on edge.

“Is everything alright, Miss?”

Your gaze snaps back towards the woman in front of you. She seems to be around your age, with short, jet black hair and a few piercings gracing her pale face.

“Y-yeah…sorry, it's just… been a little stressful lately”

The bags under your eyes are dark, a telltale sign of the countless nights you stayed awake and failed to fall asleep, too scared that whoever keeps watching you lately will strike in the dead of night and have their way with you.

The barista smiles empathetically and hands you a small tray with your drink and something else in a small paper bag, causing you to look at her questioningly.

“A chocolate chip cookie,” she says. “On the house, of course. You seem like you need something sweet.” She adds quickly.

“Thank you.” You give her a warm smile and walk to a free spot in the back of the cafe. It's a table meant for two people: Two dark brown armchairs on each side of a mahogany wood table with a small lamp in the middle, illuminating the surrounding area in a warm light.

20 minutes have passed and you feel a lot calmer. You finished your drink, ate the cookie and feel ready to go, feeling almost silly as you think back to the events not even half an hour ago. It was probably nothing, you were just imagining things. The person behind you just happened to have to go into the same direction as you, right? Right.

You leave the cafe and continue your journey back home, inhaling deeply and feeling the cool air numbing your nose a little. The sun started setting, casting a warm light onto the street and the trees, making the colorful leaves shine even brighter. Your headphones blasted your favorite song and almost everything in the world feels alright again. There were no other incidents on your way home and you reached your apartment complex in no time, smiling to yourself a little.

You failed to notice the man behind you though, following you home and to your front door.

Standing in front of the door to your apartment and right before taking out the keys, someone grabbed you by the hair on the back of your head.

“You kept me waiting out in the cold, I'm sure you don't mind if I warm up a little in your apartment, right? After all, I still have to pack your things... Aren't you excited, darling?”

A deep voice whispers into your ear, as you are frozen in shock, before your head is slammed into the door.

Falling to the ground, you try to get a good look at your attacker and attempt to kick him, but to no avail. You were way too dizzy to cause him any harm and the mask and hood he was wearing made it impossible to get a glimpse at his features.

The last thing you hear before passing out is a chuckle along with some sinister sounding words.

“I hope you know I had no other choice, especially not after you always flirt with others, including that barista today. Surely you're well aware that infidelity is a sin, no?”

[talkbycolor]

im cooked

i can take doe, he my bby, ALSO I DIDNT EXPECTED MYCHEAL TO BE THAT TALL

[putmeinmoviebaby]

First of all, English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistakes. Just focus on this man's beautiful hands and be happy.💕

Being young is a real mess, not having financial stability and having to scramble to solve things and have freedom.

When I met Anaïs, we became friends quickly. We always had a lot in common, which strengthened our friendship. When we started sharing an apartment, it was reassuring.

"Are you coming back tonight?" I ask Anaïs, who was finishing getting ready.

"I don't think so. I'm heading to James's place," I hear her voice from the bathroom.

"Okay, be careful. Call me if you need anything."

I hear her laugh and see her stepping out of the bathroom, dressed in a dress with boots, her hair done, and wearing makeup.

"What do you think? I'm wearing that dress I bought last month."

I glance at her face and then at the dress, which was a wine-colored satin.

"The color really suits you; you look gorgeous," I say, winking at her and smiling.

I see her heading towards the living room, grabbing her bag and phone. She comes toward me before reaching the front door.

"Don’t wait up for me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, darling," Anaïs says, giving me a kiss on the cheek and heading out the door.

I lie down on the sofa, putting on some random movie while sipping a glass of wine. A well-deserved rest after spending a whole week under stress.

Scream was playing on TV. Distracted by the movie and the wine, I lost track of time, until I suddenly heard someone knocking at the door. When I checked the time, it was exactly 11 PM.

I couldn't imagine who it could be at this hour since I hadn't called anyone. Getting up, I glanced through the peephole and saw a man outside, wearing a white dress shirt. His face was slightly lowered, making it hard to see him clearly.

When I opened the door, he looked up directly at my face, somewhat surprised. I now noticed that his eyes were a very clear blue, reminding me of Anaïs's.

"Hi? Can I help you?"

"Oh, hey. I’m looking for my daughter, Anaïs," I heard the man say.

"Oh, you're Anaïs's father? She went out tonight; I’m not sure exactly when she’ll be back," I say, a bit embarrassed for not recognizing him.

"Ah, I was in the area and, knowing she tends to stay out late, I thought I’d drop by to see her."

"You must be Y/N, right?"

"Yes, nice to meet you," I say, offering my hand.

"Noel, Noel Gallagher. Nice to finally meet you," I hear the man say with a soft laugh.

"Would you like to come in? I can try calling her to see if she’s on her way," I say, stepping back.

"No, I wouldn’t want to disturb her."

"Oh, no, please, make yourself at home. Come in, I insist," I say, giving a shy smile.

I see the man enter with some hesitation. Once inside, I notice him looking around the room, observing the TV and the half-empty bottle of wine.

"Would you like some wine?"

I ask as I guide him to the living room, sitting on the sofa and looking at his face.

"Oh, no, thank you, darling, but I’ve had enough for today," I hear his deep voice say.

I give him a discreet smile and take a sip of wine from my glass. I grab my phone from the coffee table and try to send Anaïs a message to let her know about her father’s presence. However, seeing that the message wasn’t delivered, I figure she won’t see it until tomorrow.

I glance at the man beside me, now seated on the sofa and watching the TV. His hand displayed a thin gold bracelet that sparkled in the dimly lit room.

He was attractive in my eyes, with short, slightly gray hair, slim arms, and the first two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a chain.

His hand bore no wedding ring, which surprised me since I thought he might be committed.

"I sent a message to Anaïs, but I don’t know if she’ll see it now," I say, looking toward him.

"Oh, right. I haven’t seen her in five weeks because I was on tour. I’ve missed her," he replies.

Hearing this, I give him a smile and take another sip of wine, trying to feel more at ease.

"You’re a good father. I don’t even know when I last saw mine," I say, laughing. I see him raise an eyebrow at me and give me a warm look.

"I try my best. My father was a very complicated man and difficult for me and my siblings."

"I just gave up on mine. I was never close to him. Maybe one day we’ll work things out."

"Don’t pressure yourself, darling. The more frustrated you get, the harder it will be," I hear his strong British accent say.

I look at his face and see his compassionate gaze as he speaks to me.

"I think what young people do the most is get frustrated. We expect a lot and receive very little."

"That’s the problem, you shouldn’t expect much from something that has never given you anything."

"But it’s so nice to deceive yourself, to want to believe that you’ll get more than you really deserve," I say, running my hand through my hair.

I hear him laugh in response, seeing his hand move to his face and then down his neck. His hand was striking, with visible veins and long fingers.

"Would you mind if I smoke here?"

"Oh, no, go ahead," I say, shrugging.

I watch him pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. He takes a cigarette, puts it in his mouth, and lights it.

As he takes a drag from the cigarette, he exhales the smoke, removes it from his mouth, and looks in my direction. "Do you want one?" he says, extending the cigarette that was in his hand.

After taking the cigarette, I take a deep drag, relaxing my body, and return it, noticing his eyes on me.

His eyes were striking, the kind you don’t easily forget, so blue they seemed like the open ocean.

"I wanted to quit nicotine, but when you start smoking young, it’s very hard to stop," I hear him say as he inhales the cigarette.

The smoke coming from his lips seemed like freshly written poetry, something to be admired.

"I can imagine. I try my best not to smoke because I’m highly addictive."

"I spent much of my life using drugs and smoking nicotine. I don’t think I’m good at giving advice about addictions."

I laugh and look at his face, taking the cigarette from him again, inhaling, and exhaling the smoke.

I see his gaze fall on my lips as I took another drag and then hand the cigarette back to him.

His gaze stayed on mine for a few seconds. Trying to defocus, he shakes his head slightly.

Letting my legs fall over the sofa, I see his gaze follow my movements. Then, he looks at my leg, which was exposed, with my hands resting on it.

Following my hands, I move them over the edge of the sofa, letting them drop. I see his face contort as he runs his tongue over his lips.

I see his breath catch for a few seconds, and his body tense.

Giving in to the tension of the moment, I run my hands through his hair until I reach his neck and chest, removing the chain from inside his shirt.

His gaze followed my movements, watching me look at his chain around his neck. His hand slowly moved up my arm until it reached my face.

His hand brushed my cheek, and I could feel the coolness of the ring on his hand. He held my face with his hand, stopping at my lips.

I let my hand fall on his chest, where he holds it and leans in, giving me a kiss.

As his mouth approaches my hand, I look deeply into his beautiful blue eyes, which now shine on his face.

In a moment of freedom, I let myself fall into his arms, holding his face and pulling him towards me, kissing his lips. His hands move up my back until they reach my hair.

I pass my arm over his shoulder, pulling his face towards mine. His hands move up my shoulders to my neck, sliding along until they reach my mouth. Then, I hear his husky voice in my ear: "Darling, you're driving me crazy."

His hand reaches the hem of my shirt, and his slender fingers glide over my body like playing a piano. He pulls it over my head, and my arms lift as if by electric instinct. His eyes never leave my face. His fingers reach my neckline, brushing past my lace bra. His lips approach my shoulder, letting sighs descend over me. My fingers run through his short hair, tugging at it. His fingers find my face, pulling it towards his. His chest rises and falls repeatedly, and his lips kiss me with urgency, as if I might disappear from his arms in seconds.

My fingers reach his shirt, unbuttoning it. I could feel my hands trembling at the closeness of his body to mine. I could sense his gaze on my fingers, making me even more nervous, feeling like a teenager again.

As I unfasten one button after another, I finally pull his shirt off his body. I watch his white shirt fall to the floor, joining mine, giving me an incredible view of his chest in front of me. My fingers trace over him, making circles on his chest, reaching up to his neck, placing kisses all over it.

"Darling, are you sure about this?" I hear his husky voice whisper in my ear while his hands slide down to my thighs, giving gentle squeezes.

"Yes, I want you," I say, looking into his face, letting my hands fall on his shoulders, my breath still faltering.

He lifts me up in his arms, surprising me, and carries me to the bedroom, where he lays me on the bed and climbs over me, kissing every inch of my body until he reaches my stomach.

His body was now between my thighs, getting close to my hips, his hands sliding down all over my legs.

His breathing was deep and slow, his eyes had a tremendous sparkle, his hands were firm. Everything about him drove me absolutely crazy; it only made me want more and more.

There was no denying it; my body called for his like a roaring flame, and I won't deny my desire for Noel Gallagher on this long night.

The End

[storiesabouteli]

Do The Damage. // Noel Gallagher X f!Reader (Smut)

prompt: Noel falling for a younger singer who isn’t famous yet and is just starting out, so he guides her like a tutor to boost her career and help her gain more attention. But would this bond remain purely professional? (Involves smut, with the potential to escalate over time and features an age gap.)

words: 3,5k.

Noel felt fulfilled, both physically and emotionally; he didn’t need anything more to complete his sense of satisfaction. Even so, during the band's final chapter, a mix of circumstances led him to start considering new possibilities. Unable to leave music behind entirely, he set up a studio and took on the more bureaucratic aspects of supporting future artists. It was his way of giving back to an industry that had given him so much.

He didn’t know much about the artist he’d suddenly become interested in—just that you were a young woman with an undeniable presence. Noel first heard your voice on his way to his mom. It struck a chord deep within him, leaving him sitting in the car even after he arrived, staring out the window and absorbing every word you sang like drops of water in the desert. It was strange, but it was exactly what he needed. Minutes later, he was kicked out of the Uber.

Your voice carried raw potential, unpolished but undeniably captivating—not bad, just unmistakably new. The lyrics were tender and nostalgic, stirring emotions that felt both unfamiliar and deeply rooted. Noel found your work mature in a way he hadn’t been when he first started making music. It was solid, needing no comedic relief or intrusive embellishments to make itself heard.

He couldn’t picture your face, your hair, or even your style, but your voice lingered in his mind. The breaths, the pauses—at times resembling soft, almost failed sighs—were profoundly compelling.

When the song ended, he stared at the radio display, waiting for your name to be announced. Quickly, he grabbed a notebook, scribbling it down before it could slip from his memory.

During dinner with his mother, he mentioned you in passing, his fingers running absentmindedly through his hair. She caught the subtle shift in his tone—how you had left an impression on him.

"Just a girl, huh? How many times have you listened to her songs, Noely?" she teased.

He was typically poetic in his descriptions, even when veiling them in a layer of skepticism, but this time he struggled to downplay it. He swore he had been concise, though he doubted he’d succeeded.

As the visit neared its end, you were all he could think about. He needed to share your music with someone else.

"Not many," he admitted truthfully, though his tone betrayed him.

Peggy chuckled knowingly. "I’ll give her a try," she said, confident. After all, her son’s recommendations rarely missed the mark.

…

Finding you on the internet wasn’t easy. Noel had written down the wrong last name, which delayed his search longer than he’d anticipated. You had no professional recordings, and he later discovered that the radio segment he’d heard was an exclusive showcase for new artists. All he managed to find were amateur videos of you performing at pubs on YouTube, with poor audio quality that didn’t do your voice justice. Still, he played them on repeat over the next few days.

The videos with better resolution became his favorites, though Noel feared it might have more to do with your angelic face than he wanted to admit. He avoided acknowledging the fact that you were much younger than him—far more than he was comfortable quantifying. But in trying to ignore it, the thought seemed to take up permanent residence in his mind. Any guilt he felt over this, he brushed aside, though it lingered in the background.

When Noel closed his eyes at night, he often conjured the image of you from one particular video: wearing a light, summer wine dress with straps that slipped slightly off your shoulders. In his dreams—purely idealistic, he told himself—he imagined gently adjusting the strap with his finger, smoothing your hair as your calm gaze met his. Your head tilted into his touch, resting affectionately in his palm, and he left a soft kiss on your temple as your lashes fluttered. Not that he truly believed he’d ever have that kind of effect on you. The thought alone, however, left him sighing, strangely at peace.

It was indescribable how much your voice consumed his thoughts. He found himself humming snippets of your lyrics while showering, cooking, and winding down after long days. By the time he called his mom the next weekend, she already knew what to expect.

…

You were delicate, and the words flowed effortlessly from your lips. The cameras, the analog quality, and the audio from your YouTube recordings couldn’t compare to the experience of seeing you live. The room was small, filled with a modest crowd—mostly people your age, though a few older ones lingered with curious, skeptical expressions. It was an intimate and pleasant atmosphere.

Noel stayed at a comfortable distance, neither too close to draw attention nor too far to miss the details. He wore a dark collared jacket, paired with jeans, and kept his sunglasses on, even in the dim lighting, to avoid being recognized. Occasionally, he slid them down his nose for a clearer look, wanting to see you without the darkened lenses.

You held the microphone with care, almost as if it were weightless, weaving the cord between your fingers as you took small, measured steps across the tiny makeshift stage. Most of the audience was distracted, caught up in their conversations, but a fair few paused to watch and listen. Occasionally, your voice wavered, and Noel caught the slight furrow in your brow when it happened, a flicker of disappointment crossing your features. But to him, it only made you more endearing.

You wore white tights and a white dress with a Peter Pan collar—an outfit Noel thought suited you perfectly. As he watched, he tugged on the edge of his shirt beneath his jacket, mirroring the way you nervously fidgeted with the fabric of your dress. He smiled to himself, hoping that, somehow, you could feel his silent encouragement. You were doing beautifully.

The performance ended quietly, your soft “thank you” followed by a beat of silence before Noel started clapping. The applause swelled as others joined in. You seemed surprised, hesitating to meet the eyes in the room, but your shy smile gave away your happiness. Noel felt a wave of satisfaction watching you soak in the moment.

Later, with a glass in your hand, you stood chatting with the guitarist. Noel, lingering nearby, imagined himself in the guitarist’s place, strumming alongside you in the dim, hushed venue, where whispered conversations blended into the warm atmosphere. When the guitarist gestured toward him, you turned, and Noel felt a jolt of nerves. His palms began to sweat, and he shoved his hands into his pockets to hide it.

Up close, you were even more captivating. Your posture wasn’t perfectly straight, and your gait had a slight unevenness he found charming. He avoided smiling too widely, afraid it might give away how thoroughly you had enchanted him.

“I enjoyed your performance,” he said, his voice steady despite the flush creeping up his neck. “You sing really well, and your original lyrics are great. You’re very talented.”

The compliment came out smoothly, the product of quiet rehearsals in his mind. But when you bit your lip and offered a shy smile, he felt heat rise to his face, knowing he was probably redder than he’d like to admit.

Your fingers fluttered to the edge of your dress, an unconscious gesture Noel found entirely too adorable. He wanted to take your hand, to offer something to distract you from the nervous thoughts he could see running through your mind. Instead, he waited as you stammered out a soft “thank you,” the sincerity in your voice unmistakable.

When he offered to buy you a drink, he noticed your hesitation but also your curiosity. Maybe it was something about him—the warmth in his tone or the subtle familiarity he carried. Whatever it was, you accepted, and as you joined him, Noel couldn’t help but feel hopeful.

"I don’t think anyone has ever come to see me sing so well-dressed," you said, your eyes sparkling. Noel smiled softly, sensing that in a few hours, you might warm up to him.

Your gaze lingered on his outfit, noting details you didn’t often encounter. The shirt was impeccably tailored, the collar subtly unique, and the jacket—definitely genuine leather—was unlike anything you’d seen around here. You weren’t an expert in such things, but the quality was unmistakable.

Noticing how you wrapped your hands together for warmth, Noel didn’t hesitate. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your icy skin. A pang of guilt hit him for not realizing sooner. You didn’t resist, your small nod of thanks revealing how much you needed it.

"Don’t you think you deserve it?" he said, without considering how flirtatious it might sound. The second the words left his mouth, he realized his tone, but before he could apologize, you gave a soft laugh, shaking your head.

You looked at him thoughtfully, a faint smile forming. "I think it’s nice," you said, "to think that someone would dress up to see me here. To imagine you picking out an outfit, anticipating it throughout the day, thinking about what’s most suitable or comfortable... It’s kind."

Your words had a natural grace, effortless and genuine. Noel felt a pang of self-awareness—most of his words were calculated, spoken with the intent to impress. But with you, it all felt unforced.

You sighed contentedly, nestling into the warmth of his jacket, your hands disappearing into the oversized sleeves. Noel felt a swell of affection as he watched your animated gestures while you spoke, completely unaware of how your knees had brushed against his and stayed there.

���Well, if it helps," he said, his voice deepening in a rhythm of soft pauses, "I heard you on the radio the other day... and I wanted to see you in person."

You nodded, brushing off the compliment—not because it displeased you but because you didn’t know how to handle it. "I like your accent," you said, your tone light and teasing. "It makes you sound older than you are."

Your shoulders brushed as you shifted restlessly, the contact unintentional but comfortable. For a moment, the two of you sat in quiet, the ambient noise of clinking glasses and murmured conversations framing your shared breath.

Noel eventually broke the silence, explaining the record label project he had in mind. His words flowed, outlining the steps it would take for you to pursue something more professional. You listened intently at first, but at some point, your focus drifted to him—the slight silver streak in his dark hair, the furrowed concentration in his thick brow, the perfectly shaped mouth, and the shadow of stubble framing his face.

His gestures were minimal compared to yours, but his hands—large yet precise—drew your attention. They felt timeless, like something out of an old film, delicate but grounded.

“I’m listening,” you said at last, “but I wouldn’t have the money for it. I can’t even afford a guitar. I play in pubs because they let me use their instruments. It doesn’t pay well—sometimes it’s just beer and food.”

There was no bitterness in your voice, just a quiet acceptance of the limitations around you. Your sincerity struck him, the kind of purity that came from believing the music was meant for you.

Someone bumped into your chair, jolting you forward slightly, but Noel steadied it instinctively. The sudden closeness let him take in every detail—the precise shade of your eyes, the soft scent of your hair.

To you, his blue eyes were striking and the lines at their corners adding a kind of rugged warmth…

"That’s exactly my point," he said softly. "You get paid, and I help you get heard. You deserve to be recognized for your work."

…

"Did you set up the record label for the girl?" Gem's tone carried a teasing edge, though Noel knew it was rooted in some truth.

"It’s not like that," Noel replied, his voice steady but undeniably warm. "She’s really good. You’ll meet her." The anticipation slipped through his words—unintended but undeniable. In just a few months, you’d be right in the middle of this whirlwind with him.

"And does she know what’s going on in your head?" Gem pressed. "Like, the reason for your soft tone and that silly grin when you mention her name? I might be wrong, but it doesn’t sound like you’re just thinking of her as a musician, Noel."

Noel shook his head, even though Gem couldn’t see him. "It’s nothing. I just want to help her with this." His words came out too quickly, like he was convincing himself. "Besides, I’m not at that stage; we don’t fit in the same place." Saying it aloud felt heavier than he expected.

"Don’t fit?" Gem’s laugh was low and knowing. "Mate, you’re not fooling anyone. You think I don’t know you? I know that tone—you’ve got her in your head. I’m just saying, be careful. If you don’t handle this right—"

"I know," Noel cut him off, his voice sharper.

The conversation shifted after that, as if the topic had been laid to rest. But Gem’s parting words lingered in Noel’s mind long after the call ended.

"Noel, I’m sure this will hurt you as much as it’d hurt her. You don’t deal well with this type of emotion. Your feelings will get in the way."

It stung because it might be true. But as Noel sat there, staring at the half-written lyrics scattered on the table, he found himself wondering if it would really be so bad—spending all that time with you, seeing where this road might lead. Even if it wasn’t the most practical idea, even if it felt reckless.

Could it really be so wrong to let himself hope?

…

You learned who he was and thought it might be a scam, but a simple Google search left you stunned. You were familiar with the band, though not with his exact current appearance. It certainly wasn’t like in the “Wonderwall” video anymore, but his more recent style—a dad vibe with a not-much-older kid—was charming in its own way. Your friends were happy for you, even if they were as incredulous as you.

You knew his songs and compositions, maybe not all of them, and you weren’t fully aware of how big he had been in the ’90s. Still, he was clearly someone famous who, by all logic, shouldn’t have been paying much attention to you. He had been handsome when he was young, and he was still attractive.

"He doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being nice to people. Are you sure it’s the same person?" Your roommate raised an eyebrow at you, her skepticism evident. You had watched a few interviews of his and noticed the same thing she mentioned— as well as his red-stone ring on his rough hand, the way his tongue darted across his lips. He was certainly not shy.

"I’m sure it’s him, and it seems like he’s only like that with the press. He wasn’t arrogant at all with me," you replied, swallowing hard. You wondered if you were an exception to his rule, but that thought felt too hopeful and premature.

"One night with him and you’re already defending this old man?" she teased, laughing as she grabbed her things and headed for the door. You shook your head, trying to convince both her and yourself. This was a losing game.

"Good luck, babe. You deserve to have your music recorded professionally," she added before disappearing into the street.

You still had your doubts—it all seemed too much. Your laptop sat open beside you, paused on a podcast of him. He was in profile, his skin smooth but showing the marks of time in a way that only added to him. He occasionally ran his fingers through his hair between breaths, and the open buttons of his shirt revealed just enough of his chest hair to be distracting. His voice was captivating, and his heavy accent made you want to stay there. Slowly, his presence wrapped around you like a blanket as you burrowed further under your own covers.

Your vision was blurry, yet sharp enough—what mattered was the certainty that you could recall everything, every detail. You could hear his breathing, close enough to feel its rhythm. His gaze, usually opaque, gained a quiet brightness as it trailed over your body, seated right in front of him.

You were wearing a button-up shirt in a deep ocean blue, a perfect match for the color of his eyes. You had seen the very same shirt on him hours earlier, in some old photoshoot. Now it was on you. It barely reached your knees, and the sleeves were so long they hid your hands entirely. You sat on the edge of the marble counter, its cold surface doing little to mask the fact that he was the one making you shiver.

Your knee brushed against his hip, and though he didn’t smile, his eyes held a calm warmth that made you feel at ease. His broad fingers brushed your wrist, the heat of his touch making your breath hitch slightly. You couldn’t explain why, but you felt utterly vulnerable to him.

His movements were delicate, fleeting, much like the night at the pub. He reached for the oversized sleeves of the shirt and carefully rolled them up, his motions deliberate, taking his time, then revealing your hands at last. He took one of them in his, lifting it to his lips.

He kissed your palm more than once, and the contrast of his growing stubble—rough and scratchy—and his soft lips made your breath catch again. Your mouth parted at the sensation, then your shoulders relaxed in a way that seemed to please him. It was only then, as if your ease was his permission, that he smiled.

He didn't say anything, but it didn't seem necessary. His fingertips touched your knee, gradually adding pressure. The rough calluses made you spread your legs before you needed to be told to. His touch moved up, bringing heat to your entire body, until they were invisible beneath your shirt.

“Mr. Gallagher," you sighed, the words slipping out in vain—you didn’t even know what you wanted. Your hand rested gently on his wrist, drawing an affectionate line there as your fingers idly played with the coarse hairs on his arm.

His eyes, fixed intently on you, seemed to promise he could take care of you, and yours, slowly but surely, found amusement in wandering across the expanse of his neck or the hair of his chest.

His scent was getting more immersive, and without rushing, his fingers were diving into you. You weren't stupid, you were aware of how wet you were, and Noel knew exactly what to expect. It didn't take much, it wasn't difficult, his fingers were thick and you didn't hesitate to swallow them. The abrupt and painful closing of your legs that came from the pleasure was avoided and that made everything more enjoyable.

He groaned muffledly, between his teeth, just watching you sigh heavily as you were struggling to keep yourself spread for him. He made you endure everything until the edge of the ring touched your skin, he held it there, watching your eyes water, until your legs trembled as he slowly moved his fingers and then removed them just so he could do that whole scene again.

You were so desperate that his fingers made that line of slime as they pulled out of you. He licked his lips at that, and without seeing where he was touching, you just felt the wet accumulation on your clit as he caressed you in light circles. It felt good, and made you think that boys your age weren't like that.

He continued, his face very close to yours and his scent making you dizzy. He added more pressure, his movements were continuous and unhurried, you couldn't help but let tears escape. You wanted to be good for him, you wanted to see him see that you knew how to behave. But, your body ached.

Your indignation was clear, yet he pulled his fingers away, which were as damp as before. You needed him. He brought the tips to his lips, the blue orbs still on you, who were sweaty and couldn't breathe like a normal human being, and licked them. His throat rose, his tongue made an approving noise, and before you could grab his wrist in protest, everything was getting blurrier.

You were sore, your legs weak, and your thighs damp. His voice still lingered in the background, softened words that felt like a melody, and you could distinctly catch his scent on the jacket he had given you that night—one you hadn’t been able to resist wearing ever since.

 Your mind slowly grasped your reality, your mouth growing dry, and it felt absurd. It wasn’t as if you wanted this to happen—there was no sense to it—but you could no longer push him out of that space in your mind.

…

“It’s quite big; will more people be coming here?” your voice echoed nervously through the studio as your fingertips froze. You had arrived a few weeks ago and had taken a few singing lessons that Noel had arranged with another professional, but now you feared he might become your only tutor moving forward.

[imaginesbymonika]

Futile Devices | Part 1

Pairing: Noel Gallagher x childhood-best friend!reader

Plot: There’s nothing quite like realizing your feelings once it’s too late. But what would life be without a speck of hope?

(1985)

You gaze at the ceiling, while soft guitar music fills the atmosphere. Outside you could hear people yell at one another, and perhaps Noel heard it too because his singing voice abruptly became a bit louder: “You’re my Coney Island Baby, you’re so precious, so sweet…” At the sound of someone slamming the door shut you involuntarily lift your head. “You’re my lucky star, that’s what you are.”

His voice is soft, or at least he attempts to sound smoother than he’s capable of being. Just last week, he managed to catch a vicious throat infection somehow. You kidded about how he got it from some girl down the block, but when he didn’t laugh about it you felt stupid. “How’s your throat?”, you ask, turning your head to get a better look at him. Noel shrugs:” You tell me.”

You nod before letting your head fall back down on the mattress. Outside the window, thick grey clouds have covered the once-blue sky, and a few tiny raindrops roll down the glass. “I hate September.”, you whisper and he quits playing. His eyes are burning holes into the top of your head:” I know. You say that every year.” “But only because every year, September manages to disappoint me.”

He chuckles before clearing his throat. He winces at the slight ache.

“Have you written anything new, yet?”, you ask, counting the small cracks in the ceiling. Three, five- eight. “Hmm, maybe.”, he replies, his fingers are tapping on the instrument. “Can I hear it?” “When it’s finished, sure.” A silence falls upon you both before Noel speaks up:” By the way, why- what did Tommy say to you?”

You quickly roll over onto your stomach:” Tommy? You mean when we stood in front of Ben’s Pub?” Noel nods, his fingers have stopped moving. It was the same bar where you and Noel kissed one another for the first time, a couple of years ago. Both of you happened to be extremely drunk that night, nevertheless not drunk enough for you to forget about it -you wondered if he had.

“He asked me for my number.”

“Oh, did he?”, a soft scoff escapes his lips, while he stares outside into the afternoon:” Did you give it to him?” There’s a newfound harshness to his voice, but it quickly disappears when he clears his throat once more. “No.”, you simply answer:” He’s not my type, anyway.”

Noel nods:” Yeah, right.” He slightly raises his guitar, until it’s back upright in his lap:” You’re my Coney Island Baby, you mean so much to me. You’re my pretty little lady.” A faded sigh escapes you before you move back onto your back. Ten, twelve, thirteen.

“Did you call Stacy back?”

He hums in response. “You know, that bird from school. Gave you her number on a cigarette.” You loathed how cool that was. And after a few moments of silence, Noel shakes his head:” Not my type, you know.”

Your eyes move down to your fingers, while they play with the corner of his beige bedsheets:” Well, what’s your type anyway?” The regret forms itself quickly in your abdomen and you swallow thickly. However, Noel merely chuckles:” I think, I need to know someone before I-, well, you know.” And you do.

“Yeah. Me too.”