#oasis x you

[leaawrites]

Study Session

Liam Galagher x fem!reader

Summary: Tutoring Liam was hell, but it brought an advantage. He was eager to get her attention in every way possible.

Warnings: heavy making out (mdni, 18+ only), heavy language, friends to strangers to lovers, not proof read

Wordcount: 2.2k

Masterlist

She wished it had been a joke, a dream at best. One where she could wake up from and not fear the middle of the day. But now she was standing in front of an all too familiar door with shaking fingers hovering over the bell.

It wasn’t like she believed the words of her friends about Liam being a maniac and how doomed anyone around him was. He was crazy, but not a maniac. She knew that. Growing up with him showed her that. It showed her every facade he had, the soft and angry ones as well as the freaky and shy ones.

When Peggy asked her if she could help him out with some school work, she wanted to say no immediately. It wasn’t like she hated him, quite the opposite, but sitting in his room again after years of no contact made her more nervous than the actual exam they would be studying for. But she couldn’t turn the woman down, especially when she doubted that Liam explained anything about why they stopped talking over night and why she never visited their house again.

She was gone from his mind the moment the cool guys wanted to hang out with him.

It still sounded the same, the way she could hear the bell and every footstep that neared the door.

Silently praying that it wouldn’t be Liam who opened the door for her, she even less expected the other familiar face grinning at her as soon as his eyes found her standing there.

Noel greeted her with a wide smile, pulling her into a side hug.

He was one of the only people close to them that knew what happened between her and Liam, having witnessed it with his own eyes. Seeing her walk down the street towards her home from the bus station with her head hanging low on the second week of grade 7.

A loud groan came from behind him, Peggy trying to shush Liam who was currently sat in the kitchen, just receiving the news of who was at the door.

“He sounds excited,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

“Oh, he’s stoked.” Noel smirked, stepping aside to let her in.

It still looked the same. The same pictures were hanging on the walls or put up on dressers and the fireplace. Her bright toothy smile grinning back at her. Etching the faintest feeling of comfort on her face.

“Mam, I don’t need some stupid tutor,” Liam came complaining, walking after Peggy as she made her way towards the door after hearing the bell ring.

“Oh, you’ve already opened the door, Noeli,” her Irish accent cutting through her words, cutting off her son. “I’m so glad yer here!”

Taking a step closer, she engulfed the girl into a hug with a motherly instinct, making her feel like a child coming home after a long time away. Noel was standing next to her, eyes flickering between the two of them and Liam. The shock evident on his face.

“Hey,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets as Peggy pulled away, letting her line of vision be solely consistent of him.

“Alright?” she asked, not going further in friendly conversation.

“‘right,” his voice went even quieter.

“Don’t let her wait here awkwardly, you go up. Noel and I’ll be down ‘ere.” Peggy shoved Liam up the stairs first, making sure he took one step after the other and didn’t stop halfway to rush out the door and disappear like he’d done countless time at family dinners or events.

The two of them made their way upstairs, walking into the room together they’d spent hours laughing in, endless nights huddled together in his bed at the age of 5, Noel telling them ghost stories because they were too excited to sleep just yet.

She remembered how she’d cling to Liam’s arm, hide away in his too big sweatshirt he’d get from Noel when he’d grown out of it and silently mumble how everything was just a story and not real like her mother explained to her.

And Liam couldn’t get the picture out of his head how he used to mock her for getting scared so easily, saying she wasn’t ‘a real man’ if she got scared by stories, but he liked the feeling of her rushing to him for safety. He liked knowing that he was capable of protecting her. That she didn’t run into Noel’s arms anymore and make him stop talking with a pout on her lips like she’d done a year before still. She was running into his then.

“Still the same,” he breathed out, sitting down on his bed and awkwardly bouncing on it.

Letting her shove all her stuff down on his desk before she turned to him again.

“It is, yeah,” she said, looking around the room.

There were more posters on the walls than the last time she was there, more vinyls and CD’s and a new sound system that looked like it cost half a fortune. It smelled more of weed than before, but it wasn’t too heavy. It still felt the same.

“So, maths,” she said, pulling out the book from the stack. “And biology.” Another book landed on it. Making Liam groan even more.

“We don’t have to do this, y’know? We can just go out, have a smoke. Go to the pub,” Liam suggested, hoping he was still as convincing as when he still had to look up at her.

“I’m not gonna disappoint yer mam, Liam,” she answered determined, pulling out the chair and opening the first book.

Collapsing onto the mattress, he made it sound like he was about to die, but she just ignored him fully. Taking out her pen and starting to scratch down little key words of what she had to go through with him.

“Can you even do basic maths?” she asked, looking at him unconvinced after a long pause of silence.

“Course I can do basic maths, I’m not dumb,” he said, sounding genuinely offended.

“Alright,” she muttered, still not fully convinced but letting it slide still.

Scoffing again, she could feel his eyes rolling in annoyance without having to look at him. She knew how he acted. He hadn’t changed one bit.

The hours went by and with every answer she received from him, his talks between questions got longer. Stretching the time and making her even more frustrated with every time he asked, ‘how’s the weather doing?’ when she didn’t react to anything else he let out. Needing more answers, more action from her playing into his words.

He wanted to get her full attention on him again.

“Have you ever shagged someone then? Don’t reckon I’ve heard bout it from anyone,” Liam mentioned nonchalant, looking at the pictures adorning the pages in the biology book. Plants and cells and genitals every once in a while.

“Just because you haven’t heard it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” she shook his words off, writing down more questions for him to answer after she gave him a full lecture on the topic.

“Yeah, but with people like you they always talk bout it.”

Flicking through it page by page, his eyes flickering over to her every few seconds, he didn’t miss the look she gave him at his words. Hurt, embarrassed and caught off guard. ‘People like her’. Those who got barely any attention but were the centre of attention when people got bored and had to settle on those with barely any words in their dictionary of life experience. Every new one was an achievement, something worth talking about.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, quickly looking away again. He almost feels bad for his choice of words, but her next words made him feel miserable. “Maybe they were too embarrassed to say they did shag me then. Ever thought ‘bout that?”

“As if.” The scoff that left his mouth was louder than any word she’d spoken, even when she scolded him countless times and almost started screaming at him to shut up when he kept on rambling about the carrots that grew in their garden.

“Believe it or not, I don’t care. But you have to focus now, Liam. If you fail Peggy will also be disappointed into me.” It sounded genuine important to her, having Peggy be proud of her even when it was just getting Liam to pass his exams.

“Nah, me mum wouldn’t care. She know I’m shite.” Liam shrugged like it was nothing, like it was a world known fact that couldn’t be changed.

“You don’t have to be though.”

Her words were confident on her lips, making the lump in his throat rise even higher, sticking to his lungs.

“Did you actually sleep with someone? Someone from school.”

“What can I do to make you shut up and focus?”

Liam rasing his eyebrows. Ideas flooding his brain rather quickly. Ideas she could see reflecting in his eyes as they turned darker, in his smile that turned into a smirk. It was evident what was on him mind.

“No, forget it.”

“How am I s’possed to believe ya when there’s no proof.”

“I don’t care if you believe me, Liam. Focus.”

“Make me,” he challenged her, edging closer to the edge of the bed, leaning towards her.

His breath fanning down her face. Eyes focused on the paper, trying to identify the words she’d written just mere seconds before, but her vision was blurring, eyes closing and rolling as he moved his head to the side, breathing down her neck.

“Who was it?” he whispered, lips brushing her earlobe. Sending a shiver down her spine, nipples hardening at the sensation of having him so close to her again.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been on her mind on countless lonely nights, but now he was there, next to her. Breathing down her neck. Challenging her. Edging her. Almost sounding jealous.

Deciding to see if this was solely for the purpose of more talk happening the next day, she moved her head to the side, acting like the closeness of their faces was just another Thursday activity to her.

“Why do you care?” she asked, tilting her head, watching his eyes slip over her face. Over her eyes, her forehead, cheekbones, her lips.

Staying focused on them for a moment before licking his lips and answering, “Wanna make sure that that gob who made you feel worthless gets his consequence.”

A breath hitches and when he doesn’t feel her breath anymore, he knows it was her that was taken by surprise at his words and not himself and let it show.

“Liam,” she finally breathes out and his name on her lips makes him eager to listen every time she’d said it already this night. “Why are you acting like you care?”

Taken back by her words, his eyebrows shot up, eyes crinkling in confusion. “Because I do.”

“You don’t. You haven’t cared for four years, why do you have to start now, when -” cutting herself off, she stopped her heart from taking over her mind. She wanted to tell him, wanted him to know what she had to live with ever since she saw him falling head first into the sandbox at the age of three. The feelings she had to bottle up for years.

“When what?” he asked, her words not going unnoticed by him. “What is it, love?”

“I just thought I’ve finally gotten over you after years of yearning for you and now you start with this shit. It’s not- It’s not fair, Liam. So, please, stop and focus.”

Staring down at the paper, rapidly trying to blink away tears that formed in her eyes as she spoke and saw the playfulness leave his eyes, she didn’t see the realisation form on his face. The fucking-finally-moment making it’s way towards the front of his mind.

“You fucking idiot,” he mumbled, laughing as he shook his head. “You think I don’t fancy you?”

Instead of an answer, he only got her to stop the nervous tapping of her pen against the notebook. Eyes not looking his way until he took her jaw in between his fingers and turned her towards him. Mortification raging in her eyes.

He couldn’t be serious, could he?

“Fuck, love, I’ve been mad for you since kindergarten. Proper sleaze just to get your attention when you’d scold me.”

And then, he pulled her even closer, closing the gap between them. Making her gasp against his lips and letting his tongue slip into her mouth. Moving as one, he took her waist, making her stumble out of the chair and onto his lap. Both her hands finding their way up into his hair, brushing through it, tucking at the strands when she’d slightly move over his jeans and feel him pressing up against her. A moan escaping her lips at the feeling.

“You were fucking pathetic for getting yourself in trouble to get my attention,” she said, breathing heavily after she pulled away to catch her breath.

“I knew after you discovered Barbies I had to be inventive,” Liam mumbled against her lips, pulling her in once more before he remembered how they even got into this position.

“So who was it?” he mumbled against her lips.

A chuckle escaping her lips that was quickly killed by his mouth.

He couldn’t be fucking serious.

[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`)

[lavilavs]

୨୧ ── Stream with me!

› Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x Streamer!Wife!Reader

› Scenario: What more could a wife who streams want other than streaming with her husband? Nothing! Maybe. It depends. But in this universe—best believe that it is all you've ever wanted! What does your husband think about it, though?

› Notes: English is not my first language + Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + almost 6k words that's why it took me days to write TT + Cringe and unhinged alert + big poo and goobert stole the show

Bruce Wayne

Bruce lets out a deep sigh as he watches you set up before starting the stream. A warm smile adorns his face, but he's still reluctant to show up as a guest. Just why did someone suggest a wife and husband bonding time in your streams? You were overjoyed that you ended up calling him in the middle of your stream to ask him about it.

Bruce excused himself and let an executive continue the briefing. His gruff voice sounded soft when he called your name, asking why you suddenly called—not even the slightest bit of annoyance in his voice at the fact you called during a meeting.

"Honey, look at the picture I sent!" He questions what could possibly have his wife over the moon. With the monitor in his lens, the picture popped in front of him. It was a 5 dollar donation from UnkissedBrick that said—in all caps—

"MAKE A STREAM WITH YOUR HUSBAND AND MY LIFE IS YOURS !!!$%5@5@"

It started a spark within the community that they were BEGGING you to make it come true. 

A stream to make money, have fun, and be with your husband at the same time? Of course you'd agree. Best believe that Bruce had no way out of this, you barely asked anything from him—would he have the heart to decline a simple request such as this?

No! And that's why he's here sitting beside you, wearing your adorable, pink headphones. It was something entirely new in his life. Never, and I mean never, has Bruce imagined he'll be wearing this godforsaken headphone for millions to see. The only thing stopping him from taking it off was obviously you—his wife.

"Wow! Thank you all so much for coming to see this stream. There's a lot more of you today."

Bruce snaps his head in your direction, giving him a clear view of how you marveled at the screens in front of you. A thought slips into his mind, whispering thoughts that made him worry about you. 

A lot more today? 

How many more were there than usual?

He'll let anything happen, just not this. Stealing the light from you is a scenario he didn't want to occur in this very video. It's your stream, it's your channel—not his. His blood pressure spikes at the thoughts flooding his head. And yet, you didn't seem to mind, you're just thanking them.

Bruce looked at the rapid comments piling up on the screen, amazed by the speed of people commenting. Nothing's too quick for his eyes, though. Who do you take him for? He reads every single one. Despite his worries, it was drastically different from what he thought. Your fanbase was literally fighting the viewers who only came for him.

BigPoo: Coming here ONLY for the husband is soooo embarrassing

isayholAcomosta: Scram your asses outta here man

IAMBatman: LMAOO IMAGINE WATCHING FOR BRUCE WAYNE

InstantoPreggo: either support her (and him ig) or face the consequences of my 16-inch-thick, fat, JUICY HUMONGOUS D!LD0 UP YOUR ASS.

Bruce had to flinch himself away from the monitor after reading that last comment. 

He looks at you with disbelief. So this is what you were laughing at... To be fair, it is rather amusing, to say the least. The look on his face makes you laugh even more now that you've spared some time to actually look at your husband's worry corner beside you.

The chat stops when you scold them to support both of you, also instructing the mods to delete any negative comments about Bruce. Which is odd since you remember telling them to do so beforehand.

"Don't worry about them, honey. Let's just have fun."

The kiss you give on his cheek eases Bruce, his bigger hands take yours to caress it in a comforting way. But really, we know it was for him. A deep sigh escapes his lips, knowing he has nothing to worry about anymore aside from getting through this stream with you.

You've noticed him being quiet again. He should try focusing on the game you're playing so he could see how fun it is. You told him to have fun, and Bruce is trying, believe me. 

Bruce folds his arms and directs his attention to the monitor where you're playing some kind of simulator game about supermarkets. The store layout is nice, though it looks cramped, the prices are lower than the market price, the other products are understocked, and the bills were due in-game. 

"Honey, are you playing this right?" 

"Am I not?"

He's spent years managing businesses, come on. Bruce is shrewd. And seeing his dear wife fail at this supermarket simulator, no can do. He's just lucky this game is right up his alley. You let go of the keyboard and mouse unattended to listen to his suggestions. 

What was hotter than the fact that there's a hot man explaining business tactics to you? Correct, he's your husband! And a smart husband is a hot husband.

Bruce was so concerned with his strategies that he suddenly went on autopilot and grabbed the controls to show you instead of using words. You stifle a laugh behind your hand. When did he learn all those controls? He wasn't just moping around beside you, and he actually was paying attention? You might just want to request another wedding again.

His only intention was to show you how you were supposed to manage the shop. Bruce demonstrated that perfectly. So why is he still in control? His mind wants to let go. And letting go would mean he'll have to leave playing this game. The escaped chuckles from you reached his ears. With a tentative glance and muted rosy cheeks, it was like he was asking permission to keep playing.

"Go on, dear. I'll just watch you play." You mean it. Watching Bruce play a game was more enjoyable than playing, he understands it more anyways. You don't think your heart will ever feel cold when you look at him. Not ever while you're still breathing and alive to keep on loving him.

Your eyes narrow with every part of Bruce that your eyes land on. A subconscious gulp was made when you took notice of the few strands of hair that hung on top of his forehead, the way veins would pop in his forearms with a few movements when he used the keyboard and mouse, and the musky scent of his cologne that perked your senses up—you'd wonder to yourself why you didn't have at least one child with him already.

The overflowing amount of comments in the corner of your eye catches your attention. You scoot closer to read it.

Tin-a-pie: Miss ma'am is so DOWNBAD

Big Poo: "Eaaasy white chocolate"  AHH TYPE SHIIT

MMONEYY: Bruce Wayne's gonna melt 

Goobert: ON EVERYBODY'S SOUL WE ALL WANT TO BE IN BETWEEN THEM

You snort, hitting Bruce's shoulder repeatedly. The man loses focus on his game, amusement in his eyes as you stood up to sit on his lap. He catches you in his arms, holding your shaking body in amusement. Guess he didn't have to excessively worry, after all—spending time and making you happy is his priority today.

"Are you happy, my love?" Bruce pressed his forehead against yours. His forearms had a grip on your waist that felt so secure and warm that even if you melted, you'd still be in his arms.

"Very. Thank you, Bruce." Oh, how your laughter gets his heart kicking and running.

The chat floods once again with teaseful comments. Too many for you to read without getting blown by another. Not that it matters, your husband is too busy being pampered in your kisses.

Bruce's phone vibrates nonstop in his pocket. You fished it out for him and opened it to see Dick's face with an image attached to it.

I hope Mom doesn't mind the new sticker I added to the chat. Tell her I told the other mods about it. ;]

Bruce was in the middle of questioning what his first son said only to be caught off guard with you abruptly shifting your body weight against him, laughing uncontrollably. The chat was spamming a photo of Bruce from earlier when he was so focused on the supermarket simulator game.

"I didn't look like that, did I?" He stares at you deadpan, making you laugh harder.

Dick Grayson

Is this even your stream at all? How was he acting like close friends to your viewers after a few minutes? You stare at your husband dumbfounded. Although you know that Dick has a charming aura and personality, you didn't expect it to leak through the screen and into their hearts within minutes of knowing him!

When you asked Dick if he wanted to do a stream with you, he basically almost leaped with joy. Just almost—because he suddenly hugged you before he could jump up into space from the ecstasy of his dear, loving wife if he wanted to do a gaming video with you.

Actually, Dick has always wanted to. The thought of having millions see how loved you are in his arms—OH THE SEROTONIN—Dick can't wait to do so. He just waited and waited and waited—until you finally invited him.

You can't actually hide your jealousy well about the fact that he's paying more attention to the chat than you.

Goobert: I suddenly feel like a mistress caught in the act with how the missus is looking from behind you

Big Poo: NAH HE'S OUR HUSBAND NOW

TheAMAZINGpie: She's so jealous LMAOOO tease her more

Good thing Dick was staring intently at the chat, he couldn't see your secretive middle finger you're flashing at the viewers. He laughs and takes a quick glance at you over his shoulder, then back to the chat. A scoff of disbelief leaves your mouth. Those snitches!

"Yes, chat, these are the true colors of my wife. She's more barbaric when it's just us two here." The playful tone has you pinching his sides. Dick laughs and flinches away from your hand.

"See? She keeps on hurting me."

"Quit the baby voice, Dick, oh my God! Eww." 

You gag at your husband, earning yet another heartfelt laugh. It was hard to pretend you were annoyed when everything felt so warm and natural. Dick is lucky he's your husband, or else you would've strangled him out of annoyance by now.

"Horror games are overrated, let's play simple ones." He pouts at you.

"What do you suggest then?"

And that's how you found yourself playing dress-up games at the old girl games website, where you can find all of the low-quality yet nostalgic games for girls in the world. You both competed in a game where the game picks who made the better outfit.

Imagine the look of disbelief in your face when he keeps winning 5 times in a row—5 times! Dick has got to be cheating, because in no way Dick Grayson has more fashion sense than you, right? Fight him, girl!

"You are so cheating, babe! How are you the winner every round?"

Dick raised his arms in a smug way, shrugging you off to annoy you. "Ah, the loser is barking. Face it, babe. I'm better." He blows you a kiss that you playfully shooed away, pinching your nose after. Dick gasps at your action, fighting the urge to laugh and just play along.

"Still can't beat me, honey."

"Pick another game. You'll taste defeat, Grayson."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Grayson."

That's a blow to your pride. Imagine getting flustered in the middle of your bickering. Now you let a smug grin slip on your husband's face. Girl, you better stand on business cause you are losing FACE to your viewers right now.

5 girl go games later and you're still somehow losing to Dick. It feels like your sex has been reversed because what the hell? Maybe you are a man... at heart. How are you losing to a full grown man who—mind you—suggested that you play these games! Dick might be playing these at night when you're asleep.

It was a cooking game this time. You both need to beat each other with higher scores and more satisfied customers, obviously. It was just a mystery how he still wins when you both clearly see the big, colorful letters in bold saying that the dish you prepared was perfect—and he still wins!?

"That's it! I'm convinced you are cheating." You point a finger at him.

"It's just a matter of skill, hun." He smirks at you.

The last resort—your faithful, loyal, loving chat will support you on your accusations, right? Oh no, that smile on your face was wiped when you saw an ongoing poll on the stream. Scratch what you used to describe your chat, they are being the total opposite right now.

Overthrow the queen and appoint Dickie as the new ruler!

It's worst enough that it was 99% over 1%. You look at the camera with a death stare, in disbelief that your dear fans would overthrow you like this. Is it because Dick was more charming and had a larger ass than you? Okay, maybe keep that last thought to yourself because they cannot see the down half of your bodies.

And an annoying donation comes in the heat of the moment...

Daywalk donated 5$  

I'm looking at the most breathtaking, marvelous, amazing, pretty, kind, majestic, beautiful, attractive, sexy, hot, and gorjus (idk how to spell) right now and oh—I didn't realize you were here, sweetheart

Dick was giggling uncontrollably beside you with his phone in his hands. You saw the stream on his screen split seconds before he hid it beside him where you can't reach it. Did he really think you wouldn't notice it was him with this shitty ass username?

"Really, Dick? Daywalk? That's the best you could come up with?" You bury your face in your hand, imitating a facepalm to hide your laughter. You hate how he can easily make you laugh with the stupidest things.

"I am a fan of Nightwing, Babe. He has such good hair, good facial features, and that goddamn juicy ass of his. Have you seen his—"

"Dick."

"Okay, okay, sheesh, God forbid a man uplift his fellow man." He raised his hands in mock defeat. Backing away from that look of yours.

Dick Grayson is audacious. Partly one of the reasons why you married this man. 

You gave up, rolled your eyes, and just gave him a kiss to shut him up.

Jason Todd

"Oh come on, baby, you know you're happy to be here." 

You snicker at the scowl on his face. Jason looked like he wanted to drop a smoke bomb to escape the stream, but of course he wouldn't! What you said is true—he is ecstatic to be here. He refused your offer several times before caving in... and just a little secret, he just wanted to see how bad you want him to be in one.

In fact, he had the stream planned out already. In the span of the 3 days where you begged him to stream with you, Jason used it as a time to search for games to play, imagine scenarios, and other cute stuff that he wants to make happen today.

First things first, seem tough enough to place boundaries through his stare and seem friendly enough to joke around with him. Check. The chat was respectful to Jason and some joked around that this looked like Doomguy and Isabelle looking relationship.

"Oh please, it's more switched. This guy's a baby." Jason's eyes widen when you pull his chair to ruffle on his hair like a little kid. He glares up at you. Okay—maybe, this is tolerable, it has a loving effect to the viewers. Yes, this is fine. 

"Jason, don't bob your head like that onto my boob." You snort and push his head away. Ah, he thought he was nodding inside his head.

Big Poo: He's kinda weird... I like him

Goobert: We accept weird big guy and queen dynamics

Ignoring that small weird display of his, it's time for phase 2—urge you to play horror games of his choice. He didn't binge watch couples playing horror games last night just for you to play other games. A mischievous grin is fighting it's way to make itself appear on his lips. Jason expects you to get scared, cling to him, and show off the muscles he spent the few days toning. 

And as if he wasn't toned enough, Jason plans to show that this muscles of his won't be just for show if they decided to mug you in the streets while he's around. Anyone who's watching this stream would be a warning for parasocial freaks who'll try something with you.

"How about we play this one, babe?" He points at the game he searched up.

With a look of disbelief, you could only sigh at your husband's antics. He couldn't have been more obvious than this. The longer reps of his biceps workouts? Yeah, he's definitely planning something to show it off.

You sigh, and start the game up. The chat snitches on him smiling widely behind you as the game starts. It quickly disappears when you turn around, then reappears when you don't look. He gives the chat a playful motion of slicing his neck then points at the camera with a finger placed on his lips.

With a discreet glance behind you, there, you saw your husband doing a face that could kill that's accompanied by creepy giggles. In all of the years you've been together, not once could a sight like this ever cross your mind. Why is he having internet beef with your viewers?

Does he also think you can't see him through your stream view at your other monitor? You also stare at the gummy smile on your face, still having no resistance in finding everything he does as cute.

Heck, even if he snapped someone's neck in front of you with a sassy remark after, you'll still find it cute. Fucked up, yes, but hey, it's not like you haven't had body counts of your own in your other line of work.

Jason lets out an amused scoff at your unwavering focus to navigate through the dark cellar. There hasn't been a single jumpscare since you started. But because of his horror game video marathon, he's got every single one memorized. 

It'll take some time before the first one. In the meanwhile, he knows what to do to get you to warm up for the big scare.

His hands snakes itself downward, right past his own chair. You were focused on getting out of the sealed room that the chat's warnings fell to deaf ears... or eyes. Jason inches his chair closer to yours, carefully, so that his chair won't bump into yours.

An annoying habit of his that once made his teeth bleed from your punch. He waits until you're about to turn around a corner to strike—Jason bolts your body with an abrupt push on your shoulder. "Boo!"

The most he got from you was a loud curse and your middle finger in the middle of his face.

"Jason—We agreed on never doing that again. Fuck you, honestly." You glare at him through the monitor, not wasting another second to look back at the game. Your ears perk at the loud laugh that seeps through your headphones. 

"Oh please, you're not too much of a pussy to get scared from that, aren't you?" 

"Is that a challenge?" 

Jason waits for suspense, waiting until he knows you're almost near the first jumpscare of the game to throw you off. His hands once again find the liberty to make you jolt, making you lose focus and lightly smack your husband beside you.

Once you get back to the game, a horrifying figure appears on the screen, taking almost all of the pixels it offers. You flinch back and shield your eyes away the moment Jason tries to cover you from the screen.

It all happened suddenly. But it was if time moved slower for Jason.

One minute he was about to hug you.

The next, your fist connects with his face.

Jason didn't budge but hell—your punch still hurts as when you first met!

"You promised to never punch me again!" Jason whines.

Another promise was broken. As if Jason didn't break his earlier? He's sure his jaw also is. With a grimace and a guilty heart, you caressed his face softly. It was your way of apologizing. Oh well, it's both of your faults so let's just get back to gaming.

Big Poo: Leave Doomguy and Isabelle, bro. They're Mr. and Mrs. Smith at this point

Goobert: They're both tryna survive from each other

So what if Jason's plans failed? His jaw is aching—that's fine! He still has other ways... A plan B if you will. As long as his biceps will have a spotlight. He asks you, sweetly, if he could play instead. Jason smirks triumphantly as he knows you can't resist his weirdly adorable, beaten-up face.

He was actually doing so well for someone who's allegedly never saw or played this game before. Jason passed through each trial with flying colors.

When another jumpscare had shown itself, you were suprised to see your husband inch his shoulder closer to the monitor.

"Not flexin! But look at these chills man." He's definitely flexing.

The chat goes crazy! Comments pile up regarding your 'done-with-the-bullshit-face' at the back and mostly about Jason's muscles. He yaps about the non existent chills on his biceps that the chat eats up.

Big Poo: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD—PLEASE HEADLOCK ME

Goobert: I was unfamiliar with your game, Jason. Forgive me (pls flex more)

TheCrowbar: The crowbar approves of this marriage.

"We already are married, bud. If you wanted to say no, you could've done so 4 years ago." Jason rolls his eyes at the comment.

Yeah, he's definitely not warning everyone with that sass.

Tim Drake

"How is everyone mistaking me as your brother?"

Tim glares the chat through the screen. Evidently pissed at the teasing comments towards him. They knew who he was. How could they not? You always mention him and even introduced him at the start of the stream.

He gently grabs your left hand, raising it to show your matching rings.

Big Poo: AWWW! Such a cute sibling promise rings

Goobert: He loves his sister so much. ackk its so cute!!1!!

You try your best not to laugh. It might set Tim off and make him leave without creating any content. Despite wanting to see him get teased and pissed, you had to stop the chat with a few words.

"That's enough teasing my husband, guys. He doesn't like it." But you do. Your viewers seem to caught on your interest from the way you smile and stare at him earlier. Thankfully, they play along at the moment.

"What game do you guys want to see us play?"

Ah, you shouldn't have asked them. Your husband is a geek for video games! He's better than you at every game you guys play. He was more a tower defense, strategic, and board games type of guy. Doesn't make him any less of a weak player when it comes to games like Nekket, Super Smash Sis, though.

You drag Tim along with you to read some comments. He's impressed at the rapid comment speed your viewers have. Can you read a lot from this on a daily basis? There's a lot of unhinged comments slipping through his eyes too.

"Horror games? That sounds good."

What!

Tim snaps his eyes beside you, wide with surprise.

Before you could even ask for his opinion, your husband was already shaking his head sideways. He even had his arms crossed to match with his disagreement towards the suggestion. Tim does not want horror games this late at night. Absolutely not. Not inside this household when he's around.

He knows you're questioning him. But Tim can't tell you he watched the new horror movie you've been getting him to watch with you—alone. In his defense, he didn't want you to waste money on another shitty movie like last time, so, he scavenged alone to determine if it is as good as they say.

This is the result of his little secret mission from you. It's not his fault he hasn't recovered! You didn't see how terrifying it was for yourself... and not that he plans on letting you know.

Your viewers feed on his terror, already laughing to themselves behind their screens. Tim is just unlucky that you have wealthy viewers ready to make an offer you both can't resist. Like what do you mean two people named Big Poo and Goobert paid $10,000 each just for Tim to play?

And that's how the unlucky Timothy Drake found himself hiding behind your frame, occasionally peeking behind your hair to see how his wife is doing.

Everytime you turn into a corner, flashes of that horrible face appear in front of him. God, why are the lights turned off in your room? He doesn't even want to stand up to turn it on. He's aware he's a grown man, but God forbid a man like him can't get scared.

He takes a peek at the comments at the side.

HoelessRomantic: You shouldn't go there if I were you...

Tin-a-pie: GIRL DON'T

Goobert: You're purposely going there to scare baby bro

Baby bro?! This Goobert did not just say that. It felt like all his fear went away. He pushed himself away from your back. You weren't kidding that saying anymore brother jokes will tick him off.

"You may have beaten me at suggestions, but you won't defeat me in terms of winning over my wife!" He scowls at the monitor, taking you and your viewers aback. "I'm looking at you, Goobert... This is a threat." He smiles maniacally.

Tim sweetly smiles at you. One of the things you can't resist.

"Okay... okay.. calm down, Baby. What game do you want?"

"Oh trust me, you'll love it, honey." Tim presses a kiss on your forehead as he takes control.

You love Tim.

You know him well enough considering he's your husband for 4 years now.

But you guess you didn't know him well enough to expect him to suddenly exit the game and pull out a whole ass board game between you guys. Was it sitting there unnoticed the whole time? No matter, you recognized it to be one of his favorite board games.

He excitedly sets it up on the desk for the chat to see. A smug grin on his face to show off his pre-ordered game with freebies. Tim's so excited to share a game he's mastered.

"I bet you kids don't know this. Back in my days, this was the bomb." He proudly boasts.

Big Poo: Bro pulled out his last resort

Goobert: He had to gain back some aura obv

MMONEYY: Are you sure he gained some?

Ignoring their comments, Tim starts on the basics on how to play the game. Here comes the hardest part in being his wife—listening to his long, heartfelt explanation of Dungeons and Reptiles for the second time.

Nonetheless, you were blessed to hear his voice chip at every detail of the game. To see how the love of your life's eyes gleam to share facts to the viewers you tell about Tim everyday. They knew he was a nerd from your stories—but to see and hear it real time is something else.

Tim looked like a grandparent telling stories of his youth. The stories that seemed boring, but you can't help but listen in to. Although the comments complained that it was boring, and he's like an old man, the viewer count didn't decrease. 

They all listened intently with you. Do they see the vision on why you fell in love with Tim? Definitely.

Big Poo: All in vote of Tim being promoted to Husband, say aye.

Goobert: AYEEE

HoelessRomantic: Aye.

Tin-a-pie: Aye!!!

and a million others more.

"Oh so now I'm officially seen as the husband?" Tim laughs, stopping his yap about the game. He gives you a warm look and pulls you towards him. "I guess it's better than being the little brother, babe." He kisses you passionately while covering your eyes to raise his ring finger alone to the chat.

Tim must have the last laugh after all that teasing.

Damian Wayne

Damian has never been this clingy before. Is it because he's finally out in the open with you for millions to watch behind the safety of their screens? He doesn't know—only that he needs to make sure you're his only.

You can see how red his ears are on the monitor, his body boiling at the simple, cute gesture of having you in his lap while you introduced yourself and him to your viewers. This isn't PDA, he knows you're both technically alone in your shared room. 

Still, he isn't used to it. He's been in the spotlight several times, sure—he's Damian Wayne, hello! Son of Bruce Wayne? You get my point, but, he hasn't really been out with you to the media except the time you got married. Damian's more of a private, but not secret type of guy, you know? 

It wasn't difficult to make him agree. With a simple kiss, doe eyes, and a sweet smile, Damian would say yes without a thought!

Oh, but your chat was the mischievous type. One look at Damian and they all knew he was a guy who'd go boom for his lady. And what type of Boom you may ask? Well...

Big Poo: She is NOT going anywhere blud, calm dowwwnnnnn

Goobert: Acting like a damn dog who doesn't want to share the tree he peed on in 2025 is crazy

HoelessRomantic: Let OUR wife go you madman

"Our wife?" He growls, glaring at the camera. Damian would've stood up from his seat if you weren't on his lap. 

He had ignored the first two comments above that, choosing to focus on a comment about his wife. Like—that's his wife! Not hard to understand. He had everything to prove it. Pictures of your wedding day, legal certificates, your wedding rings, and a lot more!

Instead, he snaps his head to the side, acting like he was looking at a physical body to scan up and down with a warning glare. Possessive and explosive... The chat likes that. They'll have the night of their lives dedicated to set Damian off.

"They're normally like that. Don't mind them, Honey." 

He would've let it pass, and listened to your coo. And yet you let him hear you use the word, normally. Normally—as in, you listen to these goofs call you their wife? He doesn't want that. He'll create online beef for you.

And so it began, the chat and Damian's cold war.

The purpose of gaming is gone. Only Damian's sassy remarks and the viewers saying flirty stuff to get on his nerves becomes the content and entertainment. So much for the games you thought you were gonna play today.

But this? You'd pay to watch the whole day. Judging by that smug smirk on your husband's lips, he's aware that they were just teasing him. What can you say... after being with a wife who ragebaits for fun can train you into tolerating bullshit.

And what's a good way to tolerate bullshit? Fight it with your own bullshit, of course. And laughs—to show that he and you are joking. We're trying not to get banned here. So much for the millions of followers if it all ended because of his unhinged comments.

Big Poo: Pull up on roblox right now old geezer or lose husband rights to the whole chat

Goobert: OOOOOH SHITS GOING DOWN

HoelessRomantic: Millions of games and you choose roblox

Tin-a-pie: Imagine losing husband rights to a roblox game...

As soon as you read the chat's algorithm, you shake your head no at Damian. He shouldn't pick a fight over a game he doesn't know. 

It was too late though.

"Challenge accepted." Damian points at the camera. 

Hold on—his smugness falters. You raise a brow over the abrupt change of mood.

"Babe, do you have a roblox account?" He was so adamant in that petty challenge, it was hard to say no at this point. "You better win, loser."

"Do I look like one?" If he has the energy to roll his eyes at you, he might have the energy to kick butt on a game.

You're still appalled that it's roblox of all games. How old was this Big Poo viewer of yours to pick this one specifically? You sure hope it's not a 15 year old... or worse, they could be in the single digits! Oh God, where are this kid's parents?

"In what game will we settle this, Big Poo?" 

Big Poo: Tower of hell :>

Goobert: I honestly thought you'd pick murder mystery 

Big Poo: Let the old man get a taste of the... OBBY MASTERRR

Hey, hey—is this even your stream anymore or Big Poo and Goobert's private chats?

Tower of hell isn't hard. You've played it before. It was just a matter of skill to climb the tower. Damian listens intently to your instructions while waiting for the game to load where Big Poo's avatar was waiting.

"Listen, Dami, just jump over the glowing blocks and shiftlock when needed, okay? You got this, dear!" 

Damian pats on his lips repeatedly until you figure out his motions. With a sigh and a chuckle, you move closer to give him a peck—just a peck! But your beloved had other plans. He pulls you by your hand and smashes his lips against yours. Your quick reflexes immediately covered the camera.

"I can't fathom how I'm in need of a kiss over a lego game."

"Me too. I feel so stupid."

You both laugh, parting away from each other when Big Poo starts to countdown in game.

It was going so well! Damian was in the lead. He's actually pretty good with obbies even if he's a noob. Mind you, he had no practice before the match. Did his training in life transfer to your roblox avatar right now? How is he moving and advancing so fast.

The chat goes crazy with a notable presence—Goobert. The poor guy was screaming their bestfriend's name so bad. They almost looked like a desperate wife wishing their soldier husband to come back home safely.

The whole chat was amazed to see Damian—a noob—winning. And he knows he is.

Goobert: USE THE SECRET WEAPON HERMANO

Damian arrives at the last platform. You marvel at the close gap between him and Big Poo. He's actually gonna win this stupid roblox bet? But what—why did Damian suddenly stop? Don't tell me he's about to—

He types fast in-game, a smug smirk on his face as he watches Big Poo's avatar inch closer to his. In just a few thumbs away, Damian sends his message.

Husband rights defended! ;p

And it was silent—the time went slow. The crowd was astounded when Big Poo suddenly had a stick with a hand at the end. It happened in slow motion. Especially for Damian who worked his way up to the top. 

No matter how fast his reflexes are... it wasn't the same with the wifi.

As your roblox character fell, Damian looked dead in the camera.

"Big Poo..." 

Uh oh

"I BETTER NOT SEE YOU HERE IN GOTHAM OR ELSE I WILL—"

The stream has ended.

extra scene!

In another universe...

In the timeline of Young Justice...

Jaime and Bart were laughing their asses off. Each had their own unique device that hasn't been seen by humankind other than them. It's a mystery how they even got it. Well, it was just on the table... so, it won't hurt to touch, right?

They've both been at it all day long. Lucky for them to have the day off, honestly. Or else they would've missed this multidimensional device that shows different universes. Never in their life would they see 5 of the batfamily like that.

Although 1 of them is unfamilliar, and the second Robin has changed so much.

In a span of 18 hours, all they did was watch the streams.

"How'd you even come up with Big Poo, Ese?"

"You don't wanna know what happened yesterday." Bart snickers. "Well, how about you, Goobert?"

"Don't ask me, it was Scarab's idea."

They both went silent—reminiscing the streams they just watched.

"Do you think M'gann will notice the missing $20,000 from the funds?"

"Don't worry about M'gann, worry about—"

"What $20,000?" Tim's voice springs behind them.

Great.

It just had to be the Robin who the $20,000 went to in another universe.

They better explain well or else they'll be in an interrogation room with the whole Bat Family listening in.

[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

 ♡

[baobei-bu]

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

[bluesidez]

Sylus is secure.

Secure in his position, secure in his status, secure in his person. It doesn’t matter how the world sees him because he knows who he is. No bounty is too high and no expectation is too grand for someone like him.

Yet, it all crumbles at the faintest idea of you not being able to see him.

You’re supposed to resonate with him. You’re supposed to recognize him. You’re supposed to remember what you two have been through.

The look in your eyes, the fear they hold, and uncertainty of it all is too much to bear.

The voice that once sang him to sleep is shaking trying to appear strong.

He left his soul within your grasps, but as tries to reach for your fingertips, he can feel the ends of world slip away. You’re not recognizing his dreams anymore. Those nightmares have come back to haunt you.

Though you can’t see him, he can see right through you.

That uncertainty scares him.

me patiently waiting for Sylus’s myth rerun :3

divider by: strangergraphics

[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☆

[biblical-chronicles]

Sibling rivalry

__________________________________________

where the two both take a likin' to you, but who will you choose?

(you actually get to choose, more than one thing)

__________________________________________

It started, as many things did, with a pint.

You’d only meant to pop into the pub for a quick drink—a quiet end to a long day. You weren’t looking for company, weren’t looking for a story to tell. But fate, and a bit of dumb luck, had other plans.

You’d just settled onto a barstool, a fresh pint in hand, when someone slid into the empty seat beside you. At first, you didn’t think much of it—just another bloke looking for a drink. But then he turned, nodded at you, and said, “Not from round ‘ere, are ya?”

You glanced up, eyebrow raising slightly. Dark hair, sharp features, an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and boredom. He had a quiet sort of confidence, like he’d seen it all before and wasn’t in any rush to be impressed.

“I live round here,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. “Do I not look local?”

He smirked. “Nah, just don’t recognise ya. And I know everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“More or less.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “What, you the mayor or somethin’?”

That earned you a quiet chuckle. “Somethin’ like that.” He leaned against the bar, tilting his head as he studied you. “Noel.”

You introduced yourself in return, shaking the hand he offered. His grip was firm, his palm slightly rough—calloused, like someone who spent more time with a guitar than he did sitting behind a desk.

It didn’t take long to fall into easy conversation. There was something about him—dry humour, sharp wit, the kind of effortless cool that couldn’t be faked. You talked about music, about Manchester, about nothing in particular. It was the kind of conversation that flowed naturally, like two people who had known each other much longer than the twenty minutes you actually had.

And then, just as you were mid-sentence, another voice cut in.

"Oi, Noel—ain’t that bird too fit for you?"

You turned just in time to see a new figure saunter up, all swagger and mischief. He was taller than Noel, broader in the shoulders, with messy hair and a cocky grin that looked permanent. You knew who he was before he even opened his mouth again.

Liam Gallagher.

You barely had a chance to react before Noel sighed heavily, like he’d been expecting this exact interruption. "Fuck off, Liam."

Liam ignored him, plonking himself down on your other side. "Nah, serious question," he said, looking at you now, eyes twinkling with amusement. "You actually enjoyin’ talkin’ to him, or has he been borin’ you to death with some story about how he single-handedly reinvented music?"

You smirked, glancing between the two of them. "He’s been alright, actually."

Liam huffed, looking affronted. "Christ, standards are slippin’ round ‘ere."

Noel rolled his eyes. "Don’t you have someone else to bother?"

Liam ignored that too. Instead, he turned his attention fully to you, draping an arm over the back of your chair like he’d known you for years. "Right, well. If you’re lookin’ for an actual good time, you’re talkin’ to the wrong brother."

Noel scoffed. "Oh, fuck off."

"What?" Liam spread his hands. "It’s true! You’re sat here actin’ all mysterious, talkin’ in riddles, meanwhile, I’m an open book. Dead easy to talk to, me."

"You’re a gobshite, is what you are."

"And yet, people love me."

Noel shook his head, lifting his pint to his lips. "No one fuckin’ loves you, mate."

Liam turned back to you, expression dramatic. "See what I have to put up with?"

You just laughed, shaking your head. "You two always like this?"

"Absolutely," Noel muttered.

"Since birth," Liam added.

Noel shot him a look. "Well, since your birth. I was sound ‘til you showed up."

Liam grinned. "Jealous ‘cause I’m the better model?"

Noel’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, mate. That’s definitely what it is."

You were barely holding in your laughter at this point. The banter between them was so seamless, so automatic, you almost felt like an intruder just watching it unfold.

Liam must have noticed, because he turned back to you, leaning in slightly. "See, I’m just tryin’ to make sure you have a good night, but he’s makin’ it all about himself. Typical."

"Fuckin’ hell, Liam," Noel groaned.

"You are doin’ a lot of talkin’ for someone who’s meant to be the quiet, cool one," you teased.

Liam snorted, nudging your shoulder like you were already in on the joke. "See? She gets it."

Noel sighed, shaking his head—but you didn’t miss the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "She’s humourin’ you, mate."

"Bet she’s not."

"Bet she is."

You grinned, glancing between them. "You lot always this competitive?"

Noel lifted a shoulder. "Only when he’s losin’."

Liam scoffed. "I never lose."

"You’re losin’ now."

"Am I fuck."

The bickering continued, neither of them willing to back down. You just sat back, sipping your pint, thoroughly entertained.

You had walked into this pub alone. But somehow, between a drink and some good conversation, you’d landed yourself in the middle of a full-fledged Gallagher standoff.

“Gonna step out for a cig.” He paused, then—almost casual, almost like he wasn’t particularly arsed either way—nodded towards the door. “You comin’ or what?”

You raised a brow, setting your glass down. “You inviting me, Gallagher?”

He scoffed. “Reckon so, yeah. Unless you’re havin’ too much fun watchin’ him”—he jerked his chin toward Liam, who was now gesturing wildly about something, pint dangerously close to spilling—“chat absolute shite.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Nah, I think I like it here.”

...

The rest of the evening carried on much the same—Liam and Noel, constantly taking jabs at each other, each trying to outdo the other in whatever way they could. It wasn’t always obvious, but you could see it—the way Liam would shift closer when Noel spoke, the way Noel would cut in when Liam was making you laugh a little too much.

At one point, Noel offered to buy you a drink. Liam scoffed.

“Eh, don’t let him,” he said, leaning in. “Tightest fucker you’ll ever meet.”

Noel, completely unfazed, just exhaled, shaking his head. “Right, and what, you’re the generous one?”

“Absolutely.”

You just laughed, letting them bicker as you took a sip of your drink.

Later, when Noel had been dragged into a conversation with someone else, Liam nudged your knee under the table. “Gotta say, didn’t expect to have such riveting competition tonight,” he said, smirking.

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting less of a challenge?”

Liam grinned, tipping his pint towards you. “Course.”

“You’re both as bad as each other,” you said, shaking your head.

“You love it, though,” he teased.

You pretended to consider. “…Maybe.”

As the night wound down, the pub thinning out, you checked the time and sighed. “I should probably head off,” you said, standing and stretching.

Noel, who had reappeared beside you, arched an eyebrow. “What, leavin’ already?”

“Some of us have responsibilities,” you said, grinning.

Liam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Tragic, that.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone. “Here,” you said, handing it to Noel first.

He smirked but took it, tapping in his number before handing it to Liam. Liam squinted at the screen before doing the same, then passed it back to you.

“There,” he said. “Now you’re stuck with us.”

You laughed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Lucky me.”

Noel grinned. “You are, actually.”

Liam snorted, shaking his head, but he was grinning too.

You took a step back, tucking your hands into your pockets. “Alright, lads, it’s been fun. Try not to kill each other, yeah?”

“No promises,” Noel said, lifting his pint.

You laughed again, turning for the door, feeling their eyes on you as you walked out into the night.

Back home, you flopped onto your couch, staring up at the ceiling, mind still buzzing from the night.

What the fuck was that?

It wasn’t just that they’d been fighting over you—that much was obvious. But what did it mean? Was it just some drunken game between brothers, a bit of fun for the night? Had they just seen an opportunity to wind each other up and taken it, and you’d been caught in the middle? Or had it actually been something more?

And if it was something more… what were you supposed to do about it?

You didn’t even know if you had a preference. If it had just been Noel, or just Liam, maybe you’d have a better grasp on it. But no, it had been both of them, equally persistent, equally charming in their own ways. The whole thing left you feeling unsteady, stuck in some weird limbo where you didn’t quite know how to move forward.

Not that it mattered, apparently.

A couple of days passed without a single word from either of them. No texts, no calls, nothing. And that, really, gave you the answer, didn’t it? It had just been a bit of fun at the pub, and you’d read too much into it.

Probably already been forgotten, you thought bitterly, rolling your eyes at yourself.

And then your phone buzzed.

You nearly ignored it, but when you glanced at the screen and saw the name—Noel—your stomach did a weird little flip. You scrambled to grab your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers.

Noel: You still alive?

You blinked. What?

Noel: Got some time this evenin’?

For a second, you just stared at the screen. Then your heart lurched into your throat, and you had to physically shake yourself out of it.

Okay. Okay. Breathe.

You had not been forgotten. Not entirely, at least. And—more importantly—Liam hadn’t been the one to reach out. Just Noel. The choice had been made for you, clearly.

You: Yeah, I’m free. What’re you thinking?

Noel: I could come round yours?

Shit. Shit.

You felt another little rush of panic, followed swiftly by a wave of excitement. You hadn’t even entertained the idea that one of them would come over, but now it was happening, and you suddenly felt grossly unprepared.

You: Yeah, sounds good. I’ll text you the address.

Noel: Sound.

You let out a breath, staring at the messages for a moment before jumping to your feet. If he was coming over, your place needed to not look like a disaster zone. You spent the next hour tidying up—nothing too obvious, just enough that it looked effortlessly presentable. And, of course, you changed. Not too much, didn’t want to look like you’d tried too hard, but… a little.

By the time there was a knock at the door, you were as ready as you could be.

You took a deep breath, then pulled it open.

Noel stood there, hands in his coat pockets, a small bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm.

You blinked.

“…You brought flowers?”

He smirked, shifting them toward you. “What, can’t show up empty-handed, can I?”

You huffed a laugh, taking them from him. “Didn’t peg you for the romantic type.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, stepping inside.

The evening had settled into something easy, something comfortable.

Noel had made himself at home on your couch, legs stretched out, a drink in hand, looking for all the world like he’d been there a hundred times before. You’d thrown on a record—something older, something good—and the two of you sat back, talking shit about music, about gigs, about whatever came to mind.

It was nice. Flirty in that natural, unforced way, the kind where neither of you were really trying but it was there anyway, in the small smirks, in the teasing lilt of your words, in the way his eyes lingered when you talked.

At some point, he got up to flip the record over, and you watched him from where you sat, drink dangling from your fingers.

“You’re a proper music snob, aren’t you?” you mused.

Noel scoffed. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. If it’s not from some band that was big before I was even born, you don’t wanna hear it.”

He turned back, narrowing his eyes playfully. “It’s called havin’ taste, mate. Some of us have got it.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and he grinned, dropping back onto the couch beside you. The conversation continued, winding and effortless, and you let yourself enjoy it—just sitting there with him, the warm glow of the lamp, the quiet crackle of the record.

Then your phone buzzed.

You ignored it at first, too caught up in whatever Noel was saying. But a few minutes later, when his glass was near-empty, you took the chance to get up.

“I’ll grab us another drink,” you said, standing.

Noel just hummed in agreement, settling further into the couch as you made your way to the kitchen.

As soon as you were out of sight, you pulled out your phone.

Liam.

Liam: Oi, you free later? Was thinking of swingin’ by late evening.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What were the fucking odds? A couple of days of nothing and then the moment you finally think, alright, Noel it is, Liam decides to pop back up?

You chewed your lip, staring at the message.

Alright. Two options.

Either you told Liam you were busy—simple, easy, no drama—or you somehow got Noel to leave early without making it obvious.

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

“Y’alright?”

You jumped slightly at the sound of Noel’s voice from the other room.

“Yeah!” you called back, forcing your voice to stay normal. “Just getting the drinks.”

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you grabbed the bottles from the counter and took a deep breath.

As you walked back toward the living room, drinks in hand, you made a split-second decision.

You shifted one of the bottles to the crook of your arm, freeing up a hand to grab your phone. Fingers moving quickly, you typed out a reply.

Ah, can’t tonight. Another time?

Yeah, I'll send you the address in a bit x

...

The apartment was suffocatingly quiet. The soft hum of the fridge, the distant sound of traffic, all of it pressing in on you like a weight.

How did you even get here?

You hadn’t meant for things to get complicated. Both of them were clearly willing to try something with you, both of them offering something real, something worth exploring. And yet, the more you thought about it, the more it felt wrong.

You can’t have both.

Your chest tightened at the thought. If you chose one, the other would be hurt, and you'd be left with the awkward tension of knowing you’d led them on. You couldn’t stand the idea of breaking Noel’s heart—he was your rock, your best friend. He deserved better than to be caught up in this mess. But Liam, too, had been nothing but kind, and the pull between you two was undeniable. What if you picked Noel, but Liam felt left out? What if choosing him meant losing Noel?

What do I do?

The anxiety hit, and your breath grew shallow. Your hands shook as you scrolled through the threads of messages again, looking for some kind of sign that would make the decision easier. But there was nothing. Just the two of them, both wanting something from you. Something you weren’t sure you were ready to give.

If you choose one, you’ll lose the other.

You felt trapped, suffocated by the pressure of making the right choice. You didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all Noel, who had always been there for you. You didn’t want to hurt Liam, who seemed so open, so genuine. But there was no way around it.

You couldn’t keep leading them both on. You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t know what your heart really wanted.

With shaky hands, you grabbed your phone, quickly choosing

Liam's number

Noel's number

________________________________________

don't know where to include notes, but I'll do it here since it's the main skeleton I guess? hopefully, it was not too messy to read?? anyhow, hope ya lot liked it, this was the reason the stories were a tad shorter lately xx

also, made a whole separate blog just to post the choices, since I didn't know how to do it so that I wouldn't a) completely spoil the endings b) spam the shit out of ya

[mc-chipcken]

If you're still taking art requests, could you possibly draw Reader-Insert falling asleep on Mycheal's shoulder, with him freezing up as some people do when a cat falls asleep on their lap 😭

Sorry for taking it so much time anon (◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ )

[celestialgallaghers]

Bruised Ego [18+]

Oasis brain rot has consumed me so badly i’m sorry.

Summary: Tagging along on tour with Oasis should’ve been amazing. And it was except for one major problem: Liam. You two don’t get on well and being stuck around him for days on end makes it worse. After a particularly ruthless offense on your end, Liam plots his revenge. 

Word count: 7.1k

Your ears were ringing, the vibrations of the music still thrumming through your body. Being on tour with Oasis was fun. Ecstatic, even. The energy in the venues was unbelievable. Thousands and thousands of fans screamed, shouted, and practically worshipped the band. And somehow, they all seemed to remain relatively level headed. I.e. they weren't divas. 

Well, most of them weren't. 

Liam was often brash and unpredictable. It was amazing that he and Noel were even related. 

You’d met Noel way back in his roadie days and the two of you had shared some good fuckin’ laughs. He was fun to be around, never taking shit too seriously. Sure he could be a cocky bastard too, but it was in a loveable way. Liam, on the other hand, was anything but. 

Over the years, you’d become part of Noel’s inner circle. You knew his friends, his girlfriends, his dealer, everything. It was inevitable that Liam would have to be part of that picture too. 

Your first impression of him was that he was a bit standoffish. He stood about, not saying much. Mostly lingered in the background, drink in hand, tossing out the occasional quip. In the beginning you didn’t mind him. However when the band really started to take off and you began hanging around more, he changed. Became more self assured and loud mouthed. Suddenly, avoiding him wasn’t so easy.

Before, you only had to put up with him at the pub or a gig, and even then, he was tolerable. Running his mouth? You walked away. Being more annoying than usual? Another pint solved that. You had ways of drowning him out.

That all changed when you found yourself stuck on a tour bus for endless hours with him. 

You’d been a fan of Oasis since their genesis. Well, since Noel joined anyway. So when they exploded all over the world, you didn’t think twice when he asked if you wanted to join for a leg of the tour. In hindsight, maybe you should've thought it through more. 

You and Liam had never exactly seen eye to eye, but the tour had amplified every little irritation. It had started small. Accusing you of stealing his lighter (you didn’t), calling your taste in music “shite”, or nicking your sunglasses. You gave as good as you got, though. A well placed jab about his ego or a quip about how Noel carried the band usually did the trick.

Then there were the more vicious moments. Like the time you’d shared a hotel wall and he refused to turn down his music, no matter how many times you banged on the wall. Or when he told a reporter you were just some groupie who wouldn’t leave, which led to a shouting match so loud that even Noel had to step in. And of course the night he’d implied that your friendship with Noel was something more, which was just completely untrue.

It was exhausting, infuriating, and completely unavoidable. No matter how much you tried to ignore him, Liam had a way of pulling you into his orbit whether you liked it or not.

Tonight’s show had been another insanely loud and energetic one, but something was clearly pissing Liam off. You’d taken on the simple job of handing them towels after the gig, and the scowl on his face almost made you laugh. And right now, as he sulked in the post show haze, you had a feeling he was about to throw a fit over something ridiculous. By now you’d learned how to interpret Liam-isms. After being in eachothers pockets for so long, it was practically second nature. But that also meant you knew how to push his buttons, almost as well as Noel did. 

You handed off the last towel and followed everyone back into the dressing room. Another thing you loved about Oasis? Every single show ended with everyone getting completely pissed and going a bit mad. Absolute mayhem. And you loved every second of it. As you made your way through the door, you noticed Liam was already sulking in the corner. Everyone else ignored him, too busy cracking open bottles and flicking lighters. The air quickly became thick with smoke and sweat. 

Someone handed you a beer, and you perched on the edge of a rickety couch. You’d learned the hard way not to trust the surfaces of dressing room couches. Some things were better left unknown. 

Noel found you, and the two of you clinked bottles. 

“Great show tonight,” you said, taking a swig. “They were screamin’ proper loud. I think my ears will be ringing for a week.” Noel chuckled but before he could even open his mouth, Liam mumbled something from the corner.

You turned your head toward him. “What?”

“Said if you don’t like it, you can leave,” Liam repeated, his expression growing more and more agitated. “No one’s askin’ you to hang round.”

You scoffed. The audacity of this man never ceased to amaze you. “Don’t be an asshole, Liam,” you said, disdain dripping from every syllable.

Noel just stood there, vaguely amused. He had always appreciated your ability to handle Liam’s antics, no matter how insufferable they could be. Liam, on the other hand, just glowered. 

“No, really,” he said, shoving himself to his feet and shuffling over. “What exactly is it that you’re doin’ here? You’re just in it for the free ride.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned toward Noel, speaking as if Liam weren’t even there. “What crawled up his ass?”

Noel smirked and took a slow sip of his beer. “Dunno. But whatever it is, it’s been there a while.”

Ignoring Liam was probably a mistake.

“No, I’m seriously askin’ you,” he said, voice sharpening. “What’s the real reason you hang around?”

You blinked, caught off guard for just a second. Was he serious? You were starting to get properly pissed off now.

“You know damn well why I’m here so don’t act thick,” you said, trying to keep your voice level. “Noel asked me to come, and I said yes. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with him.” 

Noel, ever the instigator, simply shrugged. “Yeah, Liam. Thought you liked when people actually wanna be around us.”

Liam ignored him, eyes still locked on you. “You don’t even do anything,” he shot back, sneering. “All you do is hand us the towels and take up space.” 

Your fingers tightened around the bottle in your hand. 

“Fuck you, Liam.” 

His expression twisted into something smug as he watched you rise to leave. And then, like the complete tosser he was, he moved to the door, blocking your exit.

“Oh, so you’re gonna run away now? Like you always do?”

You glared up at him. Unfortunately, he was taller than you. Significantly taller. You tried to push past him, but he shifted, making it even harder.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, that insufferable smirk creeping onto his face.

“Let me through, Liam.” Your voice was quiet, but laced with pure rage. You were not in the mood to get into a screaming match tonight. He stood his ground, so you put all of your body weight into shoving him out of my way. He barely budged. 

This only seemed to amuse him. “And what if I don’t?” he challenged, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his lips. 

You clenched your jaw. You knew you shouldn’t do it. You really shouldn’t do it. But he was leaving you no choice.

Before you could overthink it, you brought your knee up. Hard.

A strangled gasp escaped him as he doubled over, finally allowing you to move past. The sound of laughter and jeers echoed behind you as you stormed off, gripping your beer tight. You needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere to stew. And maybe have a cigarette of two. 

You found a secluded corner and let out a deep sigh, still fuming. You were mad. Not just at Liam, but at yourself for letting him get under your skin so easily. His words replayed in your mind. “Free ride.” Bastard. Sure, you supposed tagging along with the band might look like freeloading to him, but to accuse you of just taking up space? That stung. Noel was your friend. Had been your friend for a long time now. He was the one that asked you to come, not Liam. If Liam had a problem with that he should’ve said something sooner, not near the end of the tour. 

You leaned back against a cool concrete, letting the chill seep into your skin. The air here was quiet, calm. Something you desperately needed after the chaos of the dressing room.

You fished a cigarette out of your pocket and placed it between your lips, willing the nicotine to ease the knot of irritation in your chest. Halfway through your second one, you heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching.

They slowed as they neared, hesitating. Your gaze remained firmly fixed ahead. You knew exactly who it was. His stupid cologne gave him away.

Liam. Of course.

Something told you Noel had forced him to come find you. He cleared his throat loudly, as if demanding your attention.

“What do you want?” you asked flatly, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

“Brilliant. Nice to see you too,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What do you think, genius? I want to talk to you. You’re the one who kneed me in the bollocks, remember?”

You scoffed, flicking ash off your cigarette. “Yeah and you deserved it.” 

Liam’s scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. He knew he deserved it a bit, but would never admit it. He gritted his teeth before replying. 

“You didn’t have to be so violent about it.” 

“Yeah well you didn’t have to be such a dick either,” you shot back, finally turning your head to look at him. 

“I wasn’t even being that bad,” he retorted with a scoff. “You’re the one who overreacted.”

“Yeah sure ok Liam,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like you were deliberately trying to wind me up or anything.”

Liam folded his arms, clearly annoyed but unsure how to counter that. Instead, he moved to sit on the ledge you’d claimed. A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again, his tone carrying just a hint of mockery.

“You could at least apologize for almost castrating me,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been a grin if he weren’t so irritated.

You sat up, looking at him with a deadpan expression. “Fine. I’m sorry for kneeing you in the balls.”

It wasn’t sincere and he knew it. But you really didn’t want to waste your night fighting with him yet again.

“Drinks to make it better?” you offered, gesturing toward the dressing room.

He narrowed his eyes at you, still skeptical, but eventually relented with a small huff. “Fine. You owe me for that one.”

“Atta boy,” you said, patting his leg as you slid off the ledge.

“Don’t mock me,” he grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” you teased, noting how he was still wincing. “I didn’t get you that bad.”

“You definitely did!” he retorted, irritation mounting. “I’ll be sterile for the rest of my life now, thanks to you.”

“Maybe that's for the best,” you said under your breath.

“What was that?” His head whipped toward you, eye’s narrowing.

“Nothing,” you huffed. “Let’s all just hope and pray that the mighty Liam Gallagher's dick still works.”

“Oh piss off,” he grumbled. 

You snorted at that. Men were so touchy when it came to their dick. It honestly amused you. 

“Fine, fine,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll find you some ice for that, yeah?” 

“Don’t bother,” he grumbled. “I’m fine.”

But your eyes flicked down, catching the way he subtly adjusted himself, clearly still nursing the ache.

“Sure you are,” you replied, biting back a grin. “How bout that drink, then?”

Without waiting for a reply, you headed back toward the dressing room, hearing his footsteps reluctantly follow behind.

True to your word, you fixed him a drink. By the time you handed it to him, his scowl had softened slightly, though you knew it’d be a while before he dropped the whole thing.

The night stretched on, the room a blur of laughter, music, and the occasional drunken shout. People drifted in and out, and you, now properly drunk, had completely pushed the earlier incident to the back of your mind. 

What you didn’t notice, however, was the way Liam had been watching you from across the room, his gaze sharp and unreadable. There was still a flicker of irritation in his eyes, though now it was laced with something else. He’d slowly been plotting a way to get a bit of payback throughout the night.

You stood up suddenly, stretching. “Right, I’m going for a piss,” you announced, making your way toward the bathroom.

Liam’s eyes tracked you, and as soon as you disappeared behind the door, he quickly drained the rest of his drink and pushed himself off the couch. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he strolled after you, slipping through the bathroom door quietly.

He saw you, but you hadn’t noticed him. He leaned against the door, making sure it was securely shut. A quick scan of the bathroom confirmed that you were all alone.

You’d just finished washing your hands when the sound of someone clearing their throat made you freeze. Your head snapped up, and through the mirror, you locked eyes with him.

“What the fuck, Liam?”

His smirk widened at your obvious surprise. He leaned lazily against the door, arms folded across his chest, exuding a sort of casualness that set your nerves on edge.

“Just checking in on you, mate,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Would hate for something to happen to you.” 

“You didn’t need to follow me in here, you creep.”

Liam just chuckled, completely unfazed. “Just making sure you weren’t up to anything. You know, plotting which band member to incapacitate next.”

You rolled your eyes, but something about the way he was watching you, like he was waiting for a reaction, made you uneasy. You suddenly felt vulnerable with your back to him.

“What are you getting at?” you asked, turning around slowly to face him.

Liam tilted his head slightly, considering you. He could see the flicker of suspicion in your eyes, and that only fueled his amusement. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

A strange tension settled in the air. The bathroom suddenly felt much smaller. You still had no idea what he was up to, but didn’t want to stick around and find out. You eyed the door, trying to plan an escape, but it seemed like you were really, truly trapped in here with him. 

Liam caught the way your gaze flickered toward the door. “You’re not actually thinking of running out on me after I’ve been so considerate, are you?” His tone was mockingly hurt. “That’d be a bit rude.”

You sighed, tilting your head. “Just trying to figure out what it is you want.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, feigning innocence. “What? Can’t a guy just have a friendly chat?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Is this about earlier? I thought we’d moved past that.”

Liam scoffed. “Just returning the favor, me. You know, since you nearly ended my bloodline earlier.” 

You snorted. “What, you gonna punch me in the vagina or something?”

Liam let out a short, amused chuckle and shook his head. “Nah, that’s a bit daft, don’t you think? There are… much more creative ways to get back at someone.” 

Your gaze sharpened, suspicion flaring. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took his time, pretending to consider his options, drawing out the moment just to see the flicker of impatience cross your face. 

Then, he leaned forward slightly, dropping his tone low, almost whisper like.

“What if I just lock the door?” His voice was teasing, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “Keep you right here with me for a while.”

The air in the bathroom shifted.

You could still hear muffled sounds from the dressing room outside, but inside this tiny, enclosed space, it was just the two of you. The weight of his words lingered, heavy between you.

You held his gaze, refusing to waver. “Oh yeah?” Your voice was steady, but there was a challenge in it. “And why would you wanna do that?”

Liam’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. He could hear the defiance in your voice, but he could also see the way your fingers twitched slightly, the way you shifted just the tiniest bit where you stood. He pushed himself off the door, taking a slow step towards you. 

“Oh, you know, just to enjoy your company a little longer. It’s been a while since we had some… alone time.”

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to scoff. You turned away slightly, arms crossing over your chest in a weak attempt at indifference. But it was too late. He’d seen the way you faltered. Because you knew exactly what he was referring to.

That night.

Months ago, in some pub, Liam had sworn up and down he could outdrink everyone. It had started with an innocent enough bet: who could drink the most pints before tapping out. Classic, stupid, testosterone fueled entertainment. But as the night went on, it became less about the booze and more about Liam’s ego.

“I could drink you under the fuckin’ table,” he’d slurred, pointing a lazy finger at you across the sticky wooden bar top.

“You’re already halfway there, Liam,” you’d shot back, smirking as he swayed slightly on his stool.

Noel had been pissing himself laughing in the corner, watching as his brother made a fool of himself.

Somehow, you and Liam had been the last ones standing. That’s when things got messy. The two of you had spent hours running wild through the streets, fueled by booze, drugs, and reckless abandon, only to find yourself in his bed the next morning. 

Neither of you had spoken about it since. You hadn’t been sure he even remembered. He never let on or made a jest about it, so you pretended that it didn’t even happen. It was easier that way. Easier to hate him than to… well you didn’t really know. It was a feeling you were too scared to explore and something told that going down that road would be detrimental.  

But now, standing here, Liam watching you with that smug, knowing look, the memory felt a little too close.

His eyes flicked over your expression, smirk widening. “You remember that night, don’t you?” His voice was slow and teasing. “It’s a bit blurry for me, but some moments I remember quite vividly.” 

He took a step closer, and you willed yourself not to react.  You met his gaze evenly, forcing an unimpressed scoff. “We’re not doing that again,” you said flatly. Then, for good measure, you added, “And from what I recall, you were quite unremarkable.”

It was a blatant lie. 

“Hm,” he hummed, tilting his head as if in thought. “Funny, that’s not what I remember.” He took another step forward. “The sounds you made were pretty unforgettable, I must say.”

Your stomach flipped. You’d been caught. There was no escaping this. Memories that you’d forbidden yourself to think about were now rushing to the surface at an alarming rate, making you flush all over.

He was only a few feet away now, closing in. You were running out of space, out of room to breathe.

“Not. Happening.” 

The words came out strong, firm, but your heart was hammering against your ribs, betraying you. He could see right through it.

His gaze locked onto yours, eyes dark and unreadable. The tension was thick, pressing in from all sides. When you instinctively moved back, your lower back met the cool edge of the sink, stopping you in your tracks.

Shit.

Liam let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer until he was nearly flush against you. The heat rolling off him was overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” His voice was lower now. “Not even a little bit interested?”

He brought his hands to either side of the sink, caging you in. You swallowed hard.

“Liam.”

It was supposed to be a warning, a firm line in the sand. But it came out softer, almost pleading. You winced at yourself.

His smirk grew.

Your eyes flickered down to his mouth, slightly parted, lips plush and so damn close. He licked them absently, and the tip of his tongue just barely grazed you. A small, sharp inhale escaped before you could stop it.

Your breath mingled with his, the gap between you shrinking, pulling you into some inevitable gravitational force. He smelled like beer, sweat, and something distinctly Liam. Something intoxicating.

Your brain was screaming at you to walk away. To push him off. To regain control of the situation. But the alcohol and sudden lust in your bloodstream were drowning out those voices, leaving behind only heat, impulse, and the undeniable truth that this was a losing battle.

One second you're standing there, locked in a tug of war, and the next, your mouth was crashing into his with bruising force. A sigh of relief escaped your throat, unbidden, as if your body had been waiting for this moment all along.

Liam, the bastard, smirked into the kiss, because of course he would. He presses back with equal, if not more, force. His hands move from the sink to your waist, pinning you against the cool porcelain. Your hands flew up, grasping the back of his neck.

Then his tongue flicked over your bottom lip, teasing, coaxing. You let out a small, needy sound before you could stop it, and his grip on your waist tightened in response. Alarm bells were ringing in your head, but they were no use.

Liam, ever the smug prick, took his time, dragging his teeth over your lip, biting just enough to make you shiver.

You tug him closer, pressing against him. You take control, tongue sliding into his mouth, swallowing the low groan that rumbles in his throat.

For a moment you’re lost in the taste of him. The heat of him. Then he pushes forward, his hips pressing heavy against yours, pinning you so firmly into the sink that you feel every inch of him. The stiffness pressing into you sends a thrill through you, heat beginning to sink low into your stomach and down between your thighs. 

This is dangerous territory. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Then he’s grinding against you and the pressure makes you gasp into his mouth. Your fingers tighten around the back of his neck, nails digging in as your body arches instinctively into his. Liam groans lowly. His hand moves from your waist, trailing down your thighs. Suddenly he’s hooking your leg around his hip, giving himself more space. 

He presses impossibly closer, and you feel him, hard and insistent against your heated core. A strangled sound escapes your throat, something needy and desperate. 

His mouth moves, leaving your lips to trail hot kisses down your jaw. When he reaches the pulse point on your neck, he bites down hard enough to make you whimper. He feels it, feels you, react beneath him, and the bastard smiles against your skin.

Then he sucks, lips warm and wet as he marks you, punctuating it with a sharp thrust of his hips that sends sparks up your spine. A strangled whine spills from your lips as your fingers tighten in his hair. A steady, aching pulse throbs low in your core, demanding more. Demanding him.

You roll your hips, grinding against him, chasing that friction, and Liam groans. A deep sound that makes your skin burn. His grip tightens, one hand splaying across your ass, dragging you harder against him.

The feeling of him hot, hard, rocking against you sends another sharp thrill through your body, but it’s still not enough.

“Liam,” you manage to gasp, voice wrecked and wanting.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice rough against your skin. “You really are desperate for me, aren’t you?”

His words send a fresh wave of heat straight through you, and you should fight back, should snap at him for his cocky arrogance, but then he rolls his hips again, perfectly, and all that leaves your lips is a broken moan.

He pulls away from your neck, lifting his gaze to meet yours. His lips are flushed, swollen, glistening with spit. His eyes, dark, heavy lidded, and filled with something dangerous, leave you momentarily breathless, completely losing your train of thought at how devastatingly gorgeous he looks like this.

You’re broken from your trance as you feel him twitch rather noticeably against you. Your breath catches, heat flooding through you all over again.

Liam notices. Of course, he does. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he presses forward just a little more, just enough to make you feel it.

“Feel that?” His voice is rough, teasing, laced with something darker.

You swallow hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He chuckles, breath hot against your cheek. “C’mon, love. Don’t go shy on me now.”

You purse your lips, fighting the way your body reacts to him, to the way he’s so sure of himself.

“I don’t know,” you murmur breathlessly, tilting your head and pretending to consider. “Feels… underwhelming.”

Liam lets out a sharp breath, half amusement, half disbelief, before his hands tighten on your hips. In one swift movement, he ruts against you, slow but deep, the pressure enough to knock the air from your lungs.

You gasp. His smirk returns.

“Still underwhelmed?” he murmurs against your jaw, his lips brushing skin.

You hate him. Hate how good he is at this. But mostly, you hate how much you want more.

“Liam,” your voice wavering, thick with frustration.

He chuckled, dark and low, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient,” he murmured, fingers tracing patterns just above where you ached for him. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, hips jerking involuntarily as his hand slipped under your shirt and began toying with the waistband of your jeans, the ghost of a touch setting every nerve alight. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. 

You feel his fingers skimming along your zipper and nod. He wastes no time in unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans, pushing them down just enough to make room. 

He slips his hand inside, exploring the newly exposed skin of your inner thigh. His touch was feather light, slowly dragging his fingers, deliberately teasing everywhere except where you needed him most. Your body was tensing with every drag. Every time he would get close he would skirt around at the last moment

It was torture. You tried to grind against his hand, desperate for even the smallest bit of friction, anything, but the moment you did, he pulled back completely.

You gasped, eyes snapping open.  

Liam smirked, watching you with a cruel sort of amusement, chest rising and falling just as heavily as yours. He was enjoying this. Holding you on the edge, dragging it out.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice challenging.

Your pride flared for half a second because fuck him, he knew exactly what you wanted. But another, bigger part of you, the one that was throbbing and needy and so desperate, didn’t care about pride anymore.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, eyes burning into his.

“Please,” you gasped, not caring how desperate you sounded. This was beginning to border on agony. You needed him to touch you. 

His fingers skimmed the waistband of your underwear, maddingly slow. “Please what?” he murmured, voice thick.

You swallowed hard. Frustration and want coiled tight in your stomach. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, that damn smirk playing on his face as he dragged his gaze over you. He was enjoying this too much. You knew he wouldn’t give in easily.

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. You wouldn’t beg. Not yet.

Liam arched a brow, clearly amused by your silence. “C’mon, love,” he taunted, fingers tracing lower but still not there. “I know you can be polite.”

Your pride waged a brief, losing battle. “Touch me,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Then, gritting your teeth, you forced out, “Please.”

Liam’s smirk deepened, victory flashing in his eyes.

“See? All you had to do was ask,” he said, voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Liam’s hand slid down again, this time with purpose, and he pressed his thumb roughly over your clit. The jolt of pleasure shot through you like a live wire, making your hips jerk involuntarily. His low, knowing chuckle sent another shiver down your spine.

He started circling you slowly though your underwear, teasing, barely giving you what you needed. A strangled moan escaped your lips. You were soaked. There was no way he couldn’t feel it.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, voice thick with something akin to reverence. 

Two fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, then lower, parting you as he gathered the slickness between them. The rough pads of his fingers dragged torturously along you before teasing at your entrance.

Your head fell back against the mirror as he finally dipped into you, stretching you in a way that was both excruciatingly slow and perfect.

His fingers curled, expertly finding the spot that had you gasping, clutching at him. A high pitched whine slipped from your throat. Liam sighed shakily in response, his free hand gripping your hip as he leaned in to capture your lips again. He swallowed every sound you made, lips moving hungrily against yours, matching the urgent rhythm of his fingers.

And then he curled them again, deeper this time. Stars burst behind your eyelids. Your hips rocked into him, desperately chasing the pleasure, and he let you. Let you fall into the pace he was setting, let you lose yourself in it. His thumb returned to your clit, circling with devastating precision.

You were close. So close it almost hurt.

“Mm—Liam—” you gasped, body shuddering, the coil in your stomach ready to snap.

But then his fingers were gone.

Your eyes snapped open in disbelief, your body trembling from the abrupt loss. You barely had time to catch your breath before you met his gaze, smug, victorious, infuriating.

“What the fuck?” you panted.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “That’s for earlier. You deserved it.”

Irritation bubbled up as you felt your own words echoed back at you. He was enjoying this, playing with you like a cat with a mouse. 

He was pulling away from you, but before he could get too far, you grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked. Hard. “Don't you dare walk away from me.”

He let out a surprised whine, head tilting back slightly at the force. When his eyes flicked back to yours, they were darker, hungrier.

“You really need to stop pulling my hair,” he rasped, though the way his body reacted said otherwise.

You smirked. “Yeah? Or what?”

His grin turned downright predatory. He leaned in close, lips ghosting over yours as he murmured, “Or I’ll make you remember who’s in charge next time,” voice thick with dangerous promise.

A thrill ran down your spine, but defiance still burned hot in your veins. You yanked his hair even harder. 

He threw his head back, eyes briefly fluttering shut as he let out a deep, guttural groan. The sound went straight to your stomach. 

When he looked at you again, there was something new in his gaze, something dangerous.

“You’re really asking for it,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You tilted your chin up, challenging him. “Yeah? You’re all talk. I’d like to see you even tr—”

Before you could finish, Liam spun you around in one swift motion, pressing you against the sink.

Your breath caught as he caged you in from behind, his body flush against yours, his grip firm. His hands settled on your hips, fingers digging in.

He made eye contact with you through the mirror, wanting to see your every reaction when he spoke. 

“You want to play rough, do you?” His voice was low, edged with something dark and tantalizing. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “Is that what you want?”

His fingers trailed slowly down your back. The touch sent shivers racing down your spine, anticipation tightening in your stomach. Your breathing was ragged, uneven. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply nodded.

Liam tsked softly, his lips barely grazing your ear as he murmured, “Use your words.”

His hand dipped lower, grazing right where you needed him most. The lightest touch, barely there but enough to have your knees buckling.

You choked out a whimper, torn between pride and raw, undeniable need. But there was no fighting it anymore.

“Please,” you gasped, voice unsteady.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His fingers kept teasing, playing just on the edge of where you needed him, drawing out your desperation.

“Please what?” he asked yet again, tone mockingly sweet, fingers dancing ever so slightly closer.

You clenched your jaw, stubbornness warring with your need. “Don’t make me say it,” you whispered, still clinging to the last thread of your dignity.

Liam hummed as if considering, then pulled back slightly. “Fine, I’ll just leave you here then.” His tone was maddeningly casual. “I’ll walk right out that door.”

Panic surged through you. Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist. “Please,” you exhaled shakily, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck me.”

Liam went still for a beat. Then, his smirk curled wickedly against your skin.

“What was that?” he taunted, fingers skimming along your inner thigh, feather light and infuriating. “Couldn’t quite hear you, love.”

A shiver wracked through you, and you shot him a glare through the mirror. “Bastard, yes you did,” you managed, your voice trembling despite the bite in your words.

His smirk widened. He must have had enough too because the next thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone. A wave of relief crashed over you, body humming with anticipation.

The mirror didn’t give you a view of him, but then you felt him. He pressed himself against you, the hard, burning length of him making you gasp. You’d nearly forgotten how well endowed he was, insides clenching in remembrance.

Liam groaned low in his throat as he felt your bare skin against his. He pressed against you further, every inch of his body aligning with yours. His chin dropped to rest on your shoulder as his breath came out ragged and wanting.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

His eyes locked onto yours through the mirror and for a moment, you barely recognized yourself. Your face was flushed, lips parted as you struggled for breath, hair an absolute mess. Liam didn’t look much different except he carried that insufferable smugness. His pupils were blown wide, the sharp blue of his eyes almost lost in the haze of lust.

He reached up, brushing your hair aside before pressing a searing kiss to the exposed skin of your neck. The heat of it sent shivers down your spine. And then, with one smooth movement, he aligned himself against you, teasing your entrance.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he pushed forward for you to feel him. Only the tip. Just enough to drive you insane.

“Liam, God, ple—”

Your plea was cut off by a sharp thrust, his hips snapping forward with force. He went in much deeper than either of you had anticipated, if his choked off groan was anything to go by. Another strangled groan ripped from his throat as he sank in, fully stretching you open. The sensation stole the air from your lungs.

For a moment he stilled, chest rising and falling in harsh, uneven breaths. You could feel the tension in his body, the effort it took not to completely lose himself in you. Then he pulled back slowly before plunging in again.

A choked off noise tore from your throat, almost embarrassing if not for the deep, wrecked sound Liam let out at the same time. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping tight as he built a rhythm, driving into you with increasing intensity. He cursed under his breath, clearly loving how eagerly you moved with him. His pace grew rougher, more urgent.

Your head dropped forward, letting him take what he wanted. You were already on edge from earlier, your body eager and desperate. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with as much force as you could muster.

Then one of his hands left your hip, sliding up your body. Before you could even process it, he fisted a handful of your hair and yanked your head back up, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror.

This sight was filthy. The two of you, tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, moving in sync. The way his jaw clenched, lips parted slightly as he watched every expression that flickered across your face, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Your whole body was on fire. You struggled to keep your head up, feeling it droop again. He firmly yanked it back up again, a quiet hiss of pain and pleasure spilling from your lips. You trembled beneath him, and he groaned at the sight of it, at the way you responded to him so beautifully. His pace became relentless, his hips snapping into yours with forceful precision. Every thrust drove you closer and closer to the edge.

You were shaking now, the coil inside you wound impossibly tight. Liam wasn’t far behind. You could feel it in the way he throbbed inside you, how his movements became just a little rougher, more erratic. With a gasp, one hand slipped down between your thighs, fingers circling your clit with frantic desperation.

“Just like that, love,” Liam murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “Don’t stop.”

His words sent fire racing over your skin and a sharp thrust sent you toppling over the edge. A cry tore from your throat as the pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body clenching tight around him. Your legs shook, entire body trembling as you rode it out, moans spilling from your lips, unrestrained and raw.

Liam cursed, his grip tightening as he pounded into you through your release. The way you clenched around him had his own control shattering in an instant.

“Fuck,” his voice broke as he buried himself deep one last time, warmth flooding inside you as his body tensed, the most heavenly sound leaving his lips. You managed to open your eyes and were met with his beautiful face screwed up in sheer pleasure as he rode out his orgasm. 

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the lingering aftershocks. Then, slowly, he slumped forward, his sweat damp forehead resting against your shoulder, breath hot and heavy against your skin. He stayed there for a few moments, catching his breath before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your shoulder.

Your eyes met in the mirror again. Liam was still breathing hard, hair disheveled, his skin glistening with sweat. But there was a lazy, satisfied smile on his lips, his blue eyes dark and hazy. 

After catching his breath, he slowly pulled out of you, groaning softly at the feeling. You immediately missed the warmth and weight of him deep within you. 

Liam stepped back slightly, regaining his balance, his gaze dragging over you through the mirror. You looked thoroughly wrecked and judging by the glint in his eyes, he was damn proud of that.

You straightened, stretching and feeling the soreness in your limbs from being bent over a bathroom sink for so long.

“Looks like your dick still works,” you teased. 

Liam let out a deep, amused laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, it certainly does.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he tucked himself back into his pants.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “Am I forgiven then?” you questioned, batting your eyelashes for good measure.

Liam hummed, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I suppose you are,” he said, amusement lacing his tone.

Then, before you could respond, he stepped in closer and dipped his head, placing a light kiss against your jaw. His lips barely ghosted over your skin before he murmured, voice low and promising.

“But you’re not getting off easy next time.”

This was just for fun but I'll probably write about Noel next :)

[leaawrites]

Kiss the girl

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.

Warnings: bit of angst, Liam calling Noel a cunt, bad flirting, making out,

Wordcount: 1.6k

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Masterlist

Standing behind the little curtain that separated the backstage area and the bar, Liam felt that his palms were sweatier than ever before. His eyes always finding their way back to the same person, leaning with their back against the bar. Waiting like everyone else. She stood next to him, lips moving in conversation and quirking up in a smile every once in a while.

“Who’s that beside your bird, Gallagher?” Guigsy asked, peeking out beside him, noticing the distant look in his eyes.

“Noel, me brother. Remember him?” Liam had told them endless stories about his childhood with Noel, mostly to complain whenever he called and his mother was all over him once more.

“Think you’ve mentioned him, yeah.” The sarcasm evident in his tone. “Let’s get it on.”

It wasn’t like Noel came in there that night without any expectations. He did, only that they were pretty low. Liam had asked him to stop by to see them play, to see him sing and eventually to make him join the band. It wasn’t his first thought, it wasn’t even in his head until Bonehead proposed the idea, sensing that most of their songs were either shit or covers.

He knew how Noel could get, how he most definitely wanted to make it his band if he was in it. At the beginning they agreed that it was their band, everyone had a say in it. Noel would most likely change that.

The lights seemed brighter than ever before as he stepped out of the shadows. The cheers were drowned by his nerves. He had never felt like this before. His usual over confidence was still behind the curtain, laughing at him as it saw the little hints of fear shimmering in his eyes.

Looking over the crowd once more, counting until his start, he found his way back towards the same direction. Only now, his eyes were drawn to the girl next to Noel. The one who was looking up at him with a faint encouraging smile dancing on her lips while her head bobbed to the beat of the drums. The one who he couldn’t get out of his head since the day at the bar. The one who had him tossing and turning late at night when he couldn’t sleep and just saw her face instead of darkness.

A small smile found it’s way on his face before he closed his eyes, leaned forward a bit more and started singing.

“You seemed nervous up there,” she commented, her mind travelling back towards him standing on the little stage. His lips so close to the mic that it felt like she could feel his breath through the speakers and down her spine. Sending a shock of lightning through her system and making her shiver in the middle of sweating bodies.

They were stood outside, watching the moon instead of walking towards her house like they should be.

After his performance, Liam was greeted by his friends first, claps on his back and ‘fucking hell, you murdered it up there’ falling from their mouths like normal ‘good job’s would sound to anyone else. He appreciated the praise, though he’d heard it from them too often to actually still believe he was as good as they said. They had no idea about music anyway.

Fighting his way through the little crowd surrounding him, he made it towards her. ‘You wanna go home?’ falling from his lips, making her nod. He acknowledged Noel with a small nod of his head before walking after her, his hand sitting on the small of her back to get her safely through the crowd. She’d told him, that she couldn’t stay long after and he promised to walk her home as soon as he was done with the show.

So now they stood in the middle of the street, both looking up at the moon.

“Me brother’s back, said he was coming to see me sing, though I doubted he would actually stop by,” he said, his voice quieter than ever before. He didn’t need to be so loud now that he was stood so close to her with only silence and a few mild sounds surrounding them.

“Noel, right?” His eyes snapped towards her, surprised that she knew his name. “We had a little chat before your performance and he let it slip. He seems nice.”

“He’s a cunt,” Liam corrected her, looking back up at the bright bulb of light lingering over their heads like a spotlight.

“But you still care about his opinion.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why were you so nervous about playing in front of him?” Her eyebrows moved up as she knew that she wasn’t wrong, she never was. Looking at the small smirk on her lips as she realized she’d won the argument, Liam just wanted to lean down and kiss it away. Replacing it with the shy look she gave him when he cleaned the foam from her face and the blush on her cheeks, that appeared because of him.

Taking in a deep breath, he began rambling to keep the other thoughts away. “He’s always been better than me, alright? Always the favourite child, always the one everyone liked more. People like me but they don’t care about me how they do with Noel. I’m just some passing by for when you’re bored. He likes music for way longer than I do, wanted to be in a band and all that. Never got there though, always just a roadie never a part of the band. Now, the others said that we should take him in because he’s a good writer and he can play guitar, all that nonsense. He’ll just ruin it all if he joins.”

“Well, see me as someone who’s willing to stay with you then.”

It was a simple sentence, nothing meant beyond friendship. Still it made his heart jump a beat, a loud tone of silence replacing every other thought in his head. God, why did she have to be so perfect?

“Don’t you write as well?” He asked, remembering the little poems she used to write in their English class. Too afraid to ever read them out loud and too ashamed of her own thoughts to let them be read by anyone else.

“Only poems, not songs.”

“So, you’re a poet?” The smirk she knew all too well by now appeared on his face as he started teasing her again. His eyes crinkling as he held back a laugh.

“No. Just a girl with lots of feelings.” Exhaling deeply, she made it sound more dramatic than it was meant to be.

“That’s nice though, innit? Having things feel important enough to wanna make them last forever?” Liam always envied Noel for having such a talent with words,

“Quite a poet yourself, I see.”

“Nah, love. That’s all you.” Turning towards her, Liam pushed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Smiling softer than she’d ever seen. “You make a poet.” It was nothing more above a whisper, but with how close he stood, she could even feel his breath fan down her cheeks.

Turning her head away from him, she cleared her throat. This wasn’t what he intended to keep on doing. However sweet it may seem, it was only an act, right?

“Anyway, who cares about guitarists anyway? I’ve seen this band one or two years back, ‘Seymour’ - I think they’re called ‘Blur’ now or summat. Doesn’t matter. Do you think they were all over their guitarist? Hell no. Every girl in that crowd only had eyes for their singer.”

“You as well?” He asked, stepping closer to get her attention back. Not satisfied with only her hearing, he wanted her all. Every little piece and space of her mind, he wanted for it to be occupied by him.

“No comment on that.” A blush crept up her neck, not quite reaching her face but it was enough to make him chuckle and feel a bit of jealousy prickle up in him at the same time.

“So, you like lead-singers, huh?”

“I liked him,” she said, looking at him challenging. Her eyes sparkling with mischievous.

“I like you.”

Before she could properly process his word, she felt his hands on her neck and his lips on hers. His hold making her turn her body towards him fully. The force of his grip making her stumble towards him, her hands resting on his chest to stable herself.

Moving his lips against hers, he noticed his mistake as soon as their lips met. How was he supposed to stop now? With her soft, warm lips fitting so perfectly to his chapped, cold ones that made it feel like it was meant to be like that forever, how was he supposed to not kiss her again after that night?

“You’re a dickhead, Liam,” she mumbled against his lips, not wanting to part but the fresh air in her lungs felt like cold water running down her throat as she breathed in, panting.

“No need to compliment me already, love. I’ve only kissed you once yet.” Liam smiled, not loosening his hold on her face. Leaning their foreheads together and closing his eyes in contempt of the moment.

“So there’s gonna be more of that?” He could hear the smirk in her voice. Chuckling at the image of how they must look to someone walking by. Two idiots standing in the middle of the street.

If they’d die, at least they’d die together.

Moving her hands down his chest and under his shirt, she could feel his heartbeat drumming against her fingertips. Her usual warm skin feeling cold against his. Liam was filled with true warmth for the first time in his life and it was all due to her. He was doomed and he knew it.

“Way more.”

[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."

[lavilavs]

୨୧ ── Starts with a cliché, ends with a cliché

› Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

› Scenario: Life is full of clichés, no? It just so happens that its favorite is Damian and the stuck-up rich heiress that he met on his first day of school. He can't stand being your shojo-manga-made love guru (that sucks, sadly) anymore if you keep on having angst as your genre.

› Warnings: Light cursing and light KMS jokes

› Notes: English is not my first language + Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + Is it obvious I like friends-to-lovers? + 80% backstory, 20% present time (jk) .. 4k words

A sigh leaves his lips. It was difficult to finish one chapter without you popping inside his mind. You've been dancing around in his train of thought the whole day. Memories of the past have resurfaced without reason.

Perhaps he misses you that much.

Damian sets the first manga you've lent him with care by the side. The bustling street across his windows entice him to stand up. It's time to do something else other than read. Apparently, reading manga fuels his desire to visit you after a week of no communication.

You've been silent since you've fought with your first normal boyfriend.

Through his window, he noticed the old bookstore a few streets down to the west was now gone. Damian watches the cranes and construction workers build something new on top of it. That store had sentimental value for both of you. You used to sneak with him there after class to recommend some manga.

His reflection on the mirror adds another thought to his head. He's changed so much. Damian was taller and mature than he was before. Everything has changed since he went to Gotham. Even when he wasn't born, everything has changed.

Change is the only thing permanent in the world. Everyone knows that. Humans have lived and gone through change that nobody could disagree with. Damian learned and accepted change at a young age, believing that it is the only thing constant in a world that is different every day.

That's what he used to believe—until he met your annoying, spoiled ass one random Monday at school.

"You're handsome. I like you, you're mine now."

"What did you just say?"

"You're mine."

And it ends up being one of the famous last words of a spoiled heiress who just got thrown onto the floor by a boy who grew up being trained since he first learned how to walk.

You pointed at him and declared that with no warnings whatsoever; how couldn't he react harshly? If you expected him to drop down on his knees to solemnly pledge his love for you like the stories your nanny told you before bedtime, you were dead wrong.

In fact, your nanny was wrong about everything! Not all men who look like a prince act like one. Even the Beast would be put to shame if they cast this little twerp as his younger brother with rabies, if he had one. Sadly, he'll be scouted as a dog in romcoms who bites nuts instead. Because he for sure looks like he will when prompted to.

To think that a fresh 14-year-old Damian Wayne would be the one to forcefully push you out of your Disney princess phase and into your typical teenage girl fixations phase. Puberty held their hands up and slowly walked away on having their job stolen away.

"Hmph." 

He scoffed when he saw tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you dusted and straightened your blouse and skirt. The women in the League of Assassins was obviously much stronger and tougher than you, but it didn't make his disappointment any less.

Being surrounded with people who had a 'kill or be killed' mindset and then thrown into a normal society where safety is a given with all these superheroes protecting them... It's throwing him off.

It was apparent that you were one of those stuck-up rich kids with the way you acted. Judging with the book of cliches in mind, you'll cry about this to your parents later and have him arrested and put into a life behind bars for eternity. 

Good luck with that when he has Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul as his parents. Although, he can easily break out by himself.

But there was one mistake. One that cost him a life's worth of embarrassment in school. After all, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." That arrogance of his cost him his family jewels getting kicked by you. 

He missed the other cliché—crying makes you stronger.

Oh, and this backstory? Yeah, totally not related to the first paragraph. It's just Damian reminiscing back to the old days because he's appalled that you're still a hopeless romantic that makes him doubt that change is permanent. 

Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is sitting here listening to your girl problems. Not just any girl problem—it's your love problem! A recurring yet still difficult topic for both of you.

And how is it difficult, you may ask? Simple—the boyfriends you pick certainly aren't the brightest or the kindest, so even the logical Damian Wayne is troubled by how your boyfriend of the week is acting.

The use of their intelligence surpasses even his, and not in a positive way. How can he even begin to comprehend that one time when a guy who almost took you out on a date unhingedly recommended you not to search him up?

You must've thought, "Holy shit, is he a celebrity from another country?" and that would've been ideal if he weren't included in the local wanted list! That gorgeous specimen had charges of multiple felonies, arson, theft, and a lot more.

When you cried about it to him, you were more concerned about the fact that he specifically told you not to search him up. Like—just be quiet, bro. You didn't have to say all that. And the fact that he didn't even use a fake name? clever. Wow, Einstein would be turning in his grave from having his title of world's smartest man stolen.

With that pretty face of his, you wouldn't even think he'd do all of that, to be honest. But pretty privilege doesn't work on Damian. No matter who they were, they deserved a background check. Or perhaps a Google check would be fitting given the circumstances. Thank God he did. What could he have done when something happened to you?

Another funny, ironic cliché has happened to poor, little Damian. Fate rolled his dice of cliché, and it somehow ended up being the "the more you hate, the more you love" cliché that happens to characters that start off sour but end up falling in love with each other.

Only that it was one-sided—at the moment!—on his part.

His confession ended up being a total failure when he realized you didn't like him anymore like you once said you did. Damian still thought you did because of your words—those words of declaration you did 6 years ago, that is.

The flowers in his hand wilted downwards, saddened by the surprising rejection of their buyer.

"You told me I was yours?"

"Did I? I don't remember."

That stupid look on your face almost made him crash out.

"Do you even remember how we first met?" He groans, threading his fingers through his hair.

"What? You didn't just spawn in my life?!"

It was a miracle Damian didn't go berserk, Damian couldn't find the energy to be furious when that surprise in your voice was genuine. Did he throw you too hard, perhaps? If he did, he wanted to go back in time just to give you your own kick to the nuts. Not that you had one! Just figuratively speaking.

Damian dreads the thought of hurting you again. But if you were going to turn out less of a stuck-up rich kid and his friend? It was a small sacrifice to be made. But also... with a little hint of revenge 'cause that shit still hurts his pride.

Oh—so many conclusions in his mind that he's starting to laugh slowly like a maniac.

"None of that matters anyway! We're friends, Dami. This confession is the worst that could happen to us." You laugh at his face while having him in a headlock.

That chippy smile on your face looked so annoying to see, and yet, it also served as his tranquilizer.

How could he be mad when you already looked so happy to have him in your life? It slowly dawned on him that it wasn't that bad to be just your friend. 

Only until you went on a spree with love interests that were...

1.) Had the brain of a rock

Whether emotional or plain intelligence, the contenders could never have both. Having both was only a myth. A story you would only hear from your other girlfriends. It was amazing that they were blessed in the boyfriend department. Guess God really makes all of us equal with situations like this.

And the worst of the worst,

2.) Criminals

It's self-explanatory. If that's not enough to hear, Damian swears he wants to bash his head every time you tell him about your villain hear-me-outs. In exhibit A we had Poison Ivy and Arkham Knight. It was understandable at some point. When he asked you what part of them is attractive, he wasn't ready to hear your answer.

"First of all, are you too busy fighting for your life that you can't see Poison Ivy's gorgeous face? Dude, every stolen picture of her is totally hot! She's so photogenic."

"I could hear you out on Ivy, but Arkham Knight? Please, elaborate." He was so done with your bullshit. The way you even prepare yourself into that pose before you speak into an imaginary mic has him dumbfounded.

"I can't see his face."

"Pardon?"

"All aura. No face. Very hear-me-out material." You nod in agreement at yourself whilst the boy shakes his head sideways.

And then we have Exhibit B... Yeah, no. Not elaborating.

"Hear me out on Psimon."

Before Damian could process what you said, you had already passed by him with your friends. It wasn't of importance, just another hear me out. Then it clicked.

"The big-brained midget?!"

If only he wasn't in school, he would've yelled that with all of his might. The best he could do was whisper-shout with a disgusted look. It was just too shocking for him to not say it out loud. That information was something that needed to be spat out.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, his ears perking up at that custom notification sound he set up for you.

: As if you aren't? :p

Damian suddenly felt cold. Have you developed super hearing all this time? How long have you had those powers? Oh, shit—if you have super hearing, then all the compliments he whispered into the air, you heard all of that? Okay, no need to linger on it any further, Damian! What matters is that she didn't understand the compliments you said in Arabic.

With the secret out, he typed back.

: Super hearing... That's impressive.

Within a few seconds he already got your reply.

: Do I look like Superman's secret love child? My parents are the blandest and most boring people here in Gotham, dude. How can I have powers?

: Besides, this goes to show that I know you well enough to know what you're thinking. <3

He erupts into steam, his eyebrows furrowing at the small heart at the end of the message. The warmth in his ears teases him, a reminder of his feelings for you. It wasn't even intended that way, and he still finds it cute.

Ah, where were we?

Right, going back to your dating history—it was either academically and emotionally challenged ones or plain criminals.

Have you dated the mentioned criminals above?

No, you didn't. It was just crushes.

Ask Damian about it, and he'll tell you that exhibit A and exhibit B would be far better than the criminals you actually date. Because they actually have brains that the exhibit C of criminals—don't! The Google guy about 46 paragraphs ago is one of the prime examples of exhibit C.

Either way, Damian Wayne is still your best friend through and through, even if you are... questionable. You're one of the first to have broken down his walls.

You didn't soften the devil child with love. It wasn't that you saved him from a dire moment either because let's be honest with ourselves—who'd win in a fight? A sheltered heiress who rebels or a child born from a lineage of assassins and skilled crime fighters? It was such a coughing baby vs. hydrogen bomb question. 

Everything started when you started reading shojo mangas after the incident with Damian on the first day of school. You were too preoccupied by your manga that you bumped shoulders with him making you drop it onto his feet.

Damian already recognized you as the girl who kicked his nuts. A grimace on his face when he looked at the book that was once in your hands.

He picked up what you were reading and was immediately entranced by the wonderful colors the panel had. The romantic dialouge that was written with heart and soul was speaking to him so poetically. There's no context or any understanding about the story and yet he felt every word in this new profound piece of literature.

"If you want one, go ask your mommy or daddy to buy you one, because I am not sharing with the likes of you." 

You really have a way of annoying him. 

The confident strut you have in your walk annoys him further. It has arrogance like his. The others weren't important as long as you had fun and remained yourself. Even so, he's drawn in. He made sure to find you in recess. 

Damian finds you alone in the center with that book up in your face. It was no smiling matter but he was glad there was less people around you. Guess people can't keep with your stuck-up attitude too, huh. His own attitude falters with each step he takes towards you, it was getting hard to approach you after all that planning inside his head.

Was he shy? No way! Damian Wayne Al Ghul can't be shy now. Especially not to a girl who has her head up high in the clouds. He's just here for those books of yours. 

He smoothly sits down across you, eyes meeting anything but yours. And when it does, you're both surprised at the softness it held. Your mouth wants to say something. Something mean, something sassy, anything to push him away.

"Why are you here?" Your mind wants him to stay. 

Otherwise, you wouldn't have questioned him.

"What's that book you're reading?" He stretches himself to get a closer look at the manga.

A big smile adorns your face. You repeatedly slap the seat beside you, getting him to stand up.

"I'm glad you asked! And correction, it's called a manga." Damian doesn't find your eye rolls annoying now that he knows there's a humorous undertone to it.

He receives the manga with a smile when you held it out for him. 

"I'm Damian Wayne. You are?"

And that was just the start of Damian Wayne learning more about romance. With the help of mangas and his family, he learned to care about others and that there was different kinds of love. There was no denying that you were a big factor in creating who he is now. Thanks to you and your 'weird' interests.

It's just ironic that the knowledge he got from it is now used as reference for your bestie therapy. Damian wants to joke that you might've gotten him hooked on shojo's to make him your own love guru. 

And let's face it—even if Damian was helping you by comforting and giving advice... his only experience with love was the time he liked you and prior knowledge about how couples act from shojo manga alone.

To put it simply, he wasn't the best love guru you could've picked.

Still, he tries his best for you. Damian still had you in his heart. No hard feelings if he was only your friend. All that he wants now is for you to finally find your match here in Gotham.

He once recommended you to try long distance relationships. The men in Gotham aren't exactly romancable when they have a chance of having a criminal record. And as your best friend and love guru, candidates involved in crime is a no-go.

But you refused, you only wanted a man from Gotham. 

"I mean, you and Dick are from Gotham, you're both decent. Along with Bruce... I guess. So, there's hope!"

When you finally found a decent boyfriend who graduated college and has no criminal record, it was as if the heavens have heard both of your prayers to find you a man in Gotham who lives like a saint.

And yet, you're here. Crying in Damian's arms more than ever. 

You clearly loved this guy more than everyone you dated. He was just a guy. And that's why you love him. And because he was just a guy, he had the balls to cheat—cheat on you of all people!

"Saint my ass, the only thing blessed about him is his looks. If he didn't have that, he would be nothing! Can you imagine waking up early in the morning to go to gym, go home, doomscroll, eat, and sleep? God, I'd kill myself."

He knows he shouldn't laugh.

"It's okay to laugh, that's how I get through knowing my roster of ex lovers." You show him a sarcastic laugh that slowly makes him cease. He puts his hands up in mock defeat with an apologetic smile on his face.

"I'm sorry. Just... still not used to your words like that. It cracks me up." He laughs again. Yes, this is your emergency contact as well by the way.

"I'd seriously kill myself if I lived like that, Dami. Imagine a life like that—imagine it was completely opposite to the one you have now—you'd kill yourself too, right?!" You were so adamant with your words that he can't stop laughing. That dead serious stare was too much.

Damian ceases his laughter for your sake, having enough of clowning the situation and focusing on the real issue at hand.

"I get that this is your coping, beloved, but you'll have to tell me everything that happened for me to help you." His soft voice almost makes you cry again. Damian's gaze has you melting beneath his sight, full of affection for you to handle just yet. You nod slowly.

"Okay, okay, but let's do that."

"We'll do that, don't worry."

Damian plops you down on his bed, shutting his blinds and locking the door before you felt the bed dip beside you from his weight. The blanket flies up in the air and landed on both of you. His scent on the fabric surrounded you, basking you more with his warmth.

It was too dark to see, just like you wanted it. He wouldn't see your face, you wouldn't see his. It was perfect to say everything without worrying about the other.

His hands search for your face, cupping it gently. As you felt his arms cage your body close to his, it was your sign to start talking. 

"I don't understand how he could betray me like that. How they all could betray me. I've thought about it a lot. I can't seem to find any reason for them to leave." You notice your words and Damian could already feel how nervous you are with your slip up.

"Not that I say that in a negative way, I just—" 

"I know. I know you. You've changed."

You haven't and Damian prays you won't ever change. 

He feels your hold tighten around him. You're scared to lose him too.

"I say that there shouldn't be any reason for them to leave because I know our boundaries, I support them whatever and whenever I can, I give them assurance, I earn their trust, and I love them with all of my heart." Damian pats your head as you ramble. 

You were tearing up, making a stain on his shoulder. He hears your hiccups beside him, struggling to contain it any longer. 

"Do I have a quality that I can't see that makes people leave? Is it that unlovable and hideous? Dami, can you see it? If you do... tell me why I'm so hard to love."

The silence is agonizing for you. Damian can't even speak about it. You're overthinking that maybe you do have a bad quality that's unnoticeable to you. Is he thinking how to sugarcoat it? That only makes it worse. What's the point of doing this if he'll turn back on the agreement of saying nothing but the truth?

"Before I answer you—may I ask you a question, beloved?" 

Happiness swells in your heart when you hear his voice. He smiles when he feels your nod against his chest.

"Do you think they know your worth if they treated you like that?"

You feel his eyes stare at you through the darkness. You'd know it was him based on the warmth it radiates. So intense... and it was all directed at you. He shifts you closer before speaking again.

"Even a real diamond loses its worth if its seen as a fake' heard that before, beloved? And I'm sure you've noticed the way they treated you." Damian's anger was evident in his last sentence. He was pissed that they let you think you were below them. 

"If it was up to me, I'd treat you right. Even better than them."

He feels your head snap at his words, gazing back at him in the darkness. This wasn't the usual advice he gives. It doesn't sound like it came from a manga. It wouldn't have been if it came directly from Damian's heart. 

He had no mangas to help you today, no mangas with wisdom to share about your predicament, no cheesy quotes to relieve you off your stress... just his heart. It was words written by his heart long ago. The unsent letters it wrote inside of him was about to be delivered by his mouth unrelentlessly.

"I'd love you right, until you're reminded of your 'worth'." Fuck, how you wish you could see him right now. You want to see his face as he tells you everything that will cure your anxiety. 

The horrible dating history has left you with fear that if you let Damian in, he'll also notice that bad quality of yours that makes everyone leave. It terrifies you to even think of it. You can't handle getting your first love and friend taken away from you too. People just leave when they get to know you... or after they get something from you.

You seclude yourself to avoid that pain again. Damian understood that overtime. He also failed to see who you really were beneath that persona you created for yourself. But now that he's gotten to know you a lot better. Best believe that he'll make you feel that the 'worth' you fret so much about is as high as his inhertitance combined.

"But, do not base yourself on that metaphor. You are no diamond with an unstable 'worth'. You are you; a person worth loving." He sounds apologetic for bringing that diamond thing in the first place, but surely, you must've understood his intentions behind it... hopefully.

"And...—" A sudden bright headlight seeps through his blinds, giving you a clear view of his warm face staring at you as if you were the most precious person he's ever laid eyes on. It was quick to disappear as it was to appear, the dark room had nothing but both of you in Damian's bed having a second chance with confessions.

Has your name sounded this angelic with his tongue before? Yes, many times.

His big hand clasps with yours, the other pushes a strand back in your ear.

"I'll have various words to replace the word 'hard' in the words 'You aren't hard to love'. Be it difficult, punishing, strenous, heavy, tough, tiring, hellish, complicated—and a lot more, but shit, how can it be when its so easy for me to love you?" 

Ah—don't cry, don't cry, don't cry! 

Too late, you're sobbing.

He chuckles while wiping your tears away.

"Love has different forms, right? I was content having a platonic one that made loving you a dream. But if the men who can't even dream of loving you like me can have you—then, stay by my side instead." As if that wasn't making you cry, Damian wasn't done.

"I'm not difficult to love as well. I'm happy alone with the thought that the woman who taught me how to love—has learned to love me back after all these years."

His body melts at your touch, gently caressing his face with the warmth he longed for.

"Dumbass. I learned that years ago." 

How cliché can this be? You've loved him all this time.

extra scene - 01

It felt right for everything to end and start this way. If only your taste in men wasn't questionable enough to make you question yourself if you're lovable, you would have been snuggling like this with Damian years ago.

He hears you grumble about it.

"We've always done this before, beloved?"

"Platonically we did!"

Okay, ouch?

Damian stays silent, trying to mask his laughter with fake cries. You feel a pang in your chest, feeling bad for what you said.

Damian doesn't stop with his noise that it starts to feel fake.

You know he couldn't see your deadpan face but he can hear you.

"Are you finished?"

The doors shoot wide open revealing Dick and Jason with their feet up high. Of course they're the ones busting down doors but why?!

At the far back, there was Alfred holding a sign that said—WHAT THE FUCK?

"Say no to teenage pregnancy, say no to teenage pregnancy!" Jason and Dick chant by the door until they walked and surrounded both sides of the bed. They both apprehended you. Dick easily held your hands behind your back with his own and Jason had to pull out ropes to keep Damian contained.

"What is this about?!" Damian tries breaking free.

"Master Dick said something about the curfew of having a girl in your room, Master Damian."

"We weren't even doing anything."

Dick flashes out a big, bright flashlight from his pants. You both look at him confused.

"I saw you both through the blinds. And Damian, your eyes... they never lie." The eldest brother gives him a questionable look.

Through the blinds? Damian's eyes? What is he saying—then the flashlight seemed oddly familiar. Damian figured it out before you.

"I thought it was just a truck."

"You don't know what it is 'til it hits you, kid." Dick smugly grins at him.

"You climbed up until the 3rd floor?"

"That's not the issue here, beloved..."

Damian groans. "I am not that type of guy anyways."

Jason laughs at his younger brother then goes silent in a flash.

"I know what you read." Damian gulps.

"What is it?" You pop in. "No—Todd, wait—"

"Best friends to lovers, 20k words, slow burn, romance, fluff, misunderstandings, light angst, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, and eventual smu—"

"TODD!"

[onlygirlaliveinnyc]

so fix it [18+] ᝰ.ᐟ

pairing: 1996!noel gallagher x fem!reader genre: smut !!, soft!filth, soft!dom noel kinda ? word count: 1290 warnings: oral, face fucking, riding, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, minors dni ! summary: you see him again at maine road, ten years too late. he’s older now, harder to look at, harder to leave. but there’s history in the way he says your name like it’s still his. a/n: based of anon's request— i hope you enjoy!! + made this maine road noel bc... yeah #needthat,, also this photo set lorddddd my baby :{

the venue buzzed like it was alive—bracing for the storm of a sold-out oasis show at maine road. you could feel it in your chest, that humming energy, all nerves and adrenaline and something else you couldn’t quite name. nostalgia, maybe. or dread.

you’d known for weeks that they were coming. of course you had—everyone in manchester knew. oasis, home for a massive fuck-off gig, two nights in a row. it was all anyone could talk about

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. not really. bands came and went through your life now—load-ins, soundchecks, backstage passes handed out like sweets. this was just another night. just another job.

except it wasn’t. because he’d be here.

noel.

you hadn’t seen him in—fuck, what, five years? seven? not since he’d gone off and become a bloody rockstar, all swagger and smirks and stories in nme. and maybe you’d kissed a few times when you were younger, given each other head between boyfriends and years of being each other’s soft place to land. maybe you’d thought, once or twice, that it could’ve been something. before it wasn’t.

and now here you were, laminated pass slung round your neck, clipboard in hand, standing just offstage while the crew ran final checks.

you weren’t expecting to see him. not really. the band had handlers now, managers and security and all the other things fame wrapped around people like armor. you figured you’d catch a glimpse from the wings. maybe that would be enough.

but then he walked in—guitar case in hand, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed—and you froze.

he didn’t see you at first. didn’t recognize you. just nodded a little as he passed, eyes scanning the room like he was already somewhere else.

your heart dropped.

but then—he stopped. turned back. did a double take.

“no fuckin’ way,” he said, voice rough with disbelief, murmuring your name under his breath. 

and that was it. just your name, low and stunned, like he didn’t quite believe it was real.

you smiled, soft and a little sad. “hey.”

he blinked, and you could see it—the flicker of recognition behind his eyes, like the years peeled away all at once. like he was a teen again, and so were you.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, stepping closer. “it’s been—jesus. how long’s it been?”

“too long,” you said. “you look the same.”

he huffed a laugh. “liar. i look knackered.”

“you are knackered,” you teased, and something in his face softened.

for a moment, the noise of the venue faded. it was just you and him. noel and you. history between you like static.

he rubbed a hand over his face, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “didn’t think i’d see you after i left.”

you shrugged. “yeah, well. manchester’s small.”

he looked at you—really looked. and that was when it happened. the shift. the change—like he remembered everything.

you saw it in his eyes. the nights you’d spent on his bedroom floor with a record spinning between you. the cigarette burns on your jeans from sneaking out back of gigs. the way you’d curled into him once, shivering and stupid with need, and the way he’d held you like you were his whole world.

“you free after the show?” he asked, voice quieter now. hopeful.

you nodded, furrowing your brows. “yeah. but don’t you want to go to the after p—”

“nah,” he cut in, too fast. his eyes didn’t leave yours. “don’t care about all that.”

you blinked. “your own after party?”

he shrugged, half a smirk tugging at his mouth. “been to a hundred of ‘em. all the same—too loud, too many people talkin’ shite. rather just…” his voice trailed, but the weight of it hung between you. rather just be with you, it said, unspoken but clear.

you tried to play it off, to keep your voice even. “you’ve gone soft, gallagher.”

he tilted his head, grin sharp now. “maybe. or maybe i’ve just been waitin’ for a night like this.”

you didn’t have anything clever to say back. your throat felt too tight.

he leaned in, voice dropping lower. “say you’ll let me come ‘round. just for a bit.”

there was something in the way he was looking at you. something that felt like home.

so you nodded. “yeah. alright.”

and the smile he gave you then—quiet, crooked, real—nearly knocked the wind out of you.

—

your flat was small but warm, lived-in. cluttered in a way that made it feel like you—records stacked in messy piles, postcards taped to the fridge, a pair of beat-up boots kicked under the coat rack. noel took it all in like it was holy. like every detail reminded him of you at sixteen—laughing at some stupid inside joke, humming songs he didn’t know yet.

“still got your smiths poster,” he muttered, smiling faintly at the wall in the hallway.

“you used to take the piss outta me for it,” you reminded him, toeing your shoes off, but your breath caught when he stepped in closer, slow. 

that look in his eyes again—cocky, curious. hungry. and beneath all that, something warm and impossible to name.

“y’know,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek, “i used to think about this.”

“what?”

“bein’ here. with you. takin’ what we never got ‘round to.”

he kissed you before you could ask what that meant—low, filthy, soft only in pressure, not in intent. his hands gripped your waist like he meant to fuck you through the walls already.

you moaned into it, let him back you toward the bedroom, past stacks of records and a flickering candle.

and when he laid you out on the bed, it was with this quiet sort of awe, like you were something rare.

“still so fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, dragging his hands down your thighs, moving to undo the button on your jeans. “dunno how i never got my hands on you properly.”

“cocky prick,” you breathed, blushing.

“nah. just been waitin’ to ruin you since we were nineteen,” his hands slid down your hips, fingers rough and familiar, tugging your jeans and underwear down in one slow motion. he didn’t rush—just took his time, eyes dragging over you like he was memorizing.

you bit your lip as he pushed your knees apart and settled between them. his hands hooked under your thighs, tugging you closer to the edge of the bed, breath hot against your cunt.

“and i’m not leavin’ till i do,” he added, then dragged his tongue slow up your slit—wet and heavy and so fucking sure of himself it made your head spin.

“fuck—noel—”

“shh, let me eat my girl in peace,” he muttered against you. "used to dream about this.”

you gasped at my girl but didn’t get a chance to speak—his tongue was back on you, filthy and slow, while two fingers slid in with ease, curling just right.

“tight little cunt,” he groaned, like he was praising himself. “can feel you already.”

your hips bucked. he held you down with one hand, pushing your thighs apart wider, tongue relentless.

“you gonna come just from this?” he asked, confident but amused. “my pretty girl gonna let go all over my tongue?"

and god—you did. fast, shaking, crying out his name. you clenched hard around his fingers and he groaned like he’d just won a game he always knew he’d win.

“knew you’d be sweet,” he muttered against you, licking you up again. “like honey, fuck.”

he dragged his mouth up your thigh, tongue lazy, lips wet and warm. you were still trembling, your cunt slick and throbbing where he’d just made you come, but he wasn’t done. not even close.

he kissed your hip, then your stomach, slow like he had all the time in the world, before lifting his head and looking at you—properly looking at you.

“shit,” he murmured, settling between your legs like he’d lived there all his life. “you always fall apart like that, or am i special?”

“fuck off,” you whispered, flushed, still trembling.

“y’know,” he muttered, smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “could’ve had me years ago if you’d just said the fuckin’ word.”

you scoffed, breathless. “i did. you were too busy shagging other girls and pretending i didn’t exist.”

he grinned, leaning over you like a shadow. “yeah, well. none of ‘em sounded like you do, did they?”

he leaned in close, lips brushing your jaw. “and you’re soaked for me. who’s the real problem here, yeah?”

your breath caught, lips parting, but he was already pressing down—crowding you, grinning like he had you exactly where he wanted.

“fuckin’ killin’ me,” he muttered, grinding against your thigh slow. “walked in like nothin’s changed, like you’re not drivin’ me fuckin’ mad.”

you blinked up at him, cocky now. “poor thing.”

he laughed—short, sharp—and kissed you again, harder this time. more teeth than tongue, all heat and hunger and tension that’d been coiled tight for over a decade. and as he ground against you, slow and filthy, you knew there was no coming back from this.

he pulled back just enough to breathe you in, hand sliding down your thigh to hook it over his waist.

“never fucked you before,” he said, almost like it pissed him off. “what a fuckin’ waste.”

you blinked up at him, flushed and wrecked and aching. “so fix it.”

he didn’t answer—just stood, eyes locked on yours, and shoved his jeans down in one rough motion. his boxers went next, cock already flushed and heavy, springing free. he watched you watch him, smirking just a little.

“knew you’d be like this,” he murmured, crawling back over you, hand sliding under your thigh to hold you open.

he sank into you slow at first—like he wanted to feel every inch of it. 

“christ,” he breathed, hips pressing flush to yours. 

you moaned, back arching, clinging to his shoulders. he didn’t move for a moment—just stayed buried deep, eyes locked on your face.

“look at me,” he whispered. “fuckin’ hell, baby. already squeezin’ me like that?”

he started to move, smooth and steady, dragging every inch out before pushing back in just as slow. his cock thick, leaking against your walls. the stretch was perfect—just enough to make your breath catch, to make your thighs tremble where they wrapped around his waist.

his hands were everywhere—one gripping your hip, rough and grounding, the other sliding under your thigh, holding you open like he owned it. his thumb brushed soft over your skin when he wasn’t squeezing, grounding you even as he fucked into you harder.

he leaned in close, mouth at your ear now. “been thinkin’ about this for years,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “gettin’ you like this. takin’ my fuckin’ time.”

you whined, hand fisting in the sheets. “noel—”

“uh uh,” he muttered, speeding up just a bit. “eyes stay on mine.”

you looked up at him, wrecked, your mouth open in a moan as he kept hitting that spot inside you—deep, sure, almost unfair.

“that’s it,” he panted, eyes dark and locked on yours. “there’s my girl. all needy for me. takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

he didn’t stop—not even when you clawed at his back, not even when you gasped his name over and over. his cock dragged against your walls perfectly, his tip leaking inside you, making it wetter, messier, filthier.

“you feel so good,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “feel made for me. fuckin’ made to take my cock.”

your moans started to break, louder now, desperate. your thighs trembled, your nails dug in.

“you’re gonna come for me, yeah? come on my cock, baby. i’ve got you.” he whispered, still rocking into you, slow but so full.

and fuck—you did. hard. full-body, shaking, eyes rolling back, clenching around him so tight he groaned low in your ear like he was unraveling.

he didn’t come yet. he held you through it, kissed your temple, praised you over and over. “so good to me. that’s my girl."

then—just when your legs went limp—he pulled out.

you blinked, dazed and slick and fucked-out beneath him. his cock was flushed, glistening, leaking against his stomach as he sat back on his heels.

“get up,” he said roughly, hand wrapping around the base of his cock, stroking slow. “wanna see that pretty mouth on me.”

you sat up slowly, still catching your breath, and got on all fours in front of him. your mouth hovered over his cock, swollen and shining with how soaked he was from being inside you.

his fingers found your hair, guiding you down.

“that’s it, love,” he murmured. “don’t be shy.”

you opened your mouth, took him in, tongue curling around the head. he groaned low, hand tightening in your hair.

he started to thrust—slow at first, then deeper. mouth-fucking you like he owned it. you choked softly around him, tears gathering in your lashes, but you didn’t stop. didn’t want to.

you reached down between your legs, desperate to touch yourself—but his hand caught your wrist.

“nuh uh,” he rasped, hips still moving, voice like gravel. “you don’t get to touch. not unless i say.”

you whimpered, eyes glassy, throat full of him.

he groaned at the sight. “fuck—look at you. all mine like this.”

then he pulled out suddenly, breath ragged. cupped your face in both hands, kissed you like he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“ride me,” he whispered, voice rough and aching. “wanna see that fuckin’ face when i come inside you.”

you nodded, dizzy and soaked, letting him fall back against the pillows. you crawled into his lap, and he held your hips as you sank down onto him again.

you were soaked—his cock slid in with no resistance, just that perfect stretch that made your mouth fall open.

you started to move, hips rolling slow, and he let you—his hands guiding you, eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered. “show me how much you missed me.”

your hips moved slow at first, circling, grinding down until his cock hit deep. he groaned beneath you, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he couldn’t believe how good it felt.

“fuck,” he breathed. “look at you. making me feel so fucking good.”

you braced yourself on his chest, thighs already shaking. he kept one hand on your hip, guiding, grounding—his thumb brushing the soft skin there like he was touching something fragile. the other came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him.

“eyes on me,” he said, soft but firm. “wanna see you fall apart.”

you nodded, breath catching, trying to keep pace—but he felt too good, the stretch too much, the way he filled you too deep.

“go on,” he rasped, watching you ride him. “show me how much you want it. want me.”

his cock throbbed inside you—still slick, still hot, leaking against your walls. you clenched around him hard, and his fingers dug into your hips, just enough to sting.

“fuck—this fuckin’ cunt,” he muttered, looking down where you were joined. “grippin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

you whimpered, head dropping to his shoulder. “noel—can’t—gonna—”

“you can,” he murmured, hand trailing up your back, pulling you in closer. “want you to come while you’re on top of me, baby.”

he fucked up into you now—meeting your movements, matching your rhythm. the pressure was too much, too perfect. you buried your face in his neck, gasping, trembling all over.

his hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles.

“there,” he breathed, voice shaking. “that’s it, come on. give it to me, love.”

your body locked up, thighs squeezing tight around him, a moan breaking from your throat as you came hard. your second orgasm hit like a wave—sharp, overwhelming, wet.

he groaned, still moving, coaxing you through it. “so fuckin’ good to me. that’s my girl.”

you clenched around him as he came, and he lost it—hips jerking up, head falling back, a rough cry tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you, cock twitching deep.

his arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight as he came. your chest was pressed to his, the heat between you dizzying.

he didn’t pull out—not right away. just held you close, lips brushing your temple, hands smoothing up and down your back.

he cupped the back of your head, kissed your hair. “gonna keep you like this. not lettin’ you go again.”

“was yours already,” you mumbled against his skin, voice small.

he kissed you again—slow, open-mouthed, lazy like he was trying to memorize you. your hand brushed up into his hair, fingers tangling, and you stayed like that for a while, tangled and quiet, not saying what you both knew: that if you moved, if you got dressed, if you let time start again, it’d all fall apart.

—

you woke to sunlight creeping through the blinds, soft and golden. he was still there.

laying beside you, one arm under his head, the other thrown across your waist like he’d meant to keep you in place.

his eyes were already on you—half-lidded, sleepy, but watching.

“mornin’, gorgeous,” he rasped.

you smiled before you could help it, voice still rough. “hey.”

he tugged you closer, burying his face in your neck. “dunno how the fuck i’m supposed to let you go."

he kissed your collarbone, your shoulder, slow and sweet. “missed you, y’know. all this time. even when i didn’t know i was.”

you huffed, soft but disbelieving. “liar.”

his head lifted just enough to look at you, brows furrowing like you’d insulted him.

“oi,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face. “not lyin’. never about that.”

“you were off shagging half of london,” you said, not bitter—just tired. honest. “you didn’t miss me.”

“i did,” he said, firm now, like he needed you to believe it. “i did. i just didn’t know what i was missin’ ‘til i saw you again.”

his hand slid up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking just under your cheekbone. “was always you, love. even when i was too fuckin’ stupid to see it.”

your throat tightened. his voice was rough with sleep and truth, warm breath ghosting over your lips.

“swear it,” you whispered.

he leaned in, kissed you slow. “swear on every shit song i ever wrote.”

[talkbycolor]

im cooked

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

[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.