castn0shadow

[castn0shadow]

^^^

Okay, I have another hot take:

I think the tabloids, but especially The Sun, are having a veeeery hard time finding bad things to say about the tour, about Liam and about Noel. Once upon a time, they didn’t have to dig much to do that. Now, with Liam and Noel tight, close, and choosing love over hate, the brothers are a powerhouse force they can't take on.

Unfortunately, for the sake of good journalism, the Paul thing fell on their laps, and they are using it in the most speculative, disgusting way.

I don't care about Paul. If he's found guilty of the charges, I hope justice is served.

But I do feel for Liam and their whole family. Whatever they choose to do, people will have an opinion, and the tabloids will sure as fuck weaponize it against them.

Being so honest here, family dynamics are so complicated and have so many layers. It's not as simple as "cut him out." Not in actuality. Especially when there's a very much alive mother in the mix.

So, whatever they decide to do, I think it's their business. Fans should stay out of it.

[castn0shadow]

soft where it hurts [18+] ・❥・

pairing: grian chatten x fem!reader

genre: smut !!, fluff

word count: 4190

warnings: unprotected sex, oral, praise kink, slight dominance, established relationship kinda, rough but affectionate dynamic

summary: a post-pub night in dublin ends in grian’s mouth on your skin.

a/n: for the grian girlies in my inbox but also for me cause i love that boy; im also drunk w my man tn sorry if the formatting is weird LMFAO

the pub was warm with sound, the kind that settled into your skin—low laughter, the thrum of music from a half-working speaker, pint glasses clinking as the night wore on. grian had one arm slung across the back of the booth, fingers trailing lazy patterns over the inside of your arm, and his knee pressed tight against yours like he’d anchored himself there and didn’t plan to move.

he’d barely taken his eyes off you all evening. just kept looking—soft, content, like the rest of the room blurred out whenever you leaned in to say something. you’d fed him a chip earlier, just to be cheeky, and he’d taken it with his teeth and kissed your fingers after. it wasn’t subtle. neither of you were trying to be.

“you two are disgusting,” carlos said, grinning over his pint.

“it’s romantic,” grian replied, not missing a beat. his voice was a little hoarse from the cold outside, or maybe from singing too loud earlier, but it still curled around the table like a secret.

“romantic my arse,” tom muttered. “get a room before i fuckin’ cry.”

you laughed, burying your face in grian’s shoulder. he turned and kissed the top of your head, then down just a little to your temple. it wasn’t for show. nothing ever was. he just did that now—reached for you without thinking. his thumb brushed back and forth over your wrist like it soothed something in him.

“they’re jealous,” he whispered against your hair, quiet enough that only you could hear. “you reckon?”

you tilted your face up. grian’s smile went soft again. he looked at you like you’d hung the moon. then leaned in and kissed you proper. slow and full, hand slipping to your waist under the table. the kind of kiss that tasted like lager and meant everything.

carlos made a gagging noise.

“honestly,” tom said, raising his hands. “they’re gonna shag on the table if we don’t stop them.”

grian pulled back just enough to grin, mouth still brushing yours. “temptin’, innit?”

your laugh was quieter now, lips tingling. his hand slid a little lower beneath the tablecloth, fingers splaying across your hip.

by the time someone mentioned last rounds, you were practically in his lap. your legs tangled beneath the bench. his coat shrugged halfway off so you could steal more of his body heat. he kept kissing the side of your face like he couldn’t help it.

“c’mon, love,” he murmured, breath warm at your ear. “back to the hotel?”

“you two even gonna make it to the lift?” carlos called after you as grian stood and took your hand.

grian didn’t answer. just grinned—fingers laced tight in yours as he pulled you toward the door.

—

he wouldn’t stop touching you.

not in a filthy way—yet—but in that gentle, absentminded way that made your chest ache. the kind of touching that said i need you close, just for a bit longer. his hand drifted up and down your back as you talked to tom about some band you couldn’t remember the name of. his thumb traced the inside of your wrist while he answered a question about the next tour. and every time someone joked about you being joined at the hip, he just smiled. didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away.

“swear to god, it’s like they’re velcroed together,” curly muttered.

“don’t tempt me,” grian said, his chin resting on your shoulder now. “i’ll start sticking to her neck next.”

“christ.”

you giggled and tilted your head toward him, letting his nose skim your jaw. he didn’t kiss you this time—just breathed you in, like he was trying to memorize the scent of your shampoo. or the curve of you beneath your coat. or the way you never quite leaned away.

outside, the rain had started again. fat, lazy drops pattering against the pub windows. grian kept glancing at it, then back at you. like maybe the rain was his excuse to stay longer. or to leave with you sooner.

“don’t wanna go back yet,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “but i also want you all to myself.”

“so greedy.”

he grinned against your skin. “only with you.”

he kissed your neck then, slow and soft, right below your ear where it always made you shiver. the chatter around you kept going—someone was talking about the best chipper in town, someone else arguing about whether or not the guitars had been too loud tonight—but grian didn’t care. his hand found yours under the table again, laced your fingers, and squeezed.

you turned to look at him. he looked already drunk on the sight of you.

“we should go,” you whispered.

he nodded.

and still didn’t move. like he wanted to remember this—how you looked in the booth, cheeks flushed, wrist warm under his palm. how the band kept bickering around you like it was just another wednesday. how you didn’t stop smiling.

“yeah,” he said eventually. “we should.”

but he kept your hand in his as he helped you up, and when you stepped out into the rain, he didn’t let go.

—

the city blurred past in streaks of amber and rain.

grian had you tucked close in the back of the cab, your legs pressed warm against his, his jacket half-draped over your lap like it made a difference. you could still feel the pub on your skin—lager and heat and his breath behind your ear—and now it was all compacted into this tiny space, the windows fogging as you sank further into each other.

“this alright?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

you nodded. his hand found your thigh, slow and deliberate, resting there like it had nowhere else in the world to be. he kept his voice low, intimate, like he didn’t trust the night not to carry it away.

“you looked so good tonight.”
his thumb stroked the inside of your knee.
“so fuckin’ good.”

your breath caught. the driver hummed along to something tinny and indistinct on the radio, completely oblivious. the hum of the engine smoothed beneath you, and still, grian kept touching—like he didn’t realise he was doing it. or like he did, and didn’t care.

you turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.

they were darker in the low light. hungry, but not frantic. just slow-burning and sure, like he’d been waiting all night to get you alone.

“grian,” you whispered.

he leaned in—nose to your cheek, mouth to your ear.
“i’ve been thinkin’ about it since you fed me that chip,” he murmured, voice ragged with laughter. “knew you were trouble.”

you tried to smile. it came out shaky.

his fingers slipped a little higher on your thigh.

“and now i’ve got you here, all soft and sweet and pressed against me—” his voice dipped lower— “—and all i wanna do is ruin it.”

you whimpered. quiet. your hand fisted in his coat.

“not here,” you breathed.

he chuckled, kissed your jaw.

“no, love. not here.”
he kissed again—lower, slower—just below your ear.
“but you’re gonna let me, aren’t you? back at the hotel.”

his hand dragged a little higher.

“gonna be so good for me.”

you felt like you were vibrating under your skin. like every word sank into your bloodstream.

the cab turned a corner, headlights streaking across your faces, and grian didn’t stop. just mouthed at your throat like he was starving, careful not to leave a mark. not yet.

he held you close with one arm and kept whispering—filthy, tender, reverent.

“gonna take care of you, baby. you know that, yeah?”

you nodded.

“yeah.”

his hand squeezed your thigh.

“that’s my girl.”

you barely registered the cab slowing. the city lights folding back into streetlamps and hotel signage. all you could feel was him. his breath on your skin. his hand still edging higher. the way he’d said ruin it like it meant worship.

the cab stopped. grian paid without looking away from you.

“upstairs,” he murmured.

you followed.

—

the elevator doors slid shut with a hushed chime, and grian had you up against the wall before the numbers even lit.

you gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting in the lapels of his coat. he kissed you like he’d waited weeks for it—not rushed, but hungry, like your mouth was something sacred he had to learn by heart. his hands bracketed your hips, tugging you closer, your back thudding soft against the mirror panel as the lift jolted into motion.

“you okay?” he murmured against your mouth, lips brushing yours with every syllable.

you nodded, breath hitching. “yeah. yes.”

he kissed you again. slower this time. more deliberate. one hand trailing up beneath your coat to rest just beneath your ribs.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered. “can’t even think straight when you look at me like that.”

you pulled him closer. “like what?”

his grin curved slow and dangerous. “like you want me to fuck you stupid.”

the elevator dinged. he pulled back just enough to take your hand, fingers lacing tight, then tugged you down the hallway—half-laughing, breathless.

the corridor was dim and empty, carpet soft under your shoes. you stumbled a little in your hurry. he caught you, pressed a kiss to your temple like he couldn’t help it. his other hand never left the small of your back.

“almost there, baby.”

“we could’ve just—”

“nah,” he cut in, voice low and rough, “not like this. not until i’ve got you alone.”

he stopped outside the door, fumbled with the keycard, and cursed when it blinked red. you giggled, swaying a little into his side. he tried again. this time it clicked open.

he turned to you then, hand still on the doorframe, breath uneven.

“you sure?” he asked again—quieter this time, voice rough at the edges, like it mattered more than anything.

you nodded. “yeah. i’m sure.”

he looked at you for a moment longer, eyes searching, thumb brushing against your knuckles where your hands were still joined.

“i’ll be gentle,” he murmured. then, after a beat, “til you don’t want me to be.”

then he opened the door and guided you inside—hand on your lower back, steady and warm like a promise.

—

the door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality, like the city outside had vanished, swallowed by the hush of hotel stillness and shared breath. grian’s fingers never left your waist. he held you close, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet, not after hours of brushing thighs beneath the pub table and pretending not to stare.

he kissed you like you were fragile and burning at once—lips parted, hands warm on your hips, grounding you in the low-lit hush of the room.

“lie back,” he whispered, voice gone rough. “wanna taste you.”

your breath caught. you let him guide you backward onto the mattress, your knees parting around him, trembling under his touch. he crawled up between your thighs, slow and focused, like he was approaching something sacred.

“been thinkin’ about this all night,” he murmured, mouthing along the inside of your thigh. “you in that skirt. sittin’ there like you didn’t know what it was doing to me.”

his fingers slid up, brushed soft against the damp fabric of your underwear. he pressed a kiss just beside where you needed it most, lips teasing but warm, reverent.

“look at you,” he whispered, thumb sliding the cotton aside, baring you. “fuckin’ soaked already.”

you whimpered. he grinned.

“shh, i’ve got you, baby.”

and then he leaned in—tongue soft at first, a gentle stripe from the bottom up that made your hips jump. he moaned into you, low and wrecked, like just the taste of you was enough to undo him. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, anchoring you as he began to lap at you in slow, steady passes, tongue flicking just right, just where you needed.

“that’s it,” he murmured. “just like that. let me take care of you.”

you moaned, breath hitching as he buried his face deeper, sucking softly on your clit, dragging his tongue in slow circles until your legs started to tremble.

but it wasn’t just soft. no—there was something rough in the way he held you down, thumbs digging into your thighs, keeping you spread and shaking. in the way he groaned when you moaned his name, like he needed it. like it fed him.

“grian—fuck—feels so good—”

he grunted into you, tongue pressing harder, faster, nose bumping against you as his fingers slid in—two at once, slow and full, curling deep.

you gasped. your hips jerked. he held you tighter.

“stay still, love,” he said, breath warm and wet. “wanna make you come on my tongue.”

he kept going—lips slick, fingers thrusting slow and deep, curling just right while his tongue flicked fast and mean. your back arched, hands flying to his curls, clutching tight.

he groaned when you tugged, hips rutting against the mattress like he couldn’t help it.

“fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmured. “fallin’ apart for me. all mine.”

“grian—grian, please—i’m—”

“go on,” he whispered, mouth pressed against your cunt. “come for me, baby. wanna feel you shake.”

you broke.

your thighs clamped around his head, your whole body arching off the bed as your orgasm tore through you, hot and dizzying. he held you through it, tongue lapping slower now, fingers still stroking, coaxing every last tremble from your wrecked frame.

when he finally pulled back, his mouth was wet, lips pink and swollen, eyes dark with something tender and wild.

“that’s it,” he said, voice ragged. “that’s my girl.”

he kissed the inside of your thigh again, softer this time, a little breathless.

“still with me?”

you nodded, gasping. “fuck—yes.”

he crawled up to kiss you, and you tasted yourself on his tongue—hot, slick, and filthy. you moaned into his mouth, and he smiled.

“you ready for more?”

his cock pressed against your thigh now, hard and aching through his jeans.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

—

absolutely, baby—let’s draw it out, make it hit harder, make every thrust count. same tone, just more of it. this is your main course. 1.5k+ of pure, rough-edged tenderness. here we go:

he stripped fast—shirt over his head, belt undone in one smooth motion, jeans shoved low past his hips like they were a nuisance. his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach, tip already slick and angry. your breath caught.

grian didn’t speak. he just looked at you like he was starving.

his eyes dragged over every inch of you—messy, spent, still trembling from his mouth. and somehow, he looked even more desperate than before. jaw clenched, chest rising too quick, hands flexing like he was holding himself back.

“turn over for me,” he said, voice gone hoarse. “face the pillows.”

you hesitated. not from doubt—from heat. from knowing what that meant. from the way his voice dropped low, all smoke and hunger and something softer underneath.

he saw it. leaned in and kissed your temple, slow and careful.

“don’t worry,” he murmured. “i got you, baby.”

you turned. slowly. heart in your throat, hands sinking into the sheets for balance. the room felt too quiet all of a sudden. or maybe it was just the way your pulse roared in your ears.

he kissed your shoulder first. then your spine. then the dip of your back, his lips warm and reverent, like he was worshipping you inch by inch. the mattress dipped behind you, and you felt the heat of him—bare skin brushing your thighs, the heavy drag of his cock against the curve of your ass.

his hand slid between your legs, fingers slipping through soaked folds like he already knew the way.

“fuck,” he whispered. “look at this. all for me.”

you whimpered. couldn’t help it. he pressed two fingers inside, slow and shallow, just to feel how ready you still were. then he pulled back. you heard him spit into his palm. the slick sound of it made your thighs clench.

“gonna fuck you slow,” he murmured. “gonna fuck you deep. you okay?”

you nodded, forehead against the pillow. “please.”

you felt him line up behind you—thick head pressing at your entrance, nudging forward in little stuttering pushes. he didn’t rush. didn’t force it. just eased in, inch by inch, breathing hard through his nose as your body stretched to take him.

you gasped. the burn was perfect.

“jesus christ,” he hissed. “you’re—fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—”

your hips jerked forward and he caught you, one arm braced across your stomach, anchoring you in place.

“no, no,” he breathed. “stay there. take it, baby. you can take it.”

he bottomed out with one final thrust, hips flush to your ass, both of you groaning at the pressure.

he stayed like that for a moment. buried deep. hand smoothing up your back, steadying your hips.

“you feel that?” he whispered. “feel how deep i am?”

you nodded, voice caught in your throat.

“you’re doin’ so good, baby. so fuckin’ good for me.”

then he started moving.

slow at first. deep. every drag of his cock made your eyes roll back, your spine arching helplessly as he filled you up and pulled out again, each stroke like a new lesson in need. he rocked into you with rhythm, with purpose, like he’d carved your shape into memory and knew exactly how to ruin you. hips snapped forward, then dragged back just enough to let you feel the stretch all over again, again, again.

the sound of it was obscene—slick, messy, soaked with everything he’d pulled from you. skin on skin, deep and wet and echoing soft in the dark. your name broke off his tongue every time he bottomed out, more like a prayer than anything.

“so fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned, voice rasping right down your spine. “every fuckin’ time.”

his hand slid up your back, deliberate and slow, until it pressed between your shoulder blades. not cruel. not controlling. just grounding. just him keeping you there, keeping you still while he fucked you like he meant it. the other clamped around your hip, steady and rough, fingers digging deep like he needed to hold on to something before he came apart too.

“this what you needed?” he rasped. “needed me to fuck you like this?”

your moan stuttered, cracked in your throat. you couldn’t speak—you could barely breathe. your body rocked forward with every thrust, pushed and pulled like you weren’t even in control of it anymore. your thighs burned. your chest tingled. your whole body trembled.

he kept going. deeper. slower. meaner.

“say it,” he growled. “tell me.”

you gasped, head buried in the pillow. “yes—yes, grian, please—”

he rewarded you with a sharper thrust—hard, angled just right—and your arms gave out beneath you. your face pressed to the sheets, flushed and slick with sweat, and he just kept going.

“so fuckin’ needy,” he muttered. “cryin’ on my cock, baby. what would they say, huh? all the boys back at the pub. if they saw you like this.”

you whimpered, and he grinned against your skin.

he leaned down, chest heavy and damp against your back, every inch of him wrapped around you now. you could feel the tremble in his stomach, the sweat trailing from his collarbone. his voice dropped lower, right against your ear.

“you’re mine,” he said. “say it.”

“yours,” you gasped, voice high and desperate. “fuck—grian—yours—”

he kissed the side of your neck, rough and hot, teeth grazing your pulse. his hand snuck around to your front, fingertips slippery as they found your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that made you jerk under him.

“that’s it,” he breathed. “take it. takin’ me so well. so good for me, baby.”

his pace picked up—messy now, reckless, full of frantic pressure and want. his cock dragged along that sweet spot again and again and again, and your whole body lit up like a wire shorting out.

you sobbed into the pillow. it was too much. not enough. it was everything.

“don’t stop,” you begged. “please, don’t stop—”

he groaned like it physically hurt him to hear that.

“never,” he gasped. “not stoppin’. not until you come all over me.”

and then he got mean with it—thrusts sharper now, fingers faster, hips rutting into you with everything he had. your legs trembled, toes curling, hands clawing at the sheets. every nerve burned. every part of you ached for it.

you came like you were breaking apart. like the world cracked open inside you and everything collapsed at once. your body clenched so hard around him it made him swear—loud, wet, guttural.

“fuck—fuck, baby—just like that—”

but he didn’t stop. not even then.

he fucked you through it, deep and firm and full of praise. every wave of your orgasm dragged him closer, his hips grinding deeper, chasing his own undoing with every desperate breath. your walls fluttered around him again, still sensitive, still slick and warm and pulsing.

and then—finally—he broke.

he groaned, slammed in deep, cock throbbing as he came inside you with a rough, ragged sound. his body folded over yours, one arm thrown around your waist, the other gripping the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking. “fuck, baby…”

you just lay there, full and trembling, sweat sticking to your skin and your heartbeat rattling through your ribs.

he didn’t pull out right away. just stayed there. buried deep. kissing your shoulder, breathing through it, both of you soft and messy and barely holding on.

“got you,” he murmured. “still got you.”

—

his body stilled eventually, every last tremble settling into silence. he didn’t pull out straight away—just stayed draped over your back, breath still ragged against your skin, his palm pressed soft to your ribs like he needed to feel the thrum of your heartbeat. like proof. like anchor.

you could feel him inside you still—softening slowly, warmth trickling between your thighs, breath catching as he finally kissed the curve of your spine, sweet and slow.

“you alright?” he murmured, voice rough and worn but so fucking tender it made your chest ache.

you nodded, cheek still pressed to the pillow, your voice no more than a whisper. “yeah. yeah, i’m good.”

his hand smoothed up your side, gentle now. reverent.

“fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, like the weight of it had just caught up with him. “you’re… christ.”

you smiled, slow and sleepy, your limbs tingling with afterglow. “you too.”

he laughed a little—quiet, almost sheepish. then finally, finally, he eased out of you, careful as anything, like he didn’t want to hurt you. you winced just a little, hips twitching at the stretch of it, and he shushed you softly.

“sorry, baby. i’ve got you.”

he sat up and pulled you with him, one arm winding around your waist to help guide you up. you ended up folded in his lap, chest to chest, your legs still a little shaky over his thighs.

his lips brushed your temple. “you okay? need anything?”

“water,” you mumbled. “and maybe… a new spine.”

he chuckled, one hand smoothing down your back. “i’ll work on it.”

he helped you up again, draped his shirt over your shoulders like a blanket before padding barefoot across the room to grab a towel and the little complimentary bottle of water off the dresser. when he came back, he knelt in front of you, legs spreading to slot himself between your thighs, and started cleaning you up with the same hands that had wrecked you minutes ago.

soft now. delicate. like you were a song he was still learning the chords to.

“sorry if i was too rough,” he murmured, eyes lifting to meet yours.

you cupped his jaw, smiled crooked. “you weren’t.”

he leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

once he’d wiped you down—kissed every spot that made you flinch, every little bruise and bloom of color he’d left—he climbed back into bed with you. pulled the sheets up over both of you. tucked you against his chest, legs tangled beneath the covers, your face tucked into the crook of his neck where his skin still smelled like sweat and aftershave.

“you’re unreal,” he whispered, voice so quiet you nearly missed it.

“you’re clingy,” you teased back, hand splayed over his heart.

he just hummed. held you tighter.

“still thinkin’ about earlier,” he said after a moment. “at the pub. the lads bein’ all dramatic about us cuddlin’.”

you giggled into his chest. “they love it.”

“they fuckin’ don’t,” he laughed. “but i don’t care.”

he kissed your forehead.

“i’ll never get tired of this,” he whispered. “any of it.”

and you believed him.

you lay there like that for a long while—bodies clean, breath synced, limbs tangled in ways that only made sense in the dark. the city outside buzzed soft beneath the window, but it felt like you were floating somewhere else entirely.

just you and him. tucked into the after of it.

safe. sated. his.

[castn0shadow]

hey do you write for fontaines dc or maybe inhaler???

OMG i was actually starting of thinking of posting for fontaines bc i love them especially grian

sorry i havent posted anything in like a minute cause i get really excited ab wiritng for 2 days then get bored

i actually don’t listen to inhaler so i sadly doubt id be good at writing any of the boys

[castn0shadow]

my soul yearns for tony stonem x readers

my evil king

[castn0shadow]

your fics are great bb welcome to the community <3

thank you!! ive been reading for a while so i thought i should write too hehe

[castn0shadow]

me when their sausage fingers aww my babes

[castn0shadow]

no time for running away now

pairing: liam gallagher x fem! reader

in which liam struggles with staying, and reader struggles with feeling like she’s not good enough for people to stay

basically all fluff, angsty-ish backstories but all dialogue and action is sweet

‘And as it fell from the sky, I ask myself why, can I never let anyone in?’

You had always struggled with not feeling enough in relationships.

It always hit you randomly, one fine day becoming the beginning of the end of whoever you were with.

Each time, you thought, “I’ve never been so happy with someone” when thinking of the months you’d spent with them. Just for it to overwhelm you suddenly. It didn’t matter if everything was going smoothly. You would just wake up and reconsider everything.

“Is he even as happy as I am?”

“He doesn’t seem to want to contact me as much as I want to contact him.”

“Fine, I’ll ignore him and see if he cares.”

You couldn’t admit it was all in your head. You’d shove and blow them off, until they finally stopped calling you just to hear your voice. Stopped trying to make dates. Each time you’d think, “well, I guess I was right.” You’d cry for a week then move on. Repeat the process of getting scared you’re not doing enough with the next.

In some twisted series of events, you met Liam. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he was the exact opposite as you. At least, he knew his worth—on the surface. The people adored him, naturally, it made him feel more important whenever he walked in a room. He’d slide into relationships easily, not even bothering to know a girls last name before leaving.

He’d never want to be chained down. Why would anyone want that? When things got too close— too uncomfortable, he’d run. Thankfully no girl has made it too unbearable. Just small things here and there that made him feel a little too loved. Over time the little things built up and clogged his veins, so he’d leave. But he never had this much at once.

He loved being loved for who he thought he was- a rockstar. He didn’t like being loved as Liam.

Terrified, oh God, you were terrified. A man who amounted to more than you could ever dream of being. You couldn’t guess what he wanted. Since he was so famous, you grappled with remembering he was real. That he was in this with you. He had preferences, likes, dislikes, feelings.

Overtime when you found the months speeding by just like how they did when you were a teenager stoned everyday, you got even more scared. He was still here. The man that had multiple infidelity accusations- which most were true- was still here. The man that made sure to start hateful feuds with other celebrities just for laughs. The man that would simply snicker when his current ‘girlfriend’ accidentally met one of his roadies.

How did it manage to last this long? Especially with someone like him.

“Makes me sick when you say that stuff to me.” He’d spit, trying to come off as collected. Before his voice shook, saying

“But I don’t want you to stop. Don’t stop, yeah?” He’d whisper, nervousness seeping through. Eyes trying to stay in contact with yours. If he looked down, he wouldn’t be able to look back up.

He was the first man that reassured you. You were doing good. Not too much. Not too little. If anything, he wanted you to be as much as you could be. Never leave him alone if he had a choice. Wake up with his naked torso pressed against your back, your warmth reminiscent of last night.

His hand that wanted to squeeze your chest while you were sleeping, used to rough lust painted as love, didn’t move upward. Instead he ran his hand in the less sexual, but just as intimate places. Tracing his initials on the plush of your stomach. Apologizing to any bruises with his thumb you might’ve gotten from last night.

He didn’t mean to give you them. You told him it was okay every time, it really was. His heart just felt so warm during sex he couldn’t help but squeeze you to relieve some of the pressure. He couldn’t show you he loved you enough with his words, his brain wouldn’t let him. Which resulted in him letting it out physically. Not just with sex.

“Fuck, ‘M Sorry love. Sorry. Sorry…” He’d murmur, kissing your hips that were slightly red and tender from his previous grip. His lips didn’t peck, instead melting over your smooth skin and lingering for seconds on every inch.

“S’alright. You could punch me in the face and I wouldn’t even be mad.” You joked, trying to make him feel less awkward. Even though he pretended he wasn’t.

His lips curled up for the first time today, you felt the air from his laugh hit over your skin. He was still practically naked, his boxers hanging low on his hips that only made you want to sit back on him. You slipped your underwear back on a while ago, but it was pulled down just enough to expose the marks behind and nothing else. He wanted to reassure you he wasn’t only after what’s concealed.

He cared about your body even when it didn’t affect his pleasure. Because just having you physically well was his pleasure.

Something made sense to Liam. Your joke. Even if it was just a joke, to him it meant you cherished him so much you wouldn’t care if he hurt you. Not that he’d ever even dream of it. It would be a nightmare.

After a few minutes, he slowed. Smoothed your underwear back up, adjusting and making sure the thin waistband was straight and not digging in at any point.

When most people think about their future family, there’s never an exact face to their partner. Just a blur of body who will deliver them home. However, when he met you, he subconsciously started sticking your face to the obscured feminine form that will have his children.

Liam couldn’t lie. Every time you looked at him his stomach turned like he was scared he’d do something to ruin it all. He was different around you than his past girlfriends. Hesitant, slow. Because he was testing himself out too. How much he could take before he wanted to leave you alone forever in fear of him growing too soft.

It actually hit him a while ago. The feeling in which all he wanted to do was throw away your number, slip the extra house key under the mat for the last time. But the feeling subsided every single time you told him he was okay.

He situated himself so he scooted up a little, his eyes that were permanently puppy— droopy, and telling his souls story, followed your reaction when he slid up to rest his torso on your legs and head on your stomach.

Your up and down breathing calmed him like waves against his cheek, completely relaxing his muscles as you ran your hands through his hair that was damp in parts closest to his forehead and neck, parting through it and gently playing with strands before erasing the twists with a massage.

“Don’t care anymore. I’m proper gone for you.” He confessed almost with a wince, as if it pinched to say. You didn’t want to say anything, if you did the lump in your throat would break open, unleashing your tears from never have feeling so loved in your life.

You hadn’t felt so normal in so long. Of course you had days where you wanted to test him, see how much he cared. To see how long it took until he thought of you. But nothing was ever a test. He looked at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky.

There was a mutual understanding that you both couldn’t do without each other. You needed the reassurance and he gave it to you every time even if he couldn’t say it. In turn, you letting him love you gave him something. Everything. Habit. Home. Comfort. You unknowingly forced him to get used to tenderness of contact.

It was a permanent wonderful cycle. You both gave something the other needed without even thinking. It felt too good, and neither of you could ever leave. To Liam, you were his drug. He stopped using, no longer needing cocaine to get hyped and going for a concert. Because all he needed to prepare was the image of you praising him for how well he performed when he gets home.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ think you don’t deserve this.” Was the last thing he spoke, before falling asleep with the smell of your body wash being the final thought in his mind.

send me ideas!!!!

hello, thank you to everyone that interacted with my first post!! it means a lot because honestly ive tried writing on wattpad before with unsurprisingly little to no interactions. if you actually said something know i saw it even if i didnt respond (sorry am just not good at these things i am quite shy and feel like i cant take compliments idk why) and your words encouraged me!

if anyone wants to give me an idea for a fic like this (oneshot I think this is called?) please feel free to share and ill see what I can do. but truthfully i am kind of uncreative lol so no promises it’ll be amazing. please request noel too!! im a liam girl through and through but i do love my other man.

[castn0shadow]

my third song ever

hey now!

that’s it, that’s the post.

[castn0shadow]

we do not hate on gcesters enough i hope you all die

[castn0shadow]

Pls write more, absolutely love your recent fic

THANK YOU THANK YOU !! im going crazy over oasis rn so more def coming

[castn0shadow]

the look of love

liam gallagher x fem!bassist!reader

simple, sweet, liam giving his ego up for you.

first fic on here, i am disgustingly tired and can’t think of any big fancy words so this isn’t creative at all.

It was something that took a while to become obvious. Just like how one day your hair got a little too long, and you realize it’s time for a cut. The sort of thing that you don’t think about everyday until it’s in your face.

That was how you and Liam came to be. One day he was the thing in your face. Everywhere. Marking your skin, pressing your brain until it was only full of him. The light he carried into every room he walked in started shining in your eyes, tripping you up with serene glare until you fell into him. And he didn’t let go.

It was unspoken to everyone. Even sometimes the two of you, you couldn’t recall when exactly everything happened. Maybe it was when you kissed him on the cheek, on the playground when you were 9, and him, 10— ‘to practice’. Or was it after Maine Road, when you and the rest of the band were all celebrating, walking down to a pub? How he suddenly grabbed your hand, not rough, but not shy. Confident. Like it didn’t mean much to him or you and you both knew it. Because it was just something that felt right and it didn’t need to be a thing.

Somewhere along the way, he’d be the one you’d gravitate to when everything was slow. He’d let you baby him and you’d let him sleep on your chest with no further comment. He’d tell Maggie, Oasis’s manager to start booking both of you one hotel room. Didn’t say why. Something taboo for you two to acknowledge, but too present to be undeniable and shoved aside.

Whichever way everything and nothing started, it was officially something finally accepted tonight.

Being the bassist of Oasis meant you were everywhere they were. You were a long time friend, sticking with all the boys for years. Being alive meant another day, another banging gig, another afterparty.

It usually went with the group sticking together at first, lingering in their superiority they couldn’t help but feel when they were all together. Because when you were all together you were praised just for knowing each other. For making the music you do. You were all one powerful entity.

And after a little while, everyone would split up and drift off to whatever meaningless fun they craved. For the boys, it was usually women and various buzzing drugs. Different at every party, nothing ever got old.

It was that time of night again. You were speaking to a stage tech you’d met earlier, whom you immediately hit it off with. You’d been previously traveling with the boys all morning, and she was the first girl to talk to you before showtime. You didn’t waste any time into chatting it up to invite her as your plus one for tonight. It didn’t matter, it’d been a long time since you actually took a guy romantically as a plus one. One day you just didn’t need to. Because he was always there.

“Seems someone’s got an eye for you.” She smirks, raising her eyebrows like she knows something you don’t, and side eyeing through the crowd to get you to look where she is.

“What?” You question, wondering if you’d have to deal with yet another unknown man thinking their superficial and borderline creepy charm and all too toothy grin will be just what ‘the girl from Oasis’ needs in her bed tonight.

You squint like it’ll help you at all, the crowds of people swaying and swishing in your eyes like waves through the dim regal purple and blues, making it difficult to find the culprit.

But then it catches you. One pair of many of Liam’s John Lennon-esque glasses he’d been acquiring by the dozen were just tilted below where they’d be if he were wearing them properly. You stare at him for a moment. Was it time to go already, was the band ready to head out? You knew the boys were unpredictable with their timing, either slumping over immediately after gigs or riding the white line until sunrise.

However, there’s no hand gesture signaling to get on. Just Liam looking. There was a girl talking to him, a tall blonde with a heavy looking face, babbling on as if Liam has shown her he’ll remember this conversation tomorrow.

Just as quickly as she alerts you about the eyes across the room, she disappears. You turn back around on the fancy barstool, shrugging and sipping your drink while waiting for another partygoer to attempt to entertain you for the night.

It’s only about thirty seconds until you hear the squeak of the top of the black barstool rotate, the scent of the person next to you immediately warming and rejuvenating your senses. If you had a choice to breathe something other than air, you’d choose this.

Your heart drops for some reason, you never got used to it, and you might never will.

“Blonde not doing you any favors?” You slickly remark, voice containing amusement— as well as confusion. Liam never came to join you at parties. The band always came together, but separate. Only meeting when it was time to go, or when it was time to take Liam to go.

You were only joking about the blonde anyway. It was never a said thing, but some day, Liam just stopped picking up girls, stopped trying to win a new one each night, stopped taking them to find empty bathrooms. It had been a couple months so far.

“Nah. Never as good as you could ever do me.” He shrugs, sliding your drink closer to him to take a swig. He swishes it side to side once each, bopping his head as if he’s contemplating spitting it out. Or spitting something else out.

“What’s this?” You beat, Liam never hung out with you at these type of things. You all typically strayed away from each other. Too much time with your bandmates wasn’t good for any of you. Especially between Liam and Noel.

“Fuckin’— ‘what’s this’. Nowt. Just like ya’.” He spits quickly, like he’s offended by you even asking. You open your mouth to say something, but you don’t have anything to work off of. Thankfully, he does something to distract from the silence that was bound to occur if he just left it at that.

He takes another swig of your drink, not caring it’s yours. You weren’t drinking it much anyway. Even so, he’d buy you a million glasses of it if you asked. This sip though, seemed to be needed to get him to relax himself with whatever it was he was thinking.

“Just like bein’ around ya’. Don’t wanna leave ya’ alone. Can’t stand it.” He quickly admits, like it’s something in his throat— it physically hurts to say, and he has to get it out. This one didn’t come out as easily as the first thing he said. His grin dropped completely, and his throat cleared.

Liam already knew it was too late. He was babbling now, and if he stopped it’d be too soon. He might as well get it all out.

He was always someone to keep up his swagger during parties, never submitting or caving for anyone. The people come to him. Never the other way.

“Fuckin’ hell. Guess I love ya.” He speaks with a sense of clarity, like he was just realizing this for the first time.

That one sentence meant more than the last three months did all together. The word love now placed itself in every intimate memory you’ve ever shared with him. The core of everything.

Liam was giving up his pride, he’d connected the words with was what had been in his hands for a while. His scene was no longer with names of people he’ll forget by the time his head hits the pillow, but with yours. You were his scene.

You’d wished so badly you weren’t sitting on grounded barstools, all you wanted was to feel some part of him touching you.

You realized this was the night. No more blurred lines, no ignoring the root of you both. Love.

“I like being around you too. And love you, I guess.” You tried to make it sound silly, but you just couldn’t. It came out shy and hesitant, you couldn’t think of anything else to say but the same thing back.

Liam had been looking at you the entire time, contrasting to how you were paying attention to how terribly interesting the grainy wooden counter could be.

He nods, like he expected it from you. In reality he was fucking terrified after his confident delivery that he messed everything up.

“Jesus Christ. Don’t wait to say something for so long next time. Had me nerves going.” He scoffs, lips curling up at your delivery. That was probably the closest you’ve seen Liam actually going to take back something he said.

You made your way out shortly after, his large hand grabbing yours just like it did after Maine Road. He didn’t let go until you two made it back to the hotel so he could hold all of you properly. Like a proper couple.

From that night onward, Liam was exclusively tied to your side at not just parties, but everywhere. The stage order changed, and you were moved to be closer to him. When he and Noel fought, he would have a seperate room to cool off in that no one was allowed in. That changed to only you being allowed in. Your drinks automatically went on his bill, he had his own clothing drawer at your place, and he specifically stocked up on snacks he knew you liked, and won’t allow anyone else to touch them.

Nothing more had to be said. All you two knew was that night something changed. No more tiptoeing around the heart of you both.