#also so raised eye brows about this being brought up rn. but . shrugs. live and let live this was years ago i have no idea if the people are

[tillman]

Wait what happened with you and the scp people? I'm sorry to bring it up but I deeply love the scp foundation and it's wiki and I don't wanna support something bad

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 13.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER. 

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 13

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt could feel what you also feel and he was cursing the Djinn for making you both feel this way because it was a feeling that was certainly irresistible for one man to ever control. You were in heat, and it doesn’t seem to be such a good idea for the witcher to try and resist. 

Warnings: This is just a filler chapter for the smut in the next chapter. Ahonhonhon! Kind of Jealous Geralt too? Lowkey? Hehehehe. A cute bard and Cirilla having the period-syndrome (I’m having it too rn and I’m thirsty for Geralt or any of Henry’s character. DAMN IT) I’ve given a name to the Djinn they’ve found because I’ve tried searching but found no name for every Djinn they find in the witcher? I think? Reader being so needy and in heat. (The animal type of heat for reasons..) Also, reader is...a virgin. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: You probably want to strangle me so hard right now, bb’s. I’m in the phase of a writer where I’m procrastinating stuff but not exactly a writer’s block. Just want to do things besides writing all day or I’m prolly just sleepy with no damn reason since last week. 😅😒 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! 

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Well, you're in a greater bad mood right now, rat." Jaskier frankly stated, wiping his lute with a cloth.

The night was serene with your heart strings balled up in a yarn. Your emotions consisting of woe with a face as if you lost a shit ton of money. You sat together with Jaskier in the middle of the vast leigh, knees touching against each other as the bard quietly sat with you in silence.

A bright purple evenfall draws nigh along the sky, stars finally becoming visible as you admired how beautiful their skies were. Less pollution and more aesthetic, though a lot more eccentricity happening around more than earth.

You've exhaled one last sigh, mouth in a tight frown as you took notice of the moon that was in replete. A perfect shape of a circle as it shines bright.

"Is the witcher being an imbecile again?" the bard ceased his cleaning, giving you his sole attention as he watched your face contort in utmost upset. But, you chose to just let the sorrow go for a moment, admiring the stars and skies like it wasn't laughing back at you from how delusional you were for having strong feelings for the witcher, "Don't start, Jaskier."

"Your cantankerous attitude shown in your cherubic face tells me that you are gradually adapting Geralt's crabbiness because you accepted the position in being his lover---," Jaskier has managed to bluntly say, carefully placing his lute on the grass as he narrowed his eyes at you, "---Though, it does seem like a sacrifice, small rat. Your kindness shall be missed. I would like to see you try and let Geralt adapt to your naivity and sweetness. The vision is pretty hilarious, if you ask me!"

Your frown even grew tighter when he mentioned the word 'lover', shoulders falling from how dismayed you were from hearing it.

"I'm not his lover."

The bard couldn't help but raise a skeptical brow back at you, remembering what he saw last night. He knew he wasn't hallucinating nor daydreaming, "Oh, so kissing under the moonlight is considered as a friendly gesture in my era now? If so, then this means you wouldn't mind kissing me too!"

He puckered his lips, making smooching sounds as slowly tried to teasingly close the gap between you both as Jaskier pouted to act as if he was about to give you a kiss on the cheek when you've yelped and immediately had your palms over his mouth, gently pushing his face away from you, "Jaskier! What are you even---?!"

He comfortably sat back down and had his knee over his chest prior to the position he had now, which was in criss-cross as he playfully shrugged. His pretty baby blues looking at the darkening sky, "A shame. I've been told by countable lads and lasses that I do kiss like I take their breath away,"

You tutted at that, shaking your head from his teasing and tried to send a hostile sally, "You suck then. Do you want them dying because of lack of breath?"

Your animosity has been curved by the bard. He seemed like he was acting like he didn't hear you as he let his eyes flicker to you again; going on with his jests, "Thank you by the way. I've been sleeping much soundly since the couple of days and you seemed to be having such wonderful dreams every night,"

Bawdy indications were hinted in between Jaskier's words; making you give him a glare that obviously made him grin like he won the lottery; thinking that your previous rendezvous back in Geralt's room when he wasn't around had some provocative explanations.

He didn't know your symbol was hurting a lot more on those nights where Geralt wasn't around.

You brush off his ribald comment, "I didn't do it for you,"

"I thought you were actually asking for forgiveness by calling me a horse's arse minutes ago? You're knowing the blasphemy of our language but totally naive of every monsters and places we have here. It doesn't seem to be such a thing to be proud of,"

Jaskier continued his blathers without even letting you talk, freely letting you give him death glares because he seemed to be more mouthy as days go by. You turn a deaf ear to exhale an exasperated breath, "I'm taking it back. You're still annoying as heck," before unabashedly laying your head down on his lap.

His yakking has been brought to a halt when he'd felt your head fall on his lap, the bard suddenly uttering quizzical gibbers that you continued to ignore as you felt the bracing wind hit your body; appreciating the eventide in quietude.

"Alright, alright! I'm not complaining...Ughm," Jaskier cleared his throat, anxiously scratching his head as he tried his best not to look at you.

The fullness of the moon has been drawing you in again. In a tranquil night, it was as if the stars began to whisper sweet nothings, lately realizing that their soft whispers has actually been your wishes; albeit, you've broken them down together, your whims willing and having no desire for you to actually come back in earth.

With only one thing in your mind, it was to stay with Geralt and his family.

But, do you really mean it? If you would choose earth or their dimension, were you serious that you wanted to stay?

Though, for him; you weren't that sure if he also wanted the same thing. If Geralt wasn't around, you were probably already dead, have been sold by noblemen or eaten by their monsters.

But, the stars seemed to jump out of the sky when you've heard a loud thundercrack of a door that came from the inside of their house, snapping the bard quiet as the noise tugged you out of your happy place; a place that you hoped Geralt came with.

The night has went slower, time ticking a lot more deliberately when one person is probably upset with another. Especially, when the person you were upset with lived in the same house as you and even was the owner of the bed you sleep on.

You were beginning to feel rickety as seconds pass by while Jaskier tried worming out whatever he had asked to Cirilla whom was feeding Kolby with a basket full of obsolete bread.

"Tell me why the back door is now broken off its hinges?" he asked in incredulity, hands on his hips as he had seen the brown, wooden door hanging with all its life, trying hard not to fall.

Hence, as they continued their talk; you couldn't help but massage that aching part of your chest, the one where the symbol laid upon the valley of your breasts as you heavily breathed.

It was attacking again.

The weight and fiery phantom of fingers grasping your heart more severe rather than the nights you had it felt like a rabid monster wanted to come out of cage. Their cold weather suddenly all swelter; as if you were walking on burnt out coals with one person clouding your mind.

Geralt.

You needed him, wanted him and yearned for his presence.

Cirilla gave a blatant shrug of her shoulders; sounding completely phlegmatic as she answered, "I don't know, bard. I didn't scream if that will make you any less more worried,"

Jaskier had his eyebrows furrowed as he keenly pondered as to why their door was broken all of a sudden, "Has there been a beast?" his slim, calloused fingers moved restlessly; dwelling onto what has raided their own home. The bard looked anywhere, continuing to be in distress while Cirilla patted the Hirikka's head with utmost care as she watched him devour everything in the basket, "You mean, Geralt?" she gave Jaskier a once over before turning back to look at Kolby, thoroughly undisturbed that it was the witcher's doing, "---He went out for a second and then came back, breaking the door off its hinges. But, he promised to fix it,"

Jaskier's head veered to where she was crouched in the middle of the living room, his baby blue eyes full of concern as he opened his mouth to tell all his inquiries but was instantly shut closed when he'd seen you hunched in his peripheral vision, palms on your knees as you were breathing like you were being chased by another Alghoul.

The latter took heed of those sweat drops falling on the side of your face as you were heaving deep breaths. Your head was darkening in assailing images of those familiar amber eyes you've grown to be thoroughly fond of; longing to be consumed by those glowing golden aureate.

You've heard someone walking closer to where you stood, seeing Jaskier crouch to give you a scrutiny of his baby blues. Bright azures. You didn't yearn for that. All you wanted was golden. His golden and you couldn't help but whimper, your chest has giving you agony as if you were being pricked in the heart by small needles, "You're sweating like a rabid---rat, are you alright?"

Another deep inhale of your breath; you breathlessly muttered, "I am Jaskier---It's just---" nevertheless, those train of thoughts couldn't be completed by the excruciating pain that ignited a troubled mewl. You straightened your back, making Jaskier stand up as well to scan your face for any signs as to what was happening to you, but only had seen your face painfully contorted in a way that tells him you were in agony.

"It's hot. Too hot," pause. You swallowed the tight knot of confining sensations wanting to be let out, "---Abnormally hot. Hot in two different ways; like I wanna be impaled or something!"

At your most forthright honesty, your statement has made the bard blink rapidly from how blunt it sounded, being taken aback by how outspoken you suddenly become; a thorough change of your bashful self, "You're actually revealing lewd facts that should be kept to yourself. You are certainly not alright!"

You could feel yourself grow hotter, the heat being scorching and aching at the same time. Your legs began to weaken and you can't help but fold like a paper, squat down and the position was utmost impuissant; totally vulnerable with your palms on your ears as you tried to shut down the restless whispering that went on and on; ceaseless as you had no power over it.

Jaskier began to panic; his face brimful of dread, "----GERALT? WE HAVE A PROBLEM DOWN HERE!"

The soughing of breathless whispers were relentless, no matter how you tried to cover your ears; they just keep coming. It was incessant, never ending despite of how they were giving your chest a pain that seem to be unyielding as they went on and on.

Witcher. You wanted the witcher. You needed him, you longed for him.

"Stop saying the word witcher, Jaskier!" you abruptly scolded, sounding too jarring and ear-piercing; void of kindness as you could feel the aggravation going to your head with the additional non-stop rustle of voices. The bard eyed you skeptically as he added, finding your rebuke rather surprising and odd because he never said anything about it, "I wasn't even uttering a word!"

Warm, slender fingers fell on your shoulders; trying his best to comfort you while the witcher wasn't coming down from his chambers yet. Nevertheless, from the moment he'd touch you, the toubadour has received a harsh slap of his hand being pushed away.

"Jaskier!" you harshly spat, your nose scrunched from how discomforting you were feeling.

He was quick to haul his arms up in surrender, stepping a foot away as he looked at you in horror, "Alright---I'm not touching you then!"

Another strained bleat left your lips as you were now fully sat on the floor, holding your chest as you continued to heave, shaking your head from the perpetual torment that tries its best to scream blandishments that sounded abridged. Some were incomprehensible and other words sounded lucid.

Destiny has it's price. It sounded just like a rustle of the winds as the shushed voices continued its onslaught. Two souls, together as one. Bound for eternal rest or a life forever. Zephyr shall protect. You cannot outrun death.

Your whimpers started to gradually increase, mewling in the process when you've exhaled a sigh as the needles seem to turn bigger, "It hurts, I swear it really hurts!" you screeched, body feeling like you were dropped in hot, molten lava as you were hearing foot steps treading in haste, "Geralt's coming, don't worry, rat."

Kolby prowled to where you sat; eternal mewls never ceasing as sexual, pent-up aggression was starting to travel to your head, but you tried to fight them off. Though, it ignited more pain as you struggled. Cirilla suddenly snapped her head to where you were, a tight lipped frown etching her face as she jogged to where you sat.

"Is she okay?" the pretty child asked in worry, watching you battle with something they couldn't see nor feel. Jaskier raised a brow; looking sardonic as he acknowledged, "No, she certainly isn't, Princess Cirilla."

She gave him a lour as she snarled; her riposte sounding a lot like the witcher because of how harsh it sounded, "I'm not in the mood for your sarcastic nonsense, bard."

Jaskier was unfazed as he took her retort like it was nothing, "Ooooh, is this how period--is it called period---does to a lassie?"

They're retaliations had them unaware of Geralt's presence who came marching down the stairs with an unfathomable expression on his face; the trepidation never seen in his features as it was emotionless, never giving anybody the panic that Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby has been feeling when you've suddenly began bawling your eyes out from the thumping pain.

The witcher hurriedly crouched before you, his glowing amber eyes thoroughly scanning your features if there was anything weird happening; but to his discontent, Geralt noticed none.

He felt everything. Your frustration, pent-up aggression; venereal desires or not, the twinge of scorching ache that can't be relieved due to constraints given from the latter himself when he'd chose jurisdiction over his carnal wishes that you also wished.

But, he'd been bull-headed for his reasons; Geralt was not bargained for the repercussions held because of having no permanent proof that you were also suffering every night.

Just like him. Hence, the both of you needed relief. Corporeal appetites released for the betterment of both.

"She's in heat," Geralt rasped, trying to hear what you've been begging for and he sensed that you were hearing voices that continues to assault you, paining your chest as you were unaware of his presence that loom before you.

"What? Oh, Geralt! Cease the utter balderdash!" Jaskier exclaimed, eyeing the witcher who squat down in front of you.

Geralt's amber eyes has been searching for yours, but you've never let him see as you continued your hushed begging. He had his chiseled jaw clenched so tight, every breath he takes was also giving his chest a potent congesting pain that he can somehow resist. His medallion was vibrating wildly, alarming him that there was magic surrounding him.

Therefore, he knew the pain wasn't just one to disregard because he knew your pain has explanations that is needed to foresee.

Was the Djinn still in there? Keeping you as a host?

No. Impossible. The witcher thought at the back of his head because there were times that his medallion doesn't vibrate whenever he's around you, it only happened now and back then when you were possessed.

It was impossible that the Djinn was keeping you as its master as well. You could die if that ever happened. The seal was gone and never found back in the swamps, meaning to say it was already gone; broke free from its confinement because you already had three of your wishes.

Jaskier couldn't help but notice how clean and fixed Geralt's hair was. Hence, he'd started to acknowledge the aesthetic difference he claimed, "Also, did you just braid your majestic chalky white hair all by yourself?! Or did you do it, Princess Cirilla?" he bargained, utterly stunned from Geralt and his hair being braided, dubiously eyeing the lion cub of Cintra.

But, she only gave a nonchalant negation, "No."

"Oh, the rat did! She did a great job at making you look so feminine tonight, Geralt!"

Geralt paid no heed to Jaskier's teasing compliments, wanting nothing but to roll his eyes but ceased to do so as your fingers began to shake, his mind now in a perturbed fret as his gaze shifted anywhere to see what was causing your whole situation because he sees nothing. A tight furrow of his eyebrows tightly creased his forehead, "---The Djinn has given her effects for whatever the symbol does to her, bard."

Jaskier crouched beside where Geralt is, receiving a truculent glare that made the bard move away for an inch because his bellicose aura was radiating off him too much, "Symbol? What symbol?"

"I'm not showing you her chest." he bluntly chided as a low growl vibrated through his chest, giving Jaskier a hostile look in his glowing peepers.

The toubadour did a double-take, his mouth turning into an offended 'O' as he held a palm on top of his chest as he gestured to your squatted form, "I wasn't even asking you if I could see her breasts!"

"Then, shut up and stop asking."

Jaskier huffed, sulking beside the witcher because of how he'd suddenly become such a grump.  

You've muttered a soft mewl, tightly closing your ears with your palms as you suddenly talked out loud, "I need Geralt. Where's Geralt?!" it was the only name you could hear, echoing inside your head as the heat traveled through your veins, searing and extremely scorching all of a sudden.

Your heartbeat was loudly drumming out of your chest. Sweat dripping down your face as the pain and heat was starting to make you feel lightheaded, his scent crashing through your senses. Earthy, pinewood and a mix of mannishness.

Geralt.

"Don't touch me!" It felt like you were burning; but also finding some aid to the ache as it soothed your heated skin like ice to the fire. You've felt his thick, rough fingers fall on your shoulder, making you jerk back as you looked at him; completely mortified for a second, "I'm here, midget." before the witcher tightened his hold on you, those fingers clasping around your feeble arm as he gazed upon you in deep concern.

"It's alright. Calm down, it's me." Geralt gently hushed your frantic state, softly grabbing the side of your jaw to make you look at him.

When he did, your eyes were dark and dilated, filled with carnal.

"You're having a hot spell," he roughly forced the words out of him, heavily swallowing whatever you were feeling because he's also having the same problems, but chose to restrain himself; doing a better job than any most men would, "A--A literal spell?" you didn't catch his drift and feel yourself breathing deep, his scent soothing your nerves as it also does the same for him.

Geralt shook his head, his fingers strapped on the side of your neck making his hand feel the pleasuring jolt. You've felt his fingers slightly tremble as your eyes were beseeching, those dilated pupils of yours tormenting him, "No. You're in heat, midget." pause. he lowly growled in displeasure, amber eyes pooling in keen, "---which explains your cravings for touches and the need for coition,"

Your face scrunched in pain and a mixture of pent-up frustration, the voices inside your head slowly dying down as it was now drowning in the witcher's unique, baritone timbre of his that was making you feel giddy before a jolt of pain rose up your chest again, "What am I---an animal?! Geralt, make it stop!"

Jaskier and Cirilla listened in silence. However, the bard fidgeted with the hem of his tunic; his mindless frets seeming to come up with such suggestions that will make everyone's mind boggle.

He raised a hand, not before taking a good look at you who had eyes pure of anguish and need which now focused at Geralt before he'd loudly cleared his throat, turning his head to see the witcher in distress from what other methods he could think of other than the impaling,  "I have a proposal and an utterly brilliant idea to make the pain stop!"

Cirilla hushedly snorted, "His ideas are always nonsense. Don't listen to him, Geralt."

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, pointing a finger at the princess, mouth opening before he was immediately ceased by Geralt himself.

"The princess is right, bard."

The sonneeter noted his lukewarm response, sounding like he actually opposes what Cirilla has reprimanded because all Geralt ever wanted and what clouds his mind is having his way with you, "---Give the small rat what she wants, Witcher. What if the pain carries on as nights go by? Give her the rumpy pumpy since that is always the answer to why an animal is in heat. It wants coitus, or if you've become one soft, romantic witcher; then I suggest to use the word, 'make love'." he emphasized, quoting the word 'make love' with both hands, his middle finger and index one folding as he said the last word with ardor.

Geralt was quick to scowl at that, exhaling an exasperated breath out of his nose as he hummed in protest; giving the bard his meanest glare, "You're saying she's an animal. You want me to take advantage of it?"

"No?" Jaskier quickly shook his head, groaning out; palms faintly hitting his forehead as he tried to act as if he was slapping it from Geralt's unreasonable assumptions. He continued, languidly blinking back at the frowning witcher, "---I didn't even say you would take advantage of the idea, you nincompoop! Then, do you want me to mate with her?"

It took him a second before he'd seen the latter started giving blazing daggers that had fire in it, his words seething as Geralt gruffly barked, "Absolutely not, bard!"

His glowing, amber eyes were boring holes at Jaskier before he lowly rumbled; more so to himself, trying to convince himself that there was another way.

He was dithering the idea of having you; not because he didn't find you pleasant, fetching, alluring or beautiful. Geralt found you in many types of wonderful adjectives he could tell, though mostly was kept inside his mind. The idea of having you, only to himself; ravishing you in ways that he ought to please kept him faltering because of one thing in his mind.

Vulnerability.

The witcher was thoroughly cautious of vulnerability because whenever it happens; once the walls have been broken down, there was always hindrance coming in his way and with the person he'd promised were important, or a person he loved because he knew that once he has you, Geralt was done for no matter how unstable he was.

You'll be seeing things you've never seen nor felt from him as he does the same way.

Especially, that you never came from their dimension and that the feelings he had for you was too strong to even control. But, the voices at the back of his mind was pulling him away from even pouring those emotions down because firstly, he didn't know how to show and second, there was a huge chance that you would also leave.

What if you leave? a person he'd treasured so much begins to leave him again?

Geralt mindlessly gritted his teeth together as he grumbled and grouched, avoiding the bard's eyes as he watched you shakily grab onto his palms that tenderly rested on the side of your face; leaning onto his touch as you looked at him; utterly lovestruck, "We'll find another way," pause. "---There has to be."

Though, it seems like the bard hasn't heard his beseeching and continued with his witful suggestions, "The only way is to impale her to cease the sufferings that the spell has cast upon her by the Djinn," Jaskier promptly stood up on his feet, his anxiety making him blurt out mindless blabbers he could ever think of, "---There is nothing to lose on this one, Geralt. Especially that you're...no offense---"

Geralt cut him off in haste, surly spitting out his words, "There is, Jaskier. Her purity."

Jaskier pointed back at the witcher, completely looking taken aback as he opened his mouth like he was stunned, "Oh." was the only thing he managed to say for the first few seconds before he quietly muttered, "OooooOh. She's a?"

The Ivory haired man gave a brief nod, "Untouched." he frankly informed as Cirilla quietly listened in the background with Kolby howling loudly in the middle of the night like a wolf in disguise, "---Oh! This is an unorthodox for the series of women that you have had, Geralt! Also, she's a rare one indeed!"

Jaskier couldn't help but feel dumbstruck from his suggestions, shamefully scratching the back of his nape as he has given the whole responsibility to Geralt because he could never help. He always never does because of some sorts that he couldn't explain, probably because he wasn't taught with these magical phenomena that Geralt expertly knows.

When the witcher has given you his attention, you've abruptly attacked him in a bear hug, arms tightly wrapped around his thick neck that you wanted to softly pepper kisses. As you were caging him in your arms, his delicious scent wafted through your nose, welcoming how it was indeed mouthwatering for your blazing appetite or carnal greed.

"I want to have you, Geralt. I--I need to have you! These thoughts inside my head...It needs you, I--I need you," you begged, softly pleading like there wasn't anyone around you; not noticing Cirilla, Kolby nor Jaskier as there was only one person in your mind. Geralt of Rivia. Your Geralt. Your witcher. The only person who gives you fluttering butterflies and wild ants inside your stomach and chest.

You've tucked your face in between your arm and his braided hair, breathing the back of his ear like a wild woman as Geralt stood still and heard your whimpers that went straight to his stronghold, his will in finding another method to help suddenly wavering from how soft and provocative it sounded that clouded his mind.

He turned relaxed in your arms, accepting the bear hug and probably loving how close you both were together after hours of not talking to each other. You've felt his calloused palm caress your clothed back, soothing your pained mewls that came after your sensual whimpers as it was unstable. Geralt gently unlatched your arms that surrounds him, his golden peepers meeting your baffled ones before he had no problem in scooping you up in his arms, like newly wed couples.

"We'll think of other ways, midget. Come. Let's help you with the heat,"

Cliffhanger before the smut? I’M SORRY, BB’S. LOVE MEEEE STILLLLLL! 

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @winter-moons​ @cheesecakeisapie​ @silverkitten547​​ @angelofthor​r @carrieannewaywardson @plantingmum​, @stuckupstucky​, @shesthelastjedi​

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟒)

part three

note - i wanna thank everyone for reading once again! i'm currently in the process of writing imagines, those will be posted throughout the week, i don't want to clog up my blog bc i want y'all to see this chapter!

this one switches pov a lil more frequently, so bear with me <3 also not as smutty as other chapters, this is more of an emotionally-charged chapter!!! still a teensy bit smutty thooo. i want to make it clear that while this fic is definitely rooted in smut & sex & sex work, it is not porn without plot & will not ONLY be smut as i put effort and time into plot development / character development! i'm sure y'all know that tho. there will be conflict, there will be plot!!! i feel like that's clear already but there's discourse on smut happening rn and i wanna voice myself! omg anyways luv y'all enjoy the reaaad <3

new taglist!

playlist

word count - 8.3k

warnings - age gap, sex work, smut, vibrator, ANGSTYYY like hella dramatic, dirty talk

That slight shift that you and Steve both felt, that happiness that you realized came from talking to one another, only lasted so long... for you. You could hardly sit in your feelings about your situation with Steve before another thing that occupied all your time came crashing down upon you. Except this time, the thing brought you no such happiness or curiosity.

    You had spent almost your entire senior year working on a special lab project about drought tolerant plants in Southern California where you lived and went to school, and your professor was making completing your project incredibly hard for you. And you felt incredibly stressed out about the entire situation - not only was the project necessary to graduate, but it was your heart and soul for the past year. Now, your professor was basically saying it was "ineligible."

     "Ineligible?" Aaliyah repeated after you, after you told her what your professor had said.

     "Whatever the hell that means," you huffed as you power walked down the street, hand in hand with Aaliyah, your free hand holding a coffee.

     "That's so fucking annoying, holy shit," Aaliyah pressed a hand to her forehead. "He had the whole year to talk to you about changing your topic and...”

     "And he never did," you sighed, frowning. You settled down onto a bench where the two of you sat next to each other, staring out into the busy streets and sipping your iced coffees.

California was a beautiful place, and you were a native, you'd lived there all your life. You knew the ins and outs of your city, knew Southern California like it was your backbone. And you loved it here - loved the sun, the beaches, the way the people were either shady in the best way or incredibly friendly. You'd never really known any other place like you knew this place. You were just glad that if you had to be stressed, you could do so in California.

Aaliyah pouted, feeling for you. She placed her hand on your knee to be comforting,

     "Babe..."

     "It's okay," you sighed. You sucked it up, like always, because you had learned how to fend for yourself ever since you realized that depending on others could only lead to downfall. You would figure this out the same way you figured everything else out... on your own. You figured out your house on your own, your job, your finances.

     "Is it, though?" Aaliyah pursed her lips and squinted at you. Despite how much you tried to fend for yourself, Aaliyah was always there for you. She was one of your biggest supporters.

     "I'll just keep visiting during his office hours and work this out."

Aaliyah rolled her eyes,

     "Men are so annoying, girl. You know what, he probably wants to fuck you. With your fine ass. That's why he's doing all this."

You chuckled, shaking your head and covering your mouth, trilling back in response,

       "Okay girl, don't get too ahead of yourself."

       "I'm serious! Men are evil. Oh, except your fave."

You made a face, nearly choking on your iced coffee. This was news to you,

       "Who are we talking about?"

       "You know," Aaliyah sang slightly, nudging you and leaning against your shoulder. "Mr. Won't Show His Face."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but bit down on your straw with a knowing smile, eyes peeking out over the top of your shades. If you were being honest, this idea of Steve, whoever he really was, had been a fun thing to entertain during this period of stress. You'd been talking and engaging with him for two and a half weeks now, and the connection you two had was undeniable.

But you knew better - maybe he wasn't just another customer, because you could really talk to him and felt like he was real - then again, he was strictly a customer. You liked him, a lot, but you couldn't like him any more than you already did. That would be dangerous and silly, and create unrealistic expectations. It wasn't like you could go on dates or anything.

    Still, talking to him (and performing for him) did help to distract you from your stress, at least for a small amount of time. Steve was becoming less shy, less inhibited. He cracked jokes and was starting to keep up with your innate sense of sexuality, starting to navigate you, find you the way a bee might find its nectar, hidden deep inside the curvatures of a flower.

If you were a flower, you'd probably be a sunflower - bright, yellow, almost always in a positive mood, or at least trying to keep yourself in a positive mood. More than that though, sunflowers were tall and looming - you felt like that represented your put togetherness and how hard you worked, how smart you were. Only sometimes it was hard to keep yourself up and tall, but you always did it, time and time again.

But when it came to Aaliyah's comments about Steve, she mostly just made you laugh.

    "Haven't seen him yet, have you?" Aaliyah asked, raising her brows expectantly.

     "No. And I'm fine with that. He's simply another very loyal customer who I happen to like."

     "Hm," Aaliyah hummed, and you could tell her mind was up to something - some very wishful, and mischievous thinking.

     "What are you up to?" you narrowed your eyes at her and glared at her, and she just shook her head with a lazy smile,

     "Nothing. Just thinking that maybe it would be cool if he really was this really hot guy that you actually knew and he wasn't creepy and y'all... you know... started dating. Just to get your mind off a lot of crap. I know, I know, strictly against the rules, blah blah blah. No feelings for customers, it's basic shit. But in a perfect world..."

      "I know," you sighed without thinking, sipping at your drink.

     "You know?" Aaliyah questioned, surprised.

You shrugged,

     "So I've thought about it. Except, you know, in a perfect world, I'd meet a guy like Steve in like, a farmer's market or something. Not on my shady ass cam shows."

Aaliyah snorted laughing, and at the sound of her laughter, you joined in.

You continued,

     "I mean, not Steve exactly, because that would be weird. I just mean, a guy like Steve."

     "You mean a guy who makes you feel the same way he makes you feel," Aaliyah corrected you, and you glared at her again, pushing her gently.

     "Don't push it," you teased, but you meant it - you might have liked Steve, but that was all there was to it - you liked him, he was a distraction. And maybe even that was too much.

✺ ✺ ✺

As for Steve, he thoroughly enjoyed his time with you. He thought constantly about how you made him feel, how much he looked forward to talking to you. How everyday, his worry about your situation becoming more serious dissipated slowly. He could feel himself easing into you, everything that made up this character you created called Moonrose. Conversation seemed casual, like you knew each other in real life, it felt easy, and there was no pressure.

As for your connection, he had finally acknowledged that it was real, and more than either of you had wanted to realize at first. But now, there was no shame, no worry in acknowledging what the two of you had, because you were both smart enough to keep it at this level. It was like a shallow pool. There would be no drowning.

He mostly talked to Bucky about you when it came to the emotional aspect of it. He still feared that if he talked to Tony, it might come across as an issue, and might put a pause on what he had with you. But everyone noticed how different Steve was acting. Even without the phase he had gone through where he was sexually frustrated and angry, he still acted different.

Lighter on his feet, more smiley. And he was always on top of his work. You weren't distracting him from his duty, so that made the fact that he knew you had a unique connection with him more bearable. Because of you, he was learning to worry less. To have a little more fun.

    It was a bright day that week, the sun filtering in through the large windows of the meeting room where everyone was gathered. Steve was engaging in some mindless conversation with Sam and Bucky in which they were debating whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.

     "No. I'm not sure why everyone keeps trying to put all these twists on pizza. It's pizza," Bucky scoffed, Sam rolling his eyes as a result.

    "You're just closed off. With your old ass," Sam retorted, and Steve made a face. Sam raised his hands up in surrender. "You know what I mean. What about you Steve?"

Honestly, Steve had never even tried pineapple on pizza and he didn't understand why there was such a big fuss about the banal question.

    "I don't really have an opinion," he shrugged, not expecting Sam and Bucky to start clamoring over him and trying to force him to pick a side.

    Before he even got to grasp the situation, he felt Natasha patting his shoulder,

"Hey, mind if I use your laptop? Mine's gone haywire, don't really feel like messing with it right now."

"Yeah," Steve agreed without a second thought, setting his laptop on the table and letting Natasha handle it- she was better with tech stuff than he ever was.

Natasha would use his laptop to showcase some data and start off their morning. It seemed innocent enough —a simple, barely impacting sacrifice. But Steve clearly hadn't thought everything through, because the moment Natasha logged in and hooked up Steve's computer to the holographic projector, more than just data appeared on the screen.

In fact, a whole array of women, all of them engaging in various sexual acts or preparing themselves to, showed up on the screen. And at the top, where the browser was, were the words "girlsonfilm.com."

Steve hadn't noticed all the clamor, too busy thinking (thoughts of you and thoughts of work), until Bucky called it to his attention.

"Steve," he nudged him frantically, his voice a loud whisper.

When Steve looked up at the screen, his face couldn't have gone any redder. He hadn't thought about this at all, and he had clearly forgotten to close out his browser. His heart sunk all the way to his stomach - because it wasn't just Natasha seeing this, it was everybody. And that included Tony, who was glaring pointedly at Steve from the head of the table. Meanwhile, all the others were too busy heckling Natasha and making brash comments about what was appearing onscreen. To Steve's relief, your face didn't show up, but this just might have been worse than only your screen appearing.

     "Woah, Nat, I didn't know you got down like that!" Sam hooted, cupping his mouth with his hands.

Natasha, though she was in shock as well, rolled her eyes,

     "This is Steve's laptop."

Now a hush, then another clamor of confusion and heckling, all directed towards Steve. He couldn't recoil any more, feeling the pangs of embarrassment as his eyes flashed between every one of his teammates. He felt as if there were an asteroid approaching fast, and he was right where it would land, too slow to move out of its way.

     "Steve, what do you know about 'girls on film'?" Sam nearly cackled, reading the name of the site.

Steve sighed deeply, locking eyes with Natasha as he mouthed "turn it off" to her.

     "I am, I am," she ensured him, quickly disconnecting the laptop from the projection, unplugging completely.

A beat passed, everyone staring expectantly at Steve, who was staring down at the table, trying to process his own thoughts. Like for starters, why didn't he log out the last time, and why didn't he remember to log out? And then his mind went to deeper places. He hadn't been intentionally secretive with his actions, but he had been intentionally private. It had to do with his own growth, he was learning how to navigate a world that was new to him and somehow helping him at once. He didn't want to have to share this with everyone, it was nice having this to himself, he had no intentions of revealing what he had been doing in his past time that made him so happy.

One of the reasons he didn't want everyone to know about his situation was because he didn't want to have to be concerned with what everyone else might think. Because to begin with, being on a site for cam shows wasn't exactly everyone's idea of what Captain America might be up to these days.

It was a matter of his image, what values he was supposed to hold. This didn't exactly match, and Steve had just gotten over the idea that he was a bad, sneaky person because of what he chose to indulge in. At least here he knew it was ethical and not causing harm to you as a human being.

He also didn't want to have to deal with the insufferable questioning and teasing his team would put him through, or the judgment he thought they might put him through. He felt embarrassed, exposed, and like he had been ill prepared for a situation like this. He was just grateful they hadn't seen more, because that would've been a disaster. What they had seen was only at the surface level of what he'd been doing.

But his thinking was interrupted by Tony's voice, which broke through all the silence, and made Steve realize again the eyes that were on him.

     "Well, jig's up," Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Care to explain?"

Steve locked eyes with Tony, as if hopeful that he wouldn't have to, but he knew it was best for him to just spit it out. Tony shrugged apologetically, and Steve took in a deep sigh, looking around at everyone at the table.

     "What was that?" Scott whimpered, probably the most distraught by what they had all seen.

Steve nodded solemnly and began to explain himself. He would tell the truth, but that didn't mean he had to tell them everything. You would be left out of this, if anything. He'd just explain to them that sometimes, duty calls - and sometimes, it's not at all work-related.

✺ ✺ ✺

It was just hours before your cam show when another disaster struck, the first one being the fact that your professor was giving you shit about your project. You were in the bathroom, getting ready for your show, fixing your hair up and doing your makeup, laying out an outfit, doing all the things you did to feel pretty before a show.

    Your phone lay beside you on the bathroom table, pinging with messages every now and then. You ignored it, leaning closer into the mirror to get a look at your lipstick, dabbing your fingers into the pigment on your lips.

You smiled, feeling that gratifying sense of achievement. Despite what was going on with your professor, you felt like you were doing well in life. You usually had a positive mindset, enjoyed your work although you sometimes felt as if you were buried deep in all your occupations: student, office worker, cam girl, designer, young woman. Your life was never dull, and you wouldn't trade it for anything. Talking to Steve helped too, but it was more than that.

But that sense of satisfaction all seemed to dissolve when you looked down at your phone, and saw a text from an unsaved number, glaring bright on your glowing lock screen of you hiking with Aaliyah. Still, you recognized it immediately.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

I miss you. Text me back.

✺ ✺ ✺

Steve wasn't exactly keen on joining your live show today, but he did so anyway, because he still had time to himself despite the spiral of events that had happened earlier. There was nothing else to do, and he didn't want to miss out on you after attending almost all of your shows for the past almost three weeks. Didn't want to just leave unexpectedly.

It felt strange that he felt this tug of commitment, but he brushed it off. He was just fulfilling his needs, which should even be expected of him. He was stressed again, after being caught up like he was. And maybe that was all the more reason not to watch your show tonight, but he wouldn't devoid himself of the simple pleasures of life. He'd learned that lesson a while ago, from a special someone called Moonrose.

After everything transpired, he explained himself calmly to his team, slowly to ensure that they'd understand that this wasn't the beginning of a deviant phase, that he wasn't throwing away his work responsibilities to lurk on the NSFW side of the internet. Not that they ever thought that to begin with, they never questioned his abilities or his authority for a minute, not even in the midst of what they'd seen that had shocked them.

This was the product of Steve's own insecurities and his admittedly silly fear that he was somehow letting his team down. He told them that he was on the site, as recommended by Tony, to relieve some "frustration" that he felt he didn't have the time or the means to release in real life. He said that while it had helped him do that, he wasn't throwing away his responsibilities, nor was he dependent on the site or the things on it, or the people on it for that matter.

He knew that if they knew about you, all those private sessions, all those conversations you'd had, the connection you had built between the two of you, it might be a different story. But because they didn't, they appreciated his honesty. They were confused, it didn't seem like the kind of thing Steve would be into, and he ensured them that it was a shock to him as well.

But they didn't mind on the whole, it was just a shock to everyone at first. They didn't think it called for a meeting, thought it was almost humorous how serious Steve was being about such a trivial situation. Wanda had joked about how we've all been there, Thor denied ever having to do such a thing because: "I have all the romantic partners anyone could ask for. I could introduce you Steve, but these Asgardian women are fiery, far beyond anything I believe you could handle." In the end, Steve was relieved, felt like it didn't have the disastrous outcome he'd been expected.

But he could feel his guard slowly coming back up. That was a close call, and it was a little too close for comfort. He didn't want to disregard you, but he couldn't afford to sink further in, and get his team involved. He just didn't want to face the consequences he could imagine if they knew how much he decided to stick with you, how much you talked, how it was teetering off the range of normal customer to cam girl interaction.

It wasn't like he was careless when it came to his interactions with you, but he also didn't want his team to know about his business when it came to you. He didn't want them thinking he was engaging too much, didn't want it to get to the point where he was worrying again or felt like he needed to deny himself such wonderful feelings.

All these things were on his mind while he waited for your live show to start. When it did, and he saw your face, he felt a little bit alleviated. Just for now, he could have this fantasy to himself. If they knew about the site, so be it. At least he had you to himself.

      "Hey guys," you mustered a smile, waving to the camera.

Unbeknownst to your viewers, you had spent the past few hours off camera panicking, on the verge of tears, calling Aaliyah frantically so she could help calm you down. That text from that mysterious unknown number had been from your ex's number. The same ex who made you fall into dependency patterns that you worked so hard to get out of, the one who made you feel like you had to work for his love. Like it wasn't something you deserved, just like anyone else.

You had worked so hard to finally wring out all the effects of him, all the bad habits you had fallen into because of him. That was part of the reason why you worked so hard. Not because you were actively avoiding him specifically, but because you were actively bettering yourself. You weren't looking for a relationship. But you knew that if you were in one now, the same things would never happen to you.

When you got that text, it triggered a flood of memories. Feelings you had to work to suppress and actually get over for months so you wouldn't fall back into the same desperate, needy patterns when it came to your relationships with people. All over a simple text from someone you hadn't heard from in almost a year. It hurt you how easy it was to get you to crack, even if you didn't spill out all the way. But on top of the added stress because of school, you were damn close.

You would do the show tonight, anyway. It helped you to escape, although Moonrose was a part of you, it didn't one hundred translate into real life. So in a way, this helped you escape real life. Just for a while. Just like Steve.

You grinned when you saw concerned comments from your watchers:

johnGuy182

Are you okay, moonrose? You seem a little sad.

zenongirl

Girl r u ok? i missed seeing your face!!!

     "Guys, I'm okay," you grinned. And you actually felt better seeing comments from your supporters. It reminded you to cheer up - they were looking for a good show, not a sob story. You leaned back, revealing your stomach in the sheer, sparkly fringed bra you chose to wear (another piece you had designed by yourself). "It's been a looong day."

Steve watched silently, observing your behavior. He didn't notice drastic changes, but you did appear less chipper. Then again, he brushed it off. He didn't expect you to be smiley all the time, you were human too, and this was your work.

"But I'm okay," you reassured, giving that signature grin, genuine and charming and alluring. You were trying to gently distract yourself, get into your act. "I hope you're all just as lovely as I am. I have a special game for you today."

You directed your viewers to your spinning wheel, which you had been working on crafting that week for a game. You grinned as you spinned it. Each act on the wheel cost a certain amount of tokens, and by the end of the game you would garner a bunch of funds. The show went by relatively quickly as you played the game, eventually ending up completely naked.

As ordered by the spinning wheel, you were to use a vibrator. You held it against your clit at the highest setting as you watched the numbers of viewers and the tokens jump up, Steve watching as he stroked himself leisurely. Your legs shook as you restrained yourself from your orgasm so as to increase the length of your showtime, garner more coins to encourage you to come.

     "Mm," you moaned, massaging the vibrator against your clit, getting wetter and slicker by the minute, sliding the toy between your folds. You laughed, breathless. "Fuck, this thing is so powerful. Someone make me come, please make me come. Just a few more tokens for me to come for you."

Steve was hesitant, but he decided to go ahead and give you the amount of tokens you needed. And when you heard the chime of the tokens being added to your account, and saw the name it was attached to, it was like a blast of euphoria. When your legs started to shake, when you started to moan and your stomach started to rise up and down, it was genuine. It was like you were back in a private room with him, although you weren't.

Your orgasm was blood-curdling in the best way, and you felt like you were releasing part of the stress of the past day, the past week. It didn't get any realer than this, once again you felt like he was really there to satisfy you.

      "Oh!" you exclaimed, your mouth dropping open and your blood flowing, moaning. "Yes, Steve, I'm coming for you. Thank you for making me come, Steve!"

Steve had been stroking himself along with you as he watched, and only let himself come now that you had come, his cheeks heating up as he heard you moan his name, something he hadn't been expected. Something about you saying his name like that where everyone could hear, even though he enjoyed the intimacy of private rooms, felt victorious. It felt lewd, salacious, but he couldn't help but enjoy that aspect of it. He moaned through grit teeth while he came, stroking himself to completion.

You came down, thanking everyone for attending and ending the show. But it wasn't long after that you had requested Steve for a private chat. He accepted, because he had gotten used to you doing this a little more frequently. It didn't scare him any more, he just thought of it as making conversation, taking advantage of this connection you had with each other. So when you requested, who was he to say no.

When the chat log opened, you put on your best happy face for Steve, trying to conceal how fatigued this week, today in particular, had made you. But your tired, bleak voice gave it all away, buried deep beneath your smile,

    "Hey, Steve."

Steve was surprised at the sound of your voice. Again, while he understood that you wouldn't be a happy go lucky fairy like personality all the time, he wasn't expecting this. You were smiling, but the weariness in your eyes was hard to miss. And your voice, which usually told light hearted tales, sounded worn down as if from tragedy. He was concerned, his eyebrows furrowed gently,

     "Hi. How are you?"

     "I'm good!" you exclaimed, trying your hardest to really sound "good."

But you were just tired. Tired and sad, and scared - scared of what the future had to hold. You were already dealing with school stress, and the text from your ex-boyfriend was like a bad omen, an anxiety-provoking assurance that things actually would not get better and they would in fact get progressively worse. You weren't even sure why you thought you should be talking to Steve if you were tired and just wanted to sleep off the weight of the week. It would be a weekend tomorrow, and one of your very rare days off.

Maybe you figured that you wanted to talk to him despite your fatigue, because conversation with Steve was a nice distraction. You had let yourself forget that this was still your job, and that you were too tired for anything sexual — you knew he liked talking to you, but you hadn't put into consideration the fact that he might request a sexual act from you. You would be burnt out if he did. The fact that you didn't think about that should've been telling, but your brain was too scattered to think straight.

Anyway, Steve called your bluff, and laughed quietly, his voice inquiring and pressing,

      "How are you really?"

That was all it took to get a deep sigh to come from out of you, all it took to allow yourself to show your true feelings, at least the surface of them, what you felt comfortable showing a customer. You felt a sense of relief and gratefulness for Steve, like he was letting you breathe. And if anything, he especially wasn't enlisted to listen to your problems. But he wanted to, and for that you felt foolishly grateful.

    Steve noted the deep sigh that came from out of you, and he frowned slightly. He could tell you had been holding this in for a while, and some part of him felt remorse for the fact that even though you clearly weren't in the right mindset, you went on and did your show anyway. He felt some guilt for being a part of the reason why you did your show.

    You answered, allowing your voice to be as honest as possible.

    "Honestly?" you chuckled a little, albeit bitterly. "I don't know if you really want to hear me rant to you."

Steve shook his head.

    "Don't be silly," he grinned. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

You felt a warm rush in your chest from the reassurance, and the corner of your lip quirked up in a small smile, before you decided to dive in. You'd spare the emotional details, spare your private life. But it would be nice to talk to someone, just about the general things, right?

    "Well, it's been a pretty stressful week, honestly. I mean, school's been the main source of my stress. My professor's such an asshole, he's basically been telling me my entire senior project, which I need to complete to graduate, needs to be redone? And I can't even fathom how I would have enough time to do that with like, two and a half months left of my senior year. I mean, he said I can keep most details, but I'd have to rework it, whatever that means."

    You kept your emotions at bay, sighing in annoyance just at the story you told, because it really was irritating you. But then you felt deeper things, even more went into why you really were upset.

    Steve nodded, just listening. He was prepared to offer advice, but in your situation, he thought that maybe just letting you rant would be best.

    "That's gotta be annoying," he shook his head understandingly. "Whatever your project is, I'm sure it's wonderful. He shouldn't be forcing you to rework it or make any last minute changes."

    "I know!" you nearly jumped up, feeling amped up now. "And it's just so fucking annoying because I work so hard and I'm really passionate about this project and it just feels like..."

    It felt like you were about to overflow, like a pot of water that had been left on for too long. You were ranting almost uncontrollably now, maybe because of the fact that it was more than this that was tugging at you. Because you'd been carrying the weight of your life on your shoulders all the time, like Atlas carrying the sky, and it felt like that weight was finally starting to mean something.

    Steve could see you were unraveling and he let you, he let you take the time you needed to feel everything you had been holding. If your connection was strong, it was at its strongest here. Sure, you and Steve chatted about a little bit of everything, even had deeper conversations here and there as the weeks went by. But you had yet to genuinely complain to him, because every time you spoke with him, you were happy go lucky Moonrose, with nothing to complain about to begin with. But now, you needed a release by any means, and you were just glad Steve was there for you, even if he wasn't really there. How unlike you to unfold in front of strangers.

   Your breath stuttered as you took in a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm down, only further driving yourself into your rambling. You felt yourself tear up, your voice becoming watery as you continued,

    "It just feels like all my work is turning to shit, and it's so fucking frustrating because I work so hard all the time, I do so much and I manage so much all the time."

     The "hard work" you were talking about wasn't just school and work-related, it pertained to your journey, and how hard you had worked to be a better person. To support yourself. The emotions pent up inside of you, they were more than just being upset over a school project. The idea of someone toxic trying to re-enter your life, someone who had forced you to rework the entirety of your life, made you feel like you were on the verge of crashing. You knew better, but you didn't want to return to those dark days, where the light at the end of the winding tunnel that was your relationship seemed so far away. It was why you were so weary of relationships today. It was crazy how one person could change your life so easily.

     Now you were crying, before you even noticed that you were crying. Tears just seemed to leak out of your eyes, sloshing wet and sudden against your cheeks and underneath your lashes. You wiped them away quickly with the back of your hand, frazzled at the fact that you were crying in front of a customer right now. Steve said he'd listen to you, he didn't say he'd watch you cry and be your therapist. You instantly regretted it, although you couldn't stop yourself, tears threatening to emerge again. If you were cracked before, you were spilling now.

    Steve was surprised too, at the fact that you were crying. You appeared so put together to him, it was almost something he didn't expect from you. He was in shock at first, so much so that professionalism was not on his mind - it was an afterthought. Right now, instead of wondering if this was appropriate, he was occupied with you.

    "I'm sorry," you murmured, but you still hadn't stopped, tears falling out as you blinked. Composure was nothing now, you were sobbing, your shoulders slumped and your head hung as you sniffled. Still you enforced control, wiping away every tear that fell with the back of your hand. "I'm really sorry, I don't mean to cry to you over this, that's so-"

Steve cut you off, shaking his head slowly,

    "It's okay to cry, doll. We all have those days. I know better than anyone that we all have those days."

    You mustered a smile, feeling cared for, feeling accounted for by someone who wasn't even obligated to have to see you like this. Still you shook your head, sniffling,

    "I know. But it's-it's stupid, I shouldn't be crying in front of you."

    "I'm not judging you," Steve said, so nonchalantly and firmly, so genuine that it almost scared you.

You blinked. He should've cared, and he should've judged you. To cry in front of Steve, a customer, was to imply he had some duty to comfort you when he probably just wanted a show. You knew that you didn't have to do anything you didn't want to, but even you had rules when it came to what your customers got to see, and to you, that meant they didn't have to deal with your blues.

     "Really?"

     "Really," he reassured you with a nod.

    Was Steve scared that by giving you this reassurance, this entire situation could become deeper than either of you could handle? Yes. But did he let himself shut down because of those pervasive thoughts that he might get himself into trouble? No. He didn't see you as a liability right now. Right now, even though the situation was certainly questionable (and this was something he had no doubt about. When emotions get into the mix, things could get tricky- he knew this), he saw you as someone who desperately needed someone to talk to. Maybe it wasn't smart of you to make him that someone, but regardless, he was, and who was Steve Rogers not to listen to a person in need?

    You blinked away the last of your tears and swallowed hard. You were making this choice consciously, to tell Steve what had really gotten you to your breaking point. And maybe telling him meant you had trust in him, maybe too much trust for someone who, while great, was still a customer. But you felt like there was nothing you could lose from telling him. Maybe you'd even feel better after the fact.

    You looked down, picking at the body glitter on your arm that you had applied before the show. Your voice was considerably quieter now perhaps because you were looking back on the moment with a clear mind for the first time since it happened. You hadn't been thinking straight ever since you received the text just hours ago. Now your brain was a little quieter with the help of your tears and Steve's reassurance.

       "I think that the stress of this school project is making me resent how hard I work for everything, just to be met with this kind of result, you know? And it's even worse when... things seem to be going backwards. You know, like when you make so much progress, moving on from things that don't serve you, and you've finally done it and you get to flourish in it and then, it just gets taken away from you. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but that's just how this feels."

     Steve nodded, his jaw ticking as he let your words settle in. Somehow, although your situation was so different from his, he felt like your words perfectly described how he felt with the world sometimes. It was even part of the reason he'd held off on talking to you like this, held off on getting too involved. He too had made so much progress in this world, which took so much getting adjusted to in a way that absolutely nobody else could relate to.

    It was a world that he didn't even know, a world that he had never been properly introduced to. He'd had to fend for himself. He did his healing on his own, just like you had. And yet sometimes it felt like he had no control, like the universe was going the opposite way of all his plans. Then he felt stupid for even having plans to begin with, because in life, making plans was like comedy for the gods.

    There was a weird feeling in his chest and stomach, like he'd been stabbed with a gutting realization, and the knife was just turning inside of him, churning his insides. He began to feel a sense of unease, because this deep conversation was beginning to feel incredibly personal. Even though you were talking about your own situation, he couldn't help but think about how much he resonated, and the fact that he felt like he could relate to you on such a deep level scared him. This was more than the conversations you'd had before, more than the simple similarities you and Steve shared. This felt like a conversation that might be too telling for his good and your own.

     He swallowed his words as he listened to you continue. You chose your words carefully, but you had shed yourself of your inhibitions when it came to being truthful.

     "Earlier... I heard from someone I hadn't heard from in a long time. And it kind of pushed me over the edge," out of your mouth stumbled a laugh. You were calmer now, and looked up at the camera, Steve swallowing hard when you did so. It was all so real, just like it was when you touched yourself and moaned Steve's name. "I think it just made me feel all those things I just explained. Because I feel like I worked so hard to rid myself of this person and them trying to come back just feels like all the things I worked so hard on are going to unravel. Even though I know they aren't, it feels like a setback. And that was like, the icing on the cake to this already terrible day, I guess."

      You let out a breathy laugh and smiled gently, shaking your head slowly.

     "I normally wouldn't be telling this to a customer. But here we are. Again, I'm sorry... I feel like I shouldn't have said anything? Should I... have said anything?"

In the brief silence that followed your question,  both you and Steve were thinking the same thing - were you going to regret this? Intimacy both physically and emotionally was good when you capped it at what you both knew to be appropriate. When it came to the physical aspects, you each let your fantasies unwind.

    And on the emotional aspect, though you had both grown closer and more open, some things just didn't get touched upon. But now you had just cried over the screen, and spoke from the depths of your heart. It was scary to open up in such an uncertain situation where your own privacy was an aspect that got involved. There was no doubt that it was too much. It was just a question of whether the result would be negative.

     Steve sighed deeply, a crease forming in his forehead as he furrowed his brows together, folding his arms over his chest.

     "I don't know..." he trailed off, took a breath, a leap, his body practically lurching forward. "But... it can't be a bad thing that you feel comfortable talking to me about this, can it?"

      And there it was, that glint of hope he was trying his hardest to conceal. That feeling he got when he got off that call with you, the one where you both started giving into those unspoken thoughts. That this couldn't be so bad, that you could enjoy each other's company without worrying.  

     You smiled gently,

    "I guess. It does feel weird though, it's not something I normally do. It feels like something I shouldn't be doing."

    You could hear Steve breathing in deeply, and for a moment, you imagined what he might look like, envisioning the outline of a troubled face, eyebrows knit together. You snapped back to reality and made a face, confused by your abrupt thoughts. You had long gotten over the very brief desire to see Steve's face- why was it coming back again?

    "I'll be honest, same here," Steve agreed with your sentiments.

    "Do you always feel like you have to restrain what you say when you talk to people? Or is it just with me?" you added that last part in a quiet voice, biting your lip.

Steve chuckled briefly,

      "Are you asking me if I have trust issues? Because I'd tell you, but I'd have to trust you to do that."

You shook your head and laughed at Steve's stupid joke, and shrugged.

     "I could say the same thing, I think. This person I heard from earlier is... I developed those trust issues because of them. Or, my already existent trust issues became worse. But what's funny about it is that this person was once someone that I loved," even as the words were coming out you questioned why you were letting them, why you were allowing yourself to be so truthful in a situation like this at a time when you were so vulnerable.

      Steve didn't reply, again feeling that sick feeling in his stomach that stemmed from his fear. The fear that this conversation were too serious, fear surrounding the fact that he was able to relate so much to such a personal situation of yours.

    You spoke again, daring to ask the question that felt like a final blow to Steve's stomach,

    "Have you ever been in love, Steve?"

Now Steve knew he was in uncharted territory. Not because he feared you might try to exploit him, but because he was so struck by the fact that he had allowed himself to feel so safe with you and get so close to you. He was surprised at himself for letting you feel safe enough to have these kinds of conversations with him. It all felt like a mistake now. He wanted a way out, any way out. He knew if he even attempted to answer that question, he would be making a big mistake. He had shared some of his most intimate moments with you, but always keeping in mind a very sharp line he didn't want to be crossed.

And in his mind, he thought of the one love he'd had, the one love that hadn't been fulfilled because of the situation he had been thrown into, one he had never signed up for. He thought of how the things he cared most for in life had been discarded, how, like you, he felt like it had gone to shit. How sometimes, though he tried his best to be grateful and had taken that journey of self-healing just like you, it all felt like some sick joke.

Could he even call it love? He wasn't sure. And he wasn't going to answer. He wasn't going to answer at all, because he wouldn't be talking to you again. There would be no chance for this dilemma to resurface, not with you, not on this site. He made the decision with haste and a heavy heart - he was done here.

      The discomfort was well evident in his voice, answering loud and clear, though his voice was morose and a bit closed off. You sensed the shift immediately.

     "I... I can't talk about that right now. Listen, I have to go."

    You felt a pang in your chest at the sudden switch in his demeanor, straightening up and trying not to frown. All this time you had been letting the words spill out, telling yourself not to worry so much, reassuring yourself it was okay to make your feelings known. Now it felt like you should've never said anything at all. You started to stammer.

      "Oh, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I was just... I feel like I got a little overwhelmed." You laughed nervously. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Steve felt his throat ran dry as he blinked, feeling emotions come up to surface that he wasn't quite familiar with. Maybe he was grieving in advance, regretting the decision he was making to no longer speak with you, regretting the fact that he was letting fear get in the way of what he wanted so badly to be a good thing.

    "No, I'm sorry. I feel like I let things go too far," Steve apologized, but the apology felt more like an insult.

Was he implying that whatever this was, you couldn't handle it, and that it was his fault for somehow leading you on? You had both made the connection with each other, it was an equal effort. And why was he acting like the two of you communicating at all was somehow below him, somehow a risk? If anything, you were the one risking it just by talking to him the way you did. You were opening up to him. 

     You almost felt betrayed - you had convinced yourself that he wouldn't want to listen to your problems and you told yourself it wasn't his responsibility to listen. And then he listened anyway, told you that he wanted to hear it, and you cried to him. You felt like you had made so many unusual accommodations just for him to scare off like this. He was just another person you had expressed your feelings to, only to regret it in the end.

    "Too far?" you questioned, furrowing your brows.

Steve swallowed. In your voice he could hear a hint of frustration, but even worse- hurt. It pained him more than he cared for you to know.

    "I don't think we should talk anymore," he said instead.

    "What?" you were taken by surprise. "Steve, I'm... I'm not understanding. I... I don't usually open up to people like this, I mean, I thought maybe it was fine here, because I feel like I know you. But you're still a stranger. I understand you're a customer but I thought we were talking, I thought we broke through that wall-"

    "We did. And we shouldn't have," Steve said, his voice so calm and firm that it was almost cold.

    By now you were just staring into the computer camera, as if you were looking at him and waiting for him to come to his senses. But as you did that, you slowly came to your own. Because you weren't looking at him. You were looking at a black screen with his voice behind it. You realized you hadn't known Steve, not enough to talk about these things. And just like him, you too were full of regret. You kept all those walls up for the sake of customer relations, only to put them down and be met with this disastrous result.

    Steve almost couldn't bare to look at your face anymore. You were confused, hurt. He could tell you regretted the fact that you had opened up. He was hurt too, but he wouldn't show it, or let it overcome him to the point where your methods of communication with each other became something neither of you could control. Still, yes, he was hurt.

    But he had been through plenty of hardships in life. What was one more, even if it shouldn't have come to this point anyway?

    "I'm sorry, Moonrose. We can't. Goodbye."

Chat over.

[punkscowardschampions]

Amber & Cosmo

Amber: [Okay so I’m just gonna write my diabolical idea here so we know how it’s kicking off, basically whenever Dash and Amber hooked up- which was long ago enough that he should but hasn’t given her the stash back but literally never long enough ago that it won’t be gross to Cosmo that this happened, soz boy- she thought they were doing so in Dash’s bedroom but it’s actually his brother’s so when she comes back looking for her stash/anything she can replace it with, she’s actually ransacking Cosmo’s room and we know it’s blatantly because he lied that he didn’t have any drugs when he in fact did so he’s an all around lovely boy]

Amber: [picture the scene of him walking into his own room like wtf and then she has to hurriedly explain all of the above and then I figure I can start this convo when she’s for real in Dash’s room searching the right one lol]

Amber: I’m so so so sorry

Amber: I can’t find the words…

Cosmo: [The levels we would’ve been like GET OUT without terrifying her into fully leaving, in our room fuming rn]

Cosmo: Did you take any of my shit?

Amber: I’m not here for anything that isn’t mine, I told you

Cosmo: You said a lot

Cosmo: and fast

Cosmo: You’ll excuse me if I was more distracted by the more pressing issues like the stranger in my fucking room

Amber: Because you were saying the same thing again and again

Amber: and loud

Amber: my pressing issue was, and is, me not getting arrested

Cosmo: That’s your life choices

Cosmo: maybe don’t break and enter if you don’t wanna be worrying about that, there you go, pro-tip

Amber: Passive aggression towards me is understandable but please don’t threaten a real act of, you know I’m no burglar

Cosmo: I don’t know that, I don’t know who the hell you are

Amber: If you need to empty out my pockets to be sure, I’ve not left

Amber: yet

Cosmo: I can’t see anything missing

Amber: I feel stupid for not realising it couldn’t be his room

Amber: stupider

Cosmo: It’s an unpleasant way to find out he’s a piece of shit for you but you’ll be better off for knowing

Amber: Typically unfair of the universe not to let me have the information before we had sex

Cosmo: I might be more willing to extend sympathy if it weren’t in my fucking bed

Amber: Take mine because it was

Amber: but believe me that I didn’t know

Cosmo: Doesn’t change the fact

Cosmo: He’s fucking dead

Amber: I can’t change it now, but I’ll bring you some new sheets to show you the sorry was meant

Amber: and knock before I come through your window

Cosmo: Or you could just not, on both counts

Amber: if you want

Cosmo: Funny when someone breaks in you don’t really get much say

Amber: It’s your choice from here on though, I was being pushy when I thought it was your lying brother’s window

Cosmo: Generous

Cosmo: What are you even looking for?

Amber: 🌿 I borrowed my dad’s stash

Amber: borrowed is the important part

Cosmo: How does that work

Cosmo: except for not, clearly

Cosmo: You may as well go, ‘cos that will be long gone

Amber: Empty handed!? I can’t do that

Cosmo: Help yourself to any crap he’s got in there

Cosmo: doesn’t bother me

Amber: I don’t think there’s anything in here my father would accept as a 🕊

Cosmo: No shit

Cosmo: Unless he’s also got the taste of a wannabe hippie

Amber: Their wardrobes are unsurprisingly similar but he’d kill me if I brought home new items to replace the handful of old clothes he already owns

Cosmo: You’re one of them

Cosmo: Figures, only people who’ll associate with him at this point

Amber: Them?

Cosmo: You live in the compound

Amber: oh right 👽

Amber: yes, I’ve lived there for a few months

Cosmo: My sympathies on that one

Amber: 😂 Thanks, but even going back empty handed wouldn’t result in a RIP 🥤 ending, it’s okay

Cosmo: There’s hardly a shortage where that came from

Amber: or of worse places I could or have lived

Amber: Have you always lived here?

Cosmo: I’d phone social for you but the case is well-established already, I reckon

Cosmo: Dublin? Always

Cosmo: Better postcode for a bit but now just on the weekends

Amber: better because…?

Cosmo: All the reasons they put on the listings

Cosmo: price, location, near to whatever amenities you might want, idk, you know what better means

Amber: You forgot no strange girls climbing in your bedroom window, it was the perfect opportunity to stay angry at me

Amber: but this is better, agreed 🙃

Cosmo: I’m still angry, don’t worry

Cosmo: you’d not get anywhere near my dad’s windows

Amber: so you get the weekends off from me

Cosmo: I’m definitely not doing his dirty work for him, he doesn’t deserve that but neither do you so

Cosmo: If stealing your stash and not letting you in his room wasn’t hint enough, he’s not gonna make you his girlfriend, okay

Amber: I’m not THAT stupid, I don’t know what you got from first glance or this on going impression but it sounds like I don’t want to know

Cosmo: You aren’t going to be here every weekday then, that’s what I mean

Amber: I could be, I found a lot of spare rooms on the way to his, they’re not as nice as yours but they don’t have horrific memories attached

Amber: yet

Cosmo: We’re not looking for lodgers and you just moved

Amber: over half a year ago isn’t a just

Amber: Why don’t you want to live with me?

Cosmo: 😂

Cosmo: You’ve got jokes, at least, if not your stash

Amber: if you had manners you’d help me

Cosmo: You and my brother desecrated my bed

Cosmo: Why’d I owe you anything, like

Amber: You’re 🤬 at him, he’s owed us both getting our own back and I can’t do a good enough job at it on my own

Cosmo: You’ve got a point, alright

Cosmo: [Come in]

Amber: [picture her buried in this carnage because she’s so smol and his room was such a mess before she even got there, just looking at him as she’s trying unsuccessfully to like throw this mattress out of the window like hello]

Cosmo: [just walking over and taking that off her with ease because you’re tall, lean it against the wall like not gonna happen babe, because as much as we’d like to throw your mattress in the stinky pond, we don’t want to cause hassle for Ali or Billie because we’re a good boy unlike someone, rifle through the mess of clothes and put aside any that might be worth something, indicate as much by doing the money thing with your hands like kaching]

Amber: [at least she’ll be too busy being shamelessly impressed by how tall and strong you are to pout about it, so you’re welcome but also lowkey not because like I said shameless haha]

Cosmo: [at least you can maintain eye contact and look at her right back as you’re like ‘what?’ ‘cos you don’t not know what you look like lol]

Amber: [sitting down on a skateboard that’s on the floor because the bed would be off limits even if the mattress wasn’t on the lean ‘what are we doing?’ like we need do more than raid his clothes if we wanna really annoy him but also the saucy undertone is obvious especially because eye contact hasn’t been broken remotely]

Cosmo: [shrugs ‘he doesn’t care about anything’ but not as offhand as that sounds because we are constantly and entirely at a loss with him ‘take what will make it worth it for you’ break that eye contact to look around like hmm]

Amber: [rolls the skateboard at him but obvs in a playful not aggressive manner cos we’re getting up as if to leave like ‘it was nice to meet you’ because not at all unspoken vibe of that makes it worth it for me]

Cosmo: [pick it up as we raise a brow half like was it and half yeah it was ‘cos duh ‘these are pricey-’ gesture to all the skateboards lying about with the one you’re now holding ‘and easier to get out the window’]

Amber: [sitting on said window ledge rn because even if it’s a tiny one so is she and we were gonna climb out before he made that suggestion DUH ‘maybe but what’ll I do with them’ looks down at self and her aesthetic because we’re nothing if not self aware baby ‘other than string one of the wheels onto a necklace’]

Cosmo: [a small lol but in a yeah that’s true look at you way without being THE RUDEST ‘put ‘em in a sock and you’ve got a weapon’ does the thing where you pick something up with your toes on some laundry ‘I’d supply your own sock though’ like ew]

Amber: [a lol of her own at his monkey footed antics and opening the window like that sock is THE GROSSIEST and it stinks in here which lbr isn't that much of an exaggeration 'the creativity doesn't sweeten the deal enough that part of it would be allowing me to use violence for conflict resolution, sadly' a pout 'but admitting you want me to stay here instead of trying to get me kicked out of there remains an option, thankfully' a grin like 😁]

Cosmo: [at least you can throw some of his clothes out the window without affecting your mother and grandmother so doing that without touching anything truly DISGUSTANG but giving her a look as if that suggestion is, but with a 😏 ‘cos don’t need to go that hard with the rudeness rn ‘we’d charge more rent’]

Amber: [looks around at the stuff he has already said is worth money before hopping down from the window to pick up a guitar Dash has obvs left lying around 'how much?']

Cosmo: [shrugs because not our bag ‘aren’t all instruments kinda expensive?’ ‘cos true unless it’s like a play guitar lmao]

Amber: ['instruments in this condition are, sure' because we're blatantly holding a flashy electric guitar rn not a beat up acoustic like she's used to seeing all the hippies play 'but it can't have any sentimental value' like there's no point taking it if he's not even gonna notice]

Cosmo: [‘good luck with that’ like he don’t care about anything ‘cos that’s how it seems hen]

Amber: [such a face on because even though he's proved they weren't friends and he's a dick she at least thought his hippie vibe wasn't total bollocks but all this expensive shit hard-core goes against that so with a sigh and a shrug she's going back to the window like well I might as well leave then 'thanks anyway, and sorry, again']

Cosmo: [a noise like that’s simplifying things a bit, a psh if you will, ‘guess he fucked you over first’ but a sincere face to show we know he did ‘just don’t do this again’ gestures vaguely like what bit do you mean sir]

Amber: ['it's my dad's stash, not mine' as if that's the only thing Dash did wrong because we're not gonna get into the fact you've known him for months you thought and likewise thought you were friends as everyone just thinks you're a slutty hippie stereotype so you have no reason to believe it's not the same assumption here 'I'll find a different way to replace it']

Cosmo: [reach in your pocket like how much even though you are a bit 😒 because essentially paying for your dickhead brother’s habit rn]

Amber: ['no!' such a fierce shake of her head and such a fiercely angry face because it's not his debt or problem even if it was actually about the money/ drugs instead of the lies and Dash's shitty behaviour which turns into a sad face/head in hands moment when she says 'I was beginning to think I couldn't feel any worse about how I've treated you' and just really quietly basically under her breath adding 'stupid' because @ herself for everything including thinking this was a good idea and still being here]

Cosmo: [‘hey’ and moving forward but then moving back awkwardly just as fast ‘cos we don’t really know what to think about you rn, as is this weird situation you find yourselves in ‘forget about it, I’m fine’ add ‘and the bit that ain’t fine is on him so don’t feel bad, honestly’]

Amber: [at least you can't see that awkward move back and feel worse for that gal because even though he's right and it's not really your fault you feel bad 'it's my fault he used your room, plenty of other girls from the commune wouldn't and haven't insisted on going anywhere else, and mine too that I'm at your house again today...I should've let it go' because we're never gonna be the peace and love cliche soz parents but we know that's what you want]

Cosmo: [‘he’s owed worse’ like I get why you didn’t let it go, even if your method is dubious babe]

Amber: [a smile that’s genuine relief because who else gets it in your life remotely but then you remember that so you’re like ‘retribution delivered karmically not by me’ but we still haven’t left and we obviously don’t mean it and aren’t trying to pretend we do with our tone because we’re not at the commune now bitches fight us]

Cosmo: [‘good luck with that’ ‘cos same energy of that’s bullshit]

Amber: [a little lol because he literally typed exactly that earlier like okay boy I get it ‘I’m owed worse’ than bad luck or being called out on bullshit that isn’t even hers but he thinks is, both definitely]

Cosmo: [‘undoubtedly’ and a shrug like soz, life’s shit]

Amber: ['where did you get it?' Meaning the money he just tried to give her obvs because she's thinking she might have to get a job to pay her dad back and even though she's clearly worked out from what he said about a better postcode at the weekend and how much stuff Dash has and how he treats it that it's likely from his dad but we hate when people make assumptions about us so we're not trying to do that]

Cosmo: [‘I go to a football academy’ not in the braggy way that sounds just stating the fact, she’s probably not aware that means you get paid boy but go off ‘if you need the cash, you should just take it’ like seriously gal, looking at her like]

Amber: ['What's that like?' SO surprised and intrigued in all the ways not like you could NEVER boy but she's obviously never met anyone else who does anything like that and even more importantly just really driving the point home that we don't know a thing about you and how wild it is we are here having this convo not to mention you're literally offering us money again which we are gonna shake our head to again as we make yet more eye contact 'when I need the money, I'll figure it out for myself' not angry tone this time just stating a fact]

Cosmo: [When you don’t really know how to answer that ‘cos the assumption always is that it’s a dream come true obvs because it is a big opportunity but it’s still a job at the end of the day, one you start much younger than most kids even get a part-time so we’re kinda like what do you mean lmao ‘yeah, it’s great, better than wasting my time at normal school, like’ asking a question back ‘cos not rude ‘you go to school?’ ‘cos undoubtedly aware loads of the commune lot don’t]

Amber: [‘I'm picturing the hunger games with a football' cos we are and that's what we mean lol because normal school is savage enough never mind something so focused on talent and competitiveness like 'are you a scorer?' Bringing back her adorably not knowing football terms and it's like it makes sense you would thrive there if you are and that type haha, nodding our answer to his question 'my dad teaches the kids who don't go' as if that's the only reason we go to school]

Cosmo: [little lol ‘maybe when you’re younger’ ‘cos obviously not all of you make it ‘but we all have pro contracts now, the deadweight is gone’ pop off with the basic explanation of your position on the team for her, we know the vibe hun, nods back ‘better than nothing, I guess’ but we clearly don’t really think so ‘you’re in his year?’ part sympathy part disgust lmao]

Amber: [obviously gonna ask him who his contract is with and if she can see him play but I won't commit you to picking a real team if you don't want to it's just to show that she's genuinely interested because likewise asking him other relevant questions when he's explaining the position he plays etc 'I don't mind school, being in the year above him definitely helps’ because my vibe is she would like school for lots of reasons but she's also Lowkey struggling a lot with it hence she doesn't really have time for a job rn very past me energy of having to do schoolwork until you literally go to bed]

Cosmo: [‘I don’t think it’ll be your scene’ and such a look of confusion that she asked like what do you want, suspish lol, smile though ‘that’s something’ ‘cos no one should have to suffer Dash in our opinion lmao]

Amber: ['Why not?' Such a genuine question but we aren't mad yet because we've clearly never been to a football match before so he might have a valid reason for thinking that and gonna give him the benefit of the doubt and obviously gonna throw something vaguely school related out of the window but nothing that would inconvenience your poor mother or nan though like yeah it's gonna be very important to me that we don't have to cross paths at school as well cos livid lol]

Cosmo: [‘Come on, you don’t think it’s all meat pies and

misogynists, like?’ with a 😏 energy ‘people like you are more likely to run onto the pitch with a sign than sit in the stands’ shakes head ‘sure he skives loads anyway, as the rest of this house actually has places to be and can’t keep a constant eye on him like the kid he is’ like you’ll barely have to see him, don’t worry, probs true]

Amber: [a lol ' are you saying it is or just that you don't want someone like me waving a sign with your name on from the stands?' Ignoring the Dash stuff entirely because now we know what a knob he is we are so over him]

Cosmo: [who can possibly say energy because that’s amused us lowkey]

Amber: ['I wanna see you play' because we do]

Cosmo: [‘why?’ because the levels we’re like WHAT DO YOU WANT cannot be overstated lmao]

Amber: [' Because I think it sounds fun, why don't you want me to?']

Cosmo: [‘if you want to go to a football match, you can’ like you don’t need to come to mine, which sounds ruder than we mean it, just pointing this out]

Amber: [the poutiest because rude and also we aren't stupid we're aware of that thank you boy 'and hold up a sign saying what, for who?' Because duh the fun is cheering you on sir]

Cosmo: [‘We don’t do cheerleaders’ but looking at her slightly less suspish and more curious]

Amber: ['okay, I won't wear the outfit, your loss' accidentally very saucy mental image soz not soz]

Cosmo: [we’re getting such slag vibes ‘cos of how this has all gone down so we’re like steady on gal ‘cos we’re not trying to put out that we’ll get on you ‘cos we know you’ve got previous, not that kinda boy, very #awks on your behalf ‘funny’]

Amber: [Ngl love that because she’s really not but he’s gonna keep thinking this for ages if she hooks up with a random at the clerb again this time and when she dates this old ass dude despite the fact it’s the first time she’s done either haha ‘Pom poms are usually plastic’ spoken like plastic is a swear word lol ‘and tissue paper isn’t recyclable either, environmentally responsible arts and crafts are the limit’]

Cosmo: [rolls eyes but not in the sarky energy of the emoji ‘what the fuck would you wave, some broccoli?’]

Amber: ['I can cut the cardboard into any shape’ so amused genuinely ‘so yes, if you like’]

Cosmo: [‘sure I wouldn’t wanna hinder your creativity, express yourself’ in a faux hippie energy]

Amber: ['I wouldn’t want everyone to think I was there protesting the pies and misogyny’🤔 ‘What number are you?’]

Cosmo: [‘hopefully I don’t mess up or you’ll have to add the racism to the list’ but tell her your number obvs]

Amber: [do a tick on the palm on her hand with her finger like noted ‘Does that mean I’m invited?’]

Cosmo: [‘it’s not an invite event’ shrugs ‘cos we still do not get this lmao ‘can’t stop you’]

Amber: [‘Unfriendly’ because I’m bringing that pun back thank you]

Cosmo: [my boo says I can and I will, ‘so weird’ kinda under our breath but not in a snide way so she could hear]

Amber: [‘it being weird to be interested in getting to know you says more about you than me’ like 😏 energy of what you’re so unlikeable are you as if the weirdness doesn’t come from the fact you hooked up with his brother and then broke into his house but okay babe]

Cosmo: [‘we’re not going to be friends’ like that’s a fact, bit rude but also I understand]

Amber: [‘We could be’ again so genuine as if there’s not reasons why you wouldn’t]

Cosmo: [‘no’ very simply even if we’re a bit #conflicted ‘cos don’t want to be a dick to you]

Amber: [‘okay’ because you literally can’t and wouldn’t argue with that so just actually go to leave for real this time gal]

Cosmo: [gonna have to let her go for now but let some time pass but like 15 mins ish not like a long time, enough that she’s gone though]

Cosmo: I didn’t mean to offend you

Amber: You didn’t, it would have offended me if you’d said no after your first 👀

Cosmo: Good

Cosmo: because it’s not about you

Cosmo: it isn’t a problem with you personally, I mean

Amber: it’s about your brother, I know, I’m not a real 👽 I understand why

Cosmo: Amongst other things, yeah

Amber: other things you don’t have to explain to me, it’s okay, I meant and mean it

Cosmo: alright

Amber: Thanks for trying to help me

Cosmo: There’s other ways to screw him over, if you want to

Amber: are there?

Cosmo: ‘course

Cosmo: there are things he cares about, even if not his things

Amber: like…?

Cosmo: think about it, he made it obvious

Cosmo: access to drugs and hippie girls

Amber: I don’t have a way to take either of those from him

Cosmo: Yeah you do

Cosmo: you live there, they’re your ‘family’ or whatever nonsense

Amber: not the girls he goes for, they’re always new

Cosmo: you can’t put it in the welcome pack

Amber: I’m not going to draw more attention to him, there’s already too much, and some of these girls would be more attracted to any negatives I pointed out, for reasons I don’t need to explain

Cosmo: drugs then, the new girls won’t be the source of those

Amber: Neither am I

Cosmo: it’ll be blokes

Cosmo: or at least adults

Cosmo: braindead or otherwise, they can’t all be fooled by him and his bullshit

Cosmo: get him cut off

Amber: I’m flattered you think my word is worth more than money to a dealer, but I’m not sure it is

Cosmo: I thought it was nature’s bounty with you lot only

Cosmo: and you pretended to have morals about it all

Amber: pretended being the key word, but I’ll try and get him blacklisted

Cosmo: I’m just saying, fuck up his spot there, that’s the only thing that would bother him

Cosmo: If you can’t then you can’t, sorry

Amber: I just don’t want him to think I care about his behaviour because of the bad sex we had, which he probably will

Cosmo: Yeah, probably

Cosmo: he loves himself enough to believe everyone else does

Amber: If they were my sisters this would be a lot easier

Cosmo: It’s a big enough place to avoid him, yeah?

Amber: But letting him get away with this is giving him free passes for as long as he wants to lie and treat other people the same, I shouldn’t allow it when the only reason is because I don’t really have time for a full blown vendetta, who am I if I do that?

Amber: …sorry for the vent, this isn’t your responsibility

Cosmo: You’re clearly a decent person

Cosmo: You can’t be responsible for all the ones that aren’t

Cosmo: I should do something because he’s my brother, right

Cosmo: but I can’t

Amber: I’m taking the compliment, after that we can stop talking about him

Cosmo: You wanted help with it

Amber: And the dealer angle is helpful ⭐️

Cosmo: Alright, I didn’t have to like but I felt bad for you

Amber: You could’ve stopped there and not made me feel bad about myself

Cosmo: I was trying to do the opposite

Cosmo: you got sarky with your ⭐️s

Cosmo: I didn’t fuck you over

Amber: It was genuine, for a genuinely good idea! I also said thank you and sorry, like, multiple times

Cosmo: Who uses gold stars genuinely

Amber: My dad has sheets of them he never uses sarcastically if you wanna start being someone

Cosmo: Alright, teacher jokes

Cosmo: You understand that it looks sarcastic though

Cosmo: To standard people

Amber: To people who don’t think it was a good idea, you mean, but who are they? It makes sense and will probably work

Amber: and I understand why it’s easier for you to take this stance with me, sure, we’ve been through that

Cosmo: What stance?

Amber: close to argumentative without crossing over the line, defensive

Cosmo: You broke into my house, I dunno how you aren’t getting that

Cosmo: unless you’re purposefully pretending not to, which is your dick move, not mine

Amber: I know I did, but you have no reason to feel unsafe because of me, which we’ve also been through

Cosmo: I don’t, feel unsafe

Cosmo: I don’t think that means we need to talk or get to know each other

Amber: It’s not going to happen again which means you don’t have to see me again, and we can stop talking any time too

Cosmo: You’re acting like I’m being rude

Amber: No, I said it was fine when you asked me if I was offended

Cosmo: What were you trying to do, asking about me

Amber: get the answers

Cosmo: 🙄

Cosmo: Yeah but why

Amber: Why wouldn’t I want to leave you with an impression which isn’t me as some BIG BAD coming through your window? Because I’m not and you wouldn’t think so if we bumped into each other in town anywhere ‘normal’

Cosmo: So you was trying to get yourself out of trouble

Cosmo: Yeah, okay, that makes sense

Cosmo: I just wanted to know why, that’s all

Amber: I don’t wanna be in trouble but it wasn’t that calculating

Amber: isn’t

Amber: meeting new people, striking up conversation in situations that other people often don’t think are natural, kinda are to me

Cosmo: It’s not a bad thing, I could’ve called the police on you

Cosmo: obviously you don’t want that

Cosmo: you don’t need to worry, I won’t, even if it is a bit late now anyway

Cosmo: Sure, but even so

Cosmo: you can’t say you’re doing that on the regs

Amber: You don’t have my name and the description you could give wouldn’t narrow it down very much once you directed them here

Amber: but I’d still prefer you didn’t, I’m not gonna lie

Amber: I don’t get pushed to those extremes regularly, no, because most people who say they’re my friends are and don’t treat me how Dash did

Amber: if you’re waiting for me to say sorry for making the best out of the unexpected, you being there, I’m not going to

Cosmo: I’ve seen plenty of them, they don’t look like you

Cosmo: Well I’m glad to hear you aren’t regularly breaking and entering

Cosmo: I don’t need an apology

Amber: What do you need, besides the ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️?

Cosmo: Ha ha

Cosmo: like I said, I just didn’t get it

Cosmo: and who says I want to leave a bad impression either

Amber: I haven’t met a ⚽️🏆⭐️ before, if I asked too many questions, that’s why, but if I made you feel uncomfortable, that’s a worse impression and you’ll get an apology anyway

Amber: Not you, or you wouldn’t have helped and I’d be talking to the police instead

Cosmo: I’m used to that

Cosmo: Usually from lads though

Cosmo: or girls but it’s more obviously fake

Cosmo: I’m no ⭐️ yet anyway

Cosmo: I’m not being compared to him, even if that means doing shit it isn’t my job to, I’d rather

Amber: I’m not comparing you, in spite of it turning out I only know Dash as well as I know you

Amber: you could’ve told me you didn’t want me coming to watch you play because of the other girls that do, I’m used to plenty at school being jealous of the way I look

Cosmo: And I intend to keep it that way, the lack of comparison

Cosmo: If I say that’s not what I meant will you accuse me of trying to make you feel bad again?

Amber: What did you mean? If you’re not trying to make me feel bad, I won’t accuse you of anything you haven’t done

Cosmo: It’d be weird if you came because my dad will be there

Amber: I’m even more used to that, all my ‘normal friends’ parents are judgmental about my piercings and the tattoos they can see, it’s okay, I don’t have to come

Cosmo: He wouldn’t judge you, but games are about winning, focus, all that

Cosmo: not inviting random strangers

Amber: He’d still be judging me for how he thinks I’ll behave, as a distraction, either way I’m a bad influence 😈

Cosmo: He’d just be pissed off with me, honestly

Amber: I’ll have to wait to watch you on tv one day, keeping it a secret from my parents who’d be 😠 at me

Amber: and if I get too impatient I can always break into the bedroom of one of your teammates, befriend them and cut their number out of cardboard…

Cosmo: You reckon, do ya

Amber: That you’ll be a 📺⭐️ or someone else on the team will be happy to have me appear in their bedroom? Because yes, I do

Cosmo: 😂 Can’t knock the confidence

Amber: Negging hasn’t been considered flirting since approximately the 90s, so no

Cosmo: Reckoning I’m flirting with you borders on delusional

Amber: which borders on what, ableism? Keep going if you have nothing to do but dig to Australia

Cosmo: Entertaining your fantasies isn’t a requirement for being a good person, whatever politically correct label you wanna throw on it

Amber: If my fantasies were that instantaneous I wouldn’t need entertainment from anywhere else

Cosmo: Good luck with that

Amber: Thanks, I am bored enough to attempt construction of a fully make believe world

Cosmo: You have time to get bored?

Amber: it’s not a forced labour camp

Cosmo: you wouldn’t keep around useless stoners if it was

Amber: And as someone who fits that mould, thank god 🙌🏽

Cosmo: it’s usually more exploitation in the name of free love anyway

Cosmo: and that doesn’t sound familiar at all

Amber: Because you’ve never been in any way exploited

Cosmo: I haven’t, actually, but that’s not really the point

Amber: Of course you have

Cosmo: How have I?

Cosmo: You’re chatting shit which won’t detract from the fact that place attracts nothing but predators of one kind or the other

Amber: Your parents sacrificed you to ⚽️🏆⭐️ the same as mine did to me with ✌🏽☮️💙 we’re both indoctrinated, yours just has a definite job prospect attached to it

Cosmo: You don’t know a single thing about me or my parents, you asked a few questions

Cosmo: you confirmed my brother picks off new girls like a opportunist abuser, and I know he ain’t the only one who treats that place like that

Cosmo: I didn’t say fuck all about you or your parents

Amber: Sport attracts predators too, nobody’s condemning it because of how a large number of people in positions of power treat the ones they have power over

Cosmo: Sport is regulated

Cosmo: for fuck’s sake

Amber: We open our doors to vulnerable people, there are always going to be other people who try and take advantage of that, and maybe at the next place they do there won’t also be as many people around who care

Cosmo: Yeah, you’ve identified the problem there

Cosmo: vulnerable people need protection and actual help

Cosmo: not care from a bunch of people who are entirely unqualified to do shit

Amber: They get help from qualified adults, not every person living there is a clueless teenager and you are actually allowed to leave

Cosmo: Yeah, that’s the point, anyone getting enough real help would leave

Cosmo: it’s a half-way house at best and for every ‘success’ and person that gets the fuck out, you have just as many that get sucked into bullshit they otherwise wouldn’t if you weren’t there

Amber: You’ve never even been there

Cosmo: Don’t need to

Cosmo: if the evidence weren’t out my window, it’s in my house and all so

Amber: Dash based evidence would make anyone cynical

Cosmo: You wish he was your only problem

Cosmo: just because he’s a dick, don’t mean he’s not got it from somewhere, or he wouldn’t get away with it

Amber: Nowhere’s perfect or fucked irreparably, you wish it was that cut and dry

Cosmo: I’m not the one who thinks I’m creating a utopian society

Cosmo: no one needs perfect, just not batshit harmful bullshit

Amber: Neither am I

Cosmo: Not you personally

Amber: So stop attacking me personally, get a 📢 and point it out of your window towards someone who really believes all the things you think are harmful bullshit

Cosmo: I’m not attacking you

Amber: You’re saying things I either have to agree or disagree with about my home and way of life that I’ve already had to spend a really long time defending or denouncing in exactly the same way

Cosmo: You don’t like it because it’s true

Cosmo: I can’t help that

Cosmo: but it’s exactly why there’s no point talking again

Amber: I can’t help that my parents like it there and really believe in things I don’t

Cosmo: Don’t they care what you want?

Amber: I go to school, we’ve stayed long enough for me to make friends, as far as they are concerned, I’m getting what I want

Cosmo: Is that all you want though?

Amber: it’s getting my own way more than a lot of my friends do, what 17 year old gets everything they want?

Cosmo: Parents should give a shit about their kid’s happiness

Cosmo: it’s not being a brat about wanting more money and a later curfew

Amber: I care about their happiness too

Cosmo: they aren’t meant to make that your problem

Amber: Putting me first and their own lives to the side would cause problems for all of us, if they’re miserable I’m not gonna be happy, and not expressing it wouldn’t mean it wasn’t still obvious

Cosmo: Are they happy?

Amber: Happier than they’ve been for years, my dad left his girlfriend and my mama has a new boyfriend, they’re both loving their jobs and the people they’ve met here who they aren’t dating too… I’d say they are

Cosmo: You’re scared they’ll want to leave again

Cosmo: or that place will get shut down and they’ll be no choice in it

Amber: They will or it will, what I’m afraid of is when it does I’ll make the choice to stay and they won’t

Cosmo: If they’d rather be helping other people than their own kid that’s fucked

Amber: I’m their 👶🏽 forever but not a child, they’d rather treat me like an adult

Cosmo: Whether you’re ready for that or not?

Amber: Some things you don’t ever feel ready for, but they have to happen anyway and when they do you’re almost always 😁 or at least slightly relieved it’s done

Cosmo: You aren’t old enough to be left anyway, whatever they’d rather do

Amber: An irrational fear for a while longer

Amber: I’m not bored enough for crystal healing

Cosmo: That’s not a thing

Cosmo: you’re taking the piss now

Amber: it’s not something that works, but it’s something that happens

Amber: often

Cosmo: I suppose I don’t even wanna know what that entails

Cosmo: if it’s not good enough for max boredom even

Amber: What are you doing? Now that you’re done making me question my entire life

Cosmo: I really weren’t

Cosmo: I know there’s fuck all you can do but there’s plenty actual adults there could and haven’t long before you showed

Cosmo: I need to go do my run

Cosmo: I’m behind schedule now

Amber: You haven’t really, don’t feel bad, it’s my turn again for putting you behind schedule

Cosmo: Inexcusable, really

Cosmo: If we’d have found a way for you to get back at him and/or get your money back we’d be further behind so win some lose some

Amber: I’m sorry x 9

Cosmo: I get it, I don’t deserve the sincerity of actually bothering to type it out

Cosmo: Call it even then?

Amber: I’d prefer to call us odd but okay

Cosmo: ‘course, got to keep it 👽 I know

Amber: Tempting fate slightly, unless you want to get abducted on your run

Cosmo: I was clearly after an invitation, yeah

Cosmo: I’m alright, tah, only one dickhead who looks like me will be showing

Amber: Is that my invite to a race? Because I don’t think I’d be able to beat you

Cosmo: Is that humility? Doesn’t seem like you

Cosmo: you’ve already been abducted yourself, obvs

Amber: Or shameless untrue flattery

Cosmo: Hmm

Cosmo: Possible, yeah

Cosmo: but you never would beat me so we’re at real delusion again

Amber: Distance or speed?

Cosmo: I have unfair advantages for both

Cosmo: I run up and down a field for 90 minutes a time, and I have about double the leg length you do

Amber: It’s really cute you think I’d let anything happen fairly when I could just cheat

Cosmo: There’s no point having any kind of competition if you don’t follow the rules

Cosmo: take your hollow victory then, see if it feels good

Amber: You’ve made me not want it now! 🥺

Cosmo: N’awh

Cosmo: right buzzkill, I know

Amber: Besides leg measuring, what do you do for fun? And don’t say run up and down a field for 90 minutes

Cosmo: Just what us footie lads are like, good clean fun, unlike rugby

Cosmo: what do you actually do, when you’re avoiding crystal healings?

Amber: The big 🚿 at the end can’t be what makes you happiest either, I don’t believe that’s true of anyone

Amber: other than shopping, I’m sure I do mostly the same as the rest of the girls you know

Cosmo: IDK I’m sure it makes the predatory coaches buzzing when we’re all lathered up 🧼

Cosmo: but shopping is all the girls I know do 😜

Cosmo: I’m the same, is your actual answer, what every 17 year old lad with some disposable income does

Amber: Great, I’ll need the healing to erase that visual…

Amber: It can’t be, because then I’ll have to feel sorry for you AND the girls you know, they’ll have other interests they’re avoiding telling you about, like I am

Amber: the boys I know our age definitely don’t seem like they do much of anything, besides get drunk and high, so there must be A LOT of other hobbies they’re keeping secret from me too

Cosmo: Maybe you’ve uncovered the truth there

Cosmo: Girls and boys don’t tell each other everything, or anything

Cosmo: Or we both know poor examples

Cosmo: Who’s to ever be sure

Amber: But now it’s been uncovered, either way, we can change it

Amber: I’ll go first, the childish faves I was keeping from you are swimming and dancing, because they make me sound about 9 years old

Cosmo: I don’t think so

Cosmo: depends on how you frame it, swimming is great cardio and underwater is a great place to think or not think as much as you need

Cosmo: dancing, likewise great cardio, and good for the soul, sure your lot would put it, mood-boosting for the rest of us

Cosmo: you sound very well-⚪️ed, if anything, not 👶

Amber: It’s your turn

Cosmo: alright, bossy

Cosmo: you already know I like football and I like to run

Cosmo: I like the gym too, swimming as well, actually

Cosmo: going out for meals, drinks, all that stuff

Amber: Nobody likes the gym, the effects and ego boost maybe

Cosmo: I do

Cosmo: it’s a building with workout equipment in, not a torture chamber

Cosmo: and the one at the academy is really good

Amber: you like how much you can 🏋🏽‍♂️ and having your friends to compete against

Cosmo: is that a question or an assumption

Amber: I’m changing it to a question because you caught me in an assumption, which I hate, so ?

Cosmo: 😏

Cosmo: competition is a good motivator, so is seeing progress in your abilities, sure

Cosmo: exercise makes you feel better, whatever form you like doing it in, it’s that simple

Amber: I’m not gonna lie and pretend I do yoga for any other reason than how flexible I am as a result, I guess we finally agree on something, even if it is something shallow

Cosmo: It’s not shallow

Cosmo: giving a shit about your body and your health isn’t just because looking good is nice, it also feels better

Amber: but if I cared about my health there are vices I’ve picked up that I wouldn’t have and things I wouldn’t put into my body which I do, you’re on a journey and I’m doing the occasional day trip

Cosmo: Very hippie-approved

Cosmo: songs about it and everything, right

Cosmo: I do drink, I just try not to get wasted

Cosmo: it’d be unsociable not to at all

Amber: You’d look like a 👽 and you’d have to move somewhere that isn’t Dublin

Cosmo: And change my occupation

Amber: drastic avoidance tactic to stop me from meeting your dad or watching you play

Cosmo: 😂 Not all about you, hippie

Amber: That’s the rudest thing you’ve said to me so far!

Cosmo: And WAGs are meant to be high-maintenance…

Amber: meaning they put time and effort into their appearance, which you just applauded as a virtue in yourself

Cosmo: No, meaning you have to put a lot of effort in to maintain the relationship

Cosmo: but it was a joke before you get all soapbox about it

Amber: a joke I’m not gonna let you get away with making, boy

Amber: but if we need to talk about anything it’s that you don’t think all relationships require a lot of time and effort

Cosmo: I didn’t, it’s a joke that’s made, by people in general

Cosmo: it’s more 🤑🤩 maintenance people are implying, not 🥰😘

Amber: You repeated it, like it’s funny or true, or both

Amber: after I told you I hate assumptions, and stereotypes aren’t any different

Cosmo: They’re inevitable and you’ve made loads about me, my friends and my family so

Cosmo: that sounds like your problem

Amber: The difference is, I’m trying to not and I apologised when I did, you’re doubling down

Cosmo: I’m not doubling down because it’s a joke, which means I didn’t mean it in the first place

Cosmo: You did and that’s why you’re mad

Amber: Why are you like this?

Cosmo: Like what?

Amber: 2 seconds away from an argument at ALL times

Cosmo: You’ve started every one

Cosmo: People like you reckon you can say whatever bullshit you want like you’re so knowing and zen and then I’m the arsehole for not just letting you chat shit on me

Amber: You keep saying people like me, when I’m obviously not like that

Amber: zen or all knowing

Cosmo: I said it was bullshit

Cosmo: It’s what you wanna project

Cosmo: that you’ve got it figured out, which is why you live such a mental way of life, because it’s actually the RIGHT way of life and we’re all stupid and brainwashed, not yous

Cosmo: ⭐️

Amber: I told you why I live there and that I don’t believe in it

Amber: using ⭐️ against me is bullshit

Cosmo: Maybe you can’t help it

Cosmo: you don’t even know you’re doing it

Amber: Do you know you’re being a fucking asshole?

Cosmo: Yeah

Cosmo: do you?

Amber: now I do

Amber: It’s not an intention, but you’re right, sometimes I open my mouth to speak and either of my parents come out

Cosmo: I know the feeling

Cosmo: maybe that’s inevitable too

Cosmo: how individual are any of us really, we’re all just a mess of the people we know

Amber: Better not be! Or I’ve really wasted years fighting to think for myself, carving out compromises to end up not even wanting them

Cosmo: Won’t say good luck with that but

Cosmo: it’s a nice thought, anyway

Amber: A nicer thought than becoming them, living like this forever and being happy with that

Cosmo: What do you want to do?

Amber: It’s stupid

Amber: but I wanna eat 🍕 and buy a new 👗 to wear out somewhere and come home and sleep in a 🛏 on my own or with the same fucking person

Cosmo: That isn’t stupid

Cosmo: I think that’s what a lot of people want

Cosmo: Some variation of, when it comes down to it

Amber: It’s what my school friends already have, that’s why it’s stupid, because I shouldn’t have to fight for it, it’s stupid because they think I have the type of freedom they daydream about

Cosmo: Maybe you do have things they don’t have but want

Cosmo: maybe they’re not as close to their parents, or they’re an only-child who would kill for all the people around

Cosmo: or maybe some people are lucky from the start and some have to make their own

Amber: maybe x 9

Cosmo: If you’re keeping count

Cosmo: You’ll be able to get all those things

Amber: Not for a while, but one day, maybe

Amber: because if I’m keeping count that’s only 4

Cosmo: There’s time for a few more

Amber: If you introduce me to the girls you know who do nothing but shop, I could get a new 👗 in no time, right?

Cosmo: Or you could go with your own friends

Cosmo: the non-commune ones, that won’t cry at a plastic bag

Amber: Maybe… if I hadn’t had the fast fashion rant at them all, I don’t even know I’m doing it, I told you you’d got that right

Cosmo: Ah

Cosmo: I see

Cosmo: I could take you if you want

Cosmo: you’ll have to take cover in the rails if you see one of them coming

Amber: I don’t wanna mess up your schedule again, you’ll have to fit me in when it suits you, not when I’m pouting

Cosmo: Right, so when are you not pouting? 🤔

Amber: When you stop being mean to me

Amber: maybe

Cosmo: Good use of a maybe

Cosmo: How about Saturday lunchtime

Cosmo: I have to eat, after-all

Amber: Teeth off me and my 👗

Cosmo: Not a cannibal

Cosmo: or a moth?

Cosmo: I’m just saying, that’s a free hour, if you’re worried about my schedule

Amber: okay, 1 shop, I promise

Amber: less than an hour

Cosmo: I’ll take that as a maybe

Cosmo: I’m not going to put you on a timer, like

Cosmo: Saturdays are pretty flexible and you’re going to wanna take time to enjoy yourself and all

Amber: You don’t wanna race me, I know

Cosmo: You don’t wanna cheat no more

Cosmo: maybe

Amber: I won’t

Cosmo: Alright

Cosmo: I still don’t wanna make you sad

Amber: I’m not gonna cry because you take 🥇

Cosmo: As long as that’s a promise

Amber: it is, maybe I didn’t know anything about ⚽️ before today but I understand sportsmanship`

Cosmo: What shops do you want to go to?

Amber: I was kinda hoping you’d know the answer

Cosmo: I do, I’ve got you covered then

Cosmo: Pick you up [time]

Amber: from where?

Cosmo: There’s a phonebox outside there, right? Go there

Amber: 🦸🏽

Cosmo: I’ll look for the 🤓 then

Amber: When you asked me what I wanted to do, my first thought was my homework

Cosmo: Serious?

Amber: I have a LOT and it’s really hard to concentrate here

Cosmo: You remember what window is actually his?

Cosmo: ‘cos he’s never in so

Cosmo: You could

Cosmo: as long as you don’t come in the rest of the house, my room included

Amber: Are you serious?

Cosmo: It isn’t my room

Cosmo: just keep to sociable hours, why not

Cosmo: you said homework, not wild party

Amber: thanks

Amber: I’m almost as speechless as I was when you were telling me to leave

Cosmo: I know

Cosmo: I’m not saying I didn’t say some harsh things

Cosmo: It’s been weird but there’s no reason you can’t have somewhere quiet

Cosmo: and apart from me and him, no one really comes up to the first floor much

Amber: weirder than my usual daily life deserves every ⭐️ my dad has

Amber: and so do you, for this and everything else you’ve helped me with

Cosmo: Nah, it’s nothing

Cosmo: not my finest hour, actually

Cosmo: but it’s alright

Amber: it’s not nothing, it’s definitely something

Cosmo: We’re even

Cosmo: it wasn’t all ⭐️s so

Amber: plenty of it was

Cosmo: That don’t make it alright

Cosmo: I don’t make it a habit of being a fucking asshole, believe it or not

Amber: Neither do I

Amber: we’re even

Cosmo: 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

Amber: that’s a weird visual, thanks for it

Cosmo: You’re welcome for the artistic inspiration, like

Amber: if your idea is that your teammate bans me from matches too, there are gonna be easier ways than encouraging me to show up with 9 thumb shaped cardboard signs…

Cosmo: My theoretical teammate

Cosmo: That you ain’t gonna meet

Amber: Yes, him

Cosmo: 😏

Amber: The entire squad can’t all have pushy parents and intense girlfriends

Amber: ⚽⭐🏆🥂🤵

Cosmo: You’re doubling down on the whole stalker thing then, yeah

Amber: The positives speak for themselves

Cosmo: Maybe you’ll be offered a better place to do your homework

Amber: for when you’re spending your weekends in a better postcode and Dash’s room’ll have to be off-limits unless I make no noise and write my essays in the dark

Cosmo: Of course

Cosmo: unless you really wanna explain wtf you’re doing to my nan

Amber: Is the 🍊 thing real? To win over your friends, not your grandma, necessarily

Amber: I’d go for a different fruit in that case

Cosmo: It’s more of a thing when you’re a kid but it’s not not a thing

Cosmo: And fruit baskets too, very retro

Amber: okay, there’s my in

Amber: using the wonky ones would help my cause if we’re pretending to your nan I’m in that dire need of sanctuary, but find out her favourites, if she’s not gonna fall for the SOS

Cosmo: Would you rather not be incognito

Cosmo: She might think you’re Dash’s girlfriend or something

Amber: It wouldn’t take long to correct the assumption, but I only would if I had to, like, if she’s suddenly scared she’s living somewhere haunted

Cosmo: Wonky veg at the ready 👍

Amber: Always

Amber: but I’m actually excellent at hiding, which makes me sound how old? 3 maybe

Cosmo: It makes you sound deluded, definitely

Cosmo: I found you well easy

Amber: Because I wanted you to

Cosmo: Not me

Amber: yes you, Dash enters a room very differently, I knew it wasn’t him

Cosmo: You didn’t know me, you couldn’t want me to

Amber: You’ve heard of curiosity, right? I didn’t have to know you to want to find out who you were

Cosmo: I’ve not got 9 lives 🐈

Amber: that you know of

Cosmo: You think that’s a theory to test?

Amber: I’m not dangerous, remember

Cosmo: Allegedly

Amber: You can allegedly run away at the speed of light and even though you haven’t bragged about it, could probably also pick me up and throw me out 💪🏽⭐️

Cosmo: I’m not going to do that

Amber: I’m not a test

Cosmo: Debatable

Amber: Today’s events, maybe, but that isn’t what you should define me by

Cosmo: It’s okay, I won’t

Cosmo: we said we were even, I meant it

Amber: make your mind up on Saturday when I test your patience by trying on every dress I like and ask you what you think

Cosmo: That’s your prerogative

Cosmo: delegated to the bench with the other men

Amber: 🥼👖👟👓 I know you have the money to get a new outfit too because you were willing to give it to me twice

Cosmo: I might

Amber: I won’t tell you what I think if that’s what’s putting you off 😶

Cosmo: I think I can handle your fashion critiques 🤣

Amber: Because I don’t have any fashion sense or because yours is ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ and above criticism?

Cosmo: We have different styles

Cosmo: I’m not going to dress like a stoner, you’re not gonna dress like a WAG

Amber: Like a stoner? Really?

Cosmo: I went for the male and female equivalents

Cosmo: so you can’t pout

Amber: Yes I can, you’ve seen me in 1 outfit, which I wore to climb through a window

Cosmo: And I ain’t said nothing bad about it

Amber: there’s nothing complimentary in the tone of us having different styles when you follow it up with I’m not gonna dress like you

Cosmo: Are you going to get your own footie strip? No

Cosmo: It wasn’t an insult, not towards you

Amber: If they weren’t ridiculously expensive, I would, if only because it would annoy you now

Cosmo: Now that sounds 👶

Amber: it’d be worth it to see your face

Cosmo: 🙄😏

Amber: Besides, we’re the same age, I don’t have anything to prove

Cosmo: Am I a test?

Amber: you’re a boy I wanna know, it’d put me to the test if you hadn’t said no already

Cosmo: Somehow I doubt that’s ever been a challenge for you

Amber: I don’t see it as a challenge, no means no, and if you change your own mind, it means you’re open to it and there’s no obstacles to get over

Cosmo: A PC response but a fair one

Amber: I can’t complain when boys take my no for a maybe if I do the same, and I don’t like it, so keeping my mouth shut would be hard

Cosmo: Your mind just jumps to some weird places

Cosmo: I just said we’d make no sense as friends

Amber: That’s your mind leapfrogging to the strangest possible place

Amber: thinking all your friends have to be like you

Cosmo: It’s easier

Cosmo: like you and your school friends, you already put your foot in it

Cosmo: that doesn’t happen when you’re the same

Amber: Nothing happens when you’re the same, nothing ever changes

Cosmo: You want things to change for you, it makes sense for you

Amber: why don’t you?

Cosmo: Why would I?

Cosmo: I’m set up in ways people would kill for

Amber: Why wouldn’t you, even if you love everything that’s happening in your life right now, change can still be good

Cosmo: I’m not anti change

Cosmo: as long as it’s in the right direction

Amber: and I’m the wrong direction?

Cosmo: No, you’re like

Cosmo: a completely different path

Cosmo: we run parallel

Amber: I’m not gonna force you down any paths

Cosmo: I know

Cosmo: and I know it’s rude

Cosmo: but it’d be ruder to waste your time, I think

Cosmo: and I don’t want to do that

Amber: What do you wanna do?

Cosmo: I don’t know

Amber: I can go by myself on Saturday, to make things easier

Cosmo: There’s no need

Cosmo: It’s not like we need to be besties to do that

Amber: besties

Amber: maybe if we were 👶🏽

Cosmo: Well exactly, you get my point

Cosmo: we can just

Cosmo: be aware of each other

Amber: Thanks for not asking me to become unaware of you

Cosmo: Be unfair of me to ask when I won’t

Amber: and when you hate when I pout

Cosmo: That too

Amber: you’d especially hate being at school with me, pouting’s all I do

Cosmo: I thought you liked it? 🤓

Amber: I like learning new things, but not how many new things there are that I have to, what feels like all the time

Amber: progress doesn’t just apply to fitness, I wanna see some with this

Cosmo: That’s understandable

Cosmo: It’s a lot, leavers cert

Cosmo: Do you get any help or whatever?

Amber: Extra work whenever I ask for it, but none of the teachers are expecting me to still be here by the time we take exams, which means I’m another school’s problem or success story, and that could be a different country, so they aren’t gonna work hard to get me through leavers cert, are they?

Cosmo: No, I guess not

Cosmo: They should but you’re right they probably won’t

Cosmo: Do you think you’ll be here?

Amber: No, we’ve been here for months already

Cosmo: If you was leaving you’d be gone already, like

Cosmo: Maybe get another student to tutor you

Cosmo: they’re better than teachers ‘cos they’ll let you know what you actually need to know to do well on the tests

Amber: We’re not leaving while my parents are happy and feel needed but nobody at the commune wants summer schooling and my dad will get restless

Amber: but that’s a good idea while I am, I’ll find someone

Cosmo: I’m not smart enough or I would

Cosmo: I just did what I had to to coast by but it’s not the focus

Amber: You don’t have the time, boy

Cosmo: True

Cosmo: Speaking of

Amber: Oh sorry! 🤓 rant over

Cosmo: You’re alright, I need to actually get a decent workout in now though or it doesn’t really count

Cosmo: Saturday though, yeah

Amber: I’ll be at the phonebox at [just before whatever time he said]

Cosmo: 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

Cosmo: You’ll remember what I look like and not get in a random car, right?

Amber: I’m not a goldfish

Amber: and if I did forget I’d stalk your 🏋🏽📷

Cosmo: Oh right, I forgot you were a dedicated creeper

Amber: I wouldn’t be 😠 if you did

Cosmo: Too bad 😏

Amber: goodbye x 9

Cosmo: 👋

[kchuarts]

Hungry

A/N: .... Listen... I’m lonely and this thought has been stuck in my mind all day. Plus, who wouldn’t want Loki doing this to them? ;) I mean, if that’s not your thing then that’s ok too.

!!!! IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS AS IT IS VERY GRAPHIC. PLEASE CONTINUE SCROLLING... HAVE A NICE DAY !!! 

Summary: Being at the Avengers Tower while under heavy supervision and practically unable to entertain yourself without a “babysitter” is irritating. It is especially bothersome when you are Loki and you are hornier than all Valhalla... Luckily, it seems that an opportunity has shined down upon the god when it is Astrid’s turn to watch him. Oh what fun we shall have. Avengers AU where Loki and Thor escape Thanos and yeah he doesn’t fuckin die. 

CW: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) PWP... This is basically just p*rn but written. 

A very loud and frustrated sigh came from the living room of the Avengers Tower. In the room, sat the God of Mischief with his hands dragging down his handsome face. “Look Rock of Ages, it’s either you put up with having free reign of this floor or be locked up in a cold cell and restrained until we get back.” Tony raised his brows at Loki who was giving him an equally irritated look. “Is this some kind of smoldering stare off? Hate to say it, Prince of Darkness but I think Mr. Stark’s got this on you.” Peter hung from the ceiling, anticipating the mission, on his web. Not too long ago, after their miraculous escape from the Mad Titan, Thor brought Loki to the tower and insistently pestered Tony to let Loki redeem himself and make up for what he did back in 2012, when he unwillingly attacked NY. 

Reluctantly, Tony agreed due to the fact there was one other person aside from Thor who begged him: Astrid. The Billionaire always had a hard time telling his god-daughter no, especially since he saw so much of her mother in her. “Smoldering stare off? I do not suppose you would like me to join. I would win!” Thor flashed his blinding grin towards the rest of the team. “Can we just get on with it? That super group of evil scientists will have their weapon ready at any moment. We told Steve and Bucky we would be there 10 minutes ago.” Natasha stepped forth and motioned her head toward the exit. Tony looked at Peter and smirked, nudging the boy “Prince of Darkness? I like that one. How about Gloom and Doom?” He snickered alongside Peter. Loki still remained annoyed and felt Thor give him a sympathetic pat on his back “You know I can hear you Tinman. You too Spider-child.” He spat, folding his arms over his chest. Just as Peter was about to correct Loki, he flipped back to his feet and was suddenly hauled off by a rather worried looking Black Widow. “Capisicle will be fine, Nat!” Tony shouted to her as she rushed out the door. 

“Now, back to what I was saying. Once you have proven that you’re not likely to kill someone at any given moment, yes even myself, then we will see about you helping out on missions.” Tony began walking with Thor out of the room and then nodded towards him, “See ya Reindeer Games.” He stepped off the balcony, his suit following up and encasing him in mid fall. “I don’t suppose you have something snarky to say to me as well, do you brother?” Loki rolled his eyes at how bold Tony could be. The blonde god only smiled at Loki and winked, “Lady Astrid will be coming to keep an eye on you if that makes you feel any better.” He threw his head back and laughed as he saw Loki’s cheeks turn slightly pink, knowing how his younger brother felt about the young woman. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” Thor waved him off, finally leaving the tower and Loki alone. 

The dark haired prince muttered under his breath, shifting on the couch and then suddenly noticing that when Thor mentioned Astrid, he became a bit excited. Loki eyed the door then looked back down at his lap and sighed through his nose as memories of bedding the mortal woman began to plague his brain. A naughty smirk cracked across his face as he heard footsteps approaching the living area. If he couldn’t cause mischief to the Avengers, then he would most certainly enjoy causing some to Astrid and it would be to her benefit as well. 

“Hey Loki!” Astrid walked in, shutting the door behind her and smiling at him. In her hands she held some plastic bags that gave off the smell of Chinese cuisine. This gave Loki a wonderful idea... Sure he was hungry, but for something other than that. “I bought us some lunch in case you’re hungry. Oh! And I bought some sweets too.” She continued babbling all the while Loki stared at her ass in that tight pencil skirt, the gears in his head turning. “Oh I am very hungry, my dear.” His eyes darkened with lust. Astrid turned around, her cheeks turning pink at the way Loki was looking at her. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, “I figured!” She gave him another smile only to have that wiped from her face as Loki was up in a flash, pinning her to the wall and caressing her face. “You said you also bought sweets?” Loki grinned down at her, licking his lips and chuckling at her shy expression “How thoughtful that you remembered I simply adore sweets.. But... There’s just one sweet I’d like at the moment.” His hand played with the hem of her cardigan. 

“Yeah?” Astrid looked up into his eyes, her legs rubbing together as she knew where this was going. Loki leaned closer, his lips just barely touching hers “Skirt off, now.” He continued to look her in the eyes, smirking at her frustration of him not kissing her. Hastily, Astrid unzipped the side of her skirt, pushing it down and kicking it aside. The god angled his head and leaned into her as if to kiss her but only whispered to her “I am unaware of how long they will be, but I’d like dessert first...” He chuckled in her ear, nipping it softly. The brunette shuddered at how his voice alone made her just absolutely turned on. “Sh-Should we move this to the bedroom?” She suggested, raising a brow as Loki knelt before her. Darkened blue-green eyes flicked up at the woman above, “No. I want your legs to be shaking as I eat your pretty,” he hooks his fingers on the sides of her panties, “little” he yanks them down, “pink” and helping her step out of them “drenched” he secretly pockets her panties “pussy”. 

In an instant, Astrid’s fingers grab his long dark locks, crying out softly as she feels the flat of Loki’s tongue drag across her folds. A deep growl rumbled in Loki’s chest as he saw how wet she was already. “You are not to come until I tell you, is that understood?” He grabbed the soft flesh of her thighs, placing kisses near the place she wanted his mouth most but only ghosting his lips over it. “Yes, my prince.” She squirmed a little, parting her legs a little more for him to have easier access. “That’s my good girl..” He places a kiss on her inner thigh, smirking as he only continues to tease her. One of his hands moves off her thigh, his middle and ring finger gently caressing her entrance. “You’re so fucking wet.” He turns his gaze to her pussy, beginning to take more long and languid licks. “Mmm!” Astrid’s fingers tugged slightly at his hair, soft mewls escaping her lips as Loki’s tongue continued to drag across her vagina. She cries out as she feels Loki give her sensitive clit a sharp suck “L-Loki!” she shrugs her shoulders out of her cardigan as she grew warm. 

Oh how he loved the way his name sounded coming from her, it pleased him to no end. Loki once again grabbed her thighs, burying his face into her mound and sliding his tongue inside of her; the brunette squirming at the sudden sensation of being tongue fucked. The god looked up at her, breathing a little heavy as he moved his tongue around inside of her walls, savoring her taste. He wiggled his tongue, pushing the tip of it against a sweet spot of hers. “Fuck!! Loki!! Oh Fuck!!” She pulled his hair and let her head fall back a little, her chest taking on a very light shade of pink. Loki moaned against her as she pulled his hair, causing him to take his mouth off of her for a brief moment. “That’s it, sing for me my naughty little song bird..” He slipped two slender fingers slowly into her and his mouth returning to her clit to suck on it. In and out, his fingers moved at a steady pace; coated in her essence. While inside of her, he curls his fingers in a come hither motion and hitting a rough patch. Astrid begins to pant a little harder, her legs starting to shake slightly “I-I wanna come-” She whines as Loki stops sucking and grins at her. “You will come only when I grant you permission...” The pace of his fingers starts to pick up. Once more, a cry of frustration leaves Astrid as she feels that fire inside of her wanting to rupture from her. “Ah! Loki! A-Ahh!” She feels his fingers slip out of her and his mouth replaces them. Astrid moves her hips as she rides his face, the feeling of his hot tongue being too much. “P-Please! I’m gonna come! Please let me come!” She begs him, her legs trembling with the need of release. 

The prince does not listen, but looks up at her to give her some sort of warning. He only continues to thrust his tongue inside of her tight, hot walls; moaning at how she tastes. Astrid does her best to keep from coming but it is becoming too much with how Loki is quite literally feasting on her pussy. Her teal orbs gaze down, pleas of desperation on her lips. Finally, Loki switches back, his fingers inside her and moving at a fast pace. “Come. Let me see you fall apart.” His thumb applying moderate pressure and rubbing her clit. Astrid whimpers his name, her hands clenching at his head and her legs giving out a little as her orgasm washes over her. Loki watches her, helping her stand up so she doesn’t fall but immediately places his mouth back on her pussy, sucking her clit. “N-No! I’m sensitive st-till!” Astrid squeaks out, her breathing now at a faster tempo. The god does not listen and continues to lick and suck at her pearl. “FUCK!! LOKI!!” she screams, her legs now giving out. Quickly, Loki helps her down and moves up, his lips now on hers. The two kissed feverishly, Loki quickly pulling his rock hard cock out and slipping it inside of her. He swallowed a cry from Astrid, beginning to move his hips as he felt her nails dig into his clothed back. 

Astrid locked her legs around his waist, pulling him in more and his cock burying deeper into her. Loki pulls away to catch his breath, staring down at Astrid as he plowed into her. “So perfect for my cock. So fucking tight your pussy is sucking me in but oh it feels so good” He growls, moving his hips harder; the tip of his cock hitting Astrid’s cervix in an almost bruising way. The young woman yelped as she felt his fingers on her clit again, rubbing fast. “I-Inside me. Come inside me.” She whimpered against his lips, her third orgasm approaching fast. “Please! Ahh! LOKI!!” Her walls clamped down on his cock, earning a loud gasp from the god. “Astrid!” He groaned, pressing his forehead against hers and burying himself to the hilt as he came hard. The pair stayed like that for a moment, catching their breath and Astrid still trembling. “Are you alright?” Loki cleared his throat, looking at the woman beneath him and giving her a smile. Astrid smiles back, leaning up and giving him a soft kiss “Yes, my-” 

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Tony dropped his doughnut that he was enjoying up until he arrived back. The mission was apparently not as complicated as it seemed...“Guys go the long way around, apparently Reindeer Games decided it was a good time to be twitterpated with Clarice.” The Billionaire spoke into the comm. Loki grinned, unashamed of what he had just done and kept his eye contact with Tony as he pulled out of Astrid. “You sick son of a bitch! That’s my god-daughter!! We are gone for an hour and I have to fucking see this!? Prince of Darkness fucking my god-daughter!?” Tony now looked livid. Astrid quickly grabbed her skirt and pulled it on, standing up with some difficulty and looking around for her panties. “Well she seemed to enjoy it.” Loki wrapped his arm around Astrid’s waist and smirked as she saw her panties in his pocket. Her jaw fell a little and she pouted, looking away from him. “T-Tony just don’t worry about him. I am a grown woman... I can do as I please.” She stated. “Uhhh, hey Miss Astrid, you’ve got some stuff dripping from your legs...” Peter was sitting on the kitchen counter, munching on the food Astrid had bought. “Brother! It seems that you and Lady Astrid had a lot of fun!” Thor’s boisterous laugh filled the room. Steve and Natasha gave Astrid the look of sympathy as they had been in a somewhat similar situation and Bucky wolf whistled. The brunette’s cheeks lit up, mortified at the fact everyone could see Loki’s seed dripping down her legs. “OH GOD DAMN IT!! I’M GONNA MAKE YOU PAY FOR THE NEW FLOORING, ROCK OF AGES!!” 

The end! I was being horny on main so idk how good this came out. ehehhehehhehehe

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter five

[ao3]

cannot believe the malum is going somewhere now this is truly scenes...only 50k into the fic and all...would you believe that i don’t read fics over 8k long because i’m too impatient i’m literally the worlds biggest hypocrite i HATE slow burn look at me. i literally write everything i hate 

@tirednotflirting my lovely basically-co-writer i love you thank you for dealing with this shit i changed like half of it i cannot believe you had to read it in the state it was in...truly vile...also this chapter actually owes its life to @kaleidoscopeminds i wasn’t going to post today bc the laptop i have to use rn is doing my nut and bc i thought nobody cares but meg cares and so this is for her <3 

Noel gets back the next afternoon. 

He’s dishevelled, he’s sleep-deprived, he’s stone-cold sober and in a right fucking mood, but he’s there. Calum sees him at breakfast, sat at a table chatting to Alan - he’s just got off his flight, still hasn’t taken his suitcase back up to his room, looks like he hasn’t got changed in the four days he’s been gone - and when Noel spots him, he just stares for a minute, wavering, like he’s not sure how Calum’s going to react. It makes Calum falter too, because Noel’s always so certain about these things, always scoffs and says c’mon, then, don’t be a dick, all business-like, so it’s an unexpected reaction. It feels almost like a shift, feels like maybe something’s irrevocably changed, now, and he’s not really sure what to make of it, not sure whether the way his stomach flips is because of that or Noel or the comedown he’s currently pushing through. 

He heads to the table, though, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do - skip a free meal? No fucking chance - and Noel’s eyes follow him the whole way, a slight edge of trepidation leaking into the edges as Calum gets closer and closer until he’s hovering at the table. He’s not going to speak first, Calum realises. He’s going to let Calum take the lead, and that’s unusual too, nothing like the Noel that had left all of four days ago. Jesus, what the fuck do they do to the water in San Diego? Whatever it is, he hopes Noel’s brought some back for Liam to drink.

Alan’s watching the two of them, that managerial instinct telling him that something’s not quite right here, like he can see the way Calum’s skin is crawling with this strange, unknown hesitancy around Noel, and Calum doesn’t want to make a scene in front of him, so he just cocks his head and looks down at Noel.

“You’re a prick,” he says. Noel blinks, and for a brief moment Calum’s stomach drops, like maybe even that has changed, now, like maybe that’s not the right way to say I love you, you massive cunt anymore, and then Noel grins tiredly. 

“Aye,” he says simply, and Calum grins back, relief flooding his veins, and sits down opposite Noel.

It goes pretty much the same with Tony and Bonehead, although Bonehead does cuff Noel upside the head a little harder than strictly necessary. Liam doesn’t come down for food, even though he’s always the first up, and when he realises that the waiters are clearing away the chafing dishes without an indignant Mancunian telling them oi, I’ve only had six hash browns, Calum exchanges a look with Bonehead. Liam’s going to make Noel go to him, isn’t going to let them have a chance meeting. He’s going to make Noel go to him, which for Noel is the same as crawling through broken glass on his hands and knees. 

Noel does it, though, swallows his pride and heads up to Liam’s room when everybody else is chatting animatedly, relief powering the conversation. Calum doesn’t even notice he’s gone until he turns to ask Noel to back him up on Help! being better than Rubber Soul, which is probably what Noel wanted. He’d hate to make a big show of it, for everyone to know that the roles are reversed, that Noel’s going to Liam rather than Liam going to Noel. Still, though, Calum thinks, turning back to the rest of the group and launching into his impassioned defence of Help!, it’s not like Noel. Something’s changed, and Calum’s not entirely sure what, and he doesn’t fucking like it. 

The rest of them don’t see Liam and Noel all day, but when Calum passes by Liam’s room he hears two low voices talking calmly, quietly, rationally, and catches what sounds like look, you love me, I love you, so let’s make this work, and ...for mam’s sake, if nowt else. They emerge again at dinner, and don’t speak about it, and nobody dares to ask, not even Calum. It’s not like anyone else would understand, anyway; the two of them live on another fucking planet where the normal rules of brotherhood and family and basic fucking decency don’t apply. 

Once Noel and Liam have made up, though - or, at least, started calling each other cunts a little less venomously - the rest of the American leg of the tour goes off without a hitch. 

They’re there until late October, and despite an edge of tension in the band, a little uncertainty as they all try to find their feet in their new, post-Whiskey-a-Go-Go-disaster relationships, the tour goes well. Noel and Liam don’t escalate past their usual arguments, only ignore each other for a few hours at a time, and all their dates are sold out. On top of all that, the album’s hitting heights none of them had even dreamed of. 

(Well, maybe Liam had dreamed of them. In fact, Liam had laid it out plainly for them on the first day of recording, pointing accusingly first at Noel, then Bonehead, then Calum, then back to Noel, skipping Tony completely: it’s going to be number fucking one, you hear me, and it’s going to go fucking platinum, and whatever the fuck comes after platinum. It’s going to be fucking mega. ) 

Noel had written some songs while he was in San Diego, one candid acoustic ballad that makes Calum and Bonehead share a slightly alarmed glance when they hear it, and Alan insists that they’re masterpieces, so they head to a studio in Texas to record them. Calum stands with Liam behind the thick glass that separates the live room from the control room, watches as Noel blinks down at his acoustic guitar and sings I wanna talk tonight ‘bout how you saved my life and then looks up at either Calum or Liam, Calum can’t tell, and sings you and me see how we are. It sends a shiver down his spine, the sheer fucking openness of it, and for the first time makes him think shit, what was going through Noel’s head when he was gone? He’s been so preoccupied with their side of it, with Bonehead’s drinking and Tony and Maggie’s conversations and Liam shutting himself in his room that he hadn’t stopped to think about what Noel might have been feeling, about just how literally Noel means you saved my life. 

When the rest of them get back into the studio to record the other songs, though, it feels like something slotting back into place. It reminds them all who they are, what they are, and smooths over the discordance, evens out the dissonance. The five of them come out of it grinning, laughing, shaking their heads at some ridiculous tale Liam’s spinning, and it feels good. For the first time in weeks, giddy with nothing but adrenaline and love, Calum feels good. The music’s what makes them, and the music’s what fixes them. It’s an important lesson, that they can go through something like that and stitch up the wounds with a few guitar strings, and it makes them all feel a little more grounded, a little more confident that they’re back on their feet. 

The day of their flight back to the UK, when they’re all still nursing their incredible hangovers from the celebrations of finishing the North American leg of the tour the night before, Calum goes down for breakfast to find Noel and Liam already sat at the table, deep in what looks like a heated conversation. He hesitates for a moment - any conversation with the brothers whispering fiercely like that is likely a conversation he wants no part in - but it’s too late, because Noel’s seen him, and he’s beckoning him over, brows knitted together. 

“What?” Calum says warily, about three feet from the table, far enough away that he can still make a break for it if it devolves into a shouting match. 

“D’you know where we were this morning?” Noel says. Calum shrugs. He doesn’t even know where they are now, let alone where Noel and Liam might have disappeared to before he was awake. 

“We had a radio interview,” Liam says. Calum’s not sure why he’s supposed to care about that. 

“With Blur,” Noel adds, and Calum’s stomach drops. 

What the fuck? 

“What the fuck?” Calum says, trying his best to school his features into something neutral, feeling the two identical sets of blue eyes scrutinising him, watching for a reaction. “Why- what? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“We didn’t know,” Liam says, a little coolly, and takes a sip of his tea, eyes still on Calum to see how he reacts. 

“What happened?” 

“What the fuck was s’posed to happen?” Noel says, raising an eyebrow. “We did the fucking interview.” 

“Without calling them cunts?” 

“‘Course,” Liam says, pulling a cigarette out of the packet lying between himself and Noel on the table. “We’re fucking professionals, we are.” Calum snorts. The most professional thing either of them have done is turn up to a bus call only twenty minutes late. 

“You did call Damon a prick,” Noel says mildly to Liam, who waves the hand that isn’t flicking his lighter dismissively. 

“Cal asked about cunt, though, didn’t he?” he mumbles around his cigarette, and Calum and Noel both roll their eyes, Calum huffing out a laugh and Noel tutting, both edged with fondness. 

“The Sun’s going to have a fucking field day,” Calum says, deciding it’s safe enough to sit down. The two of them don’t seem in too bad of a mood; in fact, they seem a little too calm, both of them looking at Calum with almost blank expressions, heads tilted one way. “What?” Calum adds, a little defensively, and Liam leans forwards, taking the cigarette out of his mouth just so he can speak properly. 

“Mike was there,” he says, like he’s revealing a big secret that he’s been bursting to tell. Calum’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps his face straight, and just blinks at Liam. So that’s what this is about. He should’ve known, really; it would have been too much to ask for the Gallagher brothers to forget about that part of Calum’s sexual history for, like, two fucking minutes. 

“Well, he’s part of Blur, isn’t he?” Calum says. 

“He asked after you,” Noel says, far too nonchalantly, stirring his tea. Calum swallows, feeling the all-too-familiar guilt surge up in his lungs. He shouldn’t be talking to Michael. He shouldn’t have taken Michael’s number, shouldn’t have learnt it off by heart, shouldn’t have sat in Noel’s empty hotel room and turned to Michael on one of the worst days of his life. And he definitely shouldn’t have done all of that without telling Liam or Noel. 

“Oh,” Calum says. “Well.” He’s not sure what else to say, what else the guilt will even let him say. “What did you say?” Liam throws him a slightly indignant look. 

“Told him to fuck off, obviously,” he says, like he’s a little offended Calum’s even asked. “Not telling him fuck all about you, am I?” God. If it were anyone else they were talking about, Calum would feel a pure rush of love for Liam, at the fact he’s so unquestioningly and unnecessarily protective of Calum, but because it’s Michael, a huge surge of guilt washes over the love that rises in him, lapping at his veins before the love can get there. 

“Oh,” Calum says again, and Liam just turns back to his tea, clearly thinking the conversation’s over, that what needed to be said has been said and satisfied with Calum’s response. Noel, though, is still looking at Calum, something too perceptive in his cool blue eyes. 

“Why would he ask?” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice, something cold and challenging. 

“What d’you mean?” Calum says, holding his gaze, trying to push all the panic rising in his chest back before it reaches his eyes. Shit, what the fuck had Michael said? Did he mention anything about the phone call? Does Noel know?

“Seems a bit friendly.” Noel’s eyes are carefully blank, expression guarded, not giving anything away, cards held close to his chest. 

“He’s a friendly guy,” Calum says, relieved at how even his voice comes out. “Just because you two are cunts.” At that, Liam looks up again, frowning. 

“Who’s a cunt?” he says, incensed. Calum almost lets out a sigh of relief - if Liam’s back in the conversation, Noel won’t say anything else. At least, not now, he won’t. Calum’s just buying himself time, really; Noel’s going to stew on it, mull it over on late-night bus calls and midday hangovers, and come back to Calum when he thinks he’s got something infallible to slash at Calum’s defences with.

“You are,” Noel tells Liam. 

“You are too,” Calum reminds him, and Noel shrugs. 

“Could be worse,” he says. “Could be Damon Albarn.” Liam snorts, and even Calum has to roll his eyes and shake his head, reaching over for Noel’s tea and pulling it towards him, wanting something to do with his jittery fingers. Noel lets him, even pushes a packet of sugar in his direction because he knows Calum can’t stand drinking tea unless it’s immediately going to give him diabetes, and Calum smiles, watching as something a little disarmed crosses Noel’s face for a split second before he schools his features back into that half-irritated, half-challenging expression that’s so Noel he might as well patent it. 

Strange, Calum thinks, as he empties the entire packet of sugar into what’s now his tea. Noel doesn’t have chinks in his armour, not really. At least, not when it comes to anyone whose name doesn’t start with an ‘L’ and end with an ‘iam’, and last time Calum checked, he wasn’t a loud-mouthed twat from Manchester that Noel’s been exasperatedly hauling out of trouble for the past two decades. He doesn’t really have time to wonder what it’s about, though, because then Liam’s sighing loudly, raising his hand to catch the nearest waiter’s attention, and saying: “Alright, mate, don’t happen to know where the best place to score coke around here is, do you?” 

“Liam,” Noel says warningly, the well-worn older-brother irritation already lacing his tone, and Liam just shoots him a what? sort of look, as the waiter stares back at them. 

“Coke?” he asks, a little hesitantly, like he’s sure he’s misunderstanding what Liam’s asking. 

“Yeah, mate, y’know, the old Colombian marching powder,” Liam says, nodding his head, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to have with a waiter at ten in the morning. 

“I- uh, sir, I’m not sure-” the waiter starts, a little nervously, and Liam leans forwards. 

“Cocaine, mate,” he says slowly, clearly thinking the waiter’s not caught on, like that’s the only possible explanation for why he’s not immediately gone oh, yeah, ‘course, hang on, let me my local dealer on the line.

“Piss off, Liam,” Noel says, a definite note of annoyance in his voice now, and Liam’s like a shark to blood, turns away from the waiter, all thoughts of getting whatever white powder he can procure up his nose forgotten as he spots a new drug of choice; arguing with Noel. It’s something Calum’s seen a hundred times, the way Liam will find a gap in Noel’s defences and worm his way in, make a home under Noel’s skin just for a few minutes of his attention, and it’s not something he fancies sticking around to watch, knowing it’ll end with fists flying with no regard for who might be caught in the crossfire.

“I’m going back up,” he says, even though he hasn’t eaten yet, but neither Noel or Liam are listening anymore, already caught in a half-hissed, half-yelled conversation about whether it’s inappropriate or street-smart to ask a random local guy for coke plugs at his job, Liam, at his fucking job, and do you know how many fucking hotels we’ve been kicked out of because of you so far this year? Liam’s raising his voice as Calum walks out of the room, shouting something about me? It’s not just me, you prick, you were in fucking Sweden as well, right, and you’re the one who took off to fucking San Diego, what the fuck else was I going to do while we all waited for you to stop being such a pathetic little cunt? , and Calum knows he’s left just in time when he hears the sound of crockery shattering in the distance as he jogs back up the stairs to his room. He doesn’t really mind, though, doesn’t care if they get kicked out of this hotel too, because all he can think, heart pounding, is why the fuck did Michael ask after me, when the last thing he might have heard is me calling him ‘no one’?

He doesn’t even get time to think about that, though, because Bonehead’s on his way down as Calum’s on his way up, and he blocks Calum’s path and insists Calum join him on a walk to the supermarket because the amount of beer he’s going to have to drink to deal with the brothers on an eight hour flight back home needs two people to carry it. Calum thinks shit, he’s right, so they fetch Tony to carry all the alcohol Calum’s going to need to drink too, and then spend the walk to the shop and the entire time traipsing around it arguing about whether or not Tony should get any of the alcohol they’re loading into their arms. Calum weighs in for the first ten minutes, but it becomes clear Bonehead and Tony are just looking to fight about something, so Calum draws back and lets them have at each other, walks next to them and lets the sound of their rowing wash over him as his thoughts turn back to Michael.

Did Michael really want to know? Or was it a power play, him saying something to Liam and Noel knowing it would get back to Calum? No, surely not, Calum thinks, as Tony and Bonehead bicker about whether or not Tony deserves at least one of the six-packs Bonehead’s picked up. Michael wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of person. 

Maybe Michael isn’t, a little voice in his head says, but maybe Mike is. You don’t know Mike, do you? 

(Calum thrusts one of his six-packs at Tony, suddenly feeling a little too sick to drink.)

  -------

  They head back to Europe in November, first to the UK to record Whatever, and then straight off to France. Noel even manages to make a joke about the Amsterdam ferry incident as they’re waiting to board in Dover, which is as close to saying I forgive you to Liam for the episode as he’s going to get. 

Calum doesn’t speak to Michael for almost two months. He doesn’t want to call first, after the way the last call ended and still uncertain about the whole Michael-Liam-Noel situation, and Michael doesn’t call him. Calum tries not to dwell on it, to think too hard about the sound of the dial tone and the way he’d called Michael no one, but Blur are fucking everywhere. It seems like they’re playing all the same places as Oasis but a few weeks earlier, because every time Calum walks down a French street he’s accosted by blown up images of Michael’s face, moody and pretty, staring down at him from billboards and bus stops and fucking lampposts. 

It’s one of those posters stuck haphazardly onto a lamppost in Berlin that Calum sees, a few hours before they’re due to play a show, that reminds him, with a jolt, what the date is. 

The twentieth of November. 

Michael’s birthday. 

Calum’s almost taken aback that he remembers. He’d forgotten for the past three or four years - the date had passed him by without so much as a second glance - and the thought makes him feel a little guilty, a little sick, like he’s broken a promise to himself that he never even knew he made. 

There’s a little phone booth next to the lamppost that looks like it might not even be working, and Calum finds himself striding in that direction, fumbling in his pocket for the few German coins he’d been given. It’s nothing, he tells himself, as he starts dialling Michael’s number. It’s just polite to wish someone a happy birthday. It doesn’t mean anything. 

It only takes two rings for someone to pick up, a soft click and a moment of silence at the other end of the line.

“Hello?” It’s not Michael; it’s a woman. Maybe Michael has a house-sitter? Calum’s pretty sure Michael must be loaded now, right, if he’s in Blur? He’s probably not pissing all his royalties away on drink and drugs. They probably have a group accountant to manage everything for them, rather than Noel cuffing them all upside the head and going eeyar, yous need to start buying cheaper coke.  

“Oh,” Calum says. “Uh. I’m looking for Michael?” 

“He’s in Japan at the moment,” the woman says. Her voice is sweet and warm, almost comforting, and oddly familiar. It’s probably just the Australian accent, Calum thinks. Anyone with an Australian accent has sounded familiar to him since he left.

“Oh,” Calum says again. He should’ve guessed, really. Of course Michael’s not at home. He’s in a fucking band. In Blur, no less. Of course he’s on tour. 

“May I ask who’s calling?” the woman says. Calum hesitates. 

“Just a friend,” he says, a little evasively. “Just- uh. Wanted to wish him a happy birthday, is all.” 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” the woman says, and she sounds like she’s smiling. “I can give you the number of his hotel room in Japan, if you’d like.” 

“I-” Calum’s not sure what to say to that. He might be sending a message he’s not entirely sure he wants to send if Michael finds out Calum had called his house first, and then got the number for his hotel in Japan. 

“Or I can pass along a message?” the woman offers. “What’s the name?” Calum bites his lip. It can’t hurt, he thinks. It’s not like Michael will have spoken about Calum to anyone who’s known him in the past few years, if he hadn’t told his own bandmates. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Yeah, that’d be good, thanks. It’s Calum.” The woman lets out a little gasp. 

“Calum Hood?” she says, and Calum’s stomach drops. "I should have recognised your voice! You've lost your accent, haven't you?"

“Uh,” he says intelligently, but she’s already started talking again. 

“It’s Karen,” she says. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

“Oh,” Calum says. Fuck. Jesus Christ. Of course it’s Michael’s mum. Of course Michael wouldn’t get a fucking house-sitter, rich and in Blur or not. It’s oddly steadying, though, that in this instance at least Michael’s Michael and not Mike, makes something electric shoot through Calum as he thinks maybe I still know enough of him. “Uh. Hi?” 

“I didn’t know you and Michael were still in contact,” she says, and he can hear the grin in her voice, how happy she sounds about it. It makes his stomach twist in guilt, heavy and leaden. 

“Yeah,” Calum says weakly. “Well. Not really. But- y’know. It’s his birthday.” He cringes at his own words, stilted and uncomfortable, but Karen doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I’m sure he’ll want to hear from you himself,” she says jovially. “I’ll give you his number, hang on a minute.”

“Actually, I-”

“Yes, here it is. Have you got a pen and paper?”

“I don’t-” Calum breaks off, looking wildly around him, and picks up the pen on the top of the telephone keypad, scratching it against the sign that tells him how much of his money he’s pissing away on this phone call. He’s roped into this, now, isn’t he? Karen will tell Michael Calum called, and if Calum doesn’t call Michael after telling Karen he would, it’ll look suspicious. Or it’ll look like he doesn’t care enough, which, with their fragile balance and Calum not knowing where Michael’s head’s at, is the last thing he wants. 

“Okay. It’s oh-one-two,” Karen begins, and Calum nods along as she reels off the number for him, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he forces the last of the ink from the pen onto his hand. “Oh, and the country code is zero-zero-eight-one.” Great. Now he can’t even use that as an excuse. 

“Thanks,” Calum says, hoping it comes out genuine and not sarcastic. “I’ll, uh. I’ll call him, then.” 

“Do,” Karen says, and Calum can tell she’s positively beaming. God, he’s a terrible person. “I’m so happy you called, Calum. I should have known you two would have stayed in contact and not let any of this Blur versus Oasis nonsense get in the way of your friendship.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says feebly, feeling guilt tap insistently at his lungs, waiting to be let in. “Well. It was nice talking to you?” He’s not sure how to end a phone call that isn’t either a polite speak to you soon or an exasperated Liam, you cunt, don’t you fucking hang up on m- 

“Of course!” Karen says brightly. “I’m very proud of you, Calum. Y’know, I remember you getting your first ever guitar, and look at you now. I’m glad you kept your head screwed on straight.” Calum thinks of the three thin white lines Liam had cut for him earlier that are probably still in his bloodstream, and winces. 

“Yeah,” he says, trying for grateful. “I, uh, I try. Thank you.” 

“I’m sure I’ll speak to you soon,” Karen says. “I hope you manage to catch Michael!” 

“Thanks,” Calum says again, and hopes he doesn’t sound like he wants to gouge his own eyes out. Karen doesn’t seem to notice, though, just chirps a happy goodbye! and leaves Calum to stare at the telephone keypad, holding the receiver loosely in his hand, like he can’t really believe what’s just happened. 

Well, fuck. Now he’s got to call fucking Japan. 

Calum sighs and starts dialling the number, sending out prayers that Noel’s got some really big fucking tunes up his sleeve for the next album to pay for this call. It rings three times, and then there’s a click as someone picks up. 

“Hello?” It’s not Michael. Jesus Christ. Why the fuck is wishing someone a happy birthday this much of an ordeal?

“Is Michael there?” he asks. There’s a short pause. 

“Who’s calling?”

“A friend,” Calum says. “Who’s this?”

“Graham.” Which one was that? The one with glasses, right? The other guitarist? 

“Right. Is Michael around?” 

“Depends on who’s calling.” Calum sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Wishing someone a happy birthday really shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

“It’s Calum,” he mumbles. “From Oasis,” he adds, in case Michael happens to have met a few more Calums in the past couple of years. 

“What the hell are you calling for?” 

“Why the hell d’you think?” Calum knows he sounds hostile, but he doesn’t care, not when the nervousness that had been contained in his stomach is starting to seep out into his bloodstream.

There’s another pause. 

“Alright,” Graham says, but he still sounds suspicious. There’s a rustling sound, and then Calum hears him yell Mike! Calum’s on the phone for you. Yes, Oasis Calum, d’you know any other Calums? Well, okay, yeah, but you haven’t spoken to him since last Chri-

Every second feels like an eternity - although that’s probably at least slightly to do with the fact that he’s spending his entire month’s pay on this call - but eventually there’s more rustling, some fierce muttering that Calum can’t understand beyond - in the bathroom, you dick, and then the sound of a phone being lifted to someone’s ear. 

“Calum?” Michael says, and there are footsteps, like he’s walking as far away from the handset as possible. 

“Happy birthday,” Calum says lamely. All of this for those two words. It feels incredibly anticlimactic. 

“Oh,” Michael says, and he sounds surprised. “I mean. Thanks. I didn’t think you’d remember.” Neither did Calum. 

“Well,” Calum says, because he doesn’t want to say that. “Just wanted to call and- uh, say happy birthday, I guess.” 

“How’d you get this number?” Michael asks, sounding curious. Calum bites his lip. 

“Your mum gave it to me,” he says. 

“You rang my house?” 

“Well, it’s the only number I have for you, isn’t it?” 

“Did you tell her it was you?” 

“Yeah.” Michael exhales heavily. 

“I haven’t told her,” he admits. “That we’re talking again. Or- y’know. I just haven’t mentioned.” 

“I know,” Calum says. “She was surprised that I called.”

“What did she say?” Michael asks. Calum swallows. 

“Just, y’know, nice to hear from me, she’s glad I called, all that,” he says vaguely. Michael hums, like he’s mulling it over, and Calum’s stomach flips. Maybe he shouldn’t have called at all. Maybe Michael wants Calum to be his dirty little secret just as much as Calum wants Michael to be his. After all, Calum’s own mum doesn't know either, does she? It’d be hypocritical of Calum to hold it against Michael if he wanted to keep it under wraps too. 

(It still kind of stings, though.)

“I’m going to get a fucking Spanish Inquisition when I get home,” Michael says eventually, and Calum huffs out a laugh, stomach untangling itself a little from the tight knot it’s been in for the past five minutes. 

“Yeah, probably,” he says, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face as he thinks back to being grilled and reprimanded by Karen any time she got so much as a whiff of a secret from either of them. “D’you remember that time she thought we-”

“Remember when she thought we’d been out smoking weed?” Michael blurts at the same time, and Calum can’t help but smile properly this time, heart somersaulting at the fact that Michael remembers too. 

“She was so angry,” Calum says, through a grin. “Kept saying she could smell it on you.”

“Fucking crazy woman,” Michael says, but Calum can hear that he’s grinning too. “We couldn’t afford weed, what was she on about? We hadn’t even been drinking, just been-” he cuts himself off abruptly, and the smile drops off Calum’s face. 

They’d been fucking, is what they’d been doing.

“Good thing she didn’t smell that on us,” Calum tries, and Michael huffs out a small laugh, but it’s tight and uncomfortable. Neither of them speak again for a moment, the silence awkward and palpable, until Michael sighs. 

“What are we doing?” he mumbles, sounding a little pained. 

“I’m wishing you a happy birthday,” Calum says, because he doesn’t want to follow the road that Michael’s words are beckoning him down.

“You know what I mean,” Michael says. “We need to talk.” Calum’s stomach twists. Those words are never followed by any good conversations. 

“Do we?” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound as apprehensive to Michael as it does to him. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to have that conversation, to hear Michael say you fucked up, and this is it, doesn’t want to have to go all the way to see him just to hear him say I don’t want you anymore.  

“When are you back in the UK?” 

“December,” Calum says. “Late December. Near Christmas, I think. I’ll have to ask Maggie.” 

“Maggie?”

“Our tour manager.” 

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence. “Well. Call me when you’re back?” 

“Look,” Calum says, a little desperately, clutching the receiver to his ear. “I- if you want to, like, end whatever this is, not talk to me anymore, I’d rather you just do it now. I don’t want to travel all the way to London for you to tell me you never want to speak to me again.” Michael inhales, and doesn’t exhale. 

“I didn’t say that,” he says carefully, after a minute. “But we need to talk.” Calum blinks at the telephone keypad. He’s not sure what to make of that. 

“Okay,” he says. “I- uh, yeah. Okay. I’ll call you when I’m back home?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says. He pauses, and then adds: “I should go. I locked Graham in the bathroom to take this call.” Calum can’t help the snort that escapes him. 

“I should try that on Liam,” he says. 

“I think it’d take more than a bathroom door to contain Liam Gallagher,” Michael says. He’s got a point. 

“You’ve got a point,” Calum concedes, and he hears Michael huff out a small laugh at the other end of the line, crackled and tinny but genuine and soft. “I should probably go too. I’ve got a show in a few hours.” 

“Where?” 

“Berlin.” Michael hums. 

“We played there a few weeks ago,” he says. 

“I know,” Calum says, without thinking. “Uh. I mean. The posters are all still up.” 

“Surprised Liam and Noel haven’t gone around tearing them all down,” Michael says, and Calum can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I think they’re planning on pasting posters of us over you.” 

“Hope they have a lot of them.” Calum grins, eyeing the three Blur posters he can see in his line of vision. 

“That’ll be my entire share of the royalties gone,” he says, and Michael snorts. 

“I really should go,” he says, sounding a little regretful. “I’ve got to spend at least half an hour convincing Graham not to tell Damon I locked him in a bathroom to talk to you.” 

“Why?” Calum’s not sure why he asks, because he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to hear the answer. Because I don’t want anyone to know we’re talking. Because I want to keep you a secret. Because I’m ashamed of you. It’s even worse because he can’t blame Michael for it.

“If I do anything to Graham, Damon takes it as a personal attack.” Oh. Well. That probably shouldn’t make something warm blossom in Calum’s stomach, the fact that it’s not because of him, but it does. 

“Damon doesn’t seem particularly intimidating,” Calum says. 

“You fucking wait,” Michael says, and there’s a fondness to his tone that makes Calum’s heart ache, because Michael used to talk about him like that. “Call me when you’re back in the UK, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Bye, Michael.” He’s expecting a click, the thin sound of the dial tone, but it doesn’t come. 

“I’m glad you called,” Michael says after a moment, all in a rush, like he’s had to build up the nerve to say it. 

“I’m glad I did, too,” Calum says, and he can’t help the small smile playing at his lips. Michael’s glad he called. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Michael says. 

“Yeah,” Calum says, smile slipping off his face as his stomach flips unpleasantly thinking of the inevitable conversation. “Soon.” 

The dial tone rings loud and harsh, and Calum listens to it for a good few moments before putting the phone down and stepping out of the booth. Three Michaels stare at him from different angles as he heads back for the hotel, declaring something in German that he can’t read, eyes seeming to follow Calum as he turns the corner. They seem almost disapproving, like they know Calum doesn’t want to talk. Or maybe that’s Calum’s guilt-ridden imagination. 

Well, Calum thinks, stomach flipping as his eyes find another picture of Michael plastered to a lamppost. At least they aren’t posters of Noel and Liam, in that case. 

  -------

  December comes far too soon. 

The album goes platinum while they’re in Southampton, or maybe Sheffield, and Calum joins the rest of the band at some grimy nightclub, drunk and high and full of adrenaline because shit, that’s their fucking album. Number one and platinum, fucking hell. It doesn’t feel fucking real.

They film a video for Whatever somewhere in London, and Noel turns up late to the filming, still dressed in his clothes from the night before, so drunk that he can barely play his guitar. Liam’s fucking furious, probably because this is the first time Noel’s ever been drunker than him, and Calum has to spend the rest of the day making sure Liam doesn’t go into the same room as Noel, because they still have a few weeks worth of dates in the UK and they could do with having both the lead guitarist and singer alive for them. 

The UK dates pass so fast in blurs of games of Frustration on the tour bus as green and grey whip past the window that Calum barely notices that it’s their week off until he sees a river that looks suspiciously like the Mersey and asks Noel where they are. 

(“Liverpool,” Noel says, throwing him a strange look. 

“We’re going home tomorrow,” Liam adds.

“Too right you’re fucking going home,” Noel says. “Not fucking kipping at mine again.” Liam scowls, opens his mouth with an indignant expression, and Calum decides now’s a great time to find Alan and ask him about the re-stringing of Calum’s bass he’d said he’d sort out before the gig.) 

He’s so exhausted after their last show, having his first proper comedown in weeks, that he can’t do anything but crash through the front door and stumble to his bed at six in the morning. He sleeps like the fucking dead, and by the time he gets up and showers, feeling a bit more alive than he has done the past few days, it’s nearly dark outside. 

“Good morning,” his mum says pointedly, when he wanders into the kitchen, yawning, and pulls open the fridge. 

“Morning,” Calum says, pulling out a beer and some leftover pasta. “Where’s Dad?” 

“Gone fishing,” his mum says. Calum grunts to let her know he’s acknowledged it, and heads to the microwave. 

“Liam called earlier,” his mum says, as he presses some random buttons - he really should figure out how this microwave works - and then sets it off. 

“Oh?” Calum says. 

“He was asking if you wanted to come round tonight,” his mum says. Calum hums, frowning a little. Liam’s not very good at being on his own, no one to take his endless energy out on now that both Paul and Noel have moved out, but he can usually take at least a day or two. 

“Might do,” he says, because there might be something more to it if Liam’s already itching to see him again after less than twenty-four hours, and then sees the disappointed look on his mum’s face. “After dinner?” Her face clears, and she nods. 

“We’ll be eating around seven,” she says. “Oh, and another bit of wall’s fallen in. Could you take a look?” Calum groans, and tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, drawing out the first syllable. His mum tuts, and the microwave dings. “Yeah, alright.” He opens his eyes and reaches for the microwave. 

“Michael called, too,” his mum says, and Calum swears again as the plate drops out of his hand and crashes to the floor, smashing to pieces and dropping hot, steaming pasta everywhere. His mum jumps out of the way, swears loudly, and says: “Bloody hell, Calum.”

“Sorry,” Calum says, scrambling to his knees to try and pick up as many pieces of plate as he can. “It was hot.” His cheeks are burning, partially from embarrassment and partially from whatever’s making his heart race like it is, and he stares steadfastly at the floor as he shuffles around. 

“What did he want?” Calum asks, as casually as he can, speaking to the floor. 

“He didn’t say,” his mum says. She hesitates, and then adds: “What’s going on with you two?” Fuck if Calum knows. 

“I don’t know,” Calum says, still not looking at her. He doesn’t want to see the inevitable disapproving look on her face, the motherly instinct to stop him doing something that’s probably just going to get him hurt etched on her features.  

“When did you start speaking again?” Calum hesitates, hand hovering over a shard of ceramic. He’s not really sure himself. Would it be the awards show? Or Glastonbury? Or that first phone call a few weeks later? It’d be Glastonbury, he supposes, because Michael hadn’t even acknowledged his existence at the awards show, couldn’t even look Calum in the eye. Glastonbury had been the first time Michael had admitted to the both of them that he still remembered Calum. 

“Glastonbury,” he says, and his mum inhales sharply. 

“Why didn’t you say?” she asks. Calum sits back on his heels, looking up at her, and shrugs. 

“I didn’t know how,” he says, which is sort of the truth. He leaves out the fact that he hadn’t really wanted to tell her, had wanted to squirrel it away, the last little piece of Michael that he could have to himself. 

Her expression softens, and she purses her lips, a little sadly. 

“Be careful with him,” she says, and Calum’s not sure whether she means Calum should protect himself or protect Michael. After all, she’d seen all the unopened letters Michael had sent.

“Yeah,” he says, looking back down at the pasta still spread across the floor. It feels sort of fitting, somehow. “I’ll try.” His mum sighs, and pushes herself off the kitchen counter she’s been leaning against. 

“Go,” she says. “I’ll clean this up.” 

“No, it’s alright, I-”

“Go,” she says, a little more sternly, and Calum gets to his knees, wiping his hands and dusting his knees off. 

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll just-” 

“Call him,” she says. He hates that she knows him so well. 

Calum heads out for the phone in the hallway, not wanting to take the call in the living room or kitchen where his mum might eavesdrop, and dials Michael’s number. He twirls the cord around his finger while it rings three times, until there’s a click and someone picks up.

“Hello?” 

“Hi.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Hi. Your mum said you were asleep.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, a little apologetically. “I didn’t get up until, like, half an hour ago. We played our last show for a while yesterday.” 

“Oh,” Michael says again, a note of recognition in his voice. Of course, Calum thinks; Michael’ll know what last shows - particularly home shows - are like. “Well. I just wanted to see if you were home, really.” He doesn’t say why, but they both know. 

“I am ‘til the twenty-seventh,” Calum says. Michael hums. 

“When can you come down?” Calum exhales heavily. He could go down any day, really. Tomorrow, if Michael wanted. He’s not sure whether he should just get it over with, or whether he should make the most of the last few days that he might have with the secret feeling of maybe there’s still hope. It’s been six months; he can probably stand a few more days of anticipation. But then again, it’ll be better to get it out of the way now, to have as long before Christmas as he can to gather himself after whatever Michael will throw his way so that it’s not overshadowing the few days his parents will get with him before he’s off again. 

“Tomorrow?” he offers, a little tentatively. He’s not sure whether it seems a bit too keen. 

“Yeah, tomorrow’s good,” Michael says. 

“I can be in London for twelve?” He winces, thinking about how early he’s going to have to get up for that. 

“Twelve works. Where d’you come in?” 

“Euston.” 

“Can you get to Camden?” Michael asks. “Or d’you want me to pick you up?” 

“No, I can get there,” Calum says, even though he’s not entirely sure he can. 

“Alright. I’ll give you my address, hang on-” there’s scrambling at the other end of the line. 

“D’you not know your own address?” 

“I- well, sort of, but-” Calum can’t help but laugh. “Fuck you,” Michael says, but Calum can hear he’s smiling too. “You got a pen and paper?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says. Michael reels off an address, postcode and all, and Calum dutifully jots it down, only stopping him once to ask whether he’d said D or E. 

“Alright,” Calum says, re-capping the pen and tearing the sheet of paper off the pad next to the phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

“See you tomorrow,” Michael echoes, and Calum only hesitates for a moment before hanging up. It feels strange, he thinks, not to hear the dial tone ringing in his ear, one last reminder of Michael even after he’s gone.

(He wonders whether Michael lingered like he always does.) 

  -------

  Liam ends up coming round for dinner, sounding relieved and grateful when Calum calls him and offers, making Calum frown and file the information away to quiz him on later. Calum’s mum rolls her eyes and makes exasperated noises when Calum tells her he’s coming, because now I have to make dinner for four people, Calum, couldn’t you have told me a bit earlier? but Calum knows she doesn’t really mind. Brash and corrosive though Liam can be, he’s got a childlike charm to him that captivates anybody who meets him, Calum’s parents included. They spend dinner laughing at stories Liam tells about tour, exaggerated and carefully skipping over all the drug use, and Calum’s mum even waves them away when they go to help wash up, tells them with a smile to head to the pub, go on, enjoy yourselves, you deserve it. 

“I fucking love your mam,” Liam says, practically skipping as they walk down the dark street to the pub. He’s not even wearing a coat, the fucking madman. Calum huddles further into his own, nosing into the collar of it as the cold wind whips at him. 

“You’re just saying that because she made your favourite pasta,” Calum says, and Liam turns back to him and grins. 

“Didn’t hurt,” he says. “C’mon, it’s cold.” 

“Why the fuck didn’t you bring a coat?” Liam shrugs, hopping from foot to foot. Calum’s not sure whether it’s because he’s cold, or because he’s Liam. 

“Nearly there, anyway,” Liam says, as they round the corner to the street the pub’s on. “Mam gave me a tenner for drinks.” Calum snorts. 

“Why’s your mum giving you money for drinks?” he says. “You’ve got a fucking number one album.” Liam grins. 

“Still the youngest kid, though, aren’t I?” he says, eyes twinkling. He’s got a point. Peggy would never give Noel a tenner for the pub. 

“Y’know, I can see why Noel hates you,” Calum comments, and Liam’s grin widens as he pushes open the door of the pub. 

It’s warm inside, and Calum says he’ll get them a table if Liam gets the drinks, which Liam doesn’t want to do until he sees a pretty girl tending the bar, and then he’s off like a shot. Calum squeezes between a bunch of tipsy men laughing far too loudly into a table in the back corner, wrinkling his nose as he steadies himself on the table and comes into contact with something sticky. Gross. 

Liam, inevitably, takes a good twenty minutes to come back with the drinks and a phone number tucked into his shirt pocket, grinning and eyes twinkling as he sets Calum’s pint down opposite him. 

“Took your fucking time,” Calum says, raising an eyebrow, and lifts the pint to his lips. 

“Did you fucking see her?” Liam says. “‘Course I took my bloody time.” He takes a sip from his own pint, and then nods at Calum’s. “You owe me for that.” 

“No I don’t,” Calum says. Liam scowls at him.

“That’s your fucking Christmas present then,” he says, and Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling into his beer.

They drink in comfortable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Calum’s enjoying the warmth of the pub, the familiarity, the way it feels a little like home. He wonders whether Sydney would feel foreign to him now, whether he’d still love the feeling of the warm sand under his feet at Christmas. 

“We used to go to the beach at Christmas,” he says, without thinking. Liam shoots him a strange look, before his face clears. 

“Oh, ‘s all the wrong way round down there, innit?” he says, like he’s just remembered. “Must be weird for you, Christmas being cold.” Calum shrugs. 

“It was at first,” he says. “I’m used to it now.” 

“Oh aye?” Liam sounds genuinely interested, so Calum carries on. 

“Yeah,” he says, with another shrug. “I never saw snow until I moved here.” 

“Did it freak you out?” Liam asks. “Seeing things all white, and that.” Calum blinks at him. 

“What?” 

“Well, if you’d never seen snow, what’d you think all the white stuff was?”

“I knew what snow was, you fucking idiot,” Calum says incredulously. “Fucking hell.” 

“Well, how the fuck am I meant to know that?” Liam says defensively. 

“You ever seen a camel? You think camels don’t exist?” 

“ Yeah, but-”

“You thought I didn’t know what snow was?” 

“How the fuck am I meant to know what they do and don’t teach you in Australia?” Liam demands, and Calum snorts and shakes his head. 

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Calum says, even though Liam thinking Calum didn’t know what snow was until he moved to the UK is entirely believable. Liam scowls, but it’s good-natured. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “You wait, I’m going to fucking leave you in Australia when we tour there.” 

“You wouldn’t last a minute without me,” Calum says confidently. “Who’ll save you from the bities?” 

“The fucking what? Bikeys?” 

“Or the freshies and salties?” 

“What? Those aren’t words. You’re fucking making this up, you are.” Calum laughs, and Liam folds his arms, resting his elbows on the table.

“Watch it,” Calum says, nodding at his elbows. “Table’s sticky.” Liam looks down, and grimaces, unsticking himself from the table. 

“Couldn’t’ve told me that before, could you, you prick?” he grumbles, dusting off his elbows, like it’s going to get rid of the stale beer. 

“Didn’t know you were going to put your fucking elbows down, did I?” Calum says, and Liam just sticks two fingers up at him as he reaches for his drink again, making Calum grin in response and wink at him over the rim of his own glass. 

They drink in silence for a while, listening to the chatter in the pub as they let the cosy atmosphere and the drinks warm them from the inside out. It’s nice, Calum thinks, downing the last of his pint. He hasn’t been alone with Liam in God knows how long, been stuck on tour buses and in planes with him and at least five other people for far too long, and he realises just how much he’s really missed his one-on-one time with Liam, the easy comfort of a friendship that both of them fall into without even thinking about it, the security of knowing their lives are irrevocably intertwined now. It’s nice that they don’t have to speak, that they can just sit here and drink each other in, just exist alongside each other in quiet peace.

Liam’s not usually this quiet for long, though, usually can’t contain his incessant energy for more than three minute bursts at a time, but Calum knows better than to push. There’s something there, but Liam will say it when he’s ready to say it, and not a moment sooner. Calum’s been burnt one too many times by his own good intentions in that area, so he just sits back, pushes his glass away from himself and waits. It only takes another few minutes of Liam staring down at the bottom of his glass, brows furrowed and deep in thought, until he suddenly says:

“Noel’s moving to London.” The penny drops. 

Ah. 

“Is he?” Calum says, although really, he’s not that surprised. They’re getting somewhere, and Manchester’s not exactly the place for an up-and-coming musician to be based. It’s been at the back of his own mind, but he’s been pushing it aside, preoccupied with too many other more pressing issues to worry about the logistics of moving that far out. 

“Yeah,” Liam says, still staring at the bottom of his glass. 

“You knew he would,” Calum says, trying to make it as gentle as possible. 

“I know,” Liam says. He doesn’t sound as upset about it as Calum had expected, actually. “He’s going to look at houses tomorrow.” Shit. London’s big, though, isn’t it? What are the odds that he’ll bump into Noel? 

“Did he say where?” Calum asks, hoping it comes out casual. He wishes he had another pint in front of him, wanting something to do with his hands and feeling just how sober he is all of a sudden, so used to either being on a high or a comedown. 

“Yeah, but fuck if I remember,” Liam says, with a shrug. “I’m going with him. Cunt’s making me get up at eight to catch the train.” Oh, fucking brilliant. Two Gallaghers to avoid in London, not just one. Is it too late to call Michael and reschedule? Probably; his mum’ll be listening if he makes a phone call when he gets back from the pub, and he doesn’t want to deal with all those questions. It does explain, though, why Liam doesn’t seem all too torn up about Noel moving so far away; Noel allowing Liam to come and look around with him is a silent acknowledgement that he knows Liam’ll be spending more time there than he will at home, most likely, so it’s got to be a place he likes too. 

“You’re a fucking scrounger,” Calum tells him, knowing Liam will know what he’s talking aout, and the ghost of a smile crosses Liam’s lips, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he plays with the rim of his glass. Calum frowns. He’s missing something.

“What?” he asks, and Liam shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He’s feeling something he’s not sure how to articulate, then, something he can’t channel into punches or barbed words. It’s something to do with Noel, because that’s the only topic he never knows how to approach while knowing exactly how to navigate it with his eyes shut and his hands tied behind his back, but it’s not something that Noel’s done, or Calum would be fucking hearing about it, and it’s not something that Liam’s done, or Calum would also be fucking hearing about it, but from Noel. It’s got to be something else, something that Noel doesn’t know about yet, something internal for Liam. Something about him moving to London, maybe, since he’s managed to bring that part up. Something that Liam feels about Noel moving to London, something that’s making him hesitant about accepting that he’s going to be spending a lot of time at Noel’s new place-

Oh. 

“He’s not doing it to get away from you, Liam,” Calum says, and Liam swallows, finger stilling on the rim of his glass for a split second, and Calum watches a little apprehensively as two conflicting emotions flash across Liam’s face; anger, irritated and embarrassed at the fact that Calum’s just called him out on it, and vulnerability, afraid and wanting Calum’s reassurance. Calum knows Liam better than almost anyone, and even he can’t ever tell which way it’s going to go. Luckily for him, though, Liam seems to struggle with himself for a moment before he exhales heavily, and slumps back in his chair.

“You don’t know that,” he says.

“I do,” Calum says. “He’s your brother, Liam.” Liam looks pained at that. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But- y’know. After LA.” He doesn’t say anything else - probably doesn’t know how or what to say - but Calum gets it. Everything had changed after Whiskey-a-Go-Go, shifted a few centimetres to the left, and even though everything’s okay again, it’s a different kind of okay to before. 

“That wasn’t your fault,” Calum says, because it wasn’t. 

“Wasn’t it? I was a right cunt.” 

“You’re always a right cunt,” Calum says, but he doesn’t mean it unkindly, or even teasingly. He means that’s just how you are, and we’re all still here, aren’t we? “And anyway, so was Noel.” Liam has to concede there, tilts his head to indicate yeah, I s’pose.  

“I dunno,” he says, still staring steadfastly at his empty glass. “Maybe he just needs a break from me.” 

“He always needs a break from you,” Calum says. “But he never takes one.” 

“Took one in LA.” 

“Yeah, and then he came back,” Calum says. Liam seems to mull the words over, let them roll around in his mind, see how they feel, but Calum can see from the look on his face that they aren’t quite enough. 

“Maybe you should get your own place in London,” Calum suggests. Liam looks up for the first time, brow furrowed. “Then you could be close, but not too close.” Liam’s brow stays furrowed, but he hums thoughtfully. 

“You think?” he says, sounding a little uncertain. Liam moving out of Manchester is quite a big step, the city etched into his veins like none of the rest of them, but it makes sense. And, Calum thinks, they’ll probably all have to move to London, eventually. It might be better to get it done at the same time as Noel, to have someone who knows how to navigate Liam’s inevitable misplaced temper tantrums at the fucking movers or traffic or furniture shops when he’s really just stressed about the change.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “It’d do you good, anyway, being on your own. Probably do you and Noel a world of good too, not living on top of each other all the time.” Liam scrunches his face up, looking ten years younger than he is, like the annoying little kid that Noel must see him as, and then sighs heavily and nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right. Yeah. Might have a look myself tomorrow, then.” Calum swallows. Not in Camden, he thinks as loudly as possible, in case Liam’s psychic. 

“Yeah, do that,” he says out loud. Liam nods again, a little more decisively this time, clearly not listening to Calum’s thoughts, and then grins at Calum, bright and easy, like the past five minutes hadn’t happened at all. 

“You’re getting the next round,” he says, and Calum sighs, all long-suffering, but heaves himself out of his seat, forgetting that the table’s sticky and squawking when he puts his hands down on it to support himself. Liam laughs delightedly, like there’s nothing in the fucking world that brings him more joy than Calum’s misfortune, and Calum scowls good-naturedly and flips him off as he heads in the direction of the bar. 

Well, he thinks, as he jogs down the steps leading up to their seating area and weaves through tables of increasingly tipsy old men laughing far too loudly. At least Liam’s sorted. And London really is big, right? Must be twice the size of Manchester, at least. And he’ll be in Michael’s house, anyway, won’t he? There’s no way he’ll see Noel and Liam there. 

Yeah, he thinks, flagging down the bartender. It’ll be fucking fine. 

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chapter six

[keanuvibe]

Bodyguard (John Wick x Reader) Pt. 4

A/N: Hi! sorry im awful at uploading lol. my personal life rn is on fire and i haven’t had all the time in the world to write, but managed to pull this chapter together so :) thats coolio. 

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: swears, violence, a lil fluff

“So, tell me everything.” June smirked, leaning over the table towards you. You had managed to meet the girls on time, only a few minutes past twelve- thirty. The three of you got seated shortly after, and ordered your cocktails; beginning the rounds of catching up you had to do. The restaurant is diner themed, set in the 1950’s. One wall of the building was a bar, fit with barstools, an ice cream machine, as well as a soda machine. There was even a section where you could order homemade candy. Little booths scattered the wall across from the bar, and tables separated the two. The floor was checkered design donning many muddy footprints and the walls were covered in old-timey photos of local streets. You and the girls sat at a booth, June and Dottie sitting across from you.

“Okay, get this,” You began, leaning in towards your friends, “Santino, you know, mio cugino pazzo. He’s mad at my father and is trying to kill me for it.”  ‘[My crazy cousin.]’ You finished and took another long sip of your cocktail. June and Dottie stared with their mouths agape. You calmly set down your drink and smiled shyly, eyes bouncing between the girls. You loved your friends, honestly. The three of you have been close since you were young teens. June and Dot also had connections to the Italian mafia, their fathers having run a section of both New York and New Jersey; although they aren't as intertwined as you. June is the oldest, one year older than yourself. She’s an old soul, that you know for sure. She wears dated clothes and uses dated household items; in fact, you can't recall June ever purchasing something new from the stores you and Dot go to. Hell, even her car is a 1978 AMC Pacer. Dottie is only a few months older than you, on the other hand. She is the spitting image of a pinup girl. She wears her hair in elegant waves and has bangs, she even wears button up dresses and has big hair bows for when shes feeling fancy. You can’t recall a time when she didn’t wear red lipstick nearly everyday.

“Should you even be outside?” Dottie whispered, leaning closer to your figure. Her New York accent was a little amplified by the drinks she’s had already. You shrugged as your answer, and June scoffed. 

“You, (Y/N), are unbelievable.” The waiter to walked up to your table, halting your conversation. The three of you blinked at the other, little grins holding back giggles ready to erupt. The waiter asked for your orders, then as soon as the young man had left, you jumped right back into it. 

“You guys should see my bodyguard.” You spoke, a smirk donning your face. Your mind wondered as to what he was up to right now. Maybe he's still sitting waiting for you to exit the bathroom, or, maybe he's already begun the witch hunt. 

“Ah, yes. John? As you've mentioned. Show us! the way you've described him- He sounds gorgeous.” Dottie eagerly bounced in her seat, urging you to show them a picture. You pulled out your phone, stomach dropping at the several messages that donned the lock screen; John’s contact name on each one. Witch hunt is it. 

12:47: Very funny. Where are you? 

12:59: Where are you. 

1:13: (Y/N). This isn’t a game.

1:21: I’m coming to find you. 

At least it took him almost an hour and a half to notice. You bit your cheek, looking up at June and Dottie. The two girls were engaged in conversation, talking about something or another. You cleared the notifications and unlocked your phone, hoping to god you got to finish your lunch before John caught up. You opened the camera roll and scrolled through until you found a picture of you and the bodyguard. Somehow, you'd gotten him to agree to a photo. He was bent over so his head was level with your own. Due to the lighting, the man was squinting, however the dark gaze caused a chill to form down your back. You cleared your throat and flipped your phone around to show the girls. Dottie stopped talking and immediately looked at the screen

“Oh my god.” She murmured, sitting back and putting her hand over her chest. “He’s so handsome.” June grabbed the phone from you to get a better look. 

“You have to fuck him.” The eldest commented with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. You let out a short laugh, snatching your phone back from the girls grasp. The two girls giggled at your embarrassment, Dot even took a coy sip from her drink. 

“Was that gray in his beard? How old is he?” Dottie asked, looking you in the eye and sipping on her own cocktail. 

“Don’t laugh, okay? He’s mid fifties.” A blush crawled across your cheeks as your words escaped your lips. June and Dottie blinked a couple times before Dot finally let out a snort. 

“Going geriatric, now? hm?” June spoke, raising her brow and taking a gulp of her drink. While Dottie laughed at June’s question, you glanced over their shoulders, witnessing two burly men sit down at a table across from yours. One of them made eye contact with you, glare evident in their gaze, before looking back to their buddy. You felt your skin crawl and cleared your throat, pushing the feeling away. June’s laughter brought you back, now looking between the two girls again. 

“Well, He- He really doesn't feel old. Not when we're together.” You shrugged, playing with the condensation on your drink. 

“I mean, you’re only twenty-six,” Dot spoke, her eyes glancing between you and June. “You’re young and hot. I don't see an issue.” Your eyes shot up to meet Dottie’s. She smiled at you, her dark brown eyes warming your core. 

“Who are we to judge,” June began, a laugh escaping her throat. “I slept with that old guy, remember? He was, like, almost sixty and I was drunk as hell.” You and Dottie laughed, remembering that night. It was June’s twenty-third birthday. You three went to the club to celebrate and the eldest of your group ended up getting too wasted on absinthe. Which resulted in her sleeping with Mitch Johnson, an old friend of your fathers. Small world. 

“And you,” June pointed to Dottie, “Are a homewrecker.” 

“He never said he was married.” Dottie responded, sticking her tongue out at the woman. The three of you chuckled amongst yourselves before a silence took over. Your eyes once again scanned the room, not being able to shake the eerie feeling those two men implanted. They still sat across the diner and occasionally their eyes would make contact with your own, causing a chill to run up your spine. You quietly flipped your phone over, checking for any more messages from John. The screen remained blank, setting panic to freely course through your veins. His previous message was sent fifteen minutes ago, which meant the man was probably on his way right now. Plus, your parents didn’t live far from Coopers. 

The men both stood up now, locking eyes with you. They then looked at the other, as though confirmation was in order, before beginning to walk in the direction that you and the girls sat. Anxiety courses firmly through your veins now, and you could feel your palms gather sweat. 

“Girls,” You murmured, gathering their attention. “There are two men walking in our direction now, and I’m pretty sure they are after me.” You kept your voice low, trying to pretend as though you are oblivious. June and Dottie became physically uncomfortable, now shifting in their seats and looking over their shoulders. You felt guilt cross your person, now realizing how serious the situation is. You put your two best friends in harm's way. I mean, It’s not like they’re completely useless; they have parents in the Mafia, they’re trained in combat and weaponry. However, the guilt still bothered you that it was your fault.

“How do we go about this?” Dot asked, reaching for her purse. Your eyes watched as the woman dug into her bag. The pop of a gun chamber sounded as she began to fill it with bullets. June tied her hair back and began to stretch her arms. You sometimes forget that June is trained extensively in Jiu Jitsu. You also looked back to the men who were still making their way to you, passing through the crowded dining room floor. 

“Should we leave the public space?” You murmured, “I don’t want civilian casualties.” 

“Yes.” June agreed, standing up. “Gather your things, quickly.” She added. The oldest tossed a fifty dollar bill onto the table to pay for the drinks and the food you didn’t get to eat. You led the way, pushing through the crowded dining room to the exit. You glanced back, seeing the men become more frustrated. You are aware of the other, knowing what little cat and mouse game was occurring. 

Your palms shoved the door open, the three of you stumbling over onto the sidewalk. You looked both ways before leading right. You didn’t know what to do, whether you should try to outrun them, or stick up and fight. Maybe if you kill them it’ll send a message to Santino. Though, he may not even care. As he’s got twenty more men to fill the space those two would leave. You made sure June and Dottie still followed, checking over your shoulder occasionally. The three of you pushed through the crowds of New York, your main destination being Dottie’s vehicle. Your eyes also kept a lookout for John. He probably tracked your phone, you knew he had the ability anyways. You’re just glad the little ploy worked for as long as it did. You turned right down an alleyway, taking a shortcut towards the parking garage that Dot’s car was in. June looked over her shoulder, alarm blaring through her veins as she spotted the men. 

“They’re still behind us.” She spoke, looking between you and Dottie. You took a deep breath, placing your hands on your hips. 

“Va al diavolo!” ‘[Go to hell!]’ You cursed, throwing your hands up. Dot quickly grabbed you by the arm, pulling you as she began to run to the end. June grunted as the three of you approached a dead end, meeting a chain link fence.

“Fanculo. Okay, you two climb over.” ‘[Fuck.]’ You spoke, gesturing to the fence that stood in front of you. Your eyes met those of your friends, all breathing heavily from the sprint. Echoed footsteps could be heard at the entrance of the alley. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing the silhouettes of the men headed in your direction.

“Go!” You spoke with a harshness towards your friends.

“Not without you!” Dottie raised her tone, hands on hips. You turned your head again, seeing them get closer.

“Dot, just go!” You finally yelled. The girls hesitated, however respected your wishes and quickly climbed the fence, hopping to the other side. They stood now, staring as the men approached, getting ready to jump back over if need be.

“Santino it ha Inviato?” ‘[Did Santino send you?]’ You asked the men, slowly walking towards them.

“Si.” ‘[Yes.]’ One responded, their faces finally becoming clear from the backlight. You looked at them, noting how they both looked like average Italian men. Dark hair, olive eyes, and warm skin. Their faces were covered in a few scars, and you noted how they both wore suits with visible holsters resting on their hips

“It ha mandato per uccidermi?” ‘[Did he send you to kill me?]’ You asked, the men now only ten feet away from you. The darkness of the alley sent a chill down your spine, and you glanced back at the girls to make sure they were alright. Dot had her hand in her purse, most likely gearing up for when shit turned sideways. June held a stoic look, almost a resting bitch face, staring down the two men. 

“Si.” The same one answered again. They now stood only five feet away, stopping in front of you. You felt the sweat drip down your forehead, the buggy summer heat beginning to take claim of your body. You took a deep breath, wondering where John was, and how now would be a good time for him to suddenly appear. The men cracked their knuckles, rolling their shoulders and looking at you with sinister smiles. 

“Di ‘a Santino: E un peccato che sia troppo codardo per uccidermi.” ‘[Tell Santino: It’s a shame he’s too much of a coward to kill me himself.]’ You spoke, remembering the moves that your bodyguard had taught you. You leapt forward, first knocking one of the men down by pushing in his kneecaps. You took the moment to quickly hit the next guy, however, he blocked your blow, sending you back a few feet. The second man took advantage of your hesitation and grabbed you, throwing you into one of the walls. You let out a yelp, feeling the brick scrape bare skin harshly. The first guy stood up, and threw a fist at you, however, you quickly dodged and used his own momentum to toss his body into the wall. 

You felt as the second lackey quickly punched your gut, causing you to double over in pain. June and Dottie stood yelling which you could hear through ringing ears. You recovered quickly, countering the second man with a swift kick to his shin. He groaned, but recovered and swung a fist at you. You managed to dodge the blow and delivered a hearty boot to his groin. He quickly dropped to the ground in pain and you grabbed the pistol from his holster, pulling the trigger and placing one bullet into his skull. The second man used this moment to grab your loose shirt, and throw you into the brick, scraping your skin once again. He lifted his foot and conveyed a kick to your gut, sending you to double over. He used his fist to hit the sides of your face, throwing your head back and forth. You could feel blood begin to drip down your face, the pain that each snap of your neck caused, you could hear June and Dot yelling but it was faint. Time felt slowed, your heartbeat was like a drum in your ear. Then, a gunshot. 

All movements stopped, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground near your own. You slowly slid down, ignoring the burning chafe the brick left. Hot tears stung your eyes as you covered them with your hands, a harsh sob leaving your throat. Your body ached, your face burned, and blood was the only taste that donned your mouth. You heard the chain link rattle as somebody climbed over it, as well as a huff when they landed. A gentle hand placed itself on your shoulder, and you saw as they knelt down, due to the shadow.

“(Y/N).” John. A hoarse cry escaped your throat upon hearing your bodyguards gentle voice. He wasn’t angry, like you expected. Instead, his tone seemed more worried than anything. You managed to look up at the man from your hands, your eyes greeting the sight of his own.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)!” You heard Dottie yell as she approached your side. The two girls quickly examined your body, nearly shoving John out of the way. 

“I fucked up.” You didn’t even recognize your voice as you spoke— your throat burned. June dotted your bloody forehead with a napkin from Dot’s purse.

“We should get her back home.” Dottie murmured, looking up at John. The dark haired man nodded, agreeing with the woman. June moved out of the way so he could scoop you into his arms. You lay your head onto his chest, faintly hearing the sound of his heartbeat and breathing. The man carried you out of the alley with June and Dottie close behind. You felt the summer sun warm your face as you exited the cool shade of the alleyway. The fresh breeze brought your attention to the cuts on your face, feeling the coolness from the semi-dried blood. Dottie opened the vehicles door and John placed you in the passenger seat, buckling your body firmly in. The two girls hopped into the back, John promising they’d be returned to their car later this evening. You heard the rumble of the engine, and closed your eyes, feeling tiredness numb the pain that ravaged your figure.

——————

“How long have you been employed by the (Y/L/N)’s?” Dottie’s gentle voice quietly echoed throughout your bedroom. Mellow sun rays shone in through the window, casting a warm haze throughout the space. After the incident in the alleyway, John brought you, Dottie, and June back to your parents estate. However, after you all got back, John discovered they'd left on business to Rome for a few days. He carried your figure all the way from the car to your bed, carefully depositing you. Dot and June then got to work, bandaging your wounds, though after you seemed stable and well asleep, they backed off and let you get some rest. Now, John watched as Dottie cared for your sleeping figure. His heart couldn’t help but ache to see you so helpless laying there. Your face had been drained of some of its color, leaving it more pale and sickly. Your hair stuck to your skin, and a thin layer of sweat covered your body. Your bodyguard wanted so badly to climb into the bed with you, stroke your hair from your face, tend to your bandages, hold you, kiss you. 

“Month and a half.” John answered, looking over to the woman. She nodded at his answer, dotting your forehead with a wet washcloth. The woman sat next to your bed with a rag in hand, occasionally cleaning your skin of sweat and dried blood specs. June was asleep on the small couch you had in your bedroom next to one of the windows. John stood on the opposite side of the bed from Dottie, watching her every movement when it came to caring for you. Occasionally your body would stir, but you still hadn’t woken up since the car— four hours ago. 

“Are you liking it?” The vintage dressed woman asked, a smirk crossing her red lips. She cast her eyes between John and your sleeping figure, hinting as to what she was meaning. 

“I am.” He responded. Dottie noticed his softened gaze when he looked towards you. She glanced back down at your face, wiping your skin with the washcloth gently. Your brow bone contained a nasty laceration and your cheekbone held a nice bruise with a cut as well. There was also a gash on your bottom lip, and your left eye held a hefty black bruise. That man really got ahold of you. 

“They're a good family. I know Francesco means well,” Dot murmured, “Speaking of, have you let them know?” John watched as the woman stood up and walked to the bathroom retrieving a fresh bowl of water for your face. 

“I called Francesco shortly after we arrived here.” The dark haired man spoke. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning towards your figure. He brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen in your face. His thumb caressed your cheek afterwords, carefully avoiding the wounds that donned your skin. He felt your body stir, and a quiet groan escape your lips as you started to wake up. Dot walked back into the room, noting Johns figure looming over your own. A little smirk crossed her lips as she set the bowl down on the nightstand. You peeked your eyes open for a second, wincing at the brightness of the room. 

“Good afternoon, sleepy.” Dottie smiled, sitting beside your figure again. “Careful.” She murmured, watching as you shifted to sit up a little better. You knew Dottie was next to you, but could feel the weight of somebody on your other side. A large hand quietly placed itself on the side of your arm and you looked to see who it belonged to.

“How do you feel?” John’s words were gently spoken. His fingers squeezed your arm slightly before he released. 

“M-my throat hurts.” Your voice came out scratchy and withered sounding. Dottie quickly placed a cool glass of water into your palms, hers then wrapping around yours before releasing entirely. You gave her the best smile you could manage, due to your cuts, before sipping the drink. John stood up from the bed and made a comment about going to grab pain medicine before he exited your bedroom. 

“I'm going to wake up June.” Dottie spoke, walking over to her sleeping position by the window. You blinked your eyes, feeling the pain from the cuts, and groaned silently. It was stupid of you to think you could take on both of them. Your training with John was going fine, you figured if you at least got one down… No matter, at least you were still alive. The footsteps of your two friends caught your attention as the girls returned to your side. June immediately began to gush over how happy she was you were awake and okay, hugging you tightly. 

“We thought you were a goner.” The girl whispered, worry still evident in her tone. You raised your brows but winced as the sting from the cut became overwhelming. 

“I'm glad John showed up when he did. Like a superhero. He stood there with his gun and you should've seen the animalistic look in his eye.” Dottie sighed dreamily, “You are one lucky girl.” 

“I know about your ‘no dating’ rule, however, I don't think you should let this one get away.” June commented quietly, brushing some hair from your face. Dot agreed, shaking her head vigorously. The three of you cut the conversation short as John's footsteps echoed closer. He entered the room quietly and padded over to the bed, handing you a bottle of painkillers. Your fingers brushed as the container was passed and you felt a longing for the touch to remain; however just as the warmth arrived, it left. 

——————

June and Dottie stayed over for another hour before leaving. They helped you change your clothes and settle in for the night before they left you in the capable hands of John. The two of you remained in your bedroom the rest of the evening. You went in and out of sleep a few times. One time, you woke to the man humming quietly while sitting in bed next to your figure. Another, he was checking your bandages and cleaning the sheen of sweat from your skin. Maybe what June said is right, you can’t let John get away. Nobody has cared for you like he has. But that begged the question, would he even want to be with you? You’re half his age and apart of a mafia family. Plus, you still don't know much about him; his past, his home life, etc. He is a mysterious being, quiet too. It only made you want to know more.

“John?” You murmured, gathering the strength to sit up. It was late evening now, just past eight. The summer sun had just set, leaving a gray tone to cover the space. 

“Yes?” He answered, turning to face you. He had been sitting at your desk, cleaning his gun. 

“Parlami di te.” ‘[Tell me about yourself.]’ The man responded to your request by putting down the parts in his hand. He then quietly cleaned his fingers of grime before standing up and padding over to you, but not sitting. 

“What would you like to know?” He murmured. You studied his face for a moment, taking in the features he donned. His normally combed hair was disheveled now and he had bags under his eyes. He wore a suit and shoes too, obviously still dressed for work. 

“Everything.” You replied, ignoring the throb of pain that coursed through your body. John nodded, then loosened the tie from his around neck. He shed off his suit jacket next, leaving him in a black button up and vest on top. You admired his figure in the darkening room. He stood tall, confident, maybe a little tired, but didn't let it show much. The man settled on the edge of your bed, by your feet. The room remained silent for a few moments; you not daring to speak, and John taking the time to gather his thoughts. 

“I was married.” John’s voice was so soft, you had to lean towards him to hear better. The man kept his gaze towards his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. 

“Was?” You asked, pushing aside the slight feeling of jealousy that rose. 

“She- she passed due to an illness years back.” The bodyguard paused.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” You let out quietly, as to not bother John’s story process. 

“I was retired and wanted to live my days as a widower, however I was dragged back into the business by an old friends’ idiot son.” The man sighed, pushing some fallen hair behind his ear. You caught a glimpse at how sad he appeared, and felt an urge to comfort him. Pain shot through your body as you scooted down the bed until you were close enough to John. You grabbed his hand and his fingers instinctively intertwined with your own, making you realize just how large his palms actually were. It felt right, his hand being wrapped with your own. 

“Ever since then, I haven't left the business again. I see no point. I can't seem to leave anyways, I keep getting dragged back in.” He sighed heavily and you began to rub your thumb along his hand, as your way of comforting him. He fell silent, but you didn't push anymore questions just yet. He was being open and raw, which was probably difficult for the man to do. If he wanted to tell his story, he would. You wanted to know more, obviously, about the kind of work he's done; his jobs, the people he’s met, and if he knew anyone in your family. You wanted to know why the man was so troubled, and why it seemed everybody is against him. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Your voice escaped softly, barely above a whisper. John's hand squeezed your own, before he finally made eye contact with you. His dark gaze caused a chill to slither down your spine.

“Yes.” He spoke softly, “I need to go change.” He gave your hand one last squeeze before removing it and standing up. You watched as his figure walked across your room and disappeared behind the door. It only took him about five minutes before he returned, ready for bed. Sure, it was barely nine, but you figured you could put on a movie. You drank in the sight of him, admiring his pajamas. Blue with plaid stripes, and a plain white t-shirt. You’ve never seen him in anything but a suit, nevermind the sweatsuit outfit from when you train. This is different than that, this is a side of John that doesn't say ‘Hey, i'm a killer!’ This side is domestic; make you coffee and toast in the morning domestic. 

“Would you like to watch a movie?” You then asked, watching him tidy up his mess from cleaning his gun, which he didn't finish. 

“Sure.” He responded, walking over and climbing onto the bed next to your figure. You turned on your TV, and picked a movie from a streaming service, before fully settling in. You scoot your body close enough to John’s that you were able to lay your head on his chest. The man wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer, but gently as to not cause you more pain. You listened to his heartbeat as it slowed to a resting rhythm, and then closed your eyes letting sleep overcome your senses.

--

Masterlist

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (15)

A/N: 👏🏼COME👏🏼GET👏🏼Y'ALLS👏🏼FLUFF👏🏼 this is SUCH a fluffy chapter im LIVING!!! all these slow moments are so much fun i'm actually just soft rn. gOd.also, realizing that this probably isn't slow burn. since it like. happens over the course of a day and a half. there're just hints that they've all been either pining or in denial for forever . so whoops

i’m at my family’s house right now, but after this i’ll be in my Stable Home™ for the foreseeable future. plus the next chapter is going to be.....so fun. :^) 

WARNINGS: I FUCKING FORGOT TO UPDATE THESE K. M. S.  wound mentions, self-deprecation — pretty sure that’s all there is in this one, but please let me know if i should add any more ! 

Words: 7390

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​ @forrestwyrm​ @daflangstlairde​ @marshmallow-the-panda​ @askthesnake​ @k9cat​ @patromlogil​ @theobsessor1​

general tag: @jemthebookworm​

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to the ball tonight.”

The Thief shot the Bard another glare and turned his head to face the ceiling again. They’d been talking about the ball for about an hour. The Playwright had gone as soon as they’d explained, saying he didn’t like spending too much time in the Imagination’s action grounds, and the Artist then left to find the other Sides. 

If the Thief didn’t go with them, they wouldn’t have any protection. No one was willing to fight, much less fight the Dragon, and no one else alive could go toe to toe with him. 

But your wound….

Fuck off. 

It stings, doesn’t it?

“You know that doesn’t matter,” he said aloud.

“It matters so much,” the Bard whispered back.

He shifted, hand resting along the Thief’s tummy. After the Artist left, the Bard opted to lay down next to the Thief, hugging him as gently as he could around the stomach as to not jostle the bandages wrapped tight around the Thief’s chest. 

Sure, the Bard sung a ditty, used as much magic as the setting would allow, making sure the gash didn’t hurt and didn’t bleed and would heal quick. But he’d always had a soft spot for the Thief. They got along better than anticipated, given how fiery they were. He didn’t want the Thief feeling any sort of pain. Plus, pain wasn’t really their thing. 

“How’s Logan?” the Thief asked, for the fifth time.

Seeing Logan in distress had upset him more than the actual wound. The Bard clicked his tongue, almost annoyed at the Thief’s apathy for himself.

“Wonderfully,” the Bard promised, “He’s with Patton and Deceit, and they’re taking care of him.”

“Better than we would.”

“You could say that again.”

Distantly, they heard a door opened and closed again. That was likely the Artist coming back, the Bard thought, and he gently squeezed the Thief’s side. “Should I go check on them?” he whispered.

He felt the Thief shrug against him. 

Laying like this was calming. A little depressing as Roman realized he was cuddling against himself, but, well. What can you do. They both elected to wait until someone came in from the foyer, where the Artist had led everyone into and was now making six mugs of tea.

Logan was the last to enter, closing the door behind himself. Another throb of pain jolted through his head, and he couldn’t stifle a quiet groan. It felt like something was pushing on the inside of his skull, trying to break out. 

“Logan?” he heard Deceit ask.

He was leaning on the door now, hand still gripping the handle as he rested his forehead and tried to stop feeling dizzy. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as the fluorescent lights were just a bit too bright for him to handle. This was the worst bout yet. 

Multiple hands grabbed him, leading him slowly back to the couch he’d been at prior. 

“Logan, honey?” Patton asked. 

He laid down on the couch, shifting as the hands left. How expedient of a situation. The pain subsided only slightly, returning to sit in the back of his cranium. 

“Yo, Professor Plum, are you going to say something?” the Artist said. 

They all were sitting now, Deceit on the coffee table, Patton on the ground beside the couch and the Artist on the couch’s armrest. Logan’s eyes were still closed, but he lifted his thumb up, resting his hand on his stomach, and all of their shoulders loosened. 

“I have a headache,” Logan stated, “That is all. It will pass.”

The trio all looked worriedly at each other, gesturing at one another as though asking if they’d heard about this headache. As it became more and more apparent that this was news to all of them, Patton turned back to Logan. He knew how to deal with Logan’s occasional headaches, often brought on from Thomas overthinking things or having to deal with strenuous mental exercises. Or Taxes. It was tax season, after all.. 

“Darn. What kinda tea is that?” Patton asked, gesturing to the cups, “Do you have any peppermint?”

The Artist bit his lip and waved his hand over the cup. The scent, which had been light and fruity, shifted into mint. “Now it is,” he said, worry ebbing into his voice, “Is there anything else we can do?”

“How long have you had this headache?” Deceit asked, still watching Logan.

“Since we entered the Imagination. It was small, when we woke up in that forest yesterday,” Logan rubbed his forehead and took off his glasses, “Patton, can you hold these?”

Patton took them wordlessly and set them on the coffee table. 

“And you stated earlier that you’ve never been in the Imagination?” Deceit asked again. 

Patton glanced at him. Deceit was, once again, taking notes. Well, more like poking his pen against a specific page in his notepad. 

“Yes. I have never been here before.”

“Ah.” Deceit circled something on the page and poked his pen against it again.

“Ah?” the Artist asked, brow furrowing, “Ah, like, ‘ah, by Jove, I’ve got it’ kinda ah?”

It was Deceit’s job to ‘get it,’ as the Artist put it. But now he had to explain what was wrong. 

Something Deceit was very well known for being bad at. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but was first interrupted by Logan.

“Have YOU been in the Imagination before?”

Deceit bobbed his head to either side, thinking. “Yes. I have,” no need for details.

“Roman let you in?” Patton sounded surprised, and Deceit waved his hand.

“No, of course not.” and he was cut off again, this time by the Artist with a clearing of the throat. An incredibly offended clearing of the throat. 

“Yeah, no, we don’t let just anyone in. Do you see how much work we’ve put into this place? It’s more elaborate than the Marvel Cinematic Universe. You’ve come in a few times, just to help with memories in dreams, right? Virgil’s helped with a few nightmares. But mostly it’s just me. And….well,” the Artist pursed his lips and waved his hand, indicating ‘you know.’

Before anyone could ask follow up questions, he stood up. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna go check on Thief and Bard.”

The Thief, the Bard....wait, that was just three Romans. Deceit frowned up at the Artist’s retreating back, switching gears for a moment. “Where’s the Playwright?” 

“He doesn’t like being, uh, on stage. His words,” the Artist’s eyes flicked up for a second, before looking back at Deceit, “He’s also grabbing costumes for the ball tonight.”

The three Sides vaguely remembered the incredibly long corridor of costumes and the extended process of trying to dress for the medieval setting.

Logan frowned. The “medieval” setting indeed. It was so historically inaccurate that he was taking a running count of the innacuracies that seem to be without a Doylist explanation, and had been considering what the historically plausible alternatives were. What kinds of outfits would be accurate for a ball, though? 

He winced again, closing his eyes and laying down again as the headache bounded back in full force. 

Deceit, Patton, and the Artist all looked back at him. Truthfully, the Artist felt guilty; Logan seemed to be doing fine before he arrived, so the increase in headache-induced-acheing was probably connected to him. Somehow.

“I’m gonna bring Thief and Bard some tea,” he mumbled, picking up two of the mugs, “Sorry the Imagination sucks, Logan.”

And he darted away before any of them could tell him to not. 

Patton blinked, looking around. He could have sworn the Artist was just with them. Oh, he must have left. 

Had Logan had his tea? Patton had zoned out for a little there and hadn’t noticed. He shifted how he was sitting on the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and looking around the room again. 

Where were they again?

Dr. Picani’s office, oh, yeah.

Where had the Artist gone?

“Artist….?” Patton hummed, quiet and to himself as to not interrupt the other two.

“Now,” Deceit seemed unphased by the Artist’s quick exit, turning back to Logan with his notepad, “It came back? Just now?”

“Yes. Stop talking for a second, please,” Logan raised a finger. 

Deceit nodded and puffed up his cheeks, looking up and around at the room. His eyes eventually landed on Patton, who was still looking around, vaguely confused. But now he was more confused about why he was so confused because, like, of COURSE he saw the Artist leave. Patton’s eyes refocused, blinking at Deceit. He waved one hand.

At first, Deceit’s expression didn’t change, and Patton lowered his hand. But then, slowly, Deceit blinked at him, then stuck his tongue out slightly.

“Blep,” Patton whispered.

Deceit smirked, and winked. Blep indeed.

Patton slapped his hand over his own mouth, stifling his giggles as Logan lowered his hand. “Alright. I am okay.”

“Good,” Deceit said, turning his attention quickly back to the logical side, “Now, actually, Patton.”

Patton perked up. “Mhm?”

“Do you feel any difference?” Deceit crossed his legs where he sat, pen sitting on his notepad as he waited. 

Patton tilted his head in thought, then shook it. “Not like a headache or anything,” he made a gesture with his hands, as though he were pulling something apart between them, “It’s like….like. A feelings-y thing. I’m feeling a little more airheaded than usual? You know, like how you feel right after we binge-watch The Office.”

Deceit watched him blankly. He didn’t have the heart to tell Patton that that made absolutely no sense because he wasn’t the overseer of Thomas’ emotional interpretation, so he just nodded. 

“Patton,” he turned to Logan, who was gesturing into the air above him while laying down, “I do not know what the fuck that means.”

And there Logan was with the incredibly tired realism. Patton deflated. “Oh,” he hummed, frowning at the ground as he thought of a new way to explain the sensation.

Honestly, it’d been building, like a burp. There were a lot of things going on he didn’t agree with, and a lot of things that plain hurt, but there were weird things he’d never felt before. 

Patton hummed angrily behind his lips, drumming his fingers against his chin for a moment in thought. What kinds of feelings had he never felt before? How would he know?

Gosh, that didn’t even make sense to him. Patton was getting his thoughts wrapped in a tizzy. He balled up his hands in his lap and tried again.

“Well, it’s like….like you’ve just experienced so much that you KNOW! You know you know what’s going to happen, but it still happens and you still feel everything, but not as big as before, like it’s an echo? Almost? It feels like I can kinda feel everything a lot always. And on top of that, I feel like I’m letting a lot more slide. Like, earlier. I know you’ve got a headache, but language.”

Logan sighed tiredly and Patton waved his hands a little frantically, backtracking. “I know! But I didn’t really register that! I had to think about it! But usually I can just, ya know, know, and usually you’d know too, right? It’s like what I’m feeling and what I’d USUALLY feel about things are all wonky, so I’m sensing things and feeling things a lot slower than usual.”

Logan exhaled, then rubbed his face with both of his hands.

That made only the tiniest modicum of sense. 

Well, it made perfect sense to the person who’d been looking for that answer. Deceit jotted down another note and exhaled, nice and slow. Eureka, he supposed.

How was he going to synthesize this in an understandable way?

“Logan, Patton, remember how surprised Bard, Thief, and Child were earlier, over how time was moving at a regular rate?” Deceit asked them both, looking up from his notes and raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh, huh. They said it’d been a whole week but you said it’d only been a few hours,” Patton crossed his legs on the ground and leaned back on the couch, head resting beside Logan’s shoulder.

“Exactly. And that time thing changed, what, when we first arrived here?” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. He still had his eyes closed, despite the fact that his headache had eased up once more. It was just pleasantly calming at this point. “Do you think our arrival into the Imagination had something to do with the time scale changing?”

Oh good, Logan got it instantaneously. Deceit clapped, nodding excitedly. “Yes!”

“But I dunno how to change anything in here. If we’re not trying to change things, then why’re they changing?” Patton slumped, knitting his eyebrows together in thought and tapping Logan’s hand, “You know anything about that, kiddo?”

“I’m afraid I have to confess ignorance to how the Imagination works. On this side, I assumed Roman controlled everything.”

That was valid; Deceit couldn’t profess to being an expert either, but what other explanation was there? He had other evidences, too. “But do you both remember how the town looked when we first arrived? Or the forest?”

Patton watched Deceit as his brows pinched even tighter. He was really trying to remember, and he knew what he thought it’d looked like, but he wasn’t sure. It did look different this morning compared to yesterday evening, too, but he couldn’t pinpoint in what ways.

“Not quite,” he made a so-so hand motion. “It sure looks different, though, but I dunno how.”

“I cannot either,” Logan said. “It looked like a town, but I cannot remember any precise details.”

“Neither can I, but that’s the point,” Deceit twirled his pen in the air, as though circling the town, “We know what it looks like now! It’s got detail.”

“Yes, possibly because we’ve been in the town for longer. It stands to reason that, the longer we are in an environment, the more that environment becomes familiar,” getting much farther away now, Logan, “That seems more likely than our entrance into the Imagination impacting the physical landscape.”

“Not just the physical landscape,” Deceit huffed, annoyed now as he crossed his arms, “I think all of us are adding our own assets to whatever story Roman’s trying to tell in here.”

Logan scowled at the ceiling. That was possible, but in Logan’s opinion, less plausible. He and Patton had no idea how to change things, especially how to change the things that Roman had so painstakingly built. 

In theory, it shouldn’t be any harder than striking a red line through it, similar to how he would when editing one of Roman’s scripts. But in practice, Logan wouldn’t know where to begin or what sorts of — he cringed — feelings it would envoke. 

COULD their very presence in the Imagination be changing it? His headaches usually stemmed from being overworked. Could he, as a Side, be overcompensating for the lack of Logic in an Imagination purely overrun by Creativity? 

Logan frowned at the ceiling. He would have to concede to Deceit — his theory made sense, the more Logan considered it.

Deceit looked from Logan to Patton, who was flapping his knees up and down while he sat. When he met Deceit’s eyes, he shrugged apologetically. Patton was still zipping slowly in and out of understanding; he’d always attributed that to the Imagination because, well, that’s just how the Imagination had always been for him. And implying that Roman’s imagination would be hurting them? That didn’t make sense! Roman would never, he wasn’t evil!

“I just thought it was ‘cause it was the Imagination. I wouldn’t want to change anything about what Roman’s making. Plus, Roman always talks about how creation doesn’t make sense, ya know,” he fixed his glasses and held his legs with both hands. 

“Does it not, or does Roman think it wouldn’t make sense to us?” Deceit asked. The uncertainty that passed over Patton’s face was interrupted by a cold question.

“What doesn’t make sense to you?” 

Deceit and Patton both looked over to the door, where the Artist had returned from the other room. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, posture rigid. 

Numbly, Deceit wondered how much he’d heard. The Artist met his gaze with a hardened glare, but nodded to the other room. “Thief wants to talk to you,” he stated, “Just you. And I wanna talk to Logan and Patton.”

The Artist had heard enough to be vaguely upset that they were talking about him behind his back. 

Deceit sighed and climbed off of the coffee table finally. He’d die before sitting in a seat correctly. 

“Fine. Maybe they’ll understand what I’m trying to say,” he stated, giving Patton a look that plainly read ‘Think about it or I’ll stab you with this sword.’

You know what, Patton took back the thing about Deceit being an actor. That anger was thinly veiled at best. 

But he also loved him. 

So Patton smiled at Deceit and blew him a small kiss. 

He absolutely hadn’t expected Deceit’s eyes to widen, nor for him to walk straight into the wall beside the hallway and sputter in indignation. 

Deceit slid into the other room quickly, avoiding the Artist. Which was fine. Completely. Fine.

The Artist walked back and sat down on the ground, beside Patton. He leaned his head back and nudged Logan’s hip. “Your head still hurt, Cranium Command?” he asked, voice much softer and….was that guilt?

Well, they couldn’t have the Artist blaming himself for a quandary he had no hand in. Plus, that was quite the Disney-rooted nickname, and Logan couldn’t deny that he was pleased with it. He shook his head with a quiet hum. “A little, but not as forcefully.”

“That’s good. Uh,” the Artist held one of his knees, letting the other leg straighten out beneath the table, “Playwright actually wanted me to ask why you haven’t looked at his book more often.”

“Oh?”

“Worm?” Patton added.

The Artist snorted, giving him a soft smile and nudging his arm. This Roman was real different, in Patton’s mind. So quiet and unsure of himself outside of the persona he’d built for himself, that of a worker. His smiles were like those tiny ones Roman would give, when wrapped beneath his arms, or when receiving praise for a job well done. 

He unthinkingly straightened the strings on the Artist’s hoodie, humming quietly, and the Artist took one of his hands. 

Before anything else, though, Logan grunted. Both of them scooted forward, letting Logan swing his legs carefully between them. “Let us peruse this book, then,” he murmured, taking the book from his coat once more. 

“Oh, yeah, THAT book!” Patton said, pointing to it. 

His hand lowered as they saw the cover. 

“Woah,” the Artist murmured, “Interesting design. I would have coated everything in the same level of golden foil, though. It’s a little unbalanced right now.”

Every bit of Roman’s crest was visible to some extent, indicating that they’d met everyone. That must mean, Logan realized, Virgil met the Damsel. He didn’t know if that alleviated some of his worries about never finding that particular Roman, or if it worried him that the center tower of the castle was the most blank portion of the entire crest. 

Should he point it all out? Would that be awkward, with the Artist present? The ocean’s (or was it a lake, because of the lake outside of the town’s walls) waves were present as a flat yellow color, not glittering but at least with vibrantly visible lines. The most bold part, glowing golden, was still the central spiralling sun. 

A part of Logan’s chest loosened, knowing that they hadn’t failed the Child, that he still believed in them all. In all honesty, seeing the entire crest, even the Dragon’s thin golden castle wall outlines, comforted some part of him that was worried they’d never reassemble Roman. 

Pattn pressed a finger to the cover. 

“What’s this all mean again?” he asked, brow furrowing in concentration.

He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember what the entire book was for. Which was super bad, considering the Playwright had given it to them yesterday. 

In his defense, though, it’d been a LONG, long, long, long, long day.

This was definitely going to get awkward. Logan didn’t particularly care, though; if the Artist had qualms with it, he would have to take it up with the Playwright. “The cover indicates how much we’ve ‘convinced’ every form of Roman that we appreciate his existence,” Logan explained.

“Ah.” The Artist’s voice was eerily level. 

“Oh, yeah! Wow, the Child really likes us,” Patton drew his finger along the outer edge of the crest, a thin line of ink in the indentation that was barely glowing, “What’s who?”

“We broke it up ourselves, I’m the waves,” the Artist pointed out himself, intrigue growing as he looked over the cover once more, “Interesting. I, uh. Wow. Interesting plot device.”

“That is likely why the Playwright is upset with me not using it as often. I did not expect this excursion to last for long, nor for it to go as fast as it is,” Logan rubbed the back of his neck, gently rubbing the spot where his neck connected to his skull.

The motion was not missed by Patton. “D’ya want a massage while you read?” he offered, standing up slowly.

Ah. Logan blinked up at Patton’s blurry face. Had he been able to see, he would have seen the gentle and ultimately fond smile he wore. “That would be lovely, Patton. Thank you,” he leaned forward and took his glasses from the table, slipping them back on as Patton climbed up onto the couch, sitting on the top of it behind Logan. 

His hands rested gently on Logan’s shoulders, then slid closer to his neck. A good call, to start with — oh, Patton was so gentle. Logan let the tension leave his shoulders and tried to focus on the book. If he thought too hard about the fact that Patton was intimately touching his shoulders….AND, if he thought about how much he was being touched currently, with the Artist’s head resting on his thigh, Patton’s hands on his back…

He straightened his back a little more and sniffed. Too many emotions today. 

“Looks like Bard’s bein’ a little bratty baby,” the Artist pointed to the mountains, dim in the crest’s background.

“His apprehension is valid. Trust should be earned,” Logan responded, raising his eyebrow at the Artist’s quoting, “I find that it is surprising that Dragon trusts us at all. Perhaps Virgil has spoken with him. If we were ranking….”

His eyes flicked to the Artist, who raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Give us your top seven Roman belief list,” he said, as though trying to comfort Logan’s worry.

“I’d like to hear, those lines do kinda look the same to me,” Patton added from behind, knees on either side of Logan’s shoulders giving him an awkwardly placed squeeze. 

The succor helped, at least. Logan blinked in place of a nod and looked back at the cover. “It appears that Child trusts us most, followed by you. Then it is Thief, and then Bard, then Playwright, Dragon, and Damsel.”

Patton sighed. He was still upset that the Playwright was feeling so disconnected from them. He’d actually been looking forward to spending some downtime with him, have an open discussion about what he wanted. Last time must have been dragged down by the need to, what’d he say? 

Provide exposition. Yeah! 

After all, Patton didn’t want to leave him waiting in the wings. 

He snorted to himself, leaning forward and almost pressing his head to Logan’s, before he stopped mid motion. That’d be bad, they had boundaries and all! He straightened up and cleared his throat. 

Playwright needed his turn in the spotlight. 

Patton let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.

“Well,” the Artist hummed, after they’d both starred at the cover for a few quiet seconds, “Open it.”

Ah. Right. Logan flicked the book open. The Artist said “ah” quietly and added, “Playwright mentioned the Author’s Notes. Didn’t say anything about reading it, but I’d recommend reading something with notes from him.”

That was the first section added. Logan suspected that that had been originally crossed off, before they even found the town, because it was written directly below the scribbled out section. He flipped the book’s pages, expecting only a few notes. Why would the Playwright write them authors’ notes if he was planning to visit them? 

The answer was more clear when he reached the page. The Artist whistled low, and Patton winced. “Oh, boy,” he murmured above Logan’s head. 

Logan simply didn’t react. 

The pages were full of notes, some scribbled out, some written large, some written hastily, some blotted out with water. Perhaps tears? The first note was written clearly, marked with a date and time even.

“I hope you understand, but I would prefer not to enter the Imagination. I like to remove myself  from the narrative. :)”

Of course, a Hamilton reference. Logan chuckled quietly and continued reading the notes aloud.

“Now that you’ve found the Thief’s tree, it shouldn’t be too hard to locate the other figments. Do you need assistance?”

“Please?”

“It’s crossed out?” Patton asked, pointing to the note. 

Logan nodded. “Yes, it is. Do you know why?” he directed the last part to the Artist and was met with a shrug. The strikeouts only continued, some in thick scribbles, but others in neat and crisp lines that left the words semi-legible beneath.

“Apparently not. These notes may be useless, butThen again, it’s not like Roman the Bard, the Thief, and the Child are good at hiding. The Damsel will be most difficult to find.”

“Good call with the guards. I miss you all already. I think I gave you a pen, in your coat? Or you could just speak. I’ll hear you.”

“Please, tell Patton to not worry too much. Virgil and Deceit have found the Thief and are enroute to his tree; they will be safe. I would actually recommend going there instead of staying with the Artist. He is difficult to handle, at best, and atrocious at worst.”

The Artist scoffed and pointed at the note. “Go write a chorus,” he hissed, turning to the sky and flipping it off. 

“Roman!” Patton scolded him, stopping his massaging and putting a hand over the Artist’s. While the Artist rolled his eyes, Logan continued. 

“And you’re going to the Artist’s house. I would recommend that you don’t speak ill of his paintings, they’re all he has to live for.”

“I know I said I didn’t want to come to the Imagination, but the Artist is speaking ill of you, and I’m going to go fight him. If you need anything, please let me know.”

“You know, you’re allowed to pass this book to any of the others, too, Logan. It’s not just for you. I know you’re obsessed in love with might eat fond of books, but I would prefer this book in the hands of someone who will interact with it.”

“That’s absurd. Who would he have had me pass this book onto?” Logan mumbled, rubbing his jaw.

The Artist shrugged. “He was probably getting emo. Sad you weren’t reading his dumb lil’ book, as though it’s not the most useless method of communication ever. What kinda video game tutorial.”

“It’s pretty stylish, though. I like it!” Patton said with a grin.

“What’s the point of even warning you about that if you’re not going to read this to notice.”

“I guess you’re never going to read this.”

Logan hummed quietly. It was getting more and more distressing.

“Why would you? Roman’s only a nuisance. And I’m part of him, aren’t I. Can’t hide that!”

“I promise I’m not just a nuisance. I’m better. I’m the better one. Right?”

“Roman’s better.”

“Oh, God, what if being a nuisance is so crucial to being Roman that all of us are nuisances. That would make sense, given how ridiculous this whole situation is. We’re such idiots. I’m such an idiot, why would I listen 

“I guess I’m not going to succeed at this contest! I’m not dumb enough to be Roman. Hah!”

“It’s almost a solace that no one’s ever going to read this.”

“Team Work makes the Dream Work. Cute. Tell Virgil that’s cute. I love him.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at the Artist. I’ll tell him myself soon, but I also wanted to tell you, because Patton and Logan heard. I want to be useful, somehow.”

“The most striking difference between Roman and I is” the following text was so scribbled out it was illegible. Everything was crossed out. Red lines were appearing on all of the text, actually. 

“He’s crossing it all out right now,” Patton mumbled into Logan’s hair.

He’d given up rubbing his shoulders and was now simply sitting atop the couch, legs cradling Logan’s shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you’ve written,” Logan said, seemingly to no one. Neither of them, at least.

The Artist looked up at him. 

“If you would like to speak honestly to us, then please do. I understand that trust must be earned, but how can we prove ourselves trustworthy without any chances to do so? You have been incredibly helpful. These notes would have been indicative of the path we should have taken, and it’s on us….it is my fault that we did not know,” Logan drummed his fingers against the book’s side, “We would like to talk with you more. And not just through a book.”

The lines stopped. The Artist sat up, watching the page, then looking up at Logan. His lip was quirked up slightly; he knew what he’d said.

A small arrow appeared on the bottom of the page, pointing to the edge of the book. Logan flipped the page.

At the top of the new blank page was more writing.

“Thanks for checking eventually.”

“It is my pleasure. My one concern with the book was that it would provide information we already knew,” Logan felt Patton squeeze his shoulders with his knees, “For example, the Dragon’s section is fairly nondescript. However, if you are uncomfortable with entering this level of the Imagination directly, then we can surely communicate via the book.”

More writing appeared, then was smudged. 

They could almost imagine the Playwright swearing at himself for smudging the ink.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Not taking more chances, hm. Logan hummed, patting the book. 

“Thank you for your ingenuity,” he responded.

Patton turned his attention to the Artist, while Logan comforted the Playwright by speaking to the air. It seemed that they didn’t need the pen, after all. The Artist was starring hard at the book, jaw set in an angry disgruntlement. 

“Hey, Artist?”

“Mh?” he looked up at Patton, pushing his glasses up tiredly.

There was still something Patton couldn’t really understand about the Playwright’s writings. He slid down beside the Artist and held open an arm, an offering for if the Artist wanted a hug. 

To which he shook his head with an apologetic frown. Not much of a hugger. Patton smiled, that was okay, and patted the Artist’s knee.

“What did he mean, about not being Roman?” he asked. “I thought all of you were Roman.”

The Artist frowned and, for a second, Patton was a little worried he didn’t understand what he was asking. But then the Artist seemed to have a lightbulb moment, eyes lighting with understanding, before he scowled again. 

“I don’t really….know, know. The whole point of all of this is that we WERE Roman,” the Artist rubbed the back of his neck, looking sidelong at the door, “I mean, the ways we’re connected to him differ. And the, uh, the levels of how much we exist as being in Thomas’ mind versus as Imagination creations is wild. I don’t know how real we are in terms of being real parts of Roman. It’s kinda hard to explain.”

“Sounds like it,” Patton nodded sympathetically, “Some of y’all don’t feel like Roman?”

The Artist shook his head. “I’d argue that none of us feel like Roman. Not really. We just all want to feel like Roman, so we say we do. One of us’ gotta be Roman enough, right?”

Alright, now he lost Patton. Before he could ask further, though, the door at the end of the hall banged open as the Bard jumped out, startling the other three. 

“Whoops!” he called and lunged into the room with one leg, “Sorry about that, darlings, but we need you in the room pronto.”

“Fine. Maybe they’ll understand what I’m trying to say,” Deceit turned around and slid into the room.

Of all things he expected to find, it was not the Bard and the Thief cuddling like a married couple, especially in light of their argument earlier. The Thief’s cloak and shirt were hanging on the nearby coat rack, chest wrapped in thick layers of bandages. They were leaned closer to each other, whispering about something, something about the ball that night. Deceit raised an eyebrow and coughed to get their attention. 

Both simply looked up at him, neither concerned about their positioning. Honestly, figures. 

“Heyyy,” the Bard sang, beckoning Deceit in with a hand, “Come sit!”

Deceit squinted at them and grabbed the chair across from the couch. He spun it around and sat backwards in it, legs straddling the backrest. Once he’d leaned over the backrest, one hand wrapped around it while the other held up his head, he spoke. “You called?” 

“Yeah,” the Thief shifted, patting the Bard’s side as he sat up, pulling no punches, “You kissed us?”

Ah. Welp. Deceit immediately shot the Bard a glare, opening his mouth to reprimand him, but the Thief interrupted. “No, no, he didn’t tell me. He just, uh, well,” they shared a worried look before the Thief turned back to Deceit, “He confirmed what I thought. We all felt it.”

Deceit recoiled, confused mostly. “You all what?”

“Felt your kiss,” the Thief’s cheeks turned red as he scooted himself up, the Bard stuffing pillows behind him and hissing unintelligibly at him, though he was too engrossed in the conversation to notice. “Me, Child, Dragon, we were all in a scuffle when we felt someone kiss our cheek. Couldn’t have been Logan or Virgil, might have been Patton but Bard said it was you.”

The Bard clenched his teeth in worry and made a so-so hand motion. “Guess I did tell him one teensy thing,” he said.

“How does….how did you feel it?” Deceit’s brows pinched as he took out his notepad again, looking down at what he’d written, “Is it something to do with the whole ‘we’re all Roman’ thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“I was trying to tell you, Ponyboy, it means we’re gonna be whole soon!” the Bard gently punched the Thief’s arm, then threw his arm around him and laughed.

Deceit raised an eyebrow at them, but his expression went unnoticed at first. He scribbled something down about how fast the Bard and Thief made up after their argument — perhaps they were compatible sides of each other?

No, no way, not after the arguing.

“Pony boy?” the Thief asked, frowning at the Bard.

Who winked at him and stuck his tongue out. “Stay gold,” he whispered.

The Thief groaned and shoved his shoulder, prompting the Bard to laugh. He wrapped his arms around the Thief’s waist gingerly, below his bandages. Had he any strength, the Thief would have pushed him off, but he opted for a tired eye roll and level glare.

Deceit clapped to get their attention, because no facial expressions were interrupting whatever was happening here. “Moving past that,” he made a ‘continue’ hand gesture, “Care to explain what ‘going to be whole’ means?”

The Bard rested his head on the Thief’s shoulder with a wide grin. His eyes would have sparkled if they — no wait, there, they were sparkling. “I’ve got a hunch that all that we need to bring us together is a little bit of love!”

“And I,” the Thief said, putting one hand on the Bard’s face and pushing him off slowly, “Think that’s one of the dumbest suggestions possible.”

The Bard scowled at him, nudging him with his hip. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about! It’s like true love’s kiss! True love’s kiss solves everything!”

True love’s kiss. A fairytale ending for a fairytale adventure?

Deceit hated it. 

“No.” True love? Get out of here with that. He had barely believed in love as a general concept before coming into the Imagination, he wasn’t ready to commit to TRUE love. 

Plus he’d already kissed one Roman on the cheek today and that was enough. He’d like to be kissing the real Roman next, but, well. Maybe he wasn’t ready for it? Either way, Deceit’s entire being was telling him to not.

He’d admitted QUITE a bit in the past, what. Hour? Two hours? And he wasn’t keen on anything else. It made his stomach churn.

The Thief was semi-on his side, as he shot the Bard a glare. “This isn’t a fairytale, Bard.”

“Oh, isn’t it, Flynn Rider?”

“Either way, that’s gonna take Deceit spilling the tea,” the Thief held up a finger at the Bard and turned to Deceit. “What happened?” 

Deceit raised his eyebrow. “Oh, you just want me to tell you?”

“Uh. Yeah,” the Thief waved his hands around,  “What else?”

Deceit crossed his arms. He didn’t want to disclose this fact; not of his own volition, at least, and not just yet. He’d been so upfront with Logan and Patton that he wasn’t sure how much more emotional validation he could withstand today without crying or something. “Why would I?”

“To prove him wrong,” the Thief jerked a thumb back at the Bard.

“To prove me right!” and the Bard preened, putting his hands beneath his chin and giving Deceit an award winning smile.

“No.”

Both Romans frowned. “No?” the Bard asked, “Wait, I was literally there, you DID!”

“Maybe you saw wrong?” oh, God, they were going to argue again.

“I didn’t see wrong! I—”

“Fine,” Deceit snapped, interrupting their squabbles, “Yes, I kissed the Artist on the cheek, but I don’t know anything about making you all whole. I don’t know what you want of me.”

The Thief and Bard had certainly shifted. Now the Bard was sitting on the top of the couch, legs crossed and back resting on the wall, while the Thief was laying across the couch still, legs kicked up and nudging the Bard’s knees.

They both froze, looking at Deceit through his confession. The Thief cleared his throat and propped himself up on his elbows, scooting back to lay on the armrest. “Deceit, buddy, I just wanna make sure this isn’t the answer. We want you to kiss us again.”

“If you wanted a kiss, you could have just said so,” he fixed his gloves, trying not to look at either of the Romans too directly. “Why go through all these lengths for something that means nothing?”

“Means….nothing?” the Bard’s voice was so small.

“Yes, it’s just a kiss,”

“A kiss means everything!” the Bard snapped. He jumped up, standing on the couch with one foot on the backrest and one on the armrest, towering above. “When you kissed us, we all felt it, and it felt...it felt like something. It felt like we were whole in the moment, but….”

“See, you can’t even describe the feeling,” the Thief scoffed, shaking his head disapprovingly, “Ridiculous.”

“If you’re just going to argue again, can I go?” Deceit asked, annoyance clear.

He’d thought these two Romans may be compatible, but it seemed that even they couldn’t agree on anything. At least they were still being civil. At least. Who knew how long that would last?

Both of them looked up at him and said “Wait,” with similar levels of desperation. Deceit put his hands up in mock-surrender, tired of their, of Roman’s, antics. It’d been a long day, could you really blame him?

“We,” the Thief started, eyes flicking to the Bard, who nodded for him to speak as he slid down to sit on the armrest, “We thought it’d be best to. Disclose. That Roman loves. All of you.”

His teeth grew more gritted as the confession came out. The Bard looked back at Deceit and nodded vigorously, clasping his hands to his chest and standing. He leaned down in front of Deceit, ignoring how Deceit leaned back, and met his eye-level. “Roman loves all four of you. I love all four of you, so, so much that it hurts,” he whispered. 

Deceit watched his eyes, watched them glimmer with unseen red and gold, and steeled his expression. That wasn’t necessarily as big of a surprise as it was a confession. It was like a breath of fresh air, the truth. He didn’t always get to see it so blatantly. 

Truth to Deceit was like high percentage alcohol. It was incredibly bad in large quantities, and was an acquired taste, but he could partake. And sometimes it was nice. But today had held a lot of hard truths and a lot of bare feelings, and he wasn’t sure how much he could take of this rampant exposure.

It was all given honesty, though, and given trust. He couldn’t fight that. Not when Roman was so disassembled, and not when it was about something he’d never dared to dream of.

“I am….glad,” Deceit stated, trying to figure out how to word it right.

The Thief frowned, and the Bard leaned back, a blank expression overtaking his face. Perhaps those weren’t the right words. They exchanged a look and the Bard shuffled slowly toward the door. 

“Bard thought we should tell you, just in case. That just means Dragon loves you all, too. He won’t hurt Virgil,” the Thief said.

Deceit frowned. Hang on. 

Hang on, there, because that contradicted what he’d said earlier.

“You said that Dragon wanted to dismember us,” he asked.

The Thief nodded. “I don’t know now. He, uh. He was pretty adamant about just hurting me and Child, so it’s a hunch on my part.”

“I don’t think he will,” the Bard’s voice had softened.

Deceit glanced at him, catching a tired smile. He waved back at Deceit, then gestured with his thumb to the door. “I’m going to get the others. We should plan for the ball tonight, right? Planning? That’s a thing?”

“It is,” Deceit said, pursing his lips.

He couldn’t help but feel that he’d said something wrong, as the Bard dashed out of the room.

“This whole separation thing’s been hard,” Deceit looked back at the Thief, who was tracing shapes with his finger against his leg.

“I can imagine. It’s confusing for us, it must only get easier,” he hummed, then leaned over on his knee, “You’re trusting Bard now?”

The Thief gave him a small glare, noncommittal enough that he gave up after a seconds and looked away. “I’m….not Roman. Not fully. So I don’t have all the answers. Bard’s got some.”

Not Roman. 

Of course. They shouldn’t have been putting their trust in any one or two singular Romans. Each of the Romans was just as Roman as the next. 

Okay, he should stop thinking Roman’s name, because it was starting to sound less like a word. That fell in line, though, with his prior conclusion about the Imagination. Things were falling apart without any control in here, things that Creativity should be able to control, things that wouldn’t typically hurt the other Sides. 

Deceit frowned, and wrote down another question. Curses; that oversight was on him. He’d tend to it at another time, though. For now…. “Thief?”

“Mh?” the Thief looked up, eyes half lidded with boredom.

Deceit’s lip quirked up in just the tiniest of smiles. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

The Thief’s eyes widened at first, but then he fell back into a comforting smile. “Thanks, Riddler. Let’s get this show on the road.”

[yellowsugarwords]

Take your time to get around to this! I know how hectic life can be

oh my god STOP this is so cute

The first time Louis ever learned what a period was was the day Violet got her first.

He remember hearing a yell.

And he remembered booking it to her door.

“Vi?” He yelled, knocking urgently.

“Don’t come in!” She wailed on the other side.

“Are you okay? What’s happening?”

He was met with silence.

A beat later, Violet emerged.

Her face was pale.

Her stare blank.

“Vi?” Louis asked, stumbling in front of her.

The long brown jacket he’d found was still a little bit too big on him.

He thought it was cool, so he wore it anyway.

Vi only gulped.

“I’m bleeding.” She said softly.

Louis jumped. “What?! Where? How bad? How bad does it hurt?”

Violet began to cry. “I think I’m gonna die.”

She’d been too embarrassed to tell Louis what was bleeding.

Louis just took her to Ruby.

And Ruby, having been taught by Ericson’s ex-nurse, knew what was happening.

Violet left it up to Ruby to explain what was happening to Louis.

He was pale for the rest of the day.

So, when Louis spotted Y/N heaved over, looking vacant and in pain, he knew what was going on.

Immediately.

And he stiffened.

“Y/N?” He called, trotting forward.

He placed a hand on their shoulder.

And he could feel them stiffen.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N turned around and groaned. “Cramps,”

His fear was confirmed.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

Y/N raised a brow.

“Is it, you know,” he shrugged sheepishly.

Y/N blinked.

Louis felt bad asking.

He felt like he was being invasive.

But he only wanted to help.

“Is it your,” he hesitated.

Then looked to the left and right.

And then leaned in.

“Period?” He whispered.

As if it were a curse.

Y/N rolled their eyes and smirked. “Yeah, that’s it.”

He sighed, as if relieved.

Like it was a struggle to get out of him.

“Are they bad?” Louis asked.

He took a small step forward, leaning in.

As if they were sharing secrets.

Really, he was just trying to be considerate of Y/N’s privacy.

Y/N noticed.

They thought it was sweet. Considerate.

“Yeah, they’re pretty bad today.”

Louis gulped.

As if their answer pained him.

“Maybe you should go and lie down?”

Y/N internally groaned. “I can’t. I have chores.”

As Y/N reached for a garden trowel, Louis swept in.

He snagged their hand in his.

Stopping them.

“Please go rest,” he said softly. “I can take care of this.”

Y/N stared at him.

Silently.

Admiring him.

Y/N’s arm lowered regretfully.

Louis removed his hand from theirs.

And Y/N obliged.

From their bedroom window, Y/N could see Louis working in the greenhouse.

He was doing his best.

Even if he was a little bad at it.

Y/N couldn’t stand by the window for long, though.

They were in too much pain.

Y/N had been in their room for upwards of an hour.

They were breathing deeply, their legs curled into their chest.

When there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” They wheezed out.

It was soft, quiet, and laced with pain.

In walked Louis.

His arms were filled with trinkets.

Y/N squinted.

As if the pain was blocking their vision.

“Louis to the rescue!” He teased, kicking the door shut.

A sense of calm washed over Y/N.

Kneeling by her bedside, Louis revealed everything on the floor.

“I asked Ruby for some advice,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

Y/N smiled, utterly smitten.

Louis went through each object one by one.

First, he passed them a water bottle.

“It’s warm,” he said.

Greedily, Y/N took it.

“Place it on, you know,” he shrugged, his voice going soft.

His ears went pink.

He shrugged again, nervously rubbing his hands together. “You’re–”

“I got it Louis,” Y/N said, tucking the bottle into their abdomen.

They held it secure with their curled legs.

“Thank you,”

Louis poured two pain killers out of the bottle Ruby gave him.

He carefully slipped them into Y/N’s palm, and held out a small glass of water.

Smiling, not saying a word, Y/N took both.

“I also stole some snacks from the kitchen,” Louis said.

He smiled eagerly, like a little kid.

And removed a chocolate pudding cup from his pile.

Y/N chuckled.

He passed it and a spoon into Y/N’s hands.

As Y/N was tearing off the lid, Louis cleared his throat.

“I also, you know,” he shrugged. “Brought an extra spoon.”

Y/N raised a brow.

“You know, just in case you couldn’t finish.”

Y/N rolled their eyes.

But still smirked.

They took a spoonful and passed it to him. “We’ll trade off.”

Louis beamed.

Louis had also had extra blankets and pillows.

Somehow.

“Don’t tell Aasim,” he whispered, fluttering the blanket over them when Y/N questioned it.

They raised a brow.

“He might be going to bed chilly tonight.”

Really, Louis’ plan was to give Aasim his blankets.

Louis could fall asleep colder than usual.

For Y/N?

It would be worth it.

Just as Louis was ready to unveil the last of his trinkets, he turned to see Y/N drifting.

Their eyes were sagging, desperately trying to stay open.

Louis pinned it on the pain killers.

But still smiled.

His stare grew soft and warm.

Gingerly, he moved closer.

And brushed some of their hair out of their face.

“Sleep now, okay?” He hushed.

All Y/N could do was hum.

The warmth of the water bottle.

The fuzziness from the pain killers.

The soft feeling of Louis’ finger on their cheek.

It lulled them straight to sleep.

All Louis could do was smile.

And admire them.

And watch them drift off, pain free.

His finger stayed on their cheek.

Caressing it.

Brushing the hair away.

Feeling the warmth of their skin.

The entire while, he wore a smile.

Knowing he was part of the reason they were comfortable would keep him smiling for days.