KitKat

Sunday mornings should be spent doing a whole lotta nothing. It was your favorite time of the week. Partly because it was when you felt the most relaxed. But mostly because it usually consisted of Liam on your couch nursing a hangover. 

And today was no different.

You’d been curled up half watching some old City match that Liam swore he’d been at when his head had fallen onto your shoulder. He was out cold, mouth slightly open. 

You could smell your shampoo in his hair, the expensive one that he promised not to use anymore but still nicked anyways. “I’ll just buy ya more babe, I’m loaded y’know?” was always his excuse whenever you told him off for it. But secretly you liked that rock’s hardest frontman walked around smelling like florals and coconut. 

Your hand dropped into his mop of hair and he shifted against you, turning further into your side like he was settling in properly. A small smile tugged at your lips as you played with the silky strands. Always so soft. You didn’t know how, with all the sweating that boy did.

At some point your arm started to fall asleep so you carefully adjusted him until his head rested against your chest instead. The rest of him followed, warm and heavy against the front of your body. Your legs parted slightly to make room for him, and the two of you stayed like that until he started to stir again. 

His lashes fluttered open as he let out a yawn.

“Well hello sleepyhead,” you said softly, smiling at the droopiness of his eyes as he blinked up at you. 

It took him a moment to properly wake up. Then a slow smirk spread across his face.

“Don’t make a bad pillow, these,” he mumbled, tilting his head back further into your chest and squashing your breasts.

You laughed under your breath, hand moving to cup his jaw. Your thumb brushed over the rough stubble there and he leant into the touch.

“You’re welcome by the way,” you teased.

“Best sleep of me life,” he said dramatically. “Proper well rested now.”

You smiled fondly as he settled back against your chest. For a moment it was quiet as he got comfortable again. Your hand rested on his side, fingers absently playing with his shirt.

You hooked your leg over his, bringing him closer into your body. Liam would never admit it, but secretly he loved cuddling. Every night he would turn on his side and pull you snug to his chest, sighing contentedly as you tucked your head against him. He was always coming up behind you in the kitchen and hooking his head over your shoulder as his hands circled your waist. You loved that about him. That deep down he was just a soft lad who wanted love just like the rest of you. 

Stirred by a sudden surge of love for him, your hand snaked down the front of his sweats, coming to cup his length through the fabric.

Liam jolted against you. “Fuckin’ hell,” he uttered, momentarily startled.

Then he settled back against you as you began palming at him, hips shifting. You smirked as he began to harden under your touch.

“Comfortable?” You asked, a teasing edge to your voice.

“Definitely,” he breathed out, head leaning further back into you

You huffed a small laugh, applying more pressure and relishing the sigh that escaped his mouth. He tried to turn to face you but you applied pressure with your leg, effectively pinning him there. 

“Let me,” you whispered, hand reaching for the tie of his sweats.

He exhaled shakily and turned his head to stare at you with pale blue eyes. A small smile played on his lips like he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten with you.

You couldn’t resist leaning in to press a soft kiss on his lips, one that he chased as you pulled back.

You watched as his eyes fluttered as your hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats. He wasn’t wearing underwear but of course he wouldn’t be.

Liam’s mouth fell slightly open as he leaned back against your chest, hips grinding up against your hand. 

You lightly ran the heel of your palm up and down his length, teasing him as he shifted beneath you. Really you were just taking a moment to appreciate the feel of him. The heat. The hardness. The smoothness of his skin.

You paused near the head of his cock and began applying pressure to the sensitive tip with small circles.

“Christ,” he groaned, hips twitching up helplessly. You kept the motion up while your other hand snaked down beside the other, squeezing his balls gently.

He let out a gasp that was edged with a moan, but then you began massaging him in time with your strokes and he was gone. 

A low sound escaped him as he shivered with pleasure. His hand moved to grip your leg like he needed to steady himself with something. 

“Fuck…yes,” he groaned, hips moving against your rhythm as he really got into it. 

“So good Li,” you murmured, gently praising him.

He hummed out something high pitched and twitched against your palm, evidently liking it. You pulled a hand out and spat roughly in it. He shivered in response, like he was anticipating what you were about to do. 

You returned to his length that was now resting rock hard against his stomach and began slicking him up. He throbbed hot in your touch as you encircled both hands around him. You slowly began stroking up and down, letting him savor the feeling. 

His face was flushed pink, eyes screwed up in pleasure. So good-looking. Always. 

“Look so pretty like this,” you said, hands slowing their pace. 

He turned his head, staring at you with hooded eyes.

“Prettiest boy I know,” you said, softer this time, watching as a half smile appeared on his face.

You bent your head to meet his lips, tongue immediately sliding into his mouth. He opened his mouth further to you with a groan, his own tongue flicking against yours. 

Your hands began moving again, this time twisting your wrists in tandem as you began pumping him. 

A moan was pulled from somewhere deep inside of him, lips stuttering as his body flooded with pleasure.

You took his bottom lip between your teeth and bit gently as you picked up the pace. His body slumped against yours, his mouth slowly falling away from you. 

His eyes fluttered shut again, moans spilling from his mouth as you pushed him higher and higher with each stroke.

“That’s it just like that baby,” you coaxed, squeezing just a bit tighter. 

“Fuck,” he stuttered out, fingers digging into your leg as he began to shake in your grip.

A bead of pre-cum slid from his tip to join the mess of spit that was making an obscenely slick noise. 

A small whine escaped him as his thighs tensed in preparation for what was coming. He was like putty in your hands, head pitched completely back, baring his neck to you. You wished you could reach it to tease the sensitive spot right behind his jaw.

Suddenly his body arched off your chest and his hips shot forward as he came hard, fucking your fists desperately.

You pumped him through it as he spilled and spilled between your fingers. His hips slowed steadily as he came back down to earth, muscles untensing. 

“Christ,” he breathed out, dazed and sated.

You gave one last squeeze, coaxing out the very last drop from his tip as he winced softly.

“That was fucking amazing,” he breathed, tilting his head back to look at you through his lashes.

“You’re just saying that so I’ll do it again,” you teased, reaching for a tissue to wipe his spunk from your hand. 

“Promise?” he asked, giving you a big goofy grin when you turned your eyes on him.

You laughed fondly and turned into him, tugging him into you as you pressed kisses onto his face. 

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★ 2005.

all the mess you endured from 2001 to 2004 feels like a lifetime ago, because it’s 2005 now. and you’re the only person in the world that can say that rockstar oasis legend noel gallagher is trying – yes, trying – to make you american pancakes in a chilly sunday morning.

and he’s the only man that gets to brag about knocking up america’s hottest front woman. and yes, he is smug about it – even though at home you’ve got him completely around you and the little one’s finger.

right now, you’re barefoot and very pregnant. leaning against the counter, glowing and hormonal – which means permanently hungry.

and he is more than happy to spoil you rotten, of course.

“let me know if they taste better than what they look like,” he says, setting the plate down with a confidence that’s odd for someone who doesn’t cook. it’s endearing.

you huffed out a tiny laugh, tilting your head while looking at it. then back at him. then at it again, all while fighting back a small smile. he laughed, shaking his head and leaning in closer, pressing a small kiss to your head, “don’t be a cunt,” he said fondly before walking back to the sink.

you broke into a laugh at it, picking up the fork and the knife. “hey. that’s no way to talk to a pregnant lady.” you teased as you cut a small piece of the pancake.

he grinned even though you couldn’t see it with his back facing you as he cleaned off the pan he used, shaking his head as he teased back: “my pregnant lady.”

you take a bite, humming around the fork because they are surprisingly good. you giggle quietly as you watch his shoulders relax as he scrubs the pan, humming back to you like he’s saying ‘see?’

“they’re sooooo good,” you say sweetly. then, you set the fork down and waddle over to him, sliding your arms around his waist from behind – or as far as they’ll go around him with the bump in the way. he turns his head, already smirking and leaning closer to your lips that are trying really hard to give him kisses on the cheek. you manage, giving him tiny pecks and not minding the light scruff tickling your nose while muttering “thank you, thank you” in between kisses.

── .✦

later, the plates are stacked in the sink and you’re both on the couch. you’re tucked into his side, his arm around your shoulder and his other one drawing gentle patterns on your stomach.

you scoff as robbie williams comes along on the tv, just because. shifting your weight as you mutter “asshole”

noel lets out a short scoff back, lips curling up and his hand reaching for the remote. “prick,” he agrees instantly.

he clicks the button, changing the channel until the screen settles on a tv program that you don’t really know what it’s about, just has a pretty beachy view. you perk up, “ohh, you know what? we should take a vacation before i give birth.”

he breathes out a tiny chuckle, amused. he turns his face towards yours, eyebrows raising softly, “yeah?” rubbing slow circles over your stomach. “where d’you wanna go then?”

you smile, nodding. “maybe france? oh my god, what if she’s born abroad? we could give her a little beret and everything.” you joke fondly.

he laughed, closing his eyes and resting the top of his head on the crook of your neck. “a beret?” he says amused.

you laughed, “mhm. teach her how to say oh la la or something.”

noel laughs. then, he shifts his head until he pressed his lips softly to your temple, rubbing your belly in wide circles. “well, we could go to thailand again.” he suggests easily.

your brows furrow for a second, then you pull back just enough to look at him.

he looks back at you, “what?”

“we’ve never been to thailand, noel.” you say dryly, eyebrows raising slightly. in that way you always do when he fucks up.

he blinks, sheepishly. “oh. r-right…”

you tilted your head, eyebrows raising and pushing his hand off from your belly. “are you confusing me with what's her face?” you ask, teasing more than anything, but you’re aware of how it sounds like a tiny scold. good.

he laughs, closing his eyes, looking genuinely embarrassed, and immediately leans in to start pamper your neck with soft kisses, trying to find his way back into your good graces. “thought we’d gone, love. sorry.”

”we went to hawaii, noel. not fucking thailand” you say simply, as you try to move away from his kisses.

“i know darlin’, i’m sorry. i'm sorry,” he mutters against your neck, moving closer despite it all, his breath warm on your skin. “didn't mean to”

“no. it's fine.” you say, but your tone is dry and clipped. you shift away a fraction, playing the part of the angry missus perfectly.

deep down, you aren't really jealous, you know you're it for him. but you’re hormonal, incredibly horny and a little bored, and you want to see him squirm a little.

“come on, darlin’…” he coaxed, his voice dropping as he nibbled your neck softly. “you're not jealous, are you?”

you don’t answer. you just stare at the tv, chin tilted up. he’ still trying to lure you in with kissing, his lips curled into a soft smirk moving from your jaw to the sensitive spot behind your ear. “you're literally carrying my kid, love…” he whispers.

“i'm pregnant with your kid, yes. so, i get to do whatever i want”

“cmon…” he says softly, hand sliding up your thigh and his palm pressing softly over your clothed cunt. “i’m sorry, darling…”

“yeah?” you breathe out softly, despite yourself.

“mhm. prettiest… girl i’ve ever fuckin’ had. only one i want.” he whispers in your ear. still kissing your neck and sliding his hand inside your shorts waistband and finding you already slick, smearing your arousal over your folds in wide circles and not daring to tease as you gasped softly. “best fuckin’ cunt i’ve ever had, love.”

you tipped your head back, his name escaping your lips in a needy and whiny moan. he can’t really see what he’s doing, but he doesn’t mind, he just feels his way through and listens to the small wet noises he cannot ever get enough.

“y’walk around like that… my kid inside you and a ring on your finger. can’t even think about other bird’s name.” he said lowly, pressing his middle and ring finger inside your entrance and slipping in without any resistance – all while still making sure he’s pressing the heel of his hand over your clit. he knows how you like it.

you moaned softly, head falling to the side and resting on his shoulder. your chest was already going up and down at a faster pace, eyes opening with struggle to watch his hand working you only to be met with your own belly on the way.

you breathe out a laugh despite yourself, “can’t… fuck. you can’t even see what you’re doing down there.” you tease, breathless.

he shakes his head, smirking and not letting up on the movement of his hand. “s’alright,” he mutters, his fingers inside you slow and steady, his mouth gently kissing your cheek. “know how to make my missus feel good. don’t i?“

you moaned, moving until your lips found his in a slow and messy kiss, moaning softly inside his mouth as your legs twitched in pleasure.

he whispered against your lips, fingering you in a perfect rhythm. “prettiest mummy there is, look at you, hm? my girl. no need to be jealous.”

you moaned, a needy whimper as you reached out for him too, your hand finding him through his trousers. already hard, waiting for you.

he breathes out a low moan, pressing his hips upwards to meet your touch. “yeah?” he teases, his eyes fluttering shut.

you moan, nodding as you undo the lace of his joggers and eagerly push them down – clumsily – with one hand. he moans and kisses you again once you wrap your palm around his cock, stroking it up and down slowly, your cunt clenches around his fingers and you moan inside his mouth at the feeling of his warmth on your hand.

noel's breath hitches the second your thumb brushes the leaking slit of his tip, his head falling back against the sofa cushions and immediately propping back up to watch your hand jerk him off.

he lets out a needy groan as you tighten your grip, twitching his hips upwards and pulling you closer to his side with his arm around your shoulders, while his other hand fucks your soaked cunt with even more precision.

“fuck... yeah?” he breathes out, cutting himself off as he pulls you into another kiss, swallowing down your moans just as needy as his. “wanna make… this daddy feel good too, hm? that's my girl.”

you moan, and as your hips move against his hand, chasing his touch, stroking him faster, you mutter against his mouth – shaky but firm, meaning every single word. “you're mine. every inch. fucking mine.”

he nods eagerly, breathlessly moaning against your lips and bucking into your hand, pathetically turned on at the wet sounds of his fingers inside your cunt and your words in between your pretty moans – despite trying to keep his composure. his fingers are still buried deep inside you, mirroring the pace, making you feel full and desperate.

“she a better fuck than me?” you murmur, syrupy and needy, against his lips. your thumb catches the bead of pre cum at his tip before it smears it down again.

noel gasps, a broken sound leaving his throat as he shakes his head violently. “no... no, course not. no one has. not even… fuck– fuckin’ close. never did.”

you moan at his words, eyes already glassy with your imminent orgasm as you choke out, “yeah?”

“fuck. y-yeah.” he says. already whiny and nearly gone just with your hand, his usual cockiness completely gone as he thrusts into your palm. and he doesn't let up on you, his fingers keep curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“you think about me when you were fucking her?” you moaned out.

he lets out a long moan, blue eyes squeezing shut as he loses the battle with his own body. “yes, fuck.” he chokes out, his voice a shaky rasp. “always... always. even before, always you in me head.”

you moaned, eyebrows furrowing and head dropping back. your hand let up on stroking his cock for a moment, but it’s fine. neither of you mind if you’re a little selfish right now – it’s not on purpose.

he takes it as an opportunity to focus on you, minding more attention to your throbbing clit under his palm as his fingers curl inside you. he leans in your ear, “so fuckin’ fit like this. carrying my baby. takin' care of me like this... fucking love you.” he whispers, his tone needy and shaky as he keeps bucking into your hand even if it isn’t fully tight around his cock. god, he’s needy.

you gasped, moaning and babbling his name and “yes” over and over.

he moaned in your ear as a response, “yeah? got no fucking clue what you do to me. makes me wanna put another one in you.” – he cuts himself with a moan, looking at your hand tightening around his cock again and feeling his own feels his climax building – “and this one’s not even out yet”

you moan. loud and needy. you tighten your grip on him, your hand slick and still moving with a frantic pace. “keep talking,” you plead, your voice breaking. “tell me. don’t stop, baby… please.”

you’re arching your back, your bump making the angle awkward but the sensation twice as intense for you and him. his forehead pressed hard against your temple as he tries to keep his eyes open to look at you. “you’re so fucking wet. can hear it. luckiest bastard in this fuckin’ world, me.”

his tone is feral, needy and eager. like he wants to worship the ground you walk on, not let you lift a finger just because you’re his missus carrying his kid – and still needs to hold himself back so he doesn’t pull your hair while he fucks you from behind and reminds you who you belong to.

“look at me,” he commands, his voice dropping as he feels how close you are. the rhythm of his hips matching the pace of your hand. “look at me while i’m givin’ it to you”

you open your eyes with struggle just in time to see his face crumple in pleasure, all that usual arrogance melting into pure adoration and lust.

“fuckin’ hell,” he moans, throwing his head back and biting his bottom lip as he bucks into your hand, his voice cracking. “keep doin’ that. yeah. right there. fuck. gonna make me cum.”

he lets out a long “fuck” as he spills over at the same time his fingers give you that one last, perfect push over the edge – making you gasp and whimper as you cum, pulsing hard around his fingers. unable to mind the mess he’s making all over your hand.

the room is silent for few seconds, except for the sound of your combined heavy breathes and the distant hum of the telly. noel is slumped against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, completely wrecked. his fingers shaky as they slowly withdraw from you.

he lets out a long, shaky exhale, “gonna be the fucking death of me, you are.” he mutters into your neck, his tone is low but you can hear the small smile he has on.

you giggle breathlessly, your body still humming with the aftershocks. you shift slightly, feeling the weight and the mess between you, but you don't move away. not yet. you only reach down with your clean hand to stroke the damp hair away from his forehead. “you started it. talking about thailand,” you tease softly.

he groans, defeated – but he’s laughing, too. he lifts his head just enough to look at you, his blue eyes still blown wide. “i’m a fuckin' idiot, aren't i?”

you laugh, shaking your head and pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. “it’s okay. it’s your dad brain catching up, i think.”

he breathes out a laugh, eyes closing and head resting on the back of the couch. “already? fuck me.”

you laugh, shaking your head and snuggling your face on the side of his neck. he moves away with a groan like it physically hurts him, you blink and let out a small whimper in protest as he pads down to the bathroom anyway, coming back with a damp towel to clean the mess – and a cheeky smile on his face at the usual neediness he never gets tired of.

“you alright?” he asks, looking up at you with that fond expression as he gently rubs the towel over your sticky hand. “baby didn't kick me for being a prick, did she?” he teased with a soft smirk.

you laughed, shaking your head. he smiled back and dropping back beside you with a small sigh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss on your hair, hand rubbing your back up and down gently. “france it fuckin’ is, then.”

He didn’t share the same sentiment. You had popped up on his Tiktok feed one day and had been running around his mind ever since. He couldn’t stop himself before he started watching your streams, trying to go unnoticed. It wasn’t the usual sort of content he watched. Baking had never particularly interested him in life, but apparently all he needed was a pretty girl to be doing it for his attention to be piqued. He was pretty sure he could listen to you talk about whisking and oven temperatures all day. He tried to keep his crush as just that, a crush, but eventually when he realised he wasn’t going to get you out of his mind anytime soon, he followed your Instagram and shot his shot. 

Despite your initial fears about dating someone who had just as much of a spotlight on them as you did, you took the leap anyway. And you wouldn’t look back. 

The two of you were pretty good about keeping things private. 6 months in and neither of your nosy audiences had the slightest clue. 

Only a couple times had you mentioned going on dates with someone, or officially becoming a girlfriend, but no one had pried too much. Alfie hadn’t even mentioned it in the vlogs out of fear of someone going psycho and scaring you off. But keeping it a secret forever would have been impossible. At least that’s what you’d been claiming to try and make yourself feel better after the slip up. 

You probably should have told Alfie you were planning on streaming a little after he came over. Although it fell into your normal schedule, it completely slipped his mind after the short nap he’d taken in your room. 

He was a little groggy still, in nothing but a pair of shorts, wandering towards the sound of your sweet voice and the delicious smell of baked goods wafting through the flat. You saw him coming, eyes going wide with panic as you tried to point to the camera, but none of it registered in his head until it was far too late. 

“What you making?” he asked, stepping just into frame to wrap his big arms around you. 

You managed to peak around his arm to catch sight of the chaos happening in your chat right now. His face wasn’t visible just yet, but some eagle eyed viewers were already working out who it was from the tiny bits of him that they could see. 

who is that

is that ab????

hello??

what is this crossover… 

girl wtf 

😍😍

is your bf single

Your response came out weakly. “Brownies.”

It didn’t take a genius to notice something was up with you. He pulled away with a slight frown, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “What’s wrong?”

You finally pointed to the camera. “I’m streaming.” 

His heart sank. He shouldn’t have risked the glance over his shoulder. The moment they saw half his face the chat blew up again, happy to confirm their suspicions. It wasn’t the way either of you ever wanted to go public, but it did feel very fitting for you both. It was a miracle neither of you had slipped up yet in the first place. 

He laughed nervously, giving the viewers an awkward wave. “Surprise?” 

He knew he wasn’t going to live this down very quickly. 

“Guess you’re joining me then.” You dug into one of the cupboards in the background, pulling out the most pastel yellow baking apron Alfie thought he’d ever seen. The look on your face was one of pure amusement, while his was something more akin to horror. You held it up to his chest, grinning like a mad man. “Put it on.” 

He refused to take the material from your hands, which meant you had to be the one to slip it over his head and tie it for him at the back. He grumbled the whole time, insisting he looked like an idiot. You thought he looked pretty cute. He shut up quite quickly when you kissed him sweetly. 

You turned back to your stream like you hadn’t just revealed some massive secret. Even Alfie was still reeling from the last 5 minutes. Yet you were acting like this was all normal. 

“Okay, well, looks like my boyfriend is gonna be joining us.”

At one point he tried lingering outside the door to see if he could hear what you were talking about, but a treacherous creaky floorboard gave him away and he had to escape the scene before either of you caught him red handed. 

Eventually, he was too hungry to keep hiding away. He had to interrupt out of fear of starving to death if he didn’t. 

He knocked first, but he knew it wasn’t a good sign when your voices died down the moment he walked into the room. Either you were talking about him, or you were talking about something you didn’t want him to know about. If he was being totally honest with himself, he didn’t know which one was worse. All he did know was that he didn’t like being ganged up on like this. And he was going to spiral, hard. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing uncomfortably. 

His mum smiled. “Nothing. Just talking.”

Part of him was screaming at him to leave the room. The air was almost suffocating and he had a strong feeling that was due to him ruining the moment. 

“Shall I leave?” 

You shook your head, patting the space next to you on the sofa for him to join. The evil smile on your face didn’t do much to calm his nerves. You knew this was going to drive him crazy for as long as you refused to tell him what was happening. “We were pretty much done. Come join us. What’s up?”

“Uh, I was just getting hungry. Wondered what everyone wanted to do?” He shuffled over hesitantly, sitting down stiffly in the seat next to you. He nearly flinched every time a bit of you accidentally touched him. You shouldn’t have taken so much joy in that fact, but seeing him wound up like this was a little bit hilarious. 

Alfie didn’t bring it up again until you were laid next to each other in bed much, much later. You were scrolling through your phone aimlessly, and you’d thought he was doing the same. Really he’d just been staring blankly at his screen for a while as he worked up the courage to ask you. 

“So, what were you and mum talking about?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly. You knew something was on his mind when he’d been quiet for too long, you just hadn’t expected him to be thinking about this hours later. “It was nothing. Why are you so worried about it?”

He shrugged, trying to act like he didn’t care. “I’m not.” It was slowly eating away at him every time he thought about it. He wanted to let it go, he really did, but there was a tiny voice in the back of his head saying he couldn’t. In an ideal world he would roll over, close his eyes and go straight to sleep to forget about it. But even when he turned his back to you, it was like he could still hear the way you and his mum were laughing without him. 

With a huff he turned to face you again, being met with the same amused grin you’d been wearing for most of the night. “Why won’t you just tell me?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you assuming we were talking shit about you? We could have been on about anything.” 

“Because you always talk shit about me. I know you, and I know that look on your face. You’re guilty, but you won’t admit it.” He was getting pretty passionate about this. 

Any other day you might have teased him and kept this up for as long as possible, but all the wine you’d been drinking with his mum had made you tired. You just wanted to go to sleep, not reassure your big man baby that you still loved him and wouldn’t dream of slagging him off with his mum. 

“Is there something we should have been talking about?”

He shook his head. “No! Obviously not, I just–” he groaned into his hands. He hated how much you were getting under his skin. You were probably doing this on purpose. “Can you just tell me if you were talking about me?” 

You rolled over, bringing the covers up to your chin and letting your eyes finally close. If he wanted to keep spiralling, he could do it quietly while you slept. “Nope. Goodnight, Alf.”

the sight of arabella standing right beside your bed shocked you to your core. seriously, your heart rate spiked dangerously at just her silhouette being on show.

“mummy?” she croaked.

“jesus christ, bella!” you hissed, sitting up and reaching over to flick your lamp on.

it illuminated the room in a sudden flash, making you both wince.

arabella had tears down her face and she was clutching her little cow pillow pet.

“what’s wrong, chick?” you frowned.

“i miss daddy.” she cried, face screwing up with a fresh wave of tears.

you sighed and hooked your hands under her armpits, lifting her into bed with you and cuddling her on your lap.

“i miss daddy too.” you hummed, flattening your palm over her hair. “but he already said goodnight to you.”

another round of hiccuping cries came from her as her fist clenching around your shirt.

“okay, baby. it’s okay.” you whispered, rocking her gently. “there we go, shhh.”

“call daddy.” she sniffled wetly.

“okay, let’s try call daddy.” you reached over to your bedside table, retrieving your phone and opening it.

arabella stared at the screen, watching your every move as you opened your contacts and pressed facetime on ‘alfie❤️’.

it rang a few times before the call connected and your boyfriends face took over the screen.

“alright, girl? why you up?” he asked with the sound of loud chatter and cutlery clattering in the background.

“someone missed you.” you sighed, panning the camera to arabella.

“alright, AB? why you waking your mummy up?”

“miss you daddy.” arabella pouted, reaching for the phone like it meant she would’ve been able to grab at him.

“oh, i miss you too, darlin’. two more days, yeah? can you be brave like that for me? and for mummy?”

her pout deepened and she rubbed at her eyes, blatantly overtired.

“come now.”

alfie laughed, throwing his head back, “i can’t come back now baby, i’m having my dinner.”

“please.” she whimpered.

“two days, okay? i promise.”

“two.”

“yeah. one, two. good?”

“okay.”

“good girl, bells. i’ll see you soon okay? love you lots and sleep well. behave for mummy, yeah?”

“love you too, daddy.”

you turned the phone away from her face and spoke to him a little longer before calling it a night once more.

arabella was now half asleep on the other side of your bed, her head pressed against her pillow pet.

you sighed, flicking your lamp off and leaving her there, deciding not to go through the hassle of getting her back into her own bed.

in the dark, she shuffled closer, sprawling herself out across you.

Both yours and Harry’s schedule could often get crazy, but you tried to make sure one of you was always free for Mabel. Today had ended up being one of the very few days where you had no other choice but to get a babysitter, but you were quickly reminded why you tried to never do so. 

You didn’t normally show up to Sidemen shoots unannounced, but it was a last minute move of desperation. Your babysitter had cancelled at the very last second and you were supposed to be going to some sort of fancy event for your work. You were all done up and ready only to be facing the possibility of not being able to go. To say you were disappointed was an understatement. 

But surely Harry could take her for a bit, even if it was to leave her behind the scenes with someone she knows. You were going to have to briefly wave your rule of keeping her hidden on this one occasion.

At least the shoot was outside. Some kind of big BBQ thing that would give her the chance to run around in the fresh air– if she was allowed to stay. You were 90% sure that no one would have an issue with her being here, but you were trying to come up with a plan b on the off chance you were turned down. 

It took you a minute to spot Harry laughing with Ethan. There were more people here than you anticipated. You waved when you locked eyes with the redhead. 

“Mrs Wroetoshaw’s here. Are you in trouble, mate?” Ethan poked. 

Harry swatted at his friend’s hand, though he couldn’t deny he did get a little bit nervous seeing you walk towards him with your daughter in your arms. The back of his neck was already coming up red at the thought of him being in trouble. “I don’t think so. I hope not.”

The smile on his face when you finally came to a stop in front of him was clearly nervous. “You look nice,” he commented, opening his arm to greet you both in a hug. Maybe if he started off with compliments, you wouldn’t scold him so harshly when you inevitably told him what he’d done wrong. “I thought you had an event thing?” 

“Babysitter cancelled. I was hoping you could take her while I’m out. It’s fine if you can’t, I know you’re busy and I really didn’t want to just show up like this, but I was out of options and–” 

“Breathe.” 

Mabel had begun squirming in your arms, eager to get to her dad, despite having only seen him a couple hours ago before he left. He was more than happy to take her from you, placing a loud kiss to her cheek. She bubbled with laughter, the sound making you feel a little bit lighter about the whole situation. 

“I’ll take her. There’s plenty of stuff for her to do around here, and I’m sure uncle Arthur has plenty of stories to tell her. You go have fun.” 

Your entire body sagged with relief. You didn’t know why you had so little faith in him– he rarely ever let you down before. “Are you sure? 

He placed his hand on your arm, squeezing gently with the softest smile you think you’d ever seen. “Stop stressing. It’s fine.” He turned to the toddler in his arms, lightly poking her cheek to hear the way she laughed. “We’ll have lots of fun, won’t we?” 

You let out a breath, nodding your head. You could stop panicking now. “Thank you.” 

He laughed. He was her dad, this is what he was supposed to do. “What are you thanking me for? Stop being silly.” In a move you didn’t expect, considering all the eyes around you, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss. “Now go have fun at your fancy thing. Leave us to it.” 

The first thing Mabel wanted to do when she was given free roam was eat– definitely her father’s daughter. The burgers she could smell looked appetising, although Harry checked at  least 3 times that they were properly cooked before he started feeding pieces to her. The last thing he needed was for one of his mates to accidentally poison his child. You would never let that go if that happened on his watch.

She hummed happily as she ate her small bites of burger, ignoring most of what was going on around her in favour of watching her uncle Ethan trying not to wipe out on the mechanical bull. Like a true masochist, she couldn’t help but laugh loudly every time he fell off. 

The music from the ice cream van quickly distracted her. The rest of her food was abandoned in Harry’s lap. Now all she could think about was the possibility of an ice cream. She knew she needed to put on her best puppy dog eyes if she stood any chance of getting herself a sugary treat. 

“What you pouting at?” 

She looked in the direction of the van and then back at Harry. 

He was shocked that such a tiny girl could eat so much. “You want ice cream as well?” He didn’t know if it was worth risking the inevitable belly ache when she ate it too quickly. Today would be a long day and he didn’t want to have to take her home halfway through. 

“Yes!” 

He shook his head. “In a bit, babe. After your dinner’s settled.” 

She whined, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown. No doubt she would have stamped her little foot if she was standing up. Usually that look would work on Harry. He was a big pile of mush for his little angel daughter, and she knew she could normally get anything she wanted from him as long as she flashed those puppy dog eyes. 

“Why don’t we get your face painted first and then you can have some after?”

“Ice cream first.” 

“Mae, no.” 

This time he was going to keep standing his ground. Which would have been a lot easier if his friends didn’t keep stirring the pot. 

Cal came wandering over with a big grin, eager to see his favourite niece. She briefly lit up at the sight of him, before seemingly remembering she was supposed to be throwing a low level tantrum. “Is your dad being mean, Mayday?” 

Harry shot him a glare, seconds away from telling him to fuck off while he handled things. That wouldn’t go down well with you if it made it into the video. 

“She’s mad because I told her she’s got to wait to have some ice cream.”

Cal booed loudly. “Let the girl have some ice cream.”

“Yeah!” 

“No! It’ll be me that has to deal with your whining when you’ve got a tummy ache.” 

Seeing as that would be none of Cal’s business, he scooped her up off the beanbag she was perched on and started heading towards the van. “I’ll get you some ice cream, little Wroetoshaw, don’t you worry.”

She cheered, sticking her tongue out at her dad as he sat in the same spot in disbelief. How could he be the adult in charge and somehow still end up with no authority? He could picture it now, the way you were going to laugh watching this video as his friends walked all over him and gave Mabel the princess treatment. You would definitely appreciate him trying to be a responsible parent, but you were definitely still going to find it hilarious. 

He didn’t see Mabel again until he stumbled on her at the fruit machine with George, the man crouched down to her height while she listened intently to the rules he was trying to explain to her. She didn’t understand a thing he was saying, but she nodded along like it all made sense. 

“Are you teaching my 3 year old how to gamble?”

It was absolutely what he was doing, but George scoffed anyway, shaking his head. In all honesty he hadn’t really thought about that part. Although was it really gambling if there was no money on the line, and it was just a Sidemen video? “Course not. I’m teaching her instincts, Harold. If she happens to win in this gambling-adjacent game, that’s just a bonus.” 

“As long as you know that if she wins big, as her dad I’m legally allowed to take half.” 

“Daddy, no!” 

No one ever needed to know if the 3 holding the fruit actually conspired to get her a win. But they definitely did. She didn’t care, she was just happy to win. And she definitely wasn’t going to share her winnings with her dad– that brownie was just for her, and maybe a little bit for mummy if she was feeling nice. 

Seeing everyone get into the tiny paddling pool made Mabel jealous. Even her dad was in there, and yet she was forced to sit on the side while everyone had fun without her. 

He tried to make her laugh, hating to see the pout on her face again. When nothing worked he felt a little dejected, frowning along with her. “What’s up, Mae?”

“Swim.” 

He shook his head. “You can’t go swimming, kid. You’ve got no spare clothes and mummy will have my head if I bring you home shivering.” 

She wasn’t really listening to a word he was saying. The moment he turned away she was going to find someone else that would let her go swimming. When she set her mind to something, no matter what it was, she found a way to do it. That was the stubbornness she’d inherited from both of you. 

With a huff, she seemingly accepted his no this time, then wandered away to find someone that would entertain her wishes. She knew exactly who she was looking for. And luckily for her, he was pretty easy to spot. 

“Alfie!” 

He was surprised at the little voice calling his name. On the few occasions that he’d met baby Wroetoshaw the two seemed to bond rather quickly. Maybe it was because Alfie had a similar mental age to her actual age, or maybe he was just one of those people that was surprisingly good with kids. Whatever it was, she had grown fairly attached to him pretty quickly. 

“What’s up, girl?” 

“Swim!” 

“You want to go swimming?” 

She nodded, reaching her arms up to signal she wanted picking up. Alfie complied, carrying her back in the direction she’d just toddled over from. In the time it had taken her to find her friend, Harry had momentarily disappeared from the water, heading off to grab another drink. Which gave Mabel ample time to put her plan into place. If her dad wasn’t there, he obviously couldn’t stop her. 

“Do you need help getting your shoes off?”

The sparkly pink crocs on Mabel’s feet were her prized possessions. There was no way she was going to risk getting them wet and possibly damaging them. But she was a big girl, she didn’t need an adult's help to get them off her feet. She wasn’t 2 anymore. 

She managed to fling them off before Alfie had time to wait for an answer. He could tell she was eager to finally get a dip in the pool. 

It didn’t even cross Alfie’s mind that the water would be much deeper for her little legs. The moment he set her down in the pool, the water drenched her entire dress, almost covering the bottom half of her face. The man hissed, praying that his slip up hadn’t been caught on camera. He yanked her back up just as quickly as he put her down. 

Thankfully, she didn’t cry, just let out a few quiet laughs. “Again.”

Harry showed back up before he could do so. Mabel knew she’d been caught red handed, doing the very thing her dad told her she couldn’t do. The moment he set his hands on his hips, she knew she was in trouble. 

“What did I say?”

She shrugged, hoping the cuteness of her face could get her off with less than a warning. In her eyes he was being very mean today. 

He couldn’t stay mad at her. He hadn’t figured out that skill yet. He let out a long sigh– his patience was usually a lot thinner than this. “You want to get me in trouble with your mum, don’t you?” He turned to Alfie next, who looked pretty sheepish. “And you need to stop encouraging her.” 

He raised his hands in his defence. “Sorry, dad.” 

If he didn’t have a child to dry off before she froze, Harry absolutely would have made Alfie pay for giving him extra work. Sometimes it felt like he wasn’t just parenting his kid, but all of his friends too. For grown adults they could all be pretty stupid sometimes. 

Harry wrapped Mabel up in a fluffy towel, the girl giggling as he trapped her arms by her side and picked her up. It wasn’t doing much considering her dress was soaked through as well, but combined with the sun she would dry out in no time. At least this way she was kept warm and cosy. 

“Why don’t we go get your face painted, yeah?” That might keep her out of trouble for a bit. 

“You too, daddy.”

“Me too?” 

That wasn’t in the plans, but if it kept her from crying then he didn’t see the harm in it. It was those puppy dog eyes once again that resulted in him having his face painted like a cat. His friends were definitely going to take the piss, but it was worth it to see the way Mabel’s eyes lit up. 

He sat the toddler on his knee, still restrained in the towel, but more than content to relax in her dad’s arms. He just needed her to sit still so the woman could work. 

It was easy for Harry to forget who he was talking to when he told her to sit still. Not only was she a toddler, who found it difficult to keep focus on anything for longer than 5 minutes, but she was also his daughter. Even at his big age he couldn’t sit still for very long. It was a losing battle for her really. 

After a couple breaks and more than enough reminders to keep her head still from Harry, she was pretty happy with the results. 

A tiger wouldn’t have been Harry’s first choice. He could have guaranteed you would have liked to see her with something like a butterfly on her face, but she thought that was boring. It was this or something similar to the travesty that had ended up on George’s face.

“Let’s see, Mae.” 

She turned to him and bared her teeth, making a small growling noise that made his heart soar. He would have laughed if she wasn’t trying to genuinely be scary. 

“Oh, wow, scary.” He slipped his phone from his pocket. “Shall we take a picture for mummy?” 

Her head nodded rapidly and she posed for his camera. He grinned. You were going to love that. After a couple more, where she insisted he get in it as well, he sent them off to you for your approval. Although, he wasn’t counting on a quick response. 

After some more running around and a terrible attempt at kicking the football into the goal, which no one would believe considering the cheers that erupted when Arthur ‘missed’ the save, Mabel was ready to crash. Too much sugar and plenty of running around would do that to a small child. 

By the time Harry made it home with a completely passed out 3 year old in his arms, you were already home and changed into your comfier clothes. 

The sight of your favourite people coming through the door made you smile, despite the fact you were ready to crash yourself. You didn’t know how you found the energy to get up off the sofa to greet them, but it was worth it to see your baby girl in her dad’s arms. 

“She looks like she had a good day,” you whispered, lightly brushing your hand over her messy pigtails. You couldn’t help the smile on your face at how sweet she looked like this. She no doubt had been a terror for her dad all day, but at least she was calm now, with her orange striped face and slightly damp curls. You would ask about that later.

He nodded. “Oh, she has. She’s been spoiled, that’s for sure.” 

The first editorial featuring your work hit Liam like an absolute freight train.

Rehearsals were, arguably, the most boring thing to the man. Sure, performing all the songs he’d sung before was mega, the legacy that lived through the words almost able to touch through the sheer relatability in the words. At least- that’s what it was like in Liam’s mind.

The guys sat around like slobs: Noel arguing with a sound engineer by the mixing desk, words floating over; “Yeah but- no man don’t- aye don’t fucking talk over me, that don’t sound- “Liam rolled his eyes. Christ. Couldn’t the guy just take a fucking breather? He loved his brother, but man did he have a stick up his arse sometimes.

Bonehead and Guigs were sat heads knocked together in the corner, obsessing over a couple of faintly crawled guitar chords like they were trying to figure something out. Liam pressed the cool rim of the beer bottle he was holding- more routine now than actually wanting it, letting amber liquid slip past his lips and down his throat like an old friend. Welcoming the warmth that nothing else could spread in his gut.

His eyes wandered for a moment, slowed by the alcohol, lazy in a way that showed he didn’t actually care. And that’s when he saw it.

They usually had magazines stocked whenever they made a headline: naturally, of course, being arguably the band with an ego larger than the united kingdom itself. But this one caught his eye more than others. It was buried under another two- the top one rattling off some story about Liam being spotted in the pub with a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend. He didn’t want to read that one, what was the point. Beer. Lips. Sifting through the pile to reach the one that showed his face in the corner.

It wasn’t even a headline, that could almost make him laugh. But he recognised your name immediately, the small side summary column read like the words were jumping out the page at him.

NEW Oasis photographer captures stunning image of the real Liam Gallagher. Thoughts discussed by expert columnist Simon Riley on page 59- analysis: Who really is Liam Gallagher?

Bunch of pissheads. That’s what he thought of them. Picking apart his personal life like they were vultures figuring just how much they could rinse from a rotting carcass. He pinched the page between thumb and index finger, staring down at the picture. Small. But to him it felt massive.

It wasn’t anything big, not by any means. It was from that daft photoshoot you’d done of him weeks prior, the memory of it completely gone from his mind by now. What wasn’t gone from his mind though, was you. You. Sweet you with your trembling hands and a camera which seemed to calm them instantly, the way you’d taken on his challenge to snap his picture like it was nothing, letting him piss about as he worked you to your limit as part of your audition.

That’s been his real reasoning for getting Noel to hire you.

— · ✦ · —

He hadn’t stayed affected by the news of Patsy officially moving out of his house for long, no. Eventually, after the night ran long and the speakers still hummed with the excitement of the pre-tour gig at Maine Road he and Noel made their way to their second location.

The strip club. Meg didn’t need to know. Patsy definitely didn’t need to know anymore.

They’d discussed it over lines of white powder scattered over mirrors, each of them tuning out for a moment as money was tucked into the waistband of a passing girl with the knowing gaze that they’d be seeing them later. Noel had kicked it off- of course. Business as usual. Even coked out of his mind.

“Y’see kid” Noel started, hand slipping from the thigh of the girl who’d been grinding all over the front of his jeans just moments prior, “We hafta make a deci- thankyou, sweetheart- “Noel was ever the gentleman, of course. Har fucking har. Thanking a girl like her entire confidence demanded on it, an appreciative patting on the ass as he sent her on her way. Liam hardly paid attention, focused on winking at some dark-haired beauty loitering across the bar. But Noel was insistent- “We need to make a decision mate, not only are management getting pissy that we ain’t got no photographer, but if we get sent one from some random fucking agency, they could really screw us over”.

“We need someone who… won’t get all up in our faces” Noel thought for a moment, clasping the now warm bottle of beer between his hands, rhythmically tapping out a tune, one of the ones incessantly rolling around his mind, against the condensate on the glass, “What about that Alan bloke, he was nice, yeah?”

“You really wanna talk about this shite right now, man?” Liam couldn’t be arsed anymore. Hire whoever you want- that was his philosophy. Not that he ever had much say in the matter. But then he thought back, one hand scratching at a stubbled cheek whilst the other swirled the amber beer around the glass in his hand, “What about that bird? Cute little thing that looked like she was about to bolt the whole time”.

He tried to seem disinterested, of course. Nobody ever caught Liam Gallagher’s attention enough for it to matter- he’d displayed that through his treatment of patsy. Through the way he approached recording, soundchecks, music. The world was Liam’s and everybody else was just living in it for the moment. Noel shook his head with a slight laugh, shrugging, “Didn’t she seem a bit, I dunno, fuckin’ scared of us?”

“Yeah” Liam muttered, now focused on the hazy strobe, seeing your face dancing in the pulsing light, “Yeah” He repeated himself. Noel knew by now not to bother with asking, just deciding to trust his brother’s judgement for once in his life. And with a shrug, he pushed up from the lounge, already making his way over to a blonde who looked like his wife but definitely wasn’t.

Liam just took another long gulp of his beer.

Didn’t even feel it anymore.

— · ✦ · —

He snapped back to reality, rubbing his temple as he stared down at the picture in his grasp. He allowed himself to focus back on the grainy image. It’s good, he had to give you that. But it was just so fucking raw. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years, eyes wide and vulnerable in a way he never let himself show, jaw slightly slacked in a way that made him look stupid.

You didn’t think so. That’s why you submitted it.

Alan White sidled up next to Liam, plonking himself down on the couch. Liam hardly registered the sound of battered drumsticks hitting the old coffee table, too busy chewing his lip to try and figure out what the hell was in front of him.

Liam eventually piped up, tuning out the sound of the others bickering in the background, “Don’t you think she made me look knackered?” Alan leaned over, Liam watched- seemed like he was always watching nowadays, taking another swig which essentially failed in itself by there not actually being any beer left in the bottle. He ignored it. Reached for another can in the cooler cleverly placed behind the sofa, just in his reach. Alan shrugged after a moment, “You probably were knackered mate”.

Liam wasn’t buying it, stared down at the picture like it was a personal attack, an offence. Something designed to hurt him, “Yeah well,” He tried to brush it off, tried to force the uncomfortable feeling threatening to surge up his throat and out of his mouth, scrubbing one palm down his face with a big sigh, “Didn’t need immortalising, did it?”

“Yeah, well at least you finally look like a normal person”.

Normal. That was it. The reality set in as Liam slowly began to realise, with the set of his jaw and the furrow in his brows – you pictured him as the man he was, not the god he tried to be.

And that irritated him.

No. Maybe it confused him? It was hard to tell now the way the lines were blurred so often between the coke, the smoke and the beer where Liam actually began and where he ended. He just knew he didn’t like the fact that you were trying to figure that out.

— · ✦ · —

Liam found you backstage that same night. It was almost impossible for him not to be able to locate anybody he wanted at that specific time.

You were stood by the crates, staring down at the camera that often felt more like an extension of your real self rather than a tool of expression, fiddling with the lens settings with a furrowed brow. You heard the rush of footsteps up to you, Liam suddenly appearing in your periphery. You raised your head to meet his, the two of you just looking at each other for a moment.

You’d hardly spoken since that day you’d interviewed for the role, simple nods as you passed each other, sometimes he’d even dare to reach across to pluck the camera from your hands like he owned it. You always let him. Why would you do that? How come you didn’t stand up for yourself? No. Stop.

“What’s up?” You said, soft. Timid. You cursed yourself internally for a moment, straightening your spine as you tilted chin up towards him. He didn’t match the carefree expression on your face. He looked somewhat… uncomfortable? Did Liam Gallagher ever get uncomfortable? It was surely a sight to behold, your fingers itched against the cool metal camera in your hand, but you pushed aside the urge to focus on the man in front of you.

“What’s your obsession with catchin’ people off guard?”

The question felt like it knocked all the air out of your lungs. For a moment you felt like an idiot, mouth opening and closing around silent words as you tried to make sense of the thing he was accusing you of. Neither of you missed the sound of a stagehand calling five. You looked past Liam for a moment, hoping somebody could save you from the scrutiny in his gaze, “What are you on about?” Was all you could bring your mouth to utter, palms sweaty as you dropped them to your sides. His eyes narrowed.

“That picture in that stupid fuckin’ magazine, I ain’t ever heard of the daft pages before” He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head like he was waiting for some great revelation on your part. Suddenly, he caught a gaze over his shoulder, jaw setting as he manoeuvred himself in front of you, blocking you in against the crate and the makeshift backstage wall, big frame almost imposing against your own slunk against the wall in something that looked, regrettably, like cowardice. No. You can’t be having this. You hardly even know the guy and suddenly he’s forcing himself into your space like he has any right and questioning you on something you were literally hired to do. You could hardly hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears, “So I’ll ask again, what gets you off catching people like that?”

“That’s usually when they look the most honest”.

Your words seemed to completely baffle him, thick brows shooting up until they almost reached his hairline, tongue darting out to moisten his lips in a bid to think of what to say next as he watched you. He watched you like he wanted to figure you out. Exposed. Too Exposed. Get out. No. Stop. He adjusted against the wall, a sniffle leaving his person as you both stood in that awkward kind of silence which came from people essentially the same age yet entire words apart. And for the first time in his life, Liam felt completely slumped.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe the innocent little line he’d done off the back of his palm in the car on the way over to the venue- after all, this was opening night for the new tour. Who wouldn’t want to be completely amped up? Didn’t mean it made things like this any easier.

The silence kept settling in, neither of you quite knowing what to do now, apparent lack of planning on his half. He should probably think about this next time he tries to challenge somebody. Not that he did. Ring. His ring twirled around his finger by his own manipulation- it’s gold, pretty. It’s a nice ring. What the fuck are you thinking about. Stop.

The crucifying silence was finally over the second Liam let out a sigh, one hand scratching at the back of his neck as the other kept playing with the ring. It was almost dizzying at this point. You forced yourself to look back up at him. You hadn’t noticed how close you’ gotten, his chest almost close to pressing up against yours. Close enough to hear the breath in his lungs.

“You callin’ me dishonest?” He was smiling. But it didn’t feel real. That wasn’t something to try and decode at this time, wasn’t something you should try and figure out. But why did you want to? Stop.

He laughed slightly, awkwardly. Not quite awkward in the real sense of the word, more like he didn’t quite know where to put himself. You smiled back at him, unsure of your own footing as you tilt your head back defiantly, “You’re in a famous band. Obviously, I am”

That made him smile. A proper one this time. Canines glistening in the low backstage light as he took you in. “Watch out” He murmured. A stagehand passed by, Liam’s hand on your elbow to tug you in. Neither of you broke eye contact.

Were you arguing or flirting? The cold set of his eyes and tension in his jaw told a story completely the opposite to the difficult look deep within blue irises. Why were you trying to figure him out?

It all just felt weird for a second. He stared down at you; you looked back up at him. His hand didn’t leave your arm for a few moments, hot flesh burning through the fabric of your shirt onto your skin. Standing. Watching. Waiting?

His eyes trailed down your frame for just a second. But then the moment shattered, pushing himself off the wall, “Just don’t do it again, alright?”

You didn’t miss the way he reached into his pocket, the way his fingers closed around something that sounded an awful lot like a plastic baggie.

“Well, it is my job”.

He didn’t like that. But he didn’t rush at you like he probably would’ve done any other snarky photographer or reporter that dared to challenge him. But you could see the way the vein in his neck pulsed, the way his jaw clenched once more.

“Don’t push it”.

No matter what you tried to do. It seemed like Liam Gallagher was either one step in front of you, or one step closer to hating your fucking guts.

He pulled out the bag on his way out. White powder.

— · ✦ · —

You couldn’t sleep that night. Maybe it was something about being in a hotel, the lumpy bed that never seemed to grow comfortable despite the countless amounts of tossing and turning. The coffee machine in the corner didn’t work, only worsening your exhaustion. You’d already tried cycling through endless pictures stored on your various cameras. Lined up. One two three four. Counting. Didn’t help. Your head was far too loud for this. Out. You needed out.

You could hardly resist your own mind at this point, running two hands down your face as you pushed yourself away from the bed. The room span violently for a second. Stop. It stopped. Almost like you’d asked it too. You allowed your feet to carry your exhausted frame over to the table where the cameras waited like little soldiers, picking it up and turning it over in your hand. Calm. It felt calm now. You took a shaky breath. Would anybody even be up now? Stop.

You shrugged on your coat, shouldering your way out of the hotel room. It was smaller than what you imagined the ‘big guns’ of the tour had, just the floor above held Liam, Noel, the rest of the band. You got along with the others, Noel was nice to you, Alan had asked your opinion on something involving a snare which you admittedly had to confess that you had no idea what he was on about. But you weren’t part of it, the big production. And you were completely exhausted. It wasn’t fun being shunted between hotels. You’d been in three already and the tour had only started tonight, rumbling tour bus carrying you to locations around London, up to Manchester. Sound checks. Final finishings on operations. You took exclusive backstage shots which Noel bantered, “Could sell for millions them, pet” An appreciative clap on your back. Go team. Breathe.

You wandered down to reception, essentially a ghost town at this time of night. A polite smile sent towards the hostess as you walked your own path outside. It felt easier to breathe here, like it did that day you went to Maine Road. Maybe you were just in your head far too much, I mean, there was no use for this thinking all the time, right? You’re doing it right now.

It was beautiful outside, pretty trees with their leaves ruffling like feathers on a bird in the late-night breeze. You couldn’t stop yourself from tilting your camera up to snap a shot of the picturesque scene, allowing your hands to move over buttons like they had a million times before.

Footsteps. Footsteps sounded from behind you. You turned around quick as anything, trying to focus on the source of the sound. Your eyes fixated on an alleyway, down the side of the hotel where it met its neighbour was a small ginnel, big enough to fit a person if they crammed themselves in sideways. What caught your attention the most was the glowing ember of a cigarette butt.

The frame looked familiar.

“Liam?” Your voice cracked in the cold night, a billow of smoke sent itself out from the alley almost confirming your suspicion. You plucked up the courage to walk over, cautiously scanning your surroundings as you held your coat around you impossibly tighter, walking over to where you were sure he was standing. And that’s where he was. He hadn’t heard you, back turned to you as he puffed on the cigarette, head tilted back to send smoke billowing into the otherwise quiet night air.

Snap.

Your camera clicked quietly. Didn’t hear it.

“I thought rockstars never slept” You allowed yourself to utter. He heard that one. He turned, hand skilfully tapping ash off the end of the cigarette as his eyes focused on your frame standing at the end of the alleyway, “Thought photographers minded their own business”.

Feeling a sudden rush of confidence, I mean, you don’t even know what came over you, you let the camera rest against your eye once more, snapping another picture. A quiet moment.

“Delete that” His voice came out rough, not like rough with sleep, more like lack thereof. He sounded exhausted, irritated, the emotion in his voice now fighting its way onto his face as he stared you down from in the dimly lit alleyway.

Checking the camera, you can hardly see him. It’s more artistic than arguably anything you’d ever shit- another real, raw shot, catching him in another vulnerable position. He hated that. That much you knew by now. Why was he so scared to show the world the real him? What was the whole performance about. You were so caught up in thinking you hardly noticed the dull footsteps heading your way as you turned towards the wall.

Hot hands made their way to your hips. Push. Pushed against the wall. “I said” He muttered, low and hot down your ear. The sound of his voice, the gruffness, the harsh undertone behind his words, it all made you shiver. Hands stayed idle on your hips, forcing you closer into the brick, digging into your stomach.

“No”

His jaw clenched, hands tightened in their hold on your hips as he reached around you for the camera, “Fuck this” He muttered, hand closing around the small device in your hand. You tugged back, not wanting him to take your only comfort away from you. He didn’t relent. Scuffle. It turned into a right scuffle, one of his hands pinning you against the wall as the other tried to tug it out of your hands.

“Fuck!” He shouted eventually, backing away. He backed so far he hit the wall behind him, chest heaving with anger as each breath fought its way out of his lips, “Why’re you doin’ that?!”

“Doing what?” You combat back, holding the camera tighter against your chest, “This is my fucking job Liam!” His eyes narrowed, staring you down.

He walked forward, invading your space, chin ducked low so his breath could waft over your lips, tilting his head so close if you even moved an inch you’d kiss him. He didn’t move forward. Stayed there. Intense.

“Delete. It” He muttered against your lips, both of your mouths brushing yet still so far from truly touching, he walked forward, pinning you back against the wall. His hardness dug into the top of your thigh. He was turned on by this. By you? You didn’t know what to think over the rushing of blood in your ears. Boom. Boom. BOOM. Too loud. Stop. Stop.

Not stop for him, not him. The warmth of his breath billowed out against your cheek as you stood there, eyes locked in a kind of battle as you waited for whoever would say the next word. “No” You simply said again. He looked defeated. Liam Gallagher looked defeated.

His head knocked down onto your shoulder, the hand that had pinned itself against the wall now falling limply to your waist as he let out a pained groan. “Fucks sake” He whispered, lifting his head again to knock forehead against yours once more. Drunk. He was drunk again, the sweet tang of alcohol on his breath reaching your nostrils as you stood there, a breath shaking as it left your lungs. Huh. You didn’t even know you were holding your breath.

“Fuck you” He whispered against your mouth. And then he was on you. Lips meeting yours in a rushed drunken frenzy, hands tightening their hold on your hips as he surged into you. It was more teeth and tongue than a true kiss, fighting for dominance as each of you tried to force your tongue into the other’s mouth. “M’ not gonna fuck you” He whispered against your lips, voice ragged, breathing heavy, “Don’t even fuckin’ know you, do I” Murmured. He was quiet. Sounded like he regretted it, “Don’t deserve it either”.

“Submitting that to some fucking twatty gossip mag” Kiss, breathe, “Takin’ fucking pictured of me” Foreheads bash together, lips lock, hand on your throat, “Won’t fuckin’ do as I say- who do you think you are”.

“It’s my- my job” You manage to rasp against his lips, pushing back on his shoulders to force him to the other side pf the dark alleyway. Your own hand reached his throat, pinning, holding, kissing. He didn’t even make a sound, just kissed you back like he needed it to breathe, “Off” He whispered against your lips, rough hands pulling at the fabric of your joggers, “Take them fuckin’ off”.

You don’t know what made you comply, but you did, fingers hooking in the waistband of your joggers to shove them to just under your ass. No underwear. Liam groaned softly, head falling down onto your shoulder to nip and suckle the skin exposed by your tank top. “Thought- thought you weren’t gonna fuck me” You managed, breathless, gripping his chin to force his eyes back to yours, “I ain’t” He snarled, fumbling with the buckle on his belt, never taking his eyes off you, “Touch yourself”.

What? “What?” You repeated, echoing your thoughts, “Am I speaking English, girl? Show me how you touch yourself”.

Your hand slid down between your thighs. A glimpse down the narrow alleyway to see if anybody was watching, listening, anything. Nothing. Nobody. You looked back to him, his face flushed, eyes now focusing on your centre as fingers approached, dusting through your already soaked folds. He groaned when he saw the gathering wetness on your hand, “Yeah, that’s it” He whispered into your mouth, no longer kissing you- not even when you tried to chase his lips with your own, legs buckling, sending you slumping against him. A hand caught you round the shoulders, tugging you against him as he breathed into your mouth.

The other hand worked at freeing his already hard dick from his trousers, hand closing around throbbing red tip as he gasped in tandem with you. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Adjusting. Felling. Your fingers circled your clit, feeling the dull knot start to twist in your stomach. Look away. Don’t look. Your brain still didn’t stop. He noticed, letting out a quiet whimper of his own as he grabbed you by the back of the neck. Forcing. Forced your head to crane up to meet him as each of you worked yourselves closer to the edge.

It was cold. But his words were hot, “Eyes on me- don’t, don’t fucking look away” He rasped into your mouth, jerking himself off harder when he saw the way your legs were beginning to buckle, “Fuck- fucking bitch” He whispered into your mouth, breathless, “Who do you think you are, Liam?” You manage to stammer out around a moan, lips touching but not kissing as you panted into each other’s space, stepping forwards until you could feel the rapid movement of his hand stroking himself against your leg, a keen leaving him at the feeling of soft skin against his tip, “You’ve been- ah- nothin’ but an arsehole to me since the- mmh, second I got here” You’re fighting back. You didn’t even know you could do this.

Something about the moment left you bold, both of you tripped down, raw. Vulnerable. If you were an outsider to this you’d probably think you were in love. But the air carried something far more toxic. More obsessive. Glanced caught between backstages, magazine articles designed specifically to piss him off to the point of talking to you properly, all came to a head here.

“Fingers- fingers in” He muttered into your mouth, own eyes hazy with the lust clouding over the two of you. You smiles against his lips, licking, suckling on the lower one, letting him watch as your fingers dipped to circle your dripping hole, pushing a finger in. He groaned at the sight, pumping his dick slow to not come too fast, head knocking back against the wall.

You pulled your fingers out after a moment, other hand coming to stroke your clit once more. You could feel the burning building up in your abdomen. Through the black spots clouding your vision, you made the decision. The fingers slick with your wetness pushed past his lips.

He groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he muttered out a quiet, “Fuck”, words muffled by your fingers as his orgasm crashed over him, shooting hot white ropes of his cum onto your thigh, some making it to the floor. You followed suit soon after, body shaking with the force of your own orgasm, clit throbbing as you leaned forward into his chest for support. His hand still pumped lazily at his leaking dick as he came down with a shaky sigh.

And then pushed you off him.

Spared one glance down to your shivering thighs, the way you looked so vulnerable at him moving away from him. He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad through the numbness. Just stood there. Reached out after a second to tug your pants back up, bicep heavy against your head as he reached down to pat your ass once- just as if to say, ‘job well done’. This was his world. His. Not yours. What did you just do? Stop. Stop it. Stop thinking.

He spared another glance to the camera snashed on the floor from the frenzy, jaw set as he dug in his pocket, Threw a couple of bills on the floor.

And like that he was gone.

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YOU KNEW SOMETHING was wrong with Arabella. The moment she got home with Alfie she sent herself right to her room. You gave him a confused glance as he walked to grab the shoes that she’d carelessly kicked off.

“What happened?”

Alfie shrugged, placing her shoes in the shoe cupboard, “She didn’t say anything, like, literally the whole ride home she said nish.”

You sighed, tilting your head back, “So she’s had a shit day then.”

“Yeah.”

“Great.” You muttered.

The entire afternoon went by, and you hadn’t heard a peep out of her at all. Not her door opening to go to the toilet, not the sound of her TV playing her favourite show, and not any light clattering as she played with her toys.

You were concerned, but you knew that bothering her right now would only make it worse, because the last time you did you got an earful.

While you made dinner, Alfie edited his vlog at the kitchen island, occasionally getting up to press a kiss to your cheek and steal a piece of food that you were in the midst of cooking.

“Oi!” You laughed, slapping his wrist as he stole a meatball off the pan.

“Ah, fuck!” He exclaimed, spitting it out into his palm, complaining about it being too hot.

“What did you expect, you div?” You threw your head back in amusement. “Can you go and get our daughter please? I’m serving up.”

He hummed, giving you another kiss before disappearing.

By the time you’d laid the plates out on the table, he was coming back downstairs with Arabella on his tail.

Her eyes looked a little red, and the fear that she’d been crying in her room for three hours by herself struck you in your heart, but you said nothing. There was also an irritated area of skin surrounding the mole on her jawline, and you really hoped she hadn’t been scratching at it too hard, but there were little speckles of a brighter red amongst the pink-ish skin.

“What happened here?” You cooed, stroking the back of your fingers over it.

“It was itchy.” She mumbled, pushing your hand away.

You frowned at her dismissive response but lifted her into her booster chair and pressed a kiss to her hairline.

Again, she remained silent throughout dinner, never looking up at either of you for longer than a millisecond.

“Bella, how was school, chick?” You tried.

She only shrugged, “Okay.”

“Yeah? Did you do anything fun?”

“Watch TV at break.”

“You didn’t go outside?” Alfie asked.

Arabella paused before shaking her head.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” You hummed, “It was too cold today, hm?”

She nodded.

You and Alfie shared a glance across the table, one of defeat and upset.

Suddenly, an idea to make her laugh came to mind.

You grabbed a couple of steamed carrots from your plate and chucked them at your boyfriend.

“Oi! What the hell?!”

You nudged your head in the direction of Arabella, hoping that he’d catch onto what you were trying to do. Thankfully, he did.

“Oh, you wanna play it like that, girl?” He smirked, picking up some mash.

“Alfie, not mash!” You screamed before it was launched at you. “Oh my God!”

Arabella’s head did perk up a little, a soft smile on her face as she watched you two go back and forth.

“You think this is funny?” You gasped like she’d offended you.

She pursed her lips a little, stifling a giggle.

“AB, get her quick!” Alfie said to her, but you’d already flicked some carrot at her.

“Mummy!” She laughed, retaliating with her own serving of carrots.

“No, get daddy, not me!” You cackled.

She did, turning to Alfie and throwing some at him.

“Ar, no way!” He shouted, getting out of his chair and crouching beside her, beginning to tickle her sides relentlessly.

She screamed and laughed contagiously, writhing in her seat.

But when Alfie began swapping between poking the mole on her jawline to the birthmark on her thigh (something he’d been doing since he noticed them coming through) it all went wrong.

Her shrieks of joy became shouts of annoyance.

“Stop it!” She snapped, hitting him away.

“Bella! You don’t hit your dad!”

Her eyes were full of tears when she looked up at you, “I don’t like it!”

The both of you watched as she pushed herself off of the chair, stumbling a little from the added height of her booster seat, but persisting on walking away.

Her cries followed her as she jogged up the stairs, becoming more and more muffled as she got further away.

There was no denying that your house was huge, a token to the amount of wealth Alfie had accumulated over the years, but even when she was in her room you could hear her sobs.

“What the fuck is going on?” You breathed out, running your hand through your hair.

What you didn’t expect was for her to come back the stairs, face red and eyes streaming rapidly.

She had a teddy stuffed in her hands, a foldable cow pillow, one that you’d bought her for her birthday two years ago. You knew she took it to school with her as a form of comfort and for something to lie on when she got tired in class, so you were a little confused as to why she had lugged it downstairs with her.

Shockingly, she managed to pull herself up onto her chair, standing instead of sitting, and began slamming the face of the stuffed cow into what was left of her food.

“Bella!” You exclaimed, shooting out of your chair to take hold of her.

With your hands covering hers, you tried to pry her little fingers off of her teddy, but her grip was hard as she rubbed food into the fur in an angered sob.

Mashed potato and gravy was clinging to it, creating a sight that made you feel a little bit sick and would undoubtedly stain.

To make it worse, she tipped her cup upside down, soaking the fur in apple juice. Now on top of a stain, you’d have a lingering scent too.

“Alright, alright, Bells, stop!” Alfie raised his voice, stepping in and yanking her away from the table and her teddy.

Her whole body shook against his chest from the force of her heavy cries.

His hand was firm on the back of her head, keeping it tucked into his neck as she clung to him desperately.

Your own hand was pressed to your mouth, watching with an aching heart as your baby girl made gutted sounds of distress and agony.

“What’s wrong?” Alfie whispered, tucking his forearm under her bottom to help hold her up easier, “Hm?”

“Everyone’s so mean to me!” She sobbed loudly, her voice slightly warped due to her hiding in the crook of her dad’s neck, but it didn’t make her words inaudible, as much as you wished it did.

“What do you mean?”

“Daddy, they make fun of me all the time!”

There was nothing you could do to halt the tears from coming out of your own eyes. You could’ve swore it was like someone had broken into your house and just immediately sucked all of the life and joy out of it. Where there was an overbearing amount of grief and sadness within you, there was also an underlying feeling of protective rage that made you want to have a few very strong words with the parents of these children.

Alfie made eye contact with you before speaking words that were meant to comfort both you and Arabella.

“It’s alright, darlin’, let’s sit on the sofa, ‘kay?”

The three of you ended up sitting close, Arabella now on your lap while you had your legs hanging over Alfie’s. One of his arms rested along the back of the sofa, the other resting on your knee as listened to your daughter splutter through an explanation of what had been happening at school.

What you managed to make out in between her sobs and coughs was that her previous group of friends had done a complete U-turn of their behaviour towards her, and instead of being lovely, had resorted to making fun of her for every little thing.

Apparently, she was ‘childish’ and ‘stupid’ for carrying a teddy around with her, which was idiotic to you because they were all children and almost all of them undoubtedly slept with teddies at home.

And the moles she’d inherited from her dad? According to the nasty children she attended school with, those weren’t allowed either.

It made sense why she’d gotten annoyed at her dad when she explained that the girls had been relentlessly poking at her moles for weeks and weeks.

The worst thing was that you could see the silent defeat in her eyes, the hint of emotion that told you she’d given up on making any new friends already. Her body looked even smaller than normal, like she was trying to take up less space in the world, or avoid drawing unwanted attention to herself. It made your heart shatter.

The fact that these feelings of insecurity and loneliness were following her home, latching onto her and draining that joyous energy you knew she had, tore you apart from the inside out.

She was supposed to feel comfortable at home, and she couldn’t even do that.

You tucked her into your chest, resting your chin on top of her head as she expended the rest of her energy crying even more. Your skin soaked up her tears in a similar way that you consumed her misery.

“I thought you were best friends with Eliza?” Alfie spoke softly, his thumb stroked over her ankle soothingly.

“She wasn’t in.” Arabella croaked, toying with her own fingers.

“But you’re still friends with her, right?”

She nodded.

“See, that’s good.” He hummed, “You’ve got her.”

“But what if she thinks I’m weird too?”

“Darlin’, you’re not weird. They’re just boring.”

Arabella shook her head, “Daddy, I’m so weird.”

“Okay, maybe you are, but who cares.”

“Alfie.” You snapped.

“No, I’m serious. If you’re weird, that makes me and your mummy weird, ‘coz you get it all from us.”

“But you’re a good weird.” She mumbled.

“What makes someone a good weird?” He brushed her hair back, smoothing a hand over the top of her head.

“I dunno.”

“Exactly. Bells, you’re just you and that’s okay— and who cares if you’ve got moles? I’ve got them, and your mummy thinks they’re pretty cool.”

“You do?” She looked up at you.

“The coolest.” You smiled, eyes filled with tears, “Baby, you’re so perfect to us.”

“Then why is everyone so mean to me?”

“I don’t know.” You pressed your mouth to her forehead, trying to force back your own sobs, “Some people are just mean, chick.”

Part of you felt like you’d failed to do the one job you had with her.

You were supposed to protect her and keep her happy and safe, but you couldn’t even do that.

Here she was, going to school and spending her days being bullied, and it had gone completely under your radar.

You should’ve known. You of all people should’ve known.

“Mummy, I need a wee.” Arabella muttered.

“Okay.” You hummed, pulling back, “Go toilet then.”

“We love you, Bells.” Alfie chimed.

“Love you too.” She replied before hopping off of the sofa and travelling down the hall.

When the bathroom door clicked with a lock, you looked at Alfie and broke.

He dragged you impossibly closer, lathering your hairline in little kisses to calm you.

“How didn’t we know?”

He hummed in argument, “None of that. This wasn't our fault, okay? Don’t feel guilty for the behaviour of other people’s kids.”

“Why are they so horrible to her?” You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks to gather yourself before she came back.

Alfie never ever cried over anything (except for when Arabella was born) but even he had glistening eyes at the thought of his daughter being tormented.

“‘Coz they’re kids, and they’re nasty. Bet their parents are pieces of work too.” He scoffed.

“Alf.”

“What? That type of behaviour doesn’t just come from nowhere. I’m phoning the school tomorrow if you don’t. Gonna have me goin’ proper Karen dad mode on them.”

“I don’t even wanna send her back there.” You shook your head, “Not until something’s been done about it.”

“What if I call and say she’s not returning until we speak about it with people and something’s done?”

“I just don’t want her missing out on that much school time.”

“I think it’s worth it if it means she doesn’t come home bawling everyday.” Alfie clicked his tongue.

You hummed in acknowledgment of his words.

“Oi, don’t be getting all lost in your head.” He tutted, kissing your temple.

“I just … Alfie, she’s fucking distraught.”

“I saw, darlin’. That’s why I’m gonna force that fuckin’ headteacher to do summet about it.”

You sighed and pursed your lips, “Okay.”

“Hey.”

You raised your eyes to meet his gaze.

“I love you. And you’re a great mum, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Appreciatively, you smiled at his words, lifting your head to press a chaste kiss to his lips, “I love you too.”

“I’ll clean up the table and get that pillow pet thing in the wash. You cuddle with Bells.”

You nodded in agreement.

When Arabella came back from the toilet, you tucked her under your arm and let her pick what to watch on the TV, not making a single complaint when she picked a Disney film you’d watched a hundred times over already.

The house was too loud for a secret.

There were too many voices overlapping, too many plates being passed around, too many people moving through Liam’s kitchen like they had known the place longer than I had. Peggy was talking to Paul near the counter, Noel was leaning back in his chair with that look of permanent judgment, Anaïs was laughing at something Sonny had said, Donovan and Gene were arguing over something that sounded important to absolutely no one else. Lennon was quieter, watching the room the way he did when he already knew too much. Molly sat with her partner beside her, the baby being passed from one pair of arms to another like the most precious and exhausting parcel in the world. Gene’s girlfriend was there too, folded naturally into the noise, smiling at him every time he tried too hard to look casual.

My parents were there. Clara and Julia too, which somehow made me both calmer and worse. They kept looking at me like they knew something was coming, even though they didn’t. Or maybe they just knew me too well.

The only people in that room who already knew were Liam’s children and Noel.

Lennon, Gene, and Molly had been carrying the secret carefully for weeks. Noel had known since the night Liam had called him in panic, which he kept pretending made him noble and not simply unbearable.

Everyone else was just eating, laughing, talking. Existing around the thing that had been living quietly between Liam and me for three months.

I watched them for a moment too long. It was strange, how a secret could feel small when it was only yours, and enormous the second you imagined placing it in someone else’s hands.

Liam noticed before anyone else did. He was sitting beside me, close enough that his knee brushed mine under the table. He hadn’t been saying much. Not because he was calm, but because he was absolutely not calm and had decided silence was the safest option. His hand found mine under the table, warm and firm.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

I looked at him. Then around the room. At Peggy. At Noel. At Paul. At his children trying not to look like they were waiting for a bomb to go off. At my parents. At my friends. At the people who were about to be pulled into something that had been just ours until now.

I nodded because I knew I wouldn’t feel any more ready if I waited.

So, without standing up, without tapping a glass or making some pretty little speech, I lifted my voice just enough to cut through the noise.

“Sorry— we need to tell you something.”

It took a second for the room to understand. The conversations didn’t stop at once. They faded badly, in pieces. Clara turned first. Then Julia. Peggy’s eyes went straight to Liam, which was unfair but also completely predictable. Noel lowered his drink and looked at his brother with the faintest hint of a smirk, already enjoying the disaster he knew was coming.

Liam squeezed my hand once and I took a breath. “We’re having a baby.”

For one second, no one moved. Then the room exploded. Clara gasped so loudly it nearly became a scream. Julia grabbed her arm and said, “I knew it,” even though she absolutely did not. Anaïs covered her mouth, smiling already. Sonny said something like, “Wait, seriously?” Donovan started laughing in disbelief. Gene’s girlfriend looked at Gene, caught him grinning, and slapped his arm because he had clearly known. Molly’s eyes filled immediately. Lennon looked down for a second, smiling to himself like he was relieved he didn’t have to pretend anymore.

And Peggy— she stared at Liam.

“Liam.”

He sat up straighter. “What?”

Her eyes widened with that very specific motherly horror that made him look about twelve years old. “Are you serious?”

The room went louder. Gene choked on a laugh. Paul looked down into his drink to hide his smile. Noel muttered, “There she is,” under his breath.

Liam looked genuinely offended. “Why’s it always me?”

Peggy pointed at him. “At your age?”

“Here we go.”

“You’re already a grandad.”

“I know that.”

“So you understand why I’m asking questions.”

“I’m fifty-two, Mam, not dead.”

“That is not as reassuring as you think.”

I felt him tense beside me, not angry, just bracing himself. And because I knew Peggy wasn’t being cruel, only shocked, I leaned forward slightly.

“Peggy,” I said, gently. Her eyes moved to me. The room softened a little. “I’m okay,” I said. “We’re okay.”

That changed something in her face. Not all at once. She was still Peggy. She still looked like she wanted to smack Liam round the back of the head on principle. But her panic shifted, loosening into something more fragile.

“You’re sure, love?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Properly?”

I smiled a little. “Properly.”

She let out a breath, long and heavy, then pressed a hand to her chest. “Jesus Christ.”

Liam muttered, “That means happy, by the way.”

Peggy shot him a look. “I’m getting there.”

Paul laughed then, soft and warm. “Well, congratulations,” he said, looking at both of us. “That’s lovely news.”

Noel finally decided to contribute. “Well,” he said. “At least it’ll keep you busy.”

Liam looked at him. “You already knew.”

The whole table shifted toward Noel.

Peggy’s head snapped around. “You knew?”

Noel lifted one shoulder. “He rang me in the middle of the night having a breakdown.”

“I did not.”

“You were spiralling.”

I bit my lip to stop myself smiling.

Peggy stared at Noel for another second, then sighed. “Of course he rang you first.”

Noel’s expression barely changed, but his voice softened just enough. “Wasn’t mine to tell.”

That sat there, quietly. A small act of brotherhood, hidden under all that dryness.

Then my mother spoke. “You’re pregnant.”

I turned. She was looking at me like the words had only just become real. My dad sat beside her, quiet and stunned, his eyes already a little shiny in a way he would probably deny later.

“Yeah,” I said.

My mum’s face did something complicated. She looked at my stomach, then at Liam, then back at me. For a second, I saw every old argument pass behind her eyes. Every difference between us. Every version of my life she had expected and the one I had stubbornly built instead.

Then she said, almost helplessly, “God, you’ve always been so weird.”

Julia made a tiny noise beside Clara, Liam blinked and I almost laughed.

“Mum.”

“I don’t mean it badly,” she said quickly, though she absolutely could have chosen better words. “I just mean… you always did things your own way.”

“That’s a nicer version.”

She sighed, but her eyes were softer now. “And are you happy?” That was the question, underneath all of it.

I looked at Liam before answering. Not because I needed permission. Because he was part of the answer. His thumb brushed once over my hand.

“I am,” I said.

My mum held my gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Alright.”

Not emotional in the way films make mothers emotional, but it was something.

My dad stood up then, abruptly. Like his body had decided before his brain did.

“Oh,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to do.

He came around the table and pulled me into a hug, careful but firm, one hand at the back of my head like I was suddenly small again.

“My girl,” he murmured.

That nearly got me. It was just him, overwhelmed and trying not to make a mess of it.

My dad looked at Liam then, still processing the whole impossible shape of it.

“You’ll look after her?”

Liam didn’t answer fast.

He looked at me, then back at my dad. “She doesn’t need lookin’ after,” he said. “But yeah. I will.”

My dad blinked, then nodded slowly. “Good answer.”

Liam shrugged once. “Only had one.”

And after that, the room found itself again.

Clara reached me first, already crying before she even touched me. “I’m going to be an aunt,” she said, grabbing both my hands.

Julia appeared behind her, just as emotional and slightly offended. “We’re going to be aunts.”

“You’re not technically—” Liam started. Both of them turned to look at him. He stopped immediately. “Right. Aunts.”

“Smart,” Noel muttered from somewhere behind him.

Julia hugged me so tightly I had to laugh into her shoulder, and Clara kept saying, “I knew it,” even though she absolutely hadn’t. They were already talking over each other, making plans, arguing about who would buy the first tiny outfit, deciding things no one had asked them to decide.

Molly came next, softer, eyes bright. She didn’t say much. She just held me for a second longer than usual, one hand careful at my back.

Then Gene’s voice cut through the room. “So I’m officially a big brother again?”

Liam looked at him. “Yeah.”

Gene leaned back, processing it with the dramatic weight of a man who had just been personally betrayed by biology. “At my age?”

Lennon laughed. “You’re making this about you already?”

“I’m allowed,” Gene said. “I’m being replaced.”

“You were never that important,” Lennon replied.

Gene pointed at him. “That’s exactly what a jealous older brother would say.”

“You’re the jealous older brother now.”

That made Gene pause, then his whole expression shifted. “Oh, shit. I am.”

Everyone laughed, and even Liam smiled then, though he tried to hide it badly.

Peggy was still half emotional, half furious with him, which felt about right. She hugged me carefully and then smacked Liam lightly on the arm when he got close.

“What was that for?”

“For making me a grandmother again without warning.”

Liam blinked, offended. “What, did you want me to warn you while we were makin’ the baby?”

The room went dead silent.

“LIAM.” Peggy smacked him again, harder this time, while Gene nearly choked on his drink and Noel closed his eyes like he was physically in pain.

“What?” Liam said, rubbing his arm. “She wanted a warning.”

Paul laughed quietly into his drink. Anaïs came over with a smile, warm and easy, and Sonny asked if this made the baby their cousin or “some weird Gallagher maths thing.”

Noel, without missing a beat, said, “Don’t ask Liam for maths.”

Liam pointed at him. “You’re on thin ice.”

“I’ve been on thin ice since you were born.”

The room kept moving around us. Noisy. Messy. Full of hands reaching for me, questions being thrown across the table, people laughing before anyone had finished speaking. My dad was still a little teary. My mum kept looking at me with that strange softened expression, like she was trying to understand this version of me without correcting it first.

And Liam stood in the middle of it all, overwhelmed and pretending he wasn’t. At some point, I caught him watching Gene and Lennon argue over who would be the cooler older brother. Molly was already telling Clara and Julia what baby things were actually useful and which ones were a waste of money. Peggy was asking if I was eating properly. Noel was pretending not to listen while clearly listening to everything.

He leaned closer and tilted his head toward the hallway. “Come here a sec.”

I followed him a few steps away from the noise while everyone else kept talking over each other in the kitchen.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… a lot.”

“Yeah,” he said with a small laugh. “Family’s terrifying.”

I smiled at that.

He looked at me for a second longer, softer now. “We’re alright though.”

“We are.”

Liam wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against him, kissing my forehead first before I tilted my head up and kissed him properly.

Behind us, someone yelled my name from the kitchen.

“Oi,” Liam muttered against my mouth. “Can’t even have her for thirty seconds now.”

BORROWING THE DEFENDER was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Alfie cherished that thing like it was his first born child, so for him to give you the keys for a quick grocery shop felt like he might as well just propose to you on the spot.

Albeit, he’d done it with reluctance, but you’d batted your eyelashes enough and promised him a night of whatever he wanted, and he caved pretty quickly after that.

It wasn’t that you were a bad driver, not by any means (you were arguably more sensible than Alfie in some cases) but he really didn’t play when it came to that car, and the thought of anyone else driving it but him made him feel a little ill inside.

It was supposed to be a quick trip, pop to the shop, stock up on some toiletries you were missing and even possibly grab a sweet treat or a nice drink for you and Alfie to enjoy.

What you hadn’t anticipated was a fumbling deer in the road staring straight at you as you drove towards it on the way back home.

You hadn’t noticed it until it was too late, and by that time, there wasn’t enough space to slam on the breaks, so your brain did the only other thing it could think of that wouldn’t result in the death of an innocent animal, and it forced your hands to jerk the steering wheel to the left, veering straight off the road.

The grassy ground was uneven immediately, causing you to jostle violently in your seat before hitting an awfully deep dent, sending the car sideways.

You didn’t remember much after that, it was all a blur of that annoying car alarm blaring down your ears, making the pounding in your head worsen, and rushed voices trying to speak to you.

What you could recall actually seeing with a family van parked to the side of the road, the mum and dad standing out of at and talking to some paramedics as another loaded you into the back of the ambulance.

“The deer.” You slurred, head hazy and eyes barely open, “It was a baby.”

“The deer is okay, honey. Now we’re gonna get you to the hospital and check you over okay?” The lady tending to you was a little older than you, possibly mid-30’s, but you couldn’t tell too much.

Everything hurt.

Everything.

Your head felt like it was the size of a large watermelon, and the pressure behind your skull was unbearable. On top of that, your skin felt burnt and sensitive, raw and stripped back, like you were missing layers of protectivity.

“Car … Alfie.” You managed to get out.

“The car belongs to Alfie? Who’s Alfie, sweetheart? Your boyfriend?”

Somehow, you managed a weak nod.

“Okay, well once we get you to the hospital, we’ll call Alfie, yeah?”

“No.” You frowned, “No, he can’t— His car—“

You let out a weak sob, surprising yourself for even having the energy to do so.

Energy aside, the force of the display of emotion caused your ribs to rattle uncomfortably in your chest.

There was a trickle of something down the side of your head, and you couldn’t decipher as to whether or not it was panicked sweat, or blood. When you barely felt the scrape of a towel against your skin dabbing it away, you assumed the latter.

“He’s gonna kill me.”

A flash of worry appeared on the paramedic’s face, but she continued to focus on you, not letting her thoughts stray away from getting you the help you needed.

“I’m sure he won’t, honey. You matter more than the car.”

If you thought the blur after the crash was bad, you were severely underestimating how much being in the hospital could’ve felt like a terrifyingly lucid dream.

You’d been cleaned up, and had a bandage secured tightly around your forehead in a way that surely made you look ridiculous.

There were numerous doctors checking things on you, sometimes the same things over and over, and they kept asking you questions that felt so small and insignificant, like ‘how old are you?’ or ‘do you remember your name?’.

Of course you knew those things, but when they started to enquire about where you thought you were and what hospital you were likely to be in, your brain suddenly felt disconnected from the rest of you, because you were supposed to know that type of thing, and you didn’t.

“Alright, that’s fine. We’re gonna run some scans, okay?” The doctor said in an attempt to calm your blatant nerves.

The scans came and went, and in the time it took for you to get the results, the doctors had informed you that your boyfriend had been phoned and was on his way, in which you’d had a minor moment of panic for fear of his reaction.

You knew nothing bad was going to come of it, but you really did fear the worst. And that would be a break up.

Seriously, you were half expecting it, and you wouldn’t really blame him.

To take someone’s prized possession, promise not to damage it, and then do the utmost amount of damage possible to it was an awful thing to do, especially when that person was the love of your life.

It held the same amount of weight if Alfie was to take all of your adorable ceramic trinkets that you’d spent years collecting, put them in a box without packaging and ruthlessly start chucking it about.

When he came rushing down the hallway and into your room, you burst into tears, instantaneously spurting spluttered apologies that were interrupted by sharp intakes of breath that you could never quite get to level out.

The nurse in your room stared skeptically at the interaction. She was the same one that had had a conversation with the paramedic that had tended to you. Her hands seemed to never both be occupied at the same time, so if she needed to intervene, she had the freedom to.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Alfie cooed, cupping your face with such care and gentleness you thought he considered the possibility of you breaking right then and there.

“I’m so sorry about the car!” You wailed, “I’m so sorry— There was a deer, and it was just a baby, and I didn’t wanna hit it, and I swerved—“

“Angel, angel, breathe.” He whispered, stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones, wary of the little cuts on the one side of your face.

You copied his pattern of breathing by placing your hand flat on his chest and following the rise and fall of it.

Eventually you calmed and he was smiling, albeit still a little shaky in his movements to hold and caress you.

“I don’t care about the car. I care about you.”

“Stop lying. If you want to break up—“

“What?” He whispered like a hiss, face contorted into one of horror at the thought, “No, no, no, no, no, I don’t want to break up, what the fuck, darlin’?”

“But the Defender is your baby and I ruined it—“

“You’re my baby.” He corrected you, staring at you with glossed over eyes and a distress-ridden face, “The Defender was the last thing on my mind when I got that call. Reader, I thought you were dying. I-I didn’t give a shit about the state of the car, I gave a shit about the state of you.”

“Are you sure? Alf, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, stop.” He shook his head, brushing your hair back to get a glimpse at the entirety of your face uncovered.

Alfie’s eyes seemed to follow every feature on your face, soaking them all up and committing them to memory (as if he hadn’t already).

You hadn’t let your eyes leave his once either, and by the time that stunningly intimate moment was up, you were sure that you could draw Alfie’s eyes picture perfectly, down to every green spec and detailed flick of light that reflected off of his teary iris’.

“What’s the damage?” He finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“We’re just getting the scan reports now.” The nurse piped up, reminding you that she had been in the room the entire time, “In terms of body injuries, nothing major. Bruised ribs, deep friction burn from the seat belt cutting into her skin, but nothing that you should worry about.”

“Can I see?” Alfie asked you.

Nervously, you unravelled the hospital gown you’d been given, letting it fall into your lap and reveal the sight of your injuries to your boyfriend.

“Shit, Reader.” He whispered, his hand hovering over your chest, wanting to touch and soothe, but not wanting to cause any extra pain.

“They’ll go away in about two weeks. It’ll hurt, and you’ll wanna refrain from lying on your chest, scratching it or applying any pressure in general.” The nurse explained, standing in front of you, “There’s a chance of scarring around here.” She gestured a finger to the swell of your breast where the marks were the darkest, “Because that’s where the seatbelt cut the most.”

Alfie’s hand came around your back, resting just between your shoulder blades in a comforting manner, his palm running over the expanse of your back.

Once you got your scans back, they briefed you on the issues at hand. Nothing was awful, which was the most relieving thing of it all, but there were signs of a minor concussion that would need to be monitored for the rest of the day and tomorrow.

Alfie had no qualms about doing that all, in fact he seemed more in tune with what the doctors were saying than you. He was nodding along, asking the appropriate questions, all while you sat there, silently picking at the skin around your fingers.

What you thought was going to become an overnight stay resulted in another quick change of clothes and a dosage of painkillers before they let you leave with the prescribed medication to dull any of the discomfort you were about to face throughout the next few days.

Alfie’s mum had driven to the hospital to pick you up since the Defender was a total wreck at the shop (hopefully) and she immediately began fussing over you.

Surprisingly, she turned it around into Alfie, arguing that he shouldn’t have let you go to the shops on your own or something like that.

You shut her down quickly, not wanting your boyfriend to take the blame for something that was finally coming to light as no one’s fault.

Still, she gave her son another harsh glare before ushering you both to her car.

After dropping you off at the grotto and demanding that Alfie looked after you for the next month at least (like he was ever going to not do that) she left, leaving the two of you alone in your house.

Alfie wasted no time in pulling you carefully into his lap on the sofa, letting you curl up in his arms and get comfy against him.

You were still feeling a little woozy, which was to be expected especially since you’d been given medicine before you left, so it didn’t take long for your eyes to flutter shut against his chest and his arms to tighten a fraction around you.

“Do you promise me that you’re okay?” Alfie whispered, stroking his fingers through your hair cautiously, not wanting to tug too hard and cause anymore pain to your head.

You nodded, “I promise.”

“Alright, girl.” He hummed, his voice rumbling from his chest down your ear.

“Do you promise me that you’re not mad about the Defender?” You asked back.

“Mad? No. A little upset, yeah. But it’s fine. She’s replaceable, you’re not. Ever. I’d rather lose a hundred Defenders than ever lose just you, so please don’t think I’ll ever put a car over you.”

“I just felt awful.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to. I’ll sort stuff out with the car tomorrow, but you’re still my priority. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you so much, Reader.”

“I love you too, Alfie.”

“You’re never allowed to scare me like that again, d’you hear me?” He said.

You giggled a little at that but nodded anyway, lifting your head off of his chest to look him in the eyes.

“I’m serious. I knew something was wrong when you took longer than an hour, and when I got that call? Fuck, angel, I nearly started shouting at the taxi driver to start speeding and swerving.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t do that.”

“It would’ve been worth it.”

You sighed heavily, your chest deflating drastically, causing an acute amount of pain that showed through a minuscule twitch of your brows.

Alfie was quick with it, “What hurts?”

“Alfie.”

“Tell me.”

“I just breathed too hard. I’m fine.”

He gave you a skeptical look but backed down anyway.

“How’s my face? Do I have to shelter myself from society?” You half-joked.

He shook his head, “Still beautiful.”

“Okay, thank you. But, seriously.”

He reached a hand up, finger lightly tracing the grazing on your temple and above your eyebrow, “A few cuts here.” His touch travelled down to your cheekbone, where it was stained a reddish colour that would slowly fade to purple within the next few hours, “A bruise.”

Your confidence deflated as he continued, and it was that that urged him to stop.

“Hey.” He hummed, picking your chin up, “You still look gorgeous.”

“But not perfect.” You whispered.

“A perfect you to me isn’t one in pain.” He replied softly.

You pursed your lips, dropping your forehead down to his collarbone. He brought his hand to the back of your head, stroking his thumb over your hair in a way that had you melting into him.