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jasonrae117 · 4 months

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Just Another Hollywood Scene

Just in time for the new year! Please enjoy the next installment!

Also on Ao3!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49727071/chapters/133334152

Chapter 3: New News

Damian was heading to Dick’s house to have what he called a celebration, but what seemed to really be a ‘I hope the media takes the news well’ support group. Most of the people that worked in the offices were going to be there so Damian really had no choice but to come.

The costume consult went pretty much as expected and like many of his other ones he’s done in the past. The superhero costume itself was slightly uncomfortable yet manageable and defined his physique. His only complaint was that it was the colors of a traffic light, a little more red and black heavy but yellow and green definitely made their appearances. The costumer, Rita Parr, who had a 1950s vibe told him it’s to reflect his background of being from a circus. Damian snorted, the fact that Dick used his own backstory to fuel this character was still very funny to him, especially when others don’t know it and think it's so absurdly original.

The craziest thing about this movie was that Dick was not only directing it, but he is the primary writer too. He didn’t want to come across as too bold and open his sure to be box office smash to criticism because an actor turned director could also write a script well. So he put it under a pseudonym. Damian was quite surprised when he found out, the script was well written, the characters all seemed grounded, and it was more than just an action movie. Dick had found a way to work a compelling romance amongst his characters too. That is why Damian would have begged his brother to be in the movie, of course he didn’t have to, Dick was all too eager to have Damian be a part of it, but Damian would have begged if it came to that.

When Damian’s town car pulled up to Dick’s small mansion, he could already see the cars of about seven others, and by some of the specific vehicles he knew that the majority of the production team leaders were here. And sure enough when Alfred, his family’s butler that Bruce requested help host Dick’s gathering, opened the door, he could already hear some of their voices.

“Welcome Master Damian. Wonderful that you could make it this evening.” The gentle older man stepped to the side, gesturing for Damian to enter.

“Good evening Alfred. I’m afraid I wasn’t allowed to RSVP no to this event.’

“Well, nevertheless, I have brought your favorite bourbon to help you settle in better. Master Grayson is in the theatre room with some of the others. He requested I direct you there upon your arrival.” Alfred walked along beside him.

“Great, already jumping into work talk. I’ll take a double of that bourbon when you get the chance.” Damian shrugged off his coat and put it in the coat closet, politely denying Alfred’s assistance.

Approaching the theatre room, he could already hear the familiar voices of a good chunk of the production team:

Wally West ( Director's Assistant)

Barbara Gordon (Secretary/PA)

Zatanna Zatara (Producer)

Clark Kent (Cinematographer)

Garth Bernstein (Casting Director)

Victor Stone (Sound Designer)

Rex Mason (Production Designer)

Along with Jason Todd, Slade Wilson was also present. Slade Wilson was cast to play the villain and arch nemesis to Robin, Deathstroke. Damian wasn’t a huge fan of the older man, throughout his long tenure of acting he was known to be vindictive, manipulative, and only watch out for himself. He ran his own talent agency poaching other managers of their clients to fill his arsenal. It worked, however, his name and his wealth always convinced the young and naive actors and actresses to buck over to his team. So before him, he had an army of good talent that made him richer and made membership under his agency ridiculously pricey. As for the actors and actresses, Slade saved the best roles for himself and his favorites, so every audition season was cutthroat and everyone sucked up to Slade to gain his favor and potentially better roles. Damian was disgusted by it and was appalled that Dick would include him in his project, but Dick argued that the new movie needed a genius villain and Slade was the best to play the evil man.

He had to agree with his brother, while Slade was unquestionably a terrible man in real life, he elegantly portrayed one even better on the big screen. Once he aged out of the roguish antihero type leading man, he began getting typecast as the man pulling the strings or the mob boss. Slade loved it because people loved his bad guys and he won a multitude of awards for them. It killed Damian to say it, but he was a perfect choice for the role.

Damian took a deep breath and opened the double doors to the large projector screen with luxurious plush red velvet reclining chairs creating three rows facing the front. The various men and women standing or sitting around the room, each with a drink in their hand. They turned their heads to see who the newcomer was. Dick came bouncing toward him while the others raised their glass in acknowledgement, waved, or called out a greeting.

“Hey Dami! I’m so glad you could make it!” Dick embraced him, but really just hugged around Damian’s hanging arms.

“I had no choice in the matter and you know it, now get off.” Damian resisted.

“Well I’m still glad you listened to my threats.” Dick laughed and guided him inside. “We were just going through the final candidates audition tapes, I’ve decided we’re going to decide tonight as a team!”

“We’re casting everyone tonight?” He looked at the screen to find it paused on someone’s audition. An average height, lanky male with blonde hair and green eyes, no doubt someone auditioning for Changeling.

“No, not everyone, but the main team. Well those we haven’t cast yet! We already signed Kori as Starfire, and yesterday we finalized Connor Kent as Super Boy!” Dick practically cheered.

Damian rolled his eyes at the last casting announcement. “Clark’s brother? And I’m the one that gets called out for nepotism.” He crossed his arms.

Clark snorted, “You know I really thought you guys would have been the best of friends back then. Bruce was right though.” He chuckled again, few of the others joining in as well.

“He really does play cocky and arrogant well though, and you can’t play both roles!” Zatanna called out, making the rest burst into laughter.

“Ha ha. You all know he is a diva. Not everyone that fits the description of the character everyday of their real life should be the actual character. We’re actors because we can be things we’re not, not because we can portray ourselves on screen too, that's why we have reality TV trash.”

“Yeah that’s why we cast you as Robin, a leader, noble, maybe a little romantic, hero. You sure aren’t any of that in real life.” Garth hollered, Jason cackled with him. Damian’s eyes narrowed at the pair.

“Oh, but that’s why he’s an actor, because he can sure as hell act like a badass but isn’t one!” Jason added, their laughing continued. Damian dared a glance around the room, seeing Clark trying to hide his enjoyment, Rex’s smile and the way he nudged Zatanna as if they all agreed. Slade was sitting a glass of whiskey in one hand and a smirk on his face. Once his eyes landed on Barbara and Dick who also got caught giggling, he felt his anger start to rise.

“Your own words are biting you in the ass, Wayne.” Barbara snorted, emphasizing the use of his last name and punctuating the snarky comment with a sip from her glass of wine.

“Laugh all you want, you know I’m right. Now can we please just get on with it so I can go home?” He snapped.

Dick, still chuckling, clapped him on the back. “Sure thing. We actually started a bit early and just voted on our Mark Beast A.K.A Changeling! His name in Garfield Logan-”

“The guy from Space Trek?” Damian scoffed.

“The very one! He has a great following and a pretty solid comedic timing. His fans adore him and he’s already got green eyes! The rest will be easy! Plus he is already trained in gymnastics and does parkour, so stunts should be a little easier and perhaps more practical!” Garth chimed in.

“See, watch!” Dick pressed play and the screen brightened to life, displaying Garfield’s audition, followed by some footage of him at a training facility doing parkour and gymnastic routines. In Damian’s opinion, he wasn’t a poor choice, but he was still skeptical.

The group resettled into their chairs and watched clip after clip of auditions, until they narrowed it down and finally selected someone for the remaining roles. After Garfield Logan, they agreed upon Jaime Reyes to play Dan Garret A.K.A Blue Beetle and Donna Troy to portray Wondergirl, or Cassie Sandsmark. Alfred had arranged some catering to come in and supply them with a delicious meal as they were already a few hours deep into deliberation.

It was finally time to face the choice Damian dreaded the most. Who will play the Sorceress? He hadn’t stopped thinking about how important it was that she get along with him and be a good actress herself. The role was the second largest in the movie and could cost them dearly if they choose incorrectly. That and the fact that the office didn’t stop discussing this one girl’s audition for two full days, luckily it died down after that but Damian didn’t want Jason’s new plaything to be involved at all and certainly didn’t want her too close to himself.

Garth, the casting director, had narrowed their choices down to three different women that had been the best of the bunch. The first audition wasn’t memorable, the girl had played it safe, and while it was still very well done, it was missing that certain something.

Damian recognized the second woman instantly, and all he could think of was how horribly wrong the choice would be. Terra Markov, or better known as Slade Wilson’s lapdog. She was his pet, and she also got any audition she could dream of. No doubt Garth was bribed or in some way coerced to give her a shot, because her look did not scream sorceress at all. To give credit where credit is due, she was a decent actress, she just had a temper and her questionable ties with Slade didn’t sit right with him. They still watched her performance and the crowd seemed rather pleased.

“I really like how she delivered that line!”

“Her blue eyes are so pretty!”

“Imagine if we just dyed her hair or used a wig, I think we have a winner!”

Damian looked to Slade who was sitting there with a smug grin on his face. “She is quite talented isn’t she.”

“She’s great, but we’ve got one more. So let’s not make any decisions quite yet.” Dick answered.

“What? You don’t think she is fit for the role?” Slade pushed back.

“No, no. She did very well, I’m just saying we have one left and we should watch it first. Terra is a strong actress, no question why you signed her under your agency.”

“Mr. Grayson, it’d be most efficient to just call it here, everyone approves of her.” A general nodding of heads and agreements filled the room following Slade’s words.

“True, or we can suck up watching five more goddamn minutes like the fucking director wants, and see all the possibilities. Or is it past your bedtime grandpa?” Jason barked.

“You listen here-” Slade was cut off.

Damian had marched over to Dick’s spot in the theatre and snatched the remote out of his hand, he walked back to his place towards the back of the room and away from everyone else and pressed play on the last audition tape.

The slam of the door and the energy that filled the screen silenced everyone. However, no one was more stunned than Damian, who had just realized that the very woman auditioning was the same from the lobby. It was made evident by the large brown coffee stain he caused on her blouse.

Damian watched the audition speechless. This couldn’t possibly be the one everyone was talking about. To his dismay, he had to admit that he was captivated. He knew that she had been late which explained the sudden start to the tape and lack of a slate, but despite what he caused, it seemed to fuel her annoyance of being disturbed by the alarm. She had added some lines and improvised her movements, Damian knew because he practically had the whole damn script memorized.

He almost laughed when she forced a poor assistant to become her scene partner, the shuffle of papers being thrown at the young man caused a few giggles from the small viewing audience. His eyes widened when she pulled her shirt off and he quickly berated himself for appreciating the fullness of her breasts and how prettily they were wrapped in her beige lace bra. While the woman on the screen addressed her apparel, Damian ‘respectfully’ averted his gaze and was curious to see what the others were thinking.

Barbara and Victor were smirking, seemingly appreciating the woman’s strong presence and how she kept going even though the brainless men were stuck on her wardrobe malfunction. Victor and Dick shared a look that confirmed that whatever they were thinking, that they were on the same page. Once the girl appeared back on screen wearing Jason’s signature jacket, the owner proudly grinned and nudged Garth in the chair beside him whose eyes seemed to be glued a little too much on her body. Rex and Clark were happily enjoying the audition and had even put down their food and snacks, fully entranced. What caught Damian’s eye the most was that Slade has shifted his posture, going from neatly relaxed with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, to leaning forward, fingers laced under his chin and elbows planted on his knees merely observing.

Damian’s focus shifted back to the screen, watching her move about so confidently before sitting in a lotus position and chanting lowly.

“Azerath, Metrion, Zinthos.”

Then Dick called cut and jumped in the scene beside her before the tape was stopped seconds later. A few seconds of silence and processing followed before everyone excitedly looked around and began discussing what they had just seen.

“It’s got to be her!”

“Her eyes are so unique!”

“She improvised all that? That’s incredible!”

But all Damian could think about was the war in his head. There was no denying that she was clearly the best, but he knew he already screwed up with her and was certain she hated his guts. He wasn’t sure if they would be able to work together.

“Okay, so that was the fantastic Raven Roth! She is a phenomenal actress whom you might have seen on Skulls as the forensic scientist.”

“I think it has to be her. Even her look is spot on, she is mysterious and cool.” Barbara said.

“I don’t know…didn’t it seem kind of amateurish to just storm in there. That would not fly on set!” Zatana chirped.

“She wouldn’t do that on set, some jerk spilled coffee on her which made her late! I completely sympathize for the poor girl, and to give us a performance this strong? Incredible! Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of auditions over the years.” Damian’s cheeks started to burn at Garth’s words, unknowingly calling him out.

“I for one agree with Mr. Bernstein, here.” The mumbles around the room silenced at Slade’s approval, he never sided with anyone that wasn’t his own talent.

“You do? But isn’t Terra your client?” Dick asked outright, sparing any tiptoeing around the subject.

“Yes, I am not blind and I know when to fold if my hand is not strong enough. Terra cannot out-perform this girl, at least in a role like this. This girl doesn’t seek attention, she demands it with her screen presence, it’s powerful, impactful. Terra’s performance was surface level, good, but inadequate. I’ll coach her about this later. But nevermind that. Miss Roth would be an excellent addition to the cast, as well as my agency. Does anyone know if she’s being represented?” Slade asked the room, Damian noticing a certain look in his eye that he couldn’t quite name.

“Alrighty then.” Dick looked around the room, everyone nodding in agreement to the unspoken question.

Damian felt a weight in his stomach. No way they all almost unanimously chose the vile woman from the coffee shop. Sure she had done well, but they couldn’t see past that? They’d soon find out her temper and Damian would enjoy watching them regret their decision. But still… he’d have to go to work everyday and look at her stupidly, definitely not in any way attractive, face and convince her to like him. It wasn’t fair. Maybe he should speak up? But to speak up would be to reveal himself as the ‘asshole’ and he couldn’t have that. They’d just side with Raven, and he wouldn’t even be able to explain himself. He had to get out of there, he couldn’t risk anyone realizing that he hadn’t given his usually very vocal opinion. Quietly, he snuck out the door just as Dick was finishing his statement.

“It looks like Raven Roth is our Sorceress!”

He could hear the applause from the hallway but he didn’t look back, he proceeded to the kitchen to grab some water and hide. Feeling the cold water slide down his throat, cooling the anger and frustration within him slightly, Damian took a very needed deep breath. Just then, the last person he wanted to see found him.

“Damian, why’d you leave? We just broke out the champagne to celebrate the completed casting!” Dick held his flute of champagne out, swirling the contents as if to entice him.

“I don’t care for champagne.”

“Suit yourself.” he shrugged and took a large sip. After pulling the glace down from his lips, he leaned his hip against the kitchen island and stared directly into Damian’s eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t speak up in there.”

“I had nothing to say.” Damian tried to sound nonchalant.

“If there’s one thing I know about you Damian, it’s that you always have something to say, especially when it directly affects you.”

Dick was good, he always knew when something was up, and usually Damian reluctantly found it endearing but right now it was definitely not the time. “It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. You all seemed very pleased with her so there is no point in voicing my opinion for it to be met with criticism.” He shrugged.

“Criticism huh? So you didn’t like her?”

Damian opened his mouth to protest but once again, Dick had caught him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he figured he might as well get the interrogation over with. “I had the displeasure of meeting Miss Roth sometime before her audition. She was inconsiderate and rude and I don’t think we need that kind of behavior on set. Oh and she’s Todd’s new plaything which also poses a problem.”

“Oh, I had no idea. She certainly seemed nice and courteous enough when we talked to her. But I suppose she could be putting on an act for her benefit and given that she wouldn’t know that you were already cast she'd have no reason to give you better treatment. I was also under the impression that Jason and Raven had never met prior to her audition.” He rubbed his chin in thought, “I will take this into consideration as we onboard her. I don’t want to react harshly without further investigation. As it stands, she will continue to be our Sorceress with Terra Markov as a potential backup if Raven falls through.”

Damian crossed his arms, frowning slightly. “I don’t think this will end well for me…I mean us.”

“Everything will be fine. I’ll look into it and adjust whatever needs adjusting. I’ll tell Jay to back off and we’ll make sure she’s not a diva. I appreciate you telling me and not brooding to yourself about this like Bruce.

“Yeah, whatever.” He relaxed slightly, dropping his arms in surrender. “I’m going to go back to my place.”

“You don’t want to stay for the rest of the party? We were gonna watch some of the segments announcing your casting!”

Just then the sound of shattering glass echoed in from the entryway. Dick winced and looked back to Damian who barely reacted..

“Absolutely not. I can watch them on my own time”

“Fair enough, thanks for coming anyway! I’ll see you soon!”

“I still had no choice.” Damian called over his shoulder as he headed out the kitchen and toward the entrance. He bid Alfred farewell and departed back to his condo.

Finally settled into the peace and quiet his own space brought him, he started searching for the articles about himself. Most of the articles had received and reported the news positively, stating that the casting choice was a no-brainer and how excited they were to see the cast built around him. A few wireless welcoming but they came from more unpopular sites, and some outlets hadn’t reported anything yet. But the information was still new so it will keep trickling down through the circuit until everyone has given their mostly unsolicited insight.

The one thing that still popped up everytime his name hit the headlines though started popping up right in front of his eyes. It never failed to make him feel less than and unworthy.

Nepotism

#raven #teen titans #raven roth #robrae #damian wayne #damirae #jayrae #dc fanfic #demonbirds #fanfic #just another hollywood scene

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spreadyovrwings · 7 months

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64 Olso Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: some light… thoughts of…. smut….. lots of flirting and these two dancing around each other even more.

Chapter Seven

Rita Caine went into labour on the morning of 1st June 1972. Her baby girl was born at seven o’ clock precisely, so her parents decided to call her Dot.

Dorothy Angela Caine was healthy and happy, and so were her adoring parents. Which was nice. Lovely, in fact. Except it meant that, for the last week, you had been running the bakery entirely by yourself.

You didn’t mind. Really, you didn’t. You couldn’t be more thrilled for Mickey. He’d been talking about starting a family ever since he met the girl of his dreams three years ago. His happiness gave you the strength to face that wall of hungry customers every morning and your cantankerous old kitchen.

But after one day on your own, you could barely summon the energy to hold yourself up. You simply let your body sink into a heap behind the counter, sliding down the wall until your bum hit the floor. You didn’t even have the energy to cry.

It didn’t matter that you’d spent days prepping, it didn’t matter that you were getting just a few hours of sleep and you hadn’t seen your friends or family in weeks, it still wasn’t enough to keep you ahead of schedule. Much as you tried, you couldn’t do the job of two people already doing the job of five.

As always, John was your only source of comfort.

You hadn’t admitted to anyone just how much pressure you were under. Mickey was able to come in a few days a week but you wouldn’t ever ask for more, and Gladys was like one of those comets you only see every 70-something years. You were barely getting by but hadn’t said a word. Somehow, John was able to sense it. Probably something to do with the way you gasped with joy and relief every time he stepped through the door.

That day, John was off on his rounds, dropping off little white boxes around the city on a bike borrowed from a girl on his floor, the same girl who leant him the flowery, red helmet. It turned out she’d painted the bike to match. When John turned up one morning, scowling atop his new wheels, it had kept you smiling all day.

When he finally returned to the bakery later that afternoon, just a few hours from closing, you were so relieved to see a friendly face, you almost kissed him. Almost.

You settled for resting your hand over the one he rested on the countertop and squeezing gently.

“Thank God, you’re ‘ere.”

John just smiled, puzzled but obviously pleased that you were happy to see him.

“Has it been bad?”

“No,” you lied. “Not really. But the last few hours are always a rush. How were the deliveries?”

“Great! Although, when I knocked at, er…” He checked his list, scrawled down by several different hands over the course of the week. “The one in West Brom? This one here. They weren’t in. The lady in reception said they’d gone out for breakfast instead, so.”

“‘appens.” You shrugged. “That’s your lunch sor’ed, then.”

John gave you an almost weary look.

You only beamed back. John always liked to make a show of refusing every time you gave him food to take home but he’d never once left empty-handed. Today would be no different.

John couldn’t keep a straight face for very long. He shyly raised a hand to cover his smile, but he couldn’t hide those crinkles around his eyes and the way his cheeks bunched up, still pink from his bike ride.

He was much smilier now than when you met, like he’d almost been out of the habit of it back then. You weren’t sure what it was, his friends, the band, this job, but things seemed to be going right for John. A small, selfish part of you wondered if you might have something to do with it too.

Things had, admittedly, taken a bit of a pause in that area. There was still tension, little looks and touches that lasted far longer than they needed to, but John hadn’t said anything more about the date he’d proposed, and you were too terrified to bring it up yourself.

That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been any progress. If you could call unbearable sexual tension progress.

Exactly three weeks after he was mugged, John invited you to another of his band’s gigs. He was right, it went a lot smoother than the last one. The hall was bigger, there were far more people, and John didn’t look like he’d rather be anywhere else the whole time.

After digging through your wardrobe, you managed to find a sheer top with long, bell sleeves and some black velvet flares. You made sure to stand as near to the centre as you could so that you could get a good look at him and, more importantly, so that John could get a good look at you. You felt his eyes on you the whole night.

There was another gig just a few days later at a school hall in Wandsworth. By then, you knew most of the words to a few of their songs. You even brought along a few leftover treats from the bakery for them to give out to punters.

Nothing, nothing, compared to the feeling of looking up at John while he played, his long fingers tugging at the bass strings, his head bowed. The way he moved, it was so different to how he acted offstage. There was a confidence about him you’d never seen before, and when he shook his long hair over his shoulder and smiled down at you, his hips swaying to his own beat, you suddenly understood why people went mad for musicians.

John always managed to find you, despite the low lights and the now heaving crowds. It sent a thrill through your blood every time his eyes met yours. Of all the people in the room, all those pretty girls and boys who were beginning to worship Queen, John only had eyes for you. He walked home with you after every gig.

You fell into a routine together without having to say a word. If John’s shift ended late in the evening, he would come up to your flat to watch telly for a while before heading back to his lonely digs, or you would walk up and down the high street a few times, just talking and talking, laughing and talking. If he worked the morning shift, John would stay to help out, but only after you’d made sure he wasn’t just trying to get out of studying.

And then there was The Incident. You blushed to think about it, even now.

It happened last week, at the end of a very long shift for the both of you. The bakery was so busy, John had offered to stay behind to help.

Working beside him again was so lovely. John didn’t often have time to hang out with all the essays he’d been lumbered with, so you had lots of catching up to do. Standing there behind the counter, chatting away about everything and nothing while you made tea and dished pastries, it was the happiest you’d been in months. Your cheeks began to ache from all the smiling.

When things finally started to wind down, you took John back into the kitchen with you and, after he expressed an interest, you showed him how the bakery’s signature bread was made, a darker loaf made up of rye flour, as well as wholemeal and white.

You shaped the dough between your hands, weighed it, then rolled it over a tray of seeds that shone like tiny jewels under the bright lights above. Together, you and Mickey made forty of these loaves every day. You could probably do it blindfolded now.

After a while, John’s questions petered out and you worked in a comfortable silence, which you only broke to remind him of the next step or to compliment his technique. No words could describe how hard you worked to not stare at John’s big hands as they rolled and patted and kneaded the dough.

Whatever walls you both had, they were gone now, there was no denying it. Being around John had always been easy, even though your heart was usually pounding so hard you could hardly hear him speak over it. But now there was no shyness, no awkwardness or uncertainty. There was no one else you could just be yourself around, and you liked the person you were when you were with John.

You realised you were smiling to yourself and quickly glanced up to see if John had noticed.

To your surprise, he was watching your face, his eyes soft and faraway. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught him staring but you’d never actually been brave enough to call him out on it. For the life of you, you didn’t know why that day felt different, but you smiled and asked,

“What are you thinkin’ about?”

John’s eyes seemed to focus again and he looked embarrassed. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at you at all. Perhaps he’d just zoned out and his gaze had only happened to land on you.

Feeling sheepish, you tried to laugh it off, but then John said,

“I was just wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you.”

You froze, the dough heavy in your hands, and stared. It was all you could do.

“What?”

John blinked.

“You’ve got flour…” He pointed at his cheek, then at yours. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You were thinkin’ about kissin’ me?”

John baulked, shook his head, and made an odd sort of sputtering sound, all before he managed to choke out,

“That’s not what I said!”

He seemed so certain. For a moment, you wondered if you’d somehow misheard or even imagined it. But no, no, John had let whatever was in his head come tumbling out of his mouth, perhaps for the first time in his life.

“You said, ‘I was wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you’.”

“Well, exactly! So-”

“So you were thinkin’ about kissin’ me.”

“No! Well, I…”

You couldn’t help it, you had to laugh. It was just so silly. John looked like he was about to turn grey and keel over, he was so embarrassed. For some reason, it only made you want to keep pressing.

“So, would you?”

“What?”

John’s voice cracked. It made your stomach flip.

“Get flour all over your face?”

It was a dare. You knew it. You knew John felt it. Suddenly the kitchen had gone very quiet.

You watched his lips press together. His steel grey eyes searched your face.

“I don’t know,” John said slowly, almost like he couldn’t believe he was really having this conversation with you. “Only one way to find out, I s’pose.”

He’d seen your bet and raised you. More than that, he’d given you permission, laid his cards out on the table and said, ‘Go on, then. Put your money where your mouth is’.

Your gaze dropped to his mouth again. He couldn’t have been more than a foot away. All you’d have to do was lean forward and he was yours.

John watched you, those clever eyes clear and bright. Were you imagining it, or had he turned himself towards you? Opened himself up to you and lowered his head a little?

Slowly (too slowly, you knew that now) you began to smile.

“I s’pose.”

John’s mouth twisted, then he laughed softly. It sounded hollow. He turned back to the dough and asked if it looked good enough to you.

It was only later that you realised your mistake. You’d been echoing him, a positive. John had heard an uncertain negative. You’d never wanted to kick yourself so bad.

It didn’t come up again.

On a bright day in the middle of the second week of June, you were setting up the chairs and tables outside the bakery when you heard a familiar bell chime.

John pulled up by the curb, his bike tires skidding across the asphalt. He looked pleased with himself, it was obviously a move he’d been practising. He’d certainly come a long way from careering into oncoming traffic, oncoming pedestrians, and several oncoming trees.

“You’ve mastered tha’.”

John smiled, wide and relaxed.

“You know, I had a scooter when I was a teenager.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Used to drive it everywhere. I’d choose that over this deathtrap any day.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

You tried not to sound too distant, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off John as he took off his helmet and shook out his long hair. He was so insanely beautiful, and you knew he liked to dress nice sometimes and he was always talking about what he wanted to do next with his hair, but John really didn’t have a clue just how gorgeous he was. At least, to you.

“I was big on The Who. I had this little Vespa 180.”

You nodded as if you knew what that was.

“Had the parka and the hair, and everything," John went on. “I was stopping by my friend Dave’s house once; he was in the band I was in back then. This car pulled out of nowhere and I skidded and came off it. Cut up my arms and my legs,” John scratched at his chin. “Had a nasty scrape here. Nearly fainted on my mate’s living room carpet from all the blood.”

You laughed because he did, though really, the thought of John as a teenager, just a kid really, hurting himself so badly that he was that shaken, it made your stomach twist.

He’d been doing that more often lately, telling you stories. Not just about his friends, his band, his classes, but about his home and his family, about the people he grew up with and the fun they used to have. It had taken almost half a year but John finally seemed to have relaxed.

“You were in a band back home too?”

You watched John dismount the bike, grinning to yourself when one of his long legs got caught in the frame. Still as graceful as ever.

“The Opposition, we were called. That’s where I learnt the bass.” John smiled, looking you up and down quickly. “You look lovely.”

You looked down at yourself. A skirt you’d pulled from the washing basket, an apron, and your coffee brown uniform shirt didn’t seem worth mentioning. With a pang, you wondered if you’d led the conversation down a path John didn’t want to follow and the compliment was just a distraction.

You looked back up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you’re…”

He looked you up and down again, slower now, taking his time, then smiled sheepishly like he’d forgotten himself for a moment. There was something so innocent and genuine about that smile too. It made John’s eyes sparkle and his nose wrinkle, and the small sound he made, a soft, shy laugh, was so endearing, all you could think about was kissing him.

“Thanks, er…”

You huffed, not sure what else to say. But John was still smiling. He knew.

Even though he’d bottled it, once again, passers-by must’ve been able to feel the tension radiating off of you. Your heart was pounding so hard, you were sure John would be able to hear it, even over the roar of morning traffic.

“Listen,” You shot him a look, wryly acknowledging that you were changing the subject. “I need to talk to you.”

John heaved an exaggerated sigh and turned his bike around.

“Oh, dear…”

You followed him down the narrow alleyway that separated the bakery from the haberdashery next door. There was hardly enough room to manoeuvre around the bins and potholes on foot, let alone fit a bike through, but he had the knack by now. You still managed to admire John from behind as you wound your way around the skips like an Olympic gymnast.

“I can’t make it tomorrow night. I’m really sorry. Gladys needs me to close up, she’s goin’ out with…” You pulled a face. “Well, she’s goin’ out. And I’m basically gonna have to work through the night to cover not ‘avin’ Micky still.”

You’d made plans to meet up before his next gig, what should’ve been your fourth. But there was just too much to do, and after two weeks of on-and-off help from Mickey and Gladys, you were exhausted.

“I’m so sorry, John.”

“It’s alright, love. Don’t worry. It’s tough at the minute, I know.” He squeezed your elbow gently, reassuringly, then turned to chain up his bike. “You’re gonna miss out on seeing my new outfit but…”

“Well, that’s why I wan’ed to talk to you...” You wrung your hands, half agony, half hope. “To make up for it, I wondered if you… If you wan’ed to come over after work tomorrow night? I could make dinner, help you get ready, do your make up…”

John laughed, soft and bright, all gap-teeth and eye crinkles. You could get used to seeing him this relaxed, you really could.

“I’d really like that,” he said, nodding sweetly, then he laughed to himself again.

You tried not to look as happily surprised as you felt.

“Good!” you said. “Cool.”

John beamed then raised his arm, gesturing for you to enter the bakery before him.

“Cool,” he repeated, teasing you.

You beamed.

“Cool.”

“Good.”

“Cool.”

“Good.”

Friday night should be the best night of the week. You should be out with your friends, maybe going to the pictures or getting a drink in a nice bar in town. Instead, you were so exhausted, you could barely put one foot in front of the other, and climbing the stairs to your tiny flat felt like traversing the foothills of the Himalayas.

But you had become used to not seeing your friends, and there was never anything on at the cinema, and even when you could summon the energy to get all dressed up and buy yourself a drink with a fantastic name, all you could think about was the bakery, and all the work you could be doing instead.

That night, it took all your strength to not flop down onto the sofa, or even better, your bed. Today had been tough, tougher than usual. Fridays always seemed busier than you could handle, even though in terms of numbers, they couldn’t be much different to any other day. Everyone was desperate to get home, hardly caring that you were too.

Feet dragging the carpet, you went into your room and stood in front of the mirror. Blurred eyeliner, tangled hair, and an empty sort of look behind your eyes.

“C’mon, kid,” You patted your cheeks, then tilted your chin up, dragging your open palm down your throat. “You’re alright. You know you can do it. You’re alright.”

You slipped your fingers under the collar of your shirt and pressed them into your pulse.

“Still goin’.”

You stayed there for a moment, just looking at yourself as you felt your heart beating against your fingertips. You tilted your head to one side, then the other.

There was a threatening red patch by the arch of your left eyebrow where a spot was brewing, and the bags under your eyes were growing darker and darker by the day.

“Mickey will be back soon.”

Lying to yourself was a new low. Mickey hadn’t said when he’d be back permanently. Gladys had actually made a rare appearance that afternoon but you were both so busy, you hadn’t had a chance to ask what the plan was. You were just treading water, and the storm showed no sign of clearing.

There was a knock at the door, four short, sharp knocks. Very John. Right on time, as always, and just when you needed him.

You eyed your bed longingly.

When you opened the door, John was covering his head with his hands, pulling down on the edges of a brown baseball cap. He looked agitated and embarrassed, like you’d caught him in the middle of something.

“Hi,” he said, and despite his obvious uneasiness, he still managed a sweet little smile.

“Hi.” You laughed. “What’s that in aid of?”

John’s expression darkened.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” He dropped his hands with a sigh. “I tried to do my hair but I don’t think I did it right. Had to hide it all the way here.”

“Hide your-? How bad is it? What ‘ave you got under there?”

John gave you a look so hopelessly crestfallen, you had to laugh.

“Come in, come in. We can sort it. I hope you’re hungry.”

That brought back his smile.

“Starving,” he said firmly, and followed you into the flat.

He left his bag by the front door, beside your untidy pile of shoes. You half expected him to flop down onto the settee and stick the telly on, or go into the bedroom to get changed, but John stuck close to your side, waiting for you to tell him what to do. He still had that stupid hat on but you sensed it wasn’t a good idea to ask about it yet.

“You lookin’ forward to tonight?” you asked instead.

You moved to the cupboard to grab some bits for dinner, nothing fancy but definitely soul-soothing. You sensed you both needed it.

“Yeah, yeah it should be good fun. Brian reckons we’ll pull a good crowd and he’s never wrong, so…” John rolled his eyes. “How was work? I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to help today. I could probably do tomorrow though and some days next week?”

“I’d love that. And it was good. Busy but… And I think I might’ve convinced Gladys we can afford more help.”

“Another baker?”

“Just someone to watch the front of the shop.”

John pouted.

“I thought I was gonna be your new sales assistant.”

“What? You’re joking. You’ll be busy touring the world soon! You’ll forget all about us.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your heart sank like a stone. You were only teasing, but there was a thickness to your voice, a tell-tale edge of self-pity, that John couldn’t have missed.

The thought clouded your mind most days. Whenever it threatened to sink its claws too deep into your chest, you had to turn the radio up or start a new dough, anything to distract, if not completely switch off your whirring brain. John couldn’t stay forever. You knew that. He knew that. But you were having a hard time accepting it.

John gave you a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t forget you, love.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand and slipped it round your wrist, gently, carefully.

“I couldn’t.”

His fingers were so long, they could wrap all the way around your wrist, his rings cold against your burning skin. It was all that kept you grounded.

He could barely hold your gaze when you first met. Now John could touch you like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world, because it was.

You kept your eyes on his hand. You couldn’t look at him, you couldn’t let John see just how much the thought of him leaving pained you, or how desperately you wanted to rest your hand over his and pull him closer.

He squeezed your wrist once, then took back his hand. It took everything in you not to grab it back.

John cleared his throat. His cheeks were a little pink.

“Anyway, the band is just a… It’s not forever. It’s just a laugh. Something to get us a bit of money.”

You frowned.

“Is that how you all see it?”

John looked away.

You’d obviously touched a nerve so you changed tack.

“D’you mind chopping the veg?”

You worked together in a comfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft chip chip chip of John’s knife against the chopping board as he sliced carrots and onions, and the crooning radio in the corner.

You let your mind wander to what it might be like to hear one of John’s songs on the wireless someday, what the DJ might say about him and his friends as they lined up the next track. Would they mention his degree? How hard he’d worked to get their little band off the ground? Would they mention him at all? John seemed happiest in the background, a silent but steady column keeping everything upright.

They wouldn’t mention you, you knew that. Or Mickey, or Gladys, or this bakery. They’d never know what a good influence 64 Oslo Square had been. They would never know how insular John was when he started, and how proud you were of him for wanting to get better. They would see someone quiet, distant, but smart, so smart, and never know just how far he’d come.

You weren’t part of his story. Or maybe you were, in a way. A book, tucked away in a corner of the library that only you and John knew was there. Either way, it wasn’t important. DJs and music magazines and record sales didn’t matter to you. Knowing John was better for meeting you and your home was all the acclaim you needed.

You looked over at John. He was smiling to himself as he fiddled with the papery skin of an onion, probably trying to decide if he’d chopped enough.

Memories of the boy who walked into the bakery on that rainy night flooded your mind. So nervous he could barely get his words out, so thin he was shuddering despite his old jumper. Now here he was, in your home, making dinner with you, smiling at you-

John had caught you looking.

You cleared your throat awkwardly.

The song on the radio changed to something more upbeat, a Slade song.

“So, this show, where is it again?” you asked, turning back to the pasta boiling on the stove.

“A club down in Soho, I think. The Regent? Le Régent? I don’t know. Freddie saw the name and picked it. God knows what the place is like.”

You shrugged.

“Sticky floors, horrible loos, grabby men. They’re all one in the same.”

“Yeahhh, I don’t mind you missing this one, to be honest. It won’t be glam.”

John turned and leaned against the sideboard. He was so tall, he could perch on the side without needing to hoist himself up.

You just kept your eyes down. If you stared at his hips for too long, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist pinning them against the counter.

“Don’t worry, when we go out, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

It was such a bold statement, it surprised you, and all you could think to do was laugh.

“Oh, really?”

“Only the best for my boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

“Aren’t you?”

When you looked back over your shoulder, John had turned his back again and was chopping vegetables innocently. His face was half hidden by his long, wavy hair but there was no missing the smirk in his voice.

You watched his arm move up and down, up and down, and marvelled at how slim he really was. You could see his bony elbow poking through his brown chequered shirt with every shunk of the knife against the chopping block, though you were pleased to find you could no longer pick out his ribs as his body turned. Your plan to feed him up a bit was clearly working.

Against your better judgement, you let your gaze travel slowly, slowly down.

John’s tiny waist seemed made for your hands. The contrasting curve of his hips made you dizzy. You could almost feel your fingers sinking into them, see his pretty face flush with embarrassment at how much he enjoyed you touching him, until your palms began to tingle. You rolled your open hands into fists, squeezing tight.

You could sweep his long hair aside and press kisses down his spine, your hands still kneading at his hips, until he had melted beneath you. So tall, far taller than you, especially in his heels, and now there was a thought.

All it would take was one hand on the small of his back, pressing down gently until he was bent over the counter, his face pressed into the cold linoleum and his arse in the air.

You couldn’t help thinking John always wore those tight trousers just to antagonise you. You ached to run your hand over him, to feel the soft black velvet against your skin, to hear John gasp as your fitted your hips against him and leaned down, your chest against his back, your hair tickling his neck, your mouth near his ear as you told him how pretty he looked and how long you’d been thinking about fucking him, just like this.

“I know a place near my uni. It’s nice there, you’ll like it.”

You looked up, your eyes heavy.

John was smiling at you. It was such a lovely smile, but all you could think about was the warmth of his flushed skin against yours, the pathetic whines and moans that would fall from his funny mouth, and the ache between your thighs.

He was right there. You could have him if you wanted. All you’d have to do is cross the kitchen and kiss him, hard, so hard he couldn’t possibly doubt how much you needed him, and then he’d be yours.

He’d be in your bed, looking up at you with those big, clever grey-green eyes and begging you for more, grinding down on your fingers, his pretty hair spread across the pillow, his legs wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck me, love. Ohhhn… Want you inside me, darlin’. Fuck…”

His mouth would fall open as he watched you spread his legs even further apart, boots still on, his pink tongue pressing against the little gap in his teeth.

“What do we say?”

“Pleasepleaseplease, make me cum, please.”

“Good boy.”

“I promise, no sticky floors and no grabby men.”

John sipped his cup of tea.

You swallowed thickly.

“None at all?”

He laughed and shook his head at you, but didn’t rise to your challenge, much to your disappointment. Instead, John poked at a slice of onion with the tip of the knife.

“Are these alright?”

They were perfect. Of course they were.

After dinner, John disappeared into your room to get changed into his stage gear. When he came back, you had to pick your jaw up off the floor.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected. The last few times you’d seen John perform, he’d either opted for jeans and a T-shirt with his band’s name on it or borrowed things from his friends. It seemed he’d finally gone shopping.

“Do you like it?”

John beamed as he turned this way and that, showing you his black satin suit from every angle. The material shone in the light, framing his body neatly. The jacket pulled in at the waist, its shoulders contrastingly broad, and was open enough to show off the silk shirt he wore underneath.

“Yeah.” You took a breath. “I love it.”

John grinned. He clearly felt good. He ought to, looking like that.

You let your gaze follow the length of the suit, from his open collar right down to his red woollen socks. They offered a sliver of another part of John’s personality, a homely frugality that you couldn’t help finding endearing.

Cute as it was, you soon found yourself staring at his chest again. John was usually so bundled up against the cold, to see any of his skin sent you into an almost Victorian stupor, and now here he was, his chest bared down to the bottom of his sternum. You realised you were biting your lip.

“It’s thanks to you guys that I could buy it. I’ve been eyeing it in the shop for weeks. Thought you ought to be the first to see it.” John was peering in the mirror above the mantle, angling his chin this way and that. “Do you really like it?”

“You look great.”

You meant to say more but John started to play with the buttons on his shirt, toying with the idea of undoing one more.

“Come on, then. Let’s see this hair,” you said quickly.

With a woeful sigh, John turned away from the mirror and went to remove his hat but stopped with his fingers wrapped around its brim.

“You promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise,” you lied. “C’mon, you’ll be late. How bad can it be?”

With an awkward smile, John took off his hat.

You pressed your lips together. When you were sure you had control of your smile, you tried to think of something reassuring to say. You came up blank.

“Oh, John…”

He groaned and let his head fall back, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony.

“My sister does it when she wants to make her hair curly,” John moaned. “She taught me over the phone but I don’t think I did it right.”

You couldn’t resist, you had to laugh. John had wound two pencils into the front pieces of his hair, not the craziest idea in the world, but they’d somehow become tangled and were now stuck. One pencil was sticking almost straight up in the air. You couldn’t imagine how long it had taken John to get them under his hat.

John looked wretched.

“Is it bad?”

“No.”

“You said that a bit quick.”

You offered what you hoped was a reassuring sort of smile.

“It’s fixable.”

“Darling,” John moaned, drawing out the sounds so woefully, you’d finished laughing by the time you realised what he’d called you.

“It’s alright! It’s alright, we can sort this. God, all those brains and you can’t curl your own hair,” you laughed and shook your head. “God help us all if you ever do become an engineer.”

You directed him to the sofa so you could get a proper look at the top of his head. While you poked and fiddled with the pencils, you tried not to think about how you’d ended up standing between his legs again, and how nice it was to have him looking up at you.

After a moment or two of you muttering under your breath and John wincing every other second, the silence clearly became too much for him.

“Where are you from?”

You frowned, carefully turning one of the pencils between your fingers.

“What?”

The stereo in the corner was still crooning on, something low and slow that the DJ had swooned over. ‘For all you lovers out there…’ he’d schmoozed. ‘Something to set the mood and get you feeling good…’. You and John had just tried your best to ignore it.

John shrugged as best he could considering his precarious position.

“I’ve just realised I’ve never asked.”

“You won’t know it.”

“Try me.”

You looked down, smiling.

“Wandsworth.”

John thought for a moment then shook his head - carefully.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know it.”

You laughed but stopped when you accidentally tugged too hard and it made John yelp.

“Sorry, sorry. How did you even manage to- It’s on the other side of the river.”

“Oh, the nice part of town?”

You snorted.

“Johnny, this is the nice part of town.”

“Ahhh, so you’re from the wrong side of the tracks? Or river.”

“That’s me, a real wrong’n.”

“Yeah, I see it now, you’ve got a streak a mile wide.”

Your fingers slipped and you accidentally tugged on John’s hair again. This time, the little whimper he gave in response made you press your thighs together.

Trying you best to keep your expression neutral, you asked,

“Murderous?”

“Hmm… Maybe when Alastair is about.”

You looked down at him again.

There was something about John knowing you, what you liked and what you didn’t, who you hated and what you wanted out of life, that made your chest lurch. You couldn’t recall anyone ever wanting to learn about you, to see you, or even listen to you like John did. Even if he did use it as ammunition to tease you.

“He won’t be around long. Gladys will see sense soon enough. She’s not as green as she is cabbage-looking.”

John exhaled sharply through his nose, agreeing.

You just smiled and tried to ignore the nagging doubt in the pit of your stomach. Hope that your boss would see sense, that Alastair would just leave you alone, was always closely followed by a grim stab of dread.

With one final twist, one of the pencils came free and you gave a triumphant little cheer.

“One down, one to go. No WHSmith trip for you.”

John leaned back, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror about the mantle. As he did, his hands came up to rest on your hips, an anchor so that he could lean back far enough without toppling over.

“How does it look?”

“Well…”

You couldn’t fault John’s sister’s logic. The pencil had certainly done the trick. John’s already wavy hair had pinged up into a perfectly coiled curl, though it probably wasn’t quite what he’d imagined.

Considering he had less than two hours to get to the venue and sort himself out, you decided you’d hold off on delivering the bad news for now. Instead, you slipped your hand around his jaw and turned John’s attention back to you. The other pencil was at a more hopeful angle but was much more tangled.

You grimaced, then gave a low whistle.

“I don’t know, New Boy. Might have to get the scissors.”

John snapped his head up, his eyes wide.

“Kidding! Kidding.”

His hands didn’t leave your hips until he got up to leave.

In an empty lecture hall in South London, rehearsals had been rolling on for seven hours now, and Queen had been arguing for at least six of those.

“I just think if we keep the refrain going for, you know, a more… It would sound better.”

“We’ve already got enough bloody refrain on this track. It’s practically trippin’ over itself with how much bloody refrain you’ve stuck on it.”

“Oh, don’t be fucking childish.”

Roger and Brian had started to bicker from the moment they picked up their instruments. What was meant to be constructive criticism had come out much more condescending than was probably intended, which led to muttered comments under Roger’s breath, which, in turn, led to Brian getting defensive.

“I just think it needs a bit more towards the bridge, there. It’s stopping and starting at the moment.”

“It’s stopping because you keep stopping it! It’s fine as it is! There’s more than enough guitar on this one already, the bloody concert’ll be- People wanna get home, you know!”

Fearing they weren’t going to get much work done at this rate, Freddie attempted to act as peacekeeper, but he couldn’t resist dropping in the odd unhelpful comment. Soon, they were all squabbling like boys on the schoolyard, arms crossed and bottoms lips jutted out.

John sat in the corner and watched. He had one long leg slung over the other, his bass a familiar, comforting weight in his lap. While he waited for his friends to finish their argument, he sighed and rested his chin on the instrument’s rib, its sleek black body cool against his skin.

His fingers itched to play. It felt like ages since he’d been able to just switch off his mind, close his eyes and pluck out a rhythm that would slot in nicely with songs formed months before he joined the band.

He shifted his bass again, so that it lay across both his thighs. It reminded him of you, of how wonderful you’d felt sitting in his lap the night you patched him up and saved him from the cold. John felt something in chest tighten, then roll through his body to his stomach. He blew out a long breath.

He couldn’t believe you’d actually worried about being too heavy for him. He couldn’t believe you had no idea how much he’d loved being close to you and how his body had missed yours ever since. John hugged his bass closer, wrapping his arms around it and catching his own wrist to hold it tight, until he could almost imagine its body was yours, warm, soft, and everything he dreamt of.

“John won’t go for that.”

He looked up at the sound of his name. Roger was smirking at him. Beside him, Freddie looked worryingly hopeful.

“Go for what?”

“I just think our look could be vamped up a bit!”

Freddie was already on the defensive and he hadn’t even explained his idea yet, a tell-tale sign that John wasn’t going to like this one bit.

John glanced at Brian, who looked indifferent, and Roger, who seemed excited to see his reaction. He raised his eyebrows and Freddie sighed.

“I just think we could try coordinating a little better. A strong colour scheme. All of us looking like a band.”

“Yeah, okay,” John said, shrugging. “I’ve got no problem with that.”

“And I was thinking we could wear a bit more makeup.”

John’s face fell.

“No.”

“Deaky.”

“No way.”

“Everyone does it!”

“I don’t!”

“Deaky, it’s fine,” Roger rolled his eyes. “It’s just a bit of eyeliner, it’s not gonna kill you.”

John wrinkled his nose but stayed quiet. He knew when to pick his battles and, more importantly, he knew when he was outnumbered and likely to lose. Still, logistically there were still some issues.

“Where do I even get eyeliner?”

John thought he heard Freddie mutter something like ‘oh, for fuck’s sake’ under his breath, but Roger cut in before he could protest.

“Shops, Deaky. Come on.”

“I won’t have time! I’m always either at uni or work. I barely make it to gigs with enough time to get changed as it is.”

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend! She wears eyeliner, I’ve seen it. And hey,” Roger grinned like a cat. “She could even put it on for you.”

John didn’t have the energy to argue. He shut his mouth again, his skin prickling with embarrassment as his friends murmured in agreement, smiling wicked smiles and whistling like teenagers.

“I’m not wearing any bloody makeup,” John said firmly, crossing his arms over his bass. “That’s the end of it.”

That’s how you found yourself between John’s knees, again, leaning in so that you could rub an eyeliner pencil dangerously close to his eyeball.

John was not taking it like a champ. For one thing, he kept bloody blinking. And he was gripping your elbow so tightly, you were starting to lose circulation.

“You know, John,” You smiled as you prised your arm from his grip for the third time. “This’ll only take a second if you just let me do it.”

John’s forehead creased, his funny mouth drawn into a thin line as he begrudgingly set his hands down by his sides. He slipped them under the lip of the table and held on so tight, his knuckles began to pale. So lanky, so smart, so sensible, and terrified of a pencil.

“So, this was Freddie’s idea?”

Immediately, you regretted asking. John scowled, almost making you drag the eyeliner across his temple.

“Stupid idea. I’m gonna look ridiculous.”

You couldn’t help smiling. You’d never seen John so cross and moody before.

“You’ll look fine.”

“It won’t suit me,” John pouted. “I haven’t got the right… Face for it. Roger and Freddie, even Brian, they’re…”

He trailed off, closing his eyes with a woebegone sigh.

Oh, no. You weren’t going to let him wriggle off the hook that easily.

You lifted John’s chin with three fingers, thinking it would force him to meet your eyes, but his stayed closed.

You slipped your thumb over his chin, his slight stubble rough against your skin, and pressed down gently.

“What?” you asked, giving his chin a little shake.

John didn’t open his eyes but you did manage to encourage a little smile out of him.

Pleased with your small win, you brushed your thumb across his chin again, more gently now, the tip of your thumbnail just skirting along the edge of his bottom lip. You ached to reach just that little bit further and tug it down. That would get his attention.

“You’re just as pretty as those idiots, Johnny. And twice as talented. And you’ve got one thing they ‘aven’t got.”

“What’s that?”

You grinned.

“Me.”

John finally opened his eyes and gazed at you softly. He looked tired, too tired for a boy his age, tired right down to his bones, his soul.

You watched his silvery green eyes cross your face, and found yourself wondering, not for the first time, what on earth he was thinking about when he looked at you like that.

“I’ve got you, do I?” he said quietly.

You tapped your thumb sweetly against his chin, then finally let him go.

“Actually, could you close your eyes again? It’s easier like that.”

John flinched when the tiny brush met his eyelid.

You felt bad. To his credit, John had never worn any makeup before so you knew it must feel odd for him. When he shyly brought it up earlier that afternoon, you thought he must be joking, but John had looked so mortified, you knew he wouldn’t put himself through it unless someone was making him.

You glanced at the clock on the mantle. Just half an hour before he needed to get going. John was already dressed and ready to go, you just had to make him look presentable, he’d said. A laughable idea. He looked amazing tonight. He always did. So amazing, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You smell nice. What is it?”

John opened one eye, almost sleepily.

“Hm?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Nothing.”

You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

John blinked, then shot you an embarrassed, lopsided smile.

It was difficult to ignore just how good it felt to be close to him again. John’s bony knees were at either side of your hips, pressing in ever so slightly whenever your eyeliner poked somewhere it shouldn’t.

You hummed to yourself, turning his chin to the left, then the right, making sure you’d jabbed the pencil everywhere you needed to. Neither of you seemed to realise there really was no need for you to be touching each other quite so much.

Instead, you just tried to focus on making sure you didn’t poke his eye out. It was infinitely more difficult putting makeup on another person, it was taking all your concentration not to make John look like a B movie monster.

“How’s school going?” you asked, breaking the silence.

John smiled against your palm.

“I love that you call it that.”

“It is school!”

He was grinning now.

“It’s going well.”

You held up two blushes, one deep red, one pale pink, then told him to open his eyes again. John wearily chose the latter, probably hoping it would be less visible than the other.

You dabbed a brush that had definitely seen better days into the powder and told him to smile.

“Are you top of your class?”

“It doesn’t really work like that.”

“But?”

You raised your eyebrows and John’s forced smile turned a little more real.

“Yeah, I am.”

“That’s my boy.” You dabbed at his cheeks, hoping it would look something like what Freddie had envisioned. “Teach me something.”

John shrugged then laughed when you told him off for shuffling around too much.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Which pliers are your favourite?”

John shot you a dark look as you lifted his chin again.

“You tease me far too much for someone who also claims to like me.”

“And you get shy far too much for a boy who once said he ‘fancied me like mad’.”

“I might’ve had a drink or two that night. Sorry.”

“Ahh, so you don’t fancy me like mad, that was just the Stella talking.”

John shot you nervous, crooked sort of a smile.

“I didn’t say that,” he said quietly.

Stunned, you stopped painting his cheeks. You knew you must be staring but you just needed to see him, to see into him, to know if he was just teasing you or if behind that shy smile, John really meant what he was saying. You saw nothing but real, if bashful, honesty in those clever eyes. It knocked you for six.

“See,” You poked his chest with the end of your brush. “Gone all shy again. You’re blushing.”

John rolled his eyes.

“That’s the make up.” Then, as if realising he had no real reason not to be honest with you, he added, “It’s hard not to blush when there’s a pretty girl holding my face and teasing me.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears.

“You like it when I tease you?”

“God help me if I didn’t, it’s all you do.”

His hands were warm on the backs of your bare thighs. When did that happen? He was keeping you close but without any urgency or force, his touch so gentle you hadn’t even registered his hands resting there.

“You’re easy to tease. You’re so ridiculous.”

You felt John’s fingers tighten, ever so slightly, against the backs of your thighs. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were wearing a skirt. All it would take was one act of bravery, from either of you, and those hands could be sliding up under it.

“How!”

“You’re just all…” You gestured at him, up and down. “Skinny little thing with huge hair and big fuck off boots and… You’re just brilliant. I like you so much.”

Those last few words came out a lot quieter than you’d intended. In fact, you hadn’t intended them at all. A shyness you weren’t at all used to began to settle over you as John’s kind, clever eyes searched yours again. He was smiling such a lovely smile.

“I like you too,” John said softly.

Was it your imagination or had he moved closer? His back was straighter, his chin raised. John’s fingertips were now pressing into the backs of your bare thighs in a way that was impossible to ignore or pass off as an accident.

But then he let go, and all the tension between your two bodies dissapited at once, like all the air had been let back into the room. John gave you another wonky smile, tucking his hands under his own thighs for good measure.

“Marks on the outfit tonight?”

Letting out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding, you tried your best to stoke a smile.

“Oh, ten out of ten. Especially like the, um… What is this?”

When John came into work that morning, he had carried with him several bags and his bass guitar, all balanced precariously on his borrowed wheels. After his rounds, he stayed to help in the bakery and to your delight, had asked if you’d help him get ready again.

You’d only caught a flash of dark silk cloth when he showed you his outfit, stuffed unceremoniously into one of 64 Oslo Square’s own pristine white bags. Now you could see the whole ensemble and you still weren’t entirely sure what it was meant to be.

John tugged at the front of the black tunic. It had long flowing sleeve and stark, white panels that fell like a cape down his sides and his back.

“It might’ve been a wedding dress at some point? I think that’s what Freddie said?”

You flicked at the ruffles at the tops of his sleeves and shook your head.

“Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I do love it though. All of it.”

You let your gaze slip down his front, from the white stripes that hung across his chest, to his shiny black and white platforms.

You loved those shoes. You’d often fantasised about telling John to keep them on while you tugged down his stupid, tight, faux leather trousers. There was just something about them. They made John’s already insane legs look even longer and so elegant, and the thought of him bending over the bed in them… But you’d only thought about John like that once. Honest.

You tapped the back of his hand, now sitting neatly in his lap.

“I love this ring.”

You couldn’t be certain but you thought you’d seen John wear the onyx signet ring almost every time you’d seen him. It was part of what made him John.

“It’s just an old thing.” He spun the ring around his finger a few times, then took it off and handed it to you. “My sister gave it to me. Well, my mum and my sister. For my eighteenth.”

You could feel John’s eyes on you and you studied the ring. It really was beautiful. Simple but wonderful, just like him.

Without thinking, you slipped the ring onto your index finger. The black stone shone as you held out your hand, turning it this way and that to catch the light.

“It’s lovely.”

John beamed and you felt like you’d unintentionally pleased him, like you’d struck a chord that ran deep through him. You liked the ring his family had given him. That was important to him, whether John realised it or not.

You tried to get it off. Stuck. You held your breath, trying not to panic, and twisted the ring just like John had before he took it off, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d been wearing the ring on his little finger, you remembered, it was only tiny really.

“Oh, shit.”

You twisted it again and again, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth, until John rested his big hands over yours.

“Hey, hey, don’t panic.” He closed his fingers around yours, smiling softly as he raised your hand up so he could get a better look. “I’ve got a trick.”

“W-”

“I’m not gonna bite you. Just- Look, trust me.”

You watched, heart in your throat, as John raised your hand to his lips. He gently folded down your other fingers, leaving your index sticking out.

“Saw this in a film once.”

John kept his eyes down, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. They were short and blunt, you’d never noticed that before. He was so intriguing. How could someone be so masculine in some ways and so beguiling in others?

Then your fingertips brushed his wonderful, funny mouth and you forgot how to think altogether. John carefully lowered his head until your finger had passed between his lips.

You stared, open-mouthed, as John put his teeth around the edge of the ring and gently pulled back, slowly, steadily, until it finally slipped off your finger.

He grinned, the ring caught between his teeth, then flipped it back onto his tongue and held it out for you to see.

You laughed, your cheeks burning. John was still holding your hand.

“See!”

John held the ring up with a flourish, as if he’d just performed a grand magic trick.

You nodded, breathless.

“Yeah.”

It was all you could think to say. You couldn’t think much at all.

John’s gaze slipped over your shoulder. He must’ve seen the clock on the wall, because he checked his watch and sighed.

“Shit.” He squeezed your hand before letting go. “Listen, I’ve got to make a move but- Thanks, love, for everything. Dinner was amazing and so were you and- Just thank you.”

Still feeling a bit dizzy, you tried to summon a smile.

“Anytime, Johnny.”

He had started to gather up his bags and his guitar, but stopped just to tell you,

“I really like it when you call me that.”

“I know. You’re not as difficult to read as you might think, New Boy.”

John looked away for a moment, shaking his head, then he said,

“Thanks again for the…” He gestured vaguely at his face. “I wish you were coming with me.”

“So do I. I’ll be humming your songs to myself all evening, I promise.”

John looked like he wanted to say something else but, again, seemed to think better of it.

“See you tomorrow,” he said instead, then gave you a little wave as he turned to go.

Always so taciturn, never speaking unless he felt it was important, never saying more than was needed, never putting his oar in when he knew it wasn’t necessary. John never said anything without careful, quiet consideration, and even though it had been lovely to watch him slowly relax, trust, and grow in confidence, it was also wonderful to know he was still so uniquely him.

He never spoke without meaning to. The thought chimed like a bell, echoing through your head again and again until realisation finally began to settle in. John never spoke out of turn. He never said what he didn’t mean. So when he said that he’d been thinking about kissing you, all those weeks ago, it hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. It hadn’t been a mistake. He meant it. John meant it.

Suddenly, it felt like your feet had been frozen to the ground. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. And all the while, a prickling, breathless ache swept through your body, until it felt like your heart might beat out of your chest and you had to ball your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

John had one foot out of the door but when you called his name, he immediately stopped. He leaned back in, surprised.

“Yeah?”

Tell him. Tell him now. Tell him how much you like him, how much you love him, love every bit of him, from his mad, fluffy, lovely hair, right down his ugly socks and his ridiculous shoes. Tell him that he’s the cleverest boy you’ve ever met and you love that he never makes you feel stupid. Tell him that he’s the best part of your day and you’d give anything to have him stay just five more minutes, because watching him leave is always torture.

“I…”

Tell him that you want to take care of him, listen to him, protect him, be there for him, love him, for as long as he’ll have you. Tell him. Just tell him.

But the moment you opened your mouth to speak, those worries that you so often had to push down, finally broke through the dam you’d built to keep them at bay.

John was top of his class at one of the best universities in the city. He was an incredible musician in a band whose popularity was growing by the day. And if all that wasn’t enough, he was gorgeous. What did you have to offer? What would he want with a girl who had never stepped foot in a university and whose future was bolted to a tiny, old, struggling bakery. Why would he want you?

John was still looking at you expectantly, the corner of his funny mouth tugged up into a small smile.

“You okay, love?”

You took a deep breath.

“Do you know why the bakery is called what it is?”

John looked bewildered for a moment, then he laughed.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

John still looked a little confused but he must have sensed you needed him to answer. He shuffled around his bass and his bag of clothes, then braced his shoulder against the front door to keep it from closing.

“Erm… Gladys was so happy to have her own business that she threw a bit of a do? So she was a bit drunk when she was filling in the forms. Put the address in the wrong place. And she spelt ‘Onslow’ wrong. It just stuck.” John laughed, shaking his head. “She told me it’s because she was in A Doll’s House in secondary school. She’s a mentalist, that woman. Why?”

Because you’re brilliant. And you love this place almost as much as I do. You know it and you know us. You care about something I care about, even though you have a million and one things going on in your life and the stakes are so much lower for you. Because you’re gorgeous. And kind. And just because it feels so new and odd and wonderful to be seen, to be known.

“Nothing,” You smiled and pushed the strap of his bass case further up his shoulder for him. “Have fun, rockstar.”

Queen played well that night. They were always brilliant but tonight just felt different.

Maybe it was because Mickey was able to come in today and you hadn’t worn yourself out to the point of tears. Maybe it was because Roger had grabbed you excitedly by the shoulders when he saw you, kissed your cheek and told you to come backstage after the show. Maybe it was because you’d spent the afternoon doing John’s make up again, and seeing a flicker of jealousy cross his painted and usually impassive face sent a surge of excitement through your chest.

Not even your deep running insecurities could deny that John, shy as he was, seemed to be playing to you that night. For once, he stayed near the front of the stage where you could see him. And what a sight.

You’d always been a sucker for a pretty boy, but John was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen, and standing there, his legs spread, his satiny clothes clinging to every inch of him, you found yourself pressing your thighs together with every thrum of his bass through the speakers.

You watched, transfixed, as his long, elegant fingers danced down the neck of his bass, the fingers of his other hand tugging and pulling at the strings with such strength and dexterity, you couldn’t help imagining how he’d use them on you.

You raised your heavy gaze to meet his. John was bobbing his head to his own beat, lost in the music. When he saw you looking, he smirked and tossed his hair back over his shoulder, his hips rocking enticingly back and forth as the music suddenly picked up its pace.

You couldn’t take much more of this.

After the show, you headed backstage as instructed, your ears still ringing from Brian’s outrageous guitar solo and the pounding of drums through the speakers.

You’d never been backstage before. There were no bodyguards, no dark heavy curtains or growled requests to see a pass, but it was backstage after a great gig, and that was pretty cool.

You picked your way through the cold, narrow corridors, following the signs that lead you to what had generously been called a green room. Queen’s name was sellotaped to the door.

Pushing your way inside, you found the band busy meeting their fans. There was a big crowd, surprisingly big actually. You stood in the doorway, taken-aback. You knew the boys had fans, but you didn’t realise they were this popular.

Brian was talking with a man in a dark suit, probably the owner of the club. They stood seriously in the corner, plastic cups full of something amber-coloured in their hands.

Roger and Freddie were in the midst of a big cluster of kids - a mixed group, all shapes and sizes - chatting, signing programmes and tickets, and posing for the odd photograph.

It took you a moment to find John. He was sitting in the corner on a small leather sofa, keeping out of the way. He had a drink in one hand that he hadn’t touched and was chatting quietly to a girl.

You hesitated. They were sat very close together. The girl was beautiful, all dark hair and big brown eyes, and she was listening intently to whatever it was John was saying.

Roger noticed you first. He thanked the lad he was talking to, then made his way over to you.

“Bakery girl! I’m so glad you’re here. Did you bring any cake? I’m Hank Marvin.”

“Hi, Rog. Sorry, love, not tonight.”

“I’m coming by tomorrow, you can’t lead a boy on like this,” Roger beamed. “Deaks, your girlfriend’s turned up empty-handed!”

At that, John looked up. When he spotted you, he immediately brightened.

You gave him a thin smile and mouthed that you’d meet him outside. You didn’t wait for him to respond before you slipped back into the corridor and out into the cool night air.

John was still hiking his bass onto his back when he found you standing under a lamppost, just a few feet away from the entrance to the club. Your eyes were down, your arms crossed over your chest. You hadn’t noticed him yet.

John was so pleased to see you, he wasn’t looking where he was going. He walked right out into the middle of the road, his feet barely touching the ground, he was so excited to reach you.

A car horn blared.

“Look what you’re doing!”

John almost jumped out of his skin and hurried the rest of the way across the road, just as an old Cortina went whistling past with a rude gesture out the rear window.

“What is it with you ‘n’ not looking where you’re going?”

You were shaking your head, smiling softly. The lamplight from above meant your face was partly in shadow, but the half he could see was looking at him so fondly, John couldn’t tell if his racing heart was from the shock of the car horn or because of you.

He shot you a lopsided sort of a smile.

“Distracted. Sorry.”

He offered to walk you home and to John’s delight, you accepted. You weren’t far from the bakery, maybe a ten minute walk, so you set off together instead of heading for the tube station.

John didn’t notice the quiet at first. He was never usually the first to start a conversation or the one doing most of the talking, but tonight he found himself chatting your ear off about the gig, the audience’s reaction, the trouble they had with the sound, everything.

When you finally did speak, it was quiet and considered.

“Lot of fans you lads have now.”

John laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s funny, I never really thought about that side of it. It’s funny hearing people sing along to the songs still. I had a bloke ask me to sign his shirt the other day. Me!”

You nodded slowly, lips pouted. John should’ve known he was in trouble then.

“Lots of girls around you back there.”

John shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful.

"Oh, I’m sure it's just that when they come round to get autographs, they move in a cluster from one person to the other.”

“That girl you were chatting to was pretty.”

John glanced across at you. Your head was down, your arms still crossed over your chest. He sighed and came to a halt, his bass knocking against his back.

You took a few steps past him before you realised he’d stopped. When you finally noticed, you shook your head at him, your eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown.

“What?”

You seemed to be making an effort to keep your voice steady and stern, but there was a flash of something behind your eyes. You were hurt.

John stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders almost up to his ears. As comfortable as he was with you, it was still strange to speak his mind. It didn’t come naturally but he wanted to get better, for you.

“Can we not do this?”

“What?”

“You being cross with me for something I haven’t done.”

“I’m not cross!”

That came out a lot louder than you intended. You looked away.

John watched you swing your arms, hardly able to meet his eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so nervous. He couldn’t help grinning. You were jealous.

“The girl I was talking to is Freddie’s sister. She’s in the year below me, she was asking about uni applications.”

He watched, still smiling, as you visibly deflated.

“Oh.”

There was a painful sort of pause.

John waited for you to speak again but you seemed to be struggling to string together a sentence. He resisted the urge to tease you about it. As much as you liked to toy with him, you’d never once made fun of him for being quiet. And he loved you for it.

John stepped closer, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes on yours.

“There were a lot of girls back there, yes. But I’m walking home with you,” he said, steady and quiet and sure. “It’s you who got me a job, and looks after me, and makes me laugh.”

You scoffed.

“That’s all you like me for, is it? Cos I gave you my bike and I make you laugh and feed you like a stray cat?”

“Yes. And…” John smiled. “And you’re kind to me. And you listen to me. And you’re beautiful and smart and… You’re so beautiful, you make my chest feel like it’s… I only want to walk home with you. I only ever want to be with you.”

John waited, heart pounding, for your verdict. You seemed stunned. In all honesty, he couldn’t believe he’d said those things either. But he meant it. He meant every word. It was about time he stopped mucking about and just told you how he really felt.

After what felt like an eternity, your astonished expression sank into a sweet smile, then a full on grin.

“You’re always full of surprises, New Boy,” you said, and laughed softly.

You fell into step beside each other again, stealing glances at each other just to catch the other doing it too. It was thrilling, the start of something wonderful, or just two people realising they had been in the middle of something for a long time and were relieved to find the other there too.

John couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed, so completely at ease, but it would probably be the last time he was with you.

“It’s mad that you live around here,” he said as you walked down a row of gleaming department stores. “It’s so posh, I don’t even wanna look in the windows.”

You snorted.

“I couldn’t even afford their coat hangers.”

“It’s strange the bakery’s struggling so much considering where it is. And there’s always a queue round the corner. Is it the rent, or..?”

“Er…”

You didn’t know how to answer. In fact, you looked a little embarrassed, like you’d never really thought about it before. Gladys had just always said that the bakery was barely getting by and no one thought to ask. Everyone was struggling right now.

“Well, yeah, I suppose,” you said, shrugging. “And there’s ingredients and the energy bills…”

“You just always seem to sell out and your customers are always pretty well-off.”

“Gladys does all the books herself. Maybe she’s just shit at maths.”

“I could take a look?”

He knew as soon as he said it that that was a step too far. They didn’t need his help. They could look after themselves just fine. He hadn’t meant to sound patronising but John still felt awkward.

“I’m sure Gladys knows what she’s doing,” he added quickly.

“Well, let’s not go mental.”

You gave a scornful laugh, then squeezed John’s hand to make sure he knew he hadn't offended you. He squeezed back gratefully.

You nodded at a glossy car showroom on the other side of the road. Ferraris. Chevys. Bentleys.

“You know, I’ve lived in this city all my life and I’ve never been in any of these shops.”

This part of the city was a honeycomb of luxury stores you would never dream of touching, let alone passing through their doors. They hurt to look at.

John shook his head.

“Me neither.”

“You might soon. Roger was telling me someone from a record company might come see you perform.”

John spoke without his teeth separating.

“They might.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” John’s smile was forced. “Yeah it would be. Good, I mean. It’d be good. Great, even.”

Of course, you never missed a trick.

“John?”

He sighed, pushing his balled up fists deeper into the pockets of his jumper.

“It really was just supposed to be part-time. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“What plan?”

“My plan.”

You knew a little about his childhood, the uncertainty and worry of it all, so he felt comfortable talking about it. Unpredictability made a boy grow up thinking about every penny. John liked to plan and think and organise because his life, so far, had been anything but. There was control in order, and safety in the ordinary.

You slipped your arm though his.

“It’s going to be alright, you know. If things do pick up with the band. I know it sounds terrifying but,” You grinned. “It’s also very, very cool, John.”

Your smile helped to ease the ache in his chest a little, but John’s mind was whirring.

“But what if-”

You stopped, and your arm looped through his meant he stopped too.

“You’re gonna keep them on track. You’re going to keep them safe. You’re going to make sure no one messes you around, or takes you for granted, or tries to take something you made and put their name on it. They need you, John. They can’t do it without you.”

He looked down at his shoes, shaking his head, almost in disbelief.

“You’re so lovely.”

Still staring at the floor, he missed your soft smile, but John felt you move closer. Just as his heart began to flutter, you took your arm back. He immediately missed your touch but before he could begin to feel disappointed, you slipped your hands into his.

“You said they went through how many bassists before they met you? They were looking for a good musician, yeah, but you’ve got something they didn’t. A brain.”

John looked up, laughing softly, but your gaze was clear and steady. He’d never felt so seen, so held.

“You’re so smart, John. You see things other people don’t. And if one day you decide you don’t wanna do it anymore then that’s fine. But if you don’t do it because you’re too scared? Well, then…”

John felt something in his chest shift. There had been a belt wrapped around his heart - growing steadily tighter and tighter by the day - ever since he learned about this man from the record company coming to see them play. You’d finally loosened it.

“It means I wouldn’t be able to be your delivery boy anymore,” he murmured.

That was perhaps the worst thing of all. His time was already fractionated into countless pieces. If music became a full time thing, he wouldn’t be able to see you every day. John wasn’t sure how often he’d be able to see you at all.

He thought your smile looked pained as you squeezed his hands. You’d been worrying about it too.

“You were always too good for me, darlin’. Us. For us. The bakery.” You smiled, soft and sad. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

John wanted to argue. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, he wasn’t too good for anything, but especially you. He wanted to stay. He loved his life, he loved the bakery, he loved being with you, learning from you, talking to you, making dinner with you, making you laugh, all of it, every moment. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere. But he also didn’t want to lie to you.

“They need you, New Boy.”

“Don’t you need me?”

“I want you, that’s different.”

John raised his eyebrows. To his utter delight, you shyly glanced away, your lips pressed together as you tried to keep back a smile.

“It’s not up to me,” you soldiered on. “You need to do whatever you need to do. But I’m gonna support you, no matter what.”

His heart was going like the clappers. John could hardly piece a sentence together at the best of times, least of all around you, but now, he could hardly gather a solid thought.

You were so good. He couldn’t believe he’d found you. In all the world, all its mess, all its people, he’d made one decision and found you, as easy and as simple as crossing the road and spotting the one shop with all its lights still on. A lighthouse, he thought, calling him home.

“Think maybe you’re the one who’s too good to be true, love,” John whispered.

Those soft, gentle eyes. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. You had this way of looking at him, of being with him, it made John feel like the only man in the world. You liked him, he knew you did. So why couldn’t he just lean forward and kiss you? Why shouldn’t he?

His gaze dropped to your lips, just for a second, but when he met your eyes again, John knew you’d noticed.

You started to smile.

His heart in his throat, John placed your left hand on his hip so that his right was free to hold your cheek.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch with a soft sigh.

“Of course, if you want to stay, you can,” you said quietly. “I’ve got used to having you around, New Boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

You seemed so small in his hands, but there was something there, in the way you’d looked at him before your eyes slipped shut, in the way your fingers pressed into his hip, ever-so-slightly pulling him into you. You weren’t surrendering to him. He was only taking the lead because you were allowing it. The thought set John’s heart racing.

“Maybe I could still do a couple of odd shifts. You know. Every now and then.”

“Weekends would be good.”

“You’re in charge, Captain.”

You opened your eyes. They were dark and full in the low light.

“I’ll hold you to that, Johnny.”

John swallowed hard.

A shout across the street made him falter. There was a crowd of young men, all six sheets to the wind and staggering on uncertain legs. They started whooping and hollering at you, waving bottles of beer starwards.

John let his hand drop back to his side.

“Idiots,” he muttered, mostly because he was fairly certain he’d been about to kiss you just then, and now he couldn’t feel his legs.

You rolled your eyes.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You nodded over your shoulder to the bakery, now just a few shops down.

It pained John to shake his head.

“Can’t. I have an exam in the morning, I should get home.”

You blinked, then laughed.

“You amaze me, Johnny.”

“Thanks for coming tonight… I haven’t told you… I’ve been meaning to… I wanted to tell you that it’s been really nice seeing you, um… I can’t think of a nice way to phrase this.”

You squeezed his hip in what he was sure was meant to be a reassuring way, but it took everything in him not to whimper.

“Just go for it,” you said, smiling.

John took a deep breath.

“Things are mad here, I know. And they always have been but especially now, with Mickey away so much and Gladys… You haven’t had any time for yourself and I can see it, you’ve been… You’re like me, you’ve felt stuck. But lately you’ve been going out and making time for yourself and… Look, I don’t really know what I’m talking about but it’s just really nice to see you so happy.”

It was probably the most he’d spoken in one go in weeks, maybe even months, but it didn’t feel as exhausting as it usually did. John knew that was because of you.

You squeezed his hip again. John had to bite back a moan.

“Thank you for reminding me that I’m allowed to have some fun,” you said, beaming.

You were good for each other, John knew that now. Physical touch no longer felt painful, because of you. Speaking his mind no longer felt like an impossibility. You hadn’t fixed him, as so many had tried to. You’d just given him the room to feel comfortable, to feel at home, and that was all he’d needed. You were good for him. Good to him. How could he ever give you up?

“Thanks for doing my makeup.”

It was a stupid thing to say, John knew it, but you were almost at the bakery door now and he didn’t want the conversation to stop, or this night to end.

“Oh, it was a pleasure. A very genuine pleasure.”

You reached up and delicately swiped your thumb under his bottom eyelashes, brushing away smudged eyeliner that he couldn’t wait to be rid of.

“It’s easy when you have such a willing participant. You were such a good boy for me.”

John almost tripped over himself at that. He recovered well, or at least he thought so. You were smiling ever so mischievously as you slipped your key into the door.

“You sure you won’t come in? The sofa’s got your name on it. Or, you know…”

Your boldness could’ve knocked him flat.

John wanted to say ‘yes’, and many other, much lewder things, more than anything in the world. He wanted to hold your face in his hands again and press his lips against yours, back you up against the door and kiss you and kiss you until you could hardly breathe.

He wanted you to pull him inside and up the stairs to your flat. He wanted you to shove him down on the bed, straddle him and just have him, take him, make him yours, and maybe even allow him to make you his in return.

But it was late. And your conversation had made him sad, though the conclusion had been a reassuring one. He was tired, and worried about the future, and not looking forward to getting up at the crack of dawn for this stupid exam.

“Soon,” John said. “I promise.”

He wasn’t sure if that last part was for him or for you. Maybe both. John just hoped you knew how painful it was to step back from the bakery, turn away from you for the night, and head home to his lonely, lonely bed.

Master List

#john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon x reader #john deacon reader #queen #queen fanfiction

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bedtimestoriesforbrokengirls · 2 months

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i know you’ve watched schmigadoon, and listened to hamilton, but what are your thoughts on other musicals, and musicals/musical theatre as a whole? yay or nay? favorites?

Well first, I’ve never stepped foot in a theater… so the closest I’ve come to seeing musical theater as it’s intended to be seen was Disney’s Hamilton performance. And maybe Norman Jewison’s Jesus Christ Superstar, which is more of a stage production in spirit than it is a movie.

There are a couple Original Cast Recordings that I adore: Jesus Christ Superstar and Phantom of the Opera, both of which I owned on CD and played incessantly back around 1989/1990.

(I discovered Phantom via a televised pairs figure skating performance —they skated to “Music of the Night”— which in turn led me to buy three Michael Crawford Sings Broadway CDs, and that introduced me to Sondheim and a few other things.)

With that said, I’ve enjoyed lots of movie musicals, many of which are based on stage productions.

Given my age, it should be obvious that the first musical I saw was Grease. And among the movies on this list, it’s the one I’ve seen the most, and most recently… I rewatched it a year or two ago. (Along with Grease 2, about which the less said, the better. Michelle Pfeiffer looks annoyed to be in it.) That soundtrack was burned into my brain by 1970s radio DJs, so I’m quite fond of it, including the Barry Gibb/Frankie Valli original that plays over the credits.

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was a particular favorite —then and now— but I don’t really think of it as a musical. The songs are catchy, but they feel tacked on, and the Oompa Loompas get the best one.

Okay, this one is embarrassing, but… so be it. When I was ten, I owned the Xanadu soundtrack. On vinyl and 8-track. I loved every single song… ELO and Olivia Newton-John could do no wrong in my eyes. Then, years later, I finally saw the movie. And… yup, I’ve seen that. Definitely saw… that.

Give My Regards To Broad Street isn’t a good movie in any conventional sense, but… Paul McCartney. That’s all it takes, if you ask me.

We watched Little Shop of Horrors on the stream a year or two ago, and I still thoroughly enjoy it. “Suddenly, Seymour”, “Dentist!”, “Somewhere That’s Green”, and “Feed Me” are all delightfully infectious… I can’t help singing along. Best Rick Moranis movie ever, too.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is another one we watched on-stream. I was never a joiner or a cosplayer, so I didn’t get into the participatory experience that is Rocky Horror, but I’ve watched it a few times now under more sedate circumstances. There are a few solid songs in there, but “Time Warp” is my favorite, simply because the 1980s music video show Night Flight —with Nina Blackwood!— used to play it almost every week.

Moulin Rouge is a delight, and it features a song written by my all-time favorite singer-songwriter, David Baerwald: “Come What May”. Although he personally considers it a sell-out… if you know any of his work, it’s clear that the “love can conquer anything” idea behind the song is antithetical to his whole oeuvre. But I love it anyway.

I enjoyed Into The Woods quite a lot —creepy Johnny Depp is the best Johnny Depp— but I’ve only seen it once, so it didn’t make a massive impression on me.

In The Heights was… fine. Perhaps the strangest thing about it is that John Chu’s visuals are more interesting than LMM’s songs… which are better than Moana’s, but don’t approach the, er, heights of Hamilton or Encanto. Anthony Ramos is great, though.

Spielberg’s West Side Story was another film that I basically enjoyed, but it’s one of those things that are so thoroughly baked into the culture —like Animal House— that you feel like you’ve already seen it, even when you haven’t. I probably should have opted for the Rita Moreno version.

Tumblr is being an asshole and limiting me to 10 GIFs, so I’ll follow this up with another post… I’ve got at least another ten to go.

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sl-newsie · 3 months

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A Clean Slate (Balkan x OC)

I also have a request. Balkan x OC. Idc what happens in it, I just need him!

Another sunny day. Too bad I have to spend it working indoors.

“God I hate this place,” Rita groans from across the shop. “I can’t wait to get outta here!”

“Calm down, mi querida!” Valentina assures her. “You may not like it here, but some of us had to work hard to get here!”

My coworker goes on complaining while I zone out and scrub the counter. Rita’s always complaining because of her position in the Jet gang. Apparently the Jets are a big deal, but I’ve never personally met them because I just moved from Brooklyn. My father’s in the police force and he transferred to the West Side, which meant I had to wipe a clean slate and start over with making friends. Turns out the goils of the West Side ain’t so friendly and instead of being social I’ve decided on keeping a steady job during summer vacation. Doc’s is the perfect place because Valentina needs all the help she can get.

I hear the door bangs open and a man wearing jeans and a white tank top steps in.

“Ey, Rita! Ya done woirk’n yet? We’s got business in ��Hattan to deal with!”

“Alright, alright.” Rita follows the brute out, strangely looking more bored than before.

Time slips by, only providing us with a few customers, and before I know it it’s already 5:30.

“Time to clock out, Lottie.” Valentina walks out from the back room holding the keys. “Don’t worry about the clean up. Tony’s stopping by to mop. Buenas noches!”

“Good night, Valentina.” I grab my purse and head into the cool summer night. The sun hasn’t set yet and a gorgeous collage of orange and pink spreads across the sky. I clutch my purse close and begin the walk home-

“Hey! Runaway coin!”

The clinking sound of metal draws my attention to a silver-colored coin rolling down the sidewalk. It nearly reaches the sewer until I step on it with my blue heel.

“Much obliged, doll!” A man jogs up from behind and kneels down to look for his coin. “Um, where’d it go?”

“Oh, sorry.” I lift up my foot to reveal the gleaming coin. “Here it is.”

The man keeps his face down as he retrieves his possession. What I don’t expect is for him to lean down to kiss my foot.

“Excuse me?” I jerk away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Now the man stands up and I can see him. He’s wearing an olive-green shirt with the sleeves rolled up under a blue vest, along with dark jeans and sneakers. At first I think he’s too bizarre to trust, however the thankful expression on his face makes me reconsider.

“Sorry, doll. ‘S just that this coin means everything to me. Guess I overreacted.” He holds out a hand and we both shake, causing my heart to respond by racing much too fast than I’d like it to.

“You ain’t from here, are ya? I’d remember you if you were.”

I shyly shake my head and fidget with my purse. “No, I just moved from Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn, eh? Well then let me be gentlemanly enough to officially welcome you to the West Side!” He gives me a quick salut. “Name’s Balkan, from the Jets.”

My breath catches and I step away. “Jets? That’s the gang everyone talks about. I heard some people were almost killed in a fight last month.”

Balkan pockets his coin and holds up a steady hand, eyeing me with a calm demeanor.

“Yeah, there were a few close calls. But that was before the peace agreement. You got nothing to worry about.”

I want to believe him, but my father’s teachings are spinning through my head.

“My father’s a police officer. If you do anything to me, he will find you.”

There’s a noticeable spark in Balkan’s eyes, something that imitates fear. But it only lasts a split-second. He steps a few feet back and holds his hands out for me to see.

“I’m unarmed, I swear. I don’t want you to feel unsafe. What’s your name?”

He knows his law procedures. This is how dad says criminals are supposed to stand when they’re arrested. Has he ever been arrested? Calm down, Lottie. He asked a decent question.

“I’m Lottie.” My voice shakes a little. “Nice to meet you, Balkan.”

Balkan nods respectfully. “That’s a pretty name. If you want you can call me Marcus. That’s my real name, Marcus Jackson.”

I’ll have dad run a background check on him later.

“Since you’re new, would you want me to show you around?”

Keep calm, relax. He’s just being friendly.

“Um, maybe some other time? During the day?”

It’s strange how Balkan isn’t getting annoyed by my paranoid behavior. He’s been nothing but respectful, which is something I don’t expect from a gang member.

“I get that. Is your home nearby? I wanna make sure you get there safely.”

I inch further away towards the direction of home. “I’d rather not have you know where I live, if you don’t mind. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Taking a deep breath, I swiftly walk past the now-stuttering Jet.

“What’s it gonna take for you to trust me?”

I keep walking. “In Brooklyn I learned to trust nobody. People are disappointing, they will take what they want and spread lies when they’re through with you.”

Now Balkan is walking to keep up. “I’m sorry that happened, but not everyone is like that. It doesn’t have to be too serious. I’ll start.” He clears his throat. “Hello, my name is Marcus. I come from a broken family because my own father left when I was 5. I met the Jet leaders Tony and Riff a few years ago, and since then I've become one-a the Jets’ best fighters. I know that sounds whacky to you, but to me the Jets are my family.”

His sad background sounds like lots of the cases dad talks about at home. He says delinquents are unpredictable. But this is the first time I’ve heard the other side of the story.

I stop walking and look at Marcus with a different perspective. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that. We both have conflicted pasts, but that shouldn’t define the future. Would you, um, still be willing to walk me home?”

Dad’s going to kill me.

Marcus grins in delight and offers an arm. More gentleman than delinquent. “I’d luv to, Lottie.”

I take his arm and we resume walking. Another trait that surprises me is his smell. It’s mint. Like a fresh peppermint pattie.

“Why is your coin important to you?” Just keeping up the conversation.

“It was my old man’s. He gave it to me before he left, said a million-dollar fortune could be made out of a single coin.” Marcus shakes his head and laughs. “Some fortune now, huh?”

His unfaltering optimism is something to admire. “What is it you plan to do for a living after school?”

“Dunno, maybe something with mechanics. I’m pretty good with building things. Have you met Jackie yet?”

The name brings no familiarity. “No?”

“She works with me in the shop. Jackie’s Velma’s little sister.”

I grit my teeth. “I do know Velma. Her and Grazie are… interesting.”

Marcus chuckles. “Yeah, they can be a handful. Jackie ain't like that, though. She’s nice.”

I give him a questioning look. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re new here and I can tell you’s looking for friends. Am I right?”

Ok this guy’s growing on me. First he offers to take me home, now he’s taken interest in helping me fit in.

“Y-Yeah. I’m not too good at finding friends. Thank you.”

“No problem.” We turn the block and start walking down my street. “So what’s your plans for after school?”

I don’t wanna lie, but I feel that my planned career will make him feel embarrassed.

“Um, I’m looking into being a professor of anatomy.”

Marcus’ head swings to look at me with wild eyes. Here it comes. Go ahead, make fun of the weird, nerdy outcast newcomer-

“That’s amazing!”

What?

I stare at him. “You’re not upset?”

Balkan repeatedly shakes his head, still smiling. “Why would I be? That’s a top-notch job! You must be one smart cookie, Lottie!”

I slowly realize that my brain isn’t going to get me mocked. “Thank you! Normally people hear that and think it’s crazy for a woman to be teaching at a university.” I bite my lip. “That’s- that’s actually part of the rumors I had back in Brooklyn. The girls used to say I was less feminine for wanting to take up a man’s job.”

Balkan stops walking and puts a hand on my shoulder. Earlier my instincts would’ve been to kick his crotch and run, but now I’m not afraid anymore.

“Those bitches don’t know what they’re saying. They’s jealous because you’s smarter than them, Lottie. Being smart don’t mean you’s less feminine. In fact, lots-a guys admire a goil with brains.” A smile grows on his face. “I know ‘cause I’m one-a them.”

Oh God. Steady, Lottie. But it’s no use. The walls I’ve built to keep people out are cracking. How has this man been able to make me feel special when he literally just met me?

“Who are you, Marcus Jackson?” I whisper. “You show up chasing a coin, a complete stranger. And now you treat me like an actual person.” My body reacts by giving him a soft hug, one that Marcus accepts gently.

“You’s a real nice goil, Lottie. Anyone should treat you like one.” I hear him sigh. “I’m probably gonna get killed for this.” Before I can ask Marcus pulls away and looks down at me with soft eyes. “Lottie, would you maybe wanna go out with me sometime? It don’t have to be much, just- Maybe as friends?”

It’s a good thing Marcus is still holding me because if he wasn’t I’d be crumbling to the floor.

“You mean that? An actual date?” I can’t hide my excitement. “No one’s ever asked before. Are you sure?”

The Jet boy’s eyes widen. “Yes! Yes, a thousand times yes!”

Through my sudden happiness I feel tears beginning to form. “I’d luv to, Marcus. But first-” I give a small laugh. “You should probably meet my parents first.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Absolutely!”

“Good! Because… This is me.” I point to the door of the small house we’re standing in front of.

“Nice place,” the Jet compliments.

“Thank you. Would you like to come in? Dad won’t be home for another hour but I can ask if you can stay for dinner.”

Marcus looks as if I’d just offered him a million dollars. “Um, yeah! I mean, if it’s alright with your folks- Am I dressed well enough?”

I can’t help but laugh at his adorable statement. “You’re fine, Marcus.” Taking his hand, I lead him to the front door and lead him deeper into my life.

“Mother! I’m home! I brought some company.”

“Hello, dear!” Mother comes bustling from the kitchen. When she sees Balkan she freezes and her eyes narrow. “Lottie, who is this man?” she asks in a stern voice.

I give Marcus’ hand a squeeze. “Mother, this is Marcus. He walked me home from work.”

The Jet sets himself in a respectful stance. “Good evening, ma’am. I just wanted to make sure your daughter got home safe. I meant no disrespect.”

“Could he stay for dinner?” I ask hopefully.

Mother stews over my words with a conflicted expression. “Could I talk with you for a moment? Your friend can wait outside.”

That’s not exactly a no. Balkan doesn’t seem to mind because he gives a nod and walks back out without question. Once he’s gone, mother rushes over to put her hands on my shoulders.

“Sweetie, I am so happy you are trying to socialize. But is that boy the kind of crowd you think is right to be around?”

My confidence doesn’t slip. “I didn’t trust him either, but Marcus is a good man even if he is part of the Jets. You know how hard I’ve had it trying to find friends, mom. Well, Marcus and I are both starting with a clean slate. He’s not like the criminals dad deals with.”

Mother lets out a deep sigh. “Your father may not be happy at first.”

“I know. But please at least let him stay for dinner? Give him a chance for you to warm up to him.”

I think my goose is cooked. My parents have always been strict, and someone like Balkan isn’t exactly the prime example of dinner company-

“Very well, he can stay.” Mother’s worried look changes to a smile. “We’ve raised you well enough to have good judgment. I’m sure this young man is quite catching enough for you to bring him home. You’re growing up so fast, Lottie!” She gives me one last squeeze. “Alright, let him in.”

Feeling full of giddy hope I rush back to the door and open it to find an anxious-looking Balkan.

“My mother passed her blessing for you to join us! Come right in.”

Marcus looks like I just hung the moon. “O-Ok!”

I show him to the dining room and we both help set the table. Mother keeps a watchful eye as she brings out dishes of chicken and potatoes, but relaxes after she starts to see Marcus isn’t a threat.

“We usually eat before dad gets home,” I explain as we sit down. “Sometimes he gets overbooked with paperwork and doesn’t want us waiting too long.” I lean in and whisper: “You’ve met my mom, now you just need to survive my dad.”

Balkan’s face freezes in a look of new-found terror, but mother just laughs.

“I’ll talk him into it,” she assures. “Your father may be the head of the house, but the mother is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants.”

Marcus and I grab hands under the table, and for once in my life I’m glad we moved from Brooklyn. This new start is refreshing for both me and Marcus, one that I hope will lead to something special.

(Sneaked in a My Big Fat Greek Wedding reference!)

#balkan #balkan wss #wss 2021 #west side story #west side story 2021 #west side story imagine #west side story x reader #tony west side story #maria west side story #riff lorton #riff west side story #west side story jets

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lemoncrushh · 11 days

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The Entertainer - Track 07 - Let's Hit the Road

Summary: Set in the 70s, Sky Jones, a young woman from L.A., meets Harry Styles, an up-and-coming musician and frontman for the band Wildfire. Told in first person from Sky’s point of view, she shares her journey and what it’s like to fall for a rockstar.

STORY PAGE

Track 07 Word Count: 3.2k+

It was mid-October when Halo and I packed up my little Volkswagen Beetle (that I’d named Lovely Rita three years ago) to hit the road for Wildfire’s first west coast tour. Their album had been released a couple weeks prior and was already getting decent reviews. Their first single was also getting airplay, and it always made me smile with pride when I’d hear it. As a combination release party and farewell/good luck, they had another show at the Troubadour where I finally got to meet Mr. Irving.

That’s what I called him, Mr. Irving. He’d insisted I not call him Mr. Azoff but simply Irving, but I just couldn’t let the Mister go. Because despite his small stature, he was most definitely a Mister. He seemed to be very fond of Harry though, which made me feel at ease.

“Don’t forget your camera!” Halo called to me from her bedroom.

“I’ve got it,” I called back.

I’d almost forgotten it, actually. When I had begun packing my suitcase, I suddenly remembered that it was still in my duffle bag that I’d taken with me to Chula Vista. I’d also forgotten about the film in it. Harry had used the rest of it taking photos at the Holiday Inn, but I had yet to get them developed. I was itching to know what they were, but it was too late now, so I’d have to wait even longer. Grabbing my new roll of film that Harry’d bought to replace what he’d used, I tossed it along with my camera in my tote.

“Aren’t you bringing your guitar?” asked Halo when I shut the trunk.

“Oh, yeah!”

Running back to the apartment, I grabbed my most prized possession from my bedroom and headed back down the stairs.

“Let’s hit the road!” I cheered when I set my guitar in the back seat.

Halo hooted as she got into the passenger seat and I cranked up Rita. I smiled as the sound of the Eagles played through my speakers.

“Put me on a highway And show me a sign And take it to the limit one more time…”

Yes…I took it as a very good sign.

Halo and I arrived in San Francisco just before three when we checked into our motel room. Although Lee and Deacon still weren’t crazy about the idea of us tagging along on the road, we’d made a compromise that we would stay in our own rooms and drive my car to and from the venues. They seemed to be cool with that, although Mitch and Harry made it a point to show their disdain.

I’d just gotten out of the shower, my towel wrapped around me when the phone in the room rang. Sitting on my bed, I answered it.

“Hey, you’re here!” cheered Harry.

“I’m here!” I echoed, glad I’d told him which motel we were staying in.

“We just wrapped up soundcheck, and I’m back in my room.”

“Are you excited?”

“Nervous.”

“No, you’re not!” I corrected. “You’re never nervous.”

“Gotta say, I kind of am right now.”

“Oh. Anything I can do?”

I heard Harry chuckle from deep within his throat. “No, don’t think so.”

“Okay…well, good luck! You’ll be great, I know.”

“Thanks, babe.”

I giggled when I hung up the phone, not at Harry, but at his nervousness. It was cute. If he was ever nervous before, he never showed it. And I doubted he would show it tonight.

After dressing in one of my favorite chiffon tops and bell bottoms, I sat on the bed and strummed my guitar as I waited for Halo.

“Hey, play that song you were working on the other day,” I heard her sing from the bathroom.

“What song?”

“From that album you just bought recently. Heart.”

I smiled as I tried to recall the chords. Then I let the melody take me to my magical place as I sang along to my own accompaniment.

“Ain’t it good to know you’ve got a place to go Where the melody’s fine Sometimes I’m not so strong And even now I could be wrong But if you love me like music I’ll be your song…”

Halo applauded when I finished, her beautiful face beaming.

“You’re so good, Sky. Was that for Harry?”

I chuckled. “Was what for him?”

“That song. You want him to love you like music.”

I rolled my eyes as she turned to brush her hair in the mirror. I watched as she stroked it several times, then stopped and turned around again.

“Do you love him like music?” she asked.

I laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I asked. For almost as long as I’ve known you, music has been your one true love. Are your feelings for Harry like your feelings for music?”

I blinked, preparing myself for a response, but none came. I was tongue-tied.

“Uh huh,” Halo nodded, continuing with her hair brushing. “Thought so.”

I shook my head, my tongue finally catching up with my brain. “I don’t think my feelings for Harry are even close to love.”

“Really?” she glared at me in the mirror. “Coulda fooled me.”

“Seriously, Halo,” I argued as I tried to convince myself as much as her. “It’s no different from you and Mitch. He’s a musician. He’s…a rockstar. It’s just sex.”

Dropping her brush on the counter, Halo grabbed her folded wad of cash and tucked it into her bra.

“Sky,” she said, “you’re really talented. You have the voice of an angel. You could be just as famous as Joni Mitchell. But do me a favor…never become an actress.”

“Why?” I gave her a questioning look as I followed her to the door.

“Because, you’re a terrible liar.”

“If there’s a rock show at the Concertgebow They’ve got long hair at the Madison Square You’ve got rock and roll at the Hollywood Bowl We’ll be there, ooh yeah…”

Halo and I blasted the Wings song with the windows down as I pulled into the parking lot of the venue. I felt it was the perfect song to set the tone for the evening.

It wasn’t a massive venue, but I was surprised to see a large crowd near the entrance. It actually took us a while to get inside, and once we did, it felt like it was just wall to wall people. I’d been to many concerts before, but this was the largest crowd I’d ever seen for Wildfire. Their album was barely out, so this kind of turn-out was proof that they were going to be hugely popular. This was only the beginning, I told myself.

When the band stepped out, the audience went wild. Halo and I hadn’t made it to the front near the stage yet, so we stood back and watched for a minute or two. It was actually pretty thrilling to see them from that perspective since we were always up front. The only other time I’d seen them from further back was at that country bar where I’d sat on my stool. This was very different. I got to watch the people cheering and singing along to songs I’d already known for months, but they’d only just recently heard for the first time.

I raised my camera in my hands and began to capture photos of the band, getting some really great ones of Harry.

“Look at ‘em!” Halo yelled in my ear. “They’re meant for this, aren’t they?”

I nodded, though my focus was not on they, but him. Only him. And yes, he was meant for this.

During the second song, I felt a push behind me and turned to see three girls making their way around us to get to the front. One of them, a blonde in a furry vest over a top very similar to mine, stepped on my foot in her horrendous clogs.

“Oww, son of a bitch!” I screamed.

The blonde looked back at me for a millisecond, a glance that told me she wasn’t sorry one bit, before her friends pulled her to the stage.

“You okay?” asked Halo, realizing what had happened.

“I think she broke my toe.”

“Can you wiggle it?”

I made a face when I noticed I could. But I knew it would be throbbing all night.

“C’mon,” Halo grabbed my arm. “Let’s get closer.”

Weaving through the crowd, we made it as close as we could to the band, directly behind the toe stomper and her friends. I found myself sticking my tongue out at the back of her head, but of course she never noticed.

It didn’t matter anyway because when the song was over and Harry did his welcoming speech, he spotted me and waved. I waved back and he grinned, giving a thumbs up before introducing the next song. The blonde’s friend to her right must have noticed because our eyes met quickly before she nudged furry vest. When she turned around, I raised my brows, waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t. She merely shrugged at her friend, then went back to ogling at the band, or whatever she was doing.

Halo and I pranced and cheered just like we always did. We didn’t really need to be the cheerleaders this time though. It was apparent by the end of the night that they’d made it. Anything from here on out would just be icing on the cake.

Harry gave a huge thank you speech before the last song, sending the crowd into another uproar of hoots and whistles. I almost thought he was going to cry from all the pride he must have felt at that moment. And rightly so. My own chest was about to explode, my heart could hardly take it.

He blew a few kisses out into the audience. When his eyes met mine again, he winked, seeming to blow me my own personal kiss. I smiled as I pretended to catch it and held it to my chest. Harry shook his head, his smile so wide and beaming so brightly that I thought surely he was the source of all light.

Toe stomper and her friends all glared at me then, and I felt Halo poke me in the side, no doubt finding humor in it all and enjoying herself.

“You know him?” asked the friend on the right.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah.”

“She’s his girlfriend,” added Halo.

I glared at her with wide eyes, but it didn’t compare to the astonishment on the face of the blonde. Halo chuckled and looped her arm through mine. Then she pulled me to the side of the stage while the band finished their final song.

“I can’t believe you said that!” I exclaimed.

“So what? It’s pretty much true.”

“No, it’s not. Harry and I haven’t-“

“Look at ‘em, those girls are so jealous, they’re faces are turning green. Especially that girl who stepped on your foot.”

“I don’t want them to be jealous,” I disagreed.

“Why not?”

“Because…there’s nothing to be jealous of.”

Halo shook her head, exasperated. “Wake up, Sky, will you? Did you see how he looked at you? Did you see?”

How could I not? His smile was probably permanently tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

“He wasn’t looking at anybody else like that. You’re the one he’s most excited to see out there.”

Though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if I believed her, I felt a flutter in my stomach as the band exited the stage and Halo grabbed my hand again.

At first, the guard wouldn’t let us backstage. We begged and pleaded, and even turned on the charm but to no avail. Standing back with our arms crossed, thinking this whole tour thing might’ve been a bad idea, I suddenly saw a man in a suit make his way to the security guard.

“Mr. Azoff!” I squealed.

He frowned when he first turned his head, but when he realized who I was, he smiled.

“Hello, Sky. Please, call me Irv-“

“Mr. Irving, sorry,” I said out of breath. “They won’t let us back there. I don’t think they believe we’re with the band.”

“Everyone’s with the band, Miss,” spat the guard.

“It’s no problem, Monty,” Mr. Azoff explained. I wondered if he already knew his name, or had just read his name tag. “They’re with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

And just like that, Halo and I were admitted backstage with Irving Azoff, manager extraordinaire.

“There you are!” shouted Harry as soon as he saw me. He nearly jogged to me, making me smile from ear to ear. “Thought something happened to you.”

“It did. The guard wouldn’t let us in. But Mr. Irving came to the rescue.”

I could feel the grin still plastered on my face as his mimicked mine. Then he licked his lips, took my face in his hands and kissed me. Not just a peck either, but a full-on tongue kiss, right in front of everybody. Not that they were really paying attention. I had no idea what else to do other than melt.

“So glad you’re here,” he murmured when he broke the kiss.

“You were great.”

“You look great,” he added with a wiggle of his brows. His pointer finger ran down my neck to the V in my top that met my cleavage. “I like this.”

I bit my lip as I watched his gaze travel down my body. I could feel my insides ignite just as he shifted his eyes back to mine.

“Wanna stay with me tonight?” he asked, his voice low, but apparently loud enough that Lee heard.

“No.”

“What?” Harry and I both voiced at the same time.

“We agreed. No girls.” I looked over at Lee who sat on the sofa next to Deacon.

“No we didn’t,” argued Harry.

“Yes. That was the pact. Sky and Halo wanted to come, but we agreed only if they stay in their own room,” said Lee.

“All night?” Harry asked incredulously.

I held my hand over my mouth to keep from giggling, although in truth none of this was funny.

“Actually, Harry,” said Mr. Irving whom I’d almost forgotten was in the room, “I don’t think that’s such a bad idea.”

“You don’t?”

“No. So many bands start out strong and let the girls become too much a part of their lifestyle that they forget what’s important.”

I could see Harry’s shoulders drop in defeat.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Perhaps taking a vow of abstinence…or um…semi-abstinence might be the way to go for a while. I’m sure the girls will understand. They adore your music after all.”

I stared at Mr. Irving who gave me a gentle smile. I had to hand it to him. He was good.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered under his breath as he turned from me and walked to the other side of the room. “You guys are gonna make me a virgin again.”

Wildfire had two more consecutive shows after that, one in Oakland and another in Santa Rosa, both with great turnouts. I was so proud of Harry, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to show him. But with all the time on the road and having to sleep in separate quarters, our time together was limited.

Finally, the band had a free day between shows in Sacramento. Harry invited me over to his hotel, which in reality was another motel, just nicer than mine. We were both hungry, so we decided to walk the streets in search of something to eat. Strolling hand in hand, we talked about music mostly, and where else the tour was headed. Apparently, Mr. Azoff had them going further north to a couple cities in Oregon, but I wouldn’t be attending those. I still had a job back home that I had to get back to, at least for a while. Then I was going to be rejoining them when they got closer south again.

“So tell me, Harry,” I grinned, swinging our hands between us, “How do you like the tour so far?”

“Love it. Almost everything about it. But there’s one little thing I don’t like. In fact, I hate it.”

I paused my steps to look at him, a serious expression on his face, his brows knitted together.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going absolutely mad not being able to touch you.”

My own expression relaxed as I tugged on his hand.

“Who says you can’t touch me?”

Harry’s face brightened as his lips curled into a smile. Then he leaned forward and kissed me.

“Maybe…um…after we eat…we can…go back to the hotel.”

“Uh huh.”

“No sex though.”

“Nuh uh.”

Harry nodded, licking his lips. We found a McDonald’s and decided to bring our food back to his room. We sat on the bed and ate while trying to find something to watch on television.

“Ooh! Leave it there!” I instructed when I saw a glimpse of Ali MacGraw.

“This is a sad movie,” he groaned.

“But it’s one of my favorites.”

Grabbing his burger, Harry sat back against the headboard next to me. We watched the rest of Love Story, and knowing full well I would, I cried like the first time I saw it. Harry put his arm around me and allowed me to sob in his chest, getting his t-shirt a little wet.

“Sorry,” I whispered when the movie was over. “I always cry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s sad.”

When I looked up, I thought I caught a little glimmer of wetness in his eyes too, but he quickly blinked it away and I wasn’t about to call him on it.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Remember when you told me songs are memories? And that even if it’s a sad memory, it’s okay? It’s a good thing?”

“Yes.”

“Do…do you have any songs like that? You know, that’s connected to something sad?”

Harry considered my question for a moment, his eyes staring at the wall. Then he blinked and looked at me.

“Joy to the World,” he answered.

“The Christmas song?”

“No. Three Dog Night.”

I burst out laughing. “Seriously? Why?”

“It’s actually connected to a lot of happy memories,” explained Harry. “Simon fucking loved that song. He was trying to be this tough kid, but no matter where we went, if that song came on, he’d stand up, clap and sing a long. Sometimes he’d change the lyrics.”

“Like what?” I grinned.

“He’d sing ‘Harrimiah was a bullfrog’,” chuckled Harry. “He started calling me that, too. He thought he was funny.”

“And you thought he was too.”

“Yeah.”

“You miss him.”

Harry blinked and nodded.

“But you have great memories forever.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I took that as my cue. Something else was itching at me to ask him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“I should get going.”

Harry walked me to the door where he kissed me again.

“Wish you would stay,” he murmured against my neck.

“Me too,” I agreed. “But…rules.”

“Aaagghhh fuck that! I feel like I’m in a bloody prep school. Stay.”

I sighed as I lifted my fingers to touch his lips. “Next time. I think maybe the longer we show Lee and Deacon - and Mr. Irving - how we can hold out and be big kids, the sooner they might decide to take the chains off.”

“Good point. But just know I hate this.”

“Me too.”

I drove back to my room I shared with Halo to find her on the phone with Mitch. I shook my head as I went to the bathroom. There was no way any of us were gonna make it through this entire tour.

Songs mentioned:

Eagles - Take It To the Limit

Heart - (Love Me Like Music) I'll Be Your Song

Wings - Rock Show

Three Dog Night - Joy to the World

I truly hope you enjoyed this chapter and found the humor in it, because re-reading it myself made me giggle all over again ;)

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vintagestagehotties · 12 days

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Hot Vintage Stage Actress Round 1

Maria Tucci: Rose Delle Rose in The Rose Tattoo (1966 Broadway); Alexandra Giddens in The Little Foxes (1967 Broadway); Eleanor Bachman in The Great White Hope (1969 Broadway)

Chita Rivera: Rita Romano in Mr Wonderful (1956 Broadway); Anita in West Side Story (1957 Broadway); Rose Alvarez in Bye Bye Birdie (1961 Broadway); Anyanka in Bajour (1964 Broadway)

Propaganda under the cut

Maria Tucci:

Chita Rivera:

#vintagestagehotties #vintagestagepoll #vintage tournament #vintage poll #maria tucci #chita rivera #ladies round 1 #vintage ladies

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tea-cat-arts · 1 year

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Ranking the “mostly white + 1 main color and maybe gold” designs because I’m trying to collect my thoughts and see which I want to redesign. Also, I’m only going to ranking ones that are currently in game (both because I’m taking how the gameplay interacts with the design into account and because I think lore + execution of lore should be taken into account when judging designs), so no Susannah.

Disclaimer: I’m trying my best to look at these objectively, but this is still art and my subjective biases will probably factor in. I’m not trying to convince anyone to feel the same way as me about these designs. Feel free to argue why you think something should be placed higher or lower. Also, spoilers lie ahead

S tier (excellent, wouldn’t change a thing)-

Strategic placement of black, more battle suit like parts saves all the parts from blending together

Keeps bits of the more mech-like armor seen earlier in game. Helps her look thematically consistent with the rest of Kiana’s designs

Nice range of values. The strong red cape really helps the white dress (?) stand out, while the little splashes of orange help keep it feel unified

Lovely evolution of the Void Drifter design

In actual battle, her mostly white outfit saved her from getting lost in all the glowy fire

I think having most of the colors being reflected off her is a fun application of her moon motif

Lines up well with the lore

Free pass on just wearing a regular dress since in lore, she was never a fighter

White dress with splashes of paint on it plays into the “Griseo is like a blank canvas that takes on other people’s colors” motif nicely

The dark blues and black are eye catching and contrast nicely with her dress and hair

A tier (good design, minor changes could make it a great design)

So the thing about white is though it is used as a wedding color in the west, in a lot of East Asian countries, it’s actually used as a funeral color. Idk if that was hoyo’s intention here, but the double meaning is fun none the less

The purple of the dress and pink of the hair keep the suit looking vibrant and colorful

Same thing with Flamescion where all her skills are very bright and colorful (mostly in origin form? I think that’s what it’s called?), so I think the white keeps her stand out

There is very little variation in tone between the pink and purple. One of them needs to be more saturated

I feel like it could use more variation in fabric texture

B Tier (good design, muddled lore)

Would be ranked higher if I didn’t have to google why this battlesuit exists. Her in game intro was messy

Has the unfortunate timing of being introduced in the middle of a bunch of other lore dumps and buried underneath the more important to the plot ones. I think it’s introduction would be much more powerful if it was just Rita becoming the Herrscher of domination (I am willing to elaborate via asks)

Like, imagine if she got some sort of a string weapon instead of the sword? I think that’d be neat

So basically I was just confused by the space theme till I googled it (and based on my Reddit findings, I wasn’t the only one)

Beginning of the not looking like a battle suit era, but the inclusion of gold bits and a couple under layers keep it from being a full departure from the usual motifs, but it does lack the mech bits

I think there’s more Rita battle suits that lack the mech bits than actually have the, so I’m fine with them being missing here

Good tone variation, clear segmentation

Elegant design for an elegant lady

C tier (saved by the gameplay)-

Her knight for straight up looks like lingerie, but her guardian form looks great

Having her armor switch to black in guardian form was a good call

Unlike Rita, most of Durandal’s battlesuits look like armor, so it’s weird this one doesn’t.

I’m ok with the mostly white color palette since it contrasts nicely with the horse

Speaking of the horse- I have no idea where he came from, but it looks sick so I’m completely fine with it being here

Though for a rewrite, I think a potentially fun explanation would be “unlocking both of her stigmata allowed her to use a divine key at its full potential and said key just so happens to have a horse/armor mode” (cuz if you need weird shit to happen, Vill-V is always a valid excuse)

It’s inconsistency in comparison to Durandal’s other designs + my very mixed feelings about her being the original Kiana and that process of awakening the Kaslana stigmata are mostly why I put her bellow Rita. I don’t really have any huge problems with this design

D tier (even great gameplay can’t save this)-

So for the design where Kiana is “no longer just reflecting others light, and instead becoming the sun itself” (or something like that), the decided to give Kiana the coolest color palette we’ve ever seen her in, take away her signature orange and Himeko’s red, and have her primary colors be Mei’s purple and Brongo’s blue… ok

Yes, I know blue stars exist and that they’re very hot. Honkai is a story set on earth though so it’d make more sense if she was becoming like our sun, not some one billions of light years away

The inclusion of HoV’s magenta accents is kinda nice though

That is a junior prom dress, not battle suit (the Fanny packs are based though). Where’d her mech parts go?

Instead of the skirt and wings by legs, I think it may of looked like a cleaner transition if the put wings it the same shape/area as HoF’s cape

After seeing how brights and glowy her abilities are, I’m ok with this design being mostly white

This designs just a whole lot of “ok, but what does that have to do with Kiana?” Why the junior prom dress? Why the flowers? Why she so urple?

F tier (the only one on this list I actively dislike)-

Since I’ve been pretty vocal about my dislike of Dr.MEI, I just want to start by making this clear: I like Raiden Mei. She’s cool. I don’t just have some anti-Mei bias. She’s at the bottom of this list though because she deserved so much better than this design and story (and I’ve been using her a lot in ER lately, so I’ve had a lot of time staring at her design)

Designs like these are why I have the “wait till it’s introduced in story” rule. I was sorta just “meh” on this design until I saw it in game

I hate this designs introduction. It’s just another case of the writers retconning the PE and glorifying the flame chasers/ forgetting why they existed in the first place

Mihoyo, Elysia’s been dead for 50,000 years! You can stop shooting her now!

Also another instance of Mihoyo forgetting Mei is an independent person and centering her narrative around her relationship to another character. Why’s it gotta be about becoming like Elysia and the other flame chasers instead of acknowledging their mistakes and learning from them so Mei can avoid their pitfalls and forge her own ideal future

Mei is so much fun to watch when she’s thinking for herself and forging her own path, so it’s frustrating to watch the narrative force her to walk down the path Elysia laid.

If I keep talking about this point I’m gonna go into rewrite/fanfic territory, so on to the design from a more technical standpoint:

There is next to no variation in tone (aside from her hair). Everything is just incredibly light. Her abilities in game are also incredibly pale, so she ends up getting lost in all the flashy lights

There’s so much texture throughout the outfit that there doesn’t really end up being a place for the eyes to rest

Though I understand why she’s blue, I think it’s inclusion was incredibly clunky. Including it as gems on the outfit or the underside of the skirt(?) may have helped the distribution look more even

If I went with the underside of the skirt being blue, I’d probably also say make her boots black (or just give her black tights or leggings with white ankle boots)

Orange (or at least Kiana’s shade of orange), blue, and purple are admittedly hard colors to make look good together, but there really needs some orange in there. Maybe sort of a deeper rose gold could’ve worked

I’m thinking like edae98 or fbbc93 (two on the top right)

^These things just need to go. The white skirt(?) over white boots just causes the whole bottom half to bleed together. Having so much weight on the bottom of the outfit also causes her movements to look incredibly clunky. Removing these parts would help to streamline it a bit

I like the idea of Mei sorta becoming Kiana’s dragon, but the wings and tail in the skirt get lost due to all the overlapping textures, and the wing sword doesn’t do anything. Girl has 3 swords but only uses 1. Why

Rather than basing her off a western dragon, I think they should’ve made her an eastern dragon. (Turn her HoT hands into Claws instead of wings, keep the “tail” of the skirt streamlined with a little flair at the bottom, turn her HoT horns into antlers). This way, they could keep the iconic elements of HoT while reframing them into something positive (for those who don’t know: it’s a lot more nuanced and complicated than I can really explain here, but eastern dragons are generally associated with good fortune)

So, ya- that’s all I got for now. If I left anyone off the list, they’re ranked lower than HoO for being that forgettable just let me know and I’ll add them on. Again, this post is mostly just me trying to collect my thoughts

#honkai impact #honkai rambling #they did Mei so incredibly dirty #I think it was softsapphic who suggested Kiana and Mei should’ve split finality?#and Fu Hua should’ve gotten origin #anyways I really like both those ideas and will probably run with them for rewrites #kiana kaslana #raiden mei #honkai elysia #honkai griseo #honkai durandal #I’ve gotten 4 hours of sleep it’s 3am and there are plows outside and my neighbors are partying #someone please just give me a concussion so I can sleep /j

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gia-is-a-punk-rocker · 10 months

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Y’know besides the general corporate greed of it all what really upsets me about rise of the pink ladies getting taken down is that Jane was the first Puerto Rican character who’s experience I could actually relate to in a musical. (Or really in general tbh)

Like y’know I’m a few gens removed but like… y’know it’s a common family anecdote from my grandmother and her brothers to talk about how every school made their names “whiter”, the favorites being that my grandmother had the same name as an Italian girl but the Italian girl kept her name and there was an issue with her brother applying to college because the name on his birth certificate didn’t match his transcripts. My mom jokes that all the Spanish she knows is curse words and food because that’s all she overheard growing up. I also only know curse words and food and the Hail Mary.

And just… Jane lived the same experience I did. She’s the first character I’ve seen that reflected that really specific feeling of cultural disconnect where you logically know that this is your lineage and this is your culture and you have every right to embrace it but it’s been tucked away and diluted either to appease everyone or protect you where trying to claim it feels awkward and alienating until you get that snap moment of forcing yourself to grab it.

Like… we know the scene where she’s at Ritchie and Olivia’s house, and when their family meets her, they first assume she’s white, then when they’re told she’s Puerto Rican they start rapidly speaking Spanish to her, and she had to awkwardly try to explain that she can’t understand them, knowing they don’t really understand her? IVE FUCKING LIVED THAT EXACT SCENE!!!!! I DAMN NEAR SCREAMED WHEN I SAW IT!!!!!!!!!

And just… that little scene where she tells her mom she never feels enough for either side????? Nearly cried that someone put that into words on screen.

Just like… all the pr rep I’ve ever gotten was on a scale of West Side Story (the only actually Puerto Rican thing in that movie is Rita Morano AND THEY PUT HER IN BROWN FACE-) to In The Heights (which is a fun and great musical but wasn’t an experience I ever got to live) so to actually see a character that has a similar relationship to their culture as me (and also hits a lot of the personality boxes too) was just… super validating????? It was great to have a reminder I’m not the first to live it y’know?

#rise of the pink ladies #kinda sorry for having my weirdly sentimental rambles here but yeah whatever y’all can scroll past if you want #just imagine that one part of take the wheel (you know the part) playing by the end

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dottielovegood · 2 years

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Shadowsinger [erotic audio for women, nsfw] - part 3

Chapter title: Birthday Girl

Chapter one, Chapter two Read this fic here on AO3

Summary: Azriel does audio porn. Elain is a big fan.

(Disclaimer: No, this is not an audio fic) ________________________________________________

“One more shot,” Nuala shouted over the music as she scooted into the booth next to Elain. Cerridwen was on her other side nursing a beer.

“I might die if I take one more,” Elain answered, knowing fully well that she would succumb to the bad influence of the twins. Not that she minded. She really needed this. She had been working way too much and school had been kicking her ass for the last couple of weeks. And she hadn’t been able to sleep well since that handsome man walked into the coffee shop and ruined her life.

Basically, she blamed Shadowsinger for her sleep deprivation. It wasn’t more than fair.

Cerridwen laughed beside her and nudged her arm, “We will all die sooner or later. And I don’t know about you guys, but I’d rather be drunk when I die.” She reached for one of the shots Nuala had placed on the table.

“What is it?” Elain asked, one last attempt to tell herself that multiple shots was never a good idea.

“It was called Orgasmic bliss .” Nuala wiggled her eyebrows. “Sounded like something you might need.”

“Nuala,” Elain gasped, feigning a horrified shocked expression. And failing miserably. “Not in front of Jesus.”

Elain pointed at the man who had been dancing vigorously on the dance floor for the past 30 minutes. His shirt was soaked with sweat and his long hair had earned him the nickname ‘Jesus’.

“From the way he was looking at you earlier, I think he might volunteer to give you a different kind of orgasmic bliss,” Cerridwen said and nudged one of the small glasses closer to Elain. “Come on, birthday girl. You only live once.”

Elain rolled her eyes but picked up the shot. “Live, laugh, love.”

Nuala raised her shot to and shouted, “Carpe fucking diem.”

“I will regret this in the morning,” Elain muttered under her breath and raised her glass to Nuala's.

Cerridwen followed suit. “To orgasms.”

“To orgasms,” Elain and Nuala said in chorus, and then they downed the shots.

It was sweet, an artificial taste of strawberries and cream sliding down her throat. Nuala had wanted to get them tequila but Elain had promptly put her foot down (both literally and figuratively.) She wanted to remember her birthday and if she had tequila, there was a very big possibility that she wouldn’t.

“It was better than the last one,” Cerridwen commented.

Nuala turned to her sister, a teasing grin on her face, “What, you didn’t like the Cum as you are ?”

Cerridwen wrinkled her nose, “whoever came up with that shot should go to jail. The consistency was a bit too accurate.”

“Not in front of Jesus, Cerr.” Nuala teased.

“Sorry Jesus,” she shouted.

And of course, ‘Jesus’ turned around, sending the girls into a giggling fit.

Rita’s was packed tonight. Sweaty bodies dancing closely on the dance floor, people sharing pitchers of beer and couples making out in the corners. Elain hadn’t been out for god knows how long, which was probably why she was already starting to feel a little bit drunk. It felt great. Her mind was finally quiet and she found herself thinking that maybe, just maybe, she would be able to fall asleep and sleep the entire night for once.

That would truly be the best birthday gift she could receive.

“Hey, speaking of orgasms and bodily fluids,” Cerridwen said, leaning forward. “Guess who I saw yesterday?”

“Harry Styles?” Elain guessed without missing a beat.

“Taylor Swift?” Nuala added.

Elain shook her head, “No, I bet it was Gordon Ramsey.”

“If she had seen Gordon Ramsey she would have died on the spot from happiness,” Nuala said. “I think it was…Kanye West.”

“Or Kim Kardashian?”

“Donald Trump?”

“The Queen of England?”

“Shrek?”

“Harry Pott–”

Cerridwen put her hand over Elain’s mouth. “No, you idiots. I don’t even want to know how you connect those people to orgasms and bodily fluids.”

“Harry Styles and Taylor Swift could give me orgasms any day,” Nuala said and raised her half empty glass of beer in a salute to mainly herself. And maybe to Harry Styles and Taylor Swift too, Elain wasn’t sure.

“Yes, I know, you horny heathen. But this isn’t about you.”

“So who is it about then?”

“The birthday girl, of course.”

Elain furrowed her brows. “Me? Did you see my sisters?”

Cerridwen shook her head, a teasing smile on her lips. “Nope. Better.”

“Did you meet someone who said that I have won a hundred billion dollars?”

“Better,” she said, her smile turning into a grin.

“What is better than a hundred billion dollars? I mean, unless I won two hundred billion dollars. That would definitely be better than one hundred–”

“God, you talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Elain lied. “I’m tipsy.”

Nuala patted her back. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

“Okay, you’re not allowed to guess anymore because you obviously suck at it. I saw your sexy stranger,” she exclaimed, holding out her hands to emphasize how amazing this was.

Elain just stared at her. “Who?”

“Oh, don’t play coy. The sexy, dark, brooding, mysterious stranger who ordered a coffee when he actually wanted to order you.”

“I think Elain would like to be ordered around,” Nuala interjected.

Elain could feel her face get hot. Thank god for the dim lights because she definitely didn’t want the twins seeing her blush like this. Because yes, she did like being told what to do by that sexy stranger. She liked it a lot. And she missed it.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Nuala,” Cerridwen said. “Anyway, he came into the coffee shop yesterday.”

“Okay?” Elain tried to seem unaffected by the news when she actually wanted to scream. He had returned to the coffee shop? There was a chance that she might meet him again?

That wasn’t part of her plan.

Her plan was to never think about him or his velvety smooth voice ever again.

“Yes, he came in and said that I was right about the coffee being the best he ever had.” Cerridwen looked smug. “And then…” She dragged that last word out, trying to increase the anticipation. “He asked about you.” Elain, who had just taken a sip of her luke-warm beer, had to cover her nose with her hand as she started coughing. He had what now?

“What?” she was able to croak out.

“Yes, he asked if you were there because, apparently, you are very good at recommending food,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “He looked disappointed when I told him you had a few days off.”

“Oh,” was all Elain could think to answer.

“Oh?” Nuala raised her voice. “That’s all you’re gonna say? OH?”

“Well, he was probably just hungry.”

Nuala rolled her eyes. “You are so clueless. You didn’t think that Jesus was checking you out and now you think that the sexy stranger asked for you because he was freaking hungry. You need to look in a mirror, girl.”

“Jesus was not checking me out. He was just looking for a new dance partner.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Nuala leaned back against the black leather seat. “But aren’t you even a little bit curious why the sexy stranger asked for you?”

Yes, Elain wanted to shout. Yes, she was curious. Of course, she wanted to know why he had asked. She knew that it couldn’t be because he craved cinnamon rolls or other sweet treats, but Elain couldn’t even fathom that he would have any interest in her either. He was Shadowsinger , for god’s sake. He was the man she had dirty fantasies about when she didn’t even know what he looked like.

She touched herself to his voice.

Even if he did want to see her for some reason, she was relieved that she hadn’t been at work that day. And she would never admit that she was curious because she shouldn’t be. He was a sex god and she was…Elain. Plain Elain. She wasn’t funny or exciting. Definitely not exciting enough for someone like him.

Elain knew that she couldn’t keep telling the twins that she didn’t care because they could see right through her. But she couldn’t tell them the full story either, so she went with, “Sure, I admit it. I would like to know why he asked for me. I can’t really think of a good reason since I was a babbling idiot the last time I saw him and we only spoke for a minute. But that doesn’t matter because I will never see him again, so that’s that.”

And I will never hear his voice again, she added silently.

There was a beat of silence between them. Or, it wasn’t really silence since every sound was drowned out by a horrendous remix of an old pop song from the nineties. The twins looked at each other quickly, a silent communication clearly going on between them. Elain took a sip of her beer, trying her very best to ignore the way they were looking at each other, and then at her, and then at the bar. They were probably just trying to decide what shot to order next. Telepathically.

Elain almost laughed at the silly thought when Nuala leaned in closer and said, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“What?”

“I said,'' she gripped Elain’s chin and turned her head toward the bar. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

As soon as the words registered, Elain saw what the twins had been staring at just seconds ago. Or more accurately, who they had been staring at.

It was him.

He was here.

The sexy stranger.

Shadowsinger.

He was here, at the bar she used to visit regularly and god, he looked good. Too good. Looking like that should come with a warning sign.

Tonight, he was dressed in black, easily blending into the darkness of the club. Yet, there was something about him that made him stand out. That made Elain’s eyes seek him out, like a moth to a flame.

She took in the leather boots, the fitted black jeans and the black T-shirt. She let her eyes travel up his body and when she reached his face, she quickly realized her mistake.

Because of fucking course he was looking right at her. And Elain just wanted to sink through the ground because both times they had been in the same room, he had caught her staring.

For a beat, he did nothing but look straight at her, holding her gaze. Then, with a small smirk on his lips, he raised his glass of amber liquid towards her and gave her one single nod. Was that his way of saying hello?

Elain could feel herself blush again, and once more, she was happy that the dark club hid her pink cheeks.

She suddenly felt sober. Or well, not sober, but definitely more tipsy than drunk.

When he turned back to his friend at the bar, Elain realized that she hadn’t been breathing. She took a deep breath and sank down in the booth, reaching for her glass. When she tipped it back, she realized that it was empty.

“Shit,” she muttered and put the glass down more forcefully than she intended.

“Was that a shit, he’s here or a shit, I need more alcohol ?” Cerridwen teased.

“Both,” Elain sighed. “Why is he so good looking?”

The twins laughed and huddled closer to Elain. Probably to make sure that they could all hear each other better.

“I mean, shouldn’t it be illegal to have a face like that when he also has a voice that…” she trailed off, realizing that she almost told her friends way too much.

The twins looked at each other, a puzzled expression on their faces. “Well, well, well,” Nuala said. “I didn’t know you had a voice kink.”

“I don’t,” Elain answered quickly. Too quickly.

She didn’t have a voice kink, per se. It was just his voice that made her kinky.

Elain was very glad that her friends couldn’t read her mind.

“Oh, my god. You do,” Nuala gasped in fake shock. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, stop lying to yourself, El. You think he’s hot and his voice gets you going.”

“No,” Elain muttered, more to herself than anything. She was a bad liar on any normal day, but give her some alcohol and she was the human version of a fountain of truth. She really did have to bite her tongue in order to not blurt out that this very sexy man did audio porn. And that she listened to audio porn. Or used to, at least.

She missed the porn.

Well, that was something she never thought she would say, or even think.

“Please, go talk to him,” Cerridwen said.

“That is definitely out of the question.”

“Why?”

Elain stared at her friend. “What do you mean, why? I can’t talk to him. Firstly, because he is a customer and I…”

“He’s only a customer because he wanted to talk to you, silly. So that’s not a problem. What’s your next excuse?”

Elain worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Well, he is way out of my league. I mean, look at him. He’s all dark and cool and mysterious and I’m…” she gestured at her floral dress. “I’m cute.”

“Yes, you are,” Nuala said. “The cutest. And I bet he thinks so too.”

“Yeah, well. I’m drunk. You know that I get weird when I’m drunk.”

Cerridwen patted her knee. “Good thing you’re only tipsy then, because tipsy Elain is talkative and clingy…”

“Yeah, and those are traits most men don’t like.”

“That’s because most men are idiots,” Nuala said with a little too much enthusiasm.

Elain laughed, “says the bisexual.”

Nuala shrugged and finished her beer. “Well, look at that. All the glasses are empty.” She gestured to the array of glasses on the table. “Whatever should we do about it?”

Before Elain could answer that maybe it was time to go home, Cerridwen snapped her fingers, “You know, I think it’s Elain’s turn to get the drinks.”

“Oh my god, my very smart sister. I think you’re right.”

Elain eyes went from her friends to the bar (where a certain stranger still stood), and then back again. “I–I don’t..”

“It’s only fair.” Nuala pushed back the glasses on the table to make room for new drinks. “I’ll have a beer.”

Elain turned to her friend. “But I’m the birthday girl,” she pouted. “I shouldn’t have to get my own drinks.”

“Fine,” Cerridwen snapped. “I’ll get the drinks, but you are going to help me carry them.”

Before Elain could protest, she was being dragged through the dark bar. Jesus was still dancing like a maniac, which was fitting since the DJ had decided to play that Maniac song from the Flashdance soundtrack. It had been one of Elain’s favorite movies growing up.

Elain felt hot. Now that she was standing up, she definitely felt more drunk than tipsy, or at least somewhere in between the two. Another drink would surely push her over the edge.

She looked down as she walked, cursing herself for wearing heels. She smoothed a hand over her thigh-length dress. Why had she worn this dress? It made her look young and inexperienced. Like someone who spent their time frollicing in fields while singing about hills being alive. She stuck out like a sore thumb among the people wearing dark clothes and sneakers.

“What do you want?” Cerrdidwen’s voice cut through her inner monologue. Elain looked around and realized they had made it to the bar. “I–-uh…”

Her friend shook her head and turned back to face the bartender, “She’ll have a beer too.”

Elain just nodded, not really caring about the drink because at that very second, she realized exactly what her friend had done.

She had squeezed in next to the sexy stranger. He was standing with his back against them, talking to a very big man with a man bun. He was almost as handsome as Shadowsinger, in a burly kind of way.

The only thing separating Elain and Shadowsinger at this very moment was Cerridwen’s body. Elain knew that she had done this on purpose. She leaned in closer so she could speak in her friend’s ear, “Seriously?”

Feigning innocence, Cerridwen just smiled at Elain. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

What happened next felt like a scene playing out in slow motion in front of Elain’s eyes. The bartender put their drinks on the bar and reached for the bill Cerridwen had put down. But she didn’t reach for the drinks.

No, she took a step back.

She took a step back and just happened to bump into Shadowsinger. Elain could do nothing but stare at the smug look on Cerridwen's face as he turned around. “Oh,” she mouthed and if Elain hadn’t been frozen in place, she might have turned around and bolted out of the bar.

“I’m so sorry,” Cerridwen exclaimed and turned around to face the man. Elain didn’t dare to look at his face so she forced her eyes to focus on his hands. He was still holding his drink, thank god. This would have been even worse if her friend had made him spill his drink.

“That’s okay,” he said, his voice louder than Elain had ever heard it.

Of course it’s louder. He’s not whispering in your ear, telling you to be a good girl for him.

He was looking at Cerridwen for a second before recognition dawned on his face, “Oh, I recognize you.”

“Well, it is said that you never forget the person who gives you your best cup of coffee.”

Elain could hear him chuckle and she decided to dare a glance at his face. Just one. And at that same moment, he shifted his gaze too. Their eyes met and Elain could feel her mouth go dry. There was such intensity in his eyes. And he was so freaking hot. And she was drunk and her friend was a traitor.

“Hi,” he said, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Hello,” Elain answered. She hoped that she sounded confident, but she doubted it. She reached for one of the glasses on the bar just to have something to do with her hands. The glass was cold and wet and for a second, Elain thought about just running back to their booth. His eyes were too intense now and he looked like some sort of dark angel as he stood there in front of her. From this distance, she could see tattoos peek out from underneath the sleeves of his shirt. They looked like shadows wrapping around his strong arms.

The things he could do with those arms… Elain blinked hard to force her mind out of the gutter and when she focused her eyes on her friend, she was staring at her with a shit eating grin.

“You know what, “ Cerridwen said. “I really need to pee.”

Elain shook her head, trying to silently tell her friend to stay. When Cerridwen started walking toward the bathroom, Elain shouted, “Do you need me to come with you?”

“No, I’ve had a lot to drink. I’ll probably pee for like fifteen minutes.” And then she was gone, swallowed up in the crowd.

When Elain turned back, he was looking at her with an amused expression. She wished she knew what he was thinking. And she also wished that he would go away.

“Well, I should get back to my other friend,” Elain said just as he said, “The cinnamon bun was great.”

Elain blinked at him, “what?”

“The cinnamon bun,” he repeated, “The one you recommended. It was great.”

“Oh, I’m glad. I made those,” she said, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. He didn’t care if she had baked something. He was just being polite.

His eyebrows shot up slightly, “really?”

Elain nodded. She had no idea what to say. Why was she so awkward? Why hadn’t the alcohol made her talkative yet?

“Do you know each other?” a voice behind Shadowsinger asked.

Elain had totally forgotten about the man with the man bun but now he was her favorite person in the world because he had just saved her from a very awkward situation.

Elain shook her head to say no, but Shadowsinger answered before she got the chance. “She works at the coffee shop, you know the one by the river.”

A look of confusion passed over Man Bun’s face, but then something must have dawned on him because his face split into a giant smile. “Oh, is this coffee girl?”

Elain stared at him. Coffee girl? What the hell?

“Cassian,” Shadowsinger said through gritted teeth. It sounded like a threat.

Man Bun, or Cassian, picked up his drink from the bar and patted Shadowsinger on the back, giving him a look Elain didn’t understand. “You know what, I suddenly have the urge to dance.” He turned to Elain. “It was nice meeting you, coffee girl.”

And then he was off.

And she was alone with the only man who had ever made her come.

Elain hated her brain.

The man in front of her shifted on his feet, looking a bit uncomfortable. Elain was glad to see it. And just to make it even more awkward (because why not?), she asked, “Why did he call me coffee girl?”

He looked at the dance floor and then back at Elain, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“I might have told him about you”

Elain stared at him, not knowing what to say to that. Had she heard him correctly? “What?”

He let out a deep breath. “I might have told him that there was a very beautiful girl at a coffee shop I visited a few weeks ago. He came up with the nickname.”

Elain had stopped listening after ‘beautiful’. He thought that she was beautiful?

“What?” she asked again because apparently, her brain was unable to form any other word.

He chuckled and scratched his head. “I’m sorry if it’s weird and please tell me to fuck off if I make you uncomfortable.”

Elain shook her head, willing him to continue. She needed him to continue.

“I came by the coffee shop a few days ago,” he said. “I might have asked for you.”

“Yeah, my friend just told me.”

“Did she now?” he leaned an elbow against the bar, the stance making him look a bit cocky. Elain had no idea why she liked it. “I thought that she might.”

“Why did you ask for me? Did you want another recommendation for a sweet treat?”

His eyes left her face and traveled down her body, taking her in. He was looking at her as if she was a sweet treat. Her drunken mind really liked that.

“No,” he said after what felt like a small eternity. Elain had to press her thighs together when his gaze returned to hers. What was he doing to her?

She told herself that she felt like this because she knew what he did for a living. If she hadn’t listened to his audios, she wouldn’t find him this attractive. It was just her brain playing tricks on her. Her brain and the alcohol.

“Okay,” she said, feeling uncertain now. She had no idea what was going on. She glanced back at the booth she had spent the majority of the evening at but the twins weren’t there. She scanned the venue until she found her friends - with Jesus. They were crazy dancing with Jesus. Elain rolled her eyes and suppressed a smile. They looked like idiots.

“What’s your name?” Shadowsinger asked, pulling her attention back to him. She took a sip from her beer. She probably shouldn’t drink more but there was some sort of comfort in having something to focus on that wasn’t the tall, sexy man in front of her.

“Elain.”

With a gentle smile, he said, “That’s definitely better than coffee girl.” He reached his hand out in front of her. “I’m Azriel.”

She looked at his hand and thought that it was a bit odd, and a bit old fashioned, to offer her a handshake. And since Elain had always liked all things odd and old fashioned, she took his hand. “Well, that’s better than…” Elain shut her mouth quickly, looking at their clasped hands in horror. She had almost called him Shadowsinger.

“Better than what?” he asked when she didn’t continue. He had let go of her hand and Elain hoped that he didn’t think that the condensation from the beer was hand sweat.

“Uh,” she started, scrambling for anything to say. “It’s better than not knowing your name.”

He regarded her for a moment, clearly knowing that she had been about to say something else. But he let it go. Thank fuck.

“So, Elain,” he said, and she felt a shiver run down her spine when he said her name in that velvety voice of his. “What brings you to Rita’s tonight?”

“Oh, I’m here with my friends. They kind of forced me to go out.” She pointed to Nuala and Cerridwen on the dance floor. With a shrug, she added, “It’s my birthday.”

He clinked his glass to hers. “Happy birthday.” He took a sip from his almost-empty glass and Elain followed suit.

“Thank you.”

“So, how many birthdays have you had before this one?”

Elain couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. “Is that your way of asking me how old I am?”

Azriel cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“Haven’t your mother told you that it’s rude to ask a lady how old she is?”

“She has,” he said, setting down his empty glass on the bar. He stepped closer to her and Elain was certain that she had stopped breathing again. He leaned down, his face just centimeters from hers. His breath on her ear gave her goosebumps all over her body. “Are you a lady then?” he asked, his voice low and oh so inviting.

Elain had no idea what to say to that. She had no idea what he was asking her. Well, actually, she did have one guess, but no… He couldn’t be asking her that , because that would definitely bring this conversation into flirting territory, and he wasn’t flirting with her. Right?

“I turn twenty five today,” she blurted out. She’d rather tell him her age than answer his question since she had no idea what the answer would be.

He hummed, the sound making her shiver again. He stood up straight, his eyes focusing on her’s again. They looked almost black in the dim lights.

“So, how old are you?” Elain asked. For some reason that she didn’t understand, she wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Twenty nine.”

She nodded. She would have guessed that he was older than her, but 29 wasn’t too bad. A four year age difference was okay.

Okay for what? she asked herself. It’s not like they were in a relationship. For all she knew, he had a girlfriend.

Elain desperately hoped he didn’t.

“So, has your day been good so far?” he asked.

“Yes. I finished an assignment that I have been working on for the past week and then I had dinner with my sisters. And then I came here.”

He nodded, listening intently to every word - which was impressive since the music was so loud. Elain had almost forgotten the music and all the people around her. She was too focused on Azriel.

Azriel . That was a great name. It sounded like something from a fantasy novel, she thought to herself. Like a fallen angel that lives a dark and dangerous life until he finds his soulmate and has to fight demons and all kinds of creatures to keep her safe.

“You go to school?” he asked and Elain had a feeling that he also wanted to keep the conversation going. She had no idea why. She wasn’t being particularly interesting.

“Yes. I’m taking a business class. I want to open my own bakery.”

“Impressive,” he commented. “You’ll probably have people lining up within the first week. I should know, I have tasted your buns after all.”

Elain’s eyebrows shot up and she couldn’t keep the laughter down. When Azriel realized what he had said, he started laughing too. “Shit, that came out wrong.”

Elain waved her hand in front of her, trying to calm herself. “No, it’s fine,” she said, her voice still full of laughter. “Thank you for saying that. I mean, the part about people lining up.”

“It’s the truth.” He was still smiling at her. Elain raised her glass to her lips to take another sip of beer when someone bumped into her from behind. She jerked forward, dropping her drink as she reached her hands in front of herself instinctively. She heard the glass smash on the floor just as her hands found something firm and warm.

Azriel’s chest. Her hands were splayed on Azriel’s chest, his heart beating steadily beneath her palm. He reached out, gripping her waist to steady her. He was so close now. So close, and he smelled so nice. Elain looked up and met eyes full of concern.

When he saw that she was okay, he looked over at the man behind her. “Hey, asshole. Watch it.”

There was venom in his voice now. Something sinister slithering from him as he cursed the man who had pushed Elain. Unfortunately, Elain realized as she looked back, the man who had pushed her was Jesus, and he was drunk as a skunk. He just laughed at Azriel and gave him a thumbs up. Up close, Jesus looked nothing like Jesus. He was white and blonde, but the sweat had turned his hair a darker color. He smelled like stale beer and regret.

Elain was thankful that Azriel ignored the other man after that. She hated it when men protected girls with violence and if Azriel had done something like that, she would have been out that door sooner rather than later.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still holding on to her waist.

Elain stood up straighter, letting her hands fall back to her sides. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “All good.”

Azriel motioned for the bartender and told him about the broken glass on the ground. He nodded towards the entrance, “Want to get some fresh air?”

Elain froze. She had heard about guys asking girls to leave a club with them before, and they only wanted sex. At least according to Nesta. And it wasn’t that Elain didn’t want to have sex with Azriel - it was just that she couldn’t. Not only was she a bit drunk, but she also knew something about him that made everything more complicated. And to top that off, she had never had a one night stand before. She didn’t think that this would be a good time to change that.

Elain opened her mouth to tell him no, but that’s not what came out.

“I don’t like one night stands.”

That’s it. Elain was never drinking again. Never ever. She wanted to turn into the puddle of beer at her feet, slowly seeping into the floor. Azriel must think that she is the weirdest person ever.

She wouldn’t blame him.

But when she met his gaze again, there was amusement dancing in his eyes. “Me neither,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “But I do like fresh air.”

Elain closed her eyes for a second. She was warm. Hot. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and alcohol and her shoes were covered in beer. Air sounded like a splendid idea.

She nodded, not daring to open her mouth again. She never knew when drunk-Elain would make an unwelcome appearance.

Azriel led her through the crowd, only stopping to say something in his friend's ear as they passed him. Cassian the Man Bun nodded and looked at Elain. “If he’s being an ass, it’s totally okay to kick him in the balls,” he told her, a big smile on his face. Azriel rolled his eyes. Then, Cassian came closer and leaned down to whisper something to Elain.

“But in all honesty, he’s not an ass. He can seem a bit cold, but I promise he’s not.”

“You done, Cass?” Azriel interrupted, leaving Elain feeling confused. Why would he tell her that?

“Yep! I found a new friend anyway,” he nodded toward the dance floor. “Don’t wait up.” He winked at Azriel and walked away.

Azriel shook his head, as if this was a regular occurance between the two of them.

“Do you live together?” Elain asked.

“God no. We haven’t lived together since we shared a dorm room in college.”

As soon as they stepped outside, Elain felt as if she was breathing for the first time in her life. It was a chilly night but she welcomed the cold air on her hot skin. The pavement was full of people. Most were huddled together and smoking cigarettes, some were waiting for taxis or friends.

Azriel walked a few steps and leaned against the wall. He took a deep breath and in the glow of the street light, Elain couldn’t help but admire the beauty of this man. He wasn’t just hot and sexy - he was beautiful. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and his t-shirt was pulled tight over his muscled chest.

The chest she had been touching just moments ago.

She blushed at the thought. Azriel looked at her, an expression on his face that she hadn’t seen before.

“You’re cute when you blush.”

And that just made her blush even more. She decided to ignore that comment because she had no idea what to say.

Elain stepped closer, but not close enough to touch him. She stood in front of Azriel, her shoes almost touching his boots. “So, you know what I do for a living, but I know nothing about you.”

That was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that. She wondered if he would admit that he did audio porn. Elain knew that it was more socially acceptable to do such things nowadays, but she didn’t know if anyone would tell a stranger about it.

He chuckled. The deep, warm sound made its way straight to Elain core. “Yeah, I’m very mysterious.”

“Like a villain in a fantasy novel.”

“A villain?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Or maybe a morally gray character that is able to redeem himself at the end.”

“Definitely better than a villain,” he laughed. “I’ll take it.”

“What would your powers be?” she asked him, definitely feeling the effects of talkative, tipsy Elain now.

“My powers?”

“Yes. If you’re a character in a fantasy novel, you need to have some sort of power. Like magic or having an army of dragons.”

He smiled at her, his brown eyes warm and kind. “An army of dragons sounds cool as fuck, not gonna lie. But I would probably like to be more stealthy. Maybe I’d be a spy or something. I’d definitely be really good with a sword.”

Elain had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying something inappropriate.

“How about you? What would your powers be?”

Elain pretended to think about her answer, but in all honesty - she had been thinking about this since she was nine and read her first Harry Potter book.

“I would be a witch. I would do spells and potions and things. Maybe grow my own herbs and use them to do magic.”

“You’ve thought about this before,” he teased.

“Maybe.”

“What kind of spells would you do then?”

“Oh, you know. Just the standard spells. Love spells. Conjuring demons. And if someone hurt my friends, I could make them regret it.”

Azriel laughed, the sound turning Elain’s insides warm. “Remind me to not get on your bad side.”

What would you do, Azriel? What would you do if I did something bad? she wondered. Would you punish me? Torture me? Tease me?

Elain shivered at the thought.

“Cold?” he asked.

She shook her head quickly. “No. Are you?”

“No, I’m still quite hot.”

“Yes, you are.” The words fell from her mouth before she could stop them. Stupid, tipsy Elain.

“So are you.”

Okay, maybe tipsy Elain wasn’t that bad after all because he was definitely flirting with her, and she would gladly let him. There was just something about him that made her feel at ease. He made her feel comfortable. Safe. Even though they just met, Elain somehow trusted him.

She smiled at him. “So, are you ever going to tell me what you do, Azriel?”

His eyes turned darker when she said his name. “You sure you want to know?”

Oh god, was this it? Would he really tell her?

“Yes, I can handle it.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m a software engineer.”

“What?” That was definitely not the answer she had expected.

“I know, it’s not very mysterious,” he chuckled.

“But you’re not,” she said before she could tell herself to keep her mouth closed. She couldn’t explain it, but the fact that he lied to her made her irritated. He didn’t owe her the truth, of course not. But her brain wasn't making much sense right now. She blamed the beer. And the orgasmic bliss.

“I’m not mysterious?” one corner of his mouth quirked up.

“No, I mean… you’re not an engineer.”

“I’m not? I guess I better call my boss and let him know.”

Elain finally regained control over herself and her stupid mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“No. You did mean to. The question is just why you said that.” He narrowed his eyes and looked at her closely, as if he was trying to see right through her.

“It was nothing, I’m sorry,” she tried to laugh it away but the laugh sounded hollow. “I blame the beer.” She looked away from him. She focused on the graffitied wall behind him, trying to make sense of the shapes there. She couldn’t look at him. She had fucked everything up.

“I should go,” she murmured, but before she could make a move she felt his fingers on her chin, turning her face back to him. And for the third time tonight, she stopped breathing. His hands felt hot on her skin. Hot and coarse. When he let go, she realized that they were covered in scars.

She hadn’t noticed that before.

“Why did you think I did something else for a living, Elain?”

She forced herself to hold his gaze. Forced herself to not run away. He let go of her chin and she desperately wanted his hands back on her.

“I–I thought you did something else, but I was clearly mistaken. I’m sorry.” She really was sorry. And she also doubted herself. What if she was wrong. What if Shadowsinger and Azriel really were voice twins and not actually the same person?

Had she deleted that app without any real reason to do so?

“No, there’s clearly something you’re not telling me.”

“We’re strangers. There’s a lot of things I’m not telling you.” she scoffed, feeling defensive.

He opened his mouth to say something but Elain beat him to it. “You’re not telling me everything either. Like, why did you ask for me at the coffee shop the other day?”

“Because I wanted to ask for your number,” he said without missing a beat.

“You– what? Why?”

He shook his head, laughing silently as if that had been a silly question. “Because you’re beautiful. And a little weird.”

“You wanted my number because I’m weird?”

He shrugged. “What can I say, I have a type.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “which is?”

“I’m starting to think that you’re my type.” He held her gaze as he stepped away from the wall and stood up to his full height. Elain had to look up in order to look at him properly. He was so close now. If she stood on her toes and he just bent down a little, their lips would meet.

“Oh,” Elain said, clearly not feeling as confident anymore.

“Why did you think I worked as something else?” he asked again and Elain knew that she couldn’t avoid the question anymore. Maybe it was for the better.

Azriel was proving to not only be good looking. He was also funny and interesting and easy to talk to. And he was flirting with her. If Elain wanted to have any chance of dating him, she knew that she had to tell him what she knew. It would come out sooner or later anyway, and sooner seemed like the better alternative.

“I just… I thought you did something else. Or maybe you have two jobs, what do I know? I’m probably mistaken.”

There was an expression on his face that she couldn’t decipher. “And what is it you think I do?”

She kept her voice low just so no one nearby would hear her. “Audio porn.” The words were barely audible.

“What?” he asked, leaning down to hear her more clearly.

“Audio porn.”

The air grew still between them. Elain counted each of Azriel’s breaths as she waited for a reaction. There was the possibility that he would have no idea what she was talking about. He might find her disgusting for saying such a thing and walk away, leaving her all alone outside Rita’s.

But there was also a chance that he did know.

There was a chance that he was Shadowsinger.

She had counted ten breaths when he finally spoke. “And what if I do?”

It was not the response she had expected.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned in close, his lips almost touching her ear as he said, “You’re a smart girl, you know what I mean.”

She let out a shaky breath. “It wouldn’t matter.”

“No?”

“No.”

“And why do you think I do audio porn, Elain?”

His voice was barely a whisper, and Elain had no doubt in her mind that the man in front of her was Shadowsinger. Azriel was Shadowsinger. He was all of her dirty fantasies combined.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of his breath against her skin. “I might have recognized your voice.”

“Yeah? Is that why you could barely look at me that day at the coffee shop?”

Elain nodded, her mouth too dry to form words. She closed her eyes. He was so close. Their bodies were almost pressed together, his lips almost touching her skin.

“Hmm,” he murmured. “and is that why you blush so prettily when you’re around me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, unable to tell a single lie.

Azriel shifted so that he was looking at her again. Gone was the kind warmth in his eyes - there was only fire now. “Did you like it? Did you like listening to me in the middle of the night?”

Elain couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t tell him that he was the only thing that could make her relax and fall asleep. She couldn’t tell him how much she had liked his audios, and how much she missed them.

“So, it’s true? It really is you?” she asked instead, even though she already knew the answer.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.” He tucked a strand of her long, golden hair behind her ear.

Once again, she cursed her body for blushing so easily. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she nodded. “I liked it.”

With a purely male grin, he whispered, “you look so innocent, who would have guessed that you like porn?”

“I don’t. I just like your voice,” Elain said, needing to defend herself. She didn’t want him to think that she was into porn in general. “Is it weird?” she asked, taking a step back just to get some space between them. She couldn’t think when he was so close.

“Is what weird?”

“That I know that about you.”

“No, Elain. It’s not. But I must admit, you’re the only person who has ever recognized my voice. Is it weird for you?”

She shook her head. “It was weird when I tried to pretend like I didn’t recognize your voice.”

“Is that why you gave me the wrong cup? Did I make you nervous?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Do you like it?”

“Like what?”

Elain lowered her voice again, “doing audio porn.”

“I did. Have you checked the dates on that website recently?”

“No. I deleted the app.”

“Why?”

“Well, I couldn’t very well listen to that when I knew what you looked like.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled. “But if you for some reason download the app again,” he winked at her, “you’ll see that I haven’t uploaded anything since 2020”.

“Oh, why not?”

“That’s a story for another time,” he said. His voice had gone back to normal now, and Elain realized that she liked his normal voice almost as much as she liked his seductive, sexy whispers.

There was a beat of silence. The door to the club opened and the horrendous music from the dance floor filled the air. Elain bit the inside of her lower lip - a nervous habit. She had no idea what to say. No idea what to ask. She thought that it would feel awkward to ask him about the audios, but it didn’t. And the way he had answered had only made her want him more.

Because god, she wanted this man. She had never felt such raw attraction before and she needed him to not walk away from her now. He had to stay, just for a little while.

“Do you want to go back inside?” She asked the first question that popped into her mind.

“No.” he answered, his eyes still intensely focused on her.

“Oh, okay.” Elain looked down at her shoes. Her feet were so much smaller than his. “What do you want to do now then?”

Without missing a beat, his hand came up to cradle her cheek. Elain leaned into his warmth, her eyes never leaving his. “I really want to kiss you, Elain.” Once again, his voice was dangerously low, making her insides melt.

Elain was certain that her heart stopped for just a second. Even though she wouldn’t admit it, she had thought about kissing him since the first time she heard his voice. His eyes were like molten lava as he waited for her answer. There was fire and heat and darkness in them - in him. It promised all kinds of things that she didn’t dare think about.

For the second time this evening, she placed her hands on his chest. His heart was beating faster now and Elain felt smug knowing that she affected him in some way.

She stood up on her toes, bringing her face, and her lips, closer to him. She had no idea where this confidence came from but she intended to make the most of it. “That sounds like a very good idea.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low and raspy as he closed the remaining gap between them. His hand went to her neck, tilting her face just the way he wanted it. Elain’s eyes fluttered shut as he brought his lips to hers.

It was soft at first, his lips just gently grazing hers. He tasted like winter and whiskey. Elain balled her hands into fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt. When she deepened the kiss, he let out a groan. Swiftly, he turned them around so that Elain’s back was against the wall. His body was pressed even closer now and she could feel just how much he wanted her.

She teased his bottom lip with her tongue and he opened up for her, letting her in.

Offer and permission.

For a few moments, Elain forgot about the club and her friends and the world. All of her senses were full of Azriel - the feeling of his muscular chest under her palms, the taste of him, his scent. It was enough to drive her crazy.

She moved her hands to her neck, pulling him even closer. She needed more. Needed things she didn’t even know how to ask for. One of her legs hooked around his waist and he moved his hand to graze her thigh, his lips never leaving hers. The kiss was hot, passionate. She didn’t feel the cold or the rough texture of the wall. She only felt him.

Only wanted him.

“Azriel,” she moaned as he pressed himself closer between her legs. She was so wet. So desperate for more. She wanted him to tell her all the dirty things he could do to her. She wanted–

“Get a room,” someone shouted, effectively bringing them both back to reality. Azriel leaned his forehead against hers. “Fuck,” he groaned, kissing her gently again.

“Maybe we should…” Elain started but she didn’t get a chance to finish because Azriel let go of her thigh, smoothing her dress down.

“We should probably continue this another time.” He nodded towards the entrance where Nuala and Cerridwen stood. “Somewhere private.”

They twins were staring at them, an amused expression on both of their faces. As soon as Elain met Nuala’s gaze, Nuala gave her a thumbs up.

“Sorry about them,” she said, feeling her cheeks grow hot again.

“Don’t be,” Azriel said and stroked her cheek. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have talked to me if your friend hadn’t accidentally bumped into me earlier.”

Elain smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I better get going. They live on the other side of town so they’re staying with me tonight.”

“Lucky bastards,” Azriel chuckled. “Can I see you again?”

“Yes.” Elain realized that she seemed a bit too enthusiastic about the prospect of seeing him again but she couldn’t muster up the energy to care. She wasn’t the kind of girl that pretended to be all cool and mysterious and unaffected. When she wanted something, she usually made it pretty clear.

With a smile, he handed her his phone. “Put your number in here and I’ll text you.”

Elain did exactly that, making sure to check the number twice before saving it and handing the phone back to Azriel.

“So,” she started, not feeling very confident when she knew that her friends were following her every move. “I’ll see you around?”

“Definitely.”

Elain walked over to her friends glancing behind her one last time. But he wasn’t there. It was as if he had stepped into the shadows and just disappeared.

Weird.

“Dry humping against a wall, huh?” Nuala said and wiggled her eyebrows. “So much for not wanting to talk to him.”

“Well, technically, they weren’t talking,” Cerridwen said.

“And technically, you both are a pain in my ass.”

“You love us.” Nuala draped her arm over Elain’s shoulders.

“Yes I do.”

When Elain came home that night, she found that she had two new messages from an unknown number. Her drunken eyes made it a bit difficult to focus on the text, but she managed after a bit of concentration.

Unknown Did you get home safely?

Unknown This is Azriel by the way

Elain smiled to herself and added him as a contact in her phone.

Elain I did!

She thought back on the night. It still felt unreal. She had kissed Shadowsinger.

Shadowsinger was Azriel. Azriel was Shadowsinger. And Elain had definitely enjoyed kissing him. Kissing him was even better than listening to his voice telling her to touch herself.

Her lips still tingled from the taste of him. Her body still buzzed with energy from the way he had touched her. It also buzzed from the alcohol she had consumed, which might explain the next message she sent.

Elain You have a very nice voice.

His answer came less than a minute later:

Azriel Shadowsinger Want to go on a date with me?

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