#i saw the album cover and was like 'I must draw him..' and i blacked out and woke up to this

[glorber]

i drew snape as a voltaire album cover wdljfndskfj

[seeminglydark]

hi! is there are reason that you decided that cassette tapes would be john’s chosen form of physical media? how would john organize his music (i.e., genre, band name, release date) and what would john keep his cassettes in? i can imagine him either having stuff in old shoe boxes or a cassette case that he hand-painted himself!

Yes! It's my personal favorite form of media, I'm really partial to cassettes, i think from growing up in the early 90's when it was the norm, so imprinted on my brain. I love mix tapes, jumping up to smash the record button when my fave tune came on the radio, so id always miss the first 10 seconds haha, my first several cars had tape decks. i love Walkmans, it was such a HUGE thing in my life to be able to put headphones on and take my music with me for the first time. I translate a lot of that nostalgia to john. I always imagine him with his Walkman and headphones, or small portable stereo, in bed with all the lights off except the white christmas lights that criss cross his ceiling, Creaky on his chest, listening to the episodes on repeat.

John organizes his music by How Much he Currently Likes A Band, grouped by band name and then oddly enough by album color. (so if he had several cassettes by say, Social D, they'd be next to each other in rainbow or light to dark.) He does most things by color, he's slower at reading and alphabetizing is a bit of a chore and makes him feel self-conscious and stressed. He doesn't mix music and books on tape, they each have their own shelf. He does rearrange a LOT.

Right again re: shoe box and painting the cases! I actually wrote a little snippet of this a long long time ago that didn't make it into the comic, but you can have it now, under the cut.

'Caro eyes a shoe box on the shelf curiously, its covered in stickers, anti fascism and punk rock bands. 'Can i look at this?' they ask, he nods, his back to them. They pull it down and settle it in their lap, lifting off the top to discover... cassette tapes! Oh wait, John did say Maddie recorded their show for him onto cassettes. There were at least 40, all lined up in the order of episodes. Caro pulled one out, the white paper inside the case was filled in with bright colors and shapes, elaborate images of ghosts and snakes and monsters. They pulled out another. A cartoon portrait of the little blond, violet eyes wide at the barrage of brightly colored spirits hovering behind them. 'Is this me?' they ask out loud. John turns to look and freezes. 'Oh….' embarrassed. 'Uh yeah…' 'Wow the art is so…?' they murmur, pulling out another, this one done in greens and blues with metallics. 'Ive never seen anything like these before?' They saw a lot of fanart, but this was different somehow. It felt more personal. Like the person who made them really put their soul into it, like it wasn't just fanart to the artist, but something really deeply important. 'I…um….' Johns face is bright red now..' um…I mean, you know I dont have social media..' he reminds them softly, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Wait.' Caro looks up, he's so flustered now, shuffling his feet, ears on fire. 'These are YOURS? You did these?' Somehow they've forgotten he used to fill up notebooks with colorful drawings, street art and tagging. Liquid letters and cartoon animals with thick black outlines. 'Sure.' He shrugs and turns away, back to them again, 'I would draw on them while listening, you know. It just felt kinda sad to leave them blank. Maddie showed me some of the fanart online, and the box set of the first season. I can't do the same kind of art, I'm not good like those other people, but…I didn't want to leave them blank, so I made my own I guess.' he pauses. 'I'm sorry…you must think I'm so fucking weird.' 'I don't think its weird…' they murmur looking at the tapes. 'I think its really cool. I didn't know you were such a talented artist.' He laughs, a short bark that sounds like a cough. They put the box gently back on the shelf, and sit on the bed, deciding to spare him. They can see he's smiling though, even if he's trying to hide it with his fist pressed against his lips.'

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 4 November 1954

The end of 1954 is gradually approaching - I hadn't noticed, but some of these "weeks" have actually been two weeks, as I assume there was a week where nothing new came into the charts, just some position changes. I wonder if this is a pattern that will keep going or not into the present?

Rain, Rain, Rain - Frankie Laine and the Four Lads (peaked at No. 8)

The title and artist here rhyme in a pleasing fashion. I can only imagine the radio presenters gleefully announcing "And now, Rain, Rain, Rain by Frankie Laine." Or maybe that's just a me thing...

Then it starts, and it's clear to me that this is an immediate improvement on There Must Be a Reason. There's energy, there's attitude, there's a bit of fun. And of course, Frankie's still in religion mode, but it seems like he's finally worked out how to make a religious song fun!

The song's basically about the story of Noah, building an ark and then - you guessed - it rained, rained, rained, just as God has promised. There's also a strong emphasis on the sinful nature of the antediluvian word (now there's a word I didn't expect to have to use on this project) with talk of how God "Beheld the evil of the sinful man; / Declared that he would destroy the land". We even get a bit of metaphor telling us how "The ringing of the saw cried "Judgement" / The ringing of the hammer cried "Sinner repent". Plus, the ending is also quite fire and brimstone, with God saving Noah and giving him the rainbow sign, but then promising (expanding on what the Bible actually says) that "It won't be a rain but fire next time". It's a properly sinister moment in a song that seems geared to scare its listeners straight.

The stylings of it all seem to be drawing very heavily from traditionally black gospel music, from the explicitly gospel subject matter, to some of the vocal stylings and pronunciations of words. None of the artists involved come from this kind of background - Laine was a Catholic, and the Four Lads were a white Canadian quartet of singers, but they apparently did a whole album of vaguely gospel-tinged music.

It's also - rather unexpectedly - an unmistakably rock and roll-tinged song. Which might be a first? I didn't expect it to be Frankie Laine who got that honour, but the song is dripping in rock and roll, from the organ chords after the opening "Rain, rain, rain", to the double bass, to the 12-bar blues progression near the end (if I'm not mistaken). The gospel influences are just as strong, but then again, that was often the case in early rock and roll, so... eh, good enough.

I feel like the real story here is possibly about how it's profitable for singers like Frankie Laine to take the musical material and stylings of black artists (who are popular, but still aren't getting a regular look-in in these charts) and to repackage it for white listening audiences. Plenty of ink has been spilled on this already, and I'm not adding anything, but I figured it ought to be mentioned here - in a patter I imagine we'll only be seeing more of in the weeks to come, this song is steeped in black creativity, even if it's officially coming from the mouth of Frankie Laine and four whitebread natives of Toronto.

If I Give My Heart to You - Joan Regan (3)

Well, this is a British cover of Doris Day's American original, and it seems to have done marginally better chart-wise than Doris' version. I... don't have much to say about that, actually. They're remarkably similar, to the point where you wonder why a cover was needed.

I wonder sometimes with these covers if people maybe just wanted a copy of the song, and didn't care so much about the artist? Either that, or licencing / royalties made it more economically feasible to do lots of covers, and these were just raw cash-grabs? Or it was hard to get ahold of American songs, so a British artist would just cover them? I guess there wasn't any obvious way of checking you'd got the right version of a song, so if you'd just heard Doris' on the radio a few times and liked it, you'd probably be pretty pleased with this, too, especially since Joan doesn't change much.

Often these British covers seem to be a little lower-rent than their American counterparts, but this is an exception to that rule. It's dripping with strings - if not necessarily to the extent of Doris' version - and, in what I think might actually be an improvement on the original, we get a full brass band solo, which is gloriously rich in its harmonies for the brief little bit we hear it in. The muted trumpet vamping over the end of the track is also delightful. Really, the instrumentation here is spot-on, I enjoy it more than I expected to.

Well, there you go. Two very serviceable songs than I in no way would have listened to before starting this project. I enjoyed both, and Rain, Rain, Rain's gospel/rock and roll style in particular was like a breath of fresh air after the balladeering and novelty songs and operatically sweeping numbers we've had so far. It feels like the future, in a low-key way.

Favourite song of the bunch: Rain, Rain, Rain

[2manyfandoms2count]

Four months later, my contribution for the @mlwritersguild April event! The prompts were the snake, ladybug, cat, ticket and treble emojis.

Note: I started writing this after Truth and Lie aired, and I tweaked it to be set after Gang of Secrets, but before the rest of the season; it's basically what I hoped would happen before all of the Ladynoir drama unfolded this season. I hope you'll enjoy this take!

Read on AO3

---

Of irony and trust

Sometimes, Ladybug liked to take a break and muse about how ironic life could be. The topic of such instances varied from I got grounded for skipping class and of all the places in Paris, the one I had to sneak out to because of a freaking Akuma happened to be the place I would have been in had I not been grounded in the first place to I’m the holder of a luck-associated divine artefact, yet out of two love letters and a constipation medicine prescription, guess which one ended in my crush’s hands .

Tonight’s boiled down to being caught stalking her ex-boyfriend (if they’d ever made it to the defining part of their relationship) in, granted, a fairly discrete manner, since she’d been transformed at the time, to check he was still doing okay after his akumatisation, and ending up not only being thanked for her concern and for saving him, but also being apologised to for falling for Shadowmoth's promises again, something which she still considered she’d been largely responsible for (even though Alya insisted that her secret had probably just been the metaphorical last straw, and that Luka would have broken down about truths sooner or later).

She sighed, looking into the sunset as she played with the two tickets Luka had offered her by way of thanks, wondering what she could, and should do with them.

In spite of everything, Marinette was bound to get one for herself any day now; Kitty Section were opening for Jagged Stone at the annual Bastille Day concert, a week from then, and if her friends didn’t invite her directly given the circumstances, there was a high chance that she’d get an invitation from Jagged himself to thank her for designing his latest album cover.

That being said, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to go. Watching Luka play on stage would only remind her of the fact that she couldn’t be in a relationship until all the Miraculouses were back in the box, even though it had felt amazing to be distracted from Miraculous matters for a bit.

Her mind wandered to Chat Noir, who was uncharacteristically late. She was faced with a very peculiar dilemma at the moment, one she could have used Master Fu’s wisdom to resolve; on the one hand, revealing her identity to Alya had been one of the best things to happen to her in a while. She felt a lot lighter, and it really made her wonder if sharing her identity with her partner would be such a bad idea. On the other hand, her mentor’s warning and her glimpse at an alternate reality where caution had seemingly been thrown to the wind still echoed in her mind like a tolling bell.

She knew Chat Noir trusted her, like she trusted him; a lot was left unsaid in their peculiar relationship, but that was something they’d never lie about - or at least she hoped so. She also knew that having revealed her identity to somebody who wasn’t her partner, and not even telling the latter about it, was a dangerous flame to play with. One maybe hanging out with him more, say, to start, at a concert, might help dampen ever so slightly.

It wasn’t like she could invite anybody else, and especially not Adrien, anyway…

An unfamiliar thunk, followed by a short skidding sound, startled her before she could reconsider her other options, and had her scrambling to her feet to assume a defensive stance, eyes darting around to find the source of the sudden interruption. Had somebody been Akumatised? What was their power? And where on Earth was Chat N-

“Sorry, don’t panic, Ladybug! It’s just me,” a voice sounded from slightly below her, drawing her attention to the edge of the rooftop, and to the lyre that appeared to have been thrown at her feet. The magical instrument made her shake off the thought that the voice had sounded a lot like her partner’s, and sure enough, instead of the black-clad superhero, it was a green-hooded one whose head emerged from the side of the building, slightly breathless from the climb.

“Adri-, I mean, Aspik?”

“Hey,” he hoisted himself up and brushed off some white dust from his suit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t expecting you to already be there,” he added sheepishly. “I thought I’d have time to recover from scaling the building.” He bent over, resting his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” She chuckled lightly at his pun. His humour was almost as good as Chat Noir’s. “You know that the lyre does enable you climb up things, though, right?” She smiled as she plucked a chord. A music staff appeared between them, and she demonstrated by starting to climb it, as if it were an elaborate staircase. The soft notes of a scale echoed around them as her feet landed on the lines.

As she turned towards him to gauge his reaction, she saw that he looked at her with something between fascination and mild annoyance.

“Chat Noir didn’t show you, did he?” she asked, jumping down and giving him the lyre back, a small blush dusting her cheeks.

“I’m not sure he knew himself,” Aspik muttered back.

“Right." She smiled tightly. "Miraculous powers was actually something I wanted to talk to him about tonight.”

“Ah. You weren’t expecting me, then, were you?”

Ladybug paused. She’d honestly forgotten about Chat Noir asking her if he could borrow the Snake Miraculous; it had happened right after Marinette had told Alya about being Ladybug, which had kickstarted a whole lot of research to ensure her friend was protected. She’d of course managed to make it to patrols physically, but even so, her mind had been a little elsewhere.

She just remembered Chat telling her that he might be busy in the upcoming weeks, but that he refused to leave her alone on patrols. She’d felt a little guilty about the comment and apologised yet again for the ones she’d missed, but her partner had brushed it off with a smile.

“Not really, no. But I’m very glad to have you here with me!” She poked his arm as playfully as she could muster, but his cocked eyebrows told her he wasn’t fooled in the least. “To be completely honest with you… I’m not sure who I was expecting.” She smiled sadly. “We haven’t exactly discussed bringing heroes back since most of our temps’ identities were leaked, so really, it could have been anyone new, or you, or…” She glanced down at her tickets again, and his eyes followed hers.

His understanding nod turned into an inquisitive look as her gaze darkened. She had to admit that she was relieved Viperion wasn't the one Chat Noir had chosen to replace him (temporarily, her partner was absolutely irreplaceable - she made a mental note to tell him as much again the next time she saw him) tonight; she wasn't sure she would've survived two surprise conversations with him in the same day. There was just too much guilt weighing on her heart when it came to him, although she hoped that time would eventually lessen it.

“Um, Ladybug?” Her companion probed.

“Yes?” She shook herself out from her guilt-ridden daze.

“Are you alright? You seem a little… troubled.”

“It’s nothing, really.” She tried to give him a convincing smile before sitting back down on the edge of the rooftop. When had it become so hard to act bubbly around Adrien? It was kind of nice not to be a blabbering mess for once, but she wished she could feel a little more upbeat.

“Sure? I’m here if you want to talk, you know; it’s kind of in my job description.” He sat down next to her and nudged her elbow.

“You have a job description?” One of her eyebrows shot up.

“Well, you know… It’s not because Chat Noir can’t be here tonight that he doesn’t want you to feel supported.”

“My sweet, thoughtful Kitty,” she shook her head with a smile, before sighing. She didn’t notice Aspik’s cheeks pinken, just under the fangs of his mask. “To be quite honest with you, I’m a little worried about him.”

“You are?”

Ladybug paused, uncertain whether she should continue or not. Aspik’s encouraging look helped her make up her mind. “It’s just something he said not too long ago… about only having fun when he’s with me.”

“Ah.” Aspik twiddled his thumbs.

“He brushed it off like it was a completely natural thing to say, but I still find it concerning.”

“I guess the wording isn’t very reassuring,” Aspik said cautiously. “It sounds worse than it probably is, though; he does, I mean, he must have friends, and he must have fun with them. Maybe… maybe you just caught him at a bad time?”

“I suppose it had been a pretty long day.” She pouted thoughtfully after a short pause. “But I don’t know, it scares me. I… Well, things haven’t been easy in my life either, especially lately, but there’s a part of me who’s afraid to tell him just in case… in case he really meant it. I really don’t want to spoil his fun.” She bit her lip, then shook her head with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” That was half a lie. Adrien was a friend she knew she could trust, one whose presence felt very comforting. Maybe the sunset was getting to her head, making her feel like they were above time and reality, but she almost believed that they were in a safe bubble.

“I really don’t mind, if you don’t. Miraculouses come with professional confidentiality anyway, right? Whatever you say will stay between us. I promise.” He smiled. Ladybug could tell it was genuine, but there seemed to be something brave about it, too, as if he were ready for a band aid to be ripped off. “What could you possibly tell him that would ruin his time with you?”

She looked at him lengthily, gauging him. “Firstly, I don’t want him to worry about me. And secondly…” She was about to tell him about sharing her secret identity with Alya (without naming names, of course), when the thought that if Chat wasn’t the first to learn this information, her guilt would deepen, crossed her mind. “Ugh, see? I’m doing it again, opening up about stuff that would concern him directly with other people, instead of telling him directly. I’m such a bad friend.” She put the tickets to one side and held her head in her hands.

“I don’t think you are.” She felt him pat her back tentatively. “Actually, you… You kind of remind me of one of my friends.” She peeked at him through her fingers; although his hand was still soothingly rubbing her shoulder blades, he was looking at the street below, a soft smile on his lips. “I think you know her, Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Anyway, she’s a really great person, but sometimes she makes mistakes, too. It’s alright, though, because she always means well. Like you.” He smiled at her, this time. She felt her cheeks warm as their eye contact lingered. “My point is,” he cleared his throat, “Chat Noir knows you, and trusts you, right? You just need to trust him.”

“I already do.”

“Then what are you risking? Is what you did really that bad?”

“Not in the grand scheme of things, I guess.” She paused. “I don’t think I had much choice, anyway. But even if I don't really regret what happened, I'm concerned that he won't understand why there are some things I can't open up to him, specifically, about.”

“Honestly, you'd be surprised at how much he'd be ready to let slide when it comes to your relationship," Aspik said quietly. "It's no secret how much he, erm… appreciates you."

"I love him very much, too," Ladybug whispered. "And that's why I don't want to see him hurt. Ever." Ever again , she thought. "And this… This will definitely hurt."

"Okay, but look at it this way: sparing him is an honourable reason to withhold information from him, but if you don't tell him what you can soon, it might end up hurting him even more, for instance, if he somehow learns about it from somebody else. Or, depending on how important that information is, he might feel hurt that you kept it from him for so long." He bit his lip and eyed his bracelet.

"You're right. I know you're right." She grunted and leaned back, looking at the swirling orange clouds. It reminded her of another warm sunset exchange she'd had, after spending an afternoon in what had felt like the coldest world ever. "It's just so difficult for me to wrap my head around, I can't imagine what it'll be like for him."

"You might have to give him a bit of time and space, then,” Aspik warned her. "But eventually I'm sure he'll come around."

“I hope so.” She sighed. Her yoyo beeped, signalling the end of patrol time. She hesitated to ignore it; Adrien had proven to be a very enjoyable partner - not that she’d doubted he’d be when he’d shown up, really, but something about talking about Chat Noir had helped her keep a rather level head with him. She knew she had to head back, though. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to remain coherent if they switched topic, something she felt like they'd need to do soon if she didn't want to say too much, and beyond that, she had an important essay to outline and write for the next day. “Well, I think that’s our cue. Thank you for keeping me company tonight.” She smiled, pushing herself up and holding a hand out for Aspik. He took it and she helped him up.

They stood facing each other for a bit, smiling, unsure about how to properly end the patrol. It wasn’t like they could walk each other home, really. A small gust of wind ruffled the tickets which still lay on the ground, under one of Ladybug’s feet.

“Oh, hey, you’re forgetting this.” Aspik bent down to retrieve them and handed them to her.

“Right, thanks.” She looked down. Their discussion had boosted her confidence regarding talking to Chat, but she still didn’t know who to give her second invitation to. If she gave it to anyone.

“Who’s the second ticket for?” He nodded towards her hands, as if reading her mind.

“I was actually trying to figure it out before you arrived.” She smiled. “I kind of feel like I should gift it to you as thanks for being so great. Tonight! Just tonight, of course. Although I’m sure you’re just as great every single day,” she winced at her awkwardness. “But you’re going to be there anyway, aren’t you? And on stage.”

“If I can even make it. My schedule’s been a little all over the place lately.” His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second as he toyed with his bracelet, before lighting up again so fast Ladybug thought she’d dreamt it. “But I think you and I both know who you should give this to.” He gave her a pointed look. “I think it would be a great way to butter your partner up before delivering whatever bad news you’re withholding from him.” He winked.

“Very smart. And very practical. You know, you’re a lot like Chat Noir, actually. It’s a compliment,” she added quickly as she saw him tense up.

“Well, I sure hope so, my Lady,” he chuckled. The words sounded foreign, and yet right, in the hooded boy’s mouth.

“What… what did you say?” She gaped.

“I'm obviously not used to this Miraculous, I accidently activated it when I played with it. It doesn't happen with the ring, you see." He smiled and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly as she looked on, slightly bewildered. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you won't remember any of this, but since we're here... I’d be happy to find a way to join you at the concert, my Lady." He bowed and kissed her hand. "It was lovely chat-ting with you tonight, I'm not sure I'm looking forward to what you have to tell me, but you know what? Thank you for the heads up.” He straightened up and squeezed her hand in his. "I'll be waiting for your call, after we're really done with our conversation." He placed his other hand on his wrist, and Ladybug's hand immediately flew to it, eyes almost feverish in the setting sun.

“Adrien, I mean, Aspik, Chat , wait-”

He paused, looking at her expectantly.

"Why?" Her question came out as softly as the hand that was suddenly cupping his cheek. "Why pretend you couldn't come tonight?"

"I had a couple of things I felt like maybe getting off my chest, if I got the opportunity.” He shrugged, leaning into her touch. “I just wanted to make sure I could backtrack if I made a mistake.”

“Oh." Ladybug gulped, and looked down. "Chaton, I... I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me about your own problems.” Her piercing gaze met his again as she ran her thumb along the edge of his mask. “If something’s burdening you, I’ll be more than happy to help carry the weight. You can trust me, you know that?”

“I already do my Lady.” He winked at her and kissed the palm of her hand quickly before touching his bracelet again. “Now, I don't trust you not to be mad if I run out of time, though."

"Yeah, I don't think I'd be ready to let that slide just yet." Her eyes twinkled in the dusk light.

"In that case... Second chance.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

prompt: can they just hug each other. they are both scared and comfort each other at the same time. reassurances. so soft, thank you <33333

So this blended with @sammininoofthelord‘s request for Photographer Crowley, and things went a little nuts. Not quite as Soft as I wanted but I think very cathartic.

--

“Well,” Aziraphale said with a smile he didn’t really feel, standing awkwardly in what Crowley called a study. Large empty room with a desk and a throne. Completely absurd. “I suppose we…have our plan, then.”

“I hate it,” Crowley volunteered. “But yes.” His legs were crossed, ankles perched on the edge of the desk, trying to look relaxed. Perhaps he would have fooled anyone else, but Aziraphale could see the tension in his neck and shoulders, and knew the way his eyes would be darting behind those glasses.

“If you’re going to argue—”

“Not arguing.” A shrug. “It’s the least bad of several bad ideas. We can do it. But. Still hate it.”

A quick glance out the window. It was still dark, hours until sunrise. “I suppose now…we wait.”

“We wait.” He wouldn’t take Crowley’s frown personally. They each had their own way of dealing with the events of the day, the threat of the next morning. Crowley, apparently, preferred to simmer in rage, while Aziraphale would be quite happy with a book and…

Oh…

Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut, trying not to think about that.

“What is it?” Crowley’s heels hit the ground with a click and he surged out of his seat, circling the desk.

“I…I don’t know what you mean…”

“I know that look. What’s wrong? Did you think of something? We can still come up with another plan.”

“Oh, nothing of the sort.” Aziraphale flapped his hands, trying for another smile. This one refused to stay on his face at all, and now his eyes were wet. “Don’t bother yourself…”

Crowley caught his hand.

His fingers moved stiffly, wrapping themselves around Aziraphale’s. Did they do that now? He supposed so. It was…quite novel, the way Crowley’s hand sort of…compressed his, holding in the tremors. No. Melting them away.

“You can tell me,” he whispered, voice strangely soft. “Whatever it is. I…don’t mind.”

“It’s foolish.” But Aziraphale drew a little closer, seeking more of that warmth.

“Don’t care. We’ve earned the right to a little foolishness.” Crowley’s feet shuffled, drawing closer, his forehead hovering close to Aziraphale’s. “You can tell me.”

“I…I just thought of the book I’d been reading, and it’s gone. I won’t be able to read the next chapter. And my whole shop is gone, my…my home…” his breath caught in his throat. “But…all I can think about is that one book. It’s not even rare…” His face burned with shame, and he found himself resting his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, lord, it had my favorite bookmark in it!”

Somehow, strangely, he felt he could have managed the loss of his shop if he’d just had that bookmark.

Crowley chuckled, low and rough, near his ear. “That is foolish.”

“Oh, I am well aware.” Aziraphale tried to push himself away. “You don’t have to – to—”

Long arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back in. “My Velvet Underground CD was in the Bentley,” Crowley said, and now there was a tightness in his voice. “You remember, you saw it the other day? Had my favorite songs on it. I never put it in the car, in case…something happened to it…turned into more bloody Queen…but I just needed it this week. And now…”

Aziraphale slid his own arms around Crowley. “I’m sorry about your bebop.”

“I’m sorry about your bookmark.”

They stood there, leaning against each other, trying to wrap their minds around what they’d lived through, what they’d lost, a little at a time.

“I had this…this little charm. On a shelf. Carved in Rome. I carried it around for centuries…”

“My mobile was in the back seat. I’d only just beaten 2048 – do you have any idea how long that took?”

“Oh, my second-best tie! It was in my desk drawer.”

“I – I had a drawing Warlock did. When he was seven. Kept it in the boot of my car.”

“I just…” Aziraphale took a deep breath, and the strange, smoky scent of Crowley filled him. “I just wish I had…something. Anything. You have…this flat…your things…but I…I have nothing left…”

“You have me.” Crowley buried his lips and nose in Aziraphale’s hair, twining his arms in a constricting embrace, as if to hold the entire world together. “Whatever happens, tomorrow, next week, a hundred years from now, you will always have me.”

“I…” But there wasn’t anything Aziraphale could say to that, just let himself slide further into the security of Crowley’s arms. He was having trouble breathing, and his eyes burned with tears. He pressed his face into Crowley’s shoulder.

“S’alright, Angel.” One hand ran across his shoulders, slow circles. “I got you.”

Aziraphale clung to Crowley, until the trembling stopped, until he felt he could be composed again. He pulled away slowly, face turned away, wishing he could clean himself up. “I…terribly sorry…don’t know what…”

“Let me get you a drink.” Crowley’s hand rested on his shoulder, squeezed lightly, then vanished, leaving Aziraphale strangely cold.

It took longer than expected, long enough for Aziraphale to wipe his face clean with his handkerchief, long enough to make a circuit around the large room, long enough to consider each work of art with great care. Long enough to feel he could control his breath again.

Not quite long enough to remember how to smile, though.

“Alright, Angel. I, ah. I found something.”

He turned back to find Crowley holding a glass of water in one hand, and a thick book tucked under his arm. How odd. Crowley adamantly refused to admit he would ever have anything to do with books. He’d once spent an entire century pretending he didn’t know how to read, although the knowledge would return in a flash of insight any time he needed to order wine.

“What on earth is this?” Aziraphale eyed the book. Something about the pages was all wrong, but he couldn’t quite say what from this angle. There didn’t seem to be nearly enough of them, to start.

“It’s a…er…s’a photo album.” Crowley placed the glass on the side of the desk nearest Aziraphale, then settled the book in front of him. The cover was that deep red shade he liked almost as much as black, with a gold-colored shape pressed into it, like a very stylized feather. “I keep this…hidden, but. Nh. No point now I guess.”

“I see.” Aziraphale took a slow drink. “Photographs of what, precisely?”

“Ngk.” Long fingers nudged the album, straightening it, then pulling away as if burned. “S’not. I mean. Look, I just…I like cameras. Fun. Flashy. Always something new to try out. I photograph everything.” He slid the album closer to Aziraphale, then quickly stepped back. “But um. These are my favorites.”

Almost afraid of what he’d see, Aziraphale reached across to lift the cover. What he saw inside made him gasp. “Crow--! When did you--?”

“Look, I just – the lighting was a challenge, alright? Bright sunlight, deep shadows. Don’t – don’t read anything into it.”

Aziraphale slid the glass of water further away, and opened the album properly. The first page held a photograph of the inside of his shop, a few decades old. A beam of light landed on one book, resting on a table, illuminating it just a little compared to the shelf behind it.

He turned the page.

Four photographs, two square, two more rectangular, all taken ages apart. One showed Aziraphale, resting in his chair, eyes closed to enjoy his favorite record. Two were of him reading, one perched on a ladder, too preoccupied to fold it into a chair, the other standing with two more books tucked under his arm. In the fourth picture, he was clearly arguing with a customer, clutching one of his autographed Oscar Wildes quite defensively.

Page after page. Dozens, no, nearly a hundred photographs. A few of Aziraphale at the bakery or standing by the pond. One of him next to the Bentley, peevishly looking for Crowley, unaware the demon was right behind him. But nearly all of them pictures of the shop, of himself wandering happily through his home.

“Why…why did you…”

“Told you. S’a good place to experiment.”

“But this…this isn’t an album of my shop. It’s a collection of…of me.” Oh, his eyes were wet again. Aziraphale quickly took a drink.

“I mean.” Crowley shrugged. “I photographed the shop for the challenge. But, um. My favorites were always the ones with you in them.”

“But – you never said anything!”

“Ahhh.” He ran a hand through bright red hair. “Look. If anyone found it, I had to be able to say it was, I don’t know, surveillance. And you’re the worst at looking natural.”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are. You always do that – that smile, and you stand so stiff…look, no one would be fooled! So, I just…didn’t tell you.” He stuffed his fingers in his pockets. “Sorry.”

“I see.”

“And…nk.” Crowley shuffled his feet. “And…I didn’t want you to say no.”

Aziraphale reached the last page, where a large photograph showed him carefully unpacking his latest acquisition, a warm smile of anticipation as he studied the binding of the book. He slowly closed the album, and finished his glass of water.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered. He picked up the album, pressed it to his chest. “I…thank you, Crowley.”

“You can, um. You can have that.” Even with the glasses on, Aziraphale knew how his eyes must be darting nervously.

“Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he stepped forward, kissed Crowley on the cheek. “For everything.”

[until-theend-oftheline]

Pumpkins

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Squares Filled: Buying Flowers for No Reason @marvelfluffbingo​ 

Warnings: Pumpkins (but human and the actual ones) - Seb’s also kind of a warning but the best kind.   

Word Count: 2000ish

A/N:  This is part of my LLL Universe. It takes place about a week before Halloween 2019 but it can also as always be read as a one-shot.

Betaed by: the amazing @blacktithe7​ - thanks for helping out on short notice hon!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You hadn’t been overly happy about all the meetings you had today, but the tour for “This Is Us” and your solo album didn’t plan itself. Your managers and every other person involved were busy too, so today had to be the day, even if it had been one of the last days Sebastian had home before traveling back and forth between Atlanta and New York began. That was life though, and luckily it was all over and done with now. You were just looking forward to spending the night with your family. 

You drew a sigh of relief when you walked through the door, closing your eyes as the feel and smell of home hit you. You slowly opened your eyes, and a smile spread across your face as you saw the huge bucket of flowers standing on the buffet cabinet in the hallway. It wasn’t unlike Sebastian to surprise you with something, but flowers were rare for some reason. You took a few steps forward to admire and smell them, and your smile only grew as you saw the card attached in the middle. You quickly snatched it and read it, smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt.

True love is friendship set on fire. 

Yours always and forever 

-Seb

Just like that, with a few simple words, the stress of the day washed off you completely, and nothing but pure happiness filled your chest. He always seemed to know exactly what you needed before you did. He was your best friend, and your heart truly was blazing with the love you felt for him now and every day. 

You lifted up the flowers gently, carrying them with you into the living room where you could really enjoy them. You smiled as you heard the laughter spreading through the house from the kitchen. You quickly set down the flowers, smelling them again and smiling before turning around to join your family in whatever they were doing to your kitchen.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw them. You were expecting a mess. Sebastian wasn’t a world-class chef, but he made do in the kitchen. When he was joined by the kids, he lost his focus fast, and that showed more in the mess around them than it affected how much fun the kids were having or the general state of the food. You were fine with the occasional mess. You know the kids loved spending time with their daddy, and Sebastian was an amazing father. Which was more important than the momentarily suffering of your poor kitchen. 

You hadn’t expected no food being prepared though, and you certainly hadn’t expected everyone and everything to be orange. You didn’t say anything, and no one saw you. You just stood there with your mouth gaping open before shaking your head and smiling. You leaned against the doorway to watch your little family a moment longer. 

The floor, counters, and table were completely covered in pumpkin goo. Sebastian had goo in his hair and on his pants as he patiently helped Isabella carve out the drawing she had painted on her pumpkin, while she was babbling in his ear about the next drawing she was making in a smaller pumpkin. Her white dress was now more orange than white, and she had black marker on her cheek and pumpkin caught in her hair just like her dad. 

Alex was sitting on the table next to Sebastian. The little boy had a very gleeful look on his face as he was digging out the goo from a third or fourth or fifth pumpkin. The longer you looked, the more you lost count. Sebastian had clearly taken the kids shopping and hadn’t been able to say no when they went overboard. He had happily gotten the kids what you, this far, counted to be ten pumpkins, keeping the smile on their faces. He was a bit of a pushover at times, but the kids loved him. They were having fun, which was the most important thing. It wasn’t like you were going bankrupt from a few extra pumpkins, and you did have three balconies to put them on; so what the hell right?  

“Not on the floor, Monkey,” Sebastian attempted to keep some order to the chaos when Alex pushed the mountain of goo out of his way and onto the floor next to Seb and the chair Isabella was standing on. 

The warmth as you watched your family grew. As much as you wanted to jump in several times you were happy just watching from the sidelines as well. The love between your favorite three people in the world was more than evident, and you couldn’t get enough of seeing them together like this, making memories that would last a lifetime. It wasn’t until Alex pushed the goo onto the floor and Sebastian’s failed attempt at control the warm grew into a bubbling fire in your chest and you couldn’t help but giggle. All three of them quickly looked up and turning their heads to look at you walking up to them. 

“I think that ship sailed about three pumpkins ago,” you teased, making Sebastian rolled his eyes, understanding your joke even if the kids didn’t.  

“Mommy look,” Alex held up his small fists filled with pumpkin goo, before letting it splatter onto the table. Sebastian and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re very good at that, Monkey,” you giggled, kissing his chubby cheek, tasting the pumpkin and wrinkling your nose a little before turning your attention to Isabella. 

“Mommy look. I drew the one Daddy is carving, and Alex drew that one,” she pointed before jumping off the chair and taking your hand. “Daddy’s is really good though. Look, it’s a spider.” She said sounded impressed. You could see why too, Sebastian was quite the artist when he wanted to be. 

“They are all amazing, Isa.” You knelt down next to her letting her hug you, not caring you would soon be as orange as your little family. “I can’t wait to see them out on the balcony with lights in them. It’s gonna look amazing honey.”

“I think so too,” Isabella beamed giving you a kiss before crawling back onto the chair next to her dad. 

“Did you guys save me a pumpkin?” you asked, wrapping your arms around Seb’s middle from behind and resting your head against his arm, peeking around him. 

He smiled sheepishly, looking down at you. “There are still about eight in the bag over there,” he nodded towards the kitchen counter, and you threw your head back laughing. 

“We went a little overboard,” he admitted, as you shook your head, kissing his cheek.

“Only a little?” you teased as you went to pick out your own pumpkin and joining your son in making a mess emptying it. 

The four of you stayed in the kitchen for the next two hours. Laughing, making a mess, cutting and drawing until there were no more pumpkins but the two very alive ones on your tabletop.

“Right. Who wants pizza for dinner?” Sebastian asked with a grin, looking around the kitchen. He must have realized if the two of you had to clean it before starting dinner and then eating, it would be close to midnight before the kiddos got to bed. Pizza would spare you from having to cook, and it wouldn’t matter if cleaning the kitchen was all done before or after the kids were in bed. You could start now but finish later. 

“Meeeee,” Alex and Isa both bounced off the table and were dancing around their laughing dad, while you looked on with a smile. Your eyes meet Sebastian’s and you mouthed an “I love you” to him that made him beam just as brightly as your children. 

“Okay. Pizza after bathtime,” Sebastian ordered, making Alex whine loudly, but Isabella just grabbed his hand to get his attention. 

“We can have a bath together and you can play with my fish if you want?” she suggested, and Alex stopped crying as quickly as he had begun. He loved Isabella’s fish but more than that he loved spending time with his big sister. 

Isabella sent her dad a proud smile when he ruffled her hair. 

“Good girl.”

“We’ll get ready. If you fill the tub and give us the towels when we call, I can help Alex and you and mom can clean the kitchen,” Isabella announced, causing both your and Sebastian's jaws to drop without her realizing it. The little girl just skipped ahead of her brother, with his hand still in hers, as they talked about the games they were gonna play with her fishies. 

“Okay she is growing up way too fast,” Sebastian grumbled when they were out of earshot, making you laugh and wrap your arms around him from the side. He quickly pulled you in front of him and into a proper hug as you looked up at him with a soft smile. 

“She’ll always be your little girl,” you promised, smiling when you saw the pain in his eyes, and you knew he was already picturing her going off to college and getting married. 

“Seb. She’s five,” you laughed, giving his butt a squeeze, and he groaned playfully, dipping down to kiss you. 

He stopped just before your lips met, whispering, “six in a month. She is practically already grown up.” 

He smiled, swallowing your giggles with his kiss, not breaking it before Isabella’s voice sounded through the apartment. 

“Daddy! We’re ready soon. Come turn on the water please.”

“Well little miss gown up still can’t reach the faucet honey,” you teased, squealing when Sebastian pinched your butt in retaliation. 

“Smartass,” he grinned. “Did you like the flowers?”

“Oh you mean the bribe?” you teased. 

Sebastian’s face fell instantly and he started stammering. “It wasn’t… I mean we hadn't even bought the pumpkins when I….” he tried to explain, before you stopped him, gently cupping his face in your hands. 

“I know. I was just teasing. I’m sorry. I love them. And I’m keeping the card,” you assured him, and Sebastian lit up instantly, leaning in to give you a kiss. 

“I love you,” he said softly, rubbing his nose against yours as he pulled away. 

“I’ll love you always and forever too,” you smiled up at him. Before Sebastian could reply Isabella yelled again. 

“Daddy! Water!”

You threw your head back laughing, and Sebastian rolled his eyes lovingly. “Just as bossy as her mom,” he mumbled. He grinned and ducked out of the way of the projectile pumpkin goo that you threw his way with a laugh as he headed for the door. 

“I’ll order the pizza. You better be back here to help me clean up when I am done,” you warned playfully. 

Sebastian laughed, calling back to you on his way to the kids' bathroom, “Like I said. Bossy!”

You smiled as you went to get your phone, passing the flowers and Sebastian’s card on the way. He couldn’t have been more accurate. You were friends, best friends, and you always would be. He was the one you wanted to share the good and the bad with. He was the one that could always make you laugh and feel like everything was going to be okay. He was always the most handsome man you’d ever met and the only guy to have ever earned and held your heart truly and safely. Your relationship was loving, teasing, and warm. He was the love of your life and the father of your two beautiful kids. Your version of love was most certainly friendship set on fire, and you didn’t want it any other way, nor did you want to share your life with anyone else. Sebastian was it for you, and you were living your happiest life with him. 

Reblogs spread my work and make me happy. Got a favorite part/line? Did something touch you? Do you relate in some way? Please tell me and make my day. 

Sebastian Stan Tag Team

@feelmyroarrrr​ @sleepretreat​ @roxyspearing​ @jewels2876​  @hellaqueerangelofthelord​ @danijimenezv​ @rumoured-whispers​ @becs-bunker​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @blacktithe7​ @grace-for-sale​ @averyrogers83​ @sebs-potato​ @sorenmarie87​ @docharleythegeekqueen​ @erosbellarke​ @the-wayward-robot​ @super100012​ @myfanficlibrarium​ @winchesters-favorite-girl​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @igotkatiepowers​ @dottirose​ @deathofmissjackson​

[galadrieljones]

As You Were (Chapter 7)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in what feels at first like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, and who have recently endured a terrible tragedy on their family farm. Amidst their joint desire to find hope for the future, the two groups decide to set out west together, changing the course of the story (as we know it), and the very course of their lives.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second game. Joel lives.

Chapter 7: Interlude I (Storm)

“Just admit you love it,” said Ellie. “Don’t be a bitch.”

She and Noah were in the back house as the rain pounded down on the roof. Neko Case was playing. In the past two weeks since arriving in Jackson, they had rigged up the stereo but not the space heaters. It was still the dog days of summer. Noah would just light a fire in the stove at night, because it was faster. And if it got too cold, they could just go to the main house and crash on the living room floor anyway.

“I will not deny that this is good shit,” said Noah. They were talking about the music, on the stereo. “You can count on me.”

“I love this music,” said Ellie. Every dial tone, every truck stop, every heartbreak, I love you more. “It’s pure.” She flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes. “It sounds like water. I wonder if Joel knows about Neko.”

“Probably,” said Noah. He was on the floor, sawing two-by-fours. He wanted to make an end table. It had been a while since he’d done any sort of carpentry. “He knows a lot of weird shit about music.”

“Does Cici know Neko?”

“Maybe? Though we didn’t have any of this back at the house.”

Ellie stared up at the ceiling. They had stuck a bunch of glow-in-the-dark stars up there, loot from the Wal-mart back in Nebraska. Elsewhere on the walls there were posters and drawings by Ellie and maps that Noah had collected from their various stops, all along the I-80.

“Do you think this place will last?” said Ellie. “Jackson. Do you think it’s legit?”

“I hope so,” said Noah.

There was a knock on the door then. Ellie sat up straight, had switched her knife open just to look at it. “Who is it?” she said.

“It’s Dina. From the bonfire?”

Dina was a surprise. Ellie swung her feet around, over the side of the bed, electrocuted, and failed to speak.

“Hang on,” said Noah. He got up, set the saw on the kitchen table, which was stacked mostly with books. He opened the door, and there was Dina, standing like a picture, hands shoved in her pockets in her green hoodie.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re Noah, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “And you’re Dina.”

“Is Ellie here?”

“Yup. Come on in.”

Dina stepped inside, shook off the rain. Meanwhile, Ellie was just standing there with her knife still out, like she was going to stab someone. “Hey,” she said.

“You okay?” said Dina.        

“What?” said Ellie. She looked down at the blade, blushing awkwardly, then she put it away into her pocket. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“I just came because Maria got a call on the radio,” said Dina. Her hair was tied back tightly off her face. “Joel and Tommy are stuck at one of the lookouts over in town, because of the storm. They’re fine, but they’ll probably be gone till morning. She wanted me to let you know.”

“Why didn’t she just come herself?” said Ellie.

“Oh,” said Dina. “Well, I was there. I offered.”

“I should go tell my mom,” said Noah.

“Why don’t you just call her?” said Ellie. “On the walkie.”

“I could,” said Noah. He put on his sneakers. His hair was getting longer. Kind of floppy behind his ears. “But with it storming like this, she’s probably already worried.”

“Yeah,” said Ellie. “Nevermind. You’re right.”

“I’ll be back,” he said.

“See ya,” said Dina.

Once he was gone, Ellie and Dina stood in the room, just looking at each other. The thunder went off in the distance, bellowing somewhere over the mountain, low and mean. But it was just a storm, thought Ellie. Just a storm.

“So, how’s it going?” said Dina, eventually. She had her hands behind her back.

“Pretty good,” said Ellie. “How’s it going with you?”

“Not bad. Do you remember me, or…?”

“Of course,” said Ellie. She went over to the makeshift kitchen. There were some cokes in the cooler that she and Noah had salvaged a few days before. “You want one?”

“Hell yeah,” said Dina.

They opened their cokes and drank them sitting in bean bag chairs, listening to the music and the rain for a while. The soda was sort of flat, but they didn’t care. It tasted delicious. “This music is good,” said Dina. “It’s pretty, kind of country. What is it?”

“It’s this lady, named Neko Case,” said Ellie. She was wearing an old shirt, blue, with a surfer on the front and the words Cowabunga, dude. “I just discovered her actually. She’s really awesome. I think this album came out like, a week or so before the shit hit the fan in 2013?”

“Seriously?” said Dina.

“Yeah,” said Ellie. “Me and Noah have actually been scavenging all the best albums from that year, from like music stores and stuff. We’re trying to get as complete of a collection as possible.”

“That’s so neat,” said Dina. She held her coke with both hands, looking down at her thumbs. “You’re like really cool historians.”

“Sort of,” said Ellie. “But that’s being generous.”

They sipped.

“So, tell me something,” said Dina after a little while. Her voice changed, like she had gained confidence all of a sudden. “What’s the deal with you guys. Is Noah your real brother who you magically found after ten years of separation, or is that just a rumor?”

“It’s a rumor,” said Ellie. “Noah is just…we’re not related.”

“Well you guys seem like siblings.”

“We’ve been through a lot,” said Ellie. “Maybe that’s what people are sensing.”

“There’s definitely a bond there.”

“I don’t have any real siblings, that I know of at least,” said Ellie. “Do you?”

“Not anymore,” said Dina. Her eyes were very brown, like little mud puddles. Dina was an open book.

Noah came in the door then, loudly, and soaking wet. He was like a giant dog sometimes, stomping through the house. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “It is fucking pouring.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Dina.

“I’m gonna head out,” said Noah. He started rummaging through the bureau by the door, tugged a gray hoodie over his head, and then he yanked the drawstrings until the hood closed almost totally around his face so you could only see his nose. He looked like a too-tall alien. It was funny.

“Head out where?” said Ellie.

“To Jesse’s,” he said, loosening the hood. “You guys wanna come?”

“What about Cici?” said Ellie.

“She’s already on her way,” said Noah. “She was getting ready to leave when I went over there.”

Dina was looking down into her can again, as if it were full of secrets.

Ellie said, “Dina, you wanna go?”

The rain kicked up outside. It seemed like it wouldn’t let up for hours. Dina drank the last of her coke and set the empty can down on the floor. She stood quickly and smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt. “Sure,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

“Sweet,” said Noah.

***

“So you just went on up there, to La Crosse, with the boy,” said Tommy, feet crossed up on the coffee table. They were getting old and half-high from the cigarettes. “No questions asked.”

“No questions asked,” said Joel, finishing his cigarette. “It wasn’t like back in Boston.”

“What changed?”

“Noah kind of—he reminded me, of me. He needed to convince himself of something, maybe it was just to do with figuring out what was happening to his town, maybe it was a test. I don’t know. But he’s a good kid, and I didn’t want him going down the wrong path.”

“And Cici, what was her deal, back then?”

Joel leaned back in the chair, sinking. It was in tatters and the bottom was practically falling out. He said, “To be quite honest, she was a complete mystery to me. Still is."

"Ain't they all."

"Noah's much more forthcoming," said Joel. "Maybe too forthcoming, I don't know. Maybe it's a good thing, because he gets Ellie talking, even when she don't want to. Cici and me, we got along fine in the beginning, but it was like anything in a situation like that. It took us a while to become friends.”      

Tommy started laughing. “Guess it must be hard for you, big brother. Meeting your match like that.”

Joel just ashed his cigarette on the table as the storm raged outside.

“Well, I am glad you came back,” said Tommy, quiet. “To Jackson. When you all came through the first time, I really didn't know. I didn't know if we'd see you again. But we really needed you guys. And it’s good to—well, it’s just good to be together again, ain’t it?”

Joel took a drag, looking down at his knuckles. “This is a nice place you’ve built here, little brother. I'm sorry if it ever seemed like I doubted you. You and Maria have done good work.”

“Thanks,” said Tommy, placing his boots back on the ground. “Now, tell me what the hell happened next. Who the hell were these Circle of the Holy Signal motherfuckers? And what the hell did Cici say happened back at the farm—with the Amish girl?”

Joel smiled to himself as if recalling a joke out of the blue. “Brace yourself,” he said.

***

At Jesse’s, Cici sat alone on the covered back porch, looking up into the storm. She had a glass of whiskey, locally distilled in a barrel on the other side of the compound. Jackson made her think of home, filling her with unwanted memories, and a mild anxiety. Jesse’s parents had a dog named Cinderella. She was a black Schipperke mix, little and spry. She came along and licked Cici's hand where she sat, looking up at her expectantly, all wet from the rain.

“You want to be inside, don’t you?” said Cici. She smiled and patted the dog behind the ears. The little dog had brought her back down to earth, out of the raging sky. “Me, too. Let’s ditch this weather.”

Back in the house, the kids were in the living room, drinking soda and exchanging stories of the past. Noah and Ellie had arrived. They were sitting on the couch and waved when she came in. He had his arm slung around Ellie. She shared little of her life with the group, as usual, thought Cici, but she was always responsive and encouraging of others to share their lives with her. Dina was telling a story about New Mexico. Jesse watched her closely while leaning against the fireplace. There was music on the stereo, Fleetwood Mac.

Robin, Jesse’s mother, came along with a plate of chicken wings. “You want some?” she said.

“I'm good,” said Cici.

Robin took the plate out to the living room instead, set it on the coffee table where it would be devoured. Robin was a really nice woman and an excellent cook. She had always made Cici feel welcome. She pioneered most of the potlucks in town, and Jesse and Noah were becoming friends. That night, she had her hair down. She wore a hooded sweatshirt. She was a few years older than Cici, but that was inconsequential. “Where’s Joel?” she said.

“Him and Tommy got stuck at the lookout,” said Cici, sipping her whiskey. “Maria said they radio'd in. They’ll be back in the morning.”

"You worried?"

Cici shrugged. "I'm trying not to be. Maria said everything was all clear. It's just the storm."

Robin seemed to understand this. “Jonathan is working in his greenhouse,” she said. “Guess it’s just the the women and children tonight.”

“What’s he up to?”

“They want to expand the soy crop,” said Robin. “They need to build more space. With summer running out on us, there’s a crunch.”

Cici had helped out some, with the farming. Though she was not as familiar with greenhouses. “Are storms common in the mountains, in late summer?”

“Yes,” she said. “What about in the midwest?”

“Very much,” said Cici. “The changing of the seasons bring chaos everywhere.”

“I hear that.” Robin’s laugh was deep. It was reassuring. “Jesse likes this group,” she said, looking at the kids in the living room, sniping at one another and eating chicken. “He fits in with them. I like them, too. They’re rascals, all of them.”

“It’s good,” said Cici, “to see Noah, like this. With other teenagers. Just hanging out. For a long time, I was worried he would never have the chance."

“What about Joel?” said Robin. “How is he with Joel?”

Cici was staring at Noah. He had gotten taller, again. Just in that past year. She thought he might keep on growing forever, like one of those Giant Redwoods she had read about in childhood, the ones that lived way out in California. “He’s actually good,” she said. “He's always liked Joel. Joel was there for Noah, early on."

“That’s good.” Robin leaned past Cici to pick up a bottle of beer from the counter. She popped off the top and said, “Cheers. I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me, too,” said Cici. They drank.

“Are you guys going to the softball game tomorrow?” said Robin.

“As long as the rain stays away, probably. Ellie mentioned something about making tee-shirts. She's pretty enthusiastic.”

Robin thought it was unironically a good idea. "I can help," she said.

Then the lights flickered, again, and then again. The rain was still heavy on the roof, and a hush fell over the room. Everybody looked around as if waiting for something to happen. Jesse paused the music and straightened up off the mantle. Noah was up, looking out the window. Ellie and Dina were looking at each other, as if making calculations in one another’s eyes about what to do next.

“It’s just the storm,” said Robin, as the tension died down. Jesse turned the music back on, and the talking resumed. “They are used to the worst case scenario. But you remember, don’t you, Cici? A time when a storm was just a storm.”

Cici watched Noah and Ellie. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like he’d made some sort of stupid joke, and she was rumpling his hair, and they were laughing on the couch beneath the faint, white glow of the Christmas lights. They reminded her of puppies. When she was eighteen and pregnant, sitting on a river bank in Viroqua, WI, what had she imagined her life would become? Joel had said the same thing once, in a manner of speaking. When I was eighteen, I had a GED and two jobs, he’d said. Three, if you counted Sarah. She tried not thinking about him when he wasn't there.

There was a knock on the door then. It was Maria. At first, Cici was worried. But that was just the storm talking. Maria had a bottle of wine and a bowl of potato chips. Her hair was down, and she looked tired but pretty.

“Took you long enough,” said Robin.

“No rest for the wicked,” said Maria.

When Maria came into the kitchen, all the kids shouted HEY MARIA as raucously as possible, and everybody laughed and asked for her to hand over the chips. Maria was a stern woman but even she could not resist them.

***

Outside, later on, Ellie and Noah were sitting out on the porch. Noah was scratching Cinderella the dog behind the ears while Ellie sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring hard into the dark as if parsing its atoms, which screamed.

“So," said Noah. “What's going on with Dina?"

Dina was still inside the house with Jesse. They had gravitated toward one another as the night drew on.

“Nothing,” said Ellie, sighing. “I don’t know. Does it seem like something's going on?"

“She's nice,” he said. “You could tell me."

“I hardly know her,” said Ellie.

“That doesn’t always matter.”

“She likes Jesse anyway,” said Ellie. “I’m just some girl. I don’t fit.”

“Fit where?” said Noah.

Ellie laughed at this and shoved him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” said Noah. “Where are you trying to fit?”

“I don’t know, Noah.”

“Is this a Riley thing?” he said.

“Please,” she said.

“Fine,” he said. Ellie was not an open book. “Well, I’ll still be your friend.”

“Oh, ha ha,” said Ellie, shoving him again, harder this time. He almost tipped in his chair, but that was on purpose. “Like you could unfriend me. You need me.”

He thought back to Moline, when they had found that arcade. It had been raining that night, too. He remembered the blood, gathering and running down the drain pipes, as if that's what they were meant for. “Let’s go inside before this storm gets the best of us,” he said.

***

On the Stereo:

"Calling Cards" by Neko Case  "Magpie to the Morning" by Neko Case  "Storms" by Fleetwood Mac 

[lemonlushff-iy]

I just discovered all of your stuff how did I not know you were out here in the world writing masterpiece InuKag fanfics this is like Christmas I could not ask for more dear god thank you 🤍🤍🤍🤍

WELL THANK YOU ANON!!!! You sure know how to make a girl’s whole day!!!!

I’m so glad you’re enjoying, and I promise there’s more to come!!! 

Like tonight, for example. 

40 pages of rocker smut because it’s Keiz’s birthday!

Summary: He had loved her for five years. Climbed to the top of the music charts to prove that he was worthy of her. He wasn’t going to let her walk out that door without a fucking fight. For @keichanz‘s birthday!!

Teaser below the cut!

Inuyasha sighed, leaning forward onto his elbow as the record execs before him prattled on about release dates and what not. Really, he didn’t know why he was in this boring as fuck meeting. He didn’t see what this had to do with him. 

Well. 

Yes. 

It had a lot to do with him. 

It was his damn album, ‘Cinnamon’, being released...his damn tour being planned...his damn everything being talked about. 

He just didn’t want to be fucking here right now. He wanted to be out of LA on his bike driving towards the beach at sunset. What could he say? He was a fucking walking cliche and he didn’t give two rats asses about it. It made him money, gave him an easy life, and he wasn’t gonna bitch about it. 

Well. 

That, and his smooth as honey voice, and the good looks his father had so graciously passed down to him. 

Thanks pops. 

Still, he didn’t know why the hell he had to be here for this meeting. Kagome could handle it. She was good at this shit. She had an eye for detail and always fought for what was best for him. Him being here? 

Yeah. 

Totally fucking unneeded. 

“If we can launch the album next month, then he can set out on a summer tour at the end of June - we will have lots of time to promote and advertise, and we can capitalize on the school girls looking to have some summer fun with their friends.”

“Next month is far too soon! He’s still in the middle of mixing some of the songs and--”

“I’m going to take a piss,” he mumbled, getting up and leaving the room. He didn’t care if it was rude or not. He wasn’t gonna sit there and listen to them going back and forth about the details. Besides. He was bored out of his fucking mind. 

Once he was free from that godforsaken meeting, he lazily meandered down the halls until he found the balcony he knew by heart. It was his favorite place in the whole damn building because he could light up a cigarette...tobacco or otherwise...and no one would bother him about it. He quickly crossed the glass doors and reached into his leather jacket, pulling out the box of half used smokes and giving the bottom a couple of firm taps against his palm. 

Damn. 

It was a hell of a view out here. All of LA sparkled like a diamond, and he found himself smiling down at the city lights and the hundreds of cars slowly making their way to wherever the fuck they were headed. He pulled out a lighter after he plucked a cigarette from the packet. Inuyasha lit it with the expertise that came from being a regular smoker, and placed the butt between his lips. He took a long, slow drag, reveling in the taste. The feel of the tobacco entering his lungs. Fuck it was good...Calming. As familiar to him as a woman’s body wrapping around his cock. 

He crinkled up the thick carton holding the last of his cigarettes, shoving them into his back pocket as he plucked the one between his lips and slowly exhaled.

“Damn…” he breathed. That was fucking fantastic...and it was worth ditching that fucking meeting for. Kagome could handle it. She was a big girl. Didn’t need him. 

Hell. 

She never fucking needed him. 

You know...the good thing about being famous? The copious amounts of women and the money and being able to use your fame to get what you want...except for the things ya really want. That was the downside of all of this shit. 

He was constantly surrounded by people, and yet...he had never felt more alone in his whole damn life. There was only one person he could really trust. One person he could really confide in...And yeah there was always a string of women more than happy to sit on his cock, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it...but...he didn’t want a string of women. 

He wanted the one woman he could never have. 

His fucking manager. 

Speaking of cliche...How fucking cliche was that?

It was nothing but business with that woman...that beautiful...smart...strong...powerful woman…

She was kind and sweet and put him and his needs above everything else. When he was drunk off his ass, she took him home and cleaned him up and rubbed his back as he vomited into the toilet. When he was lonely after kicking a woman out from his hotel room, she was there for him, in her mussed up, wrinkly pajamas, brushing the hair out of his eyes as she listened to him. She fought for him against the sharks trying to take every penny of his hard earned money. She helped him pick out his first...and then second house...She...She…

Fuck he loved her and he could never have her...and maybe that just added to the swell of loneliness he felt in his chest. 

No amount of women could ever really replace her, and so...he fucked who he could when he could to make the hole in his chest feel a little smaller. Make her feel a little fucking closer. 

He could still remember the first day he met her. He was just having some fun at an open mic...Doing a cover of ‘Can’t Go On Without You’ by Kaleo...and there she was. 

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, sitting on the other side of the dark bar, watching him with rapt attention. There was something about those cinnamon eyes that just...drew him in. Something about the way she sat on the edge of her seat...it made him feel like the only damn man in the whole fucking world, and he decided as soon as their eyes locked that he was gonna make a move on her the second he got off stage. 

Only...when he walked over to her...she gave him her card. 

He had been excited, sure. She was scouting him...saying she saw something in him...But...all he had really wanted that night was a first date. He hadn’t wanted all of...this. 

Now, five years later, he had been on plenty of first dates. 

Just...never with her...because his cinnamon eyed girl?

She was all business, and he fucking hated it. 

Fuck, this was depressing as shit. 

Inuyasha chuckled bitterly and took another long drag of his cigarette, slowly exhaling and watching the smoke spiral upwards. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Well. 

It was a cold day in hell when she managed to sneak up on him, and yet…

“Smokin’ - you?”

“Dragging your ass back to this fucking meeting. Inuyasha, you can’t just blow this off…”

“Inuyasha? You must really be pissed, huh?” he mused, his amber eyes sparkling with amusement in the dim light shining out from the other side of the glass doors. She normally called him Yash when they were alone now. Inuyasha...That was a name for when she meant business, was annoyed or--

“Yes, I am,” she hissed. “This meeting is important, you know,” she snapped, crossing her arms under her breasts, and he allowed himself a second to look at her as he took another deep drag on his cigarette. 

God she was beautiful. Black wrap shirt with red and white vertical stripes...loose high waisted black pants...black Louboutin heels...and the diamonds he had given her last Christmas. Tennis bracelet, station necklace, stud earrings...they all sparkled brightly, drawing his attention to them. 

“You never take those off, do you,” he commented as he exhaled, the smoke swirling around them. 

“W-what?”

“The set I gave ya for Christmas. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without them, since I gave them to you.”

“I…” she trailed off, as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs. “That’s not important right now, Inuyasha. I need you to come back inside and pay attention to this meeting.”

He took another drag from his cigarette, just to annoy her. She was so damn beautiful when he pissed her off. Probably not the best thing in the world - to be attracted to an angry woman - but the way her cheeks flushed. Damn. 

It was the closest he could get to seeing what she would look like after sex. Eyes closed in bliss...mouth shaped in that perfect little “o” when she came...it was something he’d never see for himself. His heart ached a little at the thought.

Fuck. Why did he like torturing himself so damn much?

“Yeah. I’m almost done here,” he sighed, taking another drag as she drummed her fingers on her forearms. 

“Oh good. How kind of you to finish up your smoke break early just for us...You’re a Saint.”

“I know you mean that sarcastically, but I kinda like the sound of that, Kags,” he teased, and he watched some of the fight leave her body as her eyes and scent saddened. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” she waved off dismissively. “Just...anxious to get all these details hammered out.”

“You’re doing great so far,” he mused, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground and toeing it out. “Ya always do, Kags.”

She looked like she wanted to respond to that...but words seemed to fail her in that moment. 

“Come on,” she sighed instead, opening the door and crossing back into the building. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he appeased, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his leather jacket. His thumb absently came up to play with the different rings on his fingers as he followed Kagome back to the meeting.

Let me know if you want to get tagged when this goes live!!

[gothamstreetcat]

things i’ve been tagged in as of late (a masterpost):

I. tagged by - @avacrwder

hardcover or paperback / rent or buy / reads in silence or reads with music / standalone or series / annotations or pristine pages / ebook or physical copy / dog ears or bookmarks / mismatched series or complete set/ going to the library or taking whatever editions they have there / cover matters or you don’t judge / lend books or keep them to yourself  / enjoys lit classes or despises them / browses shops or orders online / reads reviews or goes in blind / unreturned books or clean library record / rereads or once was enough / fanfic enthusiast or a stickler for canon / deep reader or easily distracted / must read the book before seeing the movie or order doesn’t matter / has neat bookshelves or messy bookshelves / skips ahead or resists temptation / reads aloud or in your head / guesses plot twists or never sees them coming

II. tagged by - @marthaskane

describe my blog tag meme 

icon: camren bicondova wearing black lipstick with her hair tied up and in a turtleneck shirt aka the closest embodiment to me i’m going to get. i did try to recreate this photo for my blog but i suck at taking pictures of myself

content: i think when i started this blog it was a lot of spooky content and caryl content (walking dead). i am so sorry for the people who followed me for walking dead content and are still here, somehow. my blog has more or less morphed into a gotham blog and i am very happy about that. however, i will reblog any other content relating to the goth aesthetic, patrick melrose, good omens, and whatever holds my interest for more then five seconds

letter color: white

url: gothamstreetcat

header: an edit i did featuring batcat in an old catwoman comic no one can seem to stand

blog title: ‘bruce wayne die-hard’ I saw the word ‘die-hard’ once and decided i was going to use it

III. tagged by - @harlee-n & @lgbtrogues

Rules: tag 8 people you’d like to get to know better!

favorite colors: mostly black but i do like other colors in certain circumstances 

last song I listened to: yesterday when i wrote this my playlist landed on taylor swift’s ‘peace’ and i’m sticking with it! but i’ve been listening to a lot of her last two albums these last couple days. particularly; london boy, cornelia street, illicit affairs, and i forgot that you existed 

favorite musicians: i don’t think this answers the questions but i really like rock and roll and usually listen to the same bands and whatnot constantly. it’s shameful 

last film I watched: fantasy island and it honestly wasn’t that good

last tv show I watched: degrassi 

favorite character: do you want to see how many times i can type bruce wayne’s name onto this post? selina kyle is also top tier for me. lucious fox and alfred are both criminally underrated. death from sandman, crowley from good omens, joel miller from the last of us, lara croft from tomb raider. i love bridgit pike, harley quinn, poison ivy and jason todd because he needs more love then fans give him + probably a dozen or so other character’s i’m forgetting

sweet, spicy or savoury: savoury and sweet

sparkling water, tea or coffee: coffee first and foremost, sparkling water second (i like polar the best) and (iced) tea last

pets: i have a cat named isis (from batman tas) and a dog named coco

IV. tagged by - @avacrwder

rules: tag some people you want to get to know better

ships: mostly batcat 

last song: betty by taylor swift 

last movie: answered above

currently reading: not really anything right now

currently watching: right now i’ve been replaying the last of time in my free time

V. tagged by @avacrwder

top ten favs (i suck at top ten anything since there is very little that sticks with me and I ‘love’)

MOVIES:

it chaper one (2017)

birds of prey (2020)

joker (2019)

aquamarine (2006)

13 going on 30 (2004)

the rocky horror picture show (1975)

Holloweentown (1998)

it (1990)

spiderman into the spider-verse (2018)

spiderman (2002)

BOOKS: (i don’t even read books like that anymore but i’m also putting books i have on my audible)

good omens - neil gaiman & terry pratchett

between the devil and the deep blue sea - april genevieve tucholke

patrick melrose - edward st. aubyn

nos4a2 - joe hill

it - stephen king

miss peregrine’s home for peculiar children - ranson riggs

the perks of being a wallflower - stephen chbosky

ellen hopkins YA novels

perfect- natasha friend 

milk and honey - rupi kaur

MUSIC:

daughter

elana tonra

dilly dally

ac/dc

halestorm

hayley williams 

taylor swift (i’m putting taylor on this list because even though i don’t listen to her as hardcore as others, i genuinely do think she is very naturally talented)

ozzy osbourne

shunkan

the cure

TOP TEN (CURRENT) (TAYLOR SWIFT) SONGS: (since that’s all i’ve been listening to the last couple days)

peace 

my tears ricochet

illicit affairs

seven

paper rings

london boy

i forgot that you existed

daylight

cornelia street

the man

TV SHOWS:

gotham

jenna marbles (youtube)

pennyworth

good omens

degrassi 

the harley quinn show

birds of prey (2000)

touch

desperate housewives 

batman the animated series

(+ BONUS) VIDEO GAMES:

the last of us

the last of us part II

life is strange

life is strange II

the tomb raider franchise 

particularly angel of darkness

elder scrolls: skyrim 

the sims 4 

alice madness returns

the batman games

VI. tagged by - @avacrwder (i am so sorry but i just copied this from the post you tagged me in)

Elements | tag

AIR

i have small hands / i love the night sky / i watch small animals and birds when i pass them by / i drink herbal tea / i wake to see dawn / the smell of dust is comforting / i’m valued for being wise / i prefer books to music / i meditate / i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE

i don’t have straight hair / i like to wear ripped jeans and overalls / i play an organized sport / i love dogs / i am not afraid of adventure / i love to talk to strangers / i always try new foods / i enjoy road trips / summer is my favorite season / my radio is always playing

WATER

i wear bracelets on my wrists / i love the bustle of the city / i have more than one set of piercings / i read poetry / i love the sound of a thunderstorm / i want to travel the world / i sleep past midday most days / i love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs / i rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia / i see emotions in colors not words

EARTH

i wear glasses or contacts / i enjoy doing the laundry / i am a vegetarian or vegan*  / i have an excellent sense of time / my humor is very cheerful / i am a valued advisor to my friends / i believe in true love / i love the chill of mountain air / i’m always listening to music / i am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER

i go without makeup in my daily life / i make my own artwork / i keep on track of my tasks and time / i always know true north / i see beauty in everything / i can always smell flowers / i smile at everyone i pass by / i always fear history repeating itself / i have recovered from a mental disorder / i can love unconditionally

* i’ve been making more of an effort to add vegan alternatives to my life. i want to go vegan completely but lately i’ve just been really down and wanna eat whatever i want. however, my favorite switch that i made was finding a vegan coffee creamer i like! it’s the silk almondmilk creamer and if bees had knees they would live wherever that creamer is made. it’s the best. 

i am so sorry for everyone who tagged me in things and didn’t may it onto this post. thank you all so much because it does mean a lot to me. i am going to tag everyone i love but please know participation is always optional. you can either do one of these, all of them, or none. i also think one of these asked for my current time, it is 10:32 in the afternoon 

tagging - @avacrwder (you know i had to tag you just one more time) @marthaskane @brvceselina @apple-grass-and-smiles @stevie-harrington @waynesmanvr @saltybatman @queergordon @keepswingin @sonyarebecchi @selinascatnip @jennasmarbles @twoheartsoneclara @drawing-cookie @harlee-n @yoko-goto @honestmrdual @clara-oswin-oswald @callmeredhood (+ anyone who wants to)

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 8 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language, NSFW

wc: 11.3k

------------

Maya knocks her knees together rhythmically, watching her white topsheet catch the ray of sunshine coming in from her window and release it again.

Her window is open. She can smell the sea. And when she closes her eyes she can hear it.

She swears that’s more valuable than any hour of the expensive therapy she’s had in 12 years. 

When she wakes up in the morning in her bedroom in the house she bought herself in her happiest place, she gets to feel proud. She hasn’t felt true pride like this in a long time, not since she first started working in finance and felt like she had made a smart, adult choice that would support her and create a good, solid life.

She looks at it now and wonders how she got there, how she managed to convince herself that words like “solid” and “adult” would ever be enough to describe the life she really wanted.

So yeah, Maya’s proud. She’s proud she sacked up and left. She’s proud that she hasn’t gone running back, especially with all the emotional tumult she’s caused herself with this whole unexpected Shawn situation. It would’ve been like her, once, to shut this down and go running back to Manhattan where she could control everything and not hurt anyone.

Not anyone but herself, at least.

But hurting herself is not what she’s doing anymore. She still doesn’t really know what she’s doing in Avila other than surfing and painting and sleeping. Maybe that’s what she’ll do with her life now, forever. Maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe she’ll need something else.

The point is she doesn’t know. She can’t know now. She can’t control it, so she must embrace it. Embracing Avila means more than just enjoying its beaches and the occasional farmers market. It means learning what Avila can really give her, can really make her.

Maya’s ready for her Avila makeover.

+

Maya frowns at the eyeliner pencil between her fingers. Was it always this clumpy? When the hell did she buy this?

When did she last wear eyeliner?

She lifts her eyebrows and sighs. She can’t honestly remember.

She swallows and puts it down, shaking a hand through her hair and adjusting her loose-fitting sheer button-up. She unbuttons one button at the chest, then buttons it back again. She makes a face. She’s never thought this hard about her appearance around Shawn in her life. She knows he doesn’t care. So what the fuck is she doing?

She just… she really likes to stun him. For him to stare at her with that slow-growing smile like he’s thinking about how fucking lucky he is. He hasn’t looked at her that way since the night they were together. She thinks she’d like him to look at her like that again.

Breakfast felt like a turning point, but she can’t explain exactly how. Since she got home that afternoon, she’s been a churning, overflowing cauldron of artistic output. She wakes up, surfs, draws or paints all afternoon and surfs again at night. And it feels fucking great.

Feeling great has been unfamiliar to Maya for so long. She’s gonna chase it. And right now, the feeling’s got her seeking out Shawn.

She feels good about the decision to ditch the eyeliner when she walks through the front door of his shop, signaled by the little ding of his bell. She wants to feel like herself around him. Just… a vibrant, sexy version.

Sawdust overwhelms his senses as he lies on his back beneath his piano. He glides sandpaper along the not-quite-perfect edges of the underlying framework. He doesn’t mind the extra time it takes with the paper, because he can’t get the finesse, the perfection with the electric sander at this angle. 

He hums along to the new John Mayer album playing over the speakers as he brushes dust from his work goggles, before reaching for a particularly tricky edge whose perfection has been evading him. 

The sandpaper falls on his face when the door to the shop opens, the little bell chiming over Mayer’s voice. Shawn blows at the paper until it slides off his face and lands on the floor. 

“Be right there! Picking up or dropping off?” he calls as he rolls himself out from under the piano. He stands up and keeps his back to the door so he can brush himself off before greeting a client. 

He shouldn’t wear black to work anymore. It does nothing to hide sawdust. 

He gets himself as clean as he possibly can with dirty hands and a kind of clean rag, then turns to the doorway to the front of the shop. 

“Oh—“ fuck. 

Maya. He blinks at her, then looks down at himself, then back to her. He swallows; there’s absolutely nothing he can do about the fact that she looks gorgeous and he looks like he spilled coke all over himself like a desperate drug addict. 

“Hey— hi. Hi,” he walks out of the back, into the doorway as wipes his hands on his rag again, “I didn’t know you were stopping by. Did I know? Shit, I haven’t looked at my phone all morning.” 

The shop is empty. She gazes around at his instruments, each one of them holding a piece of him. It makes her indescribably happy and comfortable to be surrounded by them like this. She doesn’t even mind the smell of lacquer and sawdust. It’s as personal to her as her acrylic paints and turpentine.

He comes hustling out of the back room before she can answer his question. She beams at him, at the sweat matting his curls to his forehead and the sawdust that covers him. He looks like she’s knocked him out of an intense focus. Maybe she should feel a little guilty, but god, he looks so cute.

She lifts her hand from the back pocket of her little shorts and waves delicately, tilting her head like she’s flirting with him. The idea is funny to her, flirting with Shawn. Like he doesn’t know all her tricks. She bites her glossy lower lip and walks up to the counter. She props her elbows up and doesn’t regret leaving that one button undone.

“No, I was feeling spontaneous. I’d hug you, but you kind of smell like power tools,” she jokes, blinking up at him, hoping he touches her anyway.

She’s… different. Good different, he thinks. Confident different, like maybe she doesn’t feel like a total stranger around him anymore. She’s more familiar, he guesses. He smiles, throws his rag over his shoulder as he steps down from the doorway of the workshop and up to the counter.

Shawn leans down on his elbows and smiles at her, shrugging a little. 

“This is how I always smell now, unfortunately.” 

He wets his lower lip and lets himself study her. She did herself up a bit, for Maya standards. He knows when she puts thought into a look. His heart stutters. Why would she put effort into an outfit if she wasn’t trying to impress him or, you know, woo him or something? 

That familiar feeling of hope flares in his chest. He bites his lip as he looks down at her. 

“So, suddenly interested in picking up an instrument, Lu?” he asks with a teasing smirk and a tilt of his head. 

Shawn mirrors her position over the counter. He’s a little overwhelming so close up like this -- Maya’s out of practice. Her breath catches in her chest. She decides not to tell him that she thinks the workshop smell thing is actually really sexy in a very classically masculine way. But she thinks it. Boy, does she think it.

Maya giggles and looks around the shop, nodding at the walls. “Mhmm, came in for a private lesson.”

… What? Where the fuck did that come from?

She floors him. The last time Shawn saw her, he practically broke her heart. But she’s here now, blinking up at him with her pretty brown eyes and— and flirting with him. 

She didn’t even flirt with him before they had sex the other week. This is different. He’s not complaining. 

“I charge double for walk-ins, sugar,” he murmurs with a wink. 

Maya nearly melts into the counter when he winks at her and lowers his voice into that register that always made her knees weak. God, she’d walk into fucking fire for him.

Before she can let herself panic over that comment, she squares her shoulders and smirks at him instead. 

“Want to show me what you’ve been working on back there?”

Oh yeah, his work. He told her to come over to see his work. He supposes he’d convinced himself she wasn’t going to. 

He likes when she proves him wrong. 

He raises his brows, then looks over his shoulder into the back, where the piano waits for him to stop fucking around. 

“Yeah, totally,” he says with a grin as he looks back at her, “There are a few things back there, actually.”

“C’mon,” he says as he walks to the end of the counter and holds his hand out for her. 

She takes his hand eagerly, giggling as she walks around the counter like she’s being naughty and going where she’s not allowed. She squeezes his hand, a silent additional greeting, an extra little “hey, I missed you.”

As he guides her into the back room, she sees nothing but the piano at first. It’s enormous, of course, so it catches her eye, but it’s more than that. It’s so sleek and elegant, even unfinished. Maya gasps through a grin, dropping his hand to circle it, admiring from every angle.

She examines his piano like she would a Botticelli at the Met. His heart clatters against his ribs as she watches her admire his work, like it’s really something exceptional and not like, a pretty basic piano considering it’s his first. 

He’s clever though, so maybe it’s a little more unique than that. Maybe he sells himself short, too.

It really is magnificent. It’s beautiful, masculine somehow, poised and welcoming. It’s like if Shawn were an instrument, he’d be this piano. The thought makes her smile wider.

She turns away from him to place her hands on top, to feel its solid weight. “It’s extraordinary.”

He smiles and leans back against the desk behind him, still focused on her. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, “I still need to sand it down up there.” 

It’s actually pretty smooth but. He’s picky. And you really shouldn’t touch it with bare hands until it’s lacquered and dried anyway. Splinters fucking suck, so it’s too risky.

“But, you know, thank you. I guess it’s not bad for a first try.” 

He glances down at the ground and smiles to himself, the tips of his ears turning pink. He’s always liked impressing her, always felt warm and bright from her praise. He preens for her. He’s easy. 

Even after all these years, she’s still Maya Lu, junior art star and charismatic orientation leader and someone he just wants to know, so he trips over himself to impress her, to get her to be proud of him. To notice him. 

He shoves a hand into his hair and tugs.

Maya lifts her hands and wiggles her fingers playfully to prove she hasn’t gotten any splinters. She turns to face him with a soft smile.

“I totally get it, you know. I see you everywhere in here. It makes so much sense to me that this is what you do. I mean, beyond being meticulous or whatever, you’ve always loved everything about music. So I get wanting to be so deep in it that you build it from the ground up like this. It’s… so you.”

She bites her lip and clasps her hands behind her back, walking back toward the other pieces in his work studio. The harp catches her eye. She touches it gently, admiring its curves and angles. She grins at the idea of him sitting down to play it. She thinks that would be a sight to see. A shiver shoots down her spine. She covers it by turning on her heel to face him again.

“I hope you still write music, though.”

She talks about him like she’s read a diary he doesn’t keep. She knows his facade and can see right through it, into the depths of who he really is, or whatever. 

She’s held his heart in her hand and because of that, she can see him from the inside out. 

It doesn’t scare him. It gives him a reason to keep hoping for the future he could have with her. 

“I—“ Only about you. “I do, yeah, but not as often. I just don’t have the time, you know?” 

It’s not really a lie, it’s just not the entire truth. He doesn’t have time, but he also doesn’t have ideas unless he’s thinking about her, in one way or another. Even if he doesn’t write a love song, Maya’s still the inspiration that guides his words and melodies.

It’s so cliche, that she’s his muse or whatever. He’s kind of disgusted with himself. That’s probably (definitely) why he pretends he doesn’t write very much. 

He flirts with the idea of telling her, though. Like one desperate appeal to her emotions to convince her to stay in Avila forever and learn how to love him again. 

He digs his fingernails into his palms to cool himself down. He’s always too willing to jump the gun with her, and today he doesn’t want to ruin this good thing that seems to be happening. 

“I like to write little tunes for the different pieces I fix up, though. Like that harp. I’m not much of a harpist, but it’s fun to fuck around.” 

He’s babbling like an idiot. He hopes she comes to shut him up before he says something totally incriminating. 

Maya nods, watching him realize how much she still knows about him. After all, he’s still Shawn and she’s still Maya, even after everything. She imagines there’s plenty she doesn’t know about him but the fundamental things that make him who he is? Yeah, she still gets those.

“I’ve been… painting a lot,” she says carefully. It’s not something she needs to be wary of telling him, really, but she hasn’t told anyone that she’s dived back into her art. She hasn’t talked about art in so long. It’s like her mouth has trouble fitting around the words, or like she’s trying to speak a language she hasn’t spoken in many years.

Maya speaks like she’s telling him a secret. He smiles, wetting his lips before he murmurs, “That’s good.” 

She deserves to paint. To do something for herself and not for her career or money. Painting, surfing, falling back in love with him. You know. That kind of thing. 

He only hates himself a little for thinking it.

She takes little steps closer to him almost unconsciously, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathes. It’s meditative.

“I actually bought watercolors the other day. I haven’t worked in watercolors since I was about 15. It’s wonderful. It’s so… light.”

She wiggles her nose and chuckles to herself. “You and your harp and me and my watercolors. I guess some things never change.”

He chews on his lip, considering. “Yeah, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any watercolor pieces of yours. And you’ve never seen me play the harp.” 

She reaches out and taps his arm playfully but it sets her ablaze.

She’s such a dork. He grins at her, ignoring the way his stomach flips as she draws closer to him. He keeps himself steady, cool enough to catch her wrist in one hand before she can pull away from him. 

He pouts. “Ouch, Lu.” 

Maya feels like the way she’s creeping toward him seems maybe a little too much like a handler approaching a wild animal. He doesn’t scurry away from her though. He stays put. 

He reaches out for her. Her heart breaks into a sprint. 

Maya takes another step forward. He smells like sweat and sawdust. His eyes are curious and a little sleepy. And he feels like home. 

Maya steps forward again. She’s right up against him now. She holds his gaze as she lowers her lips to the spot on his bicep that she tapped, kissing it gently. 

“There,” she murmurs, “All better?”

Maya has always been a little too good at teasing him. He presses his fingers into her pulse as she presses her lips to his arm. He mashes his own lips together as he watches her. 

“I guess,” he says, glancing down at his arm, then back to her. “Though I don’t think that’s standard medical protocol.” 

He was not about to say something disgusting like, but that’s not the only spot that hurts. Even though he really wanted to. Like, what an easy opening. Maybe he should’ve said it. Maybe that’s what she’s angling for. He’s not used to this flirty version of Maya anymore, hasn’t seen her in 12 years and now she’s here in full force, like she never left. 

Carefully, he lifts her hand until it’s resting on his shoulder. He drops her wrist in favor of curling his hand around her waist instead. 

“But I won’t tell anyone,” he finishes with a smirk. 

Shawn is warm and responsive. He holds her around the waist and brings her up against him gently, carefully, because neither of them is too sure how far to push this right now. It feels like they’re on a precipice again. One good gust of wind could knock them both over.

But he’s teasing her back and she missed it so much. So maybe this time she’ll be the breeze.

Maya lifts her other arm to curl them both around his shoulders. She doesn’t care that he’s covered in work dust and has some paint under his nails. She always wants him. She wants him even more now after being in his sacred space getting a special introduction to how he spends his time.

Maya comes up onto her toes and brushes her nose against his. “Our secret, then?”

It’s a little pathetic, how easy it is for Maya to drive Shawn crazy. To make goosebumps prickle his skin and his heart throb in his chest. She knows how to play him better than he does any instrument. 

His eyes close, fingers curling tighter into her waist. He purrs, “I love keeping secrets with you, sugar.” 

He brings his free hand to her neck, cupping her just beneath her ear and tilting her head back with a firm press of his thumb to her jaw. 

“M’gonna kiss you now,” he breathes, before doing exactly that. 

It’s a delicate, teasing brush of his lips against hers as he slides his thigh forward, pressing between hers.

When he holds her like this, when he kisses her like this, it feels like their world is their secret. 

This kiss isn’t like the ones from the other night, frantic and a little neurotic because neither of them knew really what the other was thinking. This kiss feels more like the ones from Maya’s memory, the ones that came with years of experience. It’s not the first kiss, it’s the millionth and it feels so good.

She gives in easily, practically melts against him as she grips his thigh with hers. He hums into her mouth, tongue licking carefully at her lower lip. 

Maya tilts her head, holding him where he is. She slots her mouth against his so she can suck on his lower lip, soft at first, getting firmer as they breathe together and she snuggles a little closer against his leg. 

She’s in little denim cutoffs. The feel of his jeans pressed up against her bare legs is tantalizing. She squeezes her thighs around his, smiling into his mouth before she pulls away slightly.

He’s getting into it when she pulls away. His breath catches in his throat and he almost chases after her. 

She looks up at him, smoothing the curls down against his neck.

She tilts her head and whispers, “You bring all the girls back here, Mendes?”

He chuckles, leaning in to nip at the angle of her jaw, just beneath her ear. “Oh yeah, Lu. This is the hottest hook up spot in Avila. I thought you knew,” he smirks, nosing carefully at her earlobe.

Maya chuckles but it doesn’t quite cover the shiver she feels at his sexy teasing. She holds on a little tighter around his shoulders, very sure that he’ll hold her up if her knees give. 

That does remind her, though, that she hasn’t been on her knees for him. She misses that.

His tongue snakes out to lick her soft skin, slowly at first, before he gets worked up and starts pressing open-mouthed kisses behind her ear. 

Maya aids him by sweeping hair off her shoulder. She mewls at the feverish press of his mouth to her skin. As a 21-year-old, she’d have begged him to leave a mark. Now she’s more interested in letting him do what he wants when he wants. She thinks of it as a way they can get to know each other again. She knows he liked it when she got bossy before, though. That part of her isn’t lost.

Maya closes her eyes and leans into him when he catches a certain spot on her neck that makes goosebumps break out over her whole body. She inhales sharply, right in his ear, and hums.

She strokes a hand down his back and back up, rucking his shirt up with her fingers. His skin is soft and sizzling warm all over. She grins, knowing he’s hot for her.

He focuses on tasting as much as of her skin as he can get to, has to use his mouth for something other than babbling her praise or telling her how much he loves her. 

Tiny explosions sting his skin in the wake of her wandering hands. Her soft, panting breaths in his ear have his cock twitching in his jeans. 

He rocks his thigh up against her, gripping her hip tightly so he can pull her down onto his firm quad. His lips find their way back to her ear and he catches her earlobe with his teeth, giving her a little tug.

“Lu,” he coos after he kisses the shell of her ear, “What do you want, sugar?”

They’re grinding hard where they stand like the horny kids they still are at heart. Maya can feel herself already a little wet in her panties for him as he drags her along the thick, muscled length of his thigh. He feels so fucking good.

She hangs on him, lets him spoil her with every touch, every nip, every kiss. When he asks her what she wants, she’s almost too overwhelmed to answer. She groans and looks around the room. There’s a couch against a wall that looks welcoming. Maya drags her fingernails down his spine and nods at it.

“I want you to go sit. I want you to let me spoil you a little,” she murmurs, turning her head to plant a kiss on his cheek as she releases him. 

Waiting for him to obey, she starts tugging at the buttons of her shirt.

He’s imagined something incredibly similar to this happening to him time and time again. It’s one of his go-to shower fantasies. He should probably be a bit ashamed of that. 

He pants as he looks down at her, hand dropping to the desk once more. He grips the edge, has to get his bearings first so he doesn’t trip over himself. 

“What did I do to get so lucky?” he asks with a raise of his brow as he finally pushes off of desk and drops down on the couch, sinking into the plush leather while he drapes his arms along the back. 

His dick aches in anticipation, and he spreads his thighs in an attempt to calm himself down as he looks up at her.

Maya wets her lips, reaching the last button on her shirt. She tugs it out where it’s tucked into the front of her shorts and lets it fall open over a sweet, sheer lace bralette. She drops it off her shoulders, wasn’t really planning to give him a little show, but, while she’s here…

Maya turns away from him and slips her fingers into the waistband of her shorts, thumbing around her hips teasingly. She glances at him over her shoulder and inhales slowly, tugging at her zipper. She pulls them down slowly, wriggling out of the tight fabric, turning back around to show off her little matching panties. She’s putting her cards on the table -- Maya didn’t often bother to match her bra and underwear. She’s showing him that she put in some effort in the vain hope that this was where it might lead. 

She planned this. Maya fucking planned this. He knows because her panties match the pretty bralette she’s wearing and she only ever wore matching lingerie when she had a plan. He squeezes his eyes shut and groans a little. He’s not complaining. She makes good plans. 

She takes a couple steps forward and kneels between his legs. His cock is already getting hard in his jeans, she can see it beginning to strain against the fabric. Maya runs her hands, fingers spread wide and hungry, up and down his quadriceps from hip to knee, digging her thumbs in to massage the muscles. She looks up at Shawn, blinking innocently.

He opens his eyes again quickly, not keen on missing anything, and sees her dropping down to her knees. 

“Shit,” he breathes as she presses her small hands into his thighs, fingers scratching over his muscles. His cock twitches and his legs part just a bit more as he rolls his hips forward. His head tips back and he pushes a hand into his hair, trying to find some way to ground himself. 

Maya watches his body react without his mind’s permission, canting his hips up because he knows what he’s getting from her and knows how good she can give it. She’s flooded with power and pride, imagining no one’s ever made him feel this way. Maybe she’s wrong, maybe she’s not the best he’s ever had, maybe her ego only gets this swollen when he’s looking at her like that between his knees but she wants to believe it.

He’s that for her, anyway.

“Sweetheart,” she rasps, “You miss my mouth?”

A rough laugh rumbles his chest as he shakes his head. “God, baby. You know I did.” 

I missed everything about you. 

He manages to choke on the sentiment instead of admitting it. He moves past it, babbles on with, “Missed your pretty lips and hot tongue. Missed how good you always are.” 

His lips loosen, praising the attributes of her mouth. She hums in agreement, flushing a little as she reaches for the button of his jeans. She pulls on them, biting her lip as she watches him rake a shaky hand through his gorgeous curls. 

She wastes no time, taking his boxer briefs down with his pants in the same motion. She wets  her lips at the sight of his cock stiff and pink and nearly ready for her. She sits forward, resting her chin on his thigh and blinking up at him sweetly. She takes his cock in her hand and strokes him slowly, light pressure, because she loves driving him crazy and she’s damn good at it.

“What else did you miss?”

She loves watching him run his mouth when he’s getting worked up like this. She wants to see what kind of picture he can paint for her.

“Ah-- ah, shit,” he growls when she digs her chin into his thigh and wraps her perfect hand around his cock. 

Missed the way you looked at me when you told me you loved me. 

He can’t fucking say that, or anything remotely like it. His hips twitch and he closes his eyes, breathes in slowly through his nose to calm himself down. After a moment, he’s able to look at her, sees the glint in her eye and the sweet little smirk on her lips as she slowly works his shaft. 

“Missed how you suck my cock, Lu. Missed how you moan around me, how you rub your thighs together as you get wet with my dick on your tongue. Missed watching you touch your clit while you suck at me like a popsicle.” 

He’s panting by the end of it, his lips wet and swollen as he fucks his cock up into her fist. He’s got no shame with her, can’t bother acting like they don’t know each other like this, inside and out. Maya’s well aware of what this coy little act of hers does to him. He doesn’t mind that she uses it against him. 

“Love how wet you get while sucking my cock, sugar,” he growls, pushing both hands into his hair and tipping his head back, watching her from beneath his thick lashes.

Maya’s enchanted. He’s so fucking sexy. He’s always sexy, he was sexy when she bumped into him on the beach today, he was sexy when she walked in to see him covered in sawdust, he was sexy when he was blushing at her artwork 15 years ago. 

But when his lips are wet around the filth he’s moaning about loving how turned on she gets by getting him off, he’s so sexy she doesn’t know what to fucking do with herself. 

Maya’s head feels heavy. She tilts it so her cheek is resting on his bare thigh, tightening her grip on his cock as he starts to fuck up into it. She knows it’s not nearly enough for him, she knows it’s not at all the best she can do to drive him insane, but the best is yet to come. 

“Mmm, can’t help it,” she sighs, turning her face to leave a biting kiss on the inside of his thigh. She sits forward and forces his hips down with a press of her hand, watching his head fall back. She stares up at him, licking a hot, thick stripe up the underside of his cock. She follows it up with sweet little kitten licks around his swollen head, scooting forward on her knees. 

“Getting you hard gets me so fucking wet,” she confesses, but he already knows. She hums again, dipping her head to drop the tip of his dick into her mouth, swirling her tongue around slowly.

“God, Maya,” he grunts when she gets her tongue on him. Her confession is something he’s aware of, but hearing her say it sparks lightning in his veins. She’s so gorgeous like this, settled comfortably in his lap with her mouth on his cock. She’s always prettiest when she’s the most comfortable around him. 

“That’s it, sugar,” he practically slurs as her hot little tongue circles the head of his cock. He tugs his hair as he focuses on her mouth, watching her plump lips stretch around him, just barely covering his tip as she teases him the best way she knows how. 

Maya’s lashes flutter at the sound of his voice, hot and smooth like syrup as he purrs at her. It makes her moan around his cock as it throbs against her tongue. 

The sounds her mouth makes around his dick are so obscene --  wet, slurping pops as she sucks at him like she might never get the chance again. 

“S’this why you came over here, Lulu? Missed sucking my cock like this?” he coos, but his voice is rough, fucked from her lips and her hands and the smell of sea salt in her pretty brown hair. 

“Missed getting your thighs all wet with my dick in your mouth, didn’t you?” he asks, so he doesn’t ask her something like, Did you miss the way I used to make love to you when you couldn’t sleep at night? 

Now is not the fucking time. 

She blinks up at him and takes him back further down her throat, starting to bob her head as he speaks. She groans again, nodding, pausing on an upward pass of his shaft to kiss the tip of his dick and take a breath.

“Yeah,” she pants, “Wanted you in my mouth so bad. Miss how good it feels having you down my throat. You haven’t even touched me and my pussy is soaked.”

She’s a lot filthier than she used to be. All those years of his dirty mouth must’ve rubbed off on her. It’s incredibly fucking sexy, mostly because it’s so goddamn honest. 

He believes she means every word. She’s not just trying to be sexy, and that’s the sexiest part. 

He drops a hand from his hair to reach for hers, cupping the back of her hair as she sinks her mouth further down the length of his cock. She’s warm and velvety around him, and absolutely fucking incredible. He throbs between her lips.

With another gentle kiss on his twitching head, she grips him firmly, stroking while she holds his gaze and dips her hand down the front of her panties. When she pulls it back out, he can see she wasn’t fucking around. She’s so wet. 

She grins and dives back in, using the hand that was stroking him to reach down and cup his balls, squeezing and rolling them between her fingers. 

“Oh, fuck, sugar, oh my fucking god,” he growls when she shows him her sticky wet fingers then plays with his balls. 

“That’s so sexy, baby, Jesus Christ. Gonna let me taste you? You taste so fucking good.” 

Maya thrives on this, on hearing how completely wrecked he sounds when she really starts going to work on him. Truthfully, she was nervous -- she hadn’t had her mouth on a man in a really long time. Shawn’s eager whimpering and words of praise tell her for certain she hasn’t lost her touch.

His hand in her hair has her pumping him a little faster in and out of her mouth, meeting where her gag reflex resists him with little groaning purrs from the back of her throat.

She slides back up his cock again, tonguing at his slit. She reaches up and offers him her fingers to suck on, knowing what he wants.

She shivers, pulling off his shaft and kissing down the beating vein on his cock to press teasing kisses all over his balls. She wants to make him lose his goddamn mind. After all, it’s what he deserves.

“Suck on my fingers, baby,” she encourages, breath rough and hot on his thighs. 

It’s a little pathetic, how he scrambles for her fingers. He wraps his hand around her wrist and tugs her to his mouth, licking her fingers carefully before sucking them past his lips. He groans around her, pulling her fingers from his mouth with a pop before kisses her fingertips. 

Maya could watch him lose his mind like this for her forever. He holds her wrist steady so he can savor the sweetness on her fingers and it reminds her just how desperate he can get for her. He could never get enough of the taste of her. But she was similarly affected -- she used to drag blow jobs out until he was begging, pleading to come, it was too much to take, but she liked pushing his limits.

Her lips on his balls have his cock aching, leaking for her, dripping down his shaft and onto his abdomen. He squeezes her wrist and drops his head back, hips fucking up, cock grinding against nothing. 

“Shit-- shit, Maya, my god. You’re-- fuck, you’re so sexy. So good-- so fucking good at this, so good to me, Christ,” he hisses, nipping at her fingertips again before looking down at her, his eyes glassy. 

He wants to tell her he loves her so badly. His heart is hammering against his ribs and the feeling of it warms through his entire body as his hips rock back and forth on the couch. He feels like he’s vibrating with need, but he’ll never be satisfied until he can tell her how he really feels. 

He nibbles at her fingers and mutters hopelessly like he’ll never have it so good again in his life. It makes her stomach swirl. She’s so eager to get him off now. She wants to make it unforgettable.

“Sugar, Maya, I’m-- ah, fuck, I missed you,” he rasps, holding on just enough to choose his words wisely.

I missed you.

He’s been saying it since they started making out. Hell, he said it the last time they fucked. It just… it sounded different this time, like he was trying to say something else. Maya pulls away from him to look up, past his heaving, panting chest and his swollen lips to his big brown eyes. She closes her eyes, turns her face into his thigh and slowly, affectionately noses at the soft hair there. With one last little kiss, the only thing she can give him in return, she sits up and takes his cock down her throat, bobbing her head quickly, soaking his dick.

Maya squirms, moaning around him hot and hard in her mouth. She reaches down between her thighs and rubs her clit quickly with the pad of her middle finger, swallowing him down as far as she can, ready to make him fall apart.

“Holy fuck,” he chokes out, curling forward over her head as she takes his cock deep into her mouth and sucks at him like her life fucking depends on it. He pushes his hands into her hair to hold on, not to guide or direct her, but to steady himself as she completely overwhelms him.

He looks down at her and realizes her hand is between her thighs, sure her fingers are flicking her clit like she always loves to do as she tries to carry him to the edge. 

He wants to come in her mouth, but he also wants so much more. He’s feeling crazed for it, maybe overly emotional and nostalgic, but he wants to come with her. He wants to make her come all over his cock before he finally lets go himself. He wants her to know how he feels without having to say it. 

“Baby, baby--” he growls, tugging at her hair, grinding his hips into the couch. “Maya, sugar, I’m-- you got me so fucking close, but I don’t-- I wanna feel your pussy, sweetie. Please.” 

Shawn wants more.

Before Shawn, no guy had ever refused the opportunity to come in her mouth. He was the first to show interest in getting her off with him. It seems he hasn’t lost the desire.

She’s sure he’s practically dangling on the edge of an orgasm, so the willpower it takes to reel it in and do what he can to get her there with him is pretty stunning. Maya whimpers, overwhelmed by his desire for her, and sits back on her heels, running a hand through her hair.

“Ok,” she murmurs, clearing her throat, “Yeah, baby. Wanna feel you inside me. Always.”

The “always” was maybe a little much but her brain is fried. She stands, giggles as she nearly tips over on shaky legs, and ditches her soaking wet lace panties.

She stands before him flushed and needy as she slips out of her sticky panties. He can see the wetness dripping down her thighs as she crawls onto the couch, legs spreading so she can straddle his lap. 

He’s breathless, staring at her with his hands tangled in his own hair. He lets her take him how she wants, touch him how she wants, use him however she wants. 

He’s hers. 

Shawn watches her from the couch. She does what she can not to leap on him, instead lowering herself into his lap and sitting forward until his cock is pressed against her pussy and she can roll her hips to grind against him.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, scrunching up her nose, tightening her grip on his shoulders.

Shawn doesn’t know how he went twelve years without this. Without her. She fits perfectly against him, curves perfectly into the lines and divots of his body, so well sometimes that he can’t remember where he ends and she begins. He’s really so fucked that he thinks about her in cliches and he doesn’t even care. 

Finally, she slides forward; her pussy is hot and slick over his cock as his hips jerk up in response to the sweet sensation. 

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, dropping one hand to her thigh as he looks her up and down, from her slick pussy dripping on his shaft to the smooth curve of her belly, to her hard nipples that strain against the pretty fabric of her bra. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says, his voice more awestruck than sex-fucked in this moment, as he gazes at her resting atop him like she belongs there and nowhere else. 

How does he not tell her he loves her? How can he not? She should know, she deserves to know. He can’t just keep doing this with her and pretending like it doesn’t mean the world to him. 

He pushes himself away from the back of the couch and presses his chest to hers, cupping her throat with his hands and gliding his thumbs along her jaw. He presses his forehead to hers and looks her in the eye, searching for something, though he’s not sure what. 

“Maya,” he breathes, nudging her nose as he grinds his cock up against her, brushing the head over her swollen, sensitive clit. “Missed how good you feel like this, sugar.”  

Maya sobs a breath when he lurches forward and presses up against her chest, holding her face in his hands. She wants to close her eyes so badly, it’s too much having him so close and staring at her like this like he’s considering not ever letting her go again. But the way he’s holding her, pressing his nose against hers gently while he finds an angle that will make her gasp (which he does easily), it makes her hold his gaze.

Her breathing is ragged. She’s half a heartbeat away from tears. How can he treat her this way, after everything? It’s not to be denied now, not at all. There’s still something very real here between them that neither of them is doing a good job ignoring. And Maya’s not running from it.

Maya lifts her fingers into Shawn’s hair, surrendering. She tips her head onto his shoulder, takes a slow, deep breath with her hips still rocking into his and wraps her arms around him.

“Take me, Shawn. Please.”

“I got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to hers as he wraps his arms around her waist and reaches up the length of her spine to cup her shoulder blades and rock her down against his cock. “Lu, I got you, I’ll take care of you.” 

He kisses her again to shut himself up, then rolls his hips forward, smoothly sliding his length along her slit and nudging over her clit before pressing up against her tight entrance. He rocks again, pushing his tip shallowly into her pussy, her velvet walls immediately clenching perfectly around him. 

He swallows her up into his chest with the way he curls his arms around her. Maya’s never felt so safe, ever. The kiss keeps both their stupid mouths occupied, which she’s so grateful for. But when he slips inside her, hard and thick and everything she’s wanted, she groans, loud and unabashed into his mouth.

“Fuck, sugar,” he purrs, sucking at her lower lip, giving her a little nibble. He then mouths along the sharp angle of her jaw until he reaches her ear, giving her earlobe a kiss. 

“So fucking wet for me. Can’t believe how wet you get, can’t believe how fucking good you feel,” he mutters in her ear, voice rough with need. “Feels perfect, Maya, you know that. Don’t you, sweetheart? You know you feel so perfect on my cock.” 

He emphasizes his words with a flick of his hips that slides him deeper into her slick, welcoming cunt. 

“Oh my god, oh Shawn,” she gasps between his sweet lips as he starts to break away for her jaw, mumbling to her quietly like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. It makes a sharp shiver tear down her spine so she squirms hard in his arms.

His hips flick up. Her head falls back, her mouth drops open in a silent scream as her hips start to rock of their own volition.

“Never been so good, never been so fucking good with you,” she chants, shaking her head, “It was always perfect but, fuck, it’s never been this good, baby, you’re so good with me. It’s perfect, baby. It’s perfect.”

Her words are repetitive, a stream of consciousness of the hot, torrid thoughts in her head. She scrunches her fingers in his hair and tugs to show her urgency because words simply aren’t enough at this point. Plus, if she opens her mouth now, she just knows a poorly-timed I love you will come tumbling out.

She’s right, it’s never been this good. He’s never felt so desperate for her before, so determined to use his body to show her the depth of his feelings for her because they’re too much to vocalize. He whines against her ear as she praises him, praises them both. 

“Just wanna make you feel this good as much as I can,” he admits on a choked off breath, his fingers digging into her shoulder blades as his hips stutter beneath her soft, slick thighs. 

God, everything he says right now feels like an atom bomb. But he’s giving it to her so good she really can’t stop and think too hard about it. She can’t really think at all.

Shawn wisely silences himself against her neck, at least temporarily, busying himself with marking his former territory. She’s far from stopping him. If she can walk around with his love bites on her body for a few days, she’ll welcome it. They’re like a badge of honor.

He rocks his cock deeper and deeper into her sweet pussy, licking and sucking along the column of her throat, down to her clavicle then back up to her ear, nipping at the sensitive shell of cartilage. 

Her tits bounce as he thrusts hard into her. She clings to him, fingers sinking into his neck and his hair to keep herself from smacking into him as their bodies take over control. There’s nothing gentle or meticulous about it the way Shawn sometimes is with her. That’s equally as wonderful, of course. But this, this raw need for her that controls the flicking of his hips and has him so deep inside her that her toes curl, this is so fucking good.

“Jesus, sugar,” he pants, hips snapping harder and harder as he bounces her in his lap, working her on his dick. “Fucking-- love it, love having you on my cock, baby.” 

He bites down on her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut after a close fucking call that he can only blame on the ambiance of the sunset shining through the windows and panting the room in golden amber light. 

Maya doesn’t notice him fumble over his words, instead gasping and twitching when he bites at her bronzed shoulder like he doesn’t trust his mouth. She cradles the back of his head and whines, the pain and pleasure setting something off inside her.

“Baby, I’m gonna come. Gonna come soon. Wanna touch my clit for me?” she whispers, tonguing at the shell of his ear in time with the roll of her hips.

Something snaps inside of him when she purrs in his ear, asks him to help make her come with his fingers. He growls and wraps a thick, sturdy arm around her waist so he can lift her from his lap and settle her down onto the couch instead. 

Maya mewls in his ear when he lifts her and repositions her on the couch. She lets him take over her hands — as much as she likes to hold him, she knows she’s taken care of right now. 

They stay connected as he shifts around, knees on the couch, thighs pressed against the back of hers as he reaches for her wrists and pins them above her head so she’s arched beneath him, pretty tits straining against her bra. 

Shawn starts moving again, making sure this orgasm is going to overwhelm her to the point of total, unadulterated bliss. 

Her sensitive nipples arch against his chest and drag against the fabric of her bralette. Her feet are planted on either side of his legs so she can give as good as she gets, but the rhythm of her hips is starting to fail as she gets closer and closer. 

“M’gonna make you come so good, sugar,” he pants, keeping her wrists pinned with one hand while the other ventures down her body, fingertips tripping over her skin until he reaches the wet, hot apex of her thighs. 

He snaps his hips once, twice, thrice, changing the angle each time until the head of his cock finally brushes her g-spot, just as he slips his middle finger between her pink folds and flicks at her swollen clit. He presses down on the stiff little nub before slowly working her in tight circles, the rhythm of his finger slower than the snapping cadence of his hips as he stretches her pretty pussy with his cock. 

He knows exactly what she needs like he always has. He tilts his hips to rut against her g-spot with every stroke. His finger swirls tight but tantalizingly slow against her swollen, twitching clit. 

He kisses along her throat until his lips meet her chin. He moves to her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his teeth. He gives her a little nip before pressing their foreheads together. “C’mon, Lu, come all over me. Feels-- fuck, fuck-- feels so fucking good when you come on my cock.” 

She can’t keep the air in her lungs. She’s panting and writhing beneath him, thrashing like a desperate caged animal. Until he settles his forehead against hers and whispers. 

Maya goes rigid, crying out into his mouth, arching extraordinarily as she soaks his thick cock. Her body holds him in as it riots, orgasm reaching up through her until she’s rolling, slow and tortured, like she’s clinging to every piece of her release. 

He’s not sure how he manages to make it through her rippling, overwhelming orgasm without completely falling apart himself. He kisses her through it, rolling his hips faster as he picks up speed with his finger on her twitching clit. 

It’s hard to keep up with her thrashing, but he tightens his grip on her wrists and lets himself settle more of his weight atop her. She’s fucking dripping all over him, soaking his dick and his lower abdomen, along with his thighs. 

He pulls back when she starts to come down, slowing his hips as his cock throbs inside of her spamming cunt. He watches her chest heave as he clenches his jaw, forcing himself still as he pants along with her. 

It’s one of the longer orgasms she’s ever had. When it begins to fade, Maya blinks her wet eyes open and stares at him, so in love he must just see it all over her face. She coos and kisses his swollen lower lip. 

“Your turn, honey. Come inside me. Wanna feel you so deep, baby.”

His eyes flutter shut when she kisses him, purring with a loving clenching of her pussy. He groans into her mouth, his snapping tightly, just once, before he lets himself kiss her properly. 

“Gonna give you what you want, Lu, gonna—“ he cuts himself off with a moan, dropping his head down to her shoulder as he fucks her faster, hips rabbiting down and slapping her thighs. 

He goes quick and shallow, can’t help but focus the head of his cock over her g-spot with every frantic stroke, the angle ingrained in his muscle memory. 

Maya’s heart rate has just started to normalize when he starts stroking hard again. But she can’t help but get worked up again -- she anticipates his orgasm as much as her own, if not more. 

Maya holds on, wrapping her legs around his hips as he slams them into her. With each quick thrust, he bumps up against her sensitive spot that has her grunting and squirming.

“May— Maya, shit,” he bites at her collarbone to shut himself up as his balls tighten and he finally lets go. He groans into her skin, coming deep inside of her as his hips come to a clenched stop against her wet thighs.

He sinks his teeth into her clavicle when he buries himself and comes hard, letting go inside her. She groans, low and deep, at the dual sensations. She slides a hand up to cradle the back of his head, letting him rest against her chest while he comes down. She strokes his hair and lets her clenched legs slide off until she’s limp and wholly satisfied beneath him.

“That was… god, Jesus Christ,” Maya sighs, running her pointed toes down the back of his leg as she tries to remember how to talk.

Shawn’s a little out of his head. He’s pretty sure he’s never come so hard in his life. His face is buried in her neck as he finally begins to relax, legs and hips unclenching as he collapses on top of her, settling between her thighs. 

Maya’s eyes are closed as he noses at her, strokes her fiery, goosebumped skin and recovers from a truly epic orgasm. She relishes the weight of him against her, so familiar and comforting like he’s her favorite giant blanket. She scooches around beneath him until they’re both comfortable and tucked up against each other.

His chest is heaving, pressing into hers while they breathe together, basking in the warm afterglow. Shawn carefully releases Maya’s wrists and glides his fingers down the length of her body until he reaches her waist. He mouths slowly at her throat when he finally gets his breathing under control. 

He doesn’t trust himself to speak yet, though, still shaken from the heat of his orgasm. He rubs the tips of his nose across her skin and paws at her sides with his needy, wandering hands. 

She’s not doing much better than he is. 

“You’re the most incredible woman I have ever known,” he pants into the soft skin of her neck when he decides he just can’t keep quiet. He’s lame and hyperbolic and probably too much, but an orgasm is a hell of a drug. And Maya is a hell of a woman. 

His words have her eyes snapping open. She clenches her jaw and blinks quickly, trying not to gasp for breath but she’s having trouble oxygenating her brain.

After a moment or two, she speaks.

“You really always have been too good to me,” she murmurs, turning her face so her nose brushes up against his sweaty curls.

Maya’s overwhelmed. Part of her wants to spill her guts, tell him all the lovely things she’s been thinking for so long, tell him all the ways she’s missed him. The other part knows it’s not the time. Not now, not even when he’s said something so unbelievable.

He smiles into her skin. She says it like she doesn’t believe him, like he’s just nice to be nice.  But he would never say something like that just to be sweet. He nudges her jaw with his nose, kisses her just beneath her chin. 

“No,” he hums, kissing along her jaw lazily, “No, I’m just trying to give you what you deserve. Even if you don’t think you deserve it.” 

It’s strikingly honest, but it’s true. She deserves the fucking world, and she doesn’t seem to  know it. 

Maya exhales sharply. She’s still getting used to this idea that he doesn’t hate her breathing guts. She’s also getting used to not hating her own breathing guts. So him laying it on this thick for no other reason than because he truly believes what he’s saying?

It’s a lot.

He breathes out after a moment, letting his head drop onto her chest. 

“I know you think-- maybe you think I’m a glutton for punishment and you probably think I should hate you or something, but. I don’t. I never did. I was--” he lets out a gruff laugh, “I was fucking pissed, for a while. But I--” I always loved you, “I could never hate you. And I could never not think the sun shines out of your ass, because it does. You have, like, the best, shiniest ass.” 

He rests his chin on her sternum and looks up at her, biting his lip through a sheepish smile. 

He snuggles up to her chest and continues talking. She listens carefully, smirking at his comment about her ass. He props his chin up between her breasts. She plays with the curls on his forehead, twirling them around her slender fingers.

“Shawn Mendes, I think only you have a big enough heart not to hate me after what I did. I hated me. I think I’ve only recently stopped hating me. I think you’ve been part of that.”

“I don’t think you should hate yourself at all,” Shawn murmurs. He wants to kiss her, but if he kisses her, he’ll definitely blow it. He’s getting too close to ‘I love you’ with ‘I could never hate you’ as it is. Instead, he presses a gentle peck to her chest before looking back up at her. 

She’s quiet for a moment or two before booping his nose with the tip of her finger. “You know, at some point, not now but maybe soon, we should talk about what it is we’re doing here.”

He wrinkles his nose, then closes his eyes at her suggestion. He only hates her a little bit for being the adult. 

We’re falling in love again, right? 

That’s what he wants them to be doing, even if it’s rash. Realistically, he knows that it can’t be what they’re doing. They haven’t seen each other in so long, and she has a job and a life and a completely different city to get back to. But she’s keeping the house here, so it’s not like she’ll be disappearing all over again. He could do long distance for a little, if need be, and they could learn how to love each other again. 

He can’t say anything like that. 

She continues toying with, bouncing the curls against his forehead like she’s a cat and he’s her ball of yarn. When he closes his eyes to think, Maya stretches back, folding an arm under her head, letting herself get even more comfortable with him. She ignores the idea that maybe that’s dangerous.

Instead, he blinks his eyes open and smiles crookedly at her. “We’re helping you relax after being so uptight in New York, obviously.” 

It’s such a cop out. It’s cowardice, and he hates himself for it. 

She chuckles at his answer to her question and strokes a hand through his hair from crown to neck, scratching him gently with her nails.

“You’re doing an excellent job of that,” she purrs, “I haven’t come this hard in… uhm, years.”

He closes his eyes and sighs, brushes one more sweet kiss to her chest. “We’re doing whatever you want to do, Lulu. I’m just-- I’m here. For you. However you need me.” 

He kisses her chest again. She swallows sharply, her lie on her mind. He still thinks she’s leaving. He thinks at worst, she’ll be a temporary dalliance and will leave him alone again to live his life unburdened by her.

He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. She hasn’t let him.

She takes a deep breath, trying to free herself from the creeping guilt and gloom. She can be mature later.

Shawn loves the comfort of settling his whole weight atop her while she plays with his hair, even though it’s sweaty and like, pretty full of sawdust. He likes the familiarity of this, the comfort and warmth. He likes how she loves cradling him between her thighs, even long after they’ve both come down from their peaks. 

He starts spreading kisses along the length of her sternum, down between the valley of her breasts then back up again, nipping at the soft fabric of her bralette every now and then. 

“I hope you weren’t expecting any customers,” she murmurs, glancing around his work studio with a lifted eyebrow. She totally derailed his process.

He laughs, looking up at her, then around at the shop, now dark under the sparse light of dusk. He shakes his head as he looks back down at her.

“Nah,” he says with a shrug, “Most foot traffic actually happens in the morning, or right after lunch. By the end of the day it’s usually just me, obsessing over some project I don’t have to actually finish for like… weeks.” 

Maya’s trying not to let herself fantasize about the idea of getting used to this. But she can see it so clearly -- installing a board rack outside. Walking up after a session to squeeze out her hair before she walks inside because he gets pissy about the saltwater on his fine hardwood floors. Riding him on the couch while the sun sets.

Yeah. Ok. The fantasy took hold. Too late.

He blinks down at her, then carefully pushes himself up onto one arm, lifting his hips from hers so he can slip out of her. He reaches down for his briefs and pulls them back up before he wiggles in between her and the back of the couch. 

He pulls her into his chest, so her back his flush against his front, then reaches for the blanket over the arm of the couch and wraps them up. 

Maya grunts gently when he slips out of her but he doesn’t go far, wrapping them up in a blanket on the couch. She’s so comfortable she’s a little worried about passing out right here up against him. He probably wouldn’t even mind. He’d probably be happy.

She wants to make him happy.

Maya snuggles in, tucks herself so the proportions of her body fit neatly into his. Spooning has never truly felt like spooning with anyone else, not when she fits so perfectly into him. She always rolled her eyes at the puzzle piece metaphor people like to use, but now she gets it.

She doesn’t try to wiggle away or excuse herself by pulling her panties on. She lets him move her, then cuddles back against him like a satisfied cat who wants to bask in his body heat. It’s his favorite feeling. 

He sighs, presses a kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Better,” he murmurs. “Sometimes I sleep here. Like, if I lose track of time and don’t feel like walking home. This couch is really comfy.” 

He’s babbling, now, like if he finds more shit to say, the longer she’ll stay. 

Maya closes her eyes. “I don’t like the idea of you sleeping here all by yourself on this couch. It’s not even that comfy. Stop doing that,” she scolds with a smile. 

He so busy plodding kisses along her shoulder and  towards the back of her neck, that he doesn’t really care she’s fussing. He smiles into her hair as he noses the base of her scalp. 

“It’s either alone here or alone at the apartment. Not much difference, Lu,” he says with a thoughtful hum. One of his hands finds her leg under the blanket, and his fingers slowly tease the curving slope of her thigh until he reaches her knee. He trails back up, then, stroking her skin until he reaches the ripple of stretch marks that bloom at her hip. He loves them. He’s familiar with each one, has spent hours tracing their path as they wrap around her body with his fingertips. 

Maya lets him spoil her, dropping kisses all over her shoulders, sore from hunching over a canvas and paddling out to catch waves. She sighs at his words and goes to speak.

But his hand is so distracting.

God, his hands are so huge and yet so graceful. She just basks in the feeling of his touch after starving herself of it for so long. She hums and tries to remind herself what she was going to say to him next, before he started caressing her hip like he loves her stretch marks as much as he loves the rest of her. 

“Will admit, though,” he murmurs, taking a calm breath through his nose as he presses his lips to the top of her head, his cheek cradled by his own bicep, “This couch is exponentially comfier when I have you here with me.” 

He disgusts himself, sometimes. But he can’t help it. Maya brings it out in him. 

Maya opens her eyes and lifts a hand to cup his jaw from behind her, stroking along the cut of it with her thumb.

“You know what I bet is comfier than this couch with me? Your bed with me,” she points out, glancing over her shoulder at him. 

Shawn presses his jaw into her hand, like a dog nudging into a pet. His brows raise as he pushing himself up onto his elbow, looking down at her. She’s really on a roll with awesome ideas today. He grins. 

“I dunno, Lemon,” he says, lips quirking, “You kinda steal the sheets. And sometimes you kick me when you have that soccer dream from when you were in third grade.”

He’ll take any chance he can get to remind her he knows her, knows the small details and close-kept secrets whispered between them in the dark as well as he knows the back of his hand or the chords to Back to Black by Amy Winehouse. 

He drops his nose to her shoulder, kisses her gently. 

“Do you really want to?” he murmurs, his voice gruff as he breathes into her skin and keeps his eyes closed. It’s a question bathed in doubt, but he can’t help it. This is the first time since she’s been in Avila where she seems truly receptive to folding herself into his life. He doesn’t want that to go away.

He’s teasing her but she can pretty much tell by the cadence of his voice that he’s stalling, a little bit in disbelief, maybe even a little nervous about letting her in that far. Or maybe he’s nervous that if he does she’ll run again.

She’s so fucking tired of running.

Maya carefully turns over and does a 180 to face him on her other side. She slings a leg over his and scooches up the couch so her face is level with his.

“If I can deal with you clinging to me like a leech in the middle of the night and talking in your sleep like a weirdo, you can deal with my occasional light kicking and hogging of sheets.”

She swings an arm around his neck and flattens her lips against his with a smile for a brief, loud kiss.

“Take me home, Mendes.”

----------

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[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Brian Cannon

This is probably a pretty obvious statement to make, but there’s more to music than just the music. Things like melody and chords and all that are fairly important, but there are a thousand other factors that help turn a song, track or album into something more than just a bunch of sound waves smacking into your ear drums.

Record sleeves are one such factor — and not many have created quite as many stone cold classics as Brian Cannon.

As the man behind the infamous Microdot agency, Brian was responsible for looking after the visual side of both Oasis and The Verve, as well as designing covers for bands like Suede, Cast and Inspiral Carpets.

Here’s an interview with him about doing graffiti in Wigan, his trademark ‘in-camera’ style and the logistics of putting a Rolls Royce in a swimming pool…

Maybe an obvious first question – but how did you get into designing record covers? What were you into when you were growing up in Wigan.

I specifically set out to design record sleeves, because I was a fan of punk rock. I was 11 in 1977, when I first got into it all.

Do you remember the first time you saw ‘punk’?

I’m the eldest in my family, so I didn’t have the influence of an older brother – but I did have an older cousin called Tony who was 15 at the time — and when you’re 11, that’s a massive difference. I’d heard about this phenomenon from Tony, and then I saw the Buzzcocks on Top of the Pops — and to actually see it in the flesh — it blew me away.

Why do you think it had such an impact on so many people? Was it because it was so different.

Exactly, it was totally different. At that time, Top of the Pops was your barometer, and glam rock was pretty much all you had — things like Sweet and Mud — long hair, flares, platforms and mad outfits. But then all of a sudden you had these lads who looked like your mates, with short hair and tight pants, making this fast, aggressive music. And I loved it.

How did this lead into doing design?

Me and my mates thought, “We’ve got to get a band together.” So we met up at my mum’s house in Wigan, and I realised instantly that I couldn’t play guitar. I just couldn’t get my head around chords.

But I’d always been good at drawing. My dad was a fantastic illustrator, far better than me, but the opportunities for illustrators in Wigan in the 1940s were zero – so he worked as a coal miner and never did anything with it. But he was very much in favour of me doing drawing, and he always encouraged me.

And with punk, if you looked at the graphics and the visual identity, it felt like it was in reach. I think that was the point of it. Before punk, bands were like creatures from another planet — but with punk, the whole process was demystified – the man in the street could get involved. That was a massive inspiration to me.

So I married my love of the music with my talent for art, and thought that I’d become a sleeve designer instead.

It’s interesting how even in your early teens you knew exactly what you wanted to do.  

I remember doing this art foundation course, and the tutor was going around, asking us what we wanted to do when we finished our education. He came to me and I said, “I want to design record sleeves.” But straight away he said, “No, no, no – you can’t be so specific, you need to get a job in graphics and learn your way.”

I was almost derided for it – because not only was I going to do record sleeves, but I was going to go freelance from the get go. I think anyone can do it these days, because you just get a laptop and then you’re a graphic designer all of a sudden. But back then, not only was there no social media and no internet, but the equipment required to do the job of a graphic designer, the forerunner to Photoshop, cost £300,000. It was this machine called Quantel Paintbox.

What was that?

It was a computer, about the size of your house, with less power than your mobile phone. It was way out of my reach — I could hardly afford a paper and pencil.

What did you do then?

This punk style was really stark, with high contrast black and white, degraded imagery, and it just so happened that if you photocopied an image over and over, it went like that. And that was handy, because all I could afford to use was a photocopier.

There was a little print shop at the bottom of Library Street in Wigan, and I’d be in there all day, with a scalpel and a tin of glue, putting these things together in the shop – and that’s how it all started.

How did your first sleeve come about? Was that the Ruthless Rap Assassins one?

Yeah — I did a graffiti mural on the side of a warehouse in 1984, and it was noticed by a guy called Greg Wilson, who was a very influential DJ at that time. He’d thought to himself, I’m going to see this New York style graffiti in London or Manchester or Birmingham at some point, but he couldn’t believe it that he’d seen it in Wigan. He sent word out on the street that he wanted to meet whoever had done it, and I was summoned to his house. We ended up becoming friends and I did this sleeve. And then off it went from there.

What happened next then?

I then met Richard Ashcroft at a party and got chatting, but then The Verve got signed and I didn’t see him for another two years. I ended up bumping into him in a petrol station at six o’ clock in the morning. He said, “Wow, you’re that sleeve guy. We’ve just been signed – do you want the gig?”

So I went to London to have a meeting with Virgin, who The Verve were signed to. Vigin obviously had some big London agency lined up to do this work for The Verve, so they were horrified when Richard Ashcroft said he wanted this unknown student he’d met at a party in Wigan to do the artwork. But they were cool enough to think, “Well, this is what the band wanted.” And then after the first single came about, they were like, “Sorry we doubted you.”

What else were you doing at that time?

On the back of doing the stuff for The Verve, Suede got in touch. And then I met Noel Gallagher. I used to have an office in Manchester on New Mount Street in the same building as the Inspiral Carpets office, and I got chatting to him in the lift about trainers.

What were they?

They were a pair of adidas Indoor Super. I took my mother to Rome for her 60th birthday, and I found these trainers in some tiny backstreet shop.

Wasn’t the Oasis logo based roughly on the adidas logo?

The original was kind of the adidas font – but we binned it, because with the adidas font, the ‘A’ is just like an ‘o’ with a line on the side, so it just looked like ‘oosis’.

I did the logo in ’93, and then their first album came out in ’94. After Oasis it went buck-wild... Ash, Cast, even Atomic Kitten… it was mental.

Was it hard to keep up with it all?

No, because if you think about it, even a busy band back then would only put out three singles and an album out per year – so even if you’ve got five bands a year, that’s only twenty jobs a year. Mind you, it was labour intensive as there was no Photoshop.

I was going to ask you about that. As a lot of your images were done without Photoshop, ‘in camera’, how did you go about getting them? Creating an image like the Oasis Be Here Now cover doesn’t look easy.

This is a very important point to make. Because it was all shot on film – we didn’t have the luxury of looking at the back of the camera and seeing what we’d got. We had no idea what we’d got until we got the photos back from the lab. Imagine putting a Rolls Royce in a swimming pool and realising the photos weren’t exposed correctly.

Before the shoot, there’d be a massive process of research and preparation, so when the day comes, nothing was left to chance.

Were you given free reign with all this?

Yeah, it was a beautiful situation. With both The Verve and Oasis, the record companies just let us get on with it. All they did was pay for the bills. And that was great, because we knew what we were doing.

A lot of the Oasis ones are particularly complicated. What was the hardest one to pull off?

Putting a Rolls Royce in a pool was pretty tough. Finding a pool that someone’s going to let you put a Rolls Royce into was the hardest part. And then we had to find a Rolls Royce that wasn’t worth £50,000 – because Oasis weren’t that rich. It was a scrap Rolls Royce, with no engine in it, but it still cost us £1,000 to hire it. And then we had to get a crane and dangle it in.

How many shots did you take of that one?

That one was ridiculous, because like I said, we didn’t have the luxury of seeing what we’d shot. For that shoot there was something like 30 odd rolls of film, with 36 exposures on each roll – so it was almost a thousand frames of something that’s really just a still life. That’s excessive.

We stayed there that night, and then we got the films processed in London. Then there was the wait, like an expectant father.

How did you work out which was the best one, when you had a thousand pretty much identical photos to look at?

It was like snow blindness. We’d start with the obvious non-starters, and whittle it down and down. It was a very laborious process of elimination, but we didn’t know any other way.

Do you think this real life, ‘in camera’ method of creating these really detailed images helped elevate them a bit?

By that point we could have easily Photoshopped it, but we just did things for real because it was our trademark, and I enjoyed doing things that way. We started doing it that way out of necessity, because we couldn’t afford computers – but even when we could afford them, we still did things the real way as we preferred it.

And it must have been more fun that sitting around staring at a computer.

Yeah – I loved it. Just to see a Rolls Royce in a swimming pool – it looked amazing.

What about the Definitely Maybe cover? Obviously now that’s talked about as being one of the best record covers of all time, but were people saying that when it was released?

No, they weren’t. It’s all very well saying things with the benefit of hindsight. It’s just been voted as one of the top 70 record sleeves of all time – and do you know what? I’m not going to rain on my own parade, because I think it’s a great sleeve — but had that been for a band you’d never heard of, it wouldn’t be in the top 70.

I suppose there’s a lot that’s tied in with that. The memories that come with it and everything else – it’s a full package. What was the story behind the Definitely Maybe cover?

It’s an anti-band shot. That was the idea. There’s a Beatles album called A Collection of Beatles Oldies (but Goldies!), and on the back there’s this shot of them in this dressing room in Japan. And I just loved the fly on the wall nature of it – none of them were looking at the camera. And whilst it looks nothing like Definitely Maybe, that’s where the inspiration came from.

That documentary style?

Precisely. The band are having their picture took, and they’re all watching the telly.

It’s designed to look candid, but what was the reality of it?

It was incredibly staged. It’s too perfect of a composition to just happen. We positioned everyone very carefully. Even the still on the television was specifically chosen – it’s the shot in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly where he’s got him by the face. It was paused on VHS. That’s how meticulous it was.

A lot of your sleeves are photography-based. Was there a particular reason for this?

My favourite record sleeves, with the exceptions of Never Mind the Bollocks, are photographically based. I just think it’s the best way of doing it. And that’s why, in the cases of both The Verve and Oasis, there’s very little intrusion with type or logos.

With The Verve, the logo would be in the shot, and with Oasis, the logo would be in the top corner. We’d spend ages coming up for the idea and staging the shoot, we didn’t want to ruin it by plastering a logo in front of it.

It seemed like there was definite styles for each band you worked with. Your covers for The Verve always had real text in the photo. Was that a faff to do that? Setting the letters on fire on the Storm in Heaven cover looked tough.

Yes, it was. I had the letters made by a steel fabricator in Oldham, and covered them with this cladding that street jugglers use when they’re juggling fire, and then poured paraffin onto it. The only downside was that the letters gave off loads of smoke – and because we were in a cave, it just wouldn’t clear. We were having to wait about half an hour in-between each shot for the smoke to clear.

Where did the idea for that one come from?

I’d never seen letters set on fire and photographed before, but I just thought it’d look good. I do a lot of lecturing at colleges, and I always say, much to the chagrin of the lecturers, that you don’t have to explain everything away. Some things you just do because they look good – there’s no further explanation required.

Very true. Maybe a tough question, especially considering what you’ve just said… but what makes a good record cover?

What makes a good record? You just know, don’t you? There can be a thousand reasons why one might be bad, but I can’t think of one reason why one will be good. There’s no formula to it. It’s down to the individual too – it’s all opinion.

What do you think the purpose of a record cover is? Is it marketing, or is it art?

I don’t think it’s a marketing tool — I’d regard it as a bonus for the fans. I don’t think it sells records. I’ve bought the odd record because of the sleeve, but then again, I’m a sleeve designer.

Were the covers always influenced by the music – or sometimes did you just have an idea you wanted to use on something?

No — that never happened. We were quite vehement about that. Every sleeve was like a bespoke suit, cut for that particular piece of music.

From what I’ve read, you weren’t just some guy in an office sending off designs to the bands – you were involved with the bands a lot more, going on tours and things like that.

I was of the opinion that the more I got my head around what the band were into and how they thought, the better the visuals could be… and hanging around with a rock and roll band is good fun. I toured American with both Oasis and The Verve, but it was mad, because I was the only person on the tour-bus who had nothing to do.

What was it like being around those bands when they suddenly became massive?

It was all a bit weird really. Anybody will tell you this – the best bit of any band is that bit when they just start taking off. The best bits are when it’s still pretty innocent.

Did you have a few people working for you by that point?

Yeah – but it was never massive. At Microdot’s peak, there was five or six of us. In the late 90s we started branching out into all sorts of mad stuff. We were running night-clubs, we were publishing magazines, we were managing bands… at one point there was talk of importing Volkswagen Beetles from Mexico.

A brilliant idea.

I’d gone to Mexico on holiday, and I kept seeing these old Beetles. They were still making them there, and we’d worked out that if we shipped them back to England, and even if we turned them right hand drive, we could still make £2,000 on every one we sold. If we sold 500 of them, we’d make a million quid.

We were all set to go, but Volkswagen head office in Germany had told the Mexicans they couldn’t sell us the cars, as they reckoned it’d harm the Golf market in the UK.

But it would have been mint.

I know. So we then tried the Brazilians as they were making them there too – and this was so Microdot it was untrue. On the street in Shoreditch where we had our studio, there was a little café called Franco’s that was run by a Portuguese family. Now they don’t speak Spanish in Brazil – they speak Portuguese, so I went in to Franco’s one day and I said I’d give the man who worked behind the counter a tenner if he’d come to the office, and speak down the phone to Volkswagen HQ in Sao Paulo. He did it, but it still didn’t happen.

What do you mean by things being, “so Microdot.” Was there a certain attitude there?

Absolutely. The reason why it was like that was because I didn’t have any experience of working in an agency. I had no idea how things should be done — we were just making things up as we were going along.

It was bonkers. When we moved to London, we had enough money from Alan McGee to buy this computer, and to set up a studio in Shoreditch. But in this mad rush to move to London, I’d forgotten that we needed somewhere to live, so me and Matt, the lad who worked with me, had to live in the studio. There was one room, and a toilet, and we lived in there for four months. We had a couch that you could take the cushions off, and we’d take it in turns every night – one of us sleeping on the couch, one of us sleeping on the cushions on the floor.

And we could party hard, because we knew that the only person we had to answer to the following day had been out with us previous night – there was no way Noel Gallagher was going to ring us at nine in the morning, because we’d just left him at seven in the morning. There’d be occasions when a client would turn up, and there’d be somebody asleep on the floor in the studio.

Nowadays you do all sorts of stuff – and amongst various design bits, you’ve been photographing northern soul nights. How did this come about?

That was a massive project for me. It started in 2012, when the renaissance was under way. A friend of mine from Wigan said that I should go along to this club run by these kids who were into northern soul.

I was very aware that when you take photographs of people dancing in dark rooms, they just look like statues at a wedding, but I wanted to get some soul or some atmosphere into the shot, so I thought I’ll use an off-camera flash.

I went to this club-night with my mate John, who was going to be my lighting guy, holding my flash in his hand, at a 45 degree angle to me. But when we get there, his phone rings — his wife was pregnant and her car had got a puncture — so that was my lighting gone. So I just put the light on the stage or on the floor, and worked around that, and the results I got were astonishing, purely by accident – I got these massive long shadows, cast from behind.

I suppose that comes from the same place as your record covers – you’re a fan.

Absolutely. Growing up in Wigan in the 1970s made it kind of inevitable to be a northern soul fan.

Alright, I think I’ve pretty much ran out of questions now. Have you got any wise words or anything to finish this off?

Never give in.

[marvelous-avengers]

In Bloom - 3

summary: Bucky’s got some scars in more places than he cares to admit, and thinks some art is the key to helping him recover. What he doesn’t expect is for a certain tattoo artist to settle his soul. Modern AU with tattoo artist!reader

pairing: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

warnings: angst, talks of depression, therapy and recovery, slow burn lovin, some fluffy fluff and heart skipping

a/n: i feel like it’s been forever since i updated this (it has been) and i originally wanted to wait until i got more chapters written but decided against it. i’ve been going through a lot lately and haven’t written as much, so i’m trying to get back out on the horse and write. i really love this series and where i plan to take it, and i have a couple days off so hopefully i can find time to write. anyway, here’s chapter 3! enjoy, like, reblog, please leave feedback <3

Saturday rolls around and his nerves are making him an anxious mess.

In his session this week, he had told his therapist about the decision. Saying it out loud had only made him smile, and the man in the plain grey suit had nodded along with him.

“Do you think this is a good decision?”

“Yes,” he voices before he can stop himself, fingers grabbing at the material of his jeans. The question wasn’t meant to be accusatory or mean, but Bucky feels like he has to defend his decision. To his therapist, to himself, who knows. He sure doesn’t. “I’ve thought about it a few times, but as I keep saying it out loud, it just makes it sound...better.”

He relaxes when the man across from him smiles and nods, and they move on.

That was yesterday. He was calm and collected, almost gleeful as he went about the rest of his day. Sam, a mutual friend of his and Steve’s, had stopped by and he was surprised to see Bucky so happy.

“Damn,” he remarked after Bucky had let him in. He set the take out on the table and Bucky went about grabbing plates and utensils. “You’re this excited about it, I almost don’t want to tease you about being so smiley.”

Bucky shakes his head, thankful for the easy mood that Sam brings with him. Although their friendship was based on jokes and teasing, Sam knew when he needed to stop pushing Bucky’s buttons. Sam never treated him any differently than he had before he had served, and for that, Bucky was thankful.

“What are you going to get?” he asks, shoving a mouthful of noodles in his mouth.

Bucky shrugs, pushing some food on his plate around. “Not sure yet. Hopefully this consultation will help me figure it out. But I know I want something.” He thinks back to the Instagram page, which he looks at almost daily, and to the pictures he has saved. It’s mostly floral pieces, but he would never tell Sam that, knowing that he would never hear the end of it from his friend.

“Is she cute?”

Bucky almost chokes on his food and Sam smirks at him. “What?”

Sam’s smirk gets bigger. “The tattoo artist. It’s a girl, right? Is she cute?”

Bucky blinks once, twice. “Wha–I don’t, I don’t know. There weren’t any pictures of her on the page. Why does it matter?”

Sam shrugs and pulls out his phone. “It doesn’t, maybe.” Bucky narrows his eyes at his friend as he fiddles with his phone for another minute before grinning. “Boom!” He meets Bucky’s eyes and there is a mischievous glint in them. “I found her personal page. She’s cute. Wanna see?”

“No.” Bucky says it almost too quickly, his mind betraying him. He can’t think about that yet. He had stopped himself from snooping into it too much, afraid where his mind will go if he saw her. He didn’t want to ruin anything that hasn’t even started yet.

Sam scoffs and puts his phone away. “Chill out man, I’m just playin’ with you. But you better let me know how it goes tomorrow.” Bucky only rolled his eyes, knowing that Sam didn’t mean the actual consultation.

But when this morning rolled around, Bucky couldn’t get out of his head if he wanted to. He woke up with a start, his mind already racing and reeling. He had to get up, had to get himself ready for the day. He was already too anxious and he had only been up for a few minutes. His actions were too rushed, his morning routine seemingly taking not enough time. To stall himself, he trimmed his growing scruff–he had gotten so good at it without a mirror that he didn’t have to remove the towel that was still hanging over it in the bathroom.

He was ready too early, his mind going through so many possible awful situations that could happen today.

What if he was late to the appointment? What if he picked something he didn’t like? What if he picked something he would later hate? What if he started having a panic attack while in the chair? What if he couldn’t do it? What if it just couldn’t be done?

But the one that stuck out in his head the most, the one that he was absolutely terrified of: she could see his arm, his scars, all the battles that he had been through mentally and physically, and decide right then and there that he was not worth her time. The thought makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

He feels his heartbeat increase, sees his hands start to shake slightly as he clenches them and unclenches them. He grips the sink, holding onto the cold porcelain as if it was his lifeline for the moment, taking breaths to steady his overactive body. He backs up and leans against the wall, breathing in and out, wrapping his arms around his own body. He slides down the wall until he’s in a sitting position, and with a shaky breath, leans his head against the wall. He tries to control his breathing, closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. After a few minutes, he feels his heart start to calm, if only slightly.

It picks up again when he realizes what time it is and that he should leave, or he’ll miss his appointment.

Another minute passes as he checks himself, over-analyzing everything he’s wearing before shoving his self-conscious thoughts to the back of his mind, grabbing his things and heading out.

The drive to the shop isn’t long, but somehow too long and too short at the same time. It’s in a small lot, nestled in between a bookstore and a pharmacy and a few other shops. He takes notice of the strange combo as he pulls into a parking space, shutting off the engine and letting it fizzle out. He knows that he’s still a few minutes early, just on the borderline between over ecstatic and appropriate. He uses this to calm himself down. He takes in a deep breathe.

In and out. In and out.

He lets the air out of his lungs as his eyes roam over the sign that hangs above the awning to the shop.

Odin’s Garden

He knows that it’s now or never as he tries to keep his bad thoughts at bay, acutely aware of the time on the dashboard. Part of him wishes that he had accepted Steve’s offer to accompany him, his friend always pushing his buttons in the right way. The other part of him, the more practiced part of him, the trained part of him, is glad that he will hopefully get through this on his own. Eventually.

With shaky hands, he gets out of the car and starts towards the glass front of the shop, clicking the lock button for his car three times out of habit. When he opens the glass door with equally shaky hands, a small chime signals his arrival. There’s soft music playing in the background, interrupted only by the buzzing of the machines. Sketches and paintings cover the walls, a large plant rests in the corner on the wall opposite the door, and a couple large photo albums are scattered about the countertop that is at the front of the shop. He looks passed it to see a couple open stations with chairs, and an artist that is currently bent over, tattooing the back of someone’s leg.

“Hello!”

The booming voice makes Bucky jump slightly, nerves on edge. He looks over to see a large man with blond hair that reaches his shoulders, part of it pulled back. He’s wearing a loose tank top and a leather vest, exposing his muscular arms, the right one covered entirely in tattoos.  Bucky glances quickly, and notices that it looks like some kind of story, characters and shapes in beautiful colors going from his shoulder to his wrist.

The giant steps up to the small desk behind the counter. “What can I help you with today?” He takes a lollipop from the glass bowl that sits on the counter and fiddles with the wrapper before popping it in his mouth.

“I, uh–” Bucky swallows, subconsciously wringing his hands, “I have an appointment, with Y/N.”

“Ah!” He smiles with the lollipop in his mouth. “Yes! Let me go get her.” The man steps away from the desk to head to the back of the shop, where Bucky can see a window that looks into another room, probably an office, he guesses. His eyes roam the space, checking for any and all exits out of habit. One in the front, one in the back. There is another closed door in the back, a small fridge in the corner with a table with three chairs around it. It’s a pretty open space, but Bucky isn’t sure if that relaxes him or makes him even more nervous.

The buzzing of the machine acts as white noise against the music and the voices in the background. Bucky takes a moment to look at all the drawings around the shop, some framed and others hanging free. There is so much work on the walls, ranging from floral pieces and butterflies, calligraphy, to people and things. He can easily spot the differences between artists in each of the pieces.

He was staring at a big, bright cartoon painting near the desk when he hears footsteps approaching. He looks over and a small wave of calm washes over him. It’s gotta be you, he thinks.

You’re walking towards him from the back of the shop and you smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. You must be James.” You come around the desk and stretch your hand out, which he immediately takes. He takes note of how soft your skin is compared to his rough palms. It makes something soften in his chest.

“That’s me,” he says, hoping his voice sounds as even as he thinks it does. He takes in your form, takes in the black bandana tied around your head with the cutest little knot, the loose tee bunched up just slightly at your side, the loose jeans with rips in them, the black converse on your feet. In reality, it takes him maybe half a second but he still feels like it’s too long. Your eyes remain on his face, bright, and something turns in his stomach, but he doesn’t hate it. He gulps.

Your smile is still easy as you let go of his hand and motion for him to follow you. You move to the back of the shop and tap your fingertips against the table as you walk around it. He sits in a chair and you open the fridge.

“Would you like some water?”

“Yes, thank you.”

You grab two small bottles and then plop down in the seat adjacent to him, sliding him one. Bucky holds the small bottle in between his hands, the plastic cool against his skin. He takes a breath in and releases a shaky one. When he looks up from the table, you are smiling softly at him.

It stirs something deep inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurts out, and you only furrow your brows at him. His fingers play with the paper wrapping around the bottle, tearing it slightly. “I’m not good at this.”

Your lips are still curved up at the sides and you shrug slightly. “It’s okay. Today we are just going to talk, get to know each other a bit and maybe get an idea or two. Nothing too big, right?”

Bucky is looking at you and you are so kind and gentle with him and so he nods. “Yeah.”

You smile wider and take a sip of your water. He thinks about how bright your smile makes your face. “Good. So did you have any ideas?”

His mind automatically goes to your artist page online, to the intricate designs, soft colors, and the beautiful pieces. “Kind of. I actually really love all the flowers that you do.” The thought of having a flourishing piece of color on his arm makes him blush, but in a good way. In a happy way.

Your nose scrunches in the cutest way when your grin widens, if that’s even possible. Dear god. “Thank you. Floral pieces are some of my favorite to do, it’s what a lot of people come to me for. Do you have any specific flowers in mind?”

“Roses, sunflowers, daffodils, maybe orchids. My ma really liked those, always tried to have some flowers in the house.” It feels so easy to talk to you; his mouth just kind of moves and he goes along with it.

Your face softens at the mention of his mother, and you tilt your head slightly. “All wonderful choices. And lots of great colors to work with. Any definites? Black and white or color?”

He pauses. Blinks. “I’m not sure yet.”

“That’s okay. I can draw a rough sketch out based on those three, do a couple options and see what you like best. Then we can go from there. No tattoo until you are completely happy with the design. Sound good?”

His chest feels the tiniest bit lighter. That’s it? He releases a breath and nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

Your face is still so bright and so gentle. “Of course. Now, where do you want it?”

He stops. Gulps down the saliva in his throat. “My arm.”

You only nod. “Okay, where?” Your hand reaches out to the space between you, and Bucky almost flinches until you stop in the space between you, inches away from him, fingers poised in the air as you motion to his bicep, “here,” and then to his forearm, “or here?”

It takes Bucky only half a second to tell himself to calm down, to realize that you hadn’t actually touched him, but it feels too long to his nervous brain. It takes him the rest of the second to realize he needs to explain himself better. “I would really like to have it start at my shoulder and go down to my elbow, at least. Maybe a full arm piece, but I haven’t decided that yet.”

You nod, again, looking over his arm and Bucky is itching in his three-quarter sleeve under your gaze. “That’s okay. You can always add on more later. Do you have any other tattoos? Skin or blood issues? Anything I should be concerned about?”

The pause Bucky takes is a little longer this time, but you are patient, hands folded atop the table as you look at him. For a moment, he wonders how he got so lucky to have found you. So patient, so kind.

But then he realizes that he needs to speak. This is it. “I, uh,” he takes a sip of his water to quench his Sahara desert of a mouth, and gulps. “I have a lot of scars, actually.”

There’s a crease between your brows just the slightest. “Oh, really?”

He nods, hesitancy creeping into his voice. He feels his heartbeat increase. “Yes.”

You tilt your head, curious, but your eyes never leave his face. “That’s okay. How old are they? And where are they?”

“They, uh,” Bucky rakes a hand through his hair as he pauses, mouth dry. “They’re a few years old at this point. They’re on my shoulder.” His hand automatically goes to grip at his shoulder, and he pushes his fingers into his muscle to ground himself.

You nod, thoughtful, and play with your fingers as you speak. “That’s okay. The older the scars are, the better. As long as they aren’t fairly recent, everything should be fine. The skin might be a little tougher, but other than that, everything should be okay.” Before Bucky can speak again, you say, “I won’t ask you about them, or to see them today. It’s obviously a very tough thing for you and I respect your privacy and for coming in today to see me. Is this a cover-up piece?”

Bucky is slightly speechless. He wets his lips, hands wrung together in front of him. “Yes. In a way.” He pauses, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. You sit and wait for him to finish his thought. He can’t stop staring at your eyes. “It’s partially a cover-up and partially just for me. I wanted something good to combat the bad. To help me feel better about everything that I’ve been through.”

Your face is soft, smile gentle as it quirks up. “That’s beautiful, James.”

You are, he thinks but instead he blurts “Bucky,” out of nowhere. He feels his face heat up, and clears his throat as your eyebrows pinch together. “Please, call me Bucky.”

You nod and grace him with another smile. He feels the burning heat in the tips of his ears. “Okay. Well Bucky, it’s a beautiful reason and a beautiful idea. I would be more than honored to do it for you.” You stand up and he follows you back to the front of the shop, where you stop next to the desk. You stand in front of him, and the sunshine coming in from the windows gives you a lovely glow. “I’ll work on a few designs for you and send you something in about a week or two, and we can go from there. Sound good?”

Bucky can only nod, the tightness leaving his chest as he shakes your hand goodbye. You watch him leave the shop and he lets out a breath as he gets back in his car. He watches the shop for a minute, sees you through the window as you fix some papers and disappear to the back of the shop.

The vice around his chest leaves him entirely as he drives home and steps into his apartment. Steve is there when he arrives, reading on the couch.

“Hey, how’d it go?” He asks as Bucky steps into the living room.

It’s the first time Bucky actually thinks about the meeting. He was too preoccupied with the color of your eyes and the light on your skin to give Steve a proper answer at first.

“It went really well, actually,” he says, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. Steve dog-ears his page and closes his book on his lap, watching his friend closely, sees the relaxed expression on his face. “It went really well.”

“That’s great, Buck. I’m proud of you.” He takes a sip of his water, letting Bucky gather his thoughts. “So, what’s next?”

“She’s gonna draw some things up and send me the designs,” he answers, already thinking of the colors and petals that will one day be adorning his arm, your gentle fingers on his skin. He feels his lips curl up just the slightest. “I’m excited for it.”

Steve’s smile is wide, happy to see Bucky excited about something. “That’s great! I’m excited to see how it turns out.”

So am I, Bucky thinks.

He can’t wait to hear from you again.

tags:

@buckyhalf @softlybarnes @sgtjbuccky @barnesrogersvstheworld @sweetboybucky @captainrogerss @buckyywiththegoodhair @delos-mio @kentuckybarnes @evanstar @evanstarff

@bitchingwintersoldier @theunicornotaku @beansstan @aveatquevale-@faithfullpanicmoon @aljadams369 @callmedaddys-blog @dontneedbiologytoadopt

[jade4813]

A Lie, Told Often Enough, Chapter 17

Author Notes: Inspired by @fallinginloveinaflash‘s AU prompt. All credit for the idea goes entirely to her.

Title: A Lie, Told Often Enough

Rating: NC-17

Synopsis: Iris just landed her dream job at a PR firm and her first assignment is reforming the bad boy image of celebrity artist Barry Allen. He’s overly cocky and well-known for being a playboy, but Iris has never met a challenge she couldn’t handle.

Chapters: 17/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

He had almost told her the truth.

He’d been thinking about it for weeks. Wanting to tell her how he felt. He’d even rehearsed what he was going to say as he combed his hair in the morning and climbed into bed at night.

He’d almost told her when he first saw her there, standing at the side of the stage. But with all those people around, he hadn’t been able to find the words.

He’d almost told her again when he saw her backstage, after the show. But then he’d realized she was dressed in nothing but a towel and all thoughts of a confession had fled.

After making love to her that night, with her curled up in his arms. But she’d fallen asleep. In the morning, in between sleepy kisses. But then fear crept in. What if she didn’t feel the same way? What if it ruined everything?

The courage only came when it was too late, and so he’d told her he wanted to talk to her about their future and let her go so she wouldn’t miss her plane. Because they weren’t words that should be hastily blurted as she rushed out the door.

But he wanted to tell her he loved her. He didn’t think he could bear to keep his feelings secret much longer.

“I’ve been thinking a lot. About our future. And I don’t want to lie about us anymore. I want this to be real. Iris, I’m in love with you. Whatever direction my life goes in the future, I want it to be with you. And we don’t have to really be engaged right now, if you aren’t ready for that, but I want to go on a date. With you. A real date. What do you think?”

Barry grimaced at his reflection as the muttered question left his lips. That was terrible, and not just because he was practicing his confession around a toothbrush as he got ready for bed. He made a living through words; why was it that every time he tried to find the perfect words to tell Iris how he felt, he sounded like an eighth grader asking his first crush out to the prom?

Scowling, he finished getting ready for bed and then grabbed his phone. He could text her. No, that was a terrible idea. There were two things Barry firmly believed should never be done over text – breaking someone’s heart and confessing your deep and abiding love for them.

Over the phone? It wasn’t much better. Less impersonal than text, to be sure, but it still felt like the coward’s way out.

So what was he going to do? He had to tell Iris he loved her. He had to know if there was even the slightest chance that one day she might feel the same way about him.

He began to pace back and forth, muttering mangled bits of previously rejected confessions. And then he had an idea. In two nights, he was performing a show in Star City. It wasn’t part of the official tour, but billionaire Oliver Queen had booked him for an exclusive event – a surprise belated birthday party for his sister, Thea. Normally he wouldn’t have tried to squeeze an extra event into an already packed tour schedule, but Thea had been a fan from the very early days of his career, and he and Oliver had struck up an unlikely friendship over the years. He suspected they both felt the same internal conflict of trying to live up to society’s expectations while also feeling inside like they might have been destined for more.

At any rate, given Oliver’s love-hate relationship with publicity, he should be able to offer some guidance, even if his love life had historically been something of a wreck. He seemed to have found more solid footing in his relationship with Felicity Smoak, so Barry hoped he would have some words of wisdom to share. Whatever he said, it had to be better than Barry’s own pathetic attempts at confession.

“Barry! You were amazing!” Thea exclaimed as she threw her arms around him in a big hug. “Thank you for agreeing to do the show. I don’t know how my brother talked you into it; I know you’re busy with your tour.”

“Anything for my number one fan, Thea,” he said with a smile, returning the embrace.

Stepping back, she grinned up at him. “Do you mean number one as in ‘biggest’ or in the ‘I knew you before you were famous’ kinda way?” she teased.

He faked a grimace. “Don’t remind me.” He’d first met Thea before he hit it big, right after he and Cisco formed their band and spent their weekends playing for drunk college students at frat parties. She’d attended one of the parties in question and had approached them after to say she thought they had a lot of talent. She’d offered to help bankroll their first album, with the help of her personal trust fund, but that was in the days before either man considered music a viable career and they’d turned her down. And so, when hobby became passion project and passion project became a career, Barry ended up making connections in the music business on his own. But the memory of Thea’s faith in him had helped him resist the temptation to give up in the early years, when faith in himself was sometimes hard to find.

“Hey, just remember, we could have been partners!” she replied, though her words came with a smile that promised him she didn’t bear a grudge for turning her down, all those years ago.

Barry laughed and caught her brother’s eye as he approached for a hug of his own. “Yeah, but then I’d have to put up with this guy more often,” he joked.

“Oh, you’re right. Good call, then. Definitely not worth it.” Thea laughed at her brother’s scowl. Meanwhile, Barry stepped past Oliver to greet his girlfriend, Felicity, taking an awkward moment to decide if a handshake or a hug would be more appropriate. In the end, they both settled on a stilted one-arm embrace, quickly ended.

As he pulled away, he heard Thea gasp. “Oh, my god. She came!” Her voice was an excited squeal as she raced past Ollie towards the door. After glancing towards the doorway, her brother mumbled a promise to return in a moment and followed.

“Who’s that?” Barry asked, watching as Thea threw her arms around a tall brunette in a black dress that could have been painted on.

Next to him, Felicity shrugged, grabbing a drink off a passing waiter’s tray. “Laurel. Amazing Laurel. Lovely Laurel. Perfect Laurel.” When Barry glanced at her, she added, “Lovely Laurel who used to be Oliver’s fiancé. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about her miraculous return from the dead?”

“I’ve been on the road!” he cried defensively. He knew of Laurel and Oliver’s past from his years of knowing Thea in college, but he hadn’t realized she’d returned. Though he supposed in the past several weeks, he had heard snippets, fragments of news stories while flipping through the channels at night before crawling into bed. Watching the woman smile at Thea and ignore Oliver completely, the pieces started to come together.

Laurel Lance had been Oliver’s on-again-off-again ex-fiancée. The week after college graduation, the two had taken a private cruise on the Queen’s family boat to repair their somewhat fractured engagement. The ship hit a storm, and Laurel had gone overboard. Her disappearance had been covered extensively – as had the Queen and Lance families’ efforts to find her. Her body had never been recovered, and she had eventually been presumed dead. Her father, Quentin Lance, had made it very clear that he held Oliver personally responsible for his daughter’s death.

Over the last few weeks, Barry had heard snippets of stories proclaiming the miraculous return of Laurel Lance, as well as her reluctance to give many details on where she’d been in the intervening years. The name had sounded vaguely familiar, but he’d flipped channels and hadn’t given it sufficient thought to remember why.

“That must be complicated,” he remarked, following Felicity to a table to take a seat. Seeing the scowl on her face, he asked, “I know it’s none of my business, but you’re not, um, worried about Oliver, are you?”

“The press keeps asking me the same thing, curiously enough. They won’t leave me alone about it.”

“I don’t mean to pry,” he offered apologetically.

Felicity sighed. “No, I know. It’s not you. The truth is, it’s not about Ollie. He swears that his feelings for Laurel are in the past, and I believe him.”

There was enough reluctance in her voice, that he prompted, “But?”

“But,” she parroted, drawing out the word before letting her voice trail off again as she stared into her drink. Finally, she lifted her gaze to his. “Ollie is the love of my life, and I don’t regret a single minute I’ve been with him. But his life is so public, every moment I’m with him is like living in a spotlight. I can’t even leave the house now without press asking me what I think about the unexpected return of his ex-girlfriend. I can barely get five minutes alone with him to talk about it.” She threw him a wry smile. “I love him, but sometimes I wonder. If I’d known what being with him was going to be like, would I have called in sick that day at work when we first met?”

Barry didn’t know how to respond to that, so they sat in silence until they saw Laurel give Thea another hug. Then she turned, said a few words to Oliver, and left as he made his way back to the table.

Some time later, the party was winding down and Barry found himself alone at the table with Oliver while Felicity chatted with Thea. Not certain if they were good enough friends for him to intrude, Barry chose his words carefully as he ventured, “Hey, are you okay?” When Oliver shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, he added, “You’ve been kind of quiet tonight. You want to talk about it?”

Oliver threw him a grim smile. “I take it Felicity told you about Laurel?”

“I could have heard it from the news,” he protested slightly.

Oliver grunted and shook his head. “It’s okay. I haven’t really been there for her lately. Not like I should have been. I’m glad she talked to someone.”

Barry took a sip of his beer as he considered his next words. “She wants to be there for you, you know.”

“I know. I just can’t stop thinking about my mistakes. About everything that happened with Laurel.” At his companion surprised look, he grimaced. “Don’t take that the wrong way. It’s not that I want to be with her now. I’m not the person I was when I was with her, and maybe losing her the way I did is part of the reason why. Living with the questions and the guilt, maybe it made me grow up a little.

“But I can’t help but wonder what happened to her that night. What she’s been through. I look at her now, and I can see that she’s not the woman she used to be. Maybe she’s better. I don’t know. But I can’t help but think that whatever happened to her, it’s my fault. She wouldn’t have been on that boat that night if it wasn’t for me. So I feel like even knowing me ruined her life, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

It was still dark outside when Barry awoke to the sound of his phone ringing insistently on his hotel room nightstand. Keeping his eyes closed, he rolled over and grabbed for it, answering it with a grunt that approximated an incoherent hello.

“Mr. Allen. I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you would want to know about this right away.”

It was Ralph Dibny, a member of his security team. Responsible for Iris’s detail. In a split second, Barry was instantly awake, clutching his phone in his fist as he sat bolt upright in bed. “What happened?”

Iris was alone. It wasn’t just Barry’s absence that made her feel so lonely. There was nobody she could talk to about it. Nobody she could confess her feelings to. Nobody who would understand. Almost everybody she knew thought her relationship with Barry was real, and everybody else thought it wasn’t. The truth was somewhere in the middle, and nobody would understand that. So Iris was alone.

She ducked her head, foregoing a struggle with her umbrella as she raced to the door. She ignored two flashes to her left, even as she recognized some grudging admiration for the dedication necessary to stand out in the rain on the off chance they caught a photo of her.

It was exhausting, and she had no idea how Barry managed it for so long. It was only bearable to her because it was worth just about anything, loving him. Being with Barry made her happy. Everything else – the fans and fame and paparazzi around every corner – was just a distraction. Window dressing. Stuff and nonsense. It was part of the life he led, and so she accepted it as the price she paid for loving him. But she would have been just as happy without it, if it meant walking up every morning with him in her arms.

“When I get back, we should talk. About our future. There’s something I-I need to tell you.”

She smiled as she remembered his words because she realized he was right. They needed to talk. She needed to tell him that she loved him. That she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. That she was tired of pretending like it was all an act when, for it, it had become all too real.

For so long, she’d struggled to hide her feelings, afraid of what would happen if he discovered that she loved him. Afraid he wouldn’t love her in return. The thought was still frightening – terrifying, really – but if she’d learned anything from living without him for these last few weeks, it was that she didn’t want to live that way anymore. She didn’t want to have half of him and lie to herself that it was enough. Maybe she would lose him, telling him the truth. But if she kept her silence, she would lose him anyway, once his contract with Mason concluded.

“When he gets home, I’m going to tell him the truth,” she whispered to herself as she slid her key into the lock and twisted. The storm had picked up, and she hunched her shoulders to block out the wind and rain. “Once life with him is back to normal.” She turned the knob in her hand and stumbled inside, her wet feet sliding a little on the polished tile. Slamming the door behind her, she leaned against it, groaning, “God, I can’t wait for life to get back to normal.”

She heard a sound and opened her eyes to find Barry standing in the middle of his living room, staring at her with an inscrutable look on his face. Behind him, she saw that he’d already set two places for dinner, and she could tell at a glance that he’d gone all out to impress her. She blinked, frowning slightly, as it took her a second to realize that it was real, that she wasn’t imaging things. He looked so good in ratty old jeans and a faded t-shirt; it was hard to believe he was truly there.

“Barry!” she yelled, launching herself off the door and into his arms. His arms almost crushed the breath out of her as he lifted her off her feet.

He was home, and she was in his arms. Right where she belonged.

There are times in life that everything comes together perfectly. All the pieces fall into place, and you feel like everything has been building to one moment. The universe conspires to give you one perfect moment. Maybe you turn left instead of right, and you meet that one person who can give you your first big break. Maybe you duck into a coffee shop instead of rehearsing before a show, you see a woman’s smile from across the room, and something deep in your soul recognizes you were born to love her.

But sometimes things go the other way. Sometimes it feels like the universe is conspiring to rip your heart out of your chest and break it into a thousand pieces. Though she couldn’t possibly have known it, Iris’s words, muttered as she leaned against the door, were that last piece falling into place. Everything in the last few days was coming together to break Barry’s heart.

“I love him, but sometimes I wonder. If I’d known what being with him was going to be like, would I have called in sick that day at work when we first met?”

“Knowing me ruined her life, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

“Iris is fine, but there have been some developments that you should know about…”

“God, I can’t wait for life to get back to normal.”

Barry held Iris to him, burying his face in her hair. His arms trembling like it was the last time he would ever hold her this way.

“I wasn’t expecting you home tonight!” Iris cried, cupping his face in her palms and pressing her lips against his.

“Iris has been getting some threats online. She doesn’t think it’s anything to worry about yet, but I think we should increase her detail until we know for sure. Some people have been threatening to show up at all her public engagements to tell her to leave you alone. Mostly the usual threats, but what is concerning is that they have said enough to suggest that they have gotten their hands on her schedule somehow. And that is a concern…”

“I wasn’t expecting to be here. But I had the evening off, so I thought I’d come see you.”

“We recently caught someone peering into the apartment windows. He didn’t try anything, and luckily, she wasn’t home. She had gone to see you…”

“Oh, I’m so glad you did,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his.

“But when my guys caught him, he was carrying pictures of her…”

Barry tried to ignore the voices in his memory to focus instead on the woman in his arms. “I made dinner. Are you hungry?”

Iris laughed. “Starved.”

They sat down to eat, and at first, he cold pretend like the rest of the world didn’t exist. But the voices didn’t leave him alone.

“I love him, but sometimes I wonder. If I’d known what being with him was going to be like, would I have called in sick that day at work when we first met?”

“Knowing me ruined her life, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

“He swears he didn’t intend her any harm, but who knows what would have happened if she had been home…”

“I can’t wait for life to get back to normal.”

God, she’s beautiful, he thought as he stared across the table at her, her smile illuminated by the flickering candlelight. But then he remembered the sadness in Felicity’s eyes. The regret in Oliver’s. And the weariness and longing in Iris’s voice when she’d longed for the life she used to have.

“I love him, but sometimes I wonder.”

“I ruined her life, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

“I can’t wait for my life to get back to normal.”

He couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for what he needed to do. “Iris, when you came to see me, I told that you we need to talk about the future…”

“I remember!” she interjected. “And, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that, too. Barry, I –”

“I think we should end this. We can wait until the tour is over, if you want. I mean, I did promise to be there for you, and I don’t want you to think I’m not. But we should talk to Mason about how to announce the end of our engagement when the tour is over. We should start preparing for it now.”

Iris froze and stared at him with wide eyes. Unable to hold her gaze, Barry let his drop to the plate in front of him, which is when he realized he’d barely touched his food. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

He heard her make a soft sound, a nearly inaudible clearing of her throat. When he looked up at her again, he saw that her face was devoid of expression. “Oh,” she breathed, carefully putting her fork down on her plate before dropping her hands to her lap. “I – um – I guess I am surprised. I thought you wanted to wait until you were offered a role that demonstrated your image had changed…”

Barry winced into the silence that fell when her voice trailed off. Then he shrugged. “I did, originally. But I’ve been thinking about it lately, and who knows when that will happen? Or even if. I can’t ask you to put your life on hold for something that may never happen.”

“You’re not asking me to put my life on hold. We have an agreement, remember?”

“I know,” he answered, somehow made even more miserable because she sounded so calm, so unaffected. “But still, I-I think it’s time to put an end to it. I’m sorry.”

Iris cleared her throat, louder this time, as she took a sip of her wine. “Don’t apologize. This is business, right? That’s all this is. Business. So why are you sorry?” Silence fell between them, and she worried the corner of her napkin between her hands. “All right, have you thought about what you want to say? How you want this to go? I should probably take the blame for the breakup so—”

“No!” he cut her off. “That is one thing I am sure about. We can say that we grew apart while I was away or that we realized that my being on the road so much was going to be too hard. But I will take the blame. Not you.” He reached for her hand, but she either didn’t see it or she ignored it because she didn’t reach back. “I don’t want to make this any harder on you that it’s already been.”

Her smile was tight as she tossed her hair behind her shoulder and flung her napkin on top of her unfinished plate. “It’s not that hard, Barry. Like I said, this is business. Business arrangements end all the time. Right?” He was too miserable to respond and wasn’t sure what he would say anyway, so he did what he had learned early in his career to do when he couldn’t find the right words. He stayed silent.

“Well, I suppose you have a point,” she mused, pushing her chair away from the table. “If you announce that you were the one to end it, people won’t be as surprised when they hear you found someone else to date on the road.”

Barry shook his head, reaching for her again, but she stood and started to pace, ignoring his hand. He rose to his feet behind her. “That isn’t what this is about, Iris –”

“No, of course not,” she cut him off. “This is just the inevitable conclusion to the agreement we made. But they don’t know that, and we don’t want them to know that. We don’t want them to ever know all of this was a lie. Every single second of it. So you have to do the smart thing, and that means being seen dating someone else. When the time is right, of course.”

She spun on her heel to face him. “You’re right. You should be the one to break it off. Because then the world won’t see you as the one who was heartbroken. They’ll see me as the one who wasn’t good enough. That’s better.”

“That’s not what I want,” he protested, grabbing her shoulders to stop her pacing. He stared into her eyes, willing himself to see something. Any indication that he had meant something more to her. That all of this had meant more to her than just a business transaction. But perhaps it was better that he didn’t. At least he knew he hadn’t hurt her.

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s the truth.” When he started to protest, she gave a quick shake of her head. “I mean, it’s the truth we need them to believe. We need them to think that you’re still the good guy, or all of this has been for nothing.”

Barry didn’t know which hurt more – losing her, or knowing she didn’t care if he did. “I-I should go,” he blurted abruptly, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. “I have a show tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll have all my stuff out of here by the time you return home.”

“No, that’s –” he began to protest before realizing how absurd it would be to try. He was breaking off their pretend engagement. She could hardly continue to live with him under the circumstances. “I-I don’t want to lose you, Iris. You’ve meant too much to me.”

It was the first time he saw a reaction from her as she winced at his words. Her gaze fell to the floor, but her eyes were hard when she looked up at him again. “Don’t be silly, Barry. None of this was real. You know that better than anyone. And you can’t lose something you never had.”

He could no longer stand to hear the truth or see it in her eyes. So he fled. He’d been afraid he was going to break her heart, but it turned out the only heart he broke was his own.

[thenamesseven]

Genre: Smut

Plot: You had just debuted and being the leader of a group wasn't an easy task. Willing to see how Im Jaebum managed to deal with his six members you attended one of his concerts. You would have never imagined the way it would all end up.

This was a request! I had to change the plot a little to make it work though, sorry! I hope you like it!

When the line you were in moved again you knew it was your time to say goodbye to Mark, who had been incredibly sweet with you for the entire five minutes you've been there fangirling over him, and end your heavenly experience with meeting the leader Im Jaebum.

He was your favorite, your reasons were absolutely different to most of the common reasons one would have to choose Jaebum as a bias. You thought he was sexy, you weren't blind, and you knew that under all his baggy hoodies defined muscles were hiding. Another strong feature he had was his smile, the way his teeth showed when he did or the way he smirked confidently when he heard fangirls screaming to get his attention. Oh, Jaebum could be shy, yeah, but he loved getting attention like every single idol.

Anyways, your reason to like him so much was his strong determination to keep his members together and make his group sucessful which was extremely hard, specially, when the leader themselves was new and felt kind of insecure. How did you know this? Well, you had just debuted two weeks ago and it was starting to be obvious you were having trouble to make your members get along and get comfortable around you. It was obvious that if the members didn't have connection the group would fall appart quickly.

In a desesperate attempt you came here to this event before the concert to do a little investigation. You wanted to see the way he acted around his members, the way he interacted with his fans and how he behaved during the concert. This was a research trip although you couldn't help but feel like another fangirl when you were meeting each GOT7 member.

"Hi there" Jaebum smiled, sliding your album towards him to sign it "What's your name?" He lifted his head enough to make your eyes meet, his smile getting slightly bigger.

"(Y/N)" You replied smiling back, your eyes never moving away from him as he slid his pen across the CD's paper gracefully.

"You're oddly familiar, have we met somewhere?" Shock crossed your face when he asked that, had him, by any chance, seen your debute? Even though you formally were an idol now, your group wasn't too known around the country yet and it was still kind of shocking when somebody recognized you.

"I...Uhm..." He rested his cheek on the palm of his hand, his eyes scanning all your face features as he waited for an answer. For some stupid reason, you were shy to tell him about your debut. "I debuted two weeks ago, I'm...An idol too" You tried to smile back at him, your cheeks turning incredibly red.

"Ah! See? I don't forget pretty faces that easily" He chuckled, reaching foward to pull a strand of your hair behind your ear. You shyly looked away. "I saw your debut, your group was pretty awesome by the way...That sexy concept you all used for the MV" Jaebum smirked, clearing his throat a little, you shyly chuckled "It suited you really well"

"Ah stop it, you are going to make me blush even harder" You covered your face with both of your hands, smiling when you heard his laugh.

"But I really want to see you" He playfully complained, his hands pulling your wrist away from your face. "You are so much gorgeous in person" Your heart seemed to stop beating when he whispered those words, was he flirting with you? Was it just your imagination? When he managed to keep your small hands away from your blushing face a boyish grin appeared on his face, you suddenly were too focused on his lips "And deathly adorable with blushed cheeks, I must say" He chuckled, slightly leaning on the table to be closer to you. One of his hands didn't leave yours, the small circles that his thumb was drawing on your palm were kind of relaxing. "Did you come alone? Or is the rest of your group here?" He asked curiously, glancing around before he looked back at you.

"I came alone to do some research" His eyebrows furrowed in pure confusion as he looked down at you, your cheeks turned really red once again before you started to explain "I really wanted go see you guys and well, kind of copy the way you lead to make my own group work"

"You want some advice?" He asked with a smile on his face, he actually seemed glad about you asking for his help "Stay after the concert, we can have a coffee and talk"

The invitation caught you so off guard that you just stared at him while your mind struggled to process the words that had come out of his lips. Im Jaebum, leader of Got7, sucessful composer and song writer, was asking you -kind of a nobody- to stay after his concert and have some coffee together? Staying had more advantages than disadvantages, you weren't asked to have some coffee by famous idols every day. Jaebum was simply being friendly, offering his help and giving you the opportunity to spend time with him when he probably had better things to do.

The only disadvantage you could think of was getting recognize by somebody and people starting misunderstandings that would be turned into hurtful scandals for you and your careers. It wasn't too possible but it wasn't impossible either.

"Come on, I don't bite" Jaebum insisted "Unless you want me to" A shiver ran down your spine as he grinned, he had a weird effect on your body and he seemed to know that.

"What if someone sees us?" You asked sighing. Were you really going to risk your whole idol career for a couple of tips. Well, actually, you seemed to care more about spending time with him rather than finally getting those advices.

"We'll hang out in this room, only my manager and a security guy will know we are in here" He squeezed your hand, letting it go when somebody told you it was already time to let the fan next to you meet Jaebum "Pretty pleaaase?"

The puppy eyes he gave you as his final conviction attack were too much to reject "Fine" You sighed rolling your eyes a little at the huge grin on his lips "Your tips better be useful, my manager will be mad for getting back to the dorms late" You warned seriously, Jaebum just chuckle.

"(Y/N), I promise it will be worth it" He winked one last time at you before you turned around and walked outside to get ready for the concert.

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As you had expected the concert had been beyond your expections. You knew GOT7 would be perfect at their performances but if there was an adjective that would describe something better than perfect then, that would be the exact word you would use to describe their concert, that was obviously, from an analytical point of view.

Your fangirl side was still all over the place while you waited in the empty meeting room for Jaebum to show up. You hadn't been able to get your eyes off him during every single song they performed. You were to fascinated by his voice, the way his chest moved up and down -sometimes slow, sometimes fast- with each breath and the way his body rolled perfectly in sync with the music. You would be lying if you denied having some kind of naughty thoughts about him.

"Hey"

The sound of his voice snapped you out of your thoughts, automatically bringing you back to reality. Shaking your head a little, you looked up at him, awaiting to see a recent showered and clean Jaebum. However, as your eyes roamed up his body, you noticed he was still wearing his last outfit from the concert. Tight black jeans, white slightly unbuttoned shirt and sex hair, yeah, Jaebum's hair didn't look messy, it looked like he had just had sex with somebody backstage and that was the hottest thing you have ever seen.

"Uh sorry, I didn't want to make you wait too much" He smiled apologetically, bowing his head a little before he took a seat next to you, right where he had been signing CDs almost two hours ago.

"It's okay, you should have put on some comfortable clothes though" You were quick to accept his apology even when you, for some reason, didn't feel like he was truly apologizing. There was a small voice in your head that was telling you Jaebum was doing this on purpose, it seemed like he really enjoyed making you all shy and flustered. When you felt brave enough to look up at him instead of finding his eyes, your eyes got stuck on a drop of sweat that was rolling down his neck slowly, painfully.

"It's fine" He interrupted your "innocent" staring with his smooth voice, taking a seat next to yours. Jaebum leaned back on his chair tiredly, the quiet groan that escaped his lips sounded as good as your favorite song. "I'm comfortable this way, I didn't want to make you wait too much" He handed you a plastic cup filled with steamy coffee.

"I feel bad for making you stay though, I'm sure you just feel like crawling into your bed and going to sleep"

The smirk that pulled Jaebum's lips up instantly told you how wrong your assumptions were. "You see" His legs spreaded in a manly way, the cloth of his pants becoming even tighter around his thighs and crotch. You truly were struggling to not keep admiring his amazing physique. "Concerts give you this kind of adrenaline, this" He looked at you and stayed quiet, thinking for the exact word "Amazing feeling that gives you more energy" He smirked leaning foward to be closer to you, one of his knees caressing yours.

"You guys were all amazing, all your voices sound even better in a live performance" You complimented them, Jaebum smiled nodding.

"Ah, here I was all happy thinking I was your favorite" Again, the thought of him flirting with you crossed your mind. Was he being serious? Was he just messing with you? "But anyways you came here to do some research right? What did you want to know?"

You were slightly relieved that he had dropped the flirting attitude to pay attention to the main reason of you asking for help. "I just wanted to see how can I manage my group, being the leader is more difficult than I thought it would be" You confessed sounding stressed, reaching up nervously to scratch the back part of your neck.

"I know that feeling" Jaebum leaned foward again, your faces slightly closer as you felt yourself getting lost in his dark eyes. Were them so dark when you first met? They couldn't have got darker, could they? "Everything seems so out of place at first, you are supposed to lead a bunch of strangers who don't completely trust you and you feel so stressed, so lost" His voice came out soothing, too sweet and comforting. It was obvious he had gone through the same thing as you. "Just give it time, get to know all your members, listen to their insecurities and concerns and let them trust you" He advised with a small smile on his face "As soon as they feel like you are stable, like you know what you're doing everything will be just fine"

"What you say makes sense but I just don't know, I even feel like they don't like me at all" You sighed softly, running your fingers through your hair. Suddenly Jaebum stood up and with really slow steps, he positioned himself behind your chair.

"You are too stressed (Y/N)" His fingers suddenly started running through your hair with his fingertips caressing your scalp as his hands moved "Stress will come when things become really complicated, now you just have to focus on being a good leader" You could feel the warmth of his body behind you, pulling you closer to him "Relax, everything will be okay alright?"

When his last words exited his mouth, you felt his hands moving lower to the base of your neck. Jaebum started giving you a massage, his fingers pressing onto the right spots that untangled the knots in your tense muscles. Feeling too relaxed, you simply nodded at his words hearing him smirk.

"Such a good girl" He whispered right next to your ear, his touch becoming a bit more rough but still being pleasant "I knew you would be a good girl as soon as our eyes met before the concert. You looked so sweet, so innocent yet so excited to meet me" His warmth breath sent shivers down your spine, your skin getting goosebumps everywhere "Honestly, it boosted my ego like crazy seeing I had such an effect on you" His voice felt like silk, his hands still touching your sensitive shoulders. "You got my mind filled with all these naughty thoughts for the whole concert and I've tried to control myself around you" At some point in his little speech you had closed your eyes so when Jaebum's lips suddenly met your skin, the sensitive spot behind your ear to be exact, a quiet whimper escaped your body making both of you feel even hotter "So hard baby but God...I need to have my hands on you as soon as possible"

His lips became hungrier and they soon started descending on your neck, you were frozen on your chair since your legs felt too weak to stand up. Willing to get more you tilted your head back enough for him to press his lips against yours and that's when something, inside of both of your heads, snapped.

Saying that you two lost control right there would be an understatement.

His lips, that were once slow and gentle became passionate and fast when they met yours. It only took seconds for Jaebum's mouth to make you moan and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth. With your head leaned back and his leaning down your lips became inseparable. He took his time to explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue, your breathings becoming heavy and the sounds that came out of your lips were extremely sexual.

Your mind had a moment to process what was going on and you inmediately broke the kiss, Jaebum groaned complinning. The sight of his flushed cheeks, his swollen yet pink lips and his dark lusted eyes filled your lower stomach with a warm feeling.

"Come here" Jaebum didn't let you talk, he simply picked you up and placed you down on the table where a lot of his CDs had been signed, where fans had given him lots of compliments and presents.

"We can't.." You whispered trying to act rationally. If somebody saw what was going on in the room, the scandal that people would create would make both of your companies fire you for sure. "Somebody...Might...See...Us" Trying to speak between his kisses you managed to get your sentence out.

"I'll say I was helping you relax. Am I not, baby?" He thrusted his hips foward, the friction between your jeans made you moan loud when you felt how big and hard Jaebum was "Fuck you sound so hot, you like this, don't you? You like me fucking you in a risky place mhm?" Too turned on to even think about what he was saying you nodded, you were submissive by nature and that meant you would simply agree to everything he said. "God, you're such a slut (Y/N)" He leaned down and licked your neck, the feeling of his tongue leaving a trail of wet skin got you being a moaning mess.

"Jaebum" The sound of you moaning his name made him thrust against your hips one more time, your hands moved up to be wrapped around his neck and before you could do same with your legs Jaebum pulled away from your body. Complainning, you groaned at the sudden lack of physical contact, your mind stopped thinking a long time ago and you just knew you wanted him.

"I would love to take my time with you but we only have three minutes left" Pulling your wrist he made you stand, your knees softly shaking as he kept an arm around your waist. Jaebum quickly spinned you around and made you bend over the table with your face against it. "Should have wore a skirt, it's so much easier to fuck when you are wearing one of those" He yanked your jeans and underwear down before you heard him undoing his clothes. "Now" His body was on yours, the tip of his cock pressed against your lower yet extremely needy parts "I'm going to show you the best method to release stress, I'm not going to hold back princess so you might want to bite down onto your shirt" Without any warning he pushed his whole length inside of you in one rough thrust. Jaebum was bigger than you had expected him to be and he was now stretching you like you had never been stretched before. You had been so shocked that only a pained yet quiet whimper left your lips. "We don't want somebody finding out what we're doing in here, do we?" He nibbled your earlobe finally getting another moan out of you.

Even though Jaebum had called you a slut for being turned on at the risk of getting caught, you knew he was enjoying this as much as you. His actions were a bit contradictory because while he tried to help you stay quiet as much as he could, he was also fucking you into next week being so hard and rough that it was almost impossible to not start screaming his name. Both of your brains were off, your actions being animalistic, needy and purely for lust.

Jaebum wasn't holding back on his moaning either, you would have never thought that hearing a guy moaning could be so hot but knowing that you and your body were the reasons he was moaning like that was a huge turn on.

When your time was almost up, Jaebum reached down to rub your clit fast and hard, without caring if you were too sensitive or not. Your body twitched overwhelmed with all the pleasure he was making you feel while Jaebum's cock started twitching inside of you when he felt himself getting closer to his orgasm.

"Cum for me princess, come on" He whispered breathless, moaning when your inner walls clenched around him again "I need to feel you cum all over my cock before I fill you up, I need it so fucking bad" The clapping noise your hips made everytime he thrusted into you got even louder.

With eyes closed and tense muscles Jaebum pushed you over the edge, making you reach the most incredible orgasm you ever had. You screamed his name, forgetting you two were alone when your legs gave up, fortunately he still had an arm around you to hold you up. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and with your body still twitching you fell him springing his cum inside of you, filling you up even more.

"Fuuuuck" He whispered, his hips still unconciously moving against yours as he held you tightly against his chest "Fuck (Y/N)" He said again, his face buried against the crook of your neck.

"Fuck indeed" You muttered breathless, your hands down on the table as you tried to regain your strength, you knew you were going to be extremely sore for the rest of the week though.

"I...I have to go" It took him some seconds to separate his body from yours, Jaebum still felt that dominant sensation around you. His body still willing to make you scream his name one more time.

"Me too, my manager is going to kill me" With wobbly legs, you reached down and pulled your underwear and jeans up while he did the same. "Ah, Im such a mess now" You whispered frantically running your fingers through your hair to fix it

"Here" Jaebum slid a small piece of paper inside your back jeans pocket, a small smile on his lips as he stood infront of you "Call me if you need more advice" You arched an eyebrow at his words making him chuckle "I'm serious, I want to help you out" You smiled and nodded still trying to fix your hair "But if you want to...Go for a second round some other time, don't hesitate to give me a call"

He smirked and leaned foward to kiss you one more time.

This had been the best advice somebody has ever given you.

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 8

In England, there were clubs so small but so class they had to build upwards to accommodate more people. They were so grim it’d stick your shoes to the floor and your drink to any given surface you chose to set it down on.

He misses being able to go to places like that, where he’d walk about the gaff like he owned the place because apparently his reputation preceded him and everyone was everyone’s best mate.

There’s really no excuse to decline another night out with Jeff and Dean. He has a fake ID and nowt better to do and he’s not sure what’s been putting him off the idea of going to a club instead of another shit house party -- other than the fact that Jules says it’s a shit place. Jules also says Leisure is a shit album though, so sod what he thinks.

Turns out Jeff knows the guy on the door and the two of them get in without needing IDs anyway. The place isn’t nearly as bad as Jules had sold it; a three-story building playing some synth-rock that he swears he recognises, full of groups talking among themselves around the edges and dancing in the centre. Feels familiar.

Jeff says he’s missed him as they lean against the bar and enjoy their second beer -- but fourth drink because they both did two shots each just to get them started. They get just barely buzzed, his tolerance improved now, but his friend says, “let's take it easy tonight,” which he knows is code for ‘let's stick to alcohol and nothing more,’ so he agrees easily.

Jordan seems to come out of nowhere, hugging Jeff when he spots him, then nodding when he sees Curly, clearing his throat like he’s embarrassed to have been caught embracing his friend. He says, “Curly, hey,” and squeezes his shoulder after straightening himself back out, then shoves his mate for good measure.

Everyone seems to know Jordan, a few greeting Jeff too as they make a path towards the bar on the terrace - Jordan says the service is quicker up there. The blond gets stopped a few more times on their way up and Curly realises eventually that he works here. Most people seem happy to see him on this side of the bar for once.

By the time Jordan’s got a round in for the three of them, a few more people have tagged along and about a dozen of them huddle around two small, circular tables on the roof, dragging chairs over to speak in cliques within the group.

Jeff sits beside Curly and the two of them get lost in their own conversation for a while as Jordan claims one of the spaces opposite but is too distracted by the people that gather to chat with him. Jeff’s easy-going and jumps between conversations, but Curls doesn’t mind observing for a while, overwhelmed by all of the new faces.

Jordan gets called on every so often from across the outdoor space, just by someone who wants to say hi; make themselves known. He doesn’t get up for anyone though, giving handshake-hugs from his seat and returning to the conversation among those at the table quickly after each exchange. He doesn’t say much to anyone, Curly notes, instead he hums and nods as people talk at him - except Jeff, that is, and it feels like they have some good history as they mock each other with a certain fondness that reminds Curly of his friends back home.

Curly’s not used to seeing Jeff in a different circle, but he’s not as passive here as he was around Jules, Oscar and Dean. He pulls Curly into his conversations so easily, just to keep him involved with the new group, and by the time Dean joins them, taking the seat Jeff has saved beside Jordan, Curly is comfortable and laughing more than he has in ages with people he barely even knows.

There’s a certain point where Jeff and Dean get caught up in a conversation of their own and the man drifts off, running his fingertips through puddles of beer and drawing wet lines on the table.

“You should hang out with us more.” He doesn’t realise who says it at first, but when he looks up, Jordan is leaning back in his seat and he looks like he’s been thinking on it for a while. “They’re always tryna get you out, huh? What, you too cool for us?”

“Summet like that,” he says, and he’s still trying to place that accent. The man’s bland expression and idle posture shouldn’t leave him feeling comfortable like it is. Curly props an elbow on the table and rests his chin in his palm, his mouth half-covered by curled knuckles as he mumbles, “I’ve just got loads going on. Things to sort out and all that.”

Jordan scoffs and follows it with a solemn nod - waves a hand vaguely. “Message received.”

He’s misconstrued it but he doesn’t look all that hurt, still watching him expectantly, head bowed just slightly as he's slouched in his seat, temple pitched against the tip of his index finger as his elbow rests on the metal arm of his chair. He looks up through his lashes beneath arched brows and the angle makes him look unimpressed.

Curly says, “wish I came out sooner, though,” to clear the air, but Dean’s grabbing his attention before he can continue, stealing Curly away from the conversation and into a new one.

Jordan’s eyes linger for a while like it’s not quite over yet.

It doesn’t take long to realise that Dean thrives in a similar way to Jeff in this new crowd. He thinks they did the right thing by getting out of Jules’ and Oscars company, even if it’s still working just fine for Curly.

Somehow, the time jumps from 11pm to 1am, and the group has halved. Jeff and Curly still sit opposite Jordan and Dean. Two other guys and a girl whose names Curly can’t remember for the life of him continue to talk among themselves around the other table.

“Where’s the redhead anyway? What’s his name,” Jordan clicks his fingers as he tries to bring Jules’ name to mind.

Jeff says, “we don’t fuck with those guys anymore. Outgrew ‘em.”

“‘Bout time.” Jordan points at Curly. “You were pretty fucked up the last few times I saw you. Smart move, ditching that guy.”

Before Curly can respond, Dean says, “actually, he’s still under his wrath. We’re workin’ on it,” but he winks at Curly so he knows he’s only having a laugh.

“Gotcha.” The blond nods and something nudges Curly’s ankle beneath the table as he adds, “until then, you better hold off on those scissors, kid. Or take my number for when you’ve got some threads to trim. I’ve got a steady hand, y’know? Plus-- Ow, fuck.”

Dean must think Jordan’s taking the mick because he nudges his mate so hard that he knocks Jordan’s elbow off the metal chair arm. Curls appreciates Deans defence but, more so than anything, the inside joke between himself and Jordan feels... Validating somehow.

Curly laughs, embarrassed but manages to play it off, says, “yeah, I’ve seen. I’ll bear it in mind, cheers,” and Jordan gives him one of his reserved smiles. He’s confusing.

Everyone else looks at them like they’re speaking in code.

“See you later, Jord.”

Everyone’s attention shifts to a girl with a jet black bob-cut as she and the two men stand. They give polite goodbyes to Curly, Jeff and Dean too before one of the guys says, “tell Rhys about that script, will you,” on his way around the table, but Jordan waves him off like he's sick of hearing about it.

Jeff and Dean announce that they’ll be leaving shortly after that, and Curly insists on getting the last round in, Jeff tagging along to help carry the beers.

“So how do you know him?” Curly nods over to the table and he’s not sure why he decides he mustn’t speak his name.

“J? We go way back. Went to school with him,” he explains, both of them leaning back against the bar as they wait for their drinks, watching the other half of their group talk among themselves. “He lived with Dean for a little while when his mom got sick.”

This steals Curly’s attention, and he turns back to Jeff just after Jordan scowls at Dean across the table a few yards away. Jeff, though, simply shakes his head, says, “she’s fine now,” as he waves it off but Curls reckons he’s realised he’s put his foot in his mouth. They both watch the blond let out a sharp, snarling laugh, shaking his head and flopping back into his seat dramatically like he’s been told off and doesn’t wanna hear it.

Curly can’t quite tell if it’s just the same kind of banter that the man shared with Jeff earlier. With the new information though, Curly can see a brotherly bond between the two men. They don’t have a lot to say to each other when others are around (maybe because Jordan doesn’t tend to have a lot to say anyway, he’s learned) but they like to jump in for the sake of mutual depreciation.

“You go way back, then,” Curls notes.

“Oh yeah. We fucking hated the guy as first.” He assumes ‘we’ means him and Dean, and Curly’s interest is peaked again as he hums his encouragement. “He moved here at the end of... Tenth grade - long fucking story… Why’d you ask, anyway?” Just as Jeff asks the question, the tender finally returns with 4 pints and they take two each and head back towards the table.

Curly shrugs simply, tells him “I’m just curious,” right as they reach the table again, where they drink between comfortable conversation and Curly tries not to look at Jordan differently, now knowing the new information that he’s not sure he’s meant to have heard. It’s been a long time since Curly last went out and favoured alcohol over… Well, any other substance, but this is nice. Casual. Memorable.

He’s disappointed when his two friends stand to leave, and he stands with them for a goodbye hug as Jordan waves them off from his seat. Dean hits the back of the man’s head lightly, says “behave yourself,” as Jordan sits smugly, unphased as a few disgruntled strands fall over his eyes.

Curls settles back down and suddenly the two of them are alone - something he hadn’t anticipated, even as his friends left. The silence isn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it certainly doesn't feel natural. It feels like something is waiting to be said, like that time he sold Jordan Molly and he opened his mouth to speak but then turned away and left - or earlier on when the man had waited him out like a challenge, only for Curly’s friends to steal him away.

Jordan offers another round, and they make pleasant small-talk but Jordan’s heart isn’t really in it as he watches him inquisitively like he has better things to talk about.

“So here’s my issue,” Jordan grumbles finally, squinting as he does this thing where he never really smiles but speaks with a certain fondness that tells Curly everything’s fine. “I don’t like playing things safe, right?”

“Right.”

“‘Cause I mean, where does that get me? Nowhere at all… And I don’t like when people tell me not to do things,” Jordan adds and Curly agrees, although the topic’s come from nowhere and he’s no idea where it’s going. “Especially when I’ve had couple drinks and I’m feeling a little too cocky. So, firstly-“ He holds up a finger. “-I don’t like that Dean warned me off challenging you to Blackjack. I’m offended, even.”

The heavy build-up definitely promised a heavier topic than card games and there’s silence as they wait each other out. After a short while though, Curly giggles as he falls back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s it? You buttered me up with a beer to tell me you fancy a game of Blackjack? Mate, that’s—”

“Hey, I’m not done.” He’s so obviously fighting back a smile now. He leans over the table like it’s a secret, and Curly finds himself doing the same, one elbow in a puddle of beer now as they watch each other challengingly. Yeah, cocky’s a good word for it. “I also don’t like that he told me I shouldn’t ask you out.”

It takes his brain a little while to process it, and Curly doesn’t have a good comeback for that either. He stutters a bit, then laughs a confused laugh, taken aback and a little unsure as to exactly how serious the man is. Why would Dean think to—

Jordan adds, “because I think you should. Go out with me, I mean.”

He can’t read Jordan’s expression at all, cannot for the life of him tell if he’s joking or not because he’s pretty sure he’s been joking all night, except this is the first time he’s really cracked a smile. Jordan takes a sip of his beer, waiting patiently for Curly’s response. Curly’s just waiting for the man to laugh and reveal the punchline.

Words. That’s what he needs. I don’t like guys. I don’t like dating. I don’t think I like anyone like that. It’s weird and I’m too drunk. None of that seems right though. It all feels unjustified - like a bit of a cop-out.

Curly thinks, ‘he who speaks first, loses,’ only seconds before he caves, but Jordan crumbles too just as he begins to say, “I don’t-”

“Go out with me.” Jordan shrugs - smiles coolly. “I don’t do this. I don’t think you do either. All the more reason, no? Go out with me.”

He can’t think of a single reason to say no, which is even more confusing. He’s been itching for his attention all night, he realises, getting that funny ache he gets, every time the man addressed him and when his foot nudged his ankle and when he offered his number to him like it was a joke.

“Okay.” Curly nods and tries so hard to remain cool. “Yeah, why not?”

The cab they share is silent but it’s comfortable. They sit together in the back and Jordan leans back against the door and watches him, completely shameless. They catch each other smiling like they’re up to something they shouldn't be and it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever known, but he’s still fully buzzing when he swans into the apartment with Jordan’s number in his phone.

It only takes an accusing look from Jules to have Curly biting back a grin.

“Leave it out, Jules,” he says coyly as he passes him.

[sariahsue]

What Will You Do When Everyone Knows? Chapter 3

Ladybug and Cat Noir are having trouble with the newest akuma.  She’s dressed all in black, hardly speaks, and keeps slipping through their fingers.  To make things worse, she exposes Ladybug’s identity to the world.  Which should Marinette be more concerned about?  The world’s reaction, or her partner’s?  

Rated PG for action.  Chapter word count: 1,500.

Read chapter 1 here. Read chapter 2 here.

    "Cat Noir, what are you doing in my house?"

    He swallowed and held up a cookie, still smiling. "Hi, Princess! I'm eating cookies."

    No, you aren't. You're protecting my family.

    "Oh, Marinette," Tom said as he got up from the couch, "you're soaking wet." He shuffled off, probably to get a towel, while Sabine reached over to a book in Cat Noir's lap and flipped a page.

    "And here's another one," she was saying. "She really went through a unicorn phase that year."

    "Maman!" Marinette yelled, dropping her book and phone on the floor and clapping her hands to her face in embarrassment. "You can't show him those!"

    "Oh, but you were so cute!"

    Marinette crossed the living room in three large leaps and dove over the coffee table, snatching the incriminating photo album away from her startled partner. She snapped it shut, praying he hadn't seen anything too awful. Oh, who was she kidding? Her parents probably showed him the most cringe-worthy stuff first. She threw the album on her father's vacant spot next to Cat Noir and then sat on it.

    He gave her a flat look. "Fine. But if you try to take these cookies away from me, I will fight you." Without breaking eye contact, he reached for another. There was a plate piled high on the table in front of him.

    "I would win that fight, and we both know it." One of his cat ears twitched in the direction of the door, but he didn't say anything about it, so she didn't comment on it.

    They only broke eye contact when Tom dropped a towel on her head. "So the news is true, then?" he asked.

    Marinette took out her pigtails and toweled off. Everyone waited until she finally let out a breath and said, "Yeah. Sorry you all found out this way."

    Sabine reached across Cat Noir and put a hand on her daughter's knee. "If it makes you feel any better, dear, your father and I have been suspicious for months."

    Cat Noir chuckled. "Being sneaky just isn't your thing, LB."

    "Ugh!" She hid her face under the towel again as her mother took her hand away. How could this have happened? Hawk Moth and his akuma were playing dirty, exposing her like this. She racked her brain for a solution but couldn't think of anything. What would they do now? How could she still be Ladybug if everyone knew who she was? The thought made her already low spirits sink. Would Master Fu take the earrings back? Rain hit the window and thunder rumbled.

    Cat Noir lifted up the edge of the towel and peeked in. "Are you okay?"

    "I've been better. You?"

    "Well, My Lady, I'm feline paw-sitively meow-velou-" Marinette threw the towel at his face.

    "I refuse to listen to three in a row. Stop."

    "But I'm not ready to throw in the towel yet," he said, holding it up. He was smiling, but it looked forced. His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes were filled with concern. He was obviously doing his best to cheer her up, and while this whole situation was making her feel a bit queasy, she appreciated his effort. She was very aware of the fact that if Hawk Moth called back his akuma in favor of a new one, she'd make an easy target.

    "Now, now," said her father, who was still standing next to the couch, "you shouldn't interrupt our guest, young lady."

    Marinette turned very slowly toward him as Cat Noir tried to muffle a laugh.

    "Did you just-"

    "Nice one, Mr. Dupain. Really, Marinette, you knead to listen to your father."

    "No." She whipped around and pointed at Cat Noir. "No." Her mother just sighed in resignation before walking to the window.

    "Please, call me Tom, Cat."

    "Stop it! Stop it, both of you!"

    They both laughed, and Marinette started smiling weakly in spite of herself. Maybe they could make the most out of this situation after all. Cat Noir's black ear flicked toward the door again.

    "I hate to tell you this, but..." Sabine was looking out the window, staring down toward the street.

    "What?" asked Cat Noir. "Is it still raining cats and dogs?"

    They heard someone knocking on the door downstairs.

    "No," she said, ignoring the pun and turning toward Marinette. "There's a bunch of reporters outside."

    All the good feeling created by the joking suddenly evaporated, and Marinette pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself.

    "Want me to tell them to get lost?" Cat Noir offered.

    "Thanks, Kitty, but it would probably be better if they didn't see you. It would just confirm it. I kind of want to ignore them until they go away."

    He nodded and sank deeper into the couch, staring sadly at the mountain of cookies. His ear twitched again. "Your phone keeps beeping."

    "Oh, sorry," she said, getting up to fetch it. So that was what he'd been hearing. "I should put it on silent. Or maybe just turn it off."

    "Aren't you going to read your messages?"

    She checked the time. Almost noon. It had already been thirty minutes. Thirty minutes for the world to react to Ladybug's secret identity.

    "I'm honestly too scared to. Want to check them for me?" She unlocked the phone and tossed it to him, then kicked the math book out of the doorway. Her parents had both moved to look out the window. Tom pulled Sabine close, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. What must this be like for them?

    By the time she sat back down, Cat Noir was scrolling through the dozens of messages she'd gotten.

    "Most of these are from Alya. No surprise there... Couple from Nino. Some from Chloe, inviting her bestie over. I think she means you."

    Marinette groaned. So Chloe liked Ladybug more than she hated Marinette. She wasn't sure, but this might be her least favorite thing about the whole reveal.

    Cat Noir scrolled some more. "There's a wrong-" The phone pinged again. "Alya wants to know if she can come over."

    Marinette looked over at her parents, who nodded their approval. Their faces were pinched with worry.

    "Tell her it's fine, as long as she's here as a friend, and a not a journalist." He typed quietly for a few seconds before she finally asked, "How can you text with those claws?"

    Cat Noir squinted at the screen in concentration. "Practice. There. Anyway, there's a random wrong number saying "You're welcome," a few from some of your classmates, thanking us, and who's Suyin?"

    "What? Let me see that."

    She read the whole message three times, just in case there was any way she could have possibly misunderstood, then handed it back over. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling.

    After a few seconds of silence, Sabine said, "Suyin is one of her cousins in Beijing."

    "It's already reached China," Marinette said. "The whole world knows." Another flash of lightning cast long shadows across the ceiling, and an echoing knock sounded from downstairs again. How could they possibly fix this now? There was nothing they could do. She closed her eyes in defeat.

    "We'll get through this together, Marinette," Tom said. "It's not the end of the world."

    "Feels like it." She leaned over and and tried to bury her face in Cat Noir's shoulder. "I'm doomed."

    "Uh..." Cat Noir patted her awkwardly on the head.

    Marinette sat back up as quickly as she'd slumped down, suddenly very aware that he hadn't tried flirting with her once the whole time he'd been there. Why wasn't he flirting with her? It could have been just bad timing. They were both upset, and her parents were watching. But what if it was something else? Had he taken one look at her civilian self and decided he didn't have a crush on her after all? Was he disappointed that she was so average? Or had he always been joking and never serious about liking her in the first place? What if it was something else?

    Why was she even worrying about this?

    "Can I talk to your for a minute?" he asked.

    "Uh, sure?"

    He nodded toward her parents, who had moved to the kitchen to give them space and were trying to look busy. "Superhero stuff. Can we go somewhere else?"

    Marinette looked down at the plate of cookies and grabbed a few. Tikki probably wanted to get out of her purse. "My room's upstairs."

    She was closing the trapdoor and looking around before she realized her mistake. Cat Noir was in her room, and her walls were covered in pictures of another boy. He was going to see them unless she distracted him somehow.

    "So, Cat!" she said brightly, waving her arms to draw his attention. "What did you..."

    It was too little, too late. Cat Noir saw the pictures, and his eyes went wide.

Read chapter 4 here.