#hearing about the table out the window: topknot did WHAT?!

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Everyday I wake up in pain, knowing that Kirima wasn't there in the Fire Nation all throughout SoK and she missed out on some glorious Rangi tantrums and I just-

[fairyoftbz]

childish fear | l. juyeon

⚔ pairing: stranger!juyeon x single mom! fem! reader ⚔ genre: fluff ⚔ wc : 3.2k ⚔ tw: none ⚔ a/n: im so sorry it's been so long but my work keeps me super busy and i hate my unposted fics that i wrote in the past, hence my absence. i promise to come back here asap!! <33 ⚔ requested: no

╰☆☆☆☆╮

“Mommy, where are we going?” your daughter asked for the nth time as you guided her foot by the ankle in her shoe. Her tiny hand leant on your shoulder while you fastened the Velcro straps and zipped up her jacket, walking out of your apartment to the corridor of your floor. She watched you locked the front door and sliding the keys in your handbag before grabbing her hand to the elevator.

“As I’ve told you, we’re heading to a coffee shop to see Uncle Kevin and Jinseon, remember?” she clapped in her hands as if she just learnt the news, despite her asking this question over five times since she woke up. You forgave her because she was at the age where she would find everything fascinating and barely pay attention to what you said. You chuckled and shook your head with a smile as her curious eyes observed the elevator, touching the mirror and gasping at the coldness of it under her palm. It was almost guaranteed that she didn’t listen and will ask again in a couple of minutes.

“Where are we going?” here we go again, her tiny voice reaching your ear above the roaring motor of the bus. She grabbed your leg as you were typing something on your phone with one hand, the other gripping the metallic bar as tight as possible as your daughter was not the most balanced child.

“Baby, I’ve told you many times that we are going to see Kevin and Jinseon at the coffee shop because Mommy and Uncle Kevin have to do something for work,” you looked at her with stern eyes, something you always did when she wasn’t paying attention.

“But why aren’t we going to their house? It’s so big!” she argued, and the bus doors opened, quickly sliding your phone in your back pocket and jumped out of the bus with your daughter in your arms.

“Uncle Kevin wants to change the interior of the house, so people work there, and it’s not safe for them and us to meet there. But I promise that we’ll go back there soon!”

“I won’t be able to draw with Jinseon?” you shook your head from side to side, and your daughter pouted, nuzzling her face in your neck.

“Not at his house, but maybe he brought a colouring book like yours today!” you exclaimed, and her mood lifted instantly, getting all giddy and happy to share her passion with her best friend.

Pushing the door of the coffee shop, you were instantly met with a reassuring warmth and the good smell of coffee, placing your daughter back on the ground as you lined up to order. The place was quite busy, but you were right before the time people were fighting to get a table.

“Mommy, this table!” she asked and pointed her little finger towards a table near the window, her little topknot moving on her head as she looked up at you.

“Good choice, baby,” you said, and she grabbed your hand again, noticing her gaze shifting to something scared. You frowned as she went to stand in front of you, her hands gripping your thighs as she stared up at you.

You asked for your usual order and a strawberry smoothie for your daughter, who happily giggled when she saw the sliced fruit inside of her transparent cup. She laughed and ran to the table you had agreed on occupying, her little hands pressed on the seat as she hoisted herself alone on it.

A few minutes after giving your daughter her pens and colouring books, your phone rang in your back pocket, getting you out of your bubble of focus as you stopped typing.

“Hello?” you said, and your best friend’s voice reached your ear.

“Hi Y/N, I’m really sorry to warn you only now, but I won’t be able to make it with Jinseon.” A wave of disappointment flooded your heart, but you didn’t raise it.

“Oh my. Did something happen?” you asked as your daughter was too busy colouring a monkey pink to even hear what you were talking about.

“Thankfully no, I uhm… I forgot that my in-laws invited us to a five-star restaurant today,” he said, and you bitterly chuckled, feeling sorry for him as you knew the exhausting relationship he had with them.

“Sounds fun,” you sarcastically said as you heard him sigh on the other side of the phone, “don’t worry, we can always meet up another time.”

“Won’t Chunae be disappointed?” Kevin asked, and you emitted a laugh, quickly looking to the side as someone at the table next to yours drew a chair.

“I’ll handle her, don’t worry about it. Have fun with your most favourite people in the world, then!” you sarcastically said, and you heard him sigh.

“Thanks, but I’d rather die than witnessing my mother-in-law brag again about the new diamond necklace she bought and lie on how she’s not close to bankrupting,” you giggled and winked at your daughter, amused by the situation. That was what you got to have your stepson handling the family accounts and his best friend as an assistant counsellor. You both could see her lie to everyone, and it was funny.

“Try to make her understand that you know she’s lying in front of everyone else and see how she reacts,” you suggested and heard him gasp at your words.

“I beg you Y/N, can you please schedule us an appointment so I can ruin her?”

“Of course,” you opened another tab on your computer, typing and clicking on a few things to finally get to your best friend’s schedule.

“You can tell her that she can come on Friday at 1 pm to discuss about her financial state. I just sent her an email,” you announced, and Kevin sighed, imagining him biting his lower lip and clutch his fist in satisfaction.

“You’re the best. I gotta go now,” you took a sip of your drink and wished him good luck before hanging up.

“M-Mommy?” you heard your daughter whisper, barely making out her words as the coffee shop music and the hustling was quite loud. You smiled, but it immediately vanished as you saw her scared state, pen lingering on the pages of her colouring book. Her eyes were drawn to the table next to yours, her mouth trembling from time to time, close to crying.

Following her gaze, you noticed a man around your age and immediately understood your daughter’s fear as you took in the sight. The man was scrolling on his phone, his white t-shirt hugging his broad shoulders and slender torso perfectly. His biceps flexed each time he swiped up his finger on the screen or took a sip of coffee, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. You weren’t going to lie that he was super handsome, but something else couldn’t go unnoticed in your eyes.

His tattoos.

He was covered in them. Your eyes could scarcely spot some natural, intact skin. Arms, forearms, chest and neck, only his face remained untouched. His jet-black hair was as dark as his eyes, yet they still held something soft and human in them. A thin nose with plumped, pinkish lips, it would have been almost impossible for you to guess that he had tattoos all over his body if you only saw his face.

You found him quite attractive to say the least, but it was quite the opposite for your daughter. She found tattoos terrifying, only accepting the small, hidden ones Kevin had. Her eyes welled up with tears, and you gently called her name, gesturing her to come closer. She jumped out of her seat, carefully going around the table from the opposite side where the man was sitting and walked towards you.

“Baby, those are just tattoos. You see what you draw and colour in your books with Jinseon? This man decided to do it on his skin because he likes drawings too!” you explained gently as your daughter couldn’t tear her gaze off the man.

“But it’s scary,” she mumbled, and you shook your head, gently cradling her cheek.

“Do you find the drawings on Uncle Kevin’s skin scary?” you asked, and she disagreed, finally looking up at you.

“It’s the same for him. Like Uncle Kevin, he decided to get them on his skin because he likes the shapes and colours. Do you understand?” you smiled as she wiped her teary eyes, nodding, trying to look confident. But you knew your daughter, she was still scared.

“Do you want to switch seats with Mommy?”

“No,” she said in a frail voice, and you kissed her cheek while rubbing her back. It was always the same. Bizarrely, when she feared something, she wanted to stay close to it as if she was determined of getting over her irrational fear.

Chunae walked back on her seat and resumed colouring, her gaze looking to her left from time to time. You smiled and stared at your computer again, getting distracted by the man as well, but not for the same reasons as your daughter.

“You’re a mother Y/N, don’t let those stupid thoughts get inside your head,” you closed your eyes and mentally slapped yourself, heavily sighing as you answered some emails, focusing back on your work.

You were so concentrated on your tasks that you didn’t even notice what was happening in front of you. Chunae became terrified as the man caught her staring, his eyes transforming into crescent moons when he softly waved at her. Her eyes widened and started colouring faster, her nose almost touching the paper as if she wanted everything around her to disappear. It happened once, twice, but she remembered what you always told her; never talk to strangers. So when the young man whispered a small ‘hi!’ to her, she panicked and called for you.

“Mommy!” she got you out of your work bubble, and you stared at her from above your computer screen, fingers still typing on the computer. Your hands stopped when you noticed her little forefinger pointing at the man, whose chocolate eyes were quick to shift to yours.

Shit, he was really handsome.

“What is it, sweetpea?” you asked and lowered your computer screen. “I’m sorry for her behaviour, she's not usually like that,” you said, grabbing her hand as you sent an apologetic smile to the man.

He shook his head with a smile. “Don’t worry about it, I get it. She’s still quite young,” you were sized by a shiver when two sets of white, perfectly aligned teeth almost blinded you as his mouth stretched into a bigger smile.

“I’m five!” she said, pouting, crossing her arms on her chest, staring at the table with furrowed brows.

The young man’s eyes widened, and pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile as he acknowledged her stubbornness. You puffed and rolled your eyes at her behaviour, noticing with a smirk that she was still glancing at his tattoos.

“What’s your name?” he asked after looking at you, asking for permission. Your daughter’s unsure eyes stared at you, and you nodded, allowing her to talk to him.

“Ch-Chunae,” she answered, and his mouth transformed into a surprised ‘o’, letting out a small gasp.

“That’s a very pretty name, I’m Juyeon,” he said, and your daughter blushed, a veil of shyness appearing in her eyes as he held out his hand for her to shake it. You smiled as he indirectly complimented you for choosing her name, his gaze softening as she timidly grabbed his hand. Her eyes couldn’t help but scrutinise his tattooed hand with attention, making the man smile fondly and brightly.

“I have drawings all over my arms, do you want to see them?” he asked, keeping a great eye on you to see any sign of reluctance. Or maybe it was for something else, but you didn’t need to know about this.

“But they’re scary,” she said, and Juyeon whole-heartedly laughed, drawing the sleeve of his t-shirt to the top of his shoulder.

“Look at this one,” he said as he twisted his biceps, noticing a dragon spitting fire and your daughter’s eyes widened. He then turned his forearm to show her a dolphin near the crook of his elbow, smiling as he watched your daughter’s expression change as she saw all his tattoos on his arms. She was now mesmerised by the tattoos, the gentle, deep voice of the man explaining to her as she stared at his inked arms.

“Do you wanna colour this one?” he asked, finger showing the rose on the back of his hand.

“Really?” Chunae was surprised by his question, and Juyeon smiled at you, your daughter already grabbing her red pen.

“You really don’t have to,” you embarrassingly said, but the man shook his head, resting his large hand in front of your daughter, who pushed all her belongings to the side.

“If that can keep her quiet while you work, I don’t mind,” he stated, and you raised your eyebrows, a grateful smile drawn on your face.

Colouring the red rose ended up inking the poor man’s entire arm, who had a lot of patience and discipline when it came to children. Chunae went over the line with her pen a few times, only to have him reassure and praise her to continue when she started feeling guilty.

“Oh no!” she gasped as her hand clumsily went over the scales of the snake circling his forearm, Juyeon chuckling before wetting his thumb to erase the misdrawn ink. “It’s okay, it’s okay, keep going,” he said in a gentle tone, smiling at your daughter as she was looking for reassurance.

You had told him a few times that he didn’t have to stay the entire day only here to occupy your daughter, but he genuinely was alright with that. He looked almost happy to talk with you and your daughter since you had stopped working a few moments ago to exchange a few words of politeness with him before heading home.

“Chunae, finish your smoothie before we go home,” you said, and she obeyed, nodding as she placed her pen down and started sipping on her drink.

“I’m really sorry for this,” you gestured to his arms, but he was quick to cut you.

“Ma’am, it's okay, please stop apologising, I gave my agreement for her to do this. You seem like busy parents with your husband, I’m glad I could help,” he smiled, and you frowned.

“H-Husband?” you asked and Juyeon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“O-oh? Wasn’t it your husband on the phone?” you shook your head at his words, only to have him purse his lips in utter embarrassment. “Sorry for assuming,” he said, the tip of his ears turning pink just like his cheeks.

“It’s okay, it was my best friend. I’m actually a single mom,” you explained, and he nodded, his features expressing admiration.

“Wow, you must be super strong then,” he said, and you blinked a few times, discerning something sad appearing in his eyes as he stared at your daughter. It was inappropriate and way too intrusive to ask him about his reaction, so you just offered him a grateful smile.

“I have to admit that it’s not always easy being alone in this, but with a bit of discipline and organisation, you can manage to make it work!” you tried to enlighten the mood, and Juyeon laughed along, but his smile had lost its splendour.

He cleared his throat, and you stood up, your daughter being finally done with her smoothie. You helped her place her pens in the pouch before clearing your belongings off the table, Juyeon standing up as well.

“Will I get to colour your tattoos again?” Chunae asked, and you looked at her sternly, but Juyeon laughed and smiled, gently ruffling her hair.

“This only depends on if your Mommy wants to see me again,” Juyeon crouched down to her level and made sure to get her hair out of the way before zipping her light jacket up to the chin.

You were taken aback by his answer, looking at him in the eyes. Vaguely smiling, he stood back up and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, thumbs playing with the belt loops as he waited for your answer. You breathed in heavily as you stared around you but in his eyes, trying to find an excuse.

“I mean… why not?” you eventually said, and his face brightened, his ears going pink at your answer. You grabbed your daughter’s hand as she was about to run to Juyeon and walked to the exit of the coffee shop, not believing what you’ve just agreed to.

Meeting a man? After your ex? With all the work and busy life that you had? Were you crazy?

Juyeon held out the door for you, and you thanked him, your daughter now almost best friend with the man she feared when he appeared. You sighed and replaced your bag on your shoulder, offering a soft smile to the man.

“Is it okay if we wait a bit before all of... this? I have the deadline of a big project that is coming up next week and it has a considerable influence on the future of my career, I really don’t want to mess it up,” you explained, and Juyeon nodded, his hand going to your bag to shove your key ring back inside since it was falling out.

“It’s more than okay, I’ll wait as long as it takes you to finish this and be ready to meet up with me,” he said, and your mouth fell open, surprised by his attitude. The last man you dated and loved unconditionally dropped the family he had created with you for a career abroad and another woman, his words and behaviour offering warmth to your broken, lonely heart.

You got your phone out and took Juyeon’s number, a relieved smile painted on your face. Maybe not all the men were as selfish and nasty as your ex.

“Call me if you need anything. It can be help, someone to look after her, comfort. Whatever you need, I’ll try to help you out as much as I can,” he said and rested a hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing it.

“Thank you,” you said, and he nodded with a smile.

“Good luck with everything,” you beamed and waved at him, your daughter imitating you as you started walking to the bus stop, hailing the vehicle as it was approaching.

Juyeon walked in the opposite way to the small parking lot in front of the coffee shop, his leg swinging over his motorcycle. He sat there for a minute, watching you get on the bus before the doors closing behind you, holding his helmet in hand. You were a busy, ambitious woman, you had set your priorities high, and you were not going to change them for a man. He was a bit scared of committing to a relationship with a busy woman and a child, yet that didn’t prevent him from wanting to get to know you and finding you attractive. He loved it even if he was a bit anxious about getting hurt, as it happened in his past way too many times to his likings.

His gloved hand moved side to side as the bus drove past him, your daughter on your hip as you both waved at him. The smile you had plastered on your face reassured him, hoping that you would give his heart a break and not break it.

[roseverdict]

Two War Heroes and a Fellow Ex-Refugee Walk into a Tea Shop

yeahhh cranked this out in like two hours bay-BEE, that's the power of the brainrot!!!

anyway here's jin being the best when she figures out li from the tea shop is the fire lord now

AO3 link

~

Jin blinked in surprise.

There was activity in the Jasmine Dragon.

There hadn’t been anyone inside since before the fall of Ba Sing Se, and it almost seemed poetic that the Jasmine Dragon would come back to life when the rest of the city did, except Jin knew the owner and main server there, and neither had been seen or heard from since the fall.

And yet there was Mushi, humming to himself as he bustled about inside and prepared to open the doors.

Jin couldn’t help herself.

She peeked inside.

“Pardon, but the Jasmine Dragon is not yet open for business,” said Mushi kindly, not quite looking away from where he was adjusting part of the décor.

Jin smiled. “I’m not here for tea, though I wouldn’t turn it down. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Mushi turned, and his face broke out into a wide grin. “Ah, Jin! It does this old man’s heart good to know you’re alright!”

“Same to you. When the city fell and you and Li were in the palace-!” Jin said, stepping all the way in and closing the door behind her.

“It was a difficult time for us all,” Mushi agreed, “but we came out of it better and wiser.”

Jin nodded, but before she could say something else, the ground shook from the force of a mob’s-worth of feet pounding the pavement outside. The shaking subsided as quickly as it had come, but Jin still scowled. “Five golds says those are some Fire Lord fangirls.”

Mushi’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“Yeah, apparently the new Fire Lord is coming to visit. Something about making reparations?” Jin explained, taking a seat at a nearby table. “I mean, good for him, it’s nice to know somebodyin the Fire Nation’s royal family isn’t a royal jerkwad in need of a psychiatrist, but I doubt he’ll wanna get mobbed by that crowd.”

Mushi smiled in that knowing way he tended to and turned back to the décor. “Not just the Fire Lord, but my nephew as well.”

Jin lit up. “Li’s coming, too?”

At that, Mushi’s knowing smile turned mischievous for a split second before he nodded. “Yes, he is. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that we came from a rather distant place before moving to Ba Sing Se. He’s been back at home now that the war is over, straightening out what was twisted in our absence, but I managed to convince him to take a break and come visit his uncle’s tea shop for the grand re-opening.”

“Still a workaholic, huh? That’s Li, alright,” Jin declared.

Something started tickling at the edges of her hearing, and Jin blinked. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” asked Mushi innocently.

Jin snorted and crossed her arms. “What game are you playing, you meddling old man?”

“Who, me?” Mushi deflected cheerfully. “I only play Pai Sho.”

The source of the noise either got closer or it got louder, because Jin could now identify it as the sound of screaming fangirls.

Actually, on second thought, they were probably getting closer.

“Oh, boy, here we go,” groaned Jin.

Then a boy dashed into the tea shop and slammed the doors shut behind him, pressing his back against them and peeking nervously out the windows. “Uncle, I thought you told me the city was safe!I put on my casual clothes and everything!”

Jin’s brain stopped working.

The boy in front of her was dressed in Fire Nation colors, his hair done up in a topknot and holding none other than the crown of the Fire Lord himself. His robes were made of elegant fabrics Jin rarely ever got to see, let alone up close, though they were disheveled as though caught and pulled in every possible direction.

He also had the same voice and face as…

“Li, what the fuck.”

The Spirits-damned Fire Lordwhipped his head around like a pig-deer in front of a carriage, his face turning bright red, and he honest-to-both-Oma-and-Shusqueaked, “Jin?”

Mushi (who definitely wasn’t actuallynamed Mushi) started chuckling, and Li the Fire Lordwhined, “Uncle-!”

The ground started shaking again, and Jin leapt to her feet. “Okay, explanation later! Li, get to the kitchen and stay out of sight! I’ve got this.”

Li gulped, but he nodded, and the moment Jin took his place barricading the doors, he scrambled to get out of sight.

Not a moment too soon, either, because the horde of people came to a stop just outside the tea shop.

Jin dusted herself off, stood a little straighter, and opened the door a crack with a too-sweet smile on her face. “Sorry, everyone. The Jasmine Dragon isn’t quite ready to open yet.”

The boy in front- and how had Jin not seen it coming, there were fangirls and fanboys and more, so why wouldn’tthey join forces?- cleared his throat. “Don’t lie. Everyone knows the old man who used to own this shop disappeared months ago. We saw the Fire Lord come in!”

Mushi came up behind her. “Jin, are these people troubling you?”

“I’m not quite sure, Mushi,” said Jin, relishing the looks of shock rippling out into the crowd as the man singlehandedly disproved any rumors about his demise. “They say they saw the Fire Lord, but you, me, and your nephew are the only ones in here right now. I haven’t seen anybody else come in.”

“Hm, interesting.” Mushi gave her shoulder a quick pat, then addressed the crowds. “Unfortunately, Jin and I have been setting up in here for quite some time. If neither of us saw him, then perhaps the Fire Lord dodged into a different building.”

The fanboy in front faltered a bit, and Jin offered him a wide, beaming grin. “Best of luck in your search!”

Mushi closed the door, and once the crowds had dispersed, he chuckled. “Impressive quick thinking, Jin.”

“I mean, it wasn’t technicallya lie.” Jin shrugged. “They just didn’t have all the context.”

Mushi burst into outright laughter at that. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”

Li poked his head out from the kitchen. “Are they gone?” hestage-whispered.

“Yes, they’re gone,” Jin said, rolling her eyes lightheartedly. “Now, I figured you had to be some kind of firebender when you lit those lanterns, but I gotta say, I was not expecting the crown.”

Li’s eyes widened. “You figured me out on our date?”

“Eeyup,” said Jin with a nod.

“And you still wanted to..?”

Li’s fingers lifted to his lips, and Jin softened. “Well, yeah. I probably shouldn’t have gone for it on the first date, but you’re nice, and you’re funny, and you care a lot, even if you have trouble figuring out how to show it. And before your dumb sad brain tells you I’m only saying it because of where you are in life now, I’m just repeating the same stuff I told my friends right afterwards. So what if you had the same bending abilities as the soldiers trying to break down the wall? Theywouldn’t have lit the fountain for some Earth Kingdom refugee.”

Li’s face screwed up, and Jin almost worried she’d said something wrong, but Mushi just swept in and led Li to the table Jin had taken just a few minutes prior. “Congratulations, Jin. I believe you’re the first person outside of our traveling companions who has gotten it through my nephew’s thick skull that people love him for who he is.”

“High praise, though that award should have been given out after Mr. Fancypants here got coronated, not months later,” Jin said, taking her seat again.

“Unfortunately, such is the way of the world,” said Mushi. “However, where a trickle of water flows, there is always the potential for a roaring river.”

Li snorted. “Your proverbs still don’t make sense, Uncle.”

“I think I get it,” Jin said. “There’s gotta be a little progress before things can get to where you want them to be.”

Li’s face whipped up, and then he snapped around to look at Mushi. “Why can’t you just say that?!”

“It’s less fun that way,” Mushi said unapologetically. “I shall go start some tea, I think. Any preferences?”

“Jasmine, please, Mushi!”

“Yeah, I’ll take jasmine, too.”

“One pot of jasmine tea coming right up!”

Jin beamed as Mushi retreated to the kitchen, then gave Li’s shoulder a squeeze. “So, got any stories from the courts that are just begging to be told, Li?”

“Uh, Zuko, actually,” Li-Zukomurmured. “And my uncle is Iroh.”

Huh. Well, that would make sense. Fire Nation names for Fire Nation royals.

“Oh? Well, then, Zuko, I didn’t hear a ‘no, Jin, I don’t have any stories for you,’ in there,” Jin pointed out, elbowing him with a grin.

Zuko smiled. “Okay, well, there was this one time that Aang- that’s the Avatar, but he’s only, like, twelve, or maybe thirteen, give or take the century in the ice- decided he wanted to teach us all how to make Air Nomad fruit pies, but he didn’t tell us until after that he was gonna throw them at our faces! So that started a food fight, and we didn’t realize the food fight had started overlapping with a scheduled meeting until...”

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Scratch My Back...

Luke Patterson x Reader

Title: Scratch my Back…

Words: 1241

Summary: Y/N and Luke’s secret relationship gets found out.

Requested: Anon Request for Reggie or Alex finding out about Luke and their sister after they’re intimate and leave marks TW: Mentions of sex, mild swearing Author’s notes: I hope this is what you wanted, dear Anon. I hope I did your request justice. Characters have been aged up.

Kissing you on the lips, Luke crawled out of your bed and walked across your room picking up his discarded clothes. You can’t help but watch him as he moves, the muscles shifting under his tan skin as he pulls his jeans on.

“Do you have to go?” you ask, not wanting him to leave you alone. He never stayed over, not wanting to get caught by your family. You knew it wasn’t anything personal, but it still hurt every time he got dressed and climbed out of your bedroom window with a kiss and a smile.

“I’m sorry, babe, but you know I can’t stay.” He leaned over the bed and kissed you deeply. “Have you seen my shirt?” As he turned to look around your room you can’t help but burst out laughing.

“It’s hanging off my lamp.” You tell him, not mentioning the four scratches on his back. He’ll find out about them soon enough.

Once Luke’s dressed, he crawls onto your bed and kisses you again. This one could easily turn into more, and he groans when he pulls away.

“I love you.” He whispers as he locks his eyes on yours before escaping out of your bedroom window. Minutes after he leaves, Reggie sticks his head around your door.

“Why aren’t you ready? The show starts in an hour.” Your brother hated being late for anything. The venue for tonight’s gig was less than twenty minutes away by car, he needn’t have worried.

“Give me 5 and I’ll meet you down in the car.” You threw your car keys over to Reggie, waiting until he left the room before climbing out of bed to grab a quick shower.

It was almost fifteen minutes by the time you were dressed and had your make-up done. You rushed down to your car, where Reggie’s tapping his fingers against the dash.

“We are gonna be so late, Y/N. And I’ll be blaming you.” He snapped as you climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Reg, when have I ever let you down?” Starting the engine, you pull away from your house, a delicious ache still invading your body.

_____________________________♥♥♥________________________________

As expected, you and Reggie arrived with plenty of time to spare. Alex had already set up his drumkit and was chatting with his boyfriend, Willie and Bobby while Luke was on stage checking over his amp. He caught your eye and flashed you a wink without anyone seeing before carrying on. You busied yourself with setting up the merch table near the bar.

As you were the only one old enough to drink, you bought the guys some soda and yourself a beer. Once it was time for them to head backstage to get ready, you settled yourself in for a night of crowd watching. It never bothered you seeing girls fawn over Luke. He was twenty, gorgeous, and crazy talented, but you were the one he wanted screaming his name. It was just a shame you had to sneak around to do it.

Although you were a year older then Reggie, he’d banned his friends from ever dating you back in high school. It had pissed you off, especially when you realized you had feelings for Luke. So, for the past year, the two of you had been meeting up in secret. The excitement had been such a turn on at first, but now it was draining for the both of you. More than anything, you wanted to be able to go out in public with the man you loved without offending your brother.

Feeling irritated, you decided to head backstage to see if you could grab five minutes with Luke, maybe they could sneak off somewhere so she could give him a few good luck kisses before he went on stage.

“What the fuck are those on your back?” you could hear Reggie laughing from the dressing room they’d been given by the venue. You stopped outside the door so you could eavesdrop.

“What?” Luke’s voice was laced with confusion, making you giggle silently.

“You have some wicked scratches on your back. Wait… have you got a little side thing that you’ve been keeping a secret from us?” Bobby joined in the conversation. Trust him to make it sound so crass, but you couldn’t blame him really.

To prevent Luke having to lie outright, you knocked on the door before slipping inside.

“Ten minutes, guys.” You grinned at the four of them, trying not to make eye contact with Luke who was smirking at you. You knew he was going to get his own back at some point, but would rather it didn’t happen in front of your brother and his friends.

“Thanks, Y/N. Alex smiled at you as you tied your hair up into a messy topknot. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Luke’s eyes widen.

“Wait, sis. What’s that?” Reggie walked over to you, his eyes glued to the side of your neck. Without thinking, you lift your hand and wince when you touch your neck. Automatically, your eyes lift to look at Luke who has the balls to grin at you.

“Is that a hickey?” Alex asks, leaning in for a closer look. “Girl, you’ve been marked.” He laughs. As he moves away from you, he notices what’s passing silently between you and Luke and you hear him utter ‘oh shit’ under his breath before he and Bobby excuse themselves to head out of the room.

“Uh…” is all you manage to say while Reggie squints at you.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” He comments, blissfully ignorant. “Bit of a coincidence that both…” He trails off, suddenly looking at you and Luke.

“Reg…” You start to speak, but he holds a hand up to cut you off.

“Not you. Him.”

You watch as Luke covers his body with another shirt and take a deep breath before turning to one of his best friends.

“Reggie… it just happened.”

“What, you tripped, and your dick landed in my sister? Try again asshole.”

“Reg, it wasn’t like that, and although you’re pissed, I know you know that.” Luke stands next to you and takes hold of your hand, raising it to kiss the back of your knuckles. “But all I can say is that I love her, with all my being. Neither of us wanted to hurt you, which is why we kept it quiet at first. Then it just got harder to come clean the longer it went on.”

“Hang on, how long have you two been a thing?” His voice was less angry and hurt, but you could still see something in his eyes. Letting go of Luke’s hand you pulled your brother into a hug.

“Reg, I adore you. You’re the best little brother I could ever have asked for, but you can’t control my life. Me and Luke are a thing, a serious thing, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get used to it.”

“How long, Y/N?”

“A year or so.” You waited for him to explode.

“Well, that explains so much.” With a grin, he turns to Luke. “Break her heart, I’ll smash up your favorite guitar.”

With a wink in your direction, Reggie left the room.

“Well, that went better than expected.” Luke gathered you in his arms and kissed you deeply.

For once, you didn’t have to hide, and it felt amazing.

.

.

.

.

Tagging:

@dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @calamitykaty​​ @crybabyddl​ @morganayennefertyrell​ @lovesanimals​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​​ @echocharm17618​ @kinda-really-lost​ @n0wornever​

[frostmarris]

Ablaze

Yandere!Shisui/Yakuza!Sakura

notes: ok apparently i cant keep things simple. another drabble request that got out of hand.

this is for @lunarlegend11 who requested a yandere or yakuza shisui/sakura but i misread things, realized there was an OR, then went ahead and did both anyways

enjoy!

: :

Shisui wasn't in the habit of getting into strange cars without knowing where he was headed, but when a yakuza thug is the one to step out of a shiny black S-class Mercedes with windows tinted too dark to be legal and orders him to get in, he's not about to argue.

There's another well-dressed man inside and Shisui is forced to slide in next to him, sandwiched between the two stony-faced men when the first joins them inside. He hesitates to ask what's going on or where they're taking him, so he sits quietly and cautiously takes in as much visual information as he can.

The car races down the street and he attempts to keep track of the route without too noticeably looking out the windows, but one of the men shifts, crossing his arms across his chest, and Shisui glances down to see the tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve. His eye is drawn to the thick white outline of a simple circle nestled amongst the rolling waves and twisting tree branches and Shisui sits back, realizing who's car he's in. He's silent the rest of the drive and, before long, the vehicle stops and the door is opened by yet another yakuza. A sharp nudge from the man to his left urges Shisui to exit and he slides out, glancing around as he realizes he's in an underground parking garage.

He's led to an elevator and is taken up to the top floor, all without any sort of explanation. The elevator doors slide open to reveal a lobby of sorts, where a few other men and women are lounging. Some watch him pass by as he's led to the singular door at the end of a short hallway while others pay him little mind, obviously uninterested. 

Shisui stands a little straighter as he realizes he's likely being taken to the boss, his head held high with just enough confidence to not come off as offensive.

The man walking in front of him at the lead opens the door and pushes it in, taking up a spot just to the right as Shisui is ushered in. It's an office, he realizes as he spots the desk at the center back. The lights are rather dim in the room and the chair behind the desk is empty, but he hears the sound of a page turning and looks to his left to see a woman sitting in a comfortable armchair. The lamp situated just behind her is giving off the most light and she sits with one leg crossed over the other, a file folder propped up on her knee. There's a small side table to her right with a short stack of documents situated next to a steaming mug, which she takes a delicate sip from as the door is shut behind Shisui and the two guards bar his exit.

But he can't tear his gaze away from the woman, silent as he takes in her appearance.

She's wearing a sleek black suit - obviously custom made as it fits her perfectly - with ruby cufflinks and a simple white circle outline pinned to the left lapel. The jacket is open and the top four buttons of the crisp white shirt underneath are undone, the fabric parted just enough to let a few of the tattoos around her collarbone peek out. Her hair - a darker, almost orange-ish pink under the yellow light of the lamp - is pulled up in a topknot with bangs, center-parted, framing her face. There's a simple purple diamond tattooed on the center of her forehead and her ears are pierced, simple diamond studs on each lobe.

Her eyeliner is winged, her lips painted red, and she doesn't look up from the document she's reading as she addresses him.

"Uchiha Shisui, yes?"

Her voice is softer than he'd been expecting and Shisui hesitates for too long, still staring wide-eyed at the woman.

"Answer Haruno-sama," One of the guards behind him grunts as he pushes him forward to stop just a few feet in front of her, obviously irritated with his lack of a response. The gruff voice and the confirmation of what family he was speaking to pulls Shisui from his stupor and he stands just a little straighter before he bows politely, trying to keep his tone even.

"Yes, that's me."

She nods, the light catching off the cherry blossom charm dangling from the ornamental pin in her hair, and flips the page over, grabbing a fountain pen from the side table. Her hand moves with a quick flick as she scratches a line through something on the paper and the room is silent besides the soft jazz music playing from an antique record player in the corner.

Shisui nearly jumps when she speaks again.

"You're the owner and executive chef of Restaurant Moeruki," She says, pausing for just a moment before her eyes finally cut up to him, looking at him for the first time since he'd arrived. He's rather startled by the intense green of her eyes but he catches himself before he can grow too distracted when she continues. "Correct?"

"Yes," He answers, almost unsurely. He has no clue what interests the yakuza have in his restaurant, but it definitely couldn't be good.

"Excellent!" She says, turning slightly to actually face him and her lips lifting with a slight smile.

(Shisui doesn't understand why seeing her so pleased makes his heart pound.)

She maintains that even smile as she speaks, propping one elbow on the armrest and the other on her thigh as she laces her fingers together.

"On March 28th, two weeks from now, you will close your dining room to the general public and host a banquet for myself and my family."

It's neither a request nor a demand - its a proclamation. One that leaves Shisui feeling shell-shocked.

"W-what?" He asks before he can stop himself, instantly regretting it when her smile falls slightly.

One of the guards behind him seems to take offense to him questioning his boss and the back of one of Shisui's knees is kicked in - not enough to injure him but enough to drop him to the floor with a surprised grunt.

The pink-haired woman clicks her tongue and sends the guard a disapproving look over Shisui's shoulder. The man bows his head and offers her an apology before taking up his spot next to the door again. She sits back, both of her arms laying on the armrests, and moves her crossed leg to catch the toe of her leather, stiletto-heeled boot under his chin. Shisui's head is tilted up and he's left in his kneeling position in front of her, that smile appearing on her face again.

Her boot lowers and she uncrosses her legs to stand, gesturing for Shisui to do so as well before she moves towards her desk. He stands, unable to tear his gaze away, and turns to watch her as she leans against a corner of the mahogany desk and crosses her arms over her chest, practically sitting on the tabletop.

"As I was saying," She continues, her gaze still on him. "March 28th. I've heard a fair deal of good things about Moeruki and wish to celebrate my birthday in your restaurant."

Shisui resists the urge to glance back at the man who had kicked him and bows, recovering much quicker than earlier with his response.

"I would be honored, Haruno-sama."

Her smile widens and she nods to one of the guards who then slips out of the room. As the door closes, she pushes off of the corner of the desk and moves around it to take her seat in a plush office chair, pulling a document towards her.

"As it will be a private event, your establishment will need to be closed to its regular patrons," She looks down - he immediately misses her gaze on him - and grabs a pen, writing something down as she continues. "But don't fret, Uchiha-kun. It will still be a full house and you will be paid handsomely for your hospitality."

She pauses to search through a drawer to her left and soon straightens with a small black business card in hand, a phone number printed in silver on one side and the Haruno family insignia on the other.

"My… event coordinator will be in contact with you to assist in booking entertainment and to pick out the courses for the dinner." She doesn't look up from the paper she's still writing on, the card caught between her fore and middle finger as she holds it out to him. "Your menu is one of the highlights of your restaurant so I wish to sample from it - with just a few additions."

Shisui reaches out to take the card, his knuckle just barely brushing her fingertip, and nods, inwardly trying not to imagine what sort of 'events' a mafia gang would need a coordinator for.

The door opens behind him and the guard returns, holding a thick envelope and a mobile phone. Her pen pauses and she looks up at Shisui as he's handed both, realizing the cellphone is likely a burner phone for contacting her coordinator.

He's suddenly aware of how her looking at him fills his chest with a pleased, warm feeling.

"Half of your payment now, half on the 29th," She nods to the heavy envelope, the weight of the cash inside the final piece of proof that this was really happening, and leans back in her chair, crossing her legs again as she maintains that easy smile and intense gaze. "Should my birthday celebration be a success, you will see a surge in business - this I can assure you, Uchiha-kun."

Shisui clutches the envelope, phone, and business card in a tight grip and bows once more, torn between apprehension and excitement.

"I look forward to serving you, Haruno-sama. Thank you for this opportunity."

: : 

Haruno Sakura.

Haruno Sakura.

Haruno Sakura.

Haruno Sakura.

The name repeats over and over in Shisui's mind over the next two weeks.

He can't get her out of his head - that smile, the sound of her voice, those eyes - even despite the fact that one wrong move would likely lead to his death. 

His staff are understandably distressed when he announces the banquet they'll be hosting in her honor, but they work diligently to make sure everything is prepared for the night to go off without a hitch. With all of the food and supplies ordered and the musicians booked, Restaurant Moeruki closes a day early to decorate the dining room according to the 'event coordinator's' direction. One of the private party rooms is spruced up even more so for the guest of honor and her entourage and Shisui elects to prepare their dishes himself. He's meticulous with the menu, looks over every detail of the decor personally, gives the pep talk of the century to his kitchen and waitstaff, and, by the day of Haruno Sakura's birthday, he's feeling confident that the evening will be a success.

The entire restaurant staff is waiting in the lobby to welcome their guests, with Shisui standing at the head of the lineup, his heart in his throat as she walks in.

Her pink hair is pulled up in an intricate bun, a flowering hairpin with dangling gems and charms tucked in on the left side, and, when she turns her head to speak to the woman at her arm, Shisui can see the detailed mandala design etched into her undercut at her nape. Her makeup is rather delicate but her lips are still blood red, parting as she laughs as she passes him by and enters the restaurant. 

She's dressed in a spring yukata, the base fabric a simple organic design of pale greens and blues with falling cherry blossoms, the same shade as her hair, scattered over the bottom half and sleeves. The obi is a darker shade of pink and doesn't reach as high up her abdomen as traditionally. The charms hanging from the mint green cord tied around the middle of the obi jingle and dance with every step and Shisui nearly forgets himself as he watches her walk through the doors leading inside.

With a hushed voice he quickly reminds his staff to be careful yet polite and moves to escort Sakura and her entourage to their private dining room, doing his utmost to get her to look at and acknowledge him.

Once they're situated and drinks are quickly brought in, the music from the band easily reaching the room through the closed rice-paper door, Shisui excuses himself to head to the kitchen.

He returns, some minutes later, with the first course to personally send off the start of her meal, but is soon trapped in the kitchen as he oversees the rest of the meal. His only knowledge of what's happening in the restaurant and, specifically, the private room, is through reports from the waitstaff, who aren't sure whether to be relieved or more nervous the more the yakuza members drink.

Finally, as the banquet approaches its end, Shisui returns to present dessert and see her again for the first time in hours. 

Her gaze passes right over him but lights up at the sight of the cake he'd hired a professional pastry chef to create and Shisui stays to play host, making sure that all of Sakura's needs are met.

Later in the evening, when the cake is gone and most of the lower subordinates are either drunkenly dozing or too engrossed in their own conversations to remember they're not at their headquarters, Shisui feels the oddest feeling begin to burn in his chest.

He's stood at attention with his other head host just next to the sliding door, at the ready for any of the special guests to make any manner of request. He tries to keep his gaze down respectfully, idly listening to the entourage's drunken conversation, but can't pull his attention away from her.

Sakura's face is flushed from the alcohol (he's lost track of how many bottles of sake and liquor they'd gone through) and she's pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her yukata, the fabric laying loosely around her waist, to combat the warmth of the room. The flush to her skin extends down her bare chest, her breasts uncovered and the tattoos over her shoulders and ribs exposed, but she is entirely unbothered by her partial nudity. She exudes an air of confidence that permeates the room, as comfortable in her bare skin as she would be with a shirt and jacket.

Her arms are strong and lean and the muscles of her shoulders and back are well-defined with her every move, though he only sees them when she turns or twists around. Shisui finds his gaze traveling from the head of the dragon curved over her right shoulder all the way down to where the tail appears across her left ribs. The remaining body of the dragon is tattooed across her back and, while her skin isn't as decorated as older bosses, he's sure that in a few years she'd have a multitude of new tattoos covering her arms and torso, with that traditional strip of unmarked skin running down the center of her body.

Shisui continues to watch her, taking in every detail as their conversation seems to fade out and all of the voices muddle together-

Until suddenly Sakura is laughing and his heart both clenches and soars.

It soars because her laugh is one of the most lovely things he's ever heard, almost bringing a reflexive smile to his own face.

But it clenches as she turns to the red-haired woman at her side, Sakura's arm around her waist as the unknown woman sits on her thigh, practically in her lap. The redhead, dressed in an expensive-looking velvet dress, says something that makes her laugh again but the words don't register in Shisui's mind - he's too focused, too lost, as Sakura catches the woman's chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulls her closer by the arm around her waist, and leans in, that intense green gaze centered entirely on her and not on him, not on him, why won't she look at him-

Sakura kisses the red-haired woman deeply and Shisui doesn't realize his hands have curled into tight fists at his side until the other host nudges his arm, his gaze full of confusion and concern. 

Shisui is snapped out of his daze and glances to his employee, trying not to flinch when he quickly unclenches his hands and feels how close he'd come to making his fingernails cut into his palm. He puts on a reassuring smile that's dripping with lies and relaxes his stance, inwardly relieved that her lieutenant and the four other yakuza ranked directly under her right hand man hadn't noticed how intensely he'd been watching Sakura. 

(His chest is aching, burning and tight and full of an anger he doesn't understand, fire caught in his throat and smoke in his lungs and the image of her kissing someone else - someone who wasn't him, why did he wish he was in her place why did his chest burn burn burn - replaying over and over in his mind.)

The laughter and drunken conversation continues for a while, with staff members coming and going with requests from the main party, until, finally, everything seems to wind down and it's apparent that the Haruno yakuza are ready to head home.

"Uchiha-kun."

Shisui looks up at the sound of her voice, in the middle of speaking quietly with one of his head waiters but quickly dropping the conversation to focus on Sakura. She beckons him with a curled finger, one arm in a yukata sleeve and the other still bare, and her gaze heavy from the alcohol and merrymaking.

"Come, sit with me for a moment," She commands, nodding to the empty cushion to her left. She's sitting with one leg crossed and the other propped up, her clothed arm resting on her raised knee while the red-haired woman lays next to her, her head on her thigh and her hair spilling into Sakura's lap. The yakuza boss wears the redhead's discarded glasses, perched on top of her head like a pair of shades, and sends Shisui a friendly smile as he kneels on the cushion.

"My compliments to you and your staff for this evening," Sakura says, her attention finally, finally focused entirely on Shisui (even though she's idly combing her fingers through her sleeping companion's red tresses) and he sends her an easy-going smile that completely belies the fire still burning in his chest and the crescent indents in his palms.

"I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself, Haruno-sama," Shisui replies smoothly, his head bowing so that he could force his gaze away from those red lips. "It's been an honor to serve you - and a bigger honor still to host your birthday celebration."

She laughs and he has to stop himself from looking up at her too suddenly, the ache in his chest waning at the sound of her joy and the sight of her eyes only on him.

"You're welcome back to the Restaurant Moeruki anytime, Haruno-sama."

(He so desperately wants to say her name, wants to say it aloud and taste it on his tongue and feel the breath he would use for the single word as it leaves his lungs, leaving behind a sacred emptiness because nothing could possibly fill the space.)

Her smile widens and his heart soars - only to crash yet again as she gathers the sleeping redhead in her arms and moves to stand, lifting and carrying the woman with ease. Shisui quickly stands as well, stepping aside as she heads towards the door of the private room, her subordinates filing out with tired yawns and a few drunken laughs.

"We will certainly be returning," Sakura says, turning to look at Shisui once more, "That, you can be assured of, Uchiha-kun."

She refocuses her attention on the woman in her arms and that ache returns as Shisui is forced to watch her softly mutter something in the redhead's ear, those red lips curved in a gentle smile when the woman shifts, rests her head in the crook of Sakura's neck, and drapes an arm over her clothed shoulder. 

Sakura presses a kiss against the corner of her jaw as she turns away and Shisui feels something warm and wet drip down his fingers, belatedly realizing he'd clenched his hands into fists again.

He hides his bloody palms as he escorts the woman whose smile he desires more than anything ever before out through his restaurant, the flames growing in his chest contained behind a friendly facade with his lips sealed and a silent voice screaming in his lungs.

: :

Just as Sakura had promised, the restaurant sees a huge increase in business over the following month as they become one of the most popular establishments in the city. It's both a blessing and a curse - the surge in traffic brings in more money and opportunities while the looming presence of the yakuza leaves everyone on edge.

She returns thrice more that first month, reservations for herself and the higher ranking members always called in in advance and a few instructions given beforehand on whether they'd be making any special requests - such as off-menu dishes or what sort of music they wanted booked for the evening.

Shisui fortunately never has to close the entire restaurant again like he had for Sakura's birthday, but one of the private dining rooms quickly becomes reserved specifically for her party. The staff knows better than to ever take other guests into it - even when the restaurant is fully booked - just on the off chance that the Haruno family drops by unexpectedly for an impromptu dinner.

He always greets her at the door when she arrives with her entourage, always insists on preparing her meals himself, always checks in after the last dish is served, and always is the one to escort her out at the end of the evening. 

He rarely has her undivided attention during her visits, no matter how desperately he craves it, until, at the end of her fourth meal at Moeruki, Sakura calls for him personally.

She's seated at the head of the table, like always, but the cushions at her right and left are vacant as the redhead and her first lieutenant are in the midst of a karaoke battle at the other side of the room. Most of the other men and women of the party are focused on cheering along but a few remain at the table, chatting with each other.

Sakura sits with her legs tucked neatly under her, dressed in a beautiful black kimono with a design of spider lily flowers cascading down from one of her shoulders, starting out white but becoming blood red by the time they reach the bottom hem. Her silver obi has an intricate geometric pattern and the other layers of her outfit provide red and white accents, matching the sparkling headpiece pinned into her pink hair, which is pulled up high on her head.

In front of her is a sake bottle and a single cup and she gestures for him to sit to her left when he enters, the other yakuza paying him little mind.

Her lips are a darker shade of red than usual and Shisui nearly misses her words when she speaks after he's taken his place beside her, too focused on how desperately he wishes he could feel them against his own and taste her laugh.

"-ve greatly enjoyed my meals here, Uchiha-kun," Sakura says, her gaze not on him as she carefully pours sake into the single cup. "And i would like to make my dining in Restaurant Moeruki a regular occurrence."

Her eyes cut up to him suddenly, intense and heavy as she looks at Shisui from under her lashes. His heart leaps to his throat and that now ever-present ache is lessened, the roaring fire calmed by her attention.

"If you find that agreeable," Sakura continues, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a delicate sip.

"Of course," Shisui answers, without hesitation. The music is still playing but he doesn't hear anyone singing, but he can't - doesn't want to - tear his gaze away from her own for even a moment. "It is a privilege to serve you, Haruno-sama-"

(Sakura, Sakura, Sakura -)

"-and we would be honored to continue doing so."

Her lips curl into that smile that he covets and the hand holding the sake cup moves towards him, offering it to Shisui. He takes the small glass, his fingers brushing her own, and can see where her lips had met the rim, a red mark left behind from her lipstick.

Had she not been scrutinizing him so closely, he likely would have turned the cup to press his lips where hers had been, an indirect kiss that would leave his lips tingling from the ghost of her presence.

But he doesn't turn the cup and simply brings it to his mouth as-is, suddenly realizing what was happening.

An informal sakazuki-goto - a pledge of loyalty.

Shisui drinks slowly, hoping it doesn't come off as hesitation, and sets the cup down, belatedly realizing that the other occupants of the room had laid witness to him pledging himself to the Haruno family.

Sakura smiles, chuckles, and reaches out to catch his chin between her forefinger and thumb once the entourage have returned their attention to the karaoke match. He's caught by surprise as she pulls him closer, his heartbeat drowning out his thoughts when she leans forward and closes her eyes.

Her lips press against just the corner of his mouth in a teasing kiss and Shisui is both ecstatic and distraught, so close to tasting her but finally receiving even the barest of skin contact from this beautiful, disastrous woman.

The fire in his chest bursts and crackles and the smoke in his lungs coil and smothers his breaths and he wants more than anything to turn his head to steal a proper kiss- to reach out an arm and curl it around her waist- to pull her flush to his chest and thread his fingers through her pink hair and kiss her as deeply as he does in his dreams and feel her body against his own and whisper in her ear just how desperately he craves her and and and-

But he controls himself, knowing such an action would likely lead to his death right here, right now, and pulls away only when she releases him, the corner of his mouth tingling.

His heart yearns and his chest aches and his blood boils when she turns away and he's dismissed, horrified to find that her kiss had been too light to even leave the slightest red mark behind.

: :

Shisui stands there next to the door to the walk-in, half hidden behind a tall rack of supplies and the table linens, to see one of the head waiters at the back exit just down the hall, the door propped open enough for him to see the younger man pass a key to a stranger in black.

It's late, late in the evening, the restaurant already closed and the guests and most of the staff all headed home and Shisui stares for a good long while, taking in the man's sunglasses and the sleeve of tattoos peeking out from under his jacket. They're speaking, but Shisui can't hear the words being exchanged, and the waiter turns to head back inside when the man pockets the key and leaves, looking nervous but pleased with with himself as he closes the back door.

His expression falls, however, when he sees Shisui standing there, his face paling slightly as his eyes go wide.

"U-uchiha-san! How… how long have you been there?"

Shisui steps closer, a heavy pit in his stomach as he approaches his staff member.

"What just happened?" Shisui asks, his voice soft and his tone calm even though he can feel something beginning to bubble inside him. "Who was that man? What was that key you gave him?"

The waiter looks more and more nervous with each question and he forces a shaky laugh, trying to play it all off, but then his eyes meet Shisui's intense gaze and he cracks, wringing his hands as he makes himself small.

"I-I'm just trying to help the restaurant! Trying to help you, sir!"

Shisui tilts his head and smiles his easy-going smile, resting his hands on his hips as he blocks the waiter' path.

"Trying to help me how?"

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder before refocusing on his face, sweat starting to bead on the man's forehead.

"E-ever since the yakuza- ever since they showed up, everything's been different," He insists, unsettled by Shisui's friendly expression. "Th-the staff- they act like things are okay now, b-but I know they're still nervous- still scared that one wrong move means they'll be shot or butchered."

"Haruno-sama and her affiliates' patronage to Restaurant Moeruki has brought us nothing but success and good business," Shisui responds evenly, his fingers twitching slightly.

The waiter's distress visibly increases and he shakes his head, starting to grow angry.

"N-no! It's their fault- her fault!" He steps forward, his expression somewhere between hopeful and frustrated. "You don't have to act like that, Uchiha-san! They're not here to see - I know you feel the same! We're trapped like rats, too afraid to even breathe, and it's all because of that damn woman."

The corner of Shisui's lip twitches and the friendly look on his face falls, his voice taking a warning tone.

"You shouldn't speak ill of our guests."

"She's not a guest!" The waiter says, reaching up to clutch his head as he turns around in anger, pacing as much as he can at the end of the hall. "Don't you see?! She's a viper that's going to have us all killed if she doesn't get her way! She's a monster with a pretty face! That's why-"

Each insult to Sakura makes Shisui's blood boil hotter and hotter, lava in his veins and smoldering ash in his lungs as he takes another step forward, pausing when the waiter cuts himself off.

"That's why, what? " Shisui asks gently, filled with anger on behalf of the dazzling, otherworldly woman he thinks about night and day.

It's been just over three months since her birthday and her visits come regularly, just as she said they would. She dines at Moeruki at least every two weeks, always in her private room with her party of high ranking subordinates and a few close companions. Over time, Shisui began to become a familiar sight amongst them, always joining them after their meal and growing closer and closer to Sakura.

He still coveted her gaze and her smile but each time he was the cause of her laugh or kept her attention centered on him as he told an amusing story, his heart filled with a joy that was almost painful. So close yet still so far from her, he would be patient and do all he could to earn her favor, to have her look only at him- smile only at him- love only him-

"-ith her gone, things will go back to normal!"

Shisui's attention snapped back to the waiter, a dark look on his eyes.

The man boldly continues, hoping to help his employer see reason.

"That's why I gave them the key. They'll come in through the back, quietly take her and those disgusting thugs out, and then everything will be fine again!" He reaches out to grip the front of Shisui's jacket, his knuckle white as he clenches the fabric in his fists. "We won't have to be afraid anymore!"

Shisui takes a slow, deep breath, his expression calm despite the rage behind his gaze.

"When that horrible woman is dead, everything will go back to normal and everything will be fine and-"

Shisui doesn't notice when his hand drops to the belt around his waist to remove one of his well-used knives from its holster - he's barely even aware when he plunges the blade into the waiters chest, his other hand raising to cover his mouth as he forces him backwards against the locked door.

All he feels is fire and anger and he stares down at the man as his face grows pale and he slides down, weakly grasping the front of Shisui's shirt as blood as red as her lips drips past his hand and down the waiter's chin. 

Shisui smoothly removes his knife and stabs it into his abdomen again and again, his sleeves stained red and something wet splattering on his face and his hands moving on their own because this fool had dared to wish her dead.

There were many mistakes Shisui could look past, but threatening her - with her beautiful eyes and beautiful smile and beautiful laugh and all the power to make Shisui drop to his knees and pledge his life to her, if just for the privilege to feel her lips against his own for a fleeting moment - was not something he could forgive.

When he finally stood, Shisui looked down at the bloody body collapsed on the ground with neither panic nor guilt. There was no rush of adrenaline coursing through him or fear of what he'd just done - only a receding anger that gave way to a calm, his gaze calculating as he looks at the bloody knife in his hand.

Killing had been easy - easier than he ever imagined - and it was likely due to how dearly the fool had deserved it.

Shisui's eyebrows furrow and he cleans his knife off on his ruined jacket, his thoughts wonderfully calm. He lets out a breath, all the rage and fire and smoke inside him finally escaping for the first time ever without the aid of Sakura's smile and Sakura’s laugh and Sakura’s attention and Sakura’s-

Sakura.

He turns and there she is, leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest and her surprised gaze on the crumpled body behind Shisui. He stands there, frozen in place, and stares at her, mentally urging her to move her gaze to him and away from the trash that doesn't deserve even a second of her attention.

She looks up at Shisui finally, finally, and smiles a calm smile that maybe doesn't fully understand what just happened.

"I'm glad to see that you're taking your place in the family seriously, Shisui-kun."

And she doesn't. She doesn't understand that he couldn't care less about the 'family'- doesn't understand how he would go to the ends of the earth for her, would fulfill her every wish and command, would kill and slaughter and destroy anything and everything all for her-

And that's okay. It's okay that she doesn't understand yet.

Because hearing her say his name, hearing her reserve a breath just for him, hearing her speak his given name for the first time since their very first meeting fills him with such an intense wave of cooling, refreshing joy - putting out those flames and clearing the smoke and tenderly kissing away the ache in his chest until his heart is soaring too high for anything to bring it crashing down.

Shisui slips his knife back into its holster and rubs the back of his head, ruffling his messy curls as he lets out a sheepish laugh and approaches her.

"I apologize for my employee's rash actions, Haruno-sama," Shisui says, smiling that friendly smile as he gazes at her with a love she doesn't understand yet. "It won't happen again."

She smiles up at him and they walk through the empty kitchen, him just a step behind her at her side. 

"I'm sure it won't." Comes her voice, directed at him even though she's facing away. "I'll have the mess taken care of."

She pauses and glances back at him and his heart pounds like a schoolboy faced with his childhood crush.

"You can call me Sakura, Shisui-kun."

And his heart bursts in his chest, exploding as it overfills with more love and joy than the cosmos can hold - hidden behind his calm smile and his friendly eyes as he bows his head politely, wiping a drop of blood off of his cheek with his thumb.

"Thank you, Sakura-sama."

[damianwaynerocks]

Zuko & the Waynes - Chapter 3

Batfam/ATLA au

Description:  Prince Zuko, pre-finding Aang, falls into Gotham City. After being adopted by Bruce Wayne, Zuko finds himself enjoying life in this strange world. Zuko Wayne has a family who loves him unconditionally. Zuko Wayne is a hero, saving the innocents of Gotham City every night. But Zuko soon finds himself at the center of a plot that threatens to destroy not only this new world he's come to love, but also the world he's trying to leave behind.

A/N: okay, so the members of the titans and young justice team are different in this au.

Young Justice: Tim Drake (Red Robin); Cassie Sandsmark (Wondergirl); Kon/Conner Kent (Superboy); Bart Allen (Impulse)

Titans: Dick Grayson (Nightwing); Koriand'r (Starfire); Garfield Logan (Beast Boy); Rachel Roth (Raven); Jaime Reyes (Blue Beetle); M'Gann M'orris (Miss Martian)

Chapter 2 | Masterlist

Chapter 3:

"So, you remember the plan?"

"Yeah, we got it," said Cassie into her earpiece, having to raise her voice to be heard over the pouring rain outside. "Don't worry about us, we're fine."

"Good to know," Tim responded into the comlink.

It was the night of the auction. Zuko was wearing a black suit while Cassie was wearing a red dress. Both had their masks on. Kon, also known as Superboy, was sitting in the driver's seat. He was acting as their chauffeur, and was there as backup in case anything went wrong. Zuko rolled his eyes as he heard a slurping sound in his com link, presumably from Tim taking a sip of coffee.

 "That was gross," Kon sighed. "Don't do that." 

Tim ignored him. "Proud of you both. Remember, if the wrong person gets their hands on the magyntite, not even Superman will be able to stop them." He paused. "No pressure, though.”

"Wow, you're great at pep talks." Zuko adjusted the mask on his face, making sure it hid his scar. "You ready, Cassie?"

"I was born ready," Cassie responded with a grin. "Now, let's go, Henry."

"After you, Larissa." Zuko grabbed an umbrella and stepped out of the  self-driving black limousine they'd borrowed from Bruce. He went around to her side of the vehicle and opened her door for her. Cassie looped her arm through his, muttering a thank you as Zuko raised the umbrella above both of them. They walked into the casino.

 Just inside, a bouncer stepped in front of them. "How tall is the eagle's wingspan?"

"That means do magic," Tim said through the coms.

 "Uh," Zuko's mind raced as he tried to think of a spell on the spot. "Fire Dragon Iron Fist!" he finally said, and a ball of fire appeared over his closed fist. The bouncer nodded, and unhooked the red rope, allowing them to step inside.It was bright and loud and flashy, and Zuko had to stop for a moment to get his bearings.

 "You good?" Cassie whispered, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. "It's okay. Let's just go downstairs, follow me." She gently led him towards the back of this casino. Tim had told them that there was a staircase behind the bathrooms, and the basement was where the auction was taking place.They walked past the doors that said 'men' and 'woman' and opened the third door, revealing stairs going down to a concrete basement. "You okay now?" Cassie asked as they began to descend. 

 "Yeah," Zuko grunted. "I'm fine." They walked down a dark and damp hallway, a stark contrast to the bright lights and clean floors of the upper floor. The reached a huge room with a wrap around balcony overlooking the bottom floor. Many people, all wearing masks, were crowded together. 

"It's about to start, Mr. Henry," Cassie said. "Let's go sign in." The pair walked through the people until they reached the stairs leading to the bottom floor. Arms still linked, they walked down the stairs. 

"There's a ton of people here," Zuko mused. "I wonder what they all want to buy." 

Cassie shrugged. "Drugs. Artifacts. Who knows." 

They made their way to the middle of the throng of people and sat down in two of the chairs. The auction started soon after, and the words the auctioneer was saying sounded like white noise to Zuko. Finally, twenty minutes in, Tim's voice in his ear made Zuko flinch. "Magyntite is next," he said. "Be ready."

Sure enough, the man held up a silver briefcase. "Magyntite!" he yelled. "This drug is like Kobra Venom! Bulk up your muscles, lady and gentlemen. Do I hear... two million?" Zuko raised his hand and the same time another man did. The man glared at Zuko, who did the same.Back and forth this happened, Zuko and this man trying to get the magyntite. In the end, though, Zuko and Cassie got it for $45,000,000.

 "Holy crap," Cassie breathed as they walked back up the stairs. "That man wanted to kill you." 

Zuko hummed. "He isn't the only one." 

Cassie gave him an amused look."Is that so, Sir Henry?"

"Indeed it is, Lady Larissa."

Golden eyes gazed into blue for a second, both having small smiles on their faces.

  "Yo, you guys get it?"

"Uh, yeah," Cassie replied, breaking eye contact. "Yeah, we're heading back now." 

Zuko's face reddened. He hadn't felt any feeling similar to that since Mai, when he was thirteen. He shook his head to clear it. Don't be stupid, he told himself. Don't even go there. No chance of that happening.

"You good?" Cassie asked, raising an eyebrow under her mask. Zuko cleared his throat and nodded a little too quickly.

"Me? I'm great. Splendid. Never been better!" he babbled. "Oh Agni, I bet Kon is going crazy! Uh, let's go see him!" He linked his arm with Cassie's and half-led half-drug her through the club and out the door.

"And the lovely couple returns!" Kon cheered as Zuko opened the door for Cassie. "I missed you! Tim told me I couldn't listen to my podcast because I had to stay alert so I've been bored out of my mind."

"Oh, poor baby!" Cassie mocked. "Do you need a massage and a nice cup of tea?"

"I do, actually."

"Too bad, Superbrat."

 Zuko looked out the window. He missed his uncle's tea.

 Only 11 more months. 

___

The next morning, Zuko, Duke and Damian were at the table eating breakfast. Zuko was about to put a piece of bacon in his mouth when he felt eyes on him. Looking up, he frowned as he met Duke's eyes. "What?

Duke's eyebrows were furrowed in disbelief. "Dude, it's 7:00 in the morning. Why are you already dressed?" 

Zuko blinked. While the others were in their pajamas- Duke in an old t-shirt and shorts and Damian in his silk robe -Zuko was in jeans and a Ralph Lauren button-up, his hair in a topknot. He would've put shoes on, if it weren't for Alfred's no-shoes-in-the-house rule. "I'm used to getting up at dawn and getting ready. It's what I've done for three years."

Duke shook his head. "You're making me feel like a slob, Zu."

 "You will not feel that way for long," Damian spoke up. "For I hear Drake coming down the stairs." 

Sure enough, Tim walked around the corner, staggering to the table. He was in an over sized black Superman shirt and his boxers with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His long hair was a mess, and the circles under his eyes made it look as though he had been punched in the face.  Alfred pulled out a chair beside Zuko, a cup of coffee already in his hand. Tim stumbled towards the chair, looking as though he was about to pass out. He sat down in the chair slowly, and Alfred immediately put the cup of coffee in front of him. Tim blinked slowly, before picking up the coffee and bringing it to his lips. 

"Well," Duke chuckled. "I no longer feel like a slob." 

Damian wrinkled his nose, scoffing at Tim. "You are a disgrace, Drake. Have some self respect." Tim stared at him owl-eyed in response.

 "Just give him like ten minutes," Duke said. "Anyways! So I heard you went on a mission last ni-"

"Master Duke!" Alfred interrupted him sharply. "Might I remind you the rules of breakfast?" 

Duke seemed to shrink into himself as he answered in a small voice, "No vigilante talk at the breakfast table." Alfred nodded in approval before going back into the kitchen. Duke turned back to Zuko. "Later."

Zuko hummed in response. 

--

As soon as breakfast was over, Duke ran to Zuko excitedly. "So!? How'd it go?"

"It went fine," Zuko replied. "I mean, we went in, got the stuff and got back in the car."

"That's it? No fights?"

"No fights."

"What about Cassie? Any emotions?" 

Zuko coughed, his eyes widening. "What!? No! Don't be stupid!"

Duke laughed. "Dude, you're gonna have to get better at lying if you want to join the business."

"Which could start right now, if you want." Zuko and Duke whirled around to see Bruce holding a cup of coffee. "You've been here for a month. You can fight and you're smart. You're welcome to start training today, if you want."

Zuko's jaw dropped. "Uh, yeah! That'd be great!" 

Bruce smiled."Fantastic. Go get changed into something comfortable and we'll start."

Zuko practically sprinted to his room, but before he could change, his phone chimed.

Cassie Sandsmark: good morning doofus

.Zuko grinned in spite of himself.

Zuko Wayne: good morning!

Cassie Sandsmark: how'd you sleep?

Zuko Wayne: great but i don't know if tim slept at all he's barely alive right now

Cassie Sandsmark: sounds like tim

Cassie Sandsmark: so when u joining the hero business

Zuko Wayne: right now,, I'm about to start training

Cassie Sandsmark: YAY TELL ME HOW IT GOES

Zuko Wayne: of course

__

Training, Zuko decided, was difficult. It'd been a month since he'd started, and while he was improving, he was sore and sick of computers. 

"If I have to break another one of Tim's codes, I'll kill myself," he groaned, flopping on to the couch beside Damian, who nodded. 

"Every time Drake speaks, I want to kill myself." Zuko eyed him wearily.

"That's harsh."

"Such is reality." Damian flipped to the next page of the book he was reading. "So, your first patrol is tomorrow?" 

Zuko grinned."Yeah. I'm so excited." He sat up, cracking his knuckles. "Gonna be a blast."

"Are you finally adequate at lying?" 

Zuko winced. "It took me a while but yeah, I got it."

 "Good. We cannot have you exposing our secret." He looked up from his book. "Christmas is next month. Pennyworth instructed me to inform you that he needs a list of what you wish."

Zuko groaned. "I have no idea what I want."

"Well, figure it out," Damian replied. "Because if you do not, I'll have to listen to the complaining."

__

It was the night of his first patrol. Zuko turned to the mirror. His suit was a black kevlar lined jumpsuit with an obsidian utility belt and combat boots of the same color. There was a blue bat symbol across the chest, and a demon-type stage mask of the same color on his face. He looked at the blue gauntlet on his wrist and flexed his arm.

Dick whistled lowly. "Lookin' sharp, Zu."

Zuko grunted in response, but he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from twitching upwards.

"Good to see you suited up," Bruce said as he saw his son. He turned to the Bat Computer and typed something in. "Alright. Nightwing and Robin, you take the east side. Red Hood and Black Bat, you take the west. Red Robin, you take south. Blue Spirit and I will take north."

"You got it, boss man," said Jason with a mock salute. At that, the vigilantes headed out.

"Remember," Bruce began as he and Zuko got into the Batmobile. "Code names in the field." Zuko nodded.

"I won't forget, Batman."

"Good to hear, Blue Spirit." 

After a few minutes if driving, Oracle spoke. "Croc is robbing a store on the corner of North and Order," she said. "Blue Spirit and Batman are closest."

"We're on it," Bruce said, and sped up. 

They reached the corner in five minutes, and jumped out of the car. "Croc!" Bruce yelled.

A huge reptilian humanoid turned toward the voice, and smiled. "Batman!" he chirped. "And who's this?"

"Blue Spirit," Zuko said stiffly. 

Killer Croc chuckled."New kid to destroy? I love that." 

Croc rushed him, snapping his jaws viciously. Zuko jumped into the air, doing a flip over the creature. Fire blasted out of his elbow and he punched Croc in the snout as he turned. 

Croc stumbled back. "Igniting your elbow to increase the force of your punch? Smart. Not smart enough." He ran towards Zuko again, claws outstretched, moving at inhuman speeds. Zuko ducked under his claws and gave an uppercut with the same advantage into his stomach. Croc was thrown into the air by the force. Before he could land, Zuko sent a blast of fire at him, engulfing him in flames. Croc screamed and fell to the ground, charred and smoking.

 "He's still alive," Bruce said gruffly. "Not bad. I'll call Gordon." Zuko's chest swelled with pride, but he simply nodded. 

"There's a robbery at the R&D center of Enterprises," Oracle said suddenly.

"Blue Spirit and I are going to check it out," Bruce answered.

"10-4," Dick replied. "Call if you need backup." Bruce grunted in response and, gesturing for Zuko to follow, jumped back into the Batmobile before speeding off.

"R&D?" Zuko echoed what Oracle had said earlier. "What's that?"

"It's the Research and Development Center," Bruce replied. "It's where we store Batman Inc. tech that's still in production."

"Oh."

“That's right. If anyone succeeds in getting their hands on what's in there-"

"-They'll get their hands on everything." Zuko bit the inside of his cheek. "It's fine. We can do this."

A hint of a smile ghosted across Bruce's lips, so small that Zuko wasn't sure if it'd even been there in the first place.

__

The Research and Development Center of Wayne Enterprises was primarily used to develop advancements in technology. These advancements ranged from more effective cancer treatments to new engines for vehicles.The blueprints listed the building as being eight stories. Unbeknownst to the majority of WE's employees, there was a basement. A basement hidden far below the actual building, so far below than an express elevator was needed. This basement was where the technology for Batman Inc. was developed.

Unlike the secret basement of Falcone's club, this basement was in pristine condition. It had a hospital feel to it, with white flooring, walls, and ceiling. 

Bruce and Zuko had just grappled down the elevator shaft was landed at the end of one of the basement's hallways."The only alarm that's been triggered was the entry alarm," said Bruce. "The rooms where the... merchandise are kept have separate alarm systems. Can you tell me what this means, Blue Spirit?"

"The intruder either doesn't know what exactly is down here, or they just haven't managed to get into the rooms yet." Zuko frowned. "Wait, if they figured out this place was here then that means they definitely know what's down here. So then they haven't found the location of the 'merchandise.'"

"And you believe that to be the most probable scenario?"

"Well... yeah. I mean, unless they managed to bypass the alarm system. But that's impossible, this place is un-hackable ever since that incident with Ra's al Ghul. The security system is invincible. Right?"

"Rule of thumb, Blue Spirit," Bruce grunted, raising his arm closer to his face to he could activate his gauntlet. "Nothing is invincible. Everything has a weakness. Some are harder to find than others, but the only thing that is truly invincible is God Himself. And I don't think He would have any reason to break into Wayne Enterprises."

"Okay, but they tripped the alarm when they came in," Zuko pointed out. "So they must not have been able to hack the system."

"Unless they want us here."

Zuko sucked in his teeth. "So that's what you think? This is a trap?"

"It isn't a trap if we know about it," Bruce countered. "Here, I'm pulling up the motion sensors." Sure enough, the holographic screen coming from the gauntlet showed motion in room 121.

"Is that one of the rooms?" Zuko asked. 

Bruce nodded."Yes." He and Zuko started to run in the direction of the before mentioned room. "There's very dangerous technology in there. We need to stop this intruder now." The two were sprinting, taking twists and turns through the winding hallways until Bruce stuck his arm out, signaling for Zuko to stop. In front of them was room 121, the door ajar.

"Holy crap," Zuko whispered. "They hacked us."

"They hacked us," Bruce echoed. "And now they're going to pay. Manuever 13. Be cautious." Bruce rolled a metal ball into the room, and it exploded into smoke Using the smoke as cover, Zuko and Bruce dashed into the room. 

Using the heat signatures to see through the smoke, Zuko jumped forward, swinging down his broadswords in arc. His eyes widened as they hit air; the person had disappeared."What-" he broke off as someone landed a hit to his spine. Zuko whirled around, kicking out at his attacker, yet his foot hit air as the assailant dodged again.

"A teleporter?" he muttered. A laugh hit his ears, and the assailant landed another hit to the back of his head. Zuko tried to return the hit with one of his own but, of course, he missed.So far, Zuko noticed, they were teleporting closely around him. They were staying in close proximity with him. It would be hard to deduce where exactly they would strike, unless he limited their options.

Zuko stomped on the ground, and a ring of fire flared up around him. The attacker led out a gut wrenching scream as they were caught in the flames.He caught a glimpse of a person in a black suit clutching their arm before they teleported above his head, aiming a dropkick above him.

 But Zuko had anticipated this. He grabbed their leg from above and slammed them on the ground. They landed with a crack and coughed.

"You just broke my spine, you asshole," the person wheezed. They were still now, and Zuko could see she was a girl with long brown hair in a wine-colored robe. 

Zuko gulped, forcing down the rising panic at the girl's words. "Maybe you shouldn't have tried to break my skull."

The girl shrugged. "Just following orders."

"Who are you!?" Zuko snarled. "Tell me! Who are you and what do you want with this technology!?"

"Well, if you must know," the girl said, pain evident in her voice despite her calm tone. "I am but a servant of The Lady of the Dual Skies."

"The Lady of the Dual Skies?" Zuko echoed. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing's taken," Bruce said as he crossed his arms from where he stood behind Zuko. "Nothing has even been tampered with. You clearly weren't looking for anything here. So what did you want?"

"The Lady does not permit me speaking with anybody but you." The girl was speaking directly to Zuko, not sparing Bruce a glance. "She has something she wishes you to know."

Zuko narrowed his eyes behind his mask. "And what would that be?"

The girl grinned wickedly. "She says she'll see you soon."

With that, a portal opened up under the girl and she disappeared in a flash of purple light.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 11 paragraph ix

The Purple Cow was on an untravelled one-way street just wide enough for a car to go through. All the other businesses around—pharmacy, bakery, bike shop—were shut tight, everything but an Indonesian restaurant on the far end. Shirley Temple let us off out front. On the opposite wall, graffiti: smiley face and arrows, Warning Radioactive, stenciled lightning bolt with the word Shazam, dripping horror-movie letters, keep it nice! I looked in through the glass door. The place was long and narrow, and— at first glance—empty. Purple walls; stained glass ceiling lamp; mismatched tables and chairs painted kindergarten colors and the lights low except for a grillside counter area and a lighted cold case glowing in back. Sickly house plants; signed black-and-white photo of John and Yoko; bulletin board shaggy with leaflets and flyers for satsangs and yoga classes and varied holistic modalities. On the wall was a mural of the Tarot arcana and, in the window, a flimsy computer-printed menu featuring a number of Everett-style wholefoods: carrotsoup, nettlesoup, nettlemash, lentil-nutspie—nothing very appetizing, but it made me remember that the last honest-to-God, more-than-a-few-bites meal I’d eaten had been the take-out curry in bed back at Kitsey’s. Boris saw me looking at it. “I am hungry too,” he said, rather formally. “We will go get a really good dinner together. Blake’s. Twenty minutes.” “You’re not going in?” “Not yet.” He was standing slightly to the side, out of view of the glass doors, looking up and down the street. Shirley Temple was circling the block. “Don’t be here talking to me. Go with Victor and Gyuri.” The man who sloped up to the glass door of the cafe was a scrawny, sketchy, twitchy-looking guy in his sixties, with a long narrow face and long freak hair past his shoulders and a peaked denim cap straight from Soul Train 1973. He stood there with his ring of keys and looked past Victor to me and Gyuri and seemed undecided whether to let us in. His close-set eyes, his brushy gray eyebrows and his puffy gray moustache gave him the look of a suspicious old schnauzer dog. Then another guy appeared, much much younger and much much bigger, half a head taller even than Gyuri, Malaysian or Indonesian with a face tattoo and eyepopping diamonds in his ears and a black topknot on the crown of his head that made him look like one of the harpooners from Moby Dick, if one of the harpooners from Moby Dick had happened to be wearing velvet track pants and a peach satin baseball jacket.

The old tweaker was making a call on his mobile. He waited, his eyes cagily on us the whole while. Then he made another call and turned his back and walked away into the depths of the lunchcafe, talking, palm pressed to cheek and ear in the manner of a hysterical housewife while the Indonesian stood in the glass door and watched us, unnaturally still. There was a brief exchange and then the old tweaker returned and with wrinkled brow and seeming reluctance began fumbling with the key ring, turning the key in the lock. The minute we were in he began yammering to Victor Cherry and throwing his arms about, while the Indonesian strolled over and leaned against the wall with his arms folded, listening. Some disturbance, definitely. Discomfort. What language were they speaking? Romanian? Czech? What it was about I had not a clue but Victor Cherry seemed cold and annoyed while the old gray-head tweaker grew more and more agitated—angry? no: irritable, frustrated, wheedling even, a whine climbing in his voice, and all the time the Indonesian kept his eyes on us with the unsettling stillness of an anaconda. I stood about ten feet away and— despite Gyuri, with moneybag, pressing in on me much too close—put on a self-consciously blank expression and pretended to examine the signs and slogans on the wall: Greenpeace, Fur-Free Zone, Vegan Friendly, Protected by Angels! Having bought enough drugs in enough dodgy situations (cockroach apartments in Spanish Harlem, piss-smelling stairwells in the St. Nicholas projects), I knew enough not to be interested, since—in my experience anyway—transactions of this nature were mostly the same. You acted relaxed and disengaged, didn’t talk unless you had to and spoke in a monotone when you did, and—as soon as you got what you came for—left. “Protected by angels, my ass,” said Boris, in my ear, having sidled up noiselessly on my other side. I said nothing. Even all these years later, it was all too easy for us to fall into the habit of whispering with our heads together like in Spirsetskaya’s class, which seemed like not a good dynamic in the situation. “We are on time,” said Boris. “But one of their men has not shown. That is why Grateful Dead here is so jumpy. They want us to wait till he comes. It is their own fault for changing the meeting place so often.” “What’s going on over there?” “Let Vitya handle it,” he said, poking his shoe at a desiccated furball on the floor—dead mouse? I thought, with a start, before realizing it was a chewed-up cat toy, one of several strewn across the floor beside a clumped and piss-darkened cat tray which lay half-hidden, turds and all, at the base of a table for four. I was wondering how a dirty cat tray placed where diners were likely to step in it was possibly convenient in terms of food-service logistics (not to mention attractive, or healthful, or even legal) when I realized the talking had stopped and the two of them had turned to Gyuri and me—Victor Cherry, the old tweaker with a wary expectant look, stepping forward, his eyes darting from me to the bag in Gyuri’s hand. Obligingly Gyuri stepped forward, opened it, set it down with a servile bow of his head, and stepped away for the old guy to look at it. The old guy peered in, nearsightedly; his nose wrinkled. With some peevish exclamation he looked up at Cherry, who remained impassive. Another obscure exchange ensued. The grayhair seemed discontented. Then he closed the bag and stood up and looked at me, eyes darting. “Farruco,” I said nervously, having forgotten my last name and hoping I would not be required to produce it. Cherry gave me a look: the papers.

“Right, right,” I said, reaching in the top inside pocket of my jacket for the bank draft and the deposit slip—unfolding them, in what I hoped was a casual way, checking them out before I handed them over— Frantisek. But just as I was extending my hand—bam, it happened like a gust of wind that blows through the house and slams a door loudly in a direction where you aren’t expecting it—Victor Cherry stepped fast behind the grayhair and whacked him on the back of the head with the pistol butt so hard his cap flew off and his knees buckled and down he went with a grunt. The Indonesian, still in his wall-slouch, seemed as startled by this as I was: he stiffened, our eyes connected in a sharp what the fuck? jolt that was almost like a glance between friends, and I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t moving away from the wall until I looked behind me and saw to my horror that Boris and Gyuri both had guns on him: Boris neatly resting the butt of the pistol in the cup of his left palm and Gyuri, one-handed, with the bag of money, backing out the front door. Disconnected flash, someone flitting from the kitchen in back: youngish Asian woman—no, a boy; white skin, blank frightened eyes sweeping the room, Ikat print scarf, long hair flying, just as quickly gone. “Someone’s in back,” I said rapidly, looking around, every direction, room wheeling around me like a carnival ride and heart beating so wildly I couldn’t make the words come out quite right, I wasn’t sure if anyone heard me say it —or if Cherry heard, at any rate, since he was hauling the grayhair up by the back of his jeans jacket, catching him in a chokehold, pistol at his temple, screaming at him in whatever Eastern-European tongue and jostling him to the rear as the Indonesian un-slouched himself from the wall, gracefully and carefully, and looked at Boris and me for what seemed like a long time. “You cunts are going to be sorry for this,” he said quietly. “Hands, hands,” said Boris cordially. “Where I can see them.” “I don’t got a weapon.” “Right there anyway.” “Right you are,” said the Indonesian, just as cordially. He looked me up and down with his hands in the air—memorizing my face, I realized with a chill, image straight to data file—and then he looked at Boris. “I know who you are,” he said. Submarine glow of the fruit juice cooler. I could hear my own breath going in and out, in and out. Clang of metal in the kitchen. Indistinct cries. “Down, if you please,” said Boris, nodding at the floor. Obligingly the Indonesian got to his knees and—very slowly—stretched himself full length. But he didn’t seem rattled or afraid. “I know you,” he said again, voice slightly muffled. Fast darting movement in the corner of my eye, so fast I started: a cat, devil black, like a living shadow, darkness flying to darkness. “And who am I then?” “Borya-from-Antwerp, innit?” It wasn’t true that he didn’t have a weapon; even I could see it bulging at his armpit. “Borya the Polack? Giggleweed Borya? Horst’s mate?” “And so if I am?” said Boris genially.

The man was silent. Boris, tossing the hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head, made a derisive noise and seemed about to say something sarcastic but just then Victor Cherry came out of the back, alone, pulling what looked like a set of flexcuffs out of his pocket—and my heart skipped to see, under his arm, a package of the correct size and thickness, wrapped in white felt and tied with baker’s twine. He dropped a knee in the Indonesian’s back and began to fumble with the cuffs at his wrists. “Get out,” said Boris to me, and then, again—my muscles had locked up and hardened; he gave me a little push—“Go! get in the car.” Blankly I looked around—I couldn’t see the door, there wasn’t a door— and then there it was and I scrambled out so fast I slipped and nearly fell on a cat toy, out to the Range Rover puffing at the curb. Gyuri was keeping watch out front, on the street, in the light drizzle which had just begun to fall—“In, in,” he hissed, sliding into the back seat and waving me to come in after him, just as Boris and Victor Cherry burst out of the restaurant and hopped in too and off we drove, at a sedate and anticlimactic speed.

[justjessame]

Double Shot Chapter 5

I woke up before the sun rose, as was my normal routine, which would have made my mom laugh if she was around. I could still hear the faint sound of her voice as she mocked my hatred of mornings, but I thought I could have argued that since it was still dark it wasn’t TRULY morning. Of course, she never understood how I could hate the taste of coffee, yet love the smell so much that I spent all my extra time in Uncle Davey’s coffee shop. I remembered the phone in the café ringing and hearing the baristas he had working grinning as they confirmed I was there, and knowing that Mom was checking on me again, even though I was a street wise ten year old by then.

A quick shower, dressing in one of my casual, yet business appropriate outfits that my apron would cover perfectly while I mixed and baked up the day’s sweet offerings, I had my hair up in the ever present and perfect for baking topknot and down the stairs I went. I was happy to see that the group that had rented the shop had turned off the lights like I’d asked, that they hadn’t made even a hint of a mess was a welcome surprise, and then I was called to the kitchen by my need to create something tempting and edible.

Baking had always been something that calmed me, that centered me in a way that nothing else seemed to. I loved to read, but even taking up a book tended to make my heart race, disappearing into a story wasn’t calming, it was inspiring. Baking? Baking was something I found both enjoyable, and easy. I mixed and baked, letting the scent of cinnamon, chocolate, and a hint of sugar and vanilla fill the air. I’d be finished long before the first employee arrived, which would be Keli again. She was my standard opener, and while she could be a snotty little shit, she was good at her job. Mostly.

“Morning, Keli,” I offered when she walked in moments after the pastry cases were filled to the brim with fresh treats and the scent of coffee filled the air.

She muttered a greeting, which I could understand since I wasn’t exactly a morning person myself, but she’d ASKED for the morning shift so she could have evenings off with her girlfriend and her girlfriend’s son. I watched as she put on her smock, a requirement so their clothing wouldn’t be ruined by the cleaner that kept the tables sanitary and I knew for a fact that enough icing on any fabric would kill it. She seemed even more quiet and off than usual and I was trying to decide if I should ask her about it or not when the bell on the door chimed, even though the open sign hadn’t been flipped.

Looking up from where I’d been getting the register ready for the day, I was about to tell the eager early bird that we’d be open in a few minutes, when I realized it was two cops. Damn it, I managed to put the fire across the street completely out of my head.

“Hello, officers, how I can help you?” Why bother with the standard greeting? From the looks on their faces, and the fact that one was roaming around the café looking out the front windows that faced the ruins across the street, I thought I knew why they were here.

The policeman who had stayed in front of me while his partner stalked around the open room smiled at me. Good cop, I thought. “Miss-” he looked at his notebook and back up at me. “Ramble?” I nodded, and sighed at what was coming next. “Are you related to Councilman Ramble?” Yes, he’s my dirtbag father, I wanted to say, but that wouldn’t do in our quaint little town.

“That’s my father,” I gritted, hoping that my smile hadn’t dropped. I waited for the next question.

“You manage this shop, correct?” I raised an eyebrow at the idiocy, but nodded again. “Were you home last night, Miss Ramble?”

“Charlotte, please, I insist.” I offered, hoping it sounded sweet and accommodating. “I came home after dinner with a friend at Enzo’s.” His turn to raise an eyebrow. “We were getting to know one another better, so I guess it was more of an acquaintance to friendship dinner. I came along as the firemen were putting out the fire.”

His partner had joined him and was studying me with an interest that I didn’t want to consider. “While you were at this dinner, friendly or whatever, did you know you left the lights on in the shop?” I nodded. Of course, I did, I assured them. I had planned on doing paperwork, but then after I got home, I turned them off and went to bed. “That doesn’t make much sense, Miss Ramble, since the lights were on right before the fire started, but off when we showed up.” Shit. I shook my head, squinting like I was trying to remember the day before.

“You know what,” I hoped I sounded like I fucking just remembered that I fucking forgot my day because of the routine of it. “I’m so used to finishing my paperwork during the day, deposits and all, that I think I came down BEFORE dinner and turned them off.” I slapped my forehead like I realized I was a putz. “The days, gentlemen, they blend together like a fine Columbian coffee. Speaking of which, could I offer you a free cup? And a pastry?” Butter up the donut eaters, Char, hope for the best.

Good cop, suddenly coming to the realization that they hadn’t introduced themselves and being tempted by GOOD coffee and FRESH pastries, offered that he was Detective Marks, while grumpy bad cop was Detective Johnson. I redirected their attention to the practically glowing case that held the fruits of my early morning baking, giving them both what the pointed to, and then filled large insulated carryout cups of their choice of coffee blend. Smiling I hoped like fuck that I’d ended the questioning, but Detective Johnson didn’t get the bribe idea well.

“That’s good coffee.” He muttered into his cup, then his eyes locked back onto me and he opened his mouth. “Now, Miss Ramble, since you turned off the lights BEFORE your little friend thing, and you weren’t home during the start of the fire, could you think of any strange people that have been loitering around lately?” My mind flashed to the five newcomers.

I shook my head. “No, we mostly see regulars. And we get NEW regulars all the time.” I hoped like FUCK that Keli wasn’t paying attention. I needed her input like I needed a hole in my fucking head. “No one stands out.” Again a flash of the five rose up in my eyes. Don’t think about them, asshole. “Sorry, I can always-” like he read my thoughts, which was a scary fucking idea, Detective Marks handed me his card. “I’ll give you a call.”

“Please do, Charlotte,” he took a sip of his coffee and his eyes closed in appreciation. “And thanks for the coffee and treats.” With a wink, which his partner looked ready to make permanent, they left.

The morning went along normally, although none of the five came in for their daily dose of free wifi and amazing refreshments, and I tried VERY hard not to let my mind wander to whether or not they had anything at all to do with the torching of my across the street neighbor. Fuck.

[ro-visiting-the-bureau]

So, You Summoned the Ghosts of Your Ancestors... - TCR Secret Santa 2019

@deadbonessinderhellaton, I was your Secret Santa this year! I decided to go for your prompt “Ghosts are like relatives. Once you let them in, they never leave.” Enjoy, and a very Merry Christmas to you!

Haru didn’t quite burst through the door of the cafe, but she did push it harder than she usually would and was through it before it open all the way. She swiveled her head and spotted Hiromi sitting at a table by the cafe’s fake fireplace, a mug of hot chocolate cradled in her hands. The strawberry blonde looked up as Haru approached and smiled. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“You left me a message saying ‘We screwed up’ and asked to meet me here asap,” Haru said, taking off her gloves, scarf and hat as a waitress came over to take her order. He asked for a hot chocolate and a small plate of pastries and then turned back to Hiromi when she left. “What happened?”

“Well, you know Tsuge and I have been clearing out his grandmother’s old house so we can move in after the wedding.” Hiromi played with the sapphire engagement ring on her hand. “We found a old journal in the attic, and flipped through it. It was written by Tsuge’s great-great grandfather, and he was a big paranormal-supernatural nut. Wrote down all these rituals that supposedly let you communicate with the dead.”

Haru didn’t need to hear another word to know exactly where this was going. She rested her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. “You didn’t…”

“Well, we didn’t think they were really real, and Tsuge thought it’d be funny to try it.”

“You’re best friends with a paranormal investigator and you didn’t think there was a chance it was real?” Haru shot Hiromi a glare, making her curl up a bit and give a weak smile. 

“Well…”

Haru sighed and folded her arms on the table. “What happened?”

“Well, we found one that was supposed to bring up a old homeowner, and figured, ‘you know what, let’s see if we can learn home more history about this place that Grandma didn’t know’. So we grabbed some old playground chalk, drew one of the sigils on the ground, lit some candles…

~

“Is that the right shape?” Tsuge asked, kneeling over the circle and checking the sigil drawn on the inside.

“I think so,” Hiromi said, looking from the book to the shape. IT was mostly straight lines, with a few circles, and had particular instruction on how to draw it. Next to her was a old compass and a motley collection of candles, from from the same trunk as the book and compass, the rest dug out from closets and cabinets in the house. “Do you think it’ll be effected by us using the scented candles?”

“I’m not running out to grab tea lights in this weather.” He pointed out the window, where the snow was flying, not storming, but enough to encourage people to stay indoors unless you had to go out, or were a kid wanting to play. “Besides, it’s not like it will actually do anything.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Hiromi shrugged and picked up the compass, holding it over the center of the circle. She took the two white ritual candles and put them at the north and east-northeast positions, which were the most important for the communication aspect they were looking for. Then they placed a small cinnamon candle at southeast, a large pine candle at south west, and a rose-scented tea light at west-northwest. Then Tsuge struck a match and used it to light a stick of incense, which he then used to light the candles in the same order they had been placed, before blowing it out and placing it in the center of the circle with a stand. He and Hiromi stood on opposite sides of the circle, holding the book in both hands over the center of the circle. Tsuge cleared his throat and started to speak. 

“Mortuus pacificus invocabo. Siquid erit vobis dicerem nobiscum hac nocte nos sacri.” His pronunciation was not too bad, but any Ancient Romans who might have heard it would find his accent horribly thick and-

( “Well, it wasn’t your first mistake, but your biggest is that you never do an incantation without practicing the correct pronunciation until you can be clearly understood. You’re lucky you didn’t summon a demon with that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure…” )

The couple watched in shock as the ritual circles actually began to glow, a blue-white light that started softly, then grew until it almost hurt to look at. Then a breeze started tickling their ankles, flowing into the center of the circle. Streams of light spun with the breeze, creating a vortex over the sigil. Hiromi gasped as it started to rise and grow up, spinning faster and faster and it climbed past their knees, and almost to their waists. Tsuge quickly read the book, and recited the next line of the spell. “Mortuus: venite, et locutus est ad nos, sic fiat semper.”

The vortex stopped growing, but increased in speed, it’s light almost blinding. Then a low note, separate from the whipping wind, started to grow, louder and louder, until it was recognizable as a scream. Another joined it, soft and then louder, then another, and another, until the strident calls was so loud it was hurting their ears. Then, something slingshotted out of the vortex, just missing Tsuge’s nose, then another buzzed Hiromi’s ear, and more flew out around them and the room before impacting the walls and seeming to disappear. The vortex slowly lost power and sank down to the floor, sending out one last whip of wind which blew out the candles before disappearing completely, and the glow dimmed to nothing. 

Hiromi and Tsuge stared at each other for a long moment, before stepping back and letting the book fall to the floor. 

"That was…" Tsuge trailed off, completely flabergasted. 

"It worked. That was an actual spell." Hiromi raised her hands to her face. "Harry is gonna be so mad." ( "You're darn right I'm mad!" ) "She always says this is not something to take lightly."

"Hey now," Tsuge said, coming over and placing his hands on her arms and rubbing them soothingly. "Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe it's Grandpa, and he'll go away once we have a pleasant conversation with him."

Hiromi sighed and was about to speak when a man's voice behind her cut her off. "Kami, what are you wearing!?"

Hiromi and Tsuge turned and saw a figure by the wall. It was a man, maybe in his mid fifties, hair in a topknot and wearing an old fashioned kimono. "This is not a bathhouse, put some clothes on!"

Hiromi looked down at her sweater and jeans that covered her from neck to wrist and ankle, and then Tsuge's t-shirt and jeans (he always ran warmer than her). They were even wearing socks, so you couldn't see their feet. "Um, sorry, but these are perfectly modest clothes for these days. Can I ask your name, honored ancestor?"

"Modest indeed,” the ghost huffed, coming into the room. “I am Kaneda Fujimaro, and these are the lands of my family. We have lived here for over a hundred years, and I now ask what you are doing here?”

“Can’t you see, you old man,” a new voice said, and a woman came through the wall, maybe a few years younger than Fujimaro, holding a cane, and wearing the same style of kimono. “They’re obviously our descendants, or can you not see your jaw on that young man’s face?”

“Of course I can see it, woman, I’m not blind!” 

“Well, you could have fooled me.” The woman floated - actually floated ( “Well of course she did, she’s a ghost!” ) - over to the couple, and reached a hand to touch Tsuge’s face. Tsuge flinched, but turned his head as the woman directed him to, and she gave him a critical eye. 

“Yes, you have my husbands jaw, but these cheekbones… they look just like the Yasui family. And I had hoped Naozane was not fool enough to go through with that betrothal.” She patted his cheek and stepped back.

“Now see here, Etsuko” Fujimaro said, “Yasui Sozui was a fine man, and his son was just like him.”

“A fine thief, you mean,” Etsuko turned, raising her cane a little at her husband. “The whole village knows he only got to rich from those ‘trips’ he took to Edo and yet no one has ever gotten a straight answer as to what he did there.”

“A man’s financials are not the business of other men.”

“They are when your granddaughter will marry into that man’s family!” 

Etsuko and Fujimaro started bickering, and Hiromi and Tsuge glanced at each other, growing more uncomfortable and awkward by the second. The movement in the doorway caught Hiromi’s eye, and she looked to see another ghost, a younger man maybe in his thirties, waving from the doorway. He made a “come here” motion, and with the only other option being to remain next to the old couple until they remembered they had an audience, the young couple quickly did so. 

Once they were in the other room - the younger ghost having moved back to give them room to enter - the ghost breathed a sigh of relief. “I am so sorry you had to deal with my grandparent’s first. They love each other, and the family, but in their old age they constantly got on each other’s nerves. Or at least, I was told by my father, I was only a child when they both died.”

“And who was your father, honorable ancestor?” Tsuge asked. 

“Yasui Taroemon, his father was Yasui Sozui. I am Yasui Norio.” He turned and a woman about his age seemed to just appear at his elbow. “And this is my wife, Kaneda Hisae. We’re your… four times  great-grandparents?”

“Six times,” Hisae said, and when she smiled, Hiromi could see her fiance in it. “Tetsuo told us he’d had a newborn great-grandson the last time we talked. Tsuge, right?”

“Y-Yes, Nashito Tsuge. And this is my fiance, Takanori Hiromi.” He and Hiromi both bowed, and Norio and Hisae bowed back. 

“It is lovely to meet you both,” Norio said. “Though it could have been under better circumstances.”

“I’ll say,” Hiromi said. “You two don’t seem surprised by this.”

“Oh, we’ve done this plenty of times,” Hisae said. “Tsuge’s great grandfather Kentaro loved to talk with us all the time. We had several visits with him, sharing family stories and such. He wrote quite a lot of them down, they should all be in his journals.”

“Mother always wondered about that,” Tsuge said. “She and everyone else assumed he was transcribing for another family, but kept the journals for some reason.”

“Well, you see, when our son Sotan was a baby, we were all here visiting my family when a fire broke out. We were all trapped, but we managed to hand Sotan to his sister and the two managed to escape. Unfortunately, Naoko died from her burns a few days later, and Sotan was adopted by a lovely couple who you know as your ancestors.”

Hiromi suddenly remembered. “Wait, there are four of you here right now, you two, Etsuko and Fijumaro. But I know at least five ghosts were thrown past me from the vortex, and more past Tusge so where are they?”

“Scattered over the neighborhood, probably,” Norio said. “Most of this valley used to belong to either the Yasui or Kaneda families, so they could appear anywhere on the lands. But they’ll all come back here soon, since this is where the summoning happened.” He narrowed his gaze. “Though with how you messed it up, I don’t know the state they’ll be in. The ritual is supposed to only bring back those who were at peace when they died, like Hisae and I, but the different candles might have causes a change to it. They might even be stuck here.”

Hiromi and Tsuge paled at the thought of over a dozen potentially angry ghosts appearing in the house they were going to move into, and the couple looked to each other. 

“Call Haru.” 

“Right.”

~

“...And here we are,” Hiromi said, giving a very strained smile. “Tsuge is trying to hold down the fort with Norio and Hisae, but I don’t know how well that’s going.”

Haru pinched the bridge of her nose between her hands, taking a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to be way too big a job for just me. I need to call in the whole team.”

Hiromi’s eyes widened. “You think it’s that bad?” 

“Ghosts are like relatives, Hiromi. Once you let them in, they never leave. And you have the unfortunate case of them being actual relatives.” Haru drained the last of her hot chocolate and stood, putting her coat back on. “Come on. You’re gonna be the one to explain to Baron why we need to pull Sephie and Louise off the Osaki case.”

Hiromi gulped, and Haru felt a little pity for her best friend, but it was overruled by irritation. This was not how she wanted to spend her winter vacation.

[zweiginator]

Duality

Brian May x Reader

Summary: It’s the end of the semester and with final exams in a week, you’re desperate for physics help. Your professor recommends Brian May, a bright young student who is seemingly unsure, anxious and apprehensive at life. So when he invites you to a Queen gig, you’re shocked to see another side of him. 

Warning: DEFINITELY REALLY INAPPROPRIATE AND SMUTTY I WARNED YOU!!

This semester had taken a physical strain on you. You had transferred to a new university, and the pressure of making all new friends and having all new classes, which were much more strenuous than those of your old school, was weighing down on you, causing you quite a few breakdowns throughout the transition period.

Now, final exams were approaching quickly, and you had piles of assignments to complete, seemingly thousands of dates to memorize for your Renaissance history course, a few hundred thousand words to write in essays for your composition class, and worst of all, terribly complex equations to master for your physics class, all before next week. Why you had decided to take that class was beyond your locus of understanding, you weren’t majoring in anything of the sort, and you weren’t a very math or science enthused person.

All you did know, was that you were on the verge of failing the class, by the scarlet red marks which covered the top of each of your exams, the midterm being the worst score you had ever received in your life. You’d always worked hard in life and achieved grades you were proud of, for the most part, so struggling in a class was foreign to you and you hated the feeling. Worst of all, you didn’t want to admit defeat, to ask for help was the stripping of your dignity to you, and you were dreading the conversation you were about to have with your professor.

As the 10:30 AM lecture ended, your peers packed up their belongings, heaving their giant backpacks over their tired shoulders, shoving crumpled assignments and exams with near-perfect marks into their folders, making weekend plans with their friends. You slowly stood up from your desk in the front of the room, neatly putting your unsightly exams into your portfolio and sighing, before walking towards your professor’s mahogany desk, which was cluttered with red and blue ballpoint pens and coffee-stained papers.

“Um, Professor Prescott?” You inquired, taking a deep breath as you met her blue eyes.

“Y/n, I’m afraid if you need extra help today, I’m not able to do that. I’m awfully busy tonight with appointments, and the rest of the semester is booked with grading and conferences with other professors.” She looked at you with pseudo-sympathy, pursing her lips as she slung her brown leather teacher’s bag over her willowy shoulder.

“Professor Prescott, I really need help. I know I’m close to failing this course, and I need to do well, considering my position at this school depends on it. Please, is there any way you can help me?” You felt tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes and you scolded yourself for being so dramatic in front of an authority figure.

She sighed and tore a piece of yellow paper from a legal pad underneath a mass of quizzes and exams. “I suppose I can recommend a bright student of mine to help you. He’s in a course a few levels above this one. He does exceptionally well, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help you, y/n. Just tell him that I sent you, he tends to be very anxious.” She gave you a small smile and scribbled a name and a phone number before handing it to you, leading you out of the classroom and into the crisp fall air, wind nipping at your exposed skin.

“I hate making phone calls, Debbie.” You complained, rolling your eyes at your roommate, who was sitting across from you, eating a small sandwich.

“No, you hate admitting you need help, y/n.” She retorted, cocking her blonde eyebrows at you.

“I mean, you’re right, but I don’t want to get help from some random guy and it be awkward and terrible. Maybe I’m just not meant to be at this school.” You took a chip from her plate and mirrored the judgmental look on her face.

“Y/n, you’re going to call this random awkward guy and you’re going to get a passing grade on this exam, and you’ll be fine.” She smiled and cocked her head towards the pastel peach phone hanging by the humming refrigerator.

You scour your pockets for the paper and take it out, looking at the number before quickly dialing it on the rotary, holding the phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you tied your hair back. The phone rang only twice before somebody picked it up, muttering a confident, “Hello?” in a deep, raspy voice.

“Hello? Is this Brian May?” You were afraid she had given you the wrong number, this guy sounded self-assured, cocky, and nothing like the anxious, shy boy professor Prescott had described to you.

“And who would be asking?” He retorted.

“Um, my name’s y/n, Professor Prescott gave me this--your number because I need help with physics. Desperately.”

“I’m no Brian May, but I can help you with something else if you so desperately need it, sweetie.” He chuckles and you cringe at his words, before you hear the shrill sound of the phone being knocked out of his hand, and a loud, “ROGER” from the other side of the line, and then a raspier, “fucking teacher’s pet,” from who you assume to be this Roger character you were just speaking to.

You begin to hear shaky, heavy breathing on the other line, which sounded a lot less self-assured, and a lot more like who your professor described. “Hello?” He asked, barely above a squeak. You were about to answer him when he started apologizing profusely. “I’m-I’m sorry if my roommate--Roger--was offensive towards you or said anything inappropriate, he’s very, um, outspoken, especially with girls--not that that’s an excuse, but I’m sorry.”

You giggled a little, finding his care for your feelings charming and cute. “No, no it’s not your fault, you don’t need to apologize. I just-really need help with physics, and professor Prescott recommended you. If you can’t or don’t want to help me then I understand but--it’s worth a try.” You felt stupid for rambling but his nervousness was transferring onto your demeanor.

“Oh! I’d love to help you--uh, I’ve helped a lot of students study for this exam so I know more or less the material that’s on it so I can just teach you that stuff and not bother with the other material so as to not waste time--not that I don’t want to help I just don’t want to waste your time..um, what did you say your name was? I’m terribly sorry.” You heard loud giggling in the background of the call and mocking sounds from more than one person and you felt you face turn bright red.

“Oh, I’m y/n, where would you like to meet up? We can in about an hour if that works for you?” You licked your lips, waiting for his reply.

“I always go to this café on twelfth street when I tutor, it’s very ambient. And an hour from now would be perfect, y/n. It was nice talk-”

You interrupted him, tripping over your own words. “Wait-wait, Brian how will I know it’s you?”

“Oh, I never thought about that.” His voice was shaky yet impeccably smooth, almost sultry, even though you could feel the anxiety seeping through his tone. “Um, I will be sitting at the first booth you see when you walk into the door. I’ll be hard to miss.”

And then the call ended, and you reluctantly set the phone back onto the receiver, noticing that you had bitten your nails down quite a bit during the awkward encounter.

For the next forty-five minutes, you sat at the dining room table nervously tapping your patent leather boots against the oak floor, circling terms and concepts you weren’t sure about on the exam outline your professor had given your class weeks before. You sighed as your paper was soaked with red ink; you didn’t know a thing.

You stood in front of the antique mirror which was perched by the front door of your shared apartment, fixing stray strands of hair which had fallen from the back of your topknot. You quickly applied some brick-red lipstick and put some hoop earrings in, trying to look somewhat decent, as the stress you were under had made your confidence plummet recently.

“Isn’t this just a tutoring session?” Your other roommate, Alison inquired, raising her eyebrows at you, almost accusatory.

“I mean, yeah, but I want to look decent, Alison.” You retorted, grabbing your purse from the coat hook by the door.

“Who is this guy who’s tutoring you again?” Debbie questioned, fixing the hood of your coat.

“Brian May,”

“That sounds vaguely familiar for some reason.” Alison countered, as you left your apartment.

The November wind nipped against  your skin, making goosebumps form against your rosy skin. The streets were bustling with midday traffic and you walked the short trek to the café, listening to your boots click against the cement, and the occasional sound of a rust-colored leaf crunch beneath your feet.

As you reached twelfth street, your heartbeat began to quicken as you had no clue what this Brian looked like, you only knew the sound of his voice, and he didn’t give you much to go off of. You peered into the window which extended across the front of the old brick building, but the tint prevented you from looking too long. You walked to the door, a dark stained wood door with an old copper handle, eroded from years of use, cold against your already numb fingertips.

You turned the corner as you walked into the café, and saw a sea of dark, chocolate-brown curls atop who you assumed to be Brian May’s head. He was hunched over in concentration at the booth, working on a physics problem, you could see the familiar assignment, and the buttons of his calculator reflecting against the ambient light. He looked small, curled into the corner of the booth, so you were more than surprised when he stood to greet you and was towering above you, thin, jean-clad legs taking up most of his body. He wore a simple white button-up which had all but one button fastened. You could see the top of his bony sternum, and the sleeves to his shirt were messily rolled up, revealing muscular yet dainty forearms, and his fingernails were short, contrasting with his long, slender fingers, and had the remnants of white nail polish on them.

His face was even more handsome than you could have ever imagined, and you felt your face redden at the sight of it. His eyebrows were dark, and tapered off towards the tails, giving his warm hazel eyes a kind, almost ethereal look. His cheekbones were high and elegant, his nose aquiline and prominent and quintessentially masculine, stopping just above his light pink lips.

He gestured for you to sit down and you took your coat off hurriedly, as he scooted over to make room for you next to him. You felt nervous and uneasy, sitting next to this gorgeous guy, and you were glad you put extra time into your appearance today.

“Okay, y/n, what do you need help with?” He met your eyes only briefly, and blushed a little, flashing a toothy smile at the table where his large hands rested upon the paper he was working on.

You scoured your bag for the review sheet and handed it to him, giving him a nervous laugh. “Pretty much everything,” you answered, sighing. He handed you his pencil, which was chewed around the barrel, and you could see the embarrassment in his eyes; he regretted giving you the pencil. Your fingers touched briefly and he stuttered his words as he began to teach you the material. As the session continued you got closer and closer to each other, and he ordered you a snack and a coffee, and you noticed he accidentally drank out of your cup a few times, but you didn’t mind enough to tell him; you knew it’d embarrass him.

He was hunched over, helping you enter something into your calculator correctly when you asked him more personal questions.

“So, Brian, do you have another hobby, other than physics?” You joked, looking at him intently as he chewed on his pen, scribbling the answer on the messy paper in his illegible handwriting.

He met your eyes, and bit his lip lightly. “Um, yeah, I’m in a band actually. I play the guitar. It’s mostly a weekend thing, at pubs and bars.”

“Oh really? When is your next gig?” You fiddled with your own calculator, mindlessly pressing the buttons.

“Tonight, actually. At a pub just down the street. You’re welcome to come with some friends if you want.” He flushed pink and grinned at you, warmly.

“I’d love to come! What time is it?” You took out the paper with Brian’s number on it and flipped it over, ready to write the details. He took the pen from your hand and wrote the address and time in his best handwriting and then a small smiley face on the bottom corner, before folding the paper up and handing it back to you, along with the pen, which was impossibly small in his hands.

He looked at his watch and bit his lip. “I’m sorry y/n, but I actually have to go help set up the gig. If I don’t they will be mad. It was great meeting you, see you later?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you watched as a curl bounced back to its original position after being caught on a ring of his.

“Oh, of course, sorry for keeping you so long. Good luck, I’ll see you later. I’ll bring my roommates.” You stood up to let him out of the booth and he gave you an awkward kiss on the cheek, not knowing the correct etiquette for this type of situation.

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

As you walked back to your apartment, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face, even though the piercing wind was making your face numb to any feelings. You were excited to go to a concert, and excited at the prospect of having something other to focus on than final exams, even if it was just for one night. Your roommates noticed your heightened mood when you got back.

“How did it go? Was it terrible?” Debbie greeted you at the door and smirked at you when she saw your grin.

“Why are you smiling like that, yn?” Alison inquired, following behind Debbie.

“He’s super attractive, ok!” You replied, feeling your face burn up.

“Oh my god, really?” Debbie looked shocked.

“A physics tutor?” Alison looked doubtful.

“He’s cute--really cute. And he’s in a band. He’s the guitarist, and he has a gig tonight. He invited me--us. He said I could bring friends too.”

“A concert? Nice, y/n, you’re getting out there!” Alison playfully shoved you and led you over to the couch.

“What type of music is it?” Debbie sat down next to you and Alison.

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing something acoustic and folky, I just got that feeling from him.”

“Cute,” Alison exclaimed. “Y/n got herself a catch!”

You unfolded the paper Brian had written on and looked at the time and address. It was 7:20 PM, and he wrote eight sharp on the paper.

“Shit, it’s in 40 minutes.” You quickly got up and changed your outfit, opting for something casual but classy.

As you left your apartment with your roommates twenty minutes later, you felt nervous once again, but the walk calmed you down. The atmosphere was different from what you expected when you arrived, there were a lot of people you recognized from college who were into harder stuff--druggies and metal-heads lined up at the door, and you felt overdressed when you saw everyone’s attire: layered band tees and flared pants which contrasted greatly with your outfit.

The line was surprisingly long and energetic, with hundreds of people packed onto the sidewalk mingling with the others, talking about new albums for bands you couldn’t begin to understand. The red lights from the inside of the bar cast a bright rosy red glow amongst the street, like its own personal spotlight. You vaguely heard drums and the tuning of a guitar as the door occasionally opened and closed as the bouncers let people in.

When the bouncer let you and your roommates in, you felt out of place. You weren’t expecting the venue to be so hardcore, there were crude posters messily hung about the building, and the lighting was dark and red, making everything glow with something akin to anger, making you tap your foot anxiously as you ordered a drink. You and your friends moved up to the front of the crowd, silently pushing through the sea of people to the front of the crowd. The bar owner climbed onto the stage and introduced the band, telling the crowd to get ready for Queen. They all cheered as if this wasn’t new, as if they knew what to expect. You were excited.

The drums matched your heartbeat, heavy and rhythmic, yet somehow a little irregular. You could feel the bass vibrate in your feet and the heavy riff of the guitar ringing in your ears. A flamboyant frontman came to the front of the stage, wearing an angelic white pleated white shirt, tight white pants and tall heels, with his nails painted an impossibly deep black. He grinned and danced around the stage, commanding the audience as he introduced the band members. As the light shone upon the stage, illuminating the other three men, your heart skipped a beat as you saw the same Brian you had nervously chatted with hours ago, the Brian who had an impermeable uncertainty about him, who wore conservative clothing, stuttering over his words, no matter how confident and skilled he was about the topic, towering above his bandmates, wearing a flowy, lacy top and a statement necklace which adorned his thin neck. His eyes were shadowed in dark makeup, his slender fingers now painted opaquely white, contrasting against his tanned, smooth skin. His eyes were smoldering, certain and beautiful, the eyeshadow complementing the golden brown irises.

As Brian saw you at the front of the crowd, you knew you were ogling him, but you couldn’t look away. You were awestruck by his presence, his stature, which was heightened by 3 inch heels. His eyes bore into yours and he didn’t look away. He licked his lips as he strummed the first cord of the song. Although the talent of the rest of the band was amazing, Brian was mesmerizing you with his every move. His nimble fingers struck every cord perfectly, strummed every string without fail, without taking his eyes off of you. His mouth was slightly open, and he briefly looked down to watch his own work, his fingers moving ridiculously fast over the strings and frets. He strummed with unduly passion and you could see the sheen of sweat covering his face as he turned on the delay pedal. During his solo he commanded the crowd with no words. His shoulders contracted as he moved about the stage, his long legs making him look angelic, but his smoldering look giving him an alluring, unexpected sinful appearance that was impossible to look away from.

He stared at you as he wrapped his fingers around the microphone singing into it forcefully as he played his guitar simultaneously. He and Freddie were a unit on the stage, moving together in something alike a dance between the musicians. He began to strum with more fervor, brows furrowed in concentration, breathing heavily as he swayed around the stage, entrancing the audience  as if he were a bonafide pendulum in human form, hypnotizing them with his pure talent. Your mouth was agape looking up at him, unable to believe this was the same Brian who was stumbling over his words hours before, punching numbers into an old calculator. It felt like the show had barely begun when Brian strummed the last cord, and the lights were cut, casting the four members in a shadow, shrouded by stage smoke. You were speechless as you turned to your friends, your face red dripping with sweat. You hurried to the bar and asked for a glass of water.

“So that was Brian?” Debbie looked at you with awe.

“I guess so. He was stuttering in a coffee shop with me 3 hours ago.”

You, Alison, and Debbie gushed about him as you sipped your water, unable to believe the duality of him, how a jean-clad physics tutor could command hundreds of people with an English sixpence and an old guitar. You felt a warm hand on the small of your back, the unmistakable feeling of a hard-on pressing into your back as you leaned against the bar. You quickly turned around only to realize it was Brian, motioning for the bartender to pour him a glass of water. He smirked down at you, his eyes shimmering, his cheeks flushed pink, pupils dilated so much that the golden brown irises you’d grown to love were invisible now.

He put his long arms around your waist, lifting you onto the barstool with confident ease, standing between your legs, your roommates feigning conversation four feet away.

“I want you,” Brian almost growled into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe, his hands rubbing your inner thighs, causing you to moan quietly into his own ear.

He pulled you off of the stool and held you close to him by your waist, almost as a shield for his boner as he led you backstage, where he took you into the greenroom, gaining attention and a few odd looks from his bandmates. He shut the door and didn’t even bother to lock it before he pushed you against it, pushing his hard thigh against your aching clit, holding your hands above your head with one hand, holding your waist tight with the other, hungrily kissing your neck as you ground yourself against his thigh, moaning into his mouth as he kissed you hard.

“I fucking need you.” He whispered, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. You tangled your hands into his thick curls as he basically threw you onto the couch, set papers flying in every direction as he pulled your jeans down your legs, kissing your thighs as he pulled your panties aside, sucking on his own fingers and rubbing them against your heat, before entering 2 long fingers inside, making you arch your back. He used his thumb to rub your clit and you moaned loudly, which only spurred him on. His fingers were rough and calloused, the texture driving you crazy as he moved pulled your shirt up and quickly unclasped your bra, kissing your breasts and sucking on your nipples, hardened from arousal and the cold air of the room. He looked up at you and groaned at your face, contorted with pleasure as he continued to finger you hard.

“Fuck, Brian.” You whimpered, your legs shaking. He firmly gripped your thigh and held your hips down as he went faster, scissoring his fingers, making you cry out. You didn’t care if anybody could hear you at this point.

“Say my name again,” He commanded.

“Brian, please.” You moaned again, close to your impending orgasm. You looked at him intently, furrowing your eyebrows as he continued his movements, not taking his eyes off of you for a second. You came as soon as you felt the cold metal of his ring touch you, arching your back as you screamed his name. He took his fingers out of you, sucking them clean as he grabbed a condom from his wallet. You sat up and unzipped his pants, pulling them down his slender legs, palming his cock through his now-tight briefs. His head lolled back as you touched him, and he whimpered your name before handing you the condom. You tore it open, before pulling his briefs down, revealing his impressive length. You rolled the condom on locking eyes as you did. You could hear his heavy breathing as he pulled you up, kissing you feverishly on the mouth before flipping you over, pulling your hips up and lining himself up with your entrance.

“Are you ready?” He said against your neck.

“Please,” You pushed back into him, and he entered you, slowly at first, but then with more fervor, holding your hips as he pushed into you repeatedly, groaning into your neck as he held your ass. You buried your face into the pillows, unable to contain the pleasure.

“I’m so fucking close,” Brian groaned into your neck, causing you to clench around him. He came at the same time as you did panting as he fell against your back, unable to move for a few minutes, basking in the pleasure you shared together. He eventually pulled out, helping you get redressed, blushing as he put his underwear back on. He looked wrecked, his neck was covered in love bites, his face flushed, hair matted in some places and unruly in others, his chest still heaving as he handed you your panties.

“Do you still need help with physics?” He almost gasped as he pulled your panties up your legs, kissing right above your belly button, looking up at you with a huge grin.

[ligninandink]

Spirits Along the Edges of Memory

SUMMARY: Jiang Cheng will cast a balding spell on Wei Wuxian if he doesn’t move back to Lotus Pier after everything is said and done.  Wei Wuxian, scared and bewildered at this oddly specific threat, finally gets to go home. Lan Wangji then promises to come visit often.  So often, in fact, he kind of just drifts into terminal orbit around Yunmeng.

A.K.A. Wei Wuxian’s mischief and stubbornness is partly his need to exert some kind of control over his own life.  Lan Wangji knows Wei Wuxian trusts him but how far does it go? He courts Wei Wuxian in the rainy season when nature spirits bless them with every step, during moonlit boat rides and fragrant night hunts where nocturnal critters serenade them.

(Also, no beta. Sorry.)

Part 01.

He can hear the rain hiss over the silence in his rooms.  Once only a soft sprinkle it now came down in gossamer films, shattering against the baked shingles and gurgling along the rain chains around him.  Hazy and comforting he allows it to lull him back to sleep. Maybe it will give him a chance to capture his elusive dream again.

Somewhere far away from here a long set of legs are carrying a lithe body through this weather.  He imagines them slick with sweat and rain, the white layers embroidered with clouds clinging to each curve and hollow.

Would he use his qi to stay dry?  Maybe he is floating on Bichen, just above the dove gray clouds swollen and moody like a woman in her last days of pregnancy.  

"Wei-Gongzi," a tiny voice calls out.

He focuses lazily on the carved beams supporting the roof.  There is a window just high enough on the wall for him to see a sliver of the lowered sky.  He doesn't answer.

"Wei-Gongzi, there is a guest."

A feeling almost passionate enough to become something more coils itself inside his belly and his stomach tightens, pulling on his various puncture scars.  All he wants is to luxuriate in not being harrassed, to take this time to recharge and resupply before he has to plaster on a smile for the outside world again.

Apparently that’s too much to ask for.

“Is Sandu Shengshou back already?”

“Wei Ying,” a deeper voice answers.

Oh.  Wei Wuxian chuckles to cover up his startled shivers, “I was just thinking about you, Lan Zhan.  Come in.”

Only the windows are opened to the elements, illuminating sections across the room.  They gently swath Lan Zhan in shifting light as he drifts through each block only to stop, not quite crossing into the pillowy alcove where Wei Wuxian hasn’t bothered to get up from.

“Hm, what’s wrong?  Come closer,” Wei Wuxian coaxes rolling onto his stomach, indecent in his undergarments.  “I don’t bite.”

The room seems to dissolve away from him, leaving only Lan Zhan’s pale skin and white robes resembling a painting against the unlit shadows.

“I’m dirty from the road.”

Wei Wuxian hums again then calls out, “Mianmian, where is the bathing tub?”

“I will bring it--”

“Nonsense, put one of the layabouts on the pier to work.”

“Yes, Wei-Gongzi!” Mianmian chirps.

Something flickers across Lan Zhan’s supremely stoic brows and Wei Wuxian says, “Now, now, I even have a set of clothes made especially for you when you visit.”

“I see,” Lan Zhan says, smiling faintly.  “Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian clutches his blanket to his chest in theatrical shock, “What, you’re not going to argue?  Or say you’re sorry for imposing?”

“I thought I had an open invitation?”

Wei Wuxian grins, “Aw, you remembered.”

Lan Zhan watches with lowered lashes darkened by the rain until Wei Wuxian was within the same softly lit patch splashing in from the window.

“Hi,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Hello,” replies Lan Zhan.

---

“I miss you.”

Wei Wuxian nearly chokes on the tea he was tasting as he sets the table for a snack.  Clutching the poor tea cup, he looks up to see Lan Zhan in low-slung trousers and a single inner robe hanging loosely from his shoulders.  His mind blanks out.

Lan Zhan drops on the mat next to him, not across, but nearly on top of him and Wei Wuxian ties to scramble away.  He trips on his clothes instead and can only soundlessly beg for mercy when Lan Zhan caught him, holding him in place by an immovable arm around his waist.

“H-Hey,” Wei Wuxian’s voice cracks.  “Me, too. Ah, Lan Zhan...”

“Mmn?” Lan Zhan responds while carefully prying open Wei Wuxian’s fingers from the tea cup.

His hair is still damp, and Wei Wuxian’s dream is now sitting next to him with water trickling down his chest, turning the robe translucent.  He can make out the Qishan Wen iron brand on Lan Zhan’s chest.

Wei Wuxian manages to croak, “Aren’t you cold?”

He’s steaming, is not the thought Wei Wuxian wants floating around in his head right now.  Lan Zhan’s body heat is much higher than the surrounding humid air.

Lan Zhan looks at him and Wei Wuxian helplessly traces a bead of water curving down his face, “No.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian hears himself say, “that’s good.”

“I was only given this to wear.”

“Wait, what?”  Wei Wuxian snaps out of his daze.  How? Did he really forget something that basic?  “No, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Yes, yes he did.  The white outer garments with their accessories is still folded neatly in the carved sandalwood chest.  He’d only retrieved the top tray which held the layers closest to the body.

“I’m so sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, handing over the missing pieces.

Lan Zhan graciously accepts, “I don’t mind.”

Well, I do.  Wei Wuxian manages not to say that out loud.  I can’t think with you like that.

“Wei Ying.”

“Hm?”  He pretends to be busy, mopping up the miniscule spills on the table.

“Will you help me with my ribbon?”

---

“There, I hope you like it,” Wei Wuxian says, struggling to hide his trembling hands.  

Lan Zhan traces the long fall of hair over the carefully placed forehead ribbon then followed the subtle designs woven at his temple and gathered into his topknot.  “Thank you.”

“Heh, you’re welcome,” Wei Wuxian says, plopping down next to him again. “It’s a secret but I used to help Shijie with her hair all the time.”

“Wei-Gongzi even helps Mianmian!”  The little girl who escorted him in pipes up from the entrance.  “My hair is so thick. It’s annoying but no one lets me cut it.”

“I would be very sad if you do,” Wei Wuxian says, waving her over.  “And your mother will scalp me in retaliation.”

“I won’t let her!”  Mianmian fiercely declares from behind the large basket of food.  “You’re my master, I will protect you from everyone!”

Lan Zhan nods approvingly.

“Ah?  How are you going to protect anything if you keep falling asleep during your studies?”  Wei Wuxian says, taking the basket. “And Hanguang-Jun please don’t encourage her.”

Mianmian sniffs, “I am your first disciple!  It’s my duty.”

“I have not accepted you,” Wei Wuxian points out.

“Yet!”

“Persistent isn’t she?”  Wei Wuxian sighs at Lan Zhan.  

“A good trait in a Cultivator,” Lan Zhan says with all the gravitas his title grants him.

“Are you two ganging up on me?  How is that fair?”

Lan Zhan ignores him and watches Mianmian’s dedication to arranging the sweets just so before presenting them to him, “How are your mother and father?”

“They’re good!  They’re somewhere in Baling right now but I asked if I can stay with Wei-Gongzi.”  Mianmian says while carefully folding a couple of bamboo leaves into a bird and sat it next to Lan Zhan’s utensils.  “For Hanguang-Jun!”

“Thank you,” he admires the little construct then blinks when it flaps its wings.  “How clever.”

“Heh, Wei-Gongzi taught me,” Mianmian says, tossing her head in pride.  “He says his paper puppets are going to be next if I can master this.”

“Mianmian,” Wei Wuxian raises a brow at her.

Mianmian looks up, “Oh, yes, thank you for the compliment!  I also like what Wei-Gongzi has done with your hair.  You look really pretty. I mean, you always look pretty but this style looks good on you.”

“I--” Lan Zhan, caught off guard, simply finishes with, “thank you.”

“Seal the rest and weigh it in the river to keep cold,” Wei Wuxian instructs and Mianmian bows in confirmation.

She salutes Lan Zhan and he acknowledges her before she leaves.  “She’s just like her mother.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian smiles.

Lan Zhan lifts his cup, enjoys the fragrance then says, “If you don’t take her in, I will.”

“Lan Zhan, are you here just to steal my kids?”

“I thought you haven’t accepted her?”

“Taking on that kind of task requires reflection, you know,” Wei Wuxian takes a sip from his own cup.  “It’s a lot of responsibility, of course I’m going to take my time.”

“Mmn,” Lan Zhan’s eyes sparkles in the light and Wei Wuxian glimpses the smile behind his cup.

“Wait, are you...” Wei Wuxian leans in, suspicion narrowing his eyes.  “Are you teasing me?”

“I, Lan Wangji, do not know what you mean,” Lan Zhan solemnly states, settling into an even straighter position.

“Uh huh,” Wei Wuxian says, wincing in sympathy at what the other man has subjected his poor spine too over the years.  “Anyway, how are Zewu-Jun and the kids?”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders slopes a little at the mention of his brother and Wei Wuxian felt immediately contrite, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, it’s fine.  He’s doing better but is still in seclusion.”

“I see, I wish him...” Wei Wuxian trails off, not sure of what to say with everything that has happened between them.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says quietly.  “He will appreciate the sentiment.”

Wei Wuxian wonders if this is similar to what Lan Zhan had to go through when he was accused, judged and executed without a fair trial.  Was it worse or better that Lan Zhan knew him so thoroughly that he never faltered in his support despite what Wei Wuxian had also done?

He stares at the feathery shadows cast across Lan Zhan’s cheeks, “Lan Zhan, thank you for coming.”

When Lan Zhan looks at him with eyes reflecting the shimmering rain Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches, and when he says, “I wanted to come earlier.”  Wei Wuxian feels his face heat up.

He looks away first and clears his throat, “Well, you’re here now, unfortunately it’s raining or I would take you to all of my favorite places.”

Lan Zhan picks up one of the little sweets, watching as it wobble slightly before taking a careful bite. “Why let a little rain stop us?”

---

TBC

Also on AO3

[taronfanfic]

Rewind

Masterlist

Chapter 5

You felt like an imposter as you stood with a towel around you and pulled open his chest of drawers in search of some clothes to borrow. Starting in the middle felt like a safe bet and you pulled out some grey trackie bottoms that looked to be a skinny fit and not too long either. You considered wearing your shorts under them but knew it’d look ridiculous so you had to brave it and find his underwear. The top right drawer was already ajar and stuffed full of socks so you tugged open the left one and then took a moment. You daren’t rummage to the bottom for a pair he might not wear as often so simply took the Navy boxer shorts that were on top. Holding them out in front of you felt weird, pulling them up your legs even more so. You stuck with your pyjama t-shirt so you could cling on to some sense of comfort and put Taron’s hoodie back on over the top. As you stood in front of his mirror and twisted your damp hair up into a topknot you finally started to relax. You had to pull yourself together and force everything that had happened to the back of your mind. This wasn’t you. You were the girl who could flirt a guy into bed in the space of a few hours. So Taron came with more pressure than normal, and you were both sober, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. Maybe you could start again and try and test the water with a clearer head. You had time on your side after all. Knowing you’d be spending the rest of the day wearing Taron’s boxers was actually quite thrilling. Knowing he knew about it too gave you an added sense of confidence.

Taron was sat on the sofa beneath the blanket you’d slept under the night before, engrossed in a Sunday morning cooking show. You sat down next to him and lifted the edge of the blanket up before sliding under it and closer to him, making sure to leave a comfortable gap of personal space for now.

“Better?” He asked softly as he pulled his attention back from the tv.

“Much. Sorry for getting in a bit of a state earlier. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and I don’t feel like I’ve made the best first impression, so maybe we can rewind and start again?”

“Sure.” He smiled gently. “Not that you made a bad first impression compared to your friends.”

“I’m amazed you even offered to let me stay after witnessing the company I keep!”

“Let’s just say you’ve proved me to be right so far on the first and second impression combined…” He teased.

“Go on…” You encouraged.

“Well when it looked like you were going for a quieter night out I thought calm, sensible, responsible…”

“Boring?” You filled in the gap for him and he chuckled to himself.

“But then the next morning… impulsive, daring, confident, adventurous.”

“and now?”

“Well responsible is definitely out the window! I still see hints of the others though, just more mellow. You’re endearing.”

“Endearing...” You mused back to him. “I’ve thought the same about you.”

“Really?!” He looked very taken aback.

“Generous, thoughtful, warm… confusing at times but that’s probably more my end.” You giggled.

“I always presume people just think I’m a bit of a dickhead. I get loud and nosey when I’m drunk. Talk to anyone about anything and it usually gets me in trouble one way or another.”

“Well you’ve been good to me, so there’s no dickhead thoughts in sight.” Tagging ‘thoughts about your dick on the other hand…’ on the end of your sentence was too tempting but you managed to bite your tongue.

“That’s what I like to hear. So if I grab a t-shirt are you up for some brunch now?”

“Yes, we’ll scruff it together and everyone else can just deal with it.”

“That’s my girl!” He placed his hand to your knee as he got up from the sofa and the physical contact combined with him calling you his girl had your head spinning all over again.

***

Taron took you to a small independent place that was hidden away off the main road. The girl serving behind the counter greeted him warmly and started to grab a coffee cup off the shelf behind her for him.

“Just hang on a minute there, Kirsty.” He called out before looking back for you and ushering you forward so you could get a look at the blackboard menu which filled the entire back wall of the small café. “Usual for me and whatever this one fancies.” ‘You’ your mind was filling in the blanks with everything you knew you shouldn’t be saying out loud.

“Could I get the eggs benedict and a breakfast tea please… and I promise I’ll pay you back.” You added on for Taron as you snaked your arm around his back whilst squidging out from the counter to get to a free table.

“It’s just brunch, you don’t need to pay me back.” Taron sat down opposite you a moment later. “Don’t try and argue it with me either.”

“You’re very good at insisting.”

“My mother taught me well.” The photo of him with his arm around his mum’s waist from his tinder profile appeared in your mind and you smiled to yourself at the thought of him being a bit of a mummy’s boy.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know this café existed when I’ve lived so close to it for so long!”

“I can’t believe it either, I’ve been in here nearly every weekend since I moved in. Kirsty’s Full English is the best hangover cure going.”

“When did you move here? I’ve had my place for about 2 years now but it’s only recently that I remember seeing you around.” You decided to stick to common ground. It would have been too easy to push the conversation onto a topic you knew he liked and way too obvious that you’d seen his tinder profile.

“Only a couple of months ago. I’ve moved around a bit in London but come from Wales originally, all the family are still back there.”

“Oh nice! Think you’ll stick around here for long or do you see yourself moving back to Wales at some point?” Kirsty brought your drinks to your table, followed by your food and you both happily tucked in whilst the conversation continued.

“I really don’t know on that one. I guess it’ll depend on who I end up settling down with and where they’d like to be too, so I wouldn’t rule it out. But right now I’m loving being here. What about you?”

“Yeah, I was always drawn to London and it’s nice to have everything on your doorstep. It’s hard to imagine living somewhere else but I guess circumstances will change eventually.”

“You don’t sound too keen on the idea of settling down…” A small frown spread across Taron’s forehead.

“It’s literally the dream. Just seems impossible to find the right guy, and when you stop and think about it for too long it gets you down.”

“Stick to having fun instead. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That your motto?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Although knowing my luck I’ll miss it happening and only realise when it’s too late.”

“Better late than never.” There was an awkward pause as you both looked up from your plates to each other.

“Anyway.” Taron added nervously. “We should change the subject before we get too ahead of ourselves. We’re not on a first date after all!” He laughed before reaching for his coffee.

“No, we’re not.” You agreed. “Would be a bit weird to be on a first date whilst wearing the guy’s boxers!” Taron struggled to swallow his coffee as you deliberately placed the image of you in his boxers into the front of his mind. It was the kind of reaction you’d hoped for. Just because you weren’t technically on a date, it didn’t mean you couldn’t flirt as if you were.  

“I’d totally forgotten about that!” He finally got his words out. “How are you liking them?”

“Surprisingly comfy… very roomy though.” You mused back as you shuffled around in your seat and uncrossed your legs.

“Really? They never feel that way to me…” Taron replied with innocence until you tilted your head at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh come on, you can’t start playing games with me and not expect to get anything back.”

“Just testing the water.” You smirked.

“Hot enough for you?” The arrogance you’d seen in the lift that first night returned to his posture and you struggled to find even a single word.

“Plenty.”

“Maybe we should turn this into a first date…”

Tag List: @egerton-sweetie @amanda-tallmadge @lizziespidiepridie​ @leanimal90 @anantheminmyheart22@aynsleywalker@bohemianrhapsody86@butterfliesslugswormsandothershi @manners-maketh-taron@livingincompletesilence @marvelmakeuplover@ohsosmutty@misspygmypie @manners-maketh-a-kingsman@courtmr @baileythepenguin

[lykegenia]

The Things We Hide Ch. 22

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Zuko woke somewhere dark. As his awareness grew, the first sensation to come back to him was pain, a sharp ache at the back of his skull and a dull throb down the left side of his face that he knew would only get worse. Whoever had knocked him out had left his mask on, and it did nothing to relieve the feverish itch of his skin. His hands were chained above his head; the metal clinked when he tried to move. He drifted off again, falling between wakefulness and unconsciousness so that even with his ability to sense the sun, he couldn’t tell how much time passed. 

Eventually, he heard footsteps. One set steadily approaching, echoed by another running to catch up. They stopped beyond the shadow he presumed to be the door of his cell. 

“Food for the prisoner.” 

He shifted, tense, the guard’s muttered response lost in the pop of joints that hadn’t moved for hours. 

“Katara, are you sure this is a good idea?” The Water Tribe boy. “You know –” 

“I know what I’m doing, Sokka.” 

Sokka sighed. “Just be careful.” 

She murmured something Zuko couldn’t hear, and then a key turned in the lock and the door swung open on the groan of old hinges. He turned away. Her footsteps carried her through until she halted, and the door slammed shut again, and the scrape of her boots over the packed dirt floor came with the smell of hot food and the glow of a candle. 

“Zuko?” she called, with a wary, muted quality to her voice that grated on his nerves. She sighed and crouched down next to him. “How’s your head?” 

“Spare me your false pity,” he snarled, unable to help the way his fists clenched. 

“It’s not false pity. I’m going to take your mask off now. Even if you won’t admit it you’ll be more comfortable with it off.” 

He watched her hand reach for the ties behind his head but didn’t move away, knowing that to do so would be useless, and token shows of resistance were beneath his dignity besides. Even so, he hissed when she pried the mask off him, flinching away as the bandage over the left side of his face stuck to the wood and broke the scab. He had hated her for months – a lifetime – but somehow, it was her gasp on seeing the ruin of his face that formed the hard lump at the back of his throat. 

“Don’t touch it,” he snapped as her hand stretched out again. 

Her fingers curled in on themselves. “What happened?” 

“Why do you care?” 

“I care,” she replied. “Zuko, this is infected, let me help you. I can heal –” 

“Get away from me!” He jerked upwards, calling fire to his fists so she had to flinch away. “I don’t need anything from you. You did this to me.” 

“No, I didn’t.” Her gaze held something inscrutable, like a riddle she was on the cusp of solving, but he was glad when she didn’t reach out to touch him again. “Why are you here?” she asked instead. 

He bared his teeth. “Why are you here?” 

The only answer was another sigh as she pulled a ring of keys from a loop on her belt and rose on her knees to unlock the shackles above his head. His wrists were still bound together, and the rush of blood back into his hands made them sting as they dropped into his lap, but he nevertheless had to bite back a sigh of relief. 

Katara was already standing. “You should eat something.”

He hadn’t noticed her place the bowl next to him. It was mostly rice with only a small amount of some thin, gristly broth soaking around the edges, but at least it smelled edible, and as his watering mouth and rumbling stomach reminded him, it had been at least a day since he had eaten.

“There aren’t any chopsticks, I’m afraid,” she told him. “It was decided you might try to escape – which I wouldn’t recommend, by the way. I managed to convince them to bring you down here without taking off the mask, but everyone knows who the Blue Spirit is now, and the Prince of the Fire Nation is a valuable prisoner to have.”

“I won’t help you,” he managed, because of all the retorts crowding on his tongue, that one was the safest.

“I wasn’t asking for your help,” she replied coldly. “That was a warning. There’s more than one person here who would love the chance to avenge family killed in the war. By your people.”

“Are you one of them?”

She turned away from him, and was nearly at the door before she threw her answer over her shoulder. “My quarrel isn’t with you.”

The door groaned open at her knock and as she stepped through a shadow detached from the wall and reached out for her. She paused, but ignored the touch and kept walking, leaving Sokka an instant to glare through the darkness at the prisoner in the cell, before the guard blocked the sight and slammed the cell closed once more.

When it opened again, dawn was not far off, but the air was more bitterly cold than before. Zuko had managed a few hours of fitful sleep after Katara’s visit, the food palatable but nowhere near enough to fill the hunger that gnawed deeper into his gut whenever he thought about it. He had never had to go hungry, not even on the ship. At some point, someone had left him another candle, with a bowl of salted water, clean bandages, and a pot of ointment to treat his burn. Though he tried to ignore the offer, without anything else to distract him the itching on his face became unbearable, and before he knew it he was reaching for the small stone pot and all but whimpering with relief as the thick, herby salve cooled his fevered skin. He had applied the new bandage as best he could without a mirror, but he left the mask lying where Katara had dropped it. He had no use for it now.

A guard stood before him, one of the ones in deep blue and white. Close to, he noticed a floral pattern embroidered into the hem of the quilted robes, and over the white mantle that draped the man’s shoulders, a heraldry that he’d never seen before.

“On your feet,” the guard snapped.

Prisoner he may be, but Zuko was still a prince. People did not talk to him with such disrespect. “Why?”

“Because I’m authorised to make you if you won’t cooperate.” The man grinned. “Don’t worry, you’re too valuable to haul off to the execution block.”

“Then where are you taking me?” Zuko asked, deciding to stand. His legs wobbled from being cramped for so long, but he didn’t stumble.

“The Grand Master wants to see you.”

Another two guards joined them beyond the door of the cell and together they led their prisoner through a maze of tunnels. He was blindfolded, and though he tried to keep track of all the turns as they took him through the maze of corridors, the construction of the temple was disorienting, and all he could tell was that they were climbing up into one of the towers, the steps worn and uneven beneath his feet. Draughts whistled down the spiral staircase, cutting through his thin clothes and dousing his inner fire until even shivering was too much effort, but perhaps that was the point, a way to make him less dangerous.

Eventually they reached a landing. One of the guards opened a door that creaked on old hinges, spilling warmth and the familiar scent of jasmine out into the corridor.

“The Grand Master will see you shortly,” someone said as he was pushed forward onto thick carpet. The door slammed behind him. For a moment he stood, cautious of his new surroundings, suspecting a trick of some sort because while he was still manacled, nobody had said he could take off the blindfold. When he was sure he was alone with only the howl of the wind for company, he reached up and peeled away the offensive layer of cloth.

The place was plush, well-appointed. Scrolls of artwork decorated the walls and artefacts from every nation filled blank spaces in the shelves that lined the room. The airbenders had little use for fire outside of cooking, so there was no hearth, but someone had installed a stove in one corner of the room, and it blazed with a lively fire while an iron kettle heated water on top of it. Zuko edged towards the only window only to find it locked, the sheer drop on the other side added discouragement to try and escape. As he looked around for another opportunity, his gaze was drawn to the centre of the room, where a low table was laid with a Fire Nation tea set on a lacquered tray.

He started when the door opened. And stared.

“Prince Zuko.” The man who surveyed him was squat, old, his jowls sagging and his brown eyes framed by deep wrinkles at the corners. He too wore one of the blue and white uniforms, but his beard was carefully trimmed in the fashionable Fire Nation style, and though he was balding, his wiry grey hair was pulled back into a topknot with a golden general’s clasp.

“I am afraid if you were looking to find a way out of here, you were wasting your time,” the Dragon of the West said as he ambled towards the stove. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to one of the large cushions by the table.

Zuko, numbed by shock, forgot his defiance of a moment before and tottered to where he was directed.

“I suspect you have questions,” Iroh continued, turning away to busy himself with the kettle. “I do as well, but that can wait. First, we must be comfortable. How about we share some food and a pot of nice, warming tea?”

[aquawolfgirl]

lmao, instead of Neighbor for number 11 I thought it said Necromancy and thought "ah yes how romantic, practicing your raising the dead skills on a dead body then falling in love with said corpse.'

This is surprisingly awesome, anon! I don’t know if you’re asking for it, but I’m going to write it anyway! It’s so cheesy, I’m sorry, but the idea of Rey loving a decomposing Ben turned me off a little so I made it cheesy :P Hope you don’t mind too much!

“Uh, Poe? Is it possible to … miss, during necromancy?”

“What do you mean miss?” Poe asks on the other line, sounding suspicious.

She stares at the man in front of her who is most definitelynot her parents, still dressed in a suit from the funeral, pale as the dead butlooking more and more alive with each second as he sits on top of his own graveand stares at his hands in awe.

“I mean miss. Like … I missed my parents graves andaccidentally brought the guy beside them to life.”

“… what the fuck, Rey?”

-

A dead man is sitting at her kitchen counter. A dead man isnursing a cup of coffee between his hands. A dead man is sitting on one of herstools as she takes his heartbeat, or lack thereof, and tries not to notice howsleek his hair is for being dead.

“So that’s how you got out so easily,” she explains, of himclimbing from his grave. “The dirt was fresh.”

Not two days in the ground.

He was in between a girl and her ex, and the ex had a gun.And then that was it.

“I’m not sure who did it, but they did a nice job. Stitchingit up, I mean,” she tries, nearly choking as his chest is revealed to her. Notbecause of the bullet hole that’s been stitched up very cleanly, but becauseshe should not be admiring the glory that is a dead man’s broad, pale, strongchest.

She wanted her parents back, she reminds herself. Theparents who dropped her at the fire station, the parents she just found thanksto the internet, the parents who died in a drunk driving accident not a weekago before she could even curse them out and ask them why they fucking lefther…

She wanted her parents back.

But instead she got Ben Solo.

Ben Solo doesn’t eat. Ben Solo doesn’t drink. Ben Solodoesn’t sleep. Of course not, he’s dead.

He has no heartbeat, and his skin is cool, and he’s pale(but he tells her, in the softest, most gentle voice she’s ever heard, that hewas already pale to begin with, so it’s not too much of a difference. Shethinks she should have laughed, but instead she just stared at him.)

Ben Solo is a strange mix of zombie and vampire, and shewonders if she should be writing all of this down for research instead ofwatching Ben Solo make her pancakes, the dead man softly apologizing that they weren’t ready whenshe woke up.

Ben Solo may be dead as a doornail, but Ben Solo is acomplete and utter sweetheart and while she’s frustrated she didn’t get to yellat her parents, she’s kind of glad she missed.

Especially when he makes her pancakes.

-

There’s a legend she never really paid attention to. Somescrap in some book that Poe told her is a good book for stories, but not so good in the way of actual useful knowledge. “Sure, you could find a few bitsand pieces,” he’d explained, flipping through the old book she picked up atGoodwill for five bucks a few years ago. “But most of this is just bullshit.”

So the legend may be bullshit, she thinks, as she readsagain of the necromancer who lost her lover to war, and then tried everythingshe could to bring him back. In the end, as it always is, it was just to lovehim. No amount of potions or spells or calling of demons could bring him back,but her love could. Blech.

She too thought it was bullshit when Poe started laughing atit. And bullshit it may be, but now she finds she likes the idea of lovingsomeone back to life, especially when that someone can be found staring out thewindow of her little apartment, wishing he could go outside without someonerecognizing him. She likes thinking of it as she eats with him, likes the ideaof sharing food with him instead of him just sitting across from her andwatching her because they don’t dare let a bite slip past his lips when there’snothing to … to process it. 

She doesn’t want to find out what happens if hedoes eat. 

She likes thinking of the legend when they hold hands, likes thinking of whatit would be like to hold hands with him on their way to brunch or something,like a normal couple.

She especially likes the idea of loving someone back to lifewhen they curl up together, because Ben Solo likes to make her shriek with hiscold, pale toes touching her skin.

“Ben!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

He’s really not, and they both know it.

-

If they were the romantic novel sort, they would find out hewas alive by the flush of his cheeks when he kissed her, or the warmth of hislips. They would find out by her head resting on his heart as they slept, andher being woken up by its sudden beating. There would be tears and rejoicingand making out viciously, and she would be in a long white nightgown and hewould have his hair sleek and curled and the music would swell and then therewould be a soft epilogue for them.

In reality, she’s studying for an exam, her hair pulled upinto the bumpiest and most uneven topknot in history. She has her pen betweenher lips, Ben steadily making a pile of the flash cards she’s making, his coolfingers making sure the stack is even because she’s noticed he’s a bit of aperfectionist. Her tea is long cold, the Redbull half empty beside her, and she’s cursing not studying for this exam sooner even though she has another week to study for it.

The thing with being dead and not being able to drink or eator sleep is that the man is never thirsty, never tired, never hungry, nevercomplaining about the bodily functions she complains about.

So when he mutters, “Damn, I’m thirsty. I’m getting somewater, do you want some,” they’re both completely and totally caught off guard.

Except they’re caught off guard twenty seconds later than they should be.

“Yeah, sure, with ice, please,” she mumbles around the penin her mouth. She hears the shifting of his body as he stands from their studynook on the floor, and she hears his feet cross from the carpet of the livingroom onto the linoleum of the kitchen before they both realize what he said.

The pen drops from her lips.

She gets up so quickly from the table that she damn neartrips over it, and he has to rush back and catch her. And then she hears it,her ear pressed against his chest.

It takes them less than an hour to realize that with bloodflowing to his heart, and through his veins, that blood can flow to otherthings, too.

[haku23]

I don't know anything about Johnnydakken so I'm going generic: Coffee shop AU!

I’m an asshole so this functions both as a coffeeshop au for them but also... my ocs LOL.

Rating: G don’t worry palsWarnings: Daken is DakenWordcount: 1,557

#johnnydaken #myfic hashtag idk if that’ll work but we’ll see lol

The mohawkguy always comes in first. The blonde guy is usually what some people callfashionably late but Antonio just calls “rude”. Blonde guy wears sunglasses,sometimes a hat, that do nothing to hide the fact that he’s Johnny Storm. Theall blue wardrobe with flame themed accessories don’t really help him blend ineither. He carries a cellphone with the Fantastic Four logo on the case.

So he knowswho the blonde guy is. The mohawk one is a mystery; he gives a different nameevery time along with a smile that admittedly makes it difficult to focus onhis work.

Mohawk guy alwayssits in the corner near the emergency exit and Antonio somehow manages to getanxiety about people sitting in the spot around the time that mohawk guy usuallycomes in. Interlopers always tend to clear off right before mohawk guy startsto look for a seat, though. He must be lucky.

Not toolucky though, in that Johnny Storm is actually late today. Mohawk guy taps hispainted fingernails on the reclaimed wood of the table, two hot drinks cooling infront of him. The drinks are about the only thing cooling, though; every sooften mohawk guy glances at his phone and then the door. He has a glare thatcould peel paint off of steel-Antonio doesn’t envy Johnny Storm.

“Hey, areyou going to work or just stare at customers all day?” Fernando asks with asmile that means ‘I will murder you’. He gets back to work with pretending towipe down the machines, but he can’t help but keep glancing up at mohawk guy.

--

This weekJohnny Storm comes in early. He tips the brim of his hat down and glancesaround the room for signs that anyone has recognized him before he heads to thecounter. He looks over his shoulder to the usual spot and his shoulders sag inhis light blue polo shirt. The couple with matching undercuts who sit there aredefinitely not mohawk guy. Johnny Storm gives a lopsided grin.

“Uh, haveyou seen my friend here yet this week? Oh. And can I get a peppermintmachiatto?”

“The guywith the mohawk?” Antonio asks like he doesn’t know. Johnny Storm nods and hedoesn’t have time to answer properly-or at least warn him about the glare-so hejust shakes his head then gets to making his annoying seasonal drink.

Johnny Stormspends the next couple hours frantically typing on his phone and lookingthrough the large glass window by his seat in equal measures.

--

Lauradoesn’t look like mohawk guy but he understands implicitly when she shows upwith Johnny Storm that they’re related somehow. They both share a love fordated emo accessories for one. She orders a peppermint latte; mohawk guy onlyever orders the house blend, black. They sit by the fireplace which makes itdifficult for Antonio to hear anything or see anything at all, but they staythere a long time. In the lull between lunch and dinner he hears the name Dakenand that he’s disappeared; Johnny Storm looks like a kicked puppy throughoutthe conversation and Antonio starts to feel more sorry for him than Daken(?).

When hegoes over to clear away their dishes Laura stops talking but Johnny onlycontinues when he looks up at Antonio.

“Sorrydude, but have you seen him at all this week?”  

“I haven’t.But he looked upset last time I saw him,” he answers and Johnny Storm sighs sodeeply his posture starts to resemble a deflated balloon.

“Can I askyou a question then?” Johnny Storm asks but then continues before he cananswer, “so if you had a uh...friend who you accidentally stood up becauseyou’ve got a really serious job with really unpredictable hours what would youdo to make them stop hating you?”

“Uh. Apologize?”

“I totallydid that. He hasn’t answered any of my messages. He’s left me on read for liketwo weeks. He’s totally ghosting me, he always does this,” Johnny Storm ispouting now and Antonio stands there but doesn’t know what to say. He can’ttouch Johnny Storm on the shoulder, he doesn’t even know him, but Daken seemslike the kind of person that isn’t pleased by much beyond his black coffee.Occasionally he gets a danish but makes a face the entire time he eats it-healways finishes it though and so Antonio assumes he’s making a fuss for show atthis point.

“I guessyou could always. Go find him and apologize in person?”

“I shouldget him something too, right. Do you like flowers? Would that be weird to getflowers from your bro? What about chocolate? Laura, come on, you have to knowwhat he likes,” Johnny whines and Laura nods. She doesn’t make much of anexpression at anything Johnny says but looks up at Antonio.

“This isvery good. I like it.”

“Oh. Uh.Thanks. Maybe you could get him flowers that mean stuff. My friend runs aflower shop down the street.”  

Laura nods,“he likes art. You should take him to the art museum with the flowers.”

“Yeah, true.He did say he liked art too. What’s the name of that flower place, Antonio?”

He hasn’tnoticed Johnny Storm looking at his nametag. Most people don’t remember theirbarista’s name anyway; through his slight shock he manages to give the name ofthe flower shop and on his break shoots a quick text to Linda. Johnny Stormleaves him a fifty dollar tip, and he starts to feel even more sorry for him.

--

Antonio hadwarned her Johnny Fucking Storm was coming to her shop but it’s still kind of ashock to see him in person, rubbing at his chin as he peers at displays. Hewears a ballcap and a pair of shades, but no coat or scarf despite the smallflakes of snow fluttering down outside. His friend on the other hand is bundledup so much at first she only sees the strip of skin around her eyes between thebright yellow Wolverine toque and matching blue and yellow scarf.

Linda waitsa little while longer until there’s a lull in their quiet conversation and shesends the last of the other customers on their way before she makes her wayover to them.

“Can I helpyou find something?”

“Oh, yeah.I’m looking for something that says ‘sorry I accidentally stood you up but Ihad to work and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing to me so pleasestop ignoring my calls? bro’. You have anything like that?” he asks with thekind of sheepish kind of smile that certain other people would find hopelesslyendearing.

“That’sreally specific. But I think I have something that just says ‘sorry’.”

He laughsand shoves his hands into his jeans pockets, “I guess that’ll be good enough.Do you guys do cards?”

“Ofcourse.”

She gathersthe flowers-hyacinth, purple, and gladiolus in various colours. She sticks somefiller in there and wraps it in a bow. It’s not a very large bouquet, but hehad said it was for a bro and so the typical dozen red roses probably isn’tappropriate. She gives him a card to write in and he stares at the blank spacefor awhile before he starts to write. So long that she has time to sweep andmop behind the counter but he does pay up without complaint.

“Thanks,Linda, I appreciate your help,” he says before he heads to the door. He lookshopeful, and she hopes that things work out between he and his friend.

--

For thenext few weeks he doesn’t see either of them-Laura comes in a couple times witha girl wearing an obnoxiously yellow jacket but Daken and Johnny are notablyabsent and she doesn’t give him any clues on whether the plan had worked out ornot. He guesses it’s not really his business anyway, but the two of them are regulars. Or were.

He stopswondering after them in between final exams and the start of winter break, andthe next day the people at their usual spot clear off as the bell over the doorjingle. He glances over and sees them both. Daken’s a bit close for friends, orat least what constitutes friendly distance to Antonio, and whispers somethinginto Johnny’s ear before he makes his way over to the counter. He’s traded hismohawk for a topknot and doesn’t smile when he orders this time. He does,however, when he takes their order over to their usual table and Antonio triesnot to stare when he leans over to wipe a spot of whipped cream off of Johnny’slip after a particularly vigorous sip on Johnny’s part.

“What didshe put in that bouquet I thought they were bros?” he mutters under his breath.The answer doesn’t come-Linda later insists she just put what he asked herto-but Johnny and Daken do. The more he sees of them the more of an odd pairthey appear to make, but it works for themso why can’t it work for him?

“Linda Ineed another bouquet,” he sends on his break.

--

the flowers mean “give me a break I’m sorry” LOL

[kensingtonbooks]

First Sneak Peek at DREAM ON by Stacey Keith

The following is a special sneak peek at DREAM ON, selected by author Stacey Keith, from the book’s first chapter:

Nobody in Cuervo, Texas, drove a car like that.

Cassidy Roby crowded around the service window along with everyone else who worked at Artie’s Burger Express and stared at the thing as it idled next to a backlit speaker menu. Artie’s was shaped like a horseshoe, with the fast-food restaurant perched on a concrete slab in the center and car stalls angled along the outside. Each stall had its own speaker menu so the driver could call in his order. Cassidy couldn’t see who this driver was because the restaurant’s bright overhead lights blanked out the windshield, but the car was …

“Sex on wheels,” sighed Darlene Fischer, Cassidy’s best friend since grade school. She hip-bumped Cassidy aside so she could get a better view, but until the driver opened his window, all anyone could do was admire the lines.

“Like hell,” Artie muttered, clutching his spatula. “It’s a BMW M6 convertible. That beauty ain’t been out the showroom but maybe a month. Two, tops. She can do zero to sixty in—”

“Nobody cares about that,” Darlene said. “I just wanna know who’s driving it.”

Cassidy decided she didn’t want to get caught staring. Anybody who drove a BW6 … whatever it was … in a town with a population the size of Cuervo’s—what were they up to now, three thousand?—probably got sick of being gawked at. She went to the back, picked up a clean spatula and then slid it under a meat patty sizzling on the grill. Besides, she thought idly, chances were pretty good that the driver was an arrogant, self-important—

“Omigod!” Darlene hollered from the window. “Omigod, it’s him!” 

Beth, the other waitress, cupped both hands over her mouth. “What if he orders something?” she said in a muffled, horrified whisper.

“Of course he’s going to order something,” Darlene snapped. “You think he’s here to buy car parts?”

Cassidy bided her time. She poked the patty with the corner of her spatula and tried to think who could have put the wait staff into such a state. Artie made a sound of disgust and shuffled back to the grill. With his white paper cook’s hat, bushy eyebrows and splotched white apron, he reminded Cassidy of one of the characters on “Sesame Street,” a show her daughter now proclaimed she was too old for. Oscar, if he worked in a restaurant. Same disposition.

“Why aren’t you out front?” he asked, pushing the meat around with his spatula.

“Who’s out there?”

“Mason Hannigan. We’ll never hear the end of it now.”

Cassidy’s heart gave a strange sideways lurch and she put one hand on the bread rack to steady herself. What on earth was Mason Hannigan doing here? He’d left Cuervo behind years ago in his souped-up Ford truck and his full-ride football scholarship to the University of Texas. Even before he’d left, Mason had been a quarterback legend. Now he was a national one. With Mason at the helm, the Dallas Lone Stars had two Super Bowl wins and maybe a third one on the way. Not that she’d followed him, of course. Well, not on purpose. If her dad left the sports page open on the breakfast table or a TV sports anchor waxed poetic over Mason’s stats, she could hardly be accused of actually caring. Never mind that Mason was pretty much all anyone talked about here: Local boy makes the big leagues, insert your “I knew him when” story here.

But there were other reasons her heart was bucking and wheeling like a rodeo horse. Personal ones. Mason had changed everything there was to change about her life. Because of him, she rarely dated. Because of him, she’d had Lexie. At fifteen. While she was still a freshman at Cuervo High. She and Mason had never so much as kissed under the bleachers or held hands or gone to the movies. Yet he had directed the course of her life in ways she rarely let herself think about now. By the time Lexie was born, he was long gone and she’d been left with nothing but regrets.

Sweet, lovable Lexie had never been one of them.

That was over ten years ago. Mason’s whole family had relocated to Dallas to be closer to their superstar athlete. So why was Mason back in Cuervo?

“What’s keepin’ you?” Artie growled. “Go on now. I ain’t payin’ you to stand around.”

“Yes, sir.” Cassidy could barely get the words out. She wiped her damp palms on the half-apron of her carhop uniform and glided to the front on Day-Glo purple inline skates. Unlike the shorts and the Artie’s Burger Express T-shirt, the skates weren’t a requirement, but Cassidy found that she got around a lot faster that way.

Darlene was still jumping up and down and squealing. “He brought friends. They’re in the car with him.”

“We think they’re football players, too.” Beth’s eyes were glassy, as though the idea of all that beefcake in one vehicle might make her faint.

“Omigod,” Darlene said. “They’re ordering!”

Cassidy mustered the courage to look. She felt lightheaded, like maybe she’d be the first one to crash to the floor. With the driver’s side window rolled all the way down, she could clearly see it was Mason. A terrible heat surged beneath her skin. It traveled north at an alarming speed, setting fire to her chest, her neck, her cheeks. She was boiling like a lobster in a pot, and the only reason Beth and Darlene hadn’t noticed was because they were boiling, too. 

“Hi,” came Mason’s familiar voice from over the speaker. “We’d like six Artieburgers, two with extra onions, pickles and mustard, six fries, and a grilled chicken sandwich, dressing on the side.”

Since the mic was still on, they could hear Mason’s friends issue disparaging remarks about the sandwich and what that meant about Mason’s sexual orientation. She heard him laugh, which killed her just a little.

“If one of you gals don’t take that order—” Artie yelled from the back.

Darlene snatched the mic, all business now despite her obvious terror. “What size fries with that?”

“Large,” Mason replied in the sexy Texas drawl that seemed like home to Cassidy, that reminded her of evenings spent on the porch swing watching the lightning bugs. Most people craned their necks and got mildly agitated speaking to a screen instead of a person. Not Mason. He’d always had the cool alpha confidence that life would go his way. So far, it had.

“Would you like anything to drink with that?” Darlene asked, her voice going up an octave.

See if they have any beer, someone said inside the car.

“Don’t be a dick,” Mason told him. Politely, into the speaker he said, “Four cokes.”

Cassidy skated over to the soda fountain and the stainless steel ice maker beneath it. She pulled four large wax-coated cups from the dispenser, lined them up, and dug them one by one into the crunchy ice. Her movements seemed odd and jerky to her, but she managed to fill the cups with soda, fit the lids snugly, and remember to leave the paper sleeve on the top half of the straw. On impulse, she grabbed a tongs and picked out half a dozen lemon wedges, which she arranged on a paper napkin. Okay, so she might have remembered that he liked lemon in his soda. It didn’t mean anything.

Now that Darlene had finished taking their order, she was clearly in the midst of crisis. Ordinarily, Cassidy would have given her a big hug and told her everything was going to be okay, but it was possible that she was having a crisis, too. Things didn’t feel right. They felt eerie and … what was that word Pastor Jim used? Portentous. Like a storm was coming. Like everything was about to be pulled up by the roots and then dashed to the ground in a million pieces. 

“I’m not going out there,” Darlene said. “I can’t. I have a zit on my chin.”

“Well, I can’t go out there!” Beth wailed. 

“Are you kidding?” Cassidy said. “They’re just a bunch of guys. They’re not going to bite you.” 

“You have to do it,” Beth pleaded, her face pale and earnest. “You’re so pretty and all the boys like you. If I go, I’m just going to drop the tray.”

Cassidy swung her gaze from Beth to Darlene and then over Darlene’s shoulder to the parking lot. Two other cars pulled into service stalls, one of them a minivan full of boys in baseball uniforms. In about two minutes, Artie’s was going to be slammed with food orders and screaming kids. What other choice did she have?

“That’s my Cassidy,” Darlene said approvingly when she drew back her shoulders and smoothed her ponytail. 

“I’m only doing this for you,” Cassidy told her.

“Absolutely.”

“I am.”

“I know.” Darlene winked at her and then tucked a #2 pencil inside her messy-on-purpose topknot, which dislodged a long spiral of brown hair. 

“What’s past is past,” Cassidy said. 

“Yep.”

She loaded a tray with the sweating soda cups and the lemons. “If I have a stroke and die, it’s up to you to make sure Lexie finishes her English homework.”

“Will you stop jawin’ and get the hell out there?” Artie yelled.

Cassidy took a deep breath. I can do this, she thought. My folks didn’t raise a fool. She re-balanced the tray and skated out the door.

#

“Damn,” Mason’s friend and linebacker, Jasper, said after a low whistle. “That is one sweet little hometown honey.” 

In the back seat, Mason’s two other teammates leaned forward expectantly. 

“Where?” Temple demanded to know.

“Sit down,” Brian, his seatmate, told him. “I can’t see.”

“I told you Cuervo was the bomb,” Mason said, but then as the honey drew closer—on skates, no less— his hands tightened around the steering wheel. 

It was Cassidy Roby.

Mason blinked. Refocused. He’d forgotten how much his type she was. He’d forgotten … well, a lot of things. She hadn’t changed one bit. Same glossy ponytail, all sun-streaked and blonde. Same perfect little body. The skates made her taller, but he knew that without them, she barely reached his shoulder. Why her type had always appealed to him, he didn’t exactly know, but petite and wholesome did a whole different number on him than the women he found himself dating these days—beautiful, yes. Models, yes. But they were all cheekbones and sharp shoulders. Give them a salad and they’d push away the croutons. Yet these were the women who traveled in his circle now. After a while, it seemed they all wore the same hungry look, and it wasn’t a look that warmed a man’s blood. 

Mason felt that blood thicken as Cassidy wheeled her way to the car. He also felt a little tongue-tied, which was ridiculous. Since when did he not know what to say to a girl? 

Jasper’s elbow dug him in his ribs. The other two were laughing at him.

“Better wipe that drool before she gets here,” Jasper said.

For a split second, Mason wondered if he was drooling. Cassidy turned to wave to someone and he saw the sweet round shape of her ass. 

Jesus.

“Hey, Mason,” Cassidy said, bending over so she could see him. “Nice car.”

If she wore makeup, he didn’t see any. She looked exactly the same as she did in high school, with the light sprinkling of freckles over her scooped nose and those big blue eyes. He heard sniggering and Temple actually punched him through the back of his seat.

“Yeah,” he said, stifling a grunt. “Just got it. Had to buy a four-seater so I could haul these …” He’d almost said dickheads … “Guys around.” 

She bent lower and peered inside. Mason didn’t need to turn his head to know that his teammates wore their most ingratiating grins. Brian actually said, “Ma’am.” 

But now he could see right down the gap of her Artie’s Burger Express T-shirt, two scoops of creamy vanilla cradled inside a pink lace bra, and this view of the forbidden made his palms sweat.

“So what brings you back to Cuervo?” Cassidy slid a corner of her tray inside the car and began off-loading the drinks. Behind him, there were more “Ma’ams” and “Thank yous.” Jasper actually said, “I bet it’s gonna be extra sweet because you were the one who brought it,” which made Mason cringe, but the others howled with amusement. Even Cassidy grinned.

“Well,” she said. “I brought you boys some lemons to balance the sweet, just in case you like them as much as Mason does.”

She’d remembered. What did it mean? And how much of a girl had he turned into for trying to read something into the gesture? Get a grip, he told himself. 

“I’m here for Coach Winston’s award ceremony,” he said. “You know how much Coach did for me. These dillweeds just decided to come along for the ride.”

“He’s always talking about Cuervo,” Temple explained. “We had a few days off, so we figured why the hell not?”

“You miss Cuervo?” Cassidy looked directly at him, just as casual as though he hadn’t been away since forever, and Mason felt the effect of those blue eyes right down to his groin.

“Well, sure,” he said. “I grew up here, same as you. Why wouldn’t I miss it?”

“Two stoplights and a water tower and you’re pretty much done taking in the sights.” Cassidy tucked the empty tray under her arm. “I love Cuervo, but that doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

“Lot of memories here,” Mason said.

Her eyes flickered. A curtain seemed to drop over that pretty face, and when the curtain lifted, some part of her had gone with it. “I’ll go check on the rest of your order.”

With a curious sense of loss, Mason watched her skate away. He remembered then that Cassidy had a child—a daughter, right?—and that the father was Parker Nolan, former captain of the basketball team and a grade-A asshole. Was he still a part of their lives?

“You got no game,” Jasper said, grinning. “Brian would have had that one bagged and tagged ten minutes ago.”

“Damn straight, I would have,” Brian agreed. “That was pathetic.”

“Looked to me like you said something that pissed her off.” Temple ducked his head so he could check his hair in the rearview mirror. Since he wore a crewcut, there wasn’t much to check. Just to fuck with him, Mason flipped up the mirror, which earned him another punch through the seat.

While his friends argued over who had the most game, Mason squeezed a lemon into his soda, recapped the lid and let his gaze wander over to the service window. Although he couldn’t hear them, it appeared that two women were bouncing around inside and screaming. Of course, Cassidy wasn’t one of them. Cassidy didn’t bounce. Cassidy worked. In high school, she and her two sisters had all worked at the school library with Mrs. Jenkins, and Mrs. Jenkins was a terror. One time, Robbie Burdaine had returned a heavy photobook on the NFL two weeks late, and Mrs. Jenkins slammed his fingers shut inside of it. If Cassidy Roby survived four years with her, she was one tough cookie.

But what was a hottie like Cassidy doing in a place like this? Mason took a long draft of soda and let the tart sweetness wash over his tongue. He watched her move around inside the prep area, wrapping burgers, assembling condiments. Of course, Cuervo wasn’t exactly cranking out job opportunities. There were maybe two sit-down restaurants that kept odd hours, and Artie’s, which might reasonably be thought of as the Saturday night hot spot. She did have a kid to support. 

That alone should have been enough to make him turn the page on his inner Rolodex. But his old feeling of nervous excitement swept over him when she came skating out with their trays, one balanced expertly in each hand. The seating area in the center was swarming with Little Leaguers now, making her near-misses and semi-collisions all the more breathtaking to watch. Another minivan pulled up, disgorging more kids in baseball uniforms. They were everywhere, shoving and yelling. Mason had an uncomfortable awareness that when he and his friends got together, they didn’t act a whole lot better. 

“Here you go,” she said, gliding up to his window. “Sorry about the racket.”

“They’re alright.” Mason purposely ignored the shit-eating grins on the faces of his teammates. He practically hurled Temple’s hamburger at him. “Remember what your dad used to say? ‘A boy ain’t nothing but a noise with some dirt on it’.” 

For the first time, Cassidy gave him a smile that didn’t seem at least partially professional. It transformed her wholesome face into something that made him feel as though he’d been sacked by a three-hundred-pound defensive lineman. Mason knew then that a grace had been given. Somehow he’d pulled away the mask. Beneath it lay an intense love for her family, her roots, her history. It was a woman’s love, and Mason didn’t know what to call it right away because he never saw it on the faces of the women he knew.

She kept the smile as he continued to dial out hamburgers, fries, and ketchup packets. “My poor dad. All he wanted was at least one boy to play ball with. What he got were three girls instead.” 

“I doubt he’s complaining,” Mason said, more confident now. “How are Doak and Priscilla? She ever manage to park her car in the garage?”

Doak Roby, a retired fire chief, had motorcycle parts strewn from one end of his garage to the other. Priscilla always bickered with him about it, although never too seriously. Mason figured she mostly did it to keep things interesting. 

“Nope. And he bought a new Skil-Saw last week. Mom knows it’s a lost cause.”

Cassidy retrieved her trays and tucked them under one arm. She moved with the grace of an athlete, and Mason had a sharp, heated fantasy of her naked body under his, of hearing her gasp when he entered her juicy little—

“I’d better get back,” she said, killing his buzz. “Looks like Beth and Darlene are in the weeds.”

‘In the weeds’. Mason frowned. Must be shop talk. He didn’t want her to go, not yet. “Listen,” he said. “I’d like to visit your dad, you know, catch up, say hi. I wouldn’t be bothering anyone, would I?” Like Parker Nolan. Who may or may not be living with you. 

She leaned over again. Mason could feel himself drowning a little in the clear blue of her eyes. She bit her full bottom lip, pink like he imagined her nipples would be, hidden inside that flimsy bra. He couldn’t think clearly when she was this close, and he had to set his sandwich on his lap to hide a growing erection. Christ. What was wrong with him? Ten years later and he was still panting after her like a big dumb dog. 

“Dad would love that,” Cassidy said. “You know he thinks the world of you. And I’m sure Mom would invite all y’all to dinner, so don’t be shy.”

“Home cooking sounds too good to pass up,” Jasper said around a mouthful of burger. “Mason here tried to cook us dinner once and set the kitchen on fire.”

Cassidy looked up and her smile evaporated. “Uh oh. Hate to tell you, but it looks like you’ve been spotted.”

Mason dragged his gaze away and saw at least a dozen yelling boys descending on him with pens, pencils, markers, receipts, and napkins that meant he’d be swamped for autographs. They were herded by a phalanx of parents whose indulgent smiles never hid the fact that they’d sent their kids in to do the dirty work.

Before he could say anything to Cassidy, she’d coasted away and the first of his fans had lined up by the side of the car. So much for eating. At least Cassidy spared him an amused and not-unsympathetic smile. 

Brian slapped him on the back. “Go be a hero. Don’t forget to roll up your window on the way out.”

“Oh, and leave your sandwich,” Jasper said.

“You guys are the biggest dicks on the planet,” Mason told them. 

Temple reached over the seat to help himself to Mason’s fries. “Yeah, but at least we know how to get laid.”

Buy DREAM ON → http://bit.ly/2gjGHQJ