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anactualcaseofthetruth · 3 years

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Friends Can Break Your Heart Too - Chapter 5 < ao3 link

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Story summary: Mia Flores flees to Santo Padre for one reason and one reason only: her godfather and the man who raised her, Bishop Losa. The last thing she expects is for Angel Reyes to come into her chaotic life and just maybe be the one thing that starts to make sense.

Chapter summary: Bishop gives Mia a talk then Mia and Angel have some fun.

Rated: SMUT. Sex, oral, cream pie, all that good stuff.

A/N: Esai Alvarez in this story is played by Manny Montana with Rio from Good Girls tats! Just a reminder!

Chapter 5:

“Mija?” Mia hears Bishop’s voice travel up the stairs to the bathroom where she’s finishing getting ready for a party at the clubhouse. The boys just got a big payday and that usually means a fun night.

“Bathroom!” she calls back while touching up her mascara, not at all surprised Bishop is the one to pick her up today. Angel was very clear in his text this morning the reason he wasn’t climbing into bed with her was because her godfather mentioned he planned on stopping by. Angel also mentioned that he was tired as fuck and couldn’t wait to see her later.

It doesn’t surprise her that Bishop wants to see her, he always wants to touch base after being gone on a run, and him and the boys did two back-to-back over the last week and a half, with only being home one day in between.

What does surprise her was that Angel texts her when they are on runs. It isn’t frequent, of course, but it is at least once a day, sometimes more if possible. He doesn’t say much, just that everything is going good and everyone is whole, but just the fact that he even tries means the world to her.

Most the time with Esai, Mia didn’t know he was home until she woke up and found him in bed with her, or passed out on the couch, or heard from Bishop that they were home and wanted to get lunch or dinner or something. It was rare for Esai to text her daily on runs—maybe when they first got together or if something particularly shitty was going on with her mom. She got maybe one or two texts over a five-day period, if that.

She hears Bishop making his way through the shopping bags that litter her bedroom floor. “Nice to see you’re spending your money wisely,” he comments.

“You’re the one who said you wouldn’t take anything from me for the first three months,” Mia counters while twisting the mascara closed and giving her face a last once over. “I tried to give you more than half my paycheck because I know I owe you, but you—”

“I know, I know, I’m just fucking with you,” Bishop stops her with a chuckle as he leans on the doorjamb leading to the bathroom. “You’re only doing what I want you to do—rebuild your life. I’m glad you’re making yourself at home, or at least,” his eyes flick back to the mess on her floor, “making a few businesses happy. Took a trip to El Centro?”

“That’s where Letty said the good mall is, and some pretty awesome boutiques. She wasn’t wrong,” Mia answers with a shrug. “I got her a few things too, and I’m not letting Coco pay me back, just letting you know.”

“That’s his fight, not mine,” he responds with hands up in surrender and they both smile at one another. “You look… good,” he settles on after looking her up and down a moment later.

She’s wearing a new pair of Army green cargo pants that hug her ass and thighs but are baggy at her feet. It’s matched with a dusty rose top laced up through her breasts, showing skin the whole way, but has long flowy sleeves. She isn’t wearing a bra, of course, that would throw off the whole look, but is covered up enough that Bishop won’t say anything, even if his eyes do. It should elicit a different reaction out of Angel though.

“I know,” she replies, and he chuckles again, having learned long ago that fighting about her clothes was a losing battle. “Everything went good this week? No problems?” she asks while passing him on her way out of the bathroom and starts digging through the bags for her brand new white Nikes.

Of course, she knows all went well—Angel had told her so, but Bishop doesn’t know that.

“All the drops went good, prisons up the coast and in AZ are flush with enough H to keep our brothers inside on top, and the other charters are making their deliveries,” he informs her.

“And the Chinese? I know their order was a surprise, but it seemed like you all had it handled,” she says while slipping the Air Force 1s on and smiling down at her splurge. Her godfather’s right, it’s nice to have more than a handful of things to call her own again.

“We’re a well-oiled machine,” Bishop assures her and at this Mia chortles.

“You’re definitely a well-intoxicated one,” she jokes, and they laugh once more. “I’m glad everything went well, Bop. You guys deserve this party tonight, you’ve been working your asses off lately.”

“Like we need a reason to party,” he comments, and she grins. “But a big payday does always make the boys more agreeable, and that I’m a fan of.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m ready to go if you are,” she says and slips her phone in her pocket, the only thing she’ll need for the night.

“You, uh, don’t seem surprised I’m here,” Bishop mentions.

“We usually get together when you get home,” she reminds him. “I figured we’d be doing something. It’s past lunch, so dinner,” she adds on with a shrug. “And I’m paying by the way, no buts.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’,” her godfather states easily. “But, uh, wanted to check in, see how you’re doing now that you’re settling in at the job and the house, you know,” he goes on while taking a seat on her bed.

Realization washes over her. He’s not here for their normal post-run hang out, and this whole ‘check in’ shit is just that—shit. He knows how she’s doing with the job and the house, they talk every day, and before she started at the clinic he saw her everyday because she was making money at the clubhouse or scrap yard.

This isn’t just ‘checking in’. He wants to have a conversation about something particular but doesn’t know how to start it.

“I’m having flashbacks to my quinceanera, when you spent an hour talking about how I was about to become a woman,” she mumbles while taking a seat next to him, “but what you really wanted to know was if I was still a virgin because you knew Esai was about to ask me to be his girlfriend and you worried that he was going to deflower me that very night.”

“Did he?” he asks, and Mia looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“That is none of your business, but no, he did not,” she appeases him, which isn’t a lie.

Technically, because she wasn’t a virgin that night, so when she had sex with Esai after her party she wasn’t deflowered. Not that he needs to know about that, there are some things her father doesn’t need to know. Esai was her first, but she isn’t fan of the word ‘deflower’ nor is she interested in talking to Bishop about the concept of virginity. No man’s dick is important enough to change any part of her identity.

“Good, good,” Bishop murmurs and nods. “My warnings didn’t stop you from slow dancing with him at every chance that night, though.”

“Bop,” Mia sighs and crosses her legs, “why don’t we do what we didn’t manage then? Just ask me what you want to know or tell me whatever it is you want to say, because it took me a good year to realize what you wanted from me during that long, excruciating talk before my party started.”

“I thought I was pretty clear about how decisions you made that night could affect you for the rest of your life, and how you needed to protect yourself, and do what you thought was right,” he replies.

“I was fifteen, Bop,” she reminds him. “Besides that, I knew Esai was going to officially ask me out, so I had a little more on my mind than figuring out what you were actually trying to tell me,” she goes on. “Plus, I was dreading what you all would say during your speeches, which I was right to because it was another hour of men talking about my virginity without actually talking about it and I was mortified,” she says then remembers that this isn’t the conversation her godfather wants to have. “What is on your mind, Bop?”

“Look,” he starts and leans forward onto his knees, his hands clasped together between them. “I know this shit ain’t my business, that we try to stay out of each other’s personal lives, but if it involves my club and one of my guys, I should at least know what’s going on.”

“What are you talking about?” Mia asks as dread trickles down her spine, not sure exactly how dumb to play. She doesn’t want to give away information he doesn’t know while he’s fishing for whatever it is he wants to know, you know?

Bishop continues, “I know these guys, Mia. I know them, I know their habits, their routines, and I know when something is off with one of them. They are my family just as much as you are, I’d die for them, and they’d do the same for me.”

“That’s morbid, but sweet,” she comments innocently.

“I’m being serious, Mia,” Bishop says, his voice booming. “I need you to be honest with me.”

“Then ask me what you want to know instead of trying to trick me into saying something,” she responds, her tone now just as serious.

“When we’re on runs and we’ve reached our drop point and we’re bone tired, we spend the night,” he starts. “But, boys being boys, they don’t always spend their time sleeping, if you know what I mean, and Angel is no exception.”

Mia’s stomach sinks. Does Bishop think she’s dating Angel and trying to tell her he slept with someone else on their run?

Sure, she and Angel aren’t together, but they agreed while they are hooking up to only hook up with each other. Then again, with the clinic opening she’s done little more than eat, sleep, work and repeat in the last two weeks. Maybe since she’s been too busy and tired for sex lately, he started to look elsewhere. After all, that’s what Esai used to do—get his needs met when on a run. It meant she was less likely to run into whoever he cheated with, and it also meant it was with a girl who knew better than to expect anything more from him.

“Okay,” Mia manages after a minute, not sure what else to say, and not sure why her chest feels like an open wound. It’s not the first time the guy she’s sleeping with stepped out on her when on a run.

So, Angel broke their deal, she doesn’t know what Bishop has to do with it, especially since he wasn’t supposed to know they were sleeping together in the first place. If he thinks they are dating does he think Angel just cheated on her? He always stayed out of her and Esai’s relationship—that is, until she brought him into it because she was a stupid, heartbroken kid who wanted her dad on her side, not caring what position it put him in with the club.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Bop,” she murmurs. “You know the rules, what happens on a run stays on a run, and I don’t know what this has to do with me.”

“I want you to tell me the truth about what’s going on with you and Angel, Mia,” he insists as he turns his face to look her in the eye. “I wanna know if you’re the reason why the guy who never makes the smart move and chooses to sleep on a run actually has done just that ever since you moved here.”

Oh. “Oh,” she mumbles and thinks of what to say as warmth blooms in her chest and she fights the urge to smile. He didn’t cheat on her!

Well, of course he didn’t, because they aren’t dating. He’s just the best friend she’s sleeping with.

“I know you two are close, and at the first I thought it was just him actually being tired, but it’s been months and—”

“Angel and I aren’t together,” she cuts him off quickly. “If we were, I would have told you,” she assures him. “That’s not something I would keep from you. I know what being with a guy in the club means, the power it holds, and the weakness it can be. I wouldn’t keep it a secret from you. Angel and I, we aren’t doing anything like that.”

“You sure about that?” he asks with a look of disbelief on his face.

“Yes. We’re sleeping together, that’s it,” Mia admits because there is no point in hiding it now.

They haven’t exactly been discreet. The boys know, Letty almost walked in on them, it’s only been two weeks and a few of the girls at the clinic are already whispering about him. Besides, Bishop’s too smart to think they are just friends; he knows the both of them too well.

“And we’re friends. Good friends, more like best friends, even though that makes us sound twelve,” she mumbles as an afterthought. “We can talk to each other, no bullshit, and he makes me laugh, but we’re just friends, I promise.”

“Friends,” Bishop repeats and then barks out a laugh.

“We are!” Mia insists. “I’m not fucking with you.”

He stands from the bed, a hand attempting to stifle his laughter. “No, no, I know you’re not. I know you believe you’re friends, that’s what makes this funny.”

“Bop!”

“You know, I was friends with your mother once,” he says.

“Ew! No, we’re not—this is not the same thing,” she tells him, standing so she can look him in the eye.

“Your dad was friends with her too,” he goes on.

“Enough, can we go now, please? You got the information you wanted, I’ve been adequately traumatized, I think we’re done here.”

“Yeah, yeah, we can go. Just, be safe, will ya?” he pleads, his eyes much softer now.

Mia groans. “We went over this before my quinceanera too, Bop. I know how to use a condom and have my end taken care of—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” her godfather cuts her off. “I mean, I’m glad you’re using protection, but I’m talking about this,” he said and jabs a finger at her chest. “Your heart doesn’t give a fuck what’s going on up here,” he says and now points at her temple. “You have control over a lot in life, what you wanna do, where you wanna live, the stuff you wear and how you show yourself to the world, but your heart? That fucker you don’t have much control of, and it’ll get you every time, trust me. So, you protect it any way you can, you hear me?”

Mia nods and bites her lip. “I hear you, Bop,” she assures him. “But you see what you just said, that’s what you should have told me before my quinceanera,” she says. “That is the straightforward kind of shit a fifteen-year-old needs to hear.”

Bishop grins and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Shut up and get on my bike, will ya?”

“Sure thing, Papa,” she answers and leads the way down the steps and out the door, completely missing the look on Bishop’s face at her calling him dad, even if only in passing. If she had, she probably wouldn’t be calling him just ‘Bop’ much longer. “But I’m still paying for dinner!” she calls over her shoulder, not caring to listen to his response because she isn’t going to fold on this one.

Hours later Mia tilts her neck to the side, giving Angel room to continue his hot kisses, her eyes trying to focus on the fire in front of them, but everything is getting hazy. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have told you,” she murmurs, hoping he thinks her low tone is because she’s trying to be quiet, not because she’s breathless.

“What you mean?” he wonders, his lips now at her ear, his teeth teasing at her lobe.

“You wouldn’t be torturing me like this if I hadn’t told you Bishop knows,” she moans and pulls away when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “We need to stop. I told you we have to be respectful when he’s around.”

“Baby, this isn’t disrespectful,” he insists, his hands now playing with the lace strings at the front of her top. “If you want to see what that looks like though…” he says and tugs on the knot.

“Angel!” she gasps and slaps his hand away. “Be good.”

He grins and pulls away, leaving an arm around her shoulders and leans back in their bench seat. It’s the backseat of what probably was some kind of station wagon that the boys pulled out of the scrapyard. It fits three, and since they are so low to the ground Angel’s legs are spread out in front of them, otherwise they’d be touching his chest.

“Fuck, it feels good to be home for more than 12 fucking hours,” he sighs while scooting down the seat even more so his head can rest on her shoulders. “Feels even better to know I get to spend tomorrow doin’ nothing but you.”

At this, Mia laughs, and it’s full and hearty. “As long as you make it worth my time,” she comments. “I do only get one full weekend off a month, you know?”

“Mi dulce, have I ever not left you shaking uncontrollably on my cock?” Angel questions while lighting a cigarette, his actions very nonchalant after the sentence he just dropped.

“Hey, there’s a first time for everything,” she teases him.

He shakes his head at her. “Keep talkin’ shit, we’ll see how tough you are later,” he warns as he decides he isn’t comfortable enough and moves so his head is in her lap, his legs taking up the rest of their seat.

“Ooh, I’m scared,” she sing-songs.

“Better be,” he insists as smoke escapes his lips. “I just spent the last week on the road with dudes, busy as fuck, and without tasting my girl for sixteen days because of her job. I have needs, querida.”

Mia rolls her lips together to keep from laughing. “My poor little drug smuggler,” she coos. “Did you have a tough time partying in Oregon?”

“Yeah, fucking right. It always turns into a pissing match up there,” Angel grumbles. “They are the biggest charter next to Oakland, so they think they got bigger balls than the rest of us. The rest of ‘em forget they wouldn’t have any H if it wasn’t for Santo Padre risking our asses in the tunnels, over the border, and riding it up the fucking coast.”

“I’m sure you guys didn’t have a problem reminding them,” she comments with a hand carding through his hair.

“Didn’t have to,” he replies, “E did it for us. He’s still new to the prez patch, so he’s making sure everyone knows their places, that even though his pop isn’t the president of Oakland anymore doesn’t mean they aren’t in control.”

Mia’s movements stumble. “E? E—Esai was there?”

“Yeah. He likes to make himself known on big hauls, says he’s getting his hands dirty too, not just getting rich off our work,” Angel tells her. “Earns a lot of respect that way, and he gets to know everyone, even prospects.”

She nods, her eyes studying the orange glow. “He does have a way of making everyone feel special,” she mumbles. “Did he… did he, um, ask about me?”

Angel inhales deeply. “Asked Bish,” he says with smoke leaking from his mouth.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, they were walking away, wasn’t my business to listen,” he reminds her.

“Not your business?” Mia demands. “I’m—we’re best friends, it’s your business if I say it is and it is.”

“Oookay?” Angel says with his voice on the verge of laughter. “What did you want me to say?” he asks while flicking his butt into the fire. “’Wassup bro, you know the only girl you said you’d ever love? Well, I’m fucking her regularly. She says hi’?”

Mia shrugs. “You coulda gone without ‘the only girl you’d ever love’ part, I feel like that’s a little blow the belt,” she offers, and he chuckles.

“You’re alright with the ‘fucking her regularly’ part then?”

“I mean,” she starts with another shrug, “I’ve heard enough about his exploits, he can hear some of mine.”

Angel takes her free hand and links it through his. “You miss him. Just call him, querida.”

“He didn’t talk to you at all?” she asks, ignoring him, and his suggestion, as she does every time she thinks of it herself.

“We spoke, I guess? Said hi, asked how shit was, I said good, asked how his shit was, he said good, we laughed at something dumb Pac said—”

“Pac was there?” Mia questions, her voice sad as it tapers off. “Of course, Pac was there, he’s Esai's El Pacificador,” she mumbles to herself. “What’d you laugh at him for?” she demands with a punch to the chest with their connected hands.

“Ow! Nothin’! It was a joke. We weren’t laughing at him, geez,” Angel defends.

“Pac’s the fuckin’ best, he was always being made fun of by assholes when we were kids, but… he did it on purpose. That way they weren’t teasing anyone else,” she tells him. “Then Esai came around and a fight would break out. I was the look out,” she says with both nostalgia and pride splashed across her face. “We were the three musketeers.”

“Did that extend to when you and E started dating—stop fuckin’ hitting me!” he exclaims in a laugh.

“No, it did not,” she answers anyways. “But Pac felt left out so I’d make sure to plan stuff with the three of us,” she goes on. “He used to get upset because girls were afraid to date him knowing if they hurt him I’d fuck them up.”

Angel stares up at her and licks his lips. “Call them, baby, I know you miss them.”

“It’s not that easy—”

“It is. Especially with Paco, you think he’s gonna bring up what happened? He’s just gonna be happy to talk to you. He’s like a fuckin’ puppy with a gun.”

At this, Mia laughs. “You’re not wrong, but if I talk to Paco, he’s gonna tell Esai and—”

“So fucking call them both,” he cuts her off again. “Esai’s fucked you over enough times that he definitely owes you one. Call, you don’t have to say you’re sorry or explain shit if you don’t want to. If he’s fuckin’ smart he’ll just pick up wherever you left off.”

“Owes me more like a hundred and one,” she mumbles. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Alright,” he replies easily.

“That’s… that’s it? You’re not gonna keep pushing me or tell me I should do it or anything?” she wonders.

Angel sits up and gives her a shrug, “Ain’t my place. I said my part. I think you should reach out. You’ve never given Esai your new number, so he can’t do it. If you want me or Bish to pass your number along, just say so. Otherwise, it’s on you.”

Mia leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips. “You’re cute, osito,” she whispers.

“Don’t spread it around,” he murmurs, then kisses her again.

“Imma spread something later,” she says and Angel chuckles against her lips. “That sounded better in my head,” she admits and drops her head to his chest.

“To be fair, I didn’t think we were spreading mulch around,” he replies while wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Fuck, that reminds me, I told Bish I’d cut your grass tomorrow.”

“You just volunteered for this?” she asks as she lifts her head enough to look him in the eye.

“He was about to make EZ do it, and I didn’t want him at the house—I’m tryna keep you naked most the day tomorrow—so I said I’d do it, that I was dropping by anyways,” Angel explains. “Now that he knows we’re fucking he knows that was a lie, but,” he stops with a shrug. “Imma still do it.”

“You’re trying to keep me naked tomorrow, huh?” she says with a smile. “Then how am I gonna give you a beer dressed in a tiny bikini top and my shortest shorts while you mow the lawn?”

Angel pulls her by the back of her neck until they are kissing. “That ain’t happenin’ unless you want me to take you right there in the grass.”

“Only if you’re on the bottom,” Mia counters, “I feel like grass would rub in a bad way, you know?”

He laughs as he drops his head to her shoulder. “So, you want my ass on fire?”

“Better than mine!” she replies. “And you get to stare at my boobs, so no complaining.”

“Never,” he murmurs, about to go into another kiss when they are interrupted.

“Either of you need a beer?” they hear over their heads and look up to find EZ.

“If we fucking did you look real empty handed,” Angel tells his brother, then grimaces when Mia smacks him once again. “Fucking stop that,” he mutters and rubs his chest. “It’s the same spot every fucking time.”

“No, we’re good Ezekiel, thank you,” Mia answers for them after a pointed look at his older brother.

“We are?” Angel asks with crinkled eyebrows.

“If you plan on driving me home, yeah,” she tells him and he pouts, but doesn’t speak up because he knows its code leaving soon.

He does, however, stand up. “Alright, if we’re heading out I gotta take a piss,” he says, taking her hint. “You should too, you know, for what I got planned for you,” he says while sending a wink Mia’s way before sauntering off.

“You know,” EZ starts while plopping down next to her. “He’s heading into the clubhouse like he hasn’t whipped it out in front of us all week on the road.”

“Yeah, most the girls have probably seen it too,” Mia agrees, and EZ laughs in agreement. “Woulda saved him a trip.”

EZ looks to see his brother disappear into the clubhouse. “Look, I, uh, wanted to talk to you real quick before Angel comes back.”

“Should I be nervous about this?” she asks, racking her brain for something EZ would need to talk to her about, but comes up with nothing.

“No, I just—” he stops and lifts his butt up as he reaches for his wallet. “When we were teenagers, Angel was real into art. He was really good at it too, it was something he and our mom did together.”

Mia nods, not wanting to tell him she already knew this, but is intrigued all the same. What could he have to tell her?

“But, uh, back then he doodled on everything. It drove our parents nuts. It would be all over the mail, the newspaper, his homework, everything,” he goes on. “He, uh, he stopped when Mom died, and as far as I knew he hadn’t gotten back into it,” he stops and looks to make sure Angel isn’t on his way back yet. “But, uh, before we left the motel at one of our stops, the guys made me go in to check the rooms, to make sure we didn’t leave anything. I saw this and took it without thinking,” he says and pulls a folded piece of paper from the wallet to hand to her.

She opens it with eyes crinkled to find a sketch of her done in pen.

“When I looked at it closer later I thought you should have it,” he finishes.

“I… um,” she stutters, her eyes glued to the paper. It’s only from her shoulders up, and it is rough, but undoubtedly her.

“You’ve brought out a part of my brother Pop and I haven’t seen in over eight years,” EZ tells her as she studies the sketch. “He’s not as angry or closed off. He actually even mentioned our mom the other day and we never talk about her.”

“EZ, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, Mia. I know you guys are just friends, but I know that my brother feeling lighter, and it’s all because of you. I just wanted to thank you and give you this. It’s of you, so you should have it,” he insists.

“Thanks,” she murmurs while refolding it and putting it in her pocket. “He’s my best friend, the best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re the best he’s ever had too,” EZ tells her and stands, then offers her a hand. “Just don’t tell Coco, a fight might break out.”

Mia shrugs as he helps her up. “I don’t know, I think I could take him, he’s small, you know, and I have training.”

“I’d pay to see that,” he replies and they are laughing when Angel comes back.

“Aye, get your own girl best friend,” Angel jokes while slipping both arms around her shoulders from behind, making his little brother shake his head and walk away. “You ready to go?”

“I don’t know, but I am ready to cum,” she says then laughs at her own stupidity.

Angel turns her around and looks at her as if embarrassed for her before shrugging and lifting her over his shoulder.

“Ah! Angel!” she laughs with hands on his hips to steady herself as he heads for his bike.

“I’m just giving you what you want, mi dulce,” he insists. “Better yell bye to Bish, you’re gonna be busy for the rest of the weekend.”

Mia tries to take in her surroundings between the strips of hair blocking her vision, looking for her godfather in the upside-down masses. When she can’t find him, she just takes Angel’s advice. “Bye, Bop! I’ll call you tomorrow!” she shouts and the people around her laugh, Angel included.

“Alright, be safe!” she hears and raises a hand in acknowledgement at his double-edged meaning, but he has nothing to worry about. She’s on the pill and while Angel is in her heart, it’s not in a bad way, a way that would end in heartbreak like all her relationships do. He’s just her friend because anything more would fuck everything up and she isn’t going to let that happen.

Angel is too important.

It had just been a joke the day before, a flippant comment.

Mia had no real intention of putting on a bikini and teasing Angel as he mowed the grass, but—well, she did just buy one and it is hot outside and Angel isn’t one to turn down a beer, ever.

Him outside in a light pair of gray sweatpants and t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up didn’t help, his skin glistening in the California sun, hair free of its usual gel and so blowing gently in the breeze, and those dark shades on his face—it’s enough to make any girl weak in the knees.

Seconds later she’s running up the steps and digging through her shopping bags searching for the bikini Letty insisted she buy the day before. It’s a warm yellow with long strings that wrap and crisscross underneath her breasts before tying at her back. Instead of matching it with the bottoms, she jumps into her shortest black shorts that barely cover the slope of her ass. She throws her hair up into a messy bun before putting on some lotion, so her skin is extra soft and glowy, and envelopes her in a flowery smell, which she knows Angel is a sucker for.

Mia takes a beer from the fridge, cursing him for not buying twist offs as she searches for a bottle opener just as the lawnmower cuts off.

“Fuck!” she curses and decides to forget about opening it. If Angel actually decides to drink the beer while she’s wearing this they are going to share loud words.

She opens the door to the backyard to find Angel on his knees, his hands on the lawnmower, looking at something. He doesn’t look at her as pushes his sunglasses up into his hair before reaching for his phone and, she guesses, sends a text.

“I ran out of gas,” he calls over, his eyes trained on the cell phone screen. “Do you know if Bish keeps a gas can around?”

“No idea,” she answers while patiently waiting for him to look up.

“He doesn’t,” Angel confirms as he stands, his thumbs flying over the screen with a look of annoyance on his face. “He’s gonna send Creep with a gas can in a little bit, what’re you—” he stops as he finally lays eyes on her.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” she says innocently and holds the beer out, but makes no move to get closer.

His eyes look her up and down. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks with no heat.

“What’re you talking about?” she questions and shakes the beer a little. “Do you want the beer or not?”

“Fuck no,” Angel answers. “But if you don’t get in the house right now we’re gonna find out if grass really does burn.”

Mia drops the bottle when Angel starts after her, and she shrieks with laughter. He catches up with her in the living room, grabbing her around the middle and lifting her off her feet.

“You think it’s funny to tease me, hm?” he asks in her ear, his hands splayed across her abdomen now.

“You were teasing me first,” she counters and bites her lip as his hands attempt to feel every inch of her. “Wearing those sweatpants low and showing off your arms. I’m only being fair.”

“You think this is me teasing?” Angel demands of her as he makes his way to the couch, pushing her down onto it. “Nah, I’ll show you how I tease, baby,” he warns before getting on his knees.

In retrospect, she should have known Angel would take this as some sort of challenge. He always does, even if they are just playing around.

Later, she might think he does it as a way to prove himself, even if subconsciously, to show he can do anything she puts him up to because his parents never expected anything out of him the way they did EZ.

But now, as his buries his face between her legs, the psychology of it is far from her mind. Except maybe her own, how she’s a glutton for punishment, but instead of falling into old habits of shitty boyfriends she does this. It’s a healthier outlet, that’s for sure.

“Angel, baby, please,” she pleads when he pulls away after edging her for the third time.

“You think you deserve to cum, mi dulce?” he asks as he wipes her wetness from his beard and starts to leave wet kisses up her stomach and chest.

“Yes,” she breathes and gasps when he nips at her nipple after having pushed aside the cup of her bikini.

“But you haven’t been good,” he tells her before switching to her other breast, teeth scraping and tongue swirling, making her moan and mewl. A moment later he slips two fingers inside her and she sighs at the feeling of something filling her up, even if it’s not as big and thick as what she’s craving.

“I—I have,” she stutters out as she cradles his face in her hands.

“You think?” he asks and his fingers crook inside her just right making her tremble.

Mia nods. “Please, I want to cum for you,” she whispers and pushes her forehead against his. “Angel, let me show you I can be good.”

He smiles at her, it’s easy and carefree makes her heart skip a beat. “Do as I say and I’ll let you cum as much as you want, okay?” he starts and she nods up and down over and over until he starts rubbing slow circle on her clit as his long fingers slip in and out of her. “Say it.”

“I’ll do as you say,” she moans, her eyes struggling to stay trained on his.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs with a quick kiss. “You’re not going to cum on my fingers or my mouth, you’re not allowed to,” he tells her, and she wants to whine, but knows it won’t help her case. “Soon, I’m gonna get on the couch and you’re gonna ride my dick,” he says, and she nods once more, this time appreciatively. “And you’re gonna cum as much as you can when I’m inside you. I wanna feel you cum on my cock, you hear me? I want to feel every single one of ‘em. I want you to cover my cock in your cream.”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Mia agrees with her hands threaded into Angel’s hair.

“Then, when I think you’re done, you’re gonna get on your knees just like I am now and lick it all off me until I cum down the back of your throat,” he finishes.

“Yes, please. Angel, yes,” she pleads and pulls on his shirt in an attempt to get him on the couch, but all it does is make Angel remove his shirt entirely.

“Oh, baby girl,” he says with a lick of his lips. “I said ‘soon’ we’re gonna do all that, remember? I’m not done tasting you,” he tells her. “Until last night I went sixteen days without this, and I hated it,” he mumbles as his fingers start to play with her slit again.

Mia just closes her eyes and enjoys the feel of his fingers inside her, playing with her, torturing her.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, baby,” he mumbles against her skin. “Look at me,” he orders, and she forces her eyes open, but her eyelids remain heavy. “Feel with me,” he says, his voice much softer now, and takes her hand in his and brings it down to her opening. “Put your fingers in.”

She does as she’s told and her much smaller fingers slide in with no resistance, coating her skin in her slick juices. She moans at the feeling, but it’s nothing compared to Angel’s long fingers, and not even close to his thick dick.

“I want you,” Mia whimpers as Angel guides her fingers in and out of her. “Not me, I want—”

“I know,” Angel cuts her off. “Here, see why yours is my favorite,” he insists and brings her wet fingers to her mouth to taste. She opens for him and he smiles. “Good girl,” he murmurs as her lips close around her own fingers.

“Mm,” she moans at her taste and Angel smiles at her.

He leans down and takes a swipe up her slit and mimics her ‘mm’ before getting up on the couch and shucking his sweatpants off. “C’mere, baby,” he offers, and she jumps at the chance to swing a leg over his hips and settles down on his dick. “Fuck, I missed you,” he sighs as she sinks down on him. “I know I said it last night, but it’s fucking true,” he insists with his hands on her hips.

“I missed you too,” she replies as she starts to move frantically on top of him, chasing the release he’s been keeping from her. Her arms wrap around his shoulders for leverage, and she leans her head to rest against his. “Please, please, please,” she chants as she practically impales herself on his cock.

“C’mon, you can do it. I wanna feel the way you shake around me,” he says and it’s like a switch goes off inside her and she does exactly as he says.

She cums and her body shakes as her pussy trembles around him, but rather than let her come down Angel starts bucking his hips up inside her. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she swears and buries her face in his neck as she comes again, not as strongly, but it still makes Angel cuss as she clamps down around him.

Mia’s still trembling when Angel shifts to lie down on the couch, his hands undoing the knot at her back so her bikini becomes slack. He slips it over her head and tosses it to the side before lifting her chin to look at him. “You done already, mi dulce?” he asks while pulling at the back of her knees so he’s even deeper inside her.

She moans, but shakes her head.

“You sure?” he wonders with a thumb circling her clit. “All you gotta do is tap out and get on your knees to finish this, baby.”

“I’m not done,” Mia says once she composes herself, then with a twinkle in her eye stands, hating how empty she feels, even if for only a moment, before turning around and settling back down on him in reverse cowgirl, knowing it’s one of his favorite positions.

“Yes,” Angel groans in pleasure, his hips bucking to get deeper inside her.

She leans forward with hands on her knees and gets her hips going, throwing her head back as she grinds down on top of him. Suddenly, she feels a tug at her scalp, and she’s pulled back against Angel’s chest, her back arched perfectly in the air.

With one hand in her hair, Angel uses his other to reach around and rubs his fingers into her swollen clit. “Where am I, baby?” he asks in her ear, his voice low and full of gravel.

“My stomach, holy shit,” she cries and cums, this time feeling a gush and she knows she’s creaming his dick like he wanted, and it only makes her hips move faster. “One more, one more, please,” she pleads with both Angel and herself.

Angel lets her hair go and both arms move to pull at the back of her knees so she’s folded in half, lifting her in the air as his hips buck up into her pussy. “You’re so fucking tight, baby girl,” he says with each plunge inside her.

Mia completely let’s go, letting Angel take the lead and relaxes the best she can in his arms, her pussy clenching on his cock as she readies to cum.

“Go, go, go,” he chants, and she does with a spasm, her whole body shaking as it does when Angel is deep inside her, pleasuring her over and over again.

She hears him grunt behind her and knows he’s painfully close, he has to be.

When he puts her down, she doesn’t hesitate. It takes all the energy she has left to get off him and turn on her knees, doing as she’s told and takes all of him in her mouth in one go.

“Fuck,” he swears with fingers threaded into her hair so she doesn’t move. “You taste yourself on my dick, querida?” he asks, and she nods as her head bobs. “Suck it all off, baby.”

It’s not even a minute later that Angel is emptying himself down the back of her throat as promised. She opens her throat and takes everything he gives her, swallowing his white heat.

When she lets him go with a pop, she finds his face looking completely blissed out as she wipes her lips.

“Wanna know a secret?” she asks while lowering herself on top of him, his arms automatically wrapping around her, holding their sweat slicked bodies close.

“Mhm,” he murmurs with fingers carding through her hair.

“Your dick is my favorite too,” she admits and hears him chuckle against her hairline.

Before her can respond they hear the loud roar of a motorcycle pulling up. “Fuck, that’s Creep with the gas,” Angel groans and flips so she slides down the side of him onto the couch.

“Have fun finishing the grass,” Mia sighs and feels a blanket being placed over her, making her smile.

“You think you’re real funny, huh?” he asks while hopping into his shorts.

Mia shrugs, then squeals when he tickles her side.

“Aye, Angel, you in there?” they hear as the door starts to open.

“Yeah!” her best friend exclaims and runs for the door before Creeper can come in. “Lemme take you ‘round back,” he says and stops the other Mayan from coming in.

Mia just smiles against her blanket thinking she’s a lucky girl. She’s got a best friend who can fuck her then get up and cut her grass. He’s definitely a keeper.

Taglist:

@joalsglasses @mrsamaroevans @justahopelessssromantic @mrsjaxtellerfan @rosieposie0624 @starrynite7114 @proudlittlewitchbitch @luckyharley1903 @miss-nori85 @thesandbeneathmytoes @jasminee97 @jakiki94 @superhoeva

IF YOU WANT ADDED TO THE TAG LIST LET ME KNOW!

#mayans mc #fanfiction #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes x mia flores #friends can break your heart too #chapter 5 #mayans smut

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block-report-program · 2 years

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proshippers whole problem is that when they make their content they expect to receive no backlash for it whatsoever when there are literal pedophiles online, ones that people like myself have encountered, and hey, if you're producing or recommending content a pedophile would like, then yea, a lot of people will assume you're a creep and you may face consequences for that. if proshippers went into it with the mindset of hey, people may think im a creep for this content, then i think they would have way less of a bad time. as it stands they're whining about results that are just to be expected. and

also, i know a lot of proshippers claim they tag things well and that you can't find the content for it unless you're looking, but you can. on ao3 I see age gap ships everyday in a completely different and unrelated ship's tag, which makes searching for content for a ship i like really frustrating and sometimes gross. I don't want to see content about an adult pairing I ship grooming a kid that's often portrayed by the fandom as their child. that's why I was looking at just the adult ships tag, and not the threesome tag for those characters. even when i have that tag filtered out, people use the & instead of the slash and i still get to see the fic summary because some proshippers cannot tag properly. and this happens like once a day sometimes, othertimes once every two weeks.

so yeah. I know yall think its an "antis being prudes/trying to censor us" kinda issue but really I think it's an issue of you guys needing to reframe the situation in your minds and also learn how to tag things properly, because otherwise yes, you ARE going to get hate! (and before you imply it no, i do not leave hate on those fics I see when im searching the tag. it frustrates me and i'll vaguely post about it elsewhere, but im someone who enjoys a liberal use of the block button. which is a grievance of mine with ao3 bc it could solve many problems if you could block users, but that's a different post). posting that kind of stuff out of the blue is also a little crazy to complain about getting backlash/blocked for, since if i'm following for xyz and suddenly im getting a very explicit m, which is something i absolutely do not want to see, then im not gonna be happy.

anyways, my two cents. i know you're gonna argue that this entire thing is invalid and that im as bad as a religious conservative or whatever, but i dont care. mainly wrote this because the issue frustrates me. I think antis can be a little ridiculous about certain things too, but proshippers are whiny and seem to have their heads up their asses about certain things, which makes them even more annoying to me <3

Look at my cats.

#Asks #Anonymous #Nyx is the top picture and Nox is the bottom #whenever we bring out the christmas tree Nox loves to sleep under it #Nyx also is super chill and will accept belly pets

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ciaran-archive · 3 years

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Serious question. How do you write long stories? Is there a technique or advice for that? No matter what story I have in mind, I can't seem to tell it in anything longer than 1 to 2k. Writing 5k is tiring already, where do people seriously get that stamina to even do 50 or 100 or 200k? It's mind-blowingly amazing.

there is nothing less worthy or amazing about writing shorter fic - i know writers who struggle with it, and i’ve come to inhabit that position somewhat myself, though i’m determined to stay in practice. it’s a different skillset, that’s all. your fics aren’t worse for being shorter.

that said i will not deny that longer fics generate far more engagement from fandoms simply by virtue of updating more often → being on top of the ao3 tag when people first open it → getting more clicks and being considered less ‘frivolous’ (which is bullshit, but what can you do)

if you’re dead sure you want to write longer fic, i would first recommend reading this post about writing drabbles, which i promise is relevant to the point i’m about to make.

Because drabbles are about one moment. You don't need to know exactly what happened before this moment of dialogue, or what happens next, or what's happening around it. You don't have to do any of the planning you might do for a longer fic, but you also don't have the space to let the scene lead in and develop naturally. You've got 100 words.

a lot of writing a longer story is about establishing the scope of your story, deciding what beats you want to hit. there are a lot of ways to go about this; [some people like to outline. i don’t outline, ever, so if you want help for outlining you should look at the other sources on the internet. there are quite a few.] i’m going to talk about the way i’ve learnt to do it.

so when i’m writing a short fic, the thing i’m considering is one or two ideas, and one or two moments (short in this case being under 5k). this also depends on the style i’m going for - fics with sparser styles can fit more scenes, if i’m going for my usual style, each scene takes about 700-2000 words at least and therefore takes up more space. a lot of how i eased into writing longer fics was focusing on stylistic changes - you can push up the word count of a fic by going moment by moment. note the difference between:

They’d been standing next to each other as they spoke; now Felix turned to him in the rain, startled by the admission of weakness. He reached out clumsily, bumping his hand against Ryan’s until he took the hint and grabbed on.

and

The rain made it near-impossible to hear Ryan speaking, but the harshness in his voice would’ve been audible through a hurricane. “So you ran away,” he said, like he hadn’t expected this.

“Course I did,” Felix snapped. “What was I supposed to do? Stick it out and let her kill me?” I almost did, he added under his breath.

Ryan’s sensitive werewolf ears, of course, caught that. “I’m glad you did,” he amended, as though it pained him to admit it. “I would’ve - I did the same. It’s all you can do, sometimes.”

Felix turned to him, blinking through the curtains of water. Ryan was slouching in the downpour, eyes narrowed elsewhere. Mostly he was startled by the admission of weakness - rare in a person who prided himself so thoroughly on being reliable and independent. He reached out, struck by the urge to offer whatever clumsy comfort he was capable of; his hand bumped against Ryan’s, and he held it there until Ryan caught up and wove their fingers together.

His hands were wet and cold, and he gripped so hard Felix’s very human bones ached, but he wouldn’t have pulled away now. Not when he’d been the one to offer.

it’s not even that one is necessarily better than the other - they both work, and they’re working in different ways. they’re set in the same scene, conveying the same beat - reaching out to comfort someone in the wake of vulnerability. it’s just that one is longer, and therefore gives you more room to - set the scene (rain, being unable to hear each other) - use dialogue to show what is being told in the first example - convey extra information about the characters (actually, if this was a scene i was writing in a fic or novel, the stuff about ryan being a werewolf would already be known to the reader, so i would use that space to convey something else about ryan in that moment) - elaborate on felix’s internal state: the transition from defensive to curious/surprised to gentle - linger for a sentence or two on the moment of connection

this is about unraveling a scene and making it bigger than it was, breaking it apart into tinier beats and describing each one in the narrative. what happens when you do that and your fic doesn’t get much bigger still?

back to scope! we understand, as people who read and write and live, that the part of a story that you choose to depict in a narrative is not the entire story: events happen off-screen. some of them happened before the story started, and they will continue to happen after the story ends. the narrative is only showing you an arc, a particular series of events.

when you’re writing fic, you have in fact tremendous amounts of flexibility when it comes to the scope of a story. you can write something that is about a single moment in canon, and trust that your audience is following along because they have the context already. so you don’t need to waste time on setting it up, which often means - if you’re given to a certain kind of fic writing (canon compliant / small divergences / missing scenes / character studies) your fics will end up not being very long because you’re not reiterating what you don’t need to reiterate. your idea is small because it inhabits a small space, is squished between canon events, and so doesn’t ever get bigger. if this is what is happening, it’s good, and you should try to preserve this going forward.

people who are writing longer fic are, simply, working with bigger ideas*. they’re not just going “what if he said what he wanted in this scene instead of going home?” and writing the bit where they kiss immediately after - they’re also going “what if this changed everything in the future? what happens if they tackle all their problems together from now on? what new problems arise from this?”

*hopefully they are working with bigger ideas. i have seen longfics that are just incredibly fucking tedious because the author swallowed a thesaurus and had a tenuous grasp on plotting to begin with.

that’s for a canon divergent fic, presumably. you might also be writing a post-canon fic, with its own set of pre-fic events and a new set of problems to deal with. currently, for example, i’m writing a fic where akira and goro were dating after canon, broke up, and stayed together in a deeply dysfunctional way after that - and the consequences for them now that they’re forced to deal with the mess they’ve made of their lives, together and apart. so now they have to deal with: the catalyst for dealing with their old problems, which is a problem in itself, and their old problems, which have been festering for a really long time.

which forms the core of the scope i’m talking about. i have to go through a bunch of scenes to set this fic up - i need to show their old problems and their new problems, i need to explain why the old ones haven’t been dealt with already, i need to set up the potential for dealing with them and the necessity of doing so, i need to give them places to start, and also i want to allow them to fail so they can choose to start again. i know these things because i have some idea of the kind of story i want to tell. if i didn’t know this, my story would not go anywhere by itself, and i would have to start outlining scene by scene the way people who actually outline do it, and i hate doing that because then i never write.

if you can outline and it doesn’t make you want to chew wood, then i highly recommend picking up the habit. it’s very useful, and the methodical approach is a fantastic failsafe for the moments when you (me) get stuck on your fic (breakup au) and have to stop writing for several weeks in order to figure out a single fucking plot point that will let you move forward and

anyway.

so yeah! to sum up;

find a larger scope for your story

get in the habit of picking apart beats into discrete moments and guiding the narrative through them

learn to outline if you can

last thing - which is perhaps the most vital and least reliable - stamina.

you WILL lose interest in half the longer fics you write. it WILL suck. if you think you know pain because you have 700 words of a fic and can’t get through the last 400, i promise you it is like that but much worse because you have 7000 words now, or 17000 words, and you are stuck with no way forward. it will suck so BAD.

don’t beat yourself up over it. once you’re in the habit of writing something long, you will retain that habit, and be able to apply it elsewhere. the words aren’t wasted, they’re practice, and they’re worth what they’ve taught you.

but! all the scope and internal scene-building and outlines won’t help you if you do not (and this is not as bad as everyone makes it sound) actually write. you HAVE to learn to actually write. you have to figure out what you like about writing and make a longfic outline [/ scene beats notes chart / themes mind map / tumblr tag of inspiring quotes and photography] that consists entirely of stuff you love and then you have to sit down and write your fic. it is not terribly scary. it’s okay to fail, but you also have no way around this.

i hope this helped, and good luck!

#writelogging #ok 2 rb #anon #asks

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bi-naesala · 3 years

Text

A way to relax

Fandom: Yakuza Rating: T Warnings: / Relationships: Han Joon-gi/Zhao Tianyou Characters: Han Joon-gi, Zhao Tianyou, Kim Yeonsu Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Intimacy, Hair Washing Summary:

Zhao's stressed, and not just a little. Luckily for him, Han knows exactly what to do to help.

(Also on AO3)

From the moment that he’s stepped back into the apartment, Han could tell immediately that there’s something wrong with Zhao, even when the other’s still keeping his usual façade.

At first he decides to let him alone for a while, let him work through his bad mood on his own, but as dinner time approaches it’s obvious that, whatever got Zhao like this, it’s not going to disappear just by waiting for time to pass.

He has to do something.

He finds Zhao in the small living room, plopped down on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, and a deep frown on his face. It seems that he hasn’t moved at all since the last time Han has seen him.

In another occasion, he would’ve joked about the fact that he looks like a statue, but he has the feeling that he would just worsen the situation if he does, so he keeps quiet.

What he does, instead, is sitting beside Zhao. Usually, as soon as he’d do that, Zhao would be all over him, and not necessarily for something… spicy, but even just to lean on him. This time, though, he remains still, almost like he hadn’t seen him…

Not knowing what he should say, Han decides to make a great show of clearing his throat. He has the confirmation that Zhao mustn’t have noticed him because he gets startled.

“Who the-- Ah! Fucking hell dude, you scared me,” he says in fact, finally looking at Han.

“I apologize, but you seemed to be lost in your thoughts…” Han observes, making Zhao scoff.

“So? You could’ve patted my shoulder or whatever.”

This is going nowhere, Han thinks, but before he can say or do anything about it, Zhao sighs.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be mad at you…” he mutters. An opening.

“It’s alright, though I am curious as to what has gotten you in such a bad mood,” Han replies.

At those words, Zhao slumps into the couch even more than he already was. “Seong-hui didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“About the problems with my boys… Well, former boys I guess…”

Han shakes his head, which brings forth the umpteenth sigh from Zhao.

“Figures…” he mutters, more to himself than to Han however. “Maybe she thinks if I get involved instead of you, they’ll listen…”

It’s then that he realizes that this was a two-way conversation, and finally deigns Han of an explanation. “Some former Liumang aren’t too happy about the merge. They keep making impossible demands to Seong-hui, and then get mad when she refuses.”

“Do you think they’re preparing a rebellion?” Han asks, frowning. This could be bad.

Zhao shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, they’ll probably try something, but they’re too stupid not to get detected, or to actually get it done in the first place,” he says.

There’s a moment of silence in which Han ponders about Zhao’s words.

A Liumang rebellion? Well, it was obvious that not everyone was going to accept the merge of Liumang and Geomijul, but to try anything while both their numbers are at their lowest feels like too much…

Should Han have to get involved directly? Crack open a few skulls and show these people that you don’t fuck with them?

Before he can reach a conclusion, however, he hears Zhao chuckle, but it’s a bitter laugh.

“It’s not like they even want me back. I know these are the motherfuckers who are regretting not skipping town with Mabuchi,” he says.

“What makes you say that with such certainty?”

Zhao looks at him, and Han can hear him even though he’s not uttering a word. He’s asking him if he’s fucking dumb.

“C’mon, Han-chan, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I was a bad leader, of course they wouldn’t want me.”

Han wants to reply that it’s not true, that just because he didn’t want to do it it didn’t mean that he did a bad job, but he knows that his words would fall into deaf ears. Besides, from the way Zhao’s sulking, it’s obvious that he wants to drop the subject and not talk about it possibly ever again - but they’ll have to, eventually - so he decides not to add anything, since he doesn’t want to have a fight.

Still, he feels he has to do something, anything that could help him relax… Yes, that’s it! Zhao needs something relaxing that will help him forget this bad mood of his.

Han would offer to make dinner so that Zhao doesn’t have to - he’s always the one cooking - if only he wasn’t so bad in the kitchen. Truly, he’s only good at cutting vegetables.

A massage sounds good, or… Well, there is something else that Zhao loves indulging in from time to time.

Han gets up, having decided what he’s going to do: he’s going to prepare him a bath.

As he walks to the bathroom, he can’t help but to smile at the thought that, finally, neither of them have to stick to a certain schedule when it comes to stay clean, like they had to do when they were living at Survive Bar. Another advantage of sharing a flat with just the two of them.

Being alone still feels like a novelty, since it hasn’t been long since they’ve acquired this flat, shared primarily because rent is cheaper if it’s divided, and definitely not because of their need for privacy. Lots of love to everybody in their motley crew of misfits, but sometimes they’re a bit too… suffocating.

Besides, it’s easier to let their guard down when it’s just the two of them, which is still quite hard, but they’re getting better at it. Some things just simply require a lot of work put into them.

The bathtub is small, barely enough for one person, and definitely too small for two - they know it, they’ve tried it, and almost got stuck in the process.

It’s good enough: after all, this is for Zhao, not for him, except that it’s hard to shake what is practically a lifetime of serving people off so easily. Han wants to be good to Zhao, wants to please him, and in turn he’ll be pleased as well.

So maybe he would’ve liked to partake in what he’s preparing for Zhao… but for now it’ll do like this. Maybe once they get enough money to buy a bigger tub…

He’ll think about that when - and if - the time comes. He shouldn’t get distracted.

He opens the waterflow and, as the bathtub begins to get filled, he rummages through the cabinets to find what he’s looking for… ah, there they are, the bath salts Zhao has bought last week!

Luckily, there’s still something left for this bath. Usually Zhao uses them for long relaxing baths, during which he also happens to smoke some weed - he says it enhances the feeling, though Han, not having tried it, can’t confirm nor deny the truth of this statement.

There are some instructions on the salts’ box about how much should be poured per gallon of water, but Han knows for a fact that Zhao doesn’t follow them, so he won’t either and pours the entirety of the box’s content inside the bathtub, since there was little enough for it not to be excessive. He hopes that Zhao won’t get mad at him for finishing the salts, but if he does he’ll offer to go buy them as soon as they’re done.

Soon a delicate smell of lavender begins spreading through the air. Han can see why Zhao’s so inclined towards these particular salts: even just the smell is relaxing.

Will it be enough though? Only one way to find out…

Once the tub’s filled to an acceptable degree, Han turns off the tap and goes to find Zhao who, as he expected, is still on the couch, but at least this time he’s more present, because as Han approaches him, he looks up at him, sending him an interrogative gaze.

“I prepared you a bath,” Han says, without the need of mincing words.

Zhao clicks his tongue. “Didn’t figure you were my fucking servant, Han-chan”.

Despite wanting to roll his eyes at those words, Han doesn’t give Zhao the satisfaction of a reaction; if he wants an excuse to fight, he’ll have to look elsewhere.

What he does instead is grabbing Zhao by the hands and dragging him - or more like guiding him, since after the first few steps Zhao doesn’t oppose any more resistance - to the bathroom.

“You’ll love it,” he says then, trying encourage him to go along with this.

“Promises promises…” Zhao mutters in reply, and there’s a faint shadow of a smile on his lips that makes Han hopeful that yes, he will indeed love it.

As soon as they step inside the bathroom, Zhao immediately catches the lavender smell, then he raises an eyebrow at Han.

“You got my salts?” he asks, and now the previous shadow of a smile has become more evident on his face.

“I might have, yes,” Han replies, curling his lips up as well, before gently taking Zhao’s glasses off and setting them over the sink. “Come on, now, strip.”

“So forceful, Han-chan~ What are you gonna do to me?” Zhao teases him, but he does as he said. Han could pretend not to be eating him with his eyes as he does it, but he doesn’t feel like lying at the moment. Still, he looks away as soon as Zhao turns his attention back to him, even though he’s pretty sure Zhao knows that, for a moment, he was having his undivided attention.

“Can I go in now? Or do you need to order me around some more?” Zhao jokes. The fact that he’s letting himself go to such levity is already a good sign.

“By all means,” Han replies, keeping his response in line with what Zhao’s said.

Once he gets in, he gets quiet, sinking until his face is barely below the water as he closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

He’s always like this every time Han tires to do something romantic for him: at first he acts like he doesn’t want it, but once it happens, he greatly enjoys it. When he acts like this, it reminds Han of a cat.

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” he groans, rising a bit from where he was sinking. “Really needed that.”

“I figured,” Han replies, matter-of-factly, as he gets behind Zhao, sitting on the tub’s edge. It isn’t very comfortable, but it’s the best Han can get at the moment; it’s fine, he’s had worse.

He silently gathers some water in his hands and uses it to get Zhao’s hair wet, making it quite obvious to the other what he wants to do.

“You don’t have to,” he tries to protest then, but it’s a weak attempt at best and they both know it.

“Let me do this for you,” Han insists, and this time Zhao doesn’t do anything at all, giving in entirely.

Zhao’s hair routine isn’t that different from Han’s, though Han’s more than willing to go the extra steps needed to make his hair truly perfect, while Zhao’s more laid back about this kind of stuff - sure, appearance is important, but it’s also such a bother!

He gets Zhao’s shampoo - minty fresh - and pours some on his hands, then he begins to massage Zhao’s scalp, even going as far as to use some light scratches in places where he knows it’ll make Zhao melt - again, the image of a cat comes back to Han’s mind.

The more he keeps going, the more Zhao relaxes under his ministrations, sinking further and further inside the bathtub, to the point that Han has to softly ask him not to lower himself so much.

“Sorry,” Zhao mutters, barely able to stifle a yawn while he does so. He sounds tired - Han knows he must be - but at least he also sounds less stressed than he was before, so Han considers his mission as complete.

Time passes. Neither of them try to feel the void of the silence that is stretching out second by second.

They never thought they’d get to have this, and even less having someone to share this with, this kind of domesticity that people like them - people who belong to the underworld of society - shouldn’t get to live through, but here they are.

One could ask themselves if they deserve this, or if it should be this good since they’re supposed to be hardened criminals, but neither Zhao nor Han are very passionate about philosophy, so they just take this small moment of intimacy that they’ve gotten to share with each other, they accept the occasion that has been given them.

“You know… These salts really do smell good.”

Han has never been one for small talk, but during moments like this, it comes natural in a way that, if he thinks about it too hard, scares him.

Zhao’s chuckle, thankfully, is enough to distract him. “They do, don’t they? You should try it.”

“Perhaps next time…” Han concedes. He’s not one for this kind of stuff, but he’d lie if he said that the idea of trying it at least once doesn’t appeal to him…

“I’ll also give you the best massage you’ve ever had.”

… And if Zhao’s there too, then it’s even better.

Even after he’s done washing Zhao’s hair, Han still keeps massaging his scalp, letting his fingers through the soft locks - they’re always oh so soft - and even untying some knots that had formed in the meantime.

“You’d be a great hairdresser,” Zhao says at some point.

“You think?” Han asks, amused. He never really thinks about what he would’ve been hadn’t he gotten involved with the criminal world, but Zhao’s endearing enough that he’s willing to hear him out.

“Of course. Aren’t your hair always so great? And when you do mine, it always feels nicer and softer than it ever was,” Zhao continues, before chuckling. “You might even be able to fix Kasuga-kun’s hair…”

“I don’t know if I’m that good…” Han replies, serious at first, like he’s truly considering the idea, but soon both he and Zhao share a laugh, sure that Ichiban won’t mind if they make fun of him; it’s all in good spirit after all, and you don’t need a great haircut to be a great man.

“Since we’re talking jobs, I assume you’d choose cook?” Han asks then, going back to their previous subject.

“Think so,” Zhao replies. “Streamer would be fine, but I like cooking too much not to go with that.”

“Thank god for that,” Han says, making Zhao turn towards him, accusatory.

“Why? You think I’d be a shitty streamer? Wouldn’t I be entertaining enough?”

“It’s not that. I just really enjoy your cooking and I wouldn’t want to let it go.”

Zhao glares at Han for a moment, studying his face, but soon he turns back around. “Flatterer,” he mutters, but it’s obvious that he’s happy to hear that.

“Anyway…” he says then. “Water’s starting to get cold. I should get out.”

Han nods, and finally he can get up, even though almost the entirety of his lower body is numb. He still manages to get Zhao his bathrobe, and to take the towel he left previously on the sink, which he uses to dry Zhao’s hair, while he puts the bathrobe on, trying to move as gently as possible.

This time, Zhao doesn’t even try to protest, which Han is grateful for, also because he hasn’t stopped before and he wasn’t going to do it now.

Even though he needs to raise himself on his tiptoes in order to do it - just a bit though - he leans to give a kiss to Zhao’s forehead.

“Better?” he asks, then, still drying Zhao’s hair.

Zhao nods, sincerely, then he leans forwards, pressing his lips against Han’s in a chaste kiss.

“Thank you, and sorry for being an ass earlier,” he mutters.

Han smiles and shakes his head. “As long as you’re fine now…”

They kiss again, and when they pull away it’s Zhao’s time to grab Han by the hands and take him somewhere, specifically to the kitchen, uncaring about his state of dressing, or lack of thereof.

“C’mon let me treat you to something special!”

“Something special? And what could that be?” Han asks. As if everything Zhao makes isn’t special already.

“It’s a surprise~” the other chuckles, and Han can’t help but to smile, seeing him like this.

This has to be his favorite version of Zhao, he finds himself thinking: as long as he’s happy, he’s happy as well.

#zhaohan #tianyou zhao #joon-gi han #yakuza #rgg #y7 #still for the rarepair exchange on twitter

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scoups4lyfe · 2 years

Text

Ah anon responded back;;

(I’d answer the anon, but again won’t be able to because they linked the person’s blog in their ask, oOOP)

Anon replied;

“literally fucking go on their blog they ship ikki and daiji and their bio says proship. you have commented on their (insert specificity about another person’s blog) posts. you obviously follow them.“

haha I don’t follow them.

Also, I don’t understand how the ikki/daiji ship has anything to do with pedophilia? o.o

Like, I’m pretty sure Daiji is adult-age.

Now --do I ship those two? Haha no :’D.

And tbh I didn’t even know what “pro-ship” meant LOL! I had to ask Nacho and Jay about it.....Nacho defined it as ’a safe-space for problematic ships that are unsafe elsewhere’ (#I see. I see.)

So 2 things:

1. Fiction, as long as its kept in the realm of fiction, is fiction.

I perfectly understand why you wouldn’t support an incest ship or why you would find it problematic.

I respect your opinion.

However.

I *also* understand that fiction is a safe-space for people who have been through some sh*t and can’t process it anywhere else except in the realm of fiction. Tbh I believe that’s why there’s so many fcked up things on ao3 o_e.

And I would also rather these people explore it in fiction than in real-life.

PLUS, fiction is a place where we can experience /cross many lines we would never actually cross in real life -- or would otherwise be too uncomfortable to. It lets us explore darker topics, so to say.

Like I don’t condone eating people but I certainly watched Hannibal. (Also don’t condone toxic ships, even though they ARE very interesting things to explore)

2. If their blog put up warnings, then its obv so people who have those lines won’t wander in and get triggered.

....Which is actually rather thoughtful for someone to do? Like if you have a problem with this person then, just ignore them? Or block them or whatever and continue with your day and what not.

And again, idk how that specific ship is something that makes them a pedophile. Honestly when it comes to fiction (unless the author is trying to make it seem, y’know, like something normal and not fked up) I don’t really have any hard lines. As in, if I”m reading something and fked up things happen, even if I drop the thing that I’m reading I’m not gonna outright blame the author. (Depending on their intent)

When I was in HS I read a lottttttt of teacher x student fanfiction; but y’know -- as a kid I didn’t realize how fked up that stuff was? Cause I was a kid and too young to understand how big a gap there was in maturity between a teacher and a student. (Again this is in fiction; in real life? Gross yo.) Now that I”m not a teenager anymore I can understand and feel that gap in maturity and therefore am extremely uncomfortable reading anything where someone younger than 20 has anything even CLOSE to a relationship with anyone older than 20.

But again, fiction is fiction.

And since I don’t even specifically follow that person either lol then I guess all this discussion is moot anyway.

#haha just assumed to have followed this person because I commented on something of theirs #whack #i understand not supporting problematic shit #but as a kid that needed to vent past trauma through fiction #I understand why someone would write something fked up #I just don't understand why ur attacking me #for someone you should've jsut blocked from the get go #if you're that uncomfortable with the things they post #I mean if ur grilling this person #that there's a TON of fked up things I could point to #that AREN'T fan works #stuff like romantizied student/teach movies or tv shows #*cough* pretty lil liars* cough #that I would say are MORE fked up #and questionable #go attack those people first #my asks #anon

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olderthannetfic · 2 years

Note

I don't have the exact stat or the book title handy because all that stuff is in a box somewhere, but for a course we read a book profiling online behavior and communication, focusing mostly on Usenet bc it was written when that was the main place to be online, just before/just as LJ started gaining ground, and the author found that something like 10% of users made 90% of the posts, and like half of users only ever made 1 or 2 posts. Informal surveys I've seen of specific groups, like comparing the number of people with TERF/GC markers in Twitter bios to who is making the tweets, seem to bear this out. I think that that's a big part of why people struggle with the idea of private discords- there are plenty of bigger servers that are lurker friendly, but unlike with Usenet or LJ or tumblr or twitter you can't really find them without knowing an in. afaik there's not like, a big searchable discord directory.

And bringing up this or other social difficulties with fandom/online interaction often gets incredibly unhelpful responses. Some people feel attacked by people not loving the idea of hidden servers becoming the main place fandom happens and will reply with stuff like "well maybe you should try not being a friendless loser" but even if they want to be helpful, as you said social skills are hard to teach. In fandom-adjacent terms, you see it a lot in activism conversations- people will say that the "real" activism, direct action stuff and protest organizing, doesn't happen online- which, extremely pragmatic and fair- but if you ask how you can get involved, then, you tend to get variations on "well you have to go meet people" that are incredibly inflexible for issues like being immunocompromised and effectively trapped in your house forever by COVID, or living in a rural red state where there is absolutely not a leftist co-op no matter how many times you look or someone from Portland insists that can't possibly be the case.

I think it's made worse by lurking generally being wiped off the face of the net more and more- like half the "kids these days" comments here and elsewhere seem to be younger fans not lurking around to observe the social norms on tumblr or ao3 before being loud about it, and having no idea that might even be an option, and twitter facebook etc are all built to drive engagement at any cost. You see something enraging on tumblr you can scroll and you probably won't find something like that on your dash for a few dozen more posts unless you really suck at curating your feed, but on Twitter the next post is probably just as bad, and eventually you break and respond. Political or fandom or something else, lots ends up behind closed doors for security reasons because harassment is so bad. I think a lot of people find that 10% of people making 90% of posts with everyone else just reading/liking/reblogging/etc figure a more natural way to engage, but if you tried to suggest that that was something to strive to accommodate to a Twitter exec they'd probably drop dead on the spot.

The problem is that the 10% tends to include the people who build spaces, and even if they're friendly to the 90%, it's the rest of that 10% they remember by name.

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leahseclipse · 3 years

Text

The Reichenbach Fall: Aftermath - Chapter One: Happy Death Anniversary, Detective.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x GN!Reader (With some Fem mentions)

Warnings: S2 FINALE SHERLOCK SPOILERS, Major character death; death topic, mourning, suicide mentions, depression mentions... (lemme know if I missed stuff.)

Summary: Two years after the death of Sherlock, what could be next?

Word Count: 4.0K

A/N: Hey there! I've finally found the motivation to post my Sherlock fic here. If you prefer AO3, click here :)

Sherlock used to call at midnight, he never cared whether you were trying to sleep, or if you were actually sleeping- he’d just call.

Sometimes to complain that technology was futile given the multitude of defaults it contained (his phone, for example)- or to talk about an article in a newspaper, thinking we’d be interested in it.

It’s been two years since the last call. No one could bring themselves to delete his number since; and I understand the reason for it. We all had some hope inside us, it was small given all the time that went by, but it was there.

We all wondered if he wasn’t alive. Movies aren’t real, so the whole fake-death scenario couldn’t have been real but we all thought “why not?”, it could happen. That was over a year ago, but I still believed it, I wasn’t quite planning on giving up; and when my phone rang a bit after midnight, I still had a glimpse of hope, each time.

That glimpse was cut short when I read the caller ID. It was John. I did like him, he just wasn’t who I expected to see, but I picked up the phone, just to not be rude. Voicemail is awful. “John? What’s going on?”

"I...I don’t really know, actually. Guess I...needed to feel less alone. I don’t even know."

“Hold on.” I glanced at my bedside as I put the phone on speaker before sitting on the bed. "...so, you couldn’t sleep?"

"Yeah, I’ve been trying for an hour, certainly because of..." He stopped, hesitating with his words.

Who else other than Sherlock would it be, honestly. The man’s always been in our thoughts, and now that he’s gone, we have to be reminded that he’s stuck in our minds. The only way to hear him is through memories, and probably some of us are afraid to forget what he sounds like through time. He wasn’t the guy to make documentaries on him, film himself- hell, he rejected every interview he was offered. The only thing we have is pictures, which isn’t enough.

"It’s him, isn't it?" I presumed.

"Yeah, Sherlock." He confirmed. “It’s the anniversary of his death, in two weeks.”

See, that was the kind of thing I didn’t want to recall as it made me think of what I didn’t want to accept, but at the same time, if I stopped thinking about that, might as well forget Sherlock completely.

"It kept me awake too." I admitted.”I can’t believe it.”

No one really does, to be honest. We all wish that it could be fake, that’s what we would need, even if it’d hurt to see him while we mourned all this time.

"It still feels a bit weird without him, even after basically two years."

“It didn’t seem right without him, at first."

"It took us a bit to get used to it, and still...I think I didn’t get used to it fully to this day."

"Neither am I, John. I don't think I ever will. Time will make the pain less...painful, but it’ll never erase him, he'll be in our thoughts from the moment we wake up."

"I wish it was all a dream. I hate to wake up and not see him. He annoyed me sometimes but...he was my friend."

"He was annoying but a good friend, yeah.” I said, “It’s just...not right. Nothing is right. I feel like everything has gone cold. I swear that I haven't seen a single ray of sunshine."

"It's probably time fooling around, I don't know." He said.

"It could but, when he was there, there would be some sunny-ish days. I haven't seen one since. He left, and it's like he took the sun with him, John. The whole world is falling apart.”

"I felt that too, for a moment. But, I don't really trust whatever I think about these days. I don't pay much attention to whatever I do."

"You should be careful though, I don't need you to die because you didn't pay attention out there. And before you say anything, there's no joke in there. I mean it, Watson.”

"I wasn't going to say that, trust me."

"You better. I need you there."

"Same goes for me. You've been of great help since…"

"Yeah. Since." I paused. "It sucks."

"It does.” He agreed. “Well I...I’m gonna go back to sleep, I don’t want to bother you all night.”

“You didn’t bother me, don’t worry. It helped to talk. I could even stay a bit more, if you’re not planning on going back now.”

“Alright, then.”

It’s like the weather watched me plan the day, rain is on time. It couldn’t be more depressing on top of me dressed in black, but I just didn’t feel like coming in rainbow clothes would be appropriate, even if he wouldn’t care how I dressed anyway, even if he’s dead, yeah.

It feels weird to go, I always expected this was all a dream, or that it’d just...never happen. He’s the kind of person that outlives everyone, and Sherlock was this kind of person, he’s always been that person. He even used to say he’ll always be there, that he’d never leave, and now I guess we’ve both made mistakes, he’s not here anymore.

I never thought that would happen, I can’t tell how bad I prayed to whatever god to wake up, but that did nothing but make me a fool, nothing changed.

His apartment remained empty, as ours, he’d consider each house he could sleep at, his. I remember that he stayed at John’s for a week, before having to go back as John was “not entertaining” enough because he slept too much- As if we got to sleep all day.

He used to think everyone was like him, barely sleeping, barely tired, because I don’t think I’ve had the opportunity of seeing him elsewhere other than a room full of piles of papers.

He did sleep, but not at night, it was kind of like a cat, throughout the day, when possible. I always laughed about it along with John, and he never minded, he’d either pretend to not care, or join the conversation, and I already miss this kind of talks.

They’d either be incredibly short, or extremely long, you really had to clear your schedule for an hour or two when he’d talk. It’s not that it bothered me, it was more the others, those who didn’t know him. They’ve always found an amount of weirdness in him, which I had when I was like them, a stranger.

I never thought we’d get close, I didn’t even think anyone was close with him, he seemed quite the lonely guy, very private. Even after getting to know him, he remained quite private, as I thought, he wouldn’t share much, even with John and Mycroft; but, it didn’t matter that much, we still managed to have a great friendship, and I’ll always miss it.

Not any person will be like him, he was one of a kind. Not anyone could copy him without being seen as a fool. Sherlock Holmes was unique, he didn’t copy anyone to rise up, didn’t take anyone as a model, he did it all himself, he was a model himself.

He didn’t wish to be like anyone, it was the contrary, everyone wanted to be at his level, have the recognition he had, the fame, all the things that made him known, that made Sherlock be him. Even I won’t find a mentor like him, not any of them will be better, they’ll all seem ridiculous to me, even if they have more experience than him.

Nothing will be the same. This world won’t be the same without him being here, he’s gone now.

He took a big piece of whatever thing, when he left, and whatever thing he took was a big one, because it left us all empty. The kind of empty feeling that won’t quite go away, we’ve all been so used to having him around so much that it was a habit.

And now that he’s gone, nothing feels right, even living doesn’t feel right. It won’t ever feel right without him.

I almost feel guilty for being alive, I’m not as smart as him, I won’t contribute to anything. He was the smart one, we really lost an important person and I don’t think it wouldn’t have changed much if I had died instead, people would just be sad, I think.

It wouldn’t be that bad.

His death is bad to the point that the world he left behind can’t function as well as when he was alive. The whole puzzle is missing, hell, the whole world, if I go out of the metaphor.

...Sherlock would have been the corners of it, the foundations of it, what made it whole, what gave a start to get the rest of the puzzle.

He would have corrected me with hundreds of better metaphors if he could hear me, I really suck at this. He never did, though.

In fact, most of his talking contained metaphors, it was his signature, his day couldn’t feel right if he wouldn’t tell at least one.Now the whole ‘no day without a metaphor is a bad day’ is falling on us, and nothing or no one will make that feeling go away.

It’s strange, and funny that he managed to create all of those special feelings, memories, that we only felt with him. Sherlock’s had quite the special part in our lives. He changed our lives in such a spectacular way, and to be honest, life felt less depressing, even if our job is full of dead people and mysteries that make our sleep schedule non-existent, quite rare.

He made us forget all of that shit, whenever he could. That’s why I looked up to him, and thought about him so much. Whenever I had a problem, I’d call him first. Of course, I did call John, and Mycroft, but Sherlock was like my emergency contact, he’d always pick up, if possible.

Somehow, he always knew the answers to everything, and when he was clueless (which only happened twice, in five years)- he'd attempt to find something close to it, and even if his explanations didn’t solve anything, I didn’t care.

It probably made him sort of happy to explain it, share his big knowledge, so as long as he enjoyed himself, that was enough. I did hope he did enjoy himself, I never thought about asking and now that I think about it, I probably should have, it’s too late now.

If he can hear me, a sign would be great, probably. A good thing if he enjoyed talking, and a bad one if I annoyed him? It’d be nice to know even if he probably won’t answer, he must still be working; I know it.

He would be bored if he didn’t have his face in newspapers and whatever case. I always said Sherlock not to overwork, but he never listened. I hope he’s not doing it right now, that man was a total workaholic, right to his last breath, he never stopped.

I just hope he’s okay, wherever he is.

He deserves peace, enough things happened to him, he almost died a couple times, almost lost us if we hadn’t survived all of the wounds and things that happened, almost lost himself because of depression- all of these could have killed him.

He would have stayed alive, but he would have died inside, I just know it even if he didn’t show it much. But he did feel, he did have feelings.

I know he liked us a lot, even though he didn’t show it much; he did enjoy living even with all of the problems he had so, let’s hope he’s not in pain, stressing, suffering, whatever feeling that makes him feel bad.

You can take it easy now, we’re taking care of what you couldn’t finish for you, we’re taking care of the legacy you couldn’t pursue for you, we’ve got your back, Holmes. John, Mycroft, myself, and whatever person you know will tell you everything that happens so you don’t miss anything. You’ll be able to debate about the events, you won’t miss a single thing of what’s happening.

Even if I have my pride, and don’t want to admit I’m depressed about you being dead, I’ll tell you everything, I know you’d be here to tell me how to deal with the death of a person, the whole five stages of grief. You said them to me so much that I always have them in my head.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.

I’d say that I’m at the last phase, but a lot of anger comes in it. I still wish it had been me, sometimes. It’s not fair it happened to Sherlock. I just hope he’s not too mad. If it had been someone else, he’d probably try to talk some sense into me, get me to tell more logical things.

If ghosts were real, I know he’d tell me to stop putting the blame on myself, even if I don’t even know why I blame myself, we don’t even know what caused him to jump from a damn building. And even if someone explains it, we won’t know if it’s real no matter how much they’ll prove it’s the truth.

The only person that can tell us that is gone.

So, unless we don’t find...a diary, or a note, proving it all, we won’t know.

The last thing we’ve heard from him was an apology, the ‘note’ he left behind was the call John received, which means the presumed note I mentioned doesn’t exist, only the call does.

After leaving his note, he fell from the roof and he died on impact, his pulse was long gone when he reached the floor, and it didn’t come back. I didn’t believe all of it happened, even when I heard John telling it, none of it seemed true...until I saw the death certificate.

The whole world stopped, and it still is frozen now. I wish the grave I’m standing in front of wasn’t real, I wish that my eyes were betraying me.

If only.

“Turns out you lied, Sherlock. You left.”

I hate you for what you did.

“You could have explained all of this a bit more. Even if I would have preferred not to, I would have prevented you from dying if you gave me a note...before.”

I wish I had known, I should have known. He didn’t have to die, he wasn’t supposed to die, certainly not like that.

Not now, that wasn’t his time. He was supposed to die of old age because of natural reasons, after all of us. Outlive us all.

Damn Sherlock Holmes wasn’t supposed to die at 35 years old. It's too young, too soon, Too much to bear.

“What am I supposed to do now, I mean- what are we all supposed to do? None of us can replace you, we’ll take twice the amount of time you barely took to resolve cases on our own, you left us in a really bad situation, you know that? It’s not going to be the same if you’re not here with us.”

And I miss you like a little kid.

“You could have made us take classes to become a close version of you, at least. I’m saying ‘close’ because no one will ever be like you. Not even that detective that had 30 years of experience, he wasn’t even close, really. I’d say he looked like a newbie, next to you.”

I even started to lose the habit of calling him when he’s not directly on the field and I hate this. I’ve only known him for a couple of years, and yet, he’s going to be ironed in my mind for a lifetime.

That man, I swear.

He didn’t think that sticking so close to us, getting to know us, sharing things about him would affect us so badly now that he’s gone. Real gone.

It hurts to say that, I wish I could just pretend he wasn’t gone, but that’s not really...healthy? It’s not really healthy in the way that if I pretend he’s still there- while he’s six feet under ground would drive me crazy, it’d completely destroy the whole ‘acceptance phase’ I’ve been working on. He’s dead, and there’s nothing we can do to bring him back.

That’s what my brain has to acknowledge, pretending he’s alive wouldn’t do any good.

Sometimes life gets to an end, and we have to accept that. I know that Sherlock, his brother and even John wouldn’t want to see me like this- ignoring reality, building a fake world to protect me from the real one.

Hurting sucks. Getting reminded that I won’t be seeing him anymore sucks, but everything sucks in life, and that’s what happens when you live. You can’t have a perfect happy life with all the shitty problems, that doesn’t exist.

But even if this sucks, I also get to remember all of the great things Sherlock has accomplished, the hundreds of memories we’ve made all together, whatever makes me happy- but there’s still a lot of hurt to go through before being able to think about them without crying because I miss them.

I wish that could be happening right now, I must have filled an entire bottle of water with all my tears. It’s even worse when that happens at 2am after you wake up from a dream about them.

Speaking of dreams, I don’t think I’ve ever had so many dreams with him compared to when he was alive. It’s as if he's haunting me, and even if I like him, I’d wish he wouldn’t do that so often, a little peace and quiet would be nice, even if I don’t want that to stop.

I’m afraid I’ll forget Sherlock if I stop thinking about him, block the memories to prevent me from the hurt that comes with it. I don’t want that to happen, he doesn’t deserve to have his legacy ignored because of my stupid feelings that hurt, he deserves to have his legacy remembered, discussed about, shared, not to have it trapped in newspapers, or in a corner of my head.

I like to imagine him being proud when I do that, even if I wouldn’t have known he was. He wasn’t the expressive kind, but he liked to show he was proud of you through a facial expression, a word, whatever could be ‘decrypted’. He wasn’t as cold as people saw him, he was extremely kind, even if he was broken in millions of pieces inside.

But yet, he overcame everything and came back even stronger. Every single time. He was amazing in so many ways, and that’s why I wish I could be like him.

So much.

I sighed, adjusting the grip I had on my umbrella, as I squatted down in front of his grave. “Did you know we went through your closet yesterday? There’s really not a lot, your clothes are so...similar. We can easily buy the same to be ‘like you’. But I don’t want to touch them, they’re kind of like precious pieces you can find in a museum.”

I hope he doesn’t think I’m crazy because of that.

“And...yeah, we went through your place because we can’t bring ourselves to sell it, I don’t want someone else to live in there and ruin it with their own belongings. But at the same time, living in it would be weird, I don’t know. I can’t find an explanation, just that it’s weird, living in the apartment of a dead person. Kinda creepy.” I explained, looking up from my umbrella as I realized the rain had gone down, letting a few rays of a ‘somehow’ sun. “Look, the sun listened to me. It’s coming up so I can give my emotional speech full of hope.” I sighed. “I don’t...I don’t even know what to say anymore. Kind of ironic as I always have something to say.”

I actually kind of know, but I don’t want to say it.

He’s gone. No miracle will bring him back, but I’ve kept hearing John saying it, I heard him last time we came; and even though I can’t bring myself to say that, I want to so badly. That’s all I’ve been wanting to happen since you died, I don’t want anything else and I don’t care about love anymore even if you always wanted me to be happy.

You’re what made me happy, you were the definition of love. Maybe what I’ve been feeling was that but I never brought myself to admit it.

I have loved you since the first day, but you always said that whoever fell in love with you should find better as you considered yourself a forever loner, unable to feel and give love, but I know you were capable of it, if you had tried, I believed you could have done it.

“Look at me, in front of your grave, exposing the feelings I’ll never have the answer to, I don’t even know if you liked me back. You really took all your secrets to your grave, huh? What a selfish prick, you could’ve shared that, at least.” I complained.

I don’t think I’ve ever known someone that hid so much stuff, he really was a whole mystery to himself, that man.

We can’t even solve what caused you to commit suicide, we’ll probably never solve it. You were the only one that knew why, and yet he can’t just pull a miracle and live again for a few minutes as a zombie to explain. That would be of great help, even if I’d prefer he’d live again.

That’d be an awesome miracle, even better than what happens at Christmas.

“Can you do that for me, though?”

Just that, I won’t ask for anything else.

“Just one more miracle, Sherlock, for us.” I said, putting my hand on the polished surface. “...don't be dead.”

It’s too easy, you can’t be dead, Nothing can kill you. I know John, and a shit ton of people saw you fall, but...let me believe all of that isn’t true.

Just a fake accident, Do that for us. Please. We need you more than you can ever imagine, you were so important to us, you were family.

A reason to fight for, to live for.

“Don’t be, please.” I pleaded, as I got up from the ground. “I uh...I’ll be back whenever I can, okay? Work’s been crazy since you’re gone, it’s incredible. I don’t know if it’s because we don’t have your help, or because it’s always been like that.”

Probably a mix of the two, I don’t really know, it’s been complicated to think properly these days. Sherlock would be the one to help with that, usually.

“I’ll have to ask someone else, I guess.”

I still haven’t found this ‘someone else’, by the way, It’s been two years, I know. But I still haven’t found someone that can help me the way he used to.

He still remains unique after all this time.

“I’ll be on my way, then. You’re awfully quiet today, guess you’re not in the mood, so I’ll go.”

I wish I still didn’t have to say goodbye, but this is the only thing I can say when I leave.

The weather had even gotten better, as if it only rained to have a full dramatic effect, there was only wind, which didn’t seem to announce a storm, for now. The sound of the leaves being crushed by my feet as I walked was to be heard, as no other sounds were around, it was very quiet today.

The silence did feel weird, I never liked it.

Not when it caused me to think of…

“Got time to spare for me?”

...him.

“Sherlock.”

|Chapter Two|

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock #lexies sherlock #sherlock holmes fanfiction

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arcticfox007 · 3 years

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Somewhere to Belong

Bonus! I’m posting this next segment faster than I anticipated because I was really excited about writing it <3

Destiel December Challenge 2020

Day 14: Hot Cocoa

This is a continuation of previous days in the challenge, you can find them on my masterpost or on AO3. Day 15 will technically wrap up the story but depending on how long it goes I may also do an epilogue.

***

On the night of Christmas Eve Dean couldn’t sleep. Things had been going so well for him that he’d become convinced it was going too well. Which was, of course, ridiculous, but since when had anything gone the right way for him? He stared at his ceiling trying to will his brain to shut the hell up and let him get some sleep. He told himself that there was absolutely no reason to believe it would all come crashing down. He and Cas had been getting along amazingly well, Sam was happy that Dean was happy, and it was Christmas tomorrow and he was fairly certain his gift to Cas would go over well. He even deviated somewhat from his normal gift for his health freak of a brother because he was feeling the Christmas spirit or whatever. So, yeah, if only his mind wouldn’t keep turning to all the ways tomorrow could go wrong, maybe he’d be awake enough in the morning to enjoy the holiday.

Ten minutes later Dean knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. He let out a frustrated groan, pulled on warm socks, and added a sweatshirt over the Christmas PJs Charlie had gotten him (yeah, they were ridiculous, but they’d promised Charlie they would wear them, and they were warm and soft so he couldn’t really complain). He begrudgingly made his way to the kitchen, thinking that maybe eating more pie would help him feel better. Sam kept doubting his ability to consume all the pie he and Cas had baked, but Dean was determined to make sure no pie was left behind. He smelled chocolate as he walked into the kitchen and found Cas turning off the stove.

“I don’t suppose there’s enough for a second cup of whatever smells so amazing?” Dean peers over Castiel’s shoulder having long ago stopped complaining about personal space. Cas smiles softly and starts pouring the hot cocoa as Dean notices there are already two mugs out on the counter. Cas then throws extra marshmallows in Dean’s mug, without Dean even having to ask.

“I had a feeling you would have trouble sleeping. I know you and Sam haven’t had many happy Christmases.” Dean takes the offered mug from Castiel, a lump forming in his throat as it occurs to him that not only does his angel (and surely there’s no harm in just thinking of Cas as his angel) know him well enough to anticipate that he’d have a hard time sleeping, but he’s also aware enough of how much Dean dislikes the cold seeping into the bunker with all the snow, that he made him a hot drink. With extra marshmallows.

“Thanks Cas. Want to hang out by the tree?” Cas grabs his own mug and follows Dean out to the couch they had moved by the tree earlier. There’s one blanket tossed over the arm and Cas drapes it over Dean’s shoulders before sitting down himself. The sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Cas gazes at the tree and Dean tries to not gaze at Cas. Dean smiles fondly at his mug as he drains the last of the hot chocolate his maybe more than best friend had made for him. Even when he and Cas had fought over the years, even when he’d felt betrayed by Cas, he’d never failed to try and look after Dean. As much as Dean had been furious at the angel over many times over, he also knew that he didn’t have much ground to stand on. In fact, he sometimes worried that Cas had learned a little bit too much about being a Winchester – most of Cas’ mistakes were made in the attempt to protect those he cared about. Most days Dean still wasn’t sure how he could possibly deserve someone like Castiel in his life. Cas really would have gone with him to what he’d thought was his death only a few months back, just so Dean wouldn’t have had to go alone.

“Dean,” Cas says softly. “Merry Christmas.”

Dean glances at his watch and notes that it is technically Christmas now.

“Merry Christmas Cas.” They sit contentedly side by side for a few moments longer. Eventually Dean has an idea. He wasn’t sleeping anyway, so maybe he and Cas could exchange gifts privately now, rather than trying to find time to ditch Sam tomorrow.

“Hey, Cas. You said you wanted to exchange gifts with just us, right? We could do that now if you wanted.” Dean was somewhat nervous about what Castiel would think of his gift, especially since he’d put so much work into it. Cas’ face lights up at Dean’s suggestion.

“Yes, if you’re not tired. Can – can you go first though? Mine’s… a bit unorthodox.” Dean was now intensely curious but brushed that feeling aside in favor of the anxious anticipation of giving Cas his present.

“No problem. It’s not under the tree though, and you need to be quiet so we don’t wake up Sammy.” Dean grabs Cas’ empty mug and drops the dishes off in the kitchen before coming back to drag Cas down the hall towards the living area.

“Is it in your room?” Cas seemed confused. Dean just laughs softly and pulled him a bit further down the hall. Dean stops in front of one of the doors and opens it up without hitting the light switch. Dean takes a deep breath to calm himself, weaves his finger’s through Cas’, and pulls him into the dark room, closing the door behind them.

“Hold on, let me find the switch.” Dean fumbles around for a few seconds and then switches on the string lights draped around the room. Cas doesn’t say anything for a long stretch of time, his eyes wide as he takes in the bed with a navy-blue bed set, the giant stuffed bee pillow that Dean thinks is called a pillow pal or something, the used dresser they had dragged out of storage and set up an old boombox on top of, the mismatched mirror and cork board with pins, the desk with the laptop Cas often uses next to a charging station, and the constellation themed throw rug on the floor. The walls had been painted a pale blue and there were two framed posters of what Dean thought were botanical gardens on the wall. The door Dean had closed had a hook on the back, with a soft robe and ridiculous fuzzy bee slippers that Sam had managed to find somewhere.

“Dean – I – what is all of this?” Cas’ voice is timid as he reaches out to touch the microfiber comforter on the bed.

“It’s yours. I know you’ve been camped out in a different room, but I couldn’t set all this up in there without you noticing.”

“Mine? I… I don’t actually need to sleep or anything.” Dean smiles at his friend and moves over towards the dresser, opening one of the drawers to show off more of the gift to Cas.

“Sure, none of us need Charlie’s Christmas PJs, but we’re all wearing them anyway. Look, we got you a few changes of clothing if you ever want them. There’s also a wardrobe we can drag up here if you need more than a few hooks for hanging up stuff. The bookshelf by the desk is mostly empty because Sam and I thought you’d want to move your books from the other room. Also, I know you can research in the library but you can also work in here if mine and Sam’s bickering gets to be too much. Um, anyway, I just want you to feel at home, because this is your home as much as it is ours Cas. You always have a place with us. I really hope it helps you to feel like you belong here with us.” Dean’s face had gone a bit red and he cuts himself off before he becomes too incoherent. He’s still a bit nervous but then Cas’ arms are around him before he even realizes that the angel had moved. Cas’ face is buried in Dean’s neck and after the initial shock wears off Dean returns the embrace.

“Thank you. Thank you, Dean. It’s beautiful.” Cas’ voice is muffled by Dean’s neck but Dean gets the point regardless.

“I’m really glad you like it. I’m hoping this means you’ll be here with us more often.” Cas nods weakly and then draws back from the hug, looking around the room again with something akin to awe on his face. It’s amazing to Dean that an angel who used to live in Heaven could feel anything like awe while looking at the small room in the bunker, but maybe this is more of a home than Castiel has had in a long time, maybe ever. Dean spends a few more minutes showing Cas everything in the room and offers to help Can move over anything he has stored elsewhere. Cas hugs the bee pillow when he thinks Dean isn’t looking and Dean plays along as if he hadn’t seen. Dean can’t help smiling at how happy he’s made Cas, it makes up for not having realized that Cas was missing this in the first place, at least a little bit.

“Thank you again, Dean. I’d like to give you your gift now, if that’s okay.” Cas looks almost shy when he looks up at Dean through his eyelashes while sitting on his new bed. Dean’s breath catches for just a second, Cas’ beauty just hits him like that sometimes.

“Sure Cas,” Dean says a bit breathlessly, “lead the way.” Dean follows his angel back into the hall thinking that, while he’s sure he will love whatever Cas got him, the best present is knowing that he possibly had helped Cas feel like he really did belong here with him.

***

@galaxycastiel, @jellydeans, @my-favourite-hellatus, @nguyenxtrang

#destiel december 2020 #destiel december #destiel fic #destiel #supernatural #supernatural fic #spn family #spn fic #spn #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #charlie supernatural #christmas fic #fluff and angst #fluff #christmas fluff #arcticfox007writes

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 40 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters here on AQ or here if you’d rather read on AO3. xoxo!

Thank you so so much to @saiphl and @sillylittlecandycane for beta-reading!!

Chapter Summary: Courtney does her best to support Adore’s new relationship, even as Tati comes to a disappointing realization.

Chapter 40: Don’t Cry Out Loud

“Omigod, your dorm room is so cute!” Courtney squealed, and Roy hid a smile, settling down on the bed. Of course Courtney would find the stark white, institutional shared room which was barely bigger than a prison cell just adorable.

He lounged on the bed, wordlessly stretching his arms out, grin deepening when she immediately climbed up to settle into his embrace, sighing softly. He kissed her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her, wondering why it felt like a million years had passed since they last saw each other. He wanted to go back home for their anniversary a few weeks ago, but midterms had been kicking his ass and he just couldn’t take the time away. Courtney seemed fine about it, even telling him not to worry when he’d promised to make it up to her, but he was aware that she might be harboring some resentment.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured. “I’m so, so sorry I had to cancel the last-”

She silenced him with a kiss, passionate and deep, her fingers digging into his shoulders telling him that all was forgiven, that she still loved him, that they were good.

“I missed you, too…” Her arms tightened around him. “Anyway, Happy Belated Anniversary…”

“Two years,” he said, kissing her lightly. “It’s been pretty good, huh?”

“The best.”

It was a few minutes before he felt any need to speak again, content to hold her close, occasionally seeking out her lips for soft, messy kisses. He tried to keep himself from getting too excited, since he was aware that his roommate could easily burst in at any moment. (Joe had promised to sleep elsewhere, but it was only 5 pm, so he didn’t think that deal had begun just yet.)

Soon though, Courtney had rolled over on top of him, body warm and pliant, kisses growing more and more heated. When her hands drifted down to his fly, tugging at the button, he regretfully stopped her, breathing hard.

“We should, uh...wait a little bit. Just until I know we can have some real privacy.”

“Okay,” she agreed, sitting up, running a hand through her hair. She tossed him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he assured her, kissing her hand. “I’m just trying to avoid a potentially embarrassing situation.”

“Mmhmm…”

As he sat up, leaning against the wall, she moved towards him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“So...I’ve told you all about my classes and stuff. What’s new back home? Anything interesting?”

“Uhh...I dunno. Murial’s still a pain in the ass, my mom has a new boyfriend, same old shit.”

Roy laughed. “Is he as weird as the last one?”

“Thankfully no. But...well, he’s almost suspiciously normal.”

“Keep your door locked at night,” Roy joked.

“Yuck.” Courtney hit him on the arm, shaking her head.

“How are the neighborhood kids? I haven’t talked to Bob in weeks, is he good?”

“Yeah, I think so. I haven’t seen him that much outside of class. I’ve been hanging out with Adore’s friends most of the time.”

“Oh yeah? Is Violet behaving?” He raised a curious eyebrow at her.

“Shockingly, yes. And Adore has a new girlfriend,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Oh...” Roy paused, unsure how he was supposed to react to this news. Somehow, he didn’t think that jubilation was called for. “Anyone I know?”

“No, she’s a new girl. Tatianna. She’s cool, and like...so pretty.”

“Well...good for Adore.”

“Yeah, it’s really good!” Courtney said. “They have so much in common. Tati plays bass, and they’re into the same music, and like...they fit really well together, you know?”

“Uh huh.” An unsettled feeling began to creep into Roy’s chest. That old, nagging feeling that he could never get rid of when it came to Courtney and her best friend.

“I’m like, so, so happy for her,” Courtney continued. “It’s been awhile since she’s dated anyone, and like...it’s really great to see her happy. I really think that this one will last. At least, I hope. It’s only been a few weeks, I guess. Less than a month. Right now they’re all giddy, in that like, honeymoon stage. You know? It’s really cute.”

“So...I mean, are you two still hanging out, or is she kinda occupied?” Roy asked slowly. He knew how much Courtney had suffered last year, how miserable she’d been without Adore, and he had no desire for her to relive that.

“We’re hanging out a lot! Yeah, it’s funny, it’s kind of been a lot of the three of us. Which is cool because I’m getting to know Tati too. I think you’d like her, she’s really sweet and funny and had this kind of sarcasm that catches you totally off guard. She’s great.”

“Um...yeah, great.”

Roy cleared his throat, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, suddenly itching for a change of topic, a change of scenery. He reached out a hand to Courtney.

“Do you wanna go for a walk? I can show you the campus and then we can come back and change for dinner. I think you’re gonna really like the restaurant I found.”

“Sounds perfect,” Courtney beamed at him with that smile, the one that never failed to melt his heart, twist up his insides, make him believe, if only for a second, that life was truly good. He grinned back, dimples deep in his cheeks, pulling her in for a tight embrace.

He was able to convince himself, that night, that everything was fine. The distance he felt was just a normal part of living apart. That this awkward year was just a necessary thing for them to get through before they could be together for real, like adults.

Roy wasn’t naive, he knew that people grew apart and that nothing was guaranteed--but there wasn’t a single version of his future that he could fathom without her in it. So the next day as they said goodbye, once again, the promise of being reunited soon over Thanksgiving kept it from being too bittersweet. Courtney certainly seemed unconcerned, hugging him tightly and whispering “I love you” into his neck.

He breathed her in once more, the feel of her post-shower hair damp against his cheek. He wished that she could stay longer, but she had what was sure to be a long drive ahead of her, and he had a paper to write.

“Call me when you get home…”

“I will.” She smiled up at him, began to unwind her arms from his waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t look so sad. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

Before she got too far away, though, Roy pulled her back one last time, holding her against his chest again, unwilling to let go just yet. “Five more seconds…”

Courtney giggled, hugging him back, whispering, “Take as many as you need…”

Adore was cute. She was really cute. And fun, and chill, and everything Tati felt like she needed after the trauma of a cross-country move.

There was just one problem. Well, maybe not a problem. A concern. Something that, at first she’d brushed off as paranoia, but the more she got to know Adore and her friends, the more it bugged her. It didn’t seem to matter that they’d been best friends for years, or that Courtney had a boyfriend (albeit one whom Tati had never seen in the flesh). Something about it was just...uncomfortable.

Tonight though, she decided to put it out of her mind. At Adore’s suggestion, they were having a chill movie night. They’d just received a bountiful order from the delivery guy--two stuffed-crust pizzas, wings, garlic knots, and whatever else they felt compelled to order after smoking in the tree house.

Tati set all the food out on the coffee table while Adore shuffled through her DVD collection.

“I promise, you’re gonna love it,” Adore said, punctuating her statement with a wink in Tati’s direction.

“I trust your taste,” Tati said, settling onto the sofa with a sigh.

Adore found the DVD she wanted and began to load it in when a familiar voice sounded from the doorway.

“Hi guys! What’s up?”

Courtney.

Tati felt bad, for thinking of her as a problem. She was a perfectly nice girl, friendly and fun and charming--but she was also always there. It seemed like she and Adore barely ever spent time together without Courtney being involved in some way. And it wouldn’t bother Tati so much, except that there was this weird energy between them, something all their other friends had just decided to ignore, apparently.

Or maybe Tati was just paranoid, overly judgmental? She bit her lip, guilt once again washing over her, that she covered with a friendly wave and a bright, “Hey Court!”

Adore looked up, slightly puzzled.

“Hi babe...I thought you were doing your whole...anniversary extravaganza thing with Roy.”

“Oh yeah, I was! It was so amazing, he’d planned this perfect romantic night, totally overboard just like always, and then brunch today.” Courtney giggled, and Tati didn’t miss the wistful expression that flickered across Adore’s face. “Anyway, I just got back, traffic was a nightmare, it took me 4 hours, blah blah blah. What are you guys up to?”

“Movie night.”

“Awesome, what are you watching?”

“Tati’s never seen The Craft. So..”

“Omigod, really?” Courtney flopped down onto the sofa. “You’re gonna love it, it’s so good. What kind of pizza is this?”

“Uhh, we have one pepperoni, and one mushroom…” Adore caught Tati’s eye, responding to the incredulous look on her face with an apologetic little shrug, pressing play on the DVD player and standing up to join them on the sofa. So, it seemed pretty clear that she wasn’t going to tell Courtney that this was a date night.

“Ughh, I love you! Thanks for getting one without meat.”

“Thank Tati, I hate mushrooms,” Adore laughed, sitting down between them.

“Tati, I love you. You’re beautiful.” Courtney leaned over Adore to blow a kiss at Tati, who caught it half-heartedly.

Tati couldn’t concentrate on the movie. Her whole attention was focused on Courtney and Adore, and their every giggly, weirdly flirtatious interaction.

She was definitely, definitely not being paranoid. As she inched herself further and further away, scrunching against the arm of the sofa, Courtney seemed to be doing the opposite. It began with her feet in Adore’s lap, then shifted to a head on her shoulder, then finally she settled into her most comfortable position: curled up with her head resting on the pillow in Adore’s lap.

Adore didn’t seem to mind one bit, either, or notice that anything was amiss. She and Courtney spent the whole movie giggling and reciting their favorite lines along with the characters, and eventually, her fingers began to drift absentmindedly through Courtney’s blonde hair.

After what felt like seven excruciating hours, the credits finally began to roll.

Courtney sat up, bright-eyed, stretching.

“God that movie is so good!” she said, then added in a deep voice, “You girls watch out for those weirdos.”

Adore laughed uproariously, replying with, “We are the weirdos, mister!”

“So uh...I guess you guys probably like...want some alone time now, huh?” Courtney asked.

It took all of Tati’s self control not to roll her eyes. But the truth was, she couldn’t even be annoyed at Courtney. Adore was the one who should have told her to leave.

“Do you mind?” Adore asked, and Courtney stood up, giving her a suggestive wink.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said, kissing Adore on the top of the head and then moving to Tati, giving her a hug.

“I don’t think that works here, babe,” Adore said, laughing.

“Okay well then…” A cheeky grin pulled at Courtney’s lips and she said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do after like 4 shots.” She punctuated that statement by licking her lips suggestively.

Adore giggled again, shaking her head and saying, “Get out of here, idiot!”

“Nighty-night, kids!” Courtney called, heading for the back door.

Tati swallowed. She knew that Adore would probably want to mess around now, but she didn’t have the energy to fake it. Nina was right. Jumping into this way too fast was a mistake. She needed friends, or the year would just be a total misery, and she was super grateful to have found their group. But if she got in any deeper with Adore, there was a chance she’d jeopardize that. So she stood up, picking her bag off the ground, and said, “I should probably take off, too.”

“What? Why?” Adore looked confused.

“Uh...you know, it’s getting late, so…” Tati began to put on her jacket, and Adore jumped up to grab the sleeve.

“I thought you were staying over. My mom’s at work…”

“Well…” Tati hesitated, knowing that she had to handle this delicately, or risk losing all of her new friends.

“What’s wrong?” Adore asked, biting her lip.

“I just...I had a different idea of how tonight would go,” Tati finally explained.

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry about that, she’s not always great at reading the room,” Adore said, unable to keep the affectionate chuckle out of her voice.

“It’s not her.”

“It’s not?” Adore’s brow furrowed deeper.

“I mean...it’s just the way you are with her, the way you look at her. And why didn’t you just tell her to leave?”

The red began to creep into Adore’s cheeks. “I guess I didn’t think I...should.”

“Right.” Tati finished putting on her jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Wait, Tati. You don’t understand.” Adore’s hazel eyes were glassy, her voice desperate as she clung to Tati’s sleeve. “It’s really complicated, with her.”

Of course Tati understood. Inappropriate, uncomfortable crushes were practically a right of passage for teenage lesbians. Hers was a friend from camp, a girl who still made her heart ache every time she thought about her.

“Yeah, no, I do get it. Actually.” Tati took Adore’s hand and squeezed it. “I guess I just didn’t realize how complicated until tonight.”

“Please don’t go,” Adore begged, still gripping her sleeve.

Tati leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know that? But, it just seems like you guys have a whole--”

Tears began to slip down Adore’s cheeks and Tati stopped abruptly.

“Fuck,” Adore whispered hoarsely.

“I won’t say it out loud, if you don’t want me too.”

Adore bit her trembling lip, nodding, then swiped at her eyes with the back of her hands, finally releasing Tati’s arm.

“Yeah, please...please don’t.”

“Okay.” Tati took a deep breath. It didn’t seem right to just leave her here crying. But on the other hand, she was fairly certain that the tears had nothing to do with her and everything to do with her bestie next door. “We’re still friends, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Adore sniffled, nodding.

Tati pulled her in for one last tight, quick hug and headed for the door, sighing. So much for a fun and inconsequential little fling.

“Here you go, Grandma.” Courtney carried the cup and saucer to her grandmother at the kitchen table, setting her tea down carefully. “Do you want some of that cranberry biscotti you like, too?”

“Yes, thank you, dear,” Muriel said, and Courtney skipped over to the cupboard, feeling like an absolute model granddaughter. She’d gotten home to find Muriel in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes after dinner, and immediately offered her assistance, scrubbing out a pot, loading the dishwasher, and then making her grandmother a cup of tea as she’d sat down heavily at the kitchen table. Surely she deserved an award of some kind for being this considerate and helpful.

She arranged several biscotti artfully on a plate when a knock at the kitchen door caught her attention. She set the cookies down and then opened the door, surprised to find Adore there, eyes a bit red and watery. (Of course, these days, Adore’s eyes were usually red, as she seemed to have upped the weed smoking quite a bit.)

“Hey...are you alright?”

Adore nodded.

“Where’s Tatianna?” Courtney asked.

“Uh, we sort of...broke up.”

“Oh no!” Courtney slipped outside, shutting the door behind her, feeling like this was a conversation that Muriel didn’t need to hear. “I’m so sorry!”

Courtney pulled Adore in for a hug, trying to hide her relief. She really did feel bad, even if part of her was jealous about all the attention Adore was lavishing on the new girl; mostly, she just hated to see Adore upset. She put her hands on Adore’s shoulders, pulling back a bit to look into her eyes. Up close, it was clear now that she’d been crying.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s cool, I’ll be cool, I just…” Adore sighed. “Bonnie’s at work, and I just really didn’t want to be alone.”

Courtney nodded, gently tucking a lock of hair behind Adore’s ear. She hated seeing her best friend sad, of course, but it felt good to be the one she came to for comfort.

“Do you wanna stay over tonight?” Courtney asked.

“Is that okay?” Adore bit her lip, eyes flicking to Courtney’s grandmother, visible through the kitchen window.

“Of course! Anytime.” Courtney hugged her again. “Come on in. Have some of Gary’s artisan gelato.”

“Sounds perfect,” Adore said, finally flashing that winning smile, just like when they were kids and Courtney could solve any problem with ice cream. She grinned back, pressing a kiss to Adore’s temple before pulling her inside.

Adore lay awake, staring at the faint glow-in-the-dark star stickers all over Courtney’s ceiling. She couldn’t shake that nagging, uncomfortable feeling she’d had ever since Tati had said, or rather not said, what she had earlier.

Was Adore that obvious? Did everyone know?

And more importantly...did Courtney know?

She shifted her weight to her side, facing Courtney now, who was sleeping peacefully, one blonde curl falling across her face. She studied the way the moonlight illuminated her features. She’d spent so many hours of her life looking at that face, and almost as many dreaming about it. And still, sometimes, it was like she was a stranger. It was odd to think about how someone she’d known so long, shared some of her deepest secrets with, could be in the dark about something so monumentally big.

For a moment, Adore wondered if Tati was right. Should she just tell Courtney how she felt? Lay all her cards on the table? Deal with whatever heartbreak, whatever pain might result?

“Court?” she whispered, inching closer, brushing her hair away from her face.

“Mmm?” Courtney’s eyes fluttered, her arms instinctively wrapping around Adore’s waist, pulling her closer.

“I need to tell you something.”

Courtney opened her eyes, blinking awake, and immediately her brow creased with concern. It wasn’t until then that Adore realized that she’d been crying.

“What is it, Dory? Are you okay?” Courtney asked.

“Yeah, I just...um…” Adore took a deep, shaky breath, the oxygen filling her lungs like a splash of cold water to the face.

“What?” Courtney’s thumbs gently dried her tears. “Is it about Tatianna?”

“I...I…” She gazed into Courtney’s eyes in the dim, moonlit room, breath hitching, unable to get the words out.

“What? Are you okay?” Her voice was so soft and warm and caring, hands still cradling Adore’s cheeks, and Adore knew that it was now or never.

She could be honest, in this moment. On the lumpy mattress they’d shared countless times over the years, underneath the dimly-glowing star stickers on Courtney’s ceiling. She could confess, unburden her aching heart, and maybe it would all be fine. But...what if it wasn’t?

“Um...yeah. I guess I’m just sad.” Adore gulped, her nerve suddenly gone, every ounce of courage dissolved in an instant. Her heart pounded as if she’d narrowly escaped death, as if a truck had just swerved into her bike lane, missing her by inches.

“I’m so sorry,” Courtney said, pulling her close, wrapping her into a warm embrace, lips pressed to her temple.

“Thanks. Thanks for...being here,” Adore sniffled.

“I’ll always be here. I love you, Dory.”

“Me too,” Adore said, eyes falling closed as fresh, hot tears trickled down her cheeks. She wished that Courtney knew exactly how much, but even more than that, she was relieved that she hadn’t taken that terrifying leap into the unknown.

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