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human-trash-fire · 4 years

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STTH Ch. 3

Alright you beautiful humans. Here’s chapter 3! I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Thank you all so much for your support, I love writing this fic and I’m so glad you’re all enjoying it! Big things are coming soon <3

Also available on Ao3: glam_reaper2

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Rowan:

It was two days after Fenrys had showed them the video and, as expected, he hadn’t stopped talking about Aelin. At least the laundry is getting done, Rowan thought to himself, although he wished Fen could have stayed true to the rest of his promise. They had been on assignment since that morning, away from any ability to contact the civilian world. Command had sent them to some backwater township to observe and report on the movements of a major player in the east. Two days of rotating observation, meals from plastic bags, and Fenrys complaining about how “if she reached out while (he) was away from his phone, she might think (he) wasn’t serious.”

Finally, Rowan thought, around 2300 there was movement in the compound like structure on the edge of the town. A truck rolled to a dusty stop just outside the gate and three men with guns piled out, flanking a fourth figure. He narrowed his scope in slightly to get a better view and whispered to his spotter, “Are you seeing this?”

“No way…” Fenrys muttered, halfway between shock and anger.

“Call it in. NOW.”

“Hellas Actual, this is white wolf. Eyes on the compound, we have movement. Target unconfirmed but we have a bigger problem. Over.”

“White wolf, what’s the problem? Over.” Loracan’s voice came through the coms in their ears.

“Eyes on Maeve. Over.”

“White wolf, can you repeat. Over.”

“I said it’s fucking Maeve, OVER.”

They were met with silence. The woman currently locked in Rowan’s scope was none other than Maeve, the illegal weapons queenpin. She was responsible for supplying the means to carry out a number of attacks from Terassen to Doranelle, and she had the blood of hundreds on her hands. He had no idea what she was doing this far east, but whatever it was couldn’t be good. She moved towards the gate and both Rowan and Fenrys knew his window to make the shot was closing.

“Hellas Actual, this is White Wolf. Requesting permission to fire, over.”

“Damn it Salvaterre,” Rowan growled.

“Hellas Actual, this is Whit-”

“White Wolf this is Hellas Actual. Stand down, I repeat stand down. Over.”

“What the fuck. Over.” Fenrys spat into the mic. Rowan’s palms had begun to sweat around his rifle, but he had yet to blink. It took all his years of training to keep his finger from pulling the trigger, he wished he could scream. This woman ruined his life, she had ruined hundreds of lives. She deserved this. He needed this. He-

Lorcan’s voice in his ear derailed the thought, “Hold fire. Continue observation and return to base at 0130. Over and out.”

*********************************************************

They had returned to the safe-house and were immediately greeted by Gavriel’s look of sympathy, arms outstretched in a placating manner.

“Where. The fuck. Is he.” Rowan’s voice was cold, and while phrased like one Gavriel knew it wasn’t a question.

“In the back room,” he pointed and stepped out of his way.

He slammed open the door to the backroom turned makeshift office and had Lorcan by the throat before he could even get a word out. “Why the fuck did you give the order?!” spit flew from his mouth onto the tanned face of the man he now held. He knew this was insubordination and any other commander would have thrown him in jail, but Lorcan simply glared.

“It. wasn’t. My. call,” he ground out, and Rowan loosed his grip around the man’s neck.

“I fucking had her Lorcan. I had her, right there. After all this time, after everything, she was right in my fucking scope and they tell me to ‘stand down’?”

Lorcan was clearly angry with him but Rowan couldn’t find it in his heart to care. He stepped back, and began to breathe too quickly. “Just tell me why?” the words came out in a broken whisper and his eyes fell to the ground.

“She is planning something, and command wants to know what it is. She hasn’t been seen this far east and if she is here pieces are moving. We need more intel.”

Rowan ran a hand over his face and attempted to steady himself. “Lorcan, I’m sorr-”

“Don’t. We all know what that shot meant to you, so I’m willing to forget this momentary lapse in judgement. But, don’t you ever cross a fucking line like this again Whitethorn or I’ll have your ass in the brigg faster than you can blink.”

Rowan nodded, turned on his heel, and stalked from the room in search of solitude.

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>> Aelin

<< who she is talking too

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Aelin

Aelin >> Hey handsome! Thank you again for the invite, we’re all so excited. I’m sure you’re busy saving the day, but when you have a chance, I have a few questions.

It had been 4 days since Aelin had sent that DM to Fenrys. She spent an embarrassingly long amount of time crafting the message and, after confirming with her best friends, she finally pressed send… Then she waited. She hated to admit that it was driving her crazy. Used to people scrambling to do what she needed as quickly as possible, (she wasn’t entitled, she was famous and people just acted that way around her), waiting on a simple DM was an irritating new experience.

Sweat was pouring between her shoulder blades and coating her brow, Aelin slowed to a walk two streets away from her apartment. “My time” is what she called her morning ritual. 1 hour runs, permanently blocked on her schedule, where she could organize her thoughts and get a much needed endorphin boost before the day truly began. Her airpods made a pinging noise which brought her attention down to her phone sitting in a cleverly sewn pocket on her thigh.

<< Hello gorgeous! I’m SO sorry I haven’t been able to respond until now, we were on mission (no phones). I’m here now though, and I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you (;

Aelin couldn’t help the small smile playing across her lips.

>> Me? Never. I’m downright irresistible and we both know it (;

>> For real though, I’m glad to hear from you! I hope all is well!

<< It’s great now that we’re finally out of the heat, and I’m talking to my dream girl. You mentioned you had questions?

>> Yeah! I need details for the event, time/ place/ etc so I can get to planning, and shopping. In addition can I get the names of your Cadre and any info you have about their (and your) likes/ dislikes so the girls and I can send you each a little personalized something as a thank you?

And so the conversation continued, fun facts about him and his friends, anecdotes about their time in the east, and non-stop flirtation. Aelin had been smiling at her phone so much that she thought her face might be stuck that way. Fenrys was charming, and hilarious. She found herself telling him so much about her own life, fun stories from set, all about her cousin and his team. Aedion is the QB for the Orynth Bane and apparently the entire cadre were monumental fans. She decided then on at least one piece of the care packages she’d be sending.

Before she fell asleep Aelin shot a text to the group chat.

>> Coffee and care package shopping for the cadre tomorrow, you in??

>> I’ll also order in whatever y’all want for dinner so we can wrap them up

El << Oh I’m so down, I have something special planned for Mr. Delicious(;

Lys << Count me in, I’ll bring the wine <3

Chuckling softly, sleep washed over her, that night she dreamt of blonde hair, muscles, and a face that could bring a queen to her knees.

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3 empty bottles of wine sat perched precariously on the edge of Aelin’s coffee table, the rim of the fourth was currently resting on her lips. The completed and nearly overflowing care packages for each of the 6 members of Fenrys’ cadre sat near the door to her apartment ready to ship in the morning. Lysandra was lying across her black leather couch, hands holding her phone above her face (even though she had dropped it onto her nose already twice in the last hour). Her legs were draped across Aelin’s lap. Elide was on the floor at her feet, half bundled in a white fur blanket she’d stolen from one of the large leather chairs in the room, leaning her head back against Aelin’s legs.

“What are you doing? You look like you’re having an eye-gasm,” Elide giggled looking up at Aelin.

“I might be, look at this” she turned her phone around to show her friend’s, and Lysandra sat up to get a better view. Instagram was open and on the screen was a picture of Fenrys, shirtless with a bandanna holding back his long locks. He was running, football tucked into his generous biceps, the other men in the picture in various states of trying to tackle him.

“Dear Gods….” Lysandra breathed.

“Mmm..”

“Have you looked at the other’s instas yet?” Elide asked, attempting nonchalance while crawling up the arm of the couch to perch next to Aelin.

“Indeed,” she smirked. “The answer to your next question is ‘hellas_actual’ El. You’re welcome!”

Elide began furiously typing into the search bar on her own phone, “I’m going to fucking destroy him” she purred when she had located the account in question. Head cocked slightly to the side, tongue running along her top teeth she pressed the follow button and immediately started creeping through the entire profile.

“Girl, he looks like he could break you in half” Lys cackled, “You’d be into that though, wouldn’t you?” her eyebrows waggled. Aelin snorted wine through her nose.

“And? If we’re about to start discussing kinks Lys, why don’t we start with your little 50 yard line fantas-” a pillow to the face interrupted her sentence and Aelin made a noise halfway between a gag and a screech.

“GROSSSSSSSSSS!” She practically screamed, she knew about her best friend’s dream of fucking her cousin on the Bane football field, but she really didn’t want to picture it... Again… there wasn’t enough wine in the world.

“Oh shut it A, you’re one to talk,” Lys shoved her shoulder. “Anyways, have you looked at the others’?”

“Not yet, hang on.” Aelin went to a group photo of the cadre, tapping once to see the tags she looked up. “Where should we begin? El’s got that Lorcan guy covered, so you pick Lys: Brunette, blonde, sable, or silver?”

“I wanna see the blonde, he kinda reminds me of Aedion but with less issues.”

And so the three girls trolled through each instagram. Gavriel was handsome, his page was littered with group photos of the cadre all over the world. It appeared Fenrys’ twin Connall and the other dark haired man, Vaughn, were in a relationship. Their pictures were nearly all the same. Kisses, guns, fantastic suits, like himbro meets a GQ cover shoot. They were the most handsome couple Aelin had ever seen, all effortless swagger and an intimacy that radiated off the pictures. The last page they found themselves on was Rowan’s.

Aelin would be lying if she didn’t admit her breath caught again the minute she saw his picture. Her thumb hovered over the follow button for only a moment before she clicked it. He only had a few pictures, 3 group shots in uniform, holding weapons and flying a Terrassen flag over their shoulders from different places in the world. A few blurry pictures of different beers, and a blurry selfie or two. Then there was one of him laughing. It was most likely a candid, but with the grace of a staged photo. He looks like a model, Aelin mused. He was in a stone grey suit, white dress shirt unbuttoned a little too far, beer in hand as he leaned into Gavriel. His smile was like the sun. His insanely green eyes were crinkled around the edges, white teeth shining, his silver hair glowing in the light of the flash. She felt her own smile on her lips, and try as she might she couldn’t shake it.

“Wow,” she said softly. She hadn’t actually meant to say it out-loud, but it just slipped.

“Wow is right, you haven’t stopped smiling since you opened his profile. I haven’t seen you look this dopey since you saw Fleetfoot’s first picture.” She looked up, smile falling and eyebrows drawing together incredulously at Lysandra’s knowing look.

“Oh shut up, he is just pretty. Fen says he’s got ‘a fuck ton of issues’. I’m just admiring the packaging.”

“Mhmm,” Elide murmured.

The night grew late and her girls eventually found their way to her guest rooms. As she lay alone in her bed, world spinning slightly, Aelin found herself reaching once more for her phone. What the fuck are you doing? She asked herself as her fingers moved almost of their own volition, pulling back up the picture of the smiling man in the grey suit. She stared at it, straight into the shining green eyes that seemed both sad and playful. If that sort of thing was even possible. Her thumb bumped the picture and a heart flashed in the middle of the screen.

“Oh no… ohnonononono” she gasped into the dark, the date on the picture was from 2 years ago. It was the furthest picture back in his profile and her drunk-ass had fucking liked it. I can’t unlike it, he’ll still get a fucking notification and, OH GODS this is embarrassing! She went back and forth in her head, contemplating whether or not to unlike the picture and pretend she had no idea what he was talking about if he ever brought it up. Or to just own it. In the end she left the stupid little heart red. I’m fucking famous, She thought. He would be so lucky. And I can blame the wine. He won’t bring it up. I’m overthinking this. Godsdammit.

She still felt guilty though, she had been talking to Fenrys non-stop since he reached out. He was her date, he was who asked her, so why couldn’t she stop looking at Rowan’s picture? At some point her internal tirade turned to sleep.

That night she dreamt of silver hair and sad green eyes, her phone clutched in her hand.

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#stth au #tog fic #rowaelin fic #rowaelin #ao3fic

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hollandorks · 5 years

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Hotlanta

Chapter 10

Summary: A fun night in Atlanta forces the reader into a fake relationship with celebrity Tom Holland in order to save both of their careers.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, entirely made up by me for me. I don’t necessarily condone the behavior in this fic, nor do I actually know Tom, Harrison, or the other real-life people who feature in it. Because of this, they might not always act like themselves based on what we know about them.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Word count: 5013

Author’s Note: I don’t even remember when I uploaded chapter 9--it’s been that long--and I’m sorry to leave y’all hanging like that! But finally, finally here is the last chapter of Hotlanta! I’ve had fun with this story, and a big part of the delay was that I just wasn’t happy with the first few drafts of this chapter. So, I scrapped it all and rewrote it, and this version is so much better. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do!

Y/N–Your Name

Reader’s POV

“Why aren’t you at work?” a familiar voice said somewhere near your head. You were sprawled on your bed, half asleep. You weren’t sure what time it was. What day it was. You squinted around, eyes landing on a figure backlit by the sunlight coming through your open curtains.

“What are you doing here?” you asked your best friend. She was, honestly, the person you’d least expected to see. You covered your head with a pillow. The bed shifted as she sat on the edge.

“Your mom said you were depressed. Sleeping all day, not going to work, not seeing Tom. Nothing. So I came to check on you.”

“I thought you were mad at me,” you said dully.

“I am. But that doesn’t mean I can’t check on you when you’re not answering my texts. Are you depressed?”

“Yes. Satisfied? Now go away.”

She sighed. “What happened?”

“Does it matter?”

“What happened?”

“I got fired and I broke up with Tom.” You realized with a start that you could tell her the truth, that this would be the opportunity. A now-familiar ache spread in your chest. You wondered if Tom had texted or called you at all, but you’d let your phone die two days ago and hadn’t touched it since. It’d been almost a week since your “breakup.”

“You--wait--why didn’t you tell me any of this?” she demanded.

“Because...I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

So you told her. You told her all of it, from the mistake you made in the club, to almost getting fired over the photos, to fake dating Tom and falling in love with him. You told her about the accident on set, about the party, about the morning after. Embarrassingly, when you got to the part about breaking up with him, the tears you’d been holding back finally started to fall.

She was quiet for a long minute after you finished the story.

“So it wasn’t real?” She frowned. “But you’re in love with him?”

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

“So tell him.”

Mortification warmed your face. “No. I can’t do that. I don’t want to be rejected, not after all of this.”

“But what if you weren’t rejected?” she raised an eyebrow.

“In what universe?” You rolled your eyes. “No. I just--I can’t.”

She sighed, but let it drop. She flopped onto her back on the bed and launched into a story about having to transfer to a local school for her senior year because of money troubles. As you talked, guilt ate at your insides. You’d really been a terrible friend these past couple of months. But you would do better now, no matter what.

It took a couple more days for the paparazzi and tabloids to get wind of your “breakup.” Tom’s publicist released a short statement that really only said that things didn’t work out between you. It hurt to see the words, but you made yourself view it as a fresh start. So you took a deep breath, and scheduled lunch with your best friend.

Tom’s POV

Tom was in agony. He kept reminding himself that the breakup wasn’t real, but it felt real. It felt real because she didn’t want him. Because she couldn’t pretend to like him anymore. And it hurt because he thought that, somewhere along the line, it had been his fault. He knew it was his fault she’d lost her internship. After all, the times she had been late had been because of him. Fans showed up at her building because of him. And, worst of all, her career had been on the line because of him.

Tom kept going through the motions of going to work and eating and living, but he didn’t feel like he was truly there. Everything hurt, not just his heart. Over and over again he thought about the things he should have said to her, the things he should have done differently. But it was too late. He had two weeks left on Spider-Man, then he was flying home to London. And she was off to school again.

“You’re an idiot, mate,” Harrison said after Tom had been moping for over two weeks. Tom had already had a lengthy conversation with his best friend about everything that had happened. Harrison had been mostly supportive, but the words “you’re an idiot” struck home this time.

“I know,” Tom said dejectedly. “It’s my fault she was fired. And did you know her parents won’t let her live with them after she graduates in the spring? I just--I have to do something, mate. I have to fix this. Whether or not she loves me, I have to help her.”

“Mate, you’re an idiot.” Harrison repeated. “And not because she broke up with you.” He glanced at his phone. “Listen, I have to make a call.”

“What does that mean? What are you on about?” Tom demanded, but Harrison was already disappearing.

Tom was an idiot, he knew that. But he didn’t know how to fix it, or if it could be fixed. But there was, at least, one thing he could do. So Tom made a call, too.

What he didn’t know was that Harrison was already working on fixing everything.

Reader’s POV

Harrison was calling you.

He’d texted you a couple of times since the fake breakup--or real breakup, you really weren’t sure what to call it--and so had Tom. You’d mostly ignored them, preferring a clean break. But what if something was wrong? A flash of Tom on his back on the stunt mat, not breathing, flashed in your head. You sighed and answered.

“Is everything okay?” you asked by way of greeting.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Are you okay?” You narrowed your eyes at the sound of his voice. Something was off.

“I’m okay. Did you need something?”

“I just...have some of your stuff here at Tom’s trailer. Thought you might want it.” He paused. “He’s not here right now, in case you were wondering.”

An odd mixture of relief and disappointment washed over you. “You know we didn’t actually break up, right?” you teased.

“Y/N,” Harrison said seriously. “I’m not stupid. I know how you feel about Tom.”

Your heart stopped. “What do you mean, how I feel about him? I mean, he’s my friend, but that’s it.”

Harrison huffed a laugh. “You don’t have to lie to me. It’s obvious. But I have something I need to do and might not be able to meet you there right off. Tom’’ll be busy on set all day, I promise. You won’t even have to see him.”

You bit back a reply. There was no point arguing, not when he was right. “Yeah, okay, I’m on my way.”

Thirty minutes later, you were at the Spider-Man set. You were greeted with familiar faces here and there, but everyone mostly seemed too busy to stop and chat. You were grateful for that--you didn’t want to have to answer any questions about Tom, about why you were there, or have anyone tell him you were there. You knew the set well enough by now that you could head right to Tom’s trailer without any trouble.

You knocked on the trailer door. When there was no answer, you stepped inside. It hurt a bit to see what had been a safe, familiar space for you.

A quick in and out, that’s all this was. Maybe a quick hello to Harrison, a casual question about how Tom was, and that was it. Maybe you could even get out of there quickly enough to meet your best friend for lunch. Things had been much better with you two over the past week as you began to mend the gap between you.

After locating the small box on the table labeled with your name, you texted Harrison that you were there, if he wanted to stop by and say hello.

Five minutes, he responded.

You sighed and sat on the couch. You remembered falling asleep on it several times when Tom was shooting late. You thought about the night you’d had to help him out of the Spider-Man suit. A flush spread across your cheeks at the memory.

If you were being honest with yourself, you hated this. Ripping the bandaid off and ending things had seemed like the better choice at the time you’d done it. But now, you realized, you would have been happier just being around Tom, whether or not your relationship was real. You missed him.

The trailer door creaked open.

“--real quick, then Jon wants me back, alright, mate?” a familiar voice said. Your heart stuttered.

Tom.

“I’ll tell Jon what you’re doing,” came Harrison’s voice.

Tom grunted and stumbled as if he’d been shoved. The trailer’s door slammed behind him.

“Hey!” he protested. He pushed roughly at the door. It opened an inch and thumped shut again, as if someone were leaning against it to keep it closed.

You remained frozen on the couch. A lump of pain formed in your throat at the sight of Tom. He was dressed as Peter Parker, his hair carefully styled and tousled.

“You two have some talking to do!” Harrison said through the door. “And you aren’t coming out until you talk!”

“What--” Tom started, then whirled. He stared at you for a long moment.

“Uh, hi,” you said. An unimaginably large gap seemed to yawn between the two of you. Only two weeks had gone by, yet it was as if you didn’t know him anymore. The pain in your chest was amplified by a thousand at the sight of him before you.

“Y/N,” he breathed. “What--what’re you--what’re you doing here?”

“Harrison said he had some stuff of mine.” You gestured to the box on the table. “Then he said he wanted to say hi. He, ah, apparently lied.” You shrugged.

Tom rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Right, yeah….”

You stood and went to grab the box. “I should...go. I’m meeting a friend for lunch.” It wasn’t technically a lie. You had planned on asking your best friend to lunch.

Breezing past Tom without looking at him, you pushed against the door. It thumped closed.

“I don’t hear any talking!” Harrison called.

You sighed, and set the box down. Tom was quiet, so you turned to face him. He wasn’t looking at you, but at the floor.

“Y/N,” he said without looking up. A little frown tugged at the corners of his lips. “Are we--aren’t we still friends?”

“Of course,” you said automatically. Your heart gave a painful squeeze.

“Then why have you been ignoring my texts and calls?” His voice was quiet.

“I--Because I--I just--” you stammered. You didn’t have a ready excuse. How could you tell him that it hurt too much to even think about him, let alone talk to him? How could you explain that it was killing you to be in the same room as him, knowing that you were in love with him and he didn’t feel the same way? “I’ve been busy,” you finished lamely.

Tom nodded, but his gaze was distant.

A long silence stretched between you. Why was this so hard?

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you said. The words earned a small smile from Tom.

“I bought the house,” he said at last.

“Oh? You’re--you’ll be staying in Atlanta then?”

“No. Well, maybe, I don’t know.” Tom took a deep breath. His eyes finally met your own. “I bought it for you.”

All the breath left your lungs at once. “You--what?”

Tom took a step towards you. “I bought it for you. No strings attached. When you graduate, it’s yours. Furniture included.”

You had to blink several times. “Tom, you shouldn’t--I can’t accept that kind of gift.”

“Please,” he said. “It’s yours. I want it to be yours.”

Your mouth opened and closed and opened again.

“Say yes,” Tom said.

“I’ll...think about it. This is...wow. Why would you give me something so big?” You couldn’t make sense of it. Maybe he was doing it because he felt bad making you pretend to date him? It was the only explanation that made sense. “Is it...because you feel bad? That we had to pretend to date?” The words came out unbidden. You wished you could take them back. But you wanted to know.

Would it hurt more or less if the answer was yes?

Tom stared at you, stunned. “Did I buy it for you because I felt bad?” he repeated. He ran his hands through his hair as he turned away from you. “God, Y/N, no. I mean, I feel bad that I put your career in jeopardy, that I got you fired, but...I’m glad I met you.” He whirled back around, hair mussed, eyes on fire.

The ache in your heart intensified. This time, you turned away. You tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. From behind you, Tom sighed and sank onto the couch.

“Sorry, I just--don’t know what to say.” You closed your eyes. Maybe you should tell him. That was what Harrison wanted, wasn’t it? For you to be locked in here until you told Tom how you felt? You leaned against the wall and let it half hold you up.

Another silence spread throughout the room.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Tom said.

Just do it, you thought. Just tell him.

You took a breath. You could do this. Couldn’t you? Just say the words, you told yourself. Just tell him you fell in love with him.

But what came out was, instead, “I missed you, movie star.”

Tom smirked up at you from the couch. “Oh, I knew that,” he teased. “I’m hard to get rid of.”

“Like a parasite,” you shot back automatically. You and Tom both grinned. The silence this time wasn’t as strained. It was a more familiar shape. You tried not to think about how badly you’d chickened out as you watched Tom pick at his fingernails.

Tom’s smile faded as he looked up at you from underneath his lashes. “Listen, Y/N,” he said softly. “I know that it’s at least a bit my fault that you lost your internship. So I...called your boss. I told her what happened. That it was faked. That it was my fault.”

Automatically, anger started to rise. “Tom, you shouldn’t have told her that, it’s personal, it’s--”

He continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “She promised you a glowing recommendation. Said she didn’t know that your dedication to your career went so far as faking a relationship in order to garner good press. Or something like that.”

The wall was the only thing holding you up now. “Wh--why--” You were struck dumb. It didn’t matter that Harrison had somehow gotten you both into the room together. Tom was offering you a house and a recommendation from your boss.

“She’ll be contacting you, if she hasn’t already, to give you the official recommendation,” Tom continued. He was back to not looking at you. He swallowed twice. “So...we talked. Harrison should be happy. I won’t keep you here any longer. And this--you should take this.”

He held out a crumpled piece of paper. You managed to take a few weak-kneed steps towards him to take it. “What’s this?” you asked, your fingers brushing, but he remained silent.

It was the contract. The one that started it all, written in Harrison’s handwriting. Had Tom kept it, all this time? It looked well-worn. Like it had passed through his fingers many times.

Added at the end, in Tom’s writing, crossed out, were the words Tell the truth.

“Before you go,” Tom said, elbows on his knees. He stood and sat again abruptly. “I need to tell you...something.”

“Something more than the house and the recommendation?” you asked tonelessly. Were you in shock? You had to be in shock. In one fell swoop, Tom had given you a good life. A career, a home…hope.

You managed to look up from those little words that were sinking like stones into your gut. Tell the truth. You could do this...couldn’t you? You could tell him how you felt. It was only fair, considering the huge bombshells he’d just dropped in your lap.

“Tell me what?” you asked when Tom still hadn’t said anything.

Tom slipped to his knees in front of you. You stumbled a step backwards in surprise. “Y/N,” he said. His brown eyes were blown wide. Your resolve to tell him you were in love with him was crumbling away. He gripped your calves with his hands. He cleared his throat. You were painfully aware of his touch. Of the way his eyelashes looked against his cheekbones. Of his every breath.

“Y/N,” he tried again. “Stay with me. Please. I’ll quit acting. I’ll follow you anywhere. Just please, stay with me.”

Only three words sank in at first. I’ll quit acting. “No!” you protested, hands fumbling for his shoulders. I’ll quit acting. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t give up his dreams, his life. You shook him a little as his face fell. He turned his head away and blinked rapidly.

“I--” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe--” He still wasn’t looking up at you. His grip briefly tightened on the backs of your knees. “I thought that--”

You took his face in your hands. The face that had become more familiar than your own. “Tom, no. Don’t--why would you quit your job?” You couldn’t understand it.

He finally looked up at you. The look in his eyes wrecked you. “Don’t you get it?” he asked sadly. “I’m in love with you. This whole time, I’ve been in love with you, like an idiot.”

You were glad he was holding your legs, because your knees suddenly lost all of their strength. Your world broke apart and was remade there at your feet. I’ve been in love with you, like an idiot. “You--what?”

He started to let go of you, to move away, but you gripped his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“Say it again, movie star,” you breathed. Tom closed his eyes and swallowed.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

“You idiot,” you told him a bit breathlessly. He opened his eyes. “I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

The lines between his brows cleared. “I—you--what?”

You slid to your knees in front of him. “I said you’re an idiot,” you repeated with a grin.

“Not that, the other thing.”

You were sure he was toying with you now. You could see the hint of a smirk on his lips. But it didn’t hide the wonder in his eyes. So you leaned in close, close enough for your breath to brush his lips as you murmured, “I said that I’m in love with you, movie star.”

Tom kissed you. Or maybe you kissed him. You couldn’t be sure. But one second you were smiling and the next your lips were against his and gravity shifted. This--this was a real kiss. This was everything you’d dreamed of. This kiss, kneeling on the floor of his trailer, was more than any other kiss you’d shared with him up until now.

A whole summer of memories came crashing down around you. Kissing him in that club. Waking up next to him in that bed in LA. Catching him vulnerable and anxious in the rain. Surprising him for his birthday, the tenderness in his eyes. The Spider-Man kiss. Him not breathing. Being on your knees in front of him with alcohol and lust and love burning in your veins. Sitting on his living room floor, surrounded by food and the heaviness of the knowledge that you had missed him while he’d been in New York.

He was holding you tightly by the hips, as if you might slip through his fingers if his grip loosened.

He pulled away and let his forehead rest on yours for just a moment.

“When?” you asked.

“When what?”

“When did you fall in love with me?” you said, suddenly shy. Tom’s laugh was gentle. He maneuvered so you could both sit on the couch, still clinging to each other.

“I knew from the moment I saw you at that bar that you’d be special. You looked at me, really looked at me, when everyone else was pretending not to see me, pretending not to see how famous I was.” He kissed your forehead, then along your jaw. Your concentration scattered until he pulled away again. “I knew I was in love with you when you surprised me with my parents and Paddy. You gave me the only thing in the world I really wanted for my birthday.”

“That soon?” you mused. “I must be more amazing than I thought.” Tom huffed a laugh. He kissed you again, this time behind your ear, and it became hard to breathe. “When I saw you that day on set, when you fell and you weren’t breathing…I couldn’t imagine life without you.”

“I’m yours, darling,” he murmured, eyes dark as they gazed at you.

“You can have me,” you said, both of you remembering that night when you’d had too much to drink and followed him to his room. You remembered seeing the bruises on his ribs. You remembered the feel of the carpet underneath your knees. And you could tell by the look on Tom’s face that he, too, was remembering.

Remembering and wanting.

And you were kissing again. One of his hands found the bare skin of your back beneath your shirt while the other held the back of your neck. You returned the favor and traced the lines of his muscles under his shirt.

It wasn’t close enough. It would never be close enough. Not now. Not when he could be yours. The thought made you dizzy--or maybe it was the feeling of his fingers tracing your ribcage.

You fumbled at the buttons of Peter Parker’s shirt and tugged at the tshirt underneath it to get to Tom.

“Your character has too many shirts,” you complained as Tom helped you. You straddled his lap as he leaned back against the couch. He helped you out of your own shirt. Your bra was next, and his hands on you still weren’t enough. He groaned your name as you shifted your hips.

The trailer door banged open. “Have you confessed your l--what the fuck?! My eyes!”

You and Tom both shouted in surprise and you instinctively crushed your bare chest to his to try and hide your nakedness. Tom was cursing up a storm. You turned your head just in time to see Harrison clap his hands over his eyes and make a beeline for the trailer door, only to run into it.

“Sorry, sorry!” he was saying over and over again as he finally managed to get the door open.

Tom held you in the silence for a long moment.

“Well,” he finally said. He cleared his throat. His fingers traced patterns against your spine. “Where were we?”

You leaned back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?” But you placed a kiss on his collarbone, and neither of you were concentrating on the conversation anymore.

That is, until Tom gave a start and cursed under his breath. “I--I don’t have any condoms.” His face flushed red.

“You don’t keep condoms in here?”

Tom laughed. “Why would I keep condoms in my trailer at work?”

You bit your lip to smother your smile. “For times like this?”

“You have a point,” he murmured, and for a minute you were lost in each other again.

“We can always pick this up...later?” you suggested once you were finally able to piece your thoughts back together. “You probably should get back to work.”

Tom sighed and kissed the inside of your shoulder. “Later,” he promised. You thought to yourself that you’d never heard a more beautiful word.

You hurried to get dressed, both of you emerging looking very obviously ruffled.

“That was fast,” Harrison quipped from where he waited around the corner. Tom shoved his friend playfully.

“It’s your own fault,” you said as the three of you fell into step together. “‘Oh, Y/N, I have a box of your stuff and no ulterior motives at all,’” you said in a terrible British accent.

The boys both laughed. “I didn’t have any ulterior motives,” Harrison protested. “At least, none that I thought would lead to what I saw.”

Before more could be said, Tom was ushered off to have his hair and makeup and costume fixed. A blush settled on your cheeks and stayed there, burning hotly. It seemed obvious now what you two had been almost doing.

“Well,” you said. “At least Tom gets to explain why he looks like that, and not me.”

Harrison was grinning at you. “So it all worked out, then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it all worked out. Somehow.” You turned to look Harrison fully in the face. “How did you know?” you asked. “That it would all work out.”

“Because Tom’s been moaning for weeks that he’s in love with you and wants to tell you. And you...well, it seemed obvious after he had that accident on set.” Harrison shrugged, then nudged you with one shoulder.

You laughed softly. “Yeah, actually, that’s about when it came obvious for me, too.”

Harrison was still grinning. “I think you’re good for him, Y/N.”

Everyone seemed genuinely happy to hear that you and Tom were “back together.” And, if you thought about it, it was as if you and Tom had been dating all along. He had become your trusted confidante and vice versa. The past few months had just been a precursor to the real thing.

You couldn’t wait to be alone with Tom again. To talk, to finally bridge that last gap between you, to finish getting to know him. And, you had to admit, you couldn’t wait to really be alone with him. Every look that passed between you for the rest of the day sparked fire in your veins.

“This seems different,” Zendaya noted as she watched you watch Tom with her keen eyes. “You two seem more...I don’t know.” But she smiled at you as she said it. She mysteriously showed up to set even though she had already wrapped for the film. You suspected Jacob or someone else had texted her.

“I think we had to be apart to figure out how we really felt about each other,” you said. Tom gave you a wink as Jon called “action” once more.

Not too long after that, though, Jon decided to wrap up for the day. As Tom walked past, the director said something that caused Tom to simultaneously blush and smirk. He caught your eye and winked again before disappearing to get changed back into his normal clothes.

Tom was back much more quickly than normal, lacing his fingers through yours, falling easily into step next to you.

Harrison was walking beside you, too. He glanced at the two of you and said, a little loudly, “Jacob and I are going out to dinner. I’ll be gone for the next few hours.” He raised his eyebrows at the two of you, winked, and said, “Bye, Y/N. Bye, Skeletor.” Harrison snickered and waved as he went on his way.

“Skeletor?” you repeated. It sounded familiar, and then it came back to you. “Hey, that night--when we, um, you know...The boys called you Skeletor. Harrison and Jacob. I think I heard them call you that other times, too.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “It’s because when we were all swimming one day I, ah...had a little problem when I was watching you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Little?”

Tom flushed. “So…” he said instead of replying to your comment. “Are we really doing this? Boyfriend and girlfriend?”

You stopped walking. His hand tugged once in yours before he stopped, too. “Hm, I think we’re doing this,” you said thoughtfully, then pulled him closer for a kiss. This was all you had wanted, all summer, whether you had known it or not. Just Tom, all to yourself.

For the entire ride home, it felt like your bones were made of fire. Every look between the two of you burned. Tom reached over as he was driving and let his hand rest on your thigh. His thumb traced idle circles where it rested, and those were made of fire, too.

“I want you to know,” he said as he pulled into the driveway. “That we don’t--don’t have to live together, or anything. I can get a different place, or, I don’t know, whatever you want.”

You smiled at him. “I think it might be easier if we both just lived here. You know, when you’re in town.” The thought suddenly had you anxious. You’d missed him terribly when he’d been filming in New York, and he hadn’t been yours then. What would you do for those long weeks and months he’d be away?

“We’ll work it out, love,” Tom said softly, as if he’d heard your thoughts. He put the car in park. “I’ll be with you every single moment I can be. I promise that.”

You were kissing again before the front door was completely unlocked. You couldn’t get enough of him. You’d never gotten enough of him, and especially not now. I’ve been in love with you, like an idiot.

Atlanta had brought you together, and kept you together. “To Hotlanta,” you murmured to yourself as Tom lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You allowed yourself a secret smile before you were distracted again, losing yourself in the darkness of Tom’s gaze.

The two of you left a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom, and were lost in each other.

You would always be lost in each other.

Tag-list

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#hotlanta #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom hollanf fanfic #haz osterfield

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

How Far I'll Go Chapter Six (Ninex) - Mia Ugly, Meggie

A/N: We’re baaaaack! Hi hello how are you? LIFE is crazy. We’re so sorry it took so long to get this chapter to you guys, but honestly, Snatch Game was probably the hardest thing we’ve written. It’s hard to be funny. I’m going to be way nicer to queens who do badly on Snatch Game from here on out because it’s not easy, mama. Anyway. We hope you enjoy this SUPER MEGA SIZED CHAPTER (10.5k!) to make up for the super long hiatus. And hopefully we’ll be back with more very soon. Come visit us on our blogs: @mia-ugly and @artificialmeggie

Previously: The runway was purple, but Blair’s Scarlett O'Hara realness wasn’t enough to save a poor performance and she was sent packing. Brooke and Vanjie are (most definitely) probably still messing around, and Nina and Monet had a moment backstage when Nina narrowly avoided elimination. Or was it a moment? Oh, and Nina’s probably losing his mind.

To come: Katya, Snatch Game, a hotel bar date, and a musical number.

Nina wakes up and is still on Drag Race.

He might be having some kind of a nervous breakdown (and breaking into song periodically) but that’s showbiz, kid.

And now it’s time for the fucking Snatch Game.

Shower, shave, dress.

Prepare for another sloppy Branjie moment in the elevator (and thank God, Nina gets to avoid that for a change). Nina Bo’nina is riding down alone, and the two of them chat distractedly on their way to the conference room.

A few of the mentors are there, but no Monét and no Trixie.

Nina tries not to let that bother him as he nibbles his toast and drinks his coffee. He’s focused this morning, ready for whatever happens next. He’s been thinking about Snatch Game since the moment he got the All Stars call, is determined that this is going to be his challenge (of course, he might have had that thought about the last challenge too… No, nope, move the hell on, girl.)

Nina doesn’t see Brooke until they film the Werk Room entrance. The man looks exhausted. There are circles under his eyes that the makeup guy has done his best to cover, but it’s still obvious Brooke is not at his best. It makes Nina remember that - no matter how stupid the Canadian is being about Vanjie (and no matter what sort of history he has with Nina’s equally stupid heart), Nina still loves him. Will probably always love him in some kind of way.

“No coffee this morning?” he asks quietly as they’re waiting to get mic’d.

“Not enough.” Brooke pulls down his hideous knitted beanie (where the hell does he keep getting those? A P.A. should - frankly - take them away.)

“Have a late night?” Nina doesn’t really want to know, but if Brooke needs to talk about it -

“Oh no. No. Just - thinking.” He rolls his neck. “Like - we know what’s coming up, right? And last season - it wasn’t my best look.”

Nina barks out a an embarrassingly loud laugh. “No kidding.”

“You didn’t have to find it that funny.”

“It’s pretty funny.”

“You’re a dick, you know that? No matter how sweet Monét thinks you are.”

This makes Nina stop laughing. “Sorry - what?”

“He was just going on about you when he was watching Asia film our scene last episode. Like - ‘try this, Nina does this, blah blah.’”

Nina doesn’t know what to think about that. It makes him feel a bit warm and light-headed, but absolutely incapable of responding.

“Clearly you’ve got her fooled. I know what you’re really like.”

“Haha, yeah.” Nina’s voice is weak and he hopes to God Brooke doesn’t immediately clock his blush. Luckily, Vanjie chooses that moment to start flirting with the sound guy, and Brooke’s attention is suddenly elsewhere. Yes, yes, that’s good. Nina will have to keep Vanjie close by at all times, just in case he needs to distract Brooke.

They all romp into the Werk Room together, Shea and Asia working their few seconds in the doorway for all it’s worth (“pose for me, pose for me, POSE”). They talk a bit about Blair going home, but before they can say much about it there’s the sound of a video message, and the television flickers to life.

“Ladies,” Ru’s face comes onto the screen. “I picked you queens for All Stars because you represent the best of the best. But on second thought… I think I’d like to see some other queens in your place. Sorry, not sorry.”

The video ends.

“What the hell does that mean?” Shea asks.

“Nah, nah.” Vanjie is shaking his head in denial. “We don’t need no more hos up in here. We got too many of y’all already.”

“Hello, hello, hello!” The door opens and Ru comes into the Werk Room, followed by the mentors. Nina tries to smile and look as excited to see Ru as he’s always supposed to be, but - he can’t help being worried about whatever the hell twist is coming up. (Monét winks at him as he comes in, so that’s something. Nina will keep that one brief moment like a diamond in his pocket.)

“Ladies, for this week’s maxi challenge, it’s time for another All Star Edition of Snatch Game!”

Most of the queens around Nina are delighted - except Brooke. Nina can see him smiling, but it’s fragile and fake, and his arms are folded very tightly around himself, legs crossed at the thigh even though he’s standing; a clear indication he’s stressing.

“This time, however, to celebrate my recent single ‘Queens Everywhere’— available now on iTunes—we’re going to do things a little bit differently. I know you’re all amazing queens, but for this Snatch Game, I’d like to see if you have any other queens inside you.” Ru raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Not to give Miss Vanjie an unfair advantage.”

Vanjie’s jaw drops even as he laughs, mutters “shade” through his perfect teeth.

“For this Snatch Game, I’m asking you to channel one of your sisters. We’ve had a lot of iconic queens on this series, so you’ll have plenty of personalities to choose from. And luckily you’ve got some experts here for inspiration. Hashtag Snatch Game All Stars. Gentleman, start your engines. And may the best All Star… win!”

“The fuck?” Vanjie whispers to Nina as soon as Ru leaves. “Bitch, I had a damn plan. I brought the little gold trophies and everything. Watched all the fucking movies. Now I got to be one of y’all’s tired asses? That ain’t fair.”

“Trophies, like - you mean Oscars?”

“Sure, whatever.”

Nina has to admit that he’s kinda thrilled about this twist. He’d been telling anyone who will listen who he was going to be for the Snatch Game if he ever got another chance. He’d had a couple back-ups, of course (they’d all been told to bring a former queen, so honestly, they should have seen this coming from a mile away), but this really couldn’t have gone better for him.

He feels bad for some of the other queens though, especially Vanessa (the bitch was prepped to do Meryl Streep - Brooke’s idea, and a fucking hilarious one. He’d kill to see it).

“X-Queens assemble,” Monét calls over at him, and Nina pats Vanjie on the shoulder, goes off to sit with Monét and Asia.

Monét looks good. Real good. He’s in some loud patterned sweatshirt that has tiny slices of pizza all over it, and another pair of thick-rimmed glasses (white, or maybe baby pink?), and he’s smiling at Nina like - no, nope. Move along.

“It’s actually the Avengers that assemble,” Asia tells Monét, who rolls his eyes at her.

“Girl, you can’t be a bigger nerd than me. I won’t accept it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause knowing about the Avengers is real obscure, serious fan-only shit.”

“The shade, Miss Asia! Nina West, are you going to defend your mentor?”

Nina holds his hands up. “You’re the fearless leader, you got this.”

“The pair of you.” Monét shakes his head. “All right, what you got for Snatch Game?”

“I’ma be Brown Cow Stun-ning, yes, honey.” Asia pops her tongue after a pretty admirable impression of Monique Heart.

“And Miss Nina West?” Monét is looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Nina wonders if he’s heard the interviews, if he already knows.

“Miss Vaaaanjie,” Nina says, “Bitch, you know I don’t play games. Don’t play Monopology, Uno, Twistah, Tag, Marbles -”

“Jesus Christ, stop it.” Monét is covering his face with his hands, while Asia is cackling. “Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

“She will live. Okay, okay, I ain’t worried about either of you. Take me straight to the finale, win me that serious mentor coin.”

They run through a couple ideas for jokes, focusing more on Asia (who struggled last time and still has a bit of anxiety flaring behind her contacts). There’s a break for lunch, but it’s weirdly quiet, subdued. Snatch Game is an opportunity to stand out, to prove you deserve to be there. It’s also an opportunity to crash and burn in front of Ru, the judges, and later on - the world. So there’s that.

After lunch everyone starts putting on their paint, fixing their wigs. The cameras zoom in to get some Werk Room chatter about who is playing who, and of course they’re all dying for Vanessa’s reaction (as soon as he sees Nina pull out his pink-petalled Barbie-head dress from its garment bag, the pussycat’s out of the Prada bag).

“Noooo, bitch,” Vanjie shouts across the room, but he’s smiling. “Oh, I’mma have to whup your ass if that’s what I think it is.”

“Deuces!” Nina shouts back at him, throwing up the sign as well, while Brooke covers his face.

“That ain’t right, it ain’t right. Thought we was friends, sis.” Vanjie is laughing about it, though; Nina knows they’re cool.

“Who are you playing, Miss Shea Coulée?” Asia calls over to her sister, who is fussing with a nasty looking green wig.

“Paaaarty…” Shea drags out the word, working that vocal fry for all she’s worth. “I’m going to be Adore Delano, darling.”

Nina Bo’nina Brown thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, can’t speak for laughing so hard. Shea seems entertained by it at first, but her smile starts to tighten a little after the laughter continues a bit too long.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just - good luck, girl.”

“Who are you doing then?”

“Yeah,” Cracker interjects. “You were Jasmine Masters for your season’s Snatch Game right? The judges loved it.”

“Right. So why mess with perfection? I’m going to do Miss Jasmine Masters.”

A couple of the girls stop what they’re doing when she says this.

“You’re going to play the same queen?” Cracker repeats, a bit shocked.

“Yeah. I was sickening last time, I’ll be sickening this time.”

“Aren’t you worried that they’ll read you for not showing them what else you can do?”

“Nah. They’re gonna be laughing too hard.”

“Mmmm…” Vanjie makes a low, skeptical noise.

“Trust and believe, Vanjie,” Nina B. calls over to her. “Trust and believe.”

The cameras have to reset then to film Ru’s entrance into the Werk Room, and catch all the queens’ “surprised” reactions.

“Hello hello hello, kitty girls!”

Nina beams, claps his hands, that whole production. He’s feeling pretty good though - the energy is real. He’s actually excited for this challenge, ready to show Ru what he can do. (That’s how he felt last year too, then Silky went and yanked the win right out from under him. But no time to dwell on that now.)

“How are my All Stars? I thought I’d take a little look-see at what you were planning for us. And I brought along one of our extra special guest judges to help me out.”

From behind Ru, Katya Zamolodchikova comes in waving and smiling, teeth glowing white against her red lipstick.

“Oh my god! Get your own thing!” Trixie yells from across the room, and Katya does that ridiculous/adorable silent laugh that Nina has seen on “UNHhhh” too many times to count.

“Thanks for coming, Katya!” Ru says cheerfully.

“No problem, Ru. Thanks for unlocking the attic door!”

“Well, it was a special occasion. And I was feeling generous.”

They go from station to station, cameras following them around silently, and Nina fusses a bit with his dress while eavesdropping on their conversations with the other queens. There is a bit of concern for Brooke, who’s playing Detox (no big surprise there). How is Brooke going to make Detox funny seems to be the main issue. Nina has the same question. Brooke seems more confident than last season, though, so Ru and Katya wish him luck.

There’s some controversy over Nina Bo’nina playing Jasmine again, but the girl won’t be convinced to try something else. Nina listens to some of the critiques, ignores some of the others. He’s interested, but he also knows he needs to focus on his own performance, and not get in his head. He’s not as bad as Brooke at over-thinking things, but no one goes into goddamn musical theatre who isn’t at least a little bit destroyed (psychologically speaking. Okay, maybe also a bit romantically. It’s fine).

“Nina West!” Ru says close to Nina’s ear, and he almost jumps a foot in the air. (Girl, Katya is standing four feet away from you, be cool, be cool.)

“Hello, hello, hello Christine,” he says, immediately launching into his Vanjie impression. Both Ru and Katya laugh - and Katya’s smile up close is completely unfair, like a smile cut out of paper, perfect and sharp-edged.

(“I don’t know her!” Vanjie shouts from across the room.)

“So who are you going to be?” Katya asks, completely straight-faced, as soon as she and Ru have stopped laughing.

“I don’t know, still making up my mind,” Nina says, back in his normal voice.

“And the uh -” Ru gestures to the hideous floral Barbie dress, “gown?”

“Do you like it? One of my best gowns. What’s funny?”

Katya is wheeze-laughing. Katya is wheeze-laughing because of something Nina said! He stores that one next to the Monét gem from earlier; hopes to have enough for his own tiara in the unthinkable event that he doesn’t win.

“Now on Season 11’s Snatch Game, you were hilarious, you played -”

“Harvey Fierstein and Jo Anne Worley-”

“Yes! And really, it might have been one of the strongest performances in Snatch Game herstory.”

Nina smiles gratefully (only slightly furious that Ru’s saying this despite the fact that Nina didn’t win. He deserved to win).

“So how can you possibly outdo yourself this time?”

“I’m not trying to outdo myself, I’m trying to do something different. Like Katya, when you played Björk -”

“Yes, yes, back to me,” Katya says, nodding.

“Completely different from Suze Orman, but still so funny. That’s what I’m going to do. Just - mix it up.”

“All right, Nina, good luck. Can’t wait to see it,” Ru says, moving on.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

As soon as Ru and Katya leave the Werk Room it’s a mad dash to get dressed and made up and before Nina knows it, before he can light a bunch of candles on an altar and find whatever religion will bring him the most luck, they’re all being rounded up and led into the studio for the Snatch Game.

Okay.

Brooke’s Detox look is iconic, the yellow and black striped bandage dress from the Season 5 premiere (probably borrowed from Detox herself) hugs his perfectly padded body, but he’s absolutely trembling as he walks beside Nina. Nina has to squeeze his shoulder, tell him it’ll be fine.

“It’s fun, Brooke. Just have fun with it,” he murmurs as he hits the bright studio lights, has to blink until his vision adjusts (the first thing he sees is Monét and Nina’s blinded by him).

Okay.

The mentors are sitting along the sidelines, ready to watch the show play out. Nina wasn’t expecting that, but it’s - fine. Monét smiles at him, and Nina’s going to use that smile as a good luck charm - a rabbit’s foot, a four leaf clover, whatever. It’s impossible not to feel lucky when someone who looks like Monét goddamn X Change smiles at you like that.

“Welcome to the first All Stars ‘Queens Everywhere’ Snatch Game!” Ru says after they’re all mic’d and seated, upbeat music playing behind him. “Let’s meet our contestants.”

Katya beams from where she’s sitting behind her glittery podium and microphone.

“It’s everyone’s favorite queen that we found digging in the dumpster outside - Katya!”

“And yet I’m still hungry!”

Katya smiles at Ru and then snaps her teeth at the other queens.

“And - just when you thought we’d finally seen the last of her - halleloo! It’s Shangela!”

Shangela raises one hand in the air, nodding seriously. “That’s right, I’m back again, bitches. And I ain’t even in a box this time, baby.”

“Ladies, are you ready to meet the queens?”

“Yaaaaaaaaaas,” they answer in tandem.

They reset so that Ru can film the introductions, and Nina’s heart starts rattling like bones in a bag. He’s buzzing with adrenaline and nerves, but he’s going to channel that into a goddamn win. That’s right, he tells his inner saboteur - you can fuck off. This challenge is mine.

“The heart of Season 10 - Monique Heart is here!” Ru starts with Asia, whose Monique look is extremely correct.

“Hello world! Hello America! Are you brown cow stunning?” She tosses Ru a ridiculous cow-patterned baseball cap. Ru briefly feigns excitement before throwing it over his shoulder in distaste.

“Burn that,” he murmurs to one of the camera crew. “Next up, we have the original party-queen - Adore Delano!”

Shea Coulee stretches her arms in the air before making a peace sign, growling “Party,” in a gravelly voice.

“How are you doing Adore?”

“I mean, I’m good, you know? Like. Excited to be back. Where am I again?”

Nina has to turn his mouth into his shoulder to stifle the laugh that bubbles to his throat immediately. He wasn’t sold on it when they were discussing it in the Werk Room, but Shea is killing it as Adore. Her voice, her delivery is hilarious. The makeup is flawless. Her perpetual open mouth is complete perfection. As always, Shea Coulee is slaying the competition. Nina’s stomach gives a nervous jolt, so he sucks in a deep breath and reminds himself to pay attention.

He realizes he’s missed Ivy’s introduction, but Katya is gagged at the illusion of, well - Her - that Ivy is turning today. A mid-length honey blonde wig barely brushes Ivy’s shoulders and her red bustier is covered in rhinestones (and, of course, the scythe and hammer.) The look is great. The accent, on the other hand… Nina sighs a little, but tries not to get comfortable, regardless of how terrible Ivy’s Russian accent is.

Vanjie is seated at the end of the top row, decked out in red lace, a large pair of dark sunglasses balanced precariously on her nose. There’s no denying the air about her: Miss Vanjie is living Miss Valentina’s French vanilla fantasy, and no one could doubt it.

Ru beams at him. “Valentina! How wonderful to see you again!”

Vanjie draws in a deep breath. “That’s right, Ru, it’s me - Valentina. I’m back, and this time, I just want you to know, I fully learned all the words to ‘Greedy.’”

“Excellent! You want to sing us a verse right now?”

“No,” Vanjie answers, extremely primly, and even in his gravelly voice, the delivery is enough to make Ru laugh.

“Maybe next time.”

“Probably not.”

Then Ru’s looking at Nina and - oh, god, why did he think coming back for All Stars was a good idea again?

“Miss Vaaaaaanjie is here!” Ru trills.

Nina sucks in a deep breath and - “What’s the grease, mama?”

Down the row, Brooke buries his face in his hands, but his shoulders bounce with laughter. Ru is giggling loudly. Even Katya and Shangela are agape at the spot-on impression like it’s the first time he’s done it, the first time they’ve heard it.

He lets himself relax a little.

“Three seasons in a row.” Ru consults his cue cards. “Girl, aren’t you tired of competing yet?”

“Mmhmm.” Nina shakes his head vehemently, the wig he pilfered from Vanjie weeks ago flying around his shoulders. (He really does owe Brooke one for that.) “Nah, girl, you know I’m still trying to get my own show. Like Vanjie of Love or some shit like that. You know, something where these triflin’ hos gotta pay me some damn attention.”

In his periphery, Nina catches Brooke cut his eyes to him. He hopes this is okay. They haven’t really discussed the Branjie territory in regards to his jokes, but he kind of assumed it was fair game. Besides, he isn’t planning on directly hurting anyone’s feelings. He’ll keep it light, keep it fun. Besides, they’re the ones who marketed their portmanteau and gave the profits to charity. It’s practically public domain at this point.

“Next up we’ve got - oh my goodness, it’s Jasmine Masters!”

Nina Bo’nina gives Ru an extremely “over it” look. “Yeah, and I got something to say.”

“Now Jasmine - no tea, no shade, but haven’t you been on Snatch Game before?”

There’s a bit of an awkward pause before Nina Bo’nina waves him away.

“Bitch, I’ve got something more to say.”

Ru chuckles a bit, “I bet you do,” and moves on to Brooke.

“Another former All Star contestant, welcome Detox!”

Brooke looks sullen and concerned. He gives a little nod at Ru and the contestants.

“Detox, what’s the matter? You don’t look happy to be here.”

“Oh, am I not smiling?” Brooke asks through his extremely full, painted-on lips. “I can’t feel anything above my neck.” He shapes his mouth into a grotesque smile using his hands, and Ru almost doubles over. Okay, okay. Nina feels a little less worried about Brooke.

“And last but not least, we have - um, Aquaria! Hey girl!”

“Hi Ru!”

“Aquaria, is that the new way you’re spelling your name?” Cracker has written Acwareea on her name-card. A couple letters are backwards.

“Huh?” Cracker looks down at the name card. “Oh, I can’t spell my name. Actually, I can’t spell anything.”

“Okay then.”

“You know, some girls chose to read books, I chose to turn looks.”

“Yeah, you did! Now let’s get ready to play the Snatch Game!”

They break for a few adjustments on the cameras and microphones, and Nina tries not to hyperventilate, and then fuck - they’re rolling again.

“Here we go. The first question is for Katya. Katya, All Stars Season 1 paved the way, and brought back some of the most celebrated queens of all time to compete. This time, instead of competing in pairs, the queens are competing in BLANK.”

Be funny, be funny, be fucking funny. Nina tries to think like Vanjie and writes down an answer as soon as he’s got one, hoping it will be good enough.

“Okay, pens down. Katya?”

“I said competing in traction.”

“In - traction?”

“Yeah, you know, when all the bones in your body are broken and you’re in the hospital bed with your leg in the air.”

“That would certainly be a different kind of competition.”

“I’d watch it,” Katya says seriously, and Ru laughs.

“Let’s go to the Queens and see if we have any matches. Miss Valentina. What did you write down?”

Vanjie has put a lace mask on over the bottom of her face. She mumbles something indecipherable.

“What was that?” Ru asks. Vanjie mumbles something again.

“Valentina,” Ru says, clearly picking up on the joke. “Take that thing off your face.”

“I’d like to keep it on please.”

Ru shakes his head slowly, and at last Vanjie removes her mask.

“Now, Valentina. What did you write?”

Vanjie flips her card over, and Ru starts to wheeze with laughter. “That’s what I wrote down. I’d like to keep it on please.“

Vanjie’s Valentina voice is slipping, but she’s hella charming anyway, as always.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but that is not a match. Moving on to Aquaria - oh! You’ve got a new outfit.”

Miz Cracker was scrambling to put on a new wig and geometric headpiece made of iPhones while Ru was speaking to the contestants. She looks great, and she’s killing Aquaria’s affected head wobble.

“This season the queens are competing in BLANK.”

Cracker flips her card to reveal Aquaria’s instagram URL. “I wasn’t born when All Stars Season 1 aired, so I just wrote this.”

“Oh, okay - not a match.”

“I’m young,” Cracker insists, and Ru nods, patiently.

“We all were once. What did Miss Vaaaaanjie have to say?”

“I said we’d have to compete in swimsuits,” Nina says, flipping over his card.

“Swimsuits?”

“Yeah. Cause maybe then Michelle won’t read my ass for filth every damn week.”

Ru gapes at him, like he can’t believe he just came for Michelle in Snatch Game.

“Swimsuits be glamor when everybody else is doing them too, bitch!” Nina pops his tongue.

Ru laughs, high and clear, and then turns to the other Nina. “What about you, Jasmine? What do you have to say?”

Nina Bo’nina slaps her hands on the table and purses her lips. “We gonna be competing in making viral videos to get Justin Bieber’s attention, Ru.”

The room — pauses while Ru tries to save face with a polite chuckle. Nina West can practically hear the shade rattle sound effect that will inevitably be edited in at this exact moment.

Jasmine Masters probably wasn’t Nina Bo’nina’s best option (anyone could have told her that and, good god girl, they really tried). It’s not working. Nina doesn’t think any of it’s working.

Ru clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m certain you could teach them a thing or two about that, but unfortunately, it’s not a match.”

Nina Bo’nina shrugs.

Ru shuffles his cue cards and moves on. “This next question is for Shangela. In All Stars Season 2, we changed things up by letting the queens choose who would be eliminated. This season, as well as eliminating each other, the queens will have to BLANK each other.”

There’s the scribbling of markers from the queens around Nina (who like to think he’s got this answer down blind.)

“Okay, pens down. Shangela? This season, the queens will also have to…”

“I knew what y’all were looking for, because y’all are nasty…” Shangela turns her card around. “But I’m a lady, so I said they’d have to ‘tuck’ each other.”

“Tuck each other!”

“Sometimes a girl needs a helping hand, mama.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Let’s see if we have any matches! Katya, what did you say?”

Ivy looks a bit startled to be called on first, but she beams with her red lips, flips her card over. “I said eat each other. To consume each other’s power and fill the gaping void that lives -” She pats her chest. “Right here.”

Katya (the real Katya) shrieks, but Ru shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, that’s not a match.”

“Da,” Ivy says solemnly, in her terrible Russian accent. “Da. It never is match. Like me and Trixie. Match but… No match.”

And, okay, Nina might imagine it, but it seems like the studio goes eerily quiet as everyone waits for Trixie’s reaction. She’s smiling, but it looks forced. Katya clears her throat but laughs, which seems to dispel the weird tension that formed.

Ru, oblivious to the entire thing, moves on. “Miss Vaaaanjie, what did you say?”

Nina sighs and flips his card, feeling pretty pleased with himself. “I said date each other. You know, I still be lookin’ for that Notebook shit.”

“Oh yeah, we know. No more Post-Its, right?”

“No more Post-Its, never again. I ain’t got the time, Mary!” He glances over at Brooke, raises his eyebrows seductively. “Hey, how you doin’?” Behind him, the real Vanjie mumbles something under his breath.

“I’m sorry, my dear, that’s not a match.”

“Bitch, it might be!” Nina says, still looking at Brooke, and Ru bends over laughing, stomping his foot into the ground. It’s adrenaline, it’s power, it’s like Nina knows this challenge is his.

“You ain’t even know!” he continues, channeling angry Vanessa as much as possible. “Just ‘cause one tall blonde bitch did me wrong don’t mean they all will. Shit.” Nina crosses his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair, sees Brooke duck his head and blink rapidly a few times.

That might have been too much. He just got caught in the moment and… Fuck. Dial it back a little, but stay focused.

“Moving on to Aquaria,” Ru says. Aquaria, this season the queens will have to BLANK each other.”

“I said ‘copy each other,” Cracker says tightly, in Aquaria’s low voice. “And it’s too bad Miz Cracker isn’t here. Maybe then she would have won something.”

“Oho!” Ru laughs, a bit scandalized. “Not a match, my dear.”

Cracker shrugs and throws the card over her shoulder. “Someone save that so I can call and ask Cracker if she wants more of my sloppy seconds.”

“Adore Delanoooo!” Ru trills the last syllable as he turns to Shea, who tosses the long green waves over her shoulder.

She flashes Ru one of Adore’s signature winking, mouth-open, tongue-out smiles with a peace sign.

“What did you write down, darling?”

“I said ‘party with each other,’” Shea drawls in Adore’s affected tone, adding more fry than is entirely necessary, but it gets the point across. She’s goofy and perfect.

“Party with each other,” Ru repeats.

“Yeah! I mean, you guys all look super cool. I’d hang out with you, smoke a blunt, eat some pizza. You know, party!”

Ru tsks. “Sounds like a great Tuesday night, but unfortunately not a match.” He turns to face the contestants, where Katya is sitting with her hands folded primly on her stack of cards. “Back to Katya! In All Stars Season 3, BenDeLaCreme shocked the judges by sending herself home. This season, Michelle Visage will shock everyone by BLANKING herself.”

Katya takes a minute to ponder, pressing her index finger to her lips then writes something on her card. Nina and the other queens follow suit, and when their time is up, Katya is smiling ferociously.

“Let’s see what our contestant put down. Katya?” Ru faces her. “Michelle Visage will shock everyone by doing what?”

Katya clears her throat. “I could have gone the obvious route, you know.”

“Obviously,” Ru says.

“Instead, I said, ‘sacrificing herself.’”

“Sacrificing herself?”

“With fire. To the Gods, honey.”

“Okay… Any particular God?”

“…Satan.”

“Of course. Let’s go to our queens. Detox, this season Michelle Visage will shock everyone by…”

Brooke flips his card over. “I said motorboating herself. I mean, if anyone could do it -”

“I don’t know how shocking that would be… but either way, I’m sorry, not a match. Vanessa Vanjie Mateo! What did you say, my dear?”

Nina flips over his card. “I said cloning herself.”

“Cloning herself?”

“Mmm-hmm. Need two of her to manage your ass.”

Ru laughs, and Nina thanks every God he knows the name of. The burn landed!

“And now she got that done, she’s gonna clone me some Canadian bacon.”

“Is that right?”

“Hell yeah it is.” Nina does not look at Brooke or Vanjie. “But only the good parts, baby. Trim all the fat; I’m a growing girl, need more protein in my diet.”

“Bitch, you couldn’t handle that much protein,” Vanjie-as-Valentina cuts in, and Ru fans himself.

“A controversial question! Let’s go to Monique Heart, see what she said. Michelle Visage will shock everyone by…”

“I said believing in herself.” Asia-as-Monique-turns her face to the camera. “Like I believe in myself, America. And that’s why I’d like to take this moment to announce my run for office.”

“Which office is that?”

“Whichever.” Asia’s got Monique’s flighty passion down perfectly. “One of the big ones, you know. And thank you, America, for your trust. I won’t let you down.”

Ru reads the last question of the night. “In All Stars Season 4, history was made when we celebrated the first Drag Race double crowning. This season, we’ll be making history with a double BLANK.”

Shangela is already shaking her head knowingly. There’s a scrabble of writing from the queens.

“Ladies, pens down. Shangela?”

“I’m giving the people what they want, Ru. I ain’t proud. I had to say a double fisting.”

“Did you really have to say it though?”

“Actually, mama, I did. The PAs have my children.”

“Ha! All right ladies, let’s see if we have any matches. Adore Delano. This season we’ll be making history with the first double BLANK.”

Shea holds up her card proudly. “I said the first double… elimination.”

Ru is quiet for a moment. “That’s actually been done before.”

“It has?”

“A couple of times, actually.”

“Oh.” Shea is unfazed. “Well. I don’t watch the show.”

Ru wheeze laughs, and so does Nina.

“I mean, I don’t know who any of you people are.”

“Sorry, Adore. Not a match.”

Shea shrugs, flashes a peace sign.

“What about you Katya?” Ru moves over to Ivy.

“Well, I thought about what Trixie and I like to do behind the scenes of ‘UNHhhh’ and I just had to put - fisting!” She flips her card.

“It’s a match!” Ru exclaims.

Everyone is laughing, but Nina can’t help check out the subjects of Ivy’s joke. The real Katya Zamo is smiling but - her teeth look clenched. And over with the mentors, Trixie Mattel is not smiling at all. She’s staring at her hands in her lap, systematically picking at the baby pink polish that adorns her fingernails. Hopefully none of the cameras pick up on that.

“I’ll see you later tonight!” Ivy continues, pointing at Trixie. There’s a halfway amused smile on Trixie’s face right away, but Nina feels like he was punched in the stomach. Something’s going on between the two of them, clearly. It hurts to watch - not like watching Vanjie and Brooke hurts (that’s more like watching two attractive bricks smash together). But Trixie and Katya - there’s so much history there. So much darkness. And God knows enough people have been convinced they’re in love -

“Monique Heart, what did you put down? This season we’ll be making history with the first double BLANK.”

“I said the first double crowning, dahling.”

“I’m sorry Monique, we already did that as well.”

“I know y’all did it, but I feel like it didn’t really count because my ass wasn’t wearing one of those crowns. It should have been me, and that’s a fact, America. And facts are - what? Facts.”

Ru laughs for a moment before turning to Nina. “What about Miss Vaaaanjie?”

“I said the first double wedding. And before y’all even ask: I do.” Nina glances over at Brooke, hoping he isn’t hitting this note a bit too hard.

“You do? Who’s the other happy couple?”

Ivy interrupts before Nina can answer. “Trixie! I’ve been meaning to ask you!”

“Oh honey,” Trixie calls out, looking flushed and uncomfortable. “I know I said I’d give more to charity this year, honey, but my generosity has limits.”

Behind her podium, Katya’s face is absolutely expressionless.

“Well, queens, we’re out of time,” Ru announces. “Which means the winner is… Xanax! Talk to your pharmacist. See you next time on the Snatch Game!”

Nina throws ‘deuces’ at the cameras as they get some closing B-roll, keeping up his Vanjie-persona until the very end. As soon as the director yells “cut!” Nina lets out the breath he’s been holding for the past two hours. God, it went by fast, but now he’s feeling every second of it. His muscles ache like he ran a marathon this morning and then tried kick-boxing for the first time.

“Nice work, ladies,” P.A.’s are congratulating them as they leave the set, but Nina barely hears a word. He de-drags, does some of the talking head interviews he loves so much (has to look shady about Nina B.’s performance, and worried about Brooke. Nina doesn’t put on an act or anything - he is kinda worried about Brooke. Brooke did ‘okay’ - better than Celine for sure - but didn’t stand out the way some of the other queens did. And if Brooke goes home tomorrow night - fuck. Nina doesn’t quite know how he feels about that).

Brooke was also kind of weird as they took off their paint in the Werk Room. Nina thought at first that he was in his head about the Snatch Game, but now he’s starting to wonder if his answers as Vanjie might have fucked Brooke up a bit. He hasn’t had a chance to address it, but he’s going to have to tomorrow, just to make sure they’re cool. He thinks it will be okay. He’s pretty sure. Basically. Almost positive.

Nina might be working through some latent confidence issues as he pushes himself for four miles on the elliptical later that night in the hotel (work through the pain, he reminds himself), but it’s fine really. Nothing to see here. Move along.

His legs ache and his face drips sweat, but he feels—good, actually. Solid about his performance. (He did last year, too, but he’s trying not to think about that.)

Dolly is singing about ways to make a living in his ears. He’s not assuming - but he is preparing. Just in case. If he has to lipsync for his legacy, he wants to be ready. Wants to win this one more than any other challenge, and call him crazy, but he feels like there’s a real chance. He can’t pinpoint why exactly, but there’s some kind of feeling settling down into his bones, making him think that maybe maybe maybe—

Underneath that, something uncomfortable has wormed its way into his psyche. It has almost nothing to do with the actual competition. It’s stupid and predictable and oh-so-not what he should be concerned with while on the set of All Stars for Christ’s sake. But he is and he’s here and he’s feeling things, and Nina taught himself a long time ago that feeling things fully for a while and then letting them go is far more beneficial to his mental health than taking the Brooke route and bottling everything up and burying it under vodka cranberries and couch cushions.

So sure. Okay. He’s feeling some kind of way about this thing that he saw that he wasn’t even supposed to see and isn’t even any of his business, but that’s just Nina’s luck for you. So that’s what he focuses on (or tries not to) as he turns up the resistance and pushes through the last of his workout.

He’d risked a glance back at Monét right before the PAs had shoved them off the soundstage. He’s in the business of gem collecting now, savoring those moments, polishing them up for later use, and maybe he wanted a ruby tinted the exact shade of Monét’s lipstick as they’d smiled across the room at each other.

Instead, he’d seen Monét reaching out to Shangela, crimson lips puckered, arms outstretched, ready for the kiss Nina couldn’t make himself watch.

Maybe they had kissed, Nina didn’t know; he’d made himself turn away before he could inflict any more psychological damage on himself. (He’s choosing healthier options now, remember.)

Of course they hadn’t had a moment after the last runway. Why would he think that? When Monét could have anyone he wants, and Nina is practically an amorphous blob. Like. He knows drag queens are all touchy-cuddly most of the time, and he knows that there’s probably nothing going on between Monét and pretty, perfect, halleloo-ing Shangela. But there could be, right? And goddamn, that would actually make sense. As opposed to whatever madness was going on in Nina’s head last night.

He adds even more resistance to the elliptical - just for “fun.” Or maybe spite. And yeah, okay, one night of really solid work in the hotel gym isn’t going to turn him into Naomi Smalls with legs up to his asshole or anything, but it’s a start. And the sooner Nina can convince himself that he isn’t doing this for Monét (or anyone other than himself because he likes exercise, damn it), the better.

He’s a grown-ass adult. He recognizes delusion when he sees it in the mirror every morning. It’s time to face facts—he and Monét had one (wondrously) sensual, albeit (incredibly) drunken night months ago. Monét had left the ball in Nina’s court. Nina was too chickenshit to do anything about it. Now they’re tentative friends (Monét is his mentor after all), Nina might be going crazy (this whole bursting-into-song-but-not-really thing has gone too far), and it’s all just so messy.

Nina wipes his face, stretches, and heads out of the hotel gym. He probably looks like a sweaty disaster (okay, there’s no ‘probably’ about it) and he’s waiting for the elevator down to the floor with his room, when the doors “ding” open and he’s face to face with Monét.

Could be worse. Could be Branjie again.

“Get in loser, we’re going drinking!” Monét says, with a wide smile on his face.

He’s so fucking charming that Nina momentarily forgets that he himself is a hot damn mess. Literally, like hot. Dripping with sweat.

“Um.” He gets into the elevator anyway because - he’s gotta go somewhere. “Are we?”

“If you want.” Monét gets strangely shy as soon as the elevator doors close. Or maybe that’s just in Nina’s mind. “Was the Mean Girls reference too much? I feel like maybe it’s played out.”

Nina laughs out loud, awkwardness momentarily forgotten. Monét never seems anything but confident and composed, and that one moment of doubt is - surprisingly endearing.

Not that confident, composed Monét isn’t completely endearing as well. Like. It’s all good. It all works a little too well for Nina. Everything about Monét is working a little too well for Nina lately.

Shit, the elevator is moving, decision-making time is limited.

“I kinda look like - this?” Nina waves a hand at his damp self.

“Fine as hell, girl,” Monét says with a grin, “and no pressure, obviously. Though if I’m drinking alone at the hotel bar, it’s going to look a little sad. And, look, I can make sad work for me, that’s not a problem. But after the day I’ve had -”

“Oh, the day you’ve had. Yeah, I forgot how stressful it must have been. Competing on a reality show and all that.”

“Fuck off. Uh oh, we’re passing your floor -”

“How do you know which floor is mine?”

Monét blinks at him, briefly speechless, mouth agape. (It makes something spark like a firework in Nina’s chest, shoot colours across the night sky.) The moment passes and then Monét doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, just smiles like a gorgeous monster as he taps his temple. “That’s classified mentor information.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. You don’t want to know about my top-secret dossier.”

“No, I - don’t.”

“You sure you don’t?” Monét winks at him, and the elevator dings as it reaches the ground floor. “Ah, shit, missed your stop. Better come do shots with me.”

“I mean, I could just press the button again.” Nina doesn’t know why he’s resisting, he wants to get tipsy with Monét more than he wants to do most things (aside from win All Stars and run for office someday maybe).

“Nah, girl, this elevator only goes down. One-way elevator. Sorry, should have told you.”

“Guess I’m out of options.”

“Guess so.”

They look at each other. Nina remembers the man that asked him up to his room the night of the finale. Nina remembers the taste of his mouth, the way Monét kept kissing him, like he couldn’t get enough. Nina -

- is clearly exhausted. And still delusional. But fuck it.

They go to the hotel bar (isn’t this how all the bad stories start?) and Monét buys them both a tequila sunrise and tells Nina way more than he should about Trixie Mattel.

“So her man and her are split. She’s feeling some kind of way about it.”

“Of course she is. Haven’t they been together for, like, ever?”

“Something like that. Fuck.” Monét drains his drink, motions for another round. “We’ve been talking about it, but I’m not - you know. I love her, she’s incredible, but - I’m not - her best friend.”

“You’re not Katya,” Nina says quietly, and Monét scrubs his hands over his face.

“Yeah. That.”

“So why isn’t she talking to Katya, then? You guys have your phones; Katya’s here now, for Christ’s sake.”

Monét shrugs. “Beats me.”

“Are they -” Nina doesn’t have any right to this information, but - he figures that Monét wants to talk about it. “Potentially… do you think -”

“Who the fuck knows? Honestly, when I said I’d come back to do this show, I did not think it would be like being in high school again. Like who is crushing on who, who is hooking up, it -” He darts a look over at Nina and then snaps his mouth shut. “I mean.”

Nina looks away. Finishes his second drink a bit too quickly. “You want another?”

“Okay,” Monét answers before Nina can even finish the sentence.

The bartender is particularly attentive, gets another round in front of them right away. He’s got a lot of smiles for them both, says, “This round’s on me, I’m a huge fan,” as he walks off to help another customer, and Nina - can’t help it, he’s a masochist - raises an eyebrow at Monét.

“Think you’ve got an admirer.”

“Yeah?” Monét rolls his eyes. “More like you do.”

“Should we turn this into an awful romantic comedy where we make a bet about who he likes more?”

Monét laughs like he’s shocked at himself. “Girl! Okay, but what happens at the end? Who wins?”

“Well, if we’re following the formula, we probably both realize that real love was right in front of - you know, I don’t know. You, you win.” Fuck fuck fuck, what the hell is Nina even saying? He watched too many Hallmark movies last Christmas. “That voice, that ass, right?” He tries to make it into a joke, even with Monét’s eyes all honeyed and serious on his face.

Monét purses those perfect lips, presses them into a semi-smile. “Just… didn’t want to assume nothing.”

They talk for another couple drinks, and it’s - shit, it’s easy. It’s never this easy with someone Nina likes. He knows he can be funny, knows he can bring out the charm (with the right amount of alcohol in his system) but usually if there are feelings involved it all goes to hell. Nina gets weird and in his head and laughs too loudly and spills his drink everywhere.

But with Monét - it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be this easy, especially with all the longing covering up the background like terrible flowered wallpaper. It shouldn’t be this easy for Nina to stop over-thinking things and just exist in the presence of this gorgeous person.

But it is. It is easy. That’s the worst part of it all.

Monét is laughing and grabbing for his arm (just like finale night in the other hotel bar) and there’s heat in Nina’s cheeks that isn’t just from the alcohol, and Monét’s lips are glistening and wet as he pulls the straw between them and sips every last bit of the cocktail into his mouth.

Nina swallows thickly, leans into the sound of Monét’s deep rumbling laugh, reaches for his knee when he starts to slip off the hotel barstool.

How many drinks are they in now? Four? Five? More? The room is spinning.

Nina is laughing. Light, airy. Not giggling exactly but laughing and his cheeks are burning and Monét is looking at him through narrowed eyes.

“Be careful, Nina West,” Monét says, and his voice is low and dangerous. “Be careful lookin’ at people like that. They might get… ideas.”

Nina’s breath hitches in his throat and he swallows hard. “Ideas?”

“I might get ideas.” Monét smiles crookedly; his eyes are half-closed and sleepy as he rests his chin on his hand and leans against the bar. “You never texted me.”

Nina’s so glad he’s drunk. So glad he missed his floor, even if it has led to this. Because this conversation, this thing has hung between them for the entirety of filming and it hasn’t been uncomfortable exactly (because they’re adults, thank you very much), but it hasn’t been wonderful either. And Nina more than anything wants to rewind back to May, go to lunch, talk about anything and everything and nothing with Monét until they fall back into hotel sheets and kiss and kiss and kiss until—

“Why didn’t you ever text me?”

Nina clears his throat. “I was… I… I wanted to.”

“But?” Monét’s eyes are wide and pleading now. Still glassy with the alcohol, but inquisitive, bright, waiting to see how Nina is going to explain himself.

Nina is too, to be honest.

So he shakes his head. “I don’t know. Honestly. I don’t have a good reason. I wanted to. I should have.”

Monét ducks his head, takes the paper straw from his drink and twirls it between his middle and ring finger. It sends tiny droplets of tequila sunrise all over the wooden bartop.

“I thought about that night a lot, Nina West,” Monét says quietly, wiping at the droplets with a damp beverage napkin. “I don’t do that. That’s not like me.”

“Me either,” Nina says.

Nina knows that if they were sober this would be a very different conversation. There would definitely be more emotions, there might even be some yelling (although that doesn’t really seem like Monét’s thing and he’s never been one to raise his voice, so maybe not). Either way, they aren’t sober, and now they’re the sleepy kind of drunk and exhausted, so they just sit there at the bar staring at each other, not sure what to say next.

“Why’d you pick me?” Nina finally asks. “For the competition? Because of… that night?”

Monét shrugs and pulls his credit card out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Just wanted to win, girl. That’s it.”

“Shit, I don’t have—”

Monét waves him off. “I got it. Consider it after-hours mentoring.”

Nina thanks him repeatedly as they stand (clumsily) and make their way out of the hotel bar (stumblingly) and back to the elevator. When the doors shut behind them, Nina has a brief flash of all the things that two consenting adults can get up to in an elevator (some of which he has seen in recent days). But no. No. They had their chance, right? The ship has sailed.

Nina’s room is a few floors beneath the mentors’ (apparently), so he steps off before Monét.

“Can you find your way back to your room?” Monét asks, and Nina wishes he could says ‘no. No, I’m going to get completely lost, no, I’ll fall down every two steps if I don’t have you holding me up. No, I need you to linger in my doorway, I need to panic about whether I should try to kiss you goodnight, I need to think about inviting you in.

(I wouldn’t. Of course I wouldn’t. So - unprofessional. But - it’d be nice to think about.)’

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I’ll manage.”

Monét grins. Nina likes to think there’s a bit of disappointment around the edges of it, but he’s also a couple drinks in, and wears the rosiest of glasses at the best of times.

“Thanks for the company and conversation, Nina West.”

Nina nods. Doesn’t touch him, doesn’t look over his shoulder at Monét as he leaves the elevator.

But he doesn’t go back to his room either.

He wanders the hotel. Presses the down button and gets on a different elevator a few minutes later.

Nina’s going to regret this tomorrow when he’s exhausted, but he just can’t imagine shutting himself in his dark little room and lying down right now. He’s vibrating, on edge. It’s a bad idea, because there’s nothing more depressing than a silent hotel after midnight - something about the lateness of the hour makes all the shine come off. Nina’s feet lead him down one hallway and down another, and he doesn’t realize he’s heading to their usual breakfast-conference room until he hears… music?

Yes, there’s definitely music coming out of there, the casual strumming of a stringed instrument that doesn’t have anywhere to go. Someone might be humming too, it’s hard to tell from a distance.

Nina follows the sound.

The door is open, just a bit, and all the lights are on. Sitting alone in the room is Trixie Mattel, bent in concentration over her autoharp.

Out of drag, she looks smaller, more vulnerable. It’s clear just how young she is. She’s picking at a tune, murmuring something under her breath. Nina suddenly feels a warm breeze against his skin, and the melody that Trixie’s playing becomes clearer, a delicate bluegrass riff that would be at home on Nina’s old Emmylou Harris or Linda Ronstadt records.

Along with the warm breeze comes a gust of dandelion seeds, floating through the hallway like tiny wisps of cotton. Nina feels like he’s alone with Trixie in the middle of a waving wheat field, sun-baked and desolate. He can smell the cracked soil beneath his feet, hear the sound of crickets chirping in time with Trixie’s brittle melody.

Oh no. That thing is happening again.

Trixie starts to sing:

“You’re the brightest star in any room.

I’m never lonelier than when I’m with you.

I miss something that’s never happened.

I miss a place I’ve never been to.”

Her voice is quiet at first, but it grows louder.

“There are some bridges that you cannot cross

Say it again ‘til I convince myself

But all this certainty it feels like loss.

I wouldn’t risk this much for no one else.”

Trixie gets to her feet, starts walking through the wheatfield as she sings the chorus.

“And there’s a wide field between us

How you traveled all those miles without me I don’t understand

I’m always on the edge of falling

And you could pull me over just by reaching out your hand

If you’d only take that chance.”

She keeps plucking at the harp, and Nina feels words welling up inside him, ready to spill from his mouth (when he starts singing, he’s thinking of Monét. Because of course he is.)

“This sort of thing, it don’t come easy

I never know just what to do or say

It feels impossible, believe me

That you would ever look at me that way.”

He thinks of Monét’s lips on Shangela’s after the Snatch Game. He thinks of Monét’s eyes on him at the bar. (“Be careful lookin’ at people like that, Nina West.”)

“There are some bridges that you cannot cross

I built up walls around this paper heart

But when I see you I forget it

All of the reasons we should be apart.”

Trixie harmonizes along with Nina as he sings the chorus.

“And there’s a wide field between us

How I traveled all these miles, baby, I don’t understand

I’m always on the edge of falling

And you could pull me over by just reaching out your hand

But could I ever take that chance?”

Nina sings the last line one more time, feeling the weight of his hopeless longing rising like a tide inside his chest. “If you’d only take that chance…”

“Nina?”

“Um.”

Trixie is sitting in the conference room, staring at him. She’s holding her autoharp but there’s no flowing wheatfields or whatever. Somehow Nina ended up in the doorway, just standing there. Fuck’s sake. Is he dissociating? Musically??? This is unbearable.

“How long have you been there?” Trixie asks, confused.

“Um, just got - here, so -” Nina’s face is probably turning bright red, and he’s hoping against that he hasn’t just been shouting song lyrics blankly at a terrified Trixie Mattel for the past few minutes. “Are you okay?”

Trixie winces. Then she nods.

“Yeah, of course. Just - yes. Couldn’t sleep. Figuring some - stuff out. You?”

“Just - you know. Having an emotional spiral.”

“Oh honey…” Trixie’s smiling but her voice is soft and sad. “My first perm was an emotional spiral, honey.”

Nina laughs in a brittle way, because 1) Trixie’s hilarious and 2) it’s obvious she’s trying to make him feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” Trixie sighs, shakes her head. “But thanks.”

Nina leaves her to it. After - whatever that just was - he feels ready to crash at long last. He’s still a bit buzzed from the tequila, but his nervous energy has banked, and he heads back to his room. He’s ready to sleep, ready to deal with tomorrow when it gets here.

So of course, there’s someone waiting for him outside his room.

“Nina West.” Maya the P.A. gives him a slow, broad smile the moment he comes into view. “Found your way back, hey? Great. We need to talk.”

Interlude: Trixie

Conversation with:

swamp thing

i cunt believe i agreed to this

Fuck autocorrect CANT

It knows what you REALLY MEANT

It knew i was texting you and assumed

I’ll take it

You’ll take anything

I ain’t proud mama

I’m hunnnnnngry

For serious though, things okay there?

For serious serious

4 C-ri-us

GROSS

That’s gonna be my dj name

Please welcome to the stage

Why do I talk to you

Why do i even know you

Yes things are find its just weird

Being back on set

And like also runnign a business and

planning a tour and all of it. At least

they let us keep our phones

Must be hard being successful

I’m crying for you

I didn’t know you could still produce tears

I squeeze em out

Like milking a cow

Just need the right suction

Stop talking to me

What can you say that you won’t get sued for

I want drama

Who’s fisting who

Ha monet wishes she was fisting someone

Shes like middle school crushing on a queen here

Its kinda cute and sad

If love isn’t pathetic i don’t want it

And there’s last seasons whole thing

#branjie

sell those hats

That is not about hats

I saw them at a show in LA last summer

They’re fucked up in love, mama

IN LOVE???

Who even are you

I’m a person who has eyes

that can see things

Are they not together? They’re togther right?

NOPE

Are you fucking kidding

I don’t believe it

Since when are you this romantic

I’m not romantic

I have no romance in my bones

It’s just OBVIOUS

Well not to them

Ahhhh the gays

When will we figure our shit out

Realize what’s right in front of us

You gone?

Yeah sorry

Going to pass out

Don’t die or anything

Whiel i’m gone

Aren’t you sweet

Conversation with:

sure thing

Doing anything fun tonight?

Or just missing me

Babe?

Ok sorry filming again

Call you on break

Do not let me do this again

I don’t care what they offer me

(id o care what they offer me)

Breaks over talk to you after?

How was your day?

Call me if you want

I’m done for the night

Just getting white girl wasted alone

In my hotel room

At the mini bar yes i’m that famous now

I’m gonna crash call me if you get this

Love u

Conversation with:

swamp thing

I dreamt that i was in a bsatroom

At mcdonalds that one you puked in

After the show in philadelphia

Do you remember? Probably not

And you were there and fucking

Gordon ramsay was there (!!!)

And he wad hitting on you

And i wasd so pissed off

And thrn this lady came in and was like

‘You can’t be in here, this is for ronald only” And i fully shot her with a GUN

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN TRACY

I just woke up and feel like a monster

She was just doing her job

Ronald mcdonald needs his private shitter

And i just killed her

I killed a living dream person

Thank you for sharing this with me

I feel so close to you right now

Yeah i don’t confess dream murder

to just ayone

But WHAT DOES IT MEAN???

Latent Ronald mcdonald fetish

Clearly

I’m not a doctor or anythng

But i’m sorry you’re dying

Yep yep makes sense

I always knew it would end like this

fuck/marry/kill

me/gordan ramsay/ronald mcD

(you wanna know what the D stands for)

No i want to sleep

For 3 more hours

But i’m on reality tv again

You should havw stopped me

Maybe this dream was a warning!

I’m supposed to save you

From endng up on Chopped

What did you dream about?

U have to tell me even if it’s sexy

That’s the law

Another teeth falling out one

Mama you know that’s my kink

Conversation with:

sure thing

Good morning sexy thing

I’m so tiiiiiired

Don’t make me get up yet

Hey are u alive?

Yes

Yay u r alive!

I called u yesterday night

And at lunch

U ok?

Did u get my messages?

yes

Can i call you?

I miss your voice

I cant talk right now

Sorry

I’ll call you tonight

After filming?

Sure

Love u gorgeous

Hey just called left a message

Give me a shout later

I miss you

Brian

Have you seen the pics

from the MTV Movie Awards?

Ummm ok

No i’ll look them up

Fuck my lashes are so uneven

U breaking up with me over lashes

Lol

U and kat are pretty cuddly

Haha

are u being serious

Ur joking

Are u ok? Can i call u?

I’m out right now

Call you when i get home

But we’ve talked about this before right

U know we’re friends

Me and Kat

We’re just friends

U know this

Yeah i have lots of friends

And we don’t hold hands and kiss eachother

All the fucking time

So we’re fdoing this over text?

Is that what we’re doing

No i’ll call u later

Call me ok? I love u

U cannot be jealous of katya

She’s my Business Partner

And it’s DRAG

We touch each otehr all the time

We all do

Gotta go call u later

Conversation with:

swamp thing

Can we talk?

Not if ur busy

Let me just stop blowing this senator

And kick the clowns out

And get thes handcuffs off

No i’m not worth it

Keep these good things goin

It was winding down anyway

Gettin awkward

I have yoga tomorrow

Whats up pussycat

This is gonna sound really weird

Have you seen the pics of us

from the movie awwrds

Probably blocked them out

why????

am i like a troll

No more than usual

David texted me about them

And he’s all pissed off??

Because of us holding hands

Like so so stupid right

WHAT???!

Thats crazy!

Im so sorry

This isn’t the handmaids tale

He can calm his tits

(sorry, not to attack him just) Has he seen our shows??

What did you tell him

To fucking call me!!!

And he hasn’t

And i’m on this stupid set and can’t just go

See him and convince him how crazy he is

I’m so sorry

Do you want me to call him

I’ll call him

Tell me what to say

No don’t

Don’t worry

Its fine

I’ll talk to him

Conversation with:

swamp thing

Hey are you awake

If youre awake call me

david and I are done

over the phone

FUN

sorry you’re clearly asleep

I’m just a little drunk

brian

he said some things

that ive been thinking about

maybe call me tomorrow if u can

guess ill see you soon anyway

dont die while im gone

miss u

#rpdr fanfiction #nina west #monet x change #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #ninex #eventual branjie #background trixya #smut #angst #musical #all stars au #how far i'll go #hfig #mia ugly #meggie #concrit welcome #on set fic

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oumiyuki · 5 years

Text

Teachers don’t date teachers (but You-sensei and Riko-sensei definitely are) Ch10

Summary: The whole student body and teachers teases the gym teacher, Watanabe You, with the new art teacher, Sakurauchi Riko, that they make a cute couple. How long can You deny this when Riko isn’t helping to reduce the rumours?

Pairing: YouRiko

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slice of Teacher Life ;D

Words: 1066

Author Notes

I wanna write more of this!

May you enjoy~ XD

---------

Tease10 - You-sensei’s heart is going doki-doki-doki?! (And it’s all because of Riko-sensei!)

---------

The awkward moment begins again when dinner and teasing are over and another change of clothes is called for.

You stands up awkwardly, blinks a myriad of times before finding her voice, "I-"

"I can change on my own this time, You-chan." Riko moves her legs out from under the blankets and You quickly averts her eyes from staring.

"T-That's good. I'll. Be...outside!" You dashes out the room, closing it behind her, not hearing the art teacher's giggle.

You sighs as she rests her back and head against the door of Riko’s room, putting a hand over her racing heart.

Why do I get so weird in front of Riko-chan..? Sheesh…

You focuses on nothing for a time as she questions her flustered self she could not understand at this point; and after really long minutes, she started looking around restlessly, noting the faded pink walls and very clustered space all around.

Riko-sensei- Er…Riko-chan sure has a lot of art stuff.

You turns her head around a little, wondering how things are going on the other side of this wooden door.

Riko-chan is…changing-

“I’m done.” Riko’s soft voice sounds and You jumps a step back.

“Ah! Um, okay! I…I’ll come in?” You’s hand hovers at the knob and she turns a shade redder when she hears the art teacher’s lyrical giggle coming from inside.

Ahhh…Watanabe You!! Why do you do this to yourself??

“Yes.” Riko answers and You takes a few deep breaths to compose herself before opening the door.

Changed.

You thinks as she looks at Riko dressed in a long pastel pink shirt. The ash-brunette couldn’t make out of Riko was wearing anything below but at least…the art teacher’s behind was covered by the length of that shirt. You didn’t have to question it to know her cheeks were warm and flushed again.

“Well.” You begins with a clap and craning her neck away awkwardly.

Riko sits on the side of her bed. “Well?”

Well. You told me to stay the night. With you. In your house. Just you and me! So!!

“I’ll be outside if you need me.” You rubs the back of her neck awkwardly as she takes a few steps backwards to exit the room once again.

Riko simply watches the gym teacher go; her lips moving like she wanted to say something but she was holding back. You closes the door behind her before opening it again in the next second. Riko arches an eyebrow at the ash-brunette who was blushing cutely.

“Er…Goo- Goo- Good night. Riko…chan.” You stutters out.

Was it supposed to be so difficult to say good night to someone?!

Riko chuckles with a hand over her mouth. “Good night, You-chan~”

You stares helplessly at the art teacher who was obviously entertained by her silly self. You grunts and closes the door.

Riko-chan is having way too much fun! I’m doing my best to take care of her here and she just keeps…keeps…making me feel weird all over.

You sighs again; the day she understands these feelings of hers, the happier she will be. The ash-brunette pauses as she accessed her sleeping space.

“Seriously?”

You thought she could sleep on the sofa but it was covered in canvases and brushes of all sizes and other paint tools, plus old newspaper all over to perhaps protect the sofa or the art material; You couldn’t quite tell.

You ruffles her hair and shakes her head.

Maybe a spare room…

You carries her feet over to the only spare room available since Riko’s apartment was a 3-room flat (2 rooms and a living room). You never felt so much disbelief and despair before. The room was filled with more art stuff!

“I know you’re an art teacher but…but do you really need that many art materials!” You cries out to herself; giving the spare room a quick scan, hoping that there might be a mini couch Riko might use to rest after long hours of being arty.

Anything…anything…just a space that fits for an adult to stretch out her legs…and…nope.

You trudges back out and hesitantly looks at Riko’s room door.

Do I go back in..?

You scratches her cheek. “Maybe ask her if she has a spare bed…”

You knocks on the door and it didn’t take long for Riko to respond so she opens the door once again. “R-Riko-chan…Do you have a…spare bed?”

“I don’t.” Riko replies as she turned to press the space on her bed.

She hasn’t gone to bed huh…

“I see. Then I-”

“Just sleep with me on the same bed…” Riko makes eye contact with You; soft, beckoning hazels staring into widening in bewilderment azure eyes.

“Wha-”

“I don’t mind.” Riko adds gently.

Well, I do!

“No, I…”

Riko makes a sad face. “Or I could find some spare towels…and sleep on the floor-”

“Sleep on the floor?? No, no. You can’t. You’re sick. You-”

You stops mid exclamation when she sees the art teacher’s small smile; smile but indicating the big news that she has won. Riko pats the space to her right.

“Ugh, fine, fine. We’ll share the bed.” You pouts as she makes her way to the opposite side of the bed, plopping herself down quickly before her brain and heart decided otherwise.

Riko giggles soft as she pulls the blanket over herself.

“Only because you’re stubborn and unreasonable.” You grumbles as she lies down.

The art teacher chuckles, and You was doing her best to not look over to Riko who was hardly ten centimetres away, considering Riko sleeps on a single bed. “Regretting being my caretaker?”

You breathes out heavily as she shifts her head further away from Riko. “…No…I’d still choose to be your caretaker.”

I don’t want it to be anyone else…

“Oh? You’ll choose me, huh~?” The lilt in Riko’s voice oozing with glee as she giggled to herself.

Riko-chan!!

You’s cheeks explodes in a deeper blush than it already was and coughed rather embarrassingly beside Riko. “Just- Just sleep already, Riko-chan!”

Riko laughs unabashedly on her side of the bed for a time before she returned to a calmer breathing pace. “Good night~ You-chan.”

“Good night…” You replies as she turns to lie on her side fully, so her back was facing Riko; she really couldn’t do the opposite. The reason for her being unable to sleep would change if she did so.

Riko-chan…

Author Notes

See? I just couldn’t pass off the chance to write You and Riko’s first time. Sleeping in the same bed. ;D hehehe~

I’m also clearly 1 month late. But hey! I’m back~! XD

I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! It was filled with You suffering though; because GOSH! Riko-sensei is having too much fun teasing You! Hehe~ ^w^

Leave comment if you like! :D I’ll be up to read it (since You’s heart is going doki doki with a sleeping Riko beside her~ XD)

See you next tease~! :D

#youriko #watanabe you #sakurauchi riko #love live sunshine #fanfiction #fanfic #teacher/teacher au #the teacher/teacher au I crave for youriko #writing #fluff #teachers #romance #love live

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iamnotbrianmay · 5 years

Text

The A Experience

Hey darlings! Chapter 18 is here and I’m excited for y’all to read it!

taglist goes as follows: @seven-seas-of-why, @twotitsjohndeacon, @dancindeaky, @gee-uloser, @mozzarellamazzello, @mozzie-s, @deracine-dogma-deux, @shutupanddontjudge, @warping-reality, @demianhill , @zodiacal-dust-and-curls, @hersked

The week came and went faster than Brian expected. One moment he was taking his usual astronomy classes, the next he was packing his embarrassingly old suitcase into the back of their van and getting ready to go to Truro with Roger. He had managed to learn eighteen of the twenty one names Roger had given him, and had managed to save up enough to buy Winifred Taylor bottle of decent enough wine.

He got into the van after a few seconds of hesitation, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for Roger to get in. The blond climbed with a flurry of movements, making the van tilt, and smiled at Brian. It was enough to light up his face, making him look three hundred times prettier. Brian couldn’t help it, he leaned over and kissed the tip of Roger’s nose, which made the blond blush.

“What was that for?”

Brian shrugged, “You looked cute.”

Roger blushed deeper, and turned the key on the ignition. Then slapped the wheel, “Damn it, Brian May. Don’t do that to me. I look like an idiot.”

Brian started laughing at Roger’s faux annoyance, even managing to make Roger blush deeper and whisper a small, ‘What the fuck is happening to me?’ to himself after blowing him a kiss.

“You know I used to be quite the Don Juan.”

“oh Yeah?”

Roger nodded, “I could literally get a different girl every single time I walked into a club.”

Brian let out a loud guffaw, “Okay I’ll humour you Romeo, what changed?”

There was a bump in the road that made Brian and Roger wince, but the older man couldn’t hold back the smile on his face when Roger sighed, “I met you.”

It was a good thing Roger was focused on the road because yeah, Brian could have melted in that exact moment.

☼

Despite Roger spending the entire trip to Truro telling Brian about his family, the guitarist was still taken by surprise at the… warm reception. The first person to come out and greet the boys was no other than Winnie, Roger’s mother. She was a beautiful woman, with large blue eyes and long, curly, blonde hair tied back with a bandana.

She had a toddler balanced on her hip, an adorable redhead, who was way too interested in pulling at one of her locks of hair to notice the screech of happiness that the blond woman let out when she saw the van pulling into the driveway.

“Roger darling!” she exclaimed, giving him a tight, one-armed hug.

“Hullo mum” he murmured into her hair, before pulling back and grinning at her.

She turned her smile on Brian “and you must be Brian! I’ve heard so much about you.”

He smiled back at her and bent down to be enfolded in the shorter woman’s hug. “Come in boys, you’ll catch your deaths!”

The small house was very warm and cozy and Brian tried to picture Roger growing up in it, scrambling down the stairs or sitting in front of the television. “I’ll just make a fresh pot of tea. Roger why don’t you bring the bags up to your room and then you can come tell me all the news!”

Roger nodded and pointed his head towards the stairs, “This way Bri, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Brian followed him up the staircase, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the low ceiling. Roger heard his grunt and looked back smirking “Sorry, old house is kinda small.”

Brian smiled back, “It’s lovely Rog.”

At the top of the stairs they walked a couple steps to a faded pink door. Roger turned the handle and Brian took in his childhood bedroom. Posters and old polaroids covered most of the walls, spare drum parts and notebooks littered a small desk. It was chaotic but organized and very much Roger’s space.

Brian grinned as he inspected some of the snapshots up close. “Oh my god Rog you were so cute!”

“What are you talking about were?” Roger squeaked indignantly. “Are you saying I’m not cute now!?”

Brian turned and smiled, before wrapping the smaller boy in a hug. “Of course not—now you’re just plain hot.”

At the compliment, Roger couldn’t help hugging him back. They stayed like that for a minute before Roger pulled back and looked up at him, “Okay nice save, you’re still on thin fucking ice.” He winked at Brian’s furrowed brow.

And with that, he skipped out of the room and down the stairs “Mum! Tea ready yet?”

Brian shook his head and followed after him, bracing himself for the ‘interrogation’ that surely awaited him downstairs.

Making sure to duck as he descended the staircase, Brian saw Roger bring a tray loaded with mugs, a saucer of milk and some plates into the living room. Feeling a little awkward, Brian stood by the doorway until Roger indicated where he should sit. He knew his father hated when someone sat in ‘his’ recliner and didn’t want to make any such mistakes in the Taylor household.

Roger noticed and waved his hand, “Just sit anywhere Bri!”

Brian shrugged and sat on the nearby loveseat, Roger landing heavily beside him.

“Napping has commenced!” Winnie announced as she entered the room with a teapot covered with a cozy.

She placed the teapot on the table with everything else and sat in the armchair across from them. “So how are you boys? How’s the band doing?”

They looked at each other, not sure who would speak first. Brian figured Roger should be the one to give his mum the good news. He nodded and Roger smiled “Better than you can imagine, mum. We are recording an album, we play weekly gigs and we even landed ourselves an interview with the Rolling Stone!.”

Both of them grinned as Winne jumped excitedly in her chair, “Oh that’s wonderful! I’m sure it’ll be fabulous!”

Roger nodded enthusiastically, then elbowed Brian “Bri’s fantastic on guitar...and he writes some of the songs too. I’m sure he can give you a little concert if you still have grandad’s guitar somewhere.”

Brian felt his face heat at the compliment. “And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you Mrs. Taylor that your son is a very talented drummer.”

“Oh please, call me Winnie. When I hear Mrs. Taylor I think of my mother in law.” Brian, touched by the easy familiarity, nodded.

“So Brian, obviously we’ve heard a lot about you from Roggie over here—but I don’t think he told me how exactly you met? It was one of those online app thingies, yeah?”

And just like that the comfortable feeling disappeared.

“Uh…” Brian started, before the front door banged open and interrupted him.

“Where’s my favourite idiot brother!?” Came a woman’s voice from the front hall.

“Clare!” Roger said happily, getting up and running into his sister for a hug. Brian sat and watched as the two embraced, noting that Clare also had the Taylor blonde hair and blue eyes. After a moment Roger pulled back and turned towards him, “Clare this is Brian.”

His voice was both nervous and proud. Clare turned her inquisitive eyes on him and Brian swore he could feel them inspecting him. He stood up to come meet her and her eyebrows rose as she now had to look up at him.

“Well” she said, putting her hands on her hips “he sure wasn’t lying when he said you were tall.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders and was about to hold out his hand when the smaller woman practically launched herself at him. Brian stumbled but after a moment returned the hug. Roger grinned and Brian smiled over Clare’s shoulder at him—so far so good! Then Clare turned her head slightly and whispered in his ear, “If you hurt my brother I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

Brian felt the smile freeze on his face as he let her down. She was just kidding...he hoped. Clare gave her mom a peck on the cheek then turned back to them.

“Rog! Come help me bring my stuff in and let mom interrogate Brian over here” she said jokingly.

Roger squeezed Brian’s hand, “I’ll be right back.”

“Try not to scream, okay? Anthony’s sleeping.”

Then he followed Clare out of the room. Brian, for his part, was feeling a bit like the rug had been pulled from under him. He looked over to find Winnie smiling sympathetically at him. She came over and pulled him to sit back on the loveseat, taking Rogers place beside her.

“Don’t worry dear, Clare’s just a little overprotective. Has been as long as I can remember.” Brian nodded in response, still unsure of what to say.

Winnie poured them both a cup of tea. “Milk and sugar?” She asked.

“Just milk please” he said faintly.

Winnie smiled again and handed him his mug. He took a sip of the hot tea and enjoyed the faint burn as he swallowed.

“I figure Clare will be doing a little interrogating of her own, we’ll have some time to ourselves. Now do you want to tell me how you two met?”

Not really, Brian thought, but when do I ever get what I want?

☼

Roger takes a peek into his nephew’s room, cooing softly at the sight of the redhead sleeping peacefully, before heading over to help Clare with her things.

“He is so pretty, Moon.”

“He is, isn’t he?” She agrees as she takes out a shirt and folds it into the nearly empty drawer, the only thing in there seem to be Anthony’s clothes, which Roger figures his mum put in when they got here. “I fall a bit more in love with him every day.”

Roger knew better than to ask why his sister’s husband wasn’t coming, he might be the youngest, and might have made some mistakes, but he sure as hell hadn’t gone and married an utter asshole. Clare turned to him then, and her twenty three years of age seemed like a whole lot more when she looked at him.

“I can hear you thinking, you know?”

Roger let out a huff of laughter, “Can you?”

“Yeah,” she gathered her hair and started making a bun, “I can hear the ‘Aiden is an asshole’ all the way from here.”

Roger’s heart skipped a beat at the declaration. He’d never heard his sister talk about her husband like that. Clare gave him a wry smile, eyes crinkling at the corner, “I know what you all think of him.”

There is a beat of silence.

“I might be starting to think that myself.”

Clare had married young to a then-charming Aiden. A handsome redhead who all of the family had loved the first two years of their marriage. Then it had all gone to shit, leaving Clare pregnant at twenty-one with a shit husband and an even shittier brother who brought her more harm than good.

Yeah, their family was a bit shit at the relationship department.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” she shrugged, “but there’s nothing I can do about it now except save you from making the same mistake. Make sure this guy is the right person for you, someone who’s not another Tim. Not another Aiden. Not another Michael.”

Michael Taylor is not a can of worms he wants to open tonight, so he settles for telling Clare everything while she unpacks. It feels therapeutic, to say the least, and she listen intently to everything he has to say. She stays quiet until he finishes speaking, then sits down beside him and combs through his long locks of hair.

“He’s waited eight months for you?”

“I know,” he answers, “I didn’t think anyone would ever do that for me.”

“Aren’t you ever going to kiss him?”

He gives her a small nod, “Someday. When I don’t feel dirty. When I don’t feel like throwing up at the concept. When I don’t feel like I would be damaging the most precious thing I have ever had in my life.”

“You know that last bit is bullshit, right?”

Roger frowns, “Is it?”

“I mean, you have every right to feel that way,” Clare corrects herself, “What I’m trying to say is that you wouldn’t be damaging Brian. You are not dirty, or broken, or cursed. You shouldn’t stop yourself from enjoying things just because of what you went through.”

He stays quiet for a while, letting Clare run her fingers through his hair and enjoying the quietness of the afternoon, the familiarity of his childhood home. Then he shrugs, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” She whispers, then presses a kiss to his forehead, “You don’t have to rush, take as much time as you need. But keep in mind that you aren’t damaged, you are not somehow less because of the things that have happened to you.”

They stayed like that for a while, silent and pondering about the things that have happened and that could happen. They are only pulled away from their thoughts when their mum calls for them, yelling about their cousins who have just arrived.

Clare gives her younger brother a kiss on the cheek as they finally stand up, and Roger realises that she never even finished unpacking.

#Brian May #roger taylor #john deacon #freddie mercury #queen #slash #my writing #the a experience fic

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fabermemorialrink · 7 years

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some mistake, part 3

This part marks the end of what would be chapter one! Still a good handful of sections to upload after this one, but uh I should warn you I probably left off in the middle of writing the most important part, so I hope y’all don’t mind some suspense later on haha. Thanks again for reading!!

So Derek takes Dex’s advice to heart and tries, he really does, and...it kind of works. There are some people in each of his classes that he becomes friendly with, that he can grab a bite with or have study sessions with. And the team has several guys he's pretty close to now. There's Shitty, who’s easy to talk to and shows his support for Derek in his free-spirited, oft-naked way, and Ransom and Holster, who take him under their defensive wing. Ollie and Wicks, Indy and Alph and manager Sierra who treats them all like her out-of-control little brothers.

Derek likes them all but just even being in school drains him every day, over time. There's nothing wrong with any of them, per se, but they're all part of the same system, and it's like a vortex of bleakness that everyone at Andover is caught in. So he goes to class and talks to the tolerable people, and re-learns every single morning how to ignore the intolerable ones, and he goes to practice and bonds with the guys, and when it starts cascading into the always present shadow of pressure and prejudice, he escapes to where he can take a moment, just to be himself without being berated for having the audacity to exist.

He doesn't usually see Dex when he's just meditating in his hidey-hole, his head poking out to rest on the roots and stare up at the treasured glimpses of sky that are revealed to him through the shifting leaves. But he realizes soon enough, shortly before he heads back to the city for Thanksgiving break (because all three of his parents are actually going to be home simultaneously for once) that when he dares to delve deeper, and the woods entangles itself around him slowly and imperceptibly until he's lost in a dark corner again, Dex appears like clockwork to rescue him.

It's an accident at first, just a genuine attempt to try and teach himself more about the outdoors. He read up on camping and shit, and some Thoreau for good measure, but putting what he read into practice doesn't seem hugely successful for Derek. Inevitably, he ends up stranded in the unknown - in the inner ring, as Dex finally tells him one day when they're sitting by a pond Derek's never seen before and eating trail mix he swiped from the dining hall - where his sense of direction fails him.

Dex is nothing if not supremely reliable and strangely, suspiciously, always aware of Derek's whereabouts, so Derek is never left waiting long before Dex storms out to chastise him for endangering himself. Derek still doesn’t get it, because literally nothing seems to live in the goddamn woods except his ginger stalker/self-appointed bodyguard/friend, so he continues to tell Dex to chill and make half-baked promises to not get himself murdered. Dex always does this hilarious hand-clench of frustration when Derek brushes off his concerns, but nevertheless semi-reluctantly puts up with his company until he deems it too dark or too cold for Derek to stay any longer.

Soon it becomes habit to search Dex out whenever Derek's feeling numb. On good days, they get along, talking about the junk they’re interested in. Dex isn’t up to date on the newest shows or movies that Derek likes, but they bond over the nostalgic films of the past, and Derek gives quick and dirty summaries of all the shitty books he’s read on long plane rides. If he exaggerates the inanity of some of the plots, well, it gets a laugh out of Dex, so whatever.

On not-so-good days, at least he has someone he can argue unapologetically with. Sometimes it's important stuff, because Dex is still very much a know-nothing white boy who doesn't understand what Derek goes through on a daily basis. And though Derek still doesn’t actually know much about Dex at all, he does know that Dex thinks he’s too damn rich to understand his hang-ups about buying nice but frivolous things, and dropping more than eight dollars on brunch. So they fight about these things sometimes, but because Derek can’t physically find his way back home without Dex’s assistance, it becomes a forced learning experience for the both of them, to learn to listen to one another without tussling like elementary-schoolers. It works more than it doesn’t, but they’re also both dumbass fifteen year olds who don’t know when to quit, so there are nights that Dex dumps Derek at the field without another word and Derek spends the next day moping in his bed, then moping in his hollow until one of them has enough guts to go and apologize.

And sometimes, their arguments are about whether the pet rock was the best cash grab of all time, or how much money it would have cost to fake the moon landing, or whether it’s a terrible idea for Derek to try a backflip on the ice.

What it comes down to is this: even when they fight, at least Derek feels alive. At least he knows the person he’s talking to cares, about something. They’re not always in sync about how they see the world, but Dex is real in a way the kids at Andover never are, and willing, in his mulish way, to consider Derek’s point of view after a shouting match. And, for all the faces and weird noises he makes, he’s a good listener. Derek practices his public speaking assignment on him and his oral presentation for Spanish; Dex claps in the right places and throws pebbles at him when he’s avoiding eye contact too much. He asks after Derek’s family and his team, and almost always remembers to ask Derek about his games. Derek thinks he probably follows Andover hockey more closely than Shitty’s parents do. Several invitations to their home games have been extended, but Dex always apologizes before turning them down.

Derek doesn’t put it into words until the day Dex sets him to work gathering herbs “for reasons” and they’re sitting in the dirt and fog picking through weeds and chirping each other about their bad hand-eye coordination. Derek has mist in his face and there’s soil caked under his nails from digging up tiny sprouts and silvery roots, but it’s been the best part of his day by far.

“How’d you get dirt on your nose?” Dex asks when Derek delivers another handful of shoots to him.

“Just living that natural life, Dexy.” Derek swipes at his face with the back of his hand, but from the look that crosses Dex’s face he’s not finding much success. He makes another attempt with the heel of his palm this time.

“No, you- there’s even more now,” Dex says irritably. He reaches up, as if to brush the smudge away himself, but aborts the motion halfway and digs him hand harder into the ground instead.

Derek grins, and tries again. “Did I get it?” he asks as he deliberately streaks dirt from the bridge of his nose across his cheek. The corner of Dex’s eye twitches as he fights with himself, until Derek slowly and deliberately digs up a solid handful of muck, ready to plaster it to his own face.

Dex dives for him as he brings his hand up in slow-motion, flattening him to the ground as they battle over Derek’s hand.

“You’re a literal child, I swear to god,” Dex hisses, wrestling Derek's arm in place long enough to smear most of the dirt off.

“Lots of adults enjoy the rejuvenating properties of a mud mask, bro.” Derek pats his cheeks gently with what's left of the soil on his hands, and offers the remainder to Dex. “Give it a try. Refreshed skin will bring out your freckles more.”

“Why would I ever want that.” Dex has to pin Derek’s arm down with his shoulder to protect his face.

“Seriously? People would kill for the Look you got going on, dude.” Dex’s eyes narrow when he hears the capital L, but Derek continues. “You're like a concept painting of autumn. All gold and red and orange.”

“What does that even mean, you weirdo?” Dex groans into the dirt as he rolls away from Derek, ending in a patch of brambly leaves that stick in his shirt.

“It means you’re beautiful inside and out. Own it.”

“Were you put on this earth to torment me?”

“Maybe! Aw, that's cute. Like we were made for each other.”

“What.”

“Well, like, if I exist just to annoy you, and you exist to be my bff, then it's kinda like we were made for each other, right?”

“Wait- are we even having the same conversation right now?” Dex asks, confused. He bounces up like a pop-up book insert to give Derek his classic squint of suspicion. “Who's what now?”

“You’re my best friend, Dex, is what I’m saying,” Derek tells him, smiling at him sideways from where he's still tipped over into the mud. This is what it should feel like, right? This comfortable, unfiltered ease that Derek has grown used to in Dex’s presence. No pretenses, no fear of letting his chill slip or his anger surge. Derek is Derek, and Dex, even with all his secrets, is Dex, and that's all they need.

“Oh. That’s not where I thought this was going. Are you sure?” Dex asks, scratching awkwardly at his hair tucked under his cap. He cut it recently, choppy and slightly uneven; Derek suspects he may have done it by hand himself. Hopefully not with the hatchet. He seems to be in disbelief, so Derek solves the problem the only way he knows how: by being extra annoying.

“No, actually, now that I think about it more, I don't know if I can be friends with someone who’s afraid of barbershop quartets.”

“Oh my god, I'm not afraid of them, I just think the striped vests are fuckin’ weird! And the hats, too, Jesus. It's creepy, okay?”

“You are legit the strangest dude I know. You scared of 90s boy bands too? Leather pants, frosted tips?”

Dex undergoes a deep, full body shudder of disgust, visibly trying to shake the memory off himself. “Quit it, Nursey-”

“Matching track suits! Bandanas and denim overalls!”

“I don't understand how the hell we’re still friends,” and Derek’s smile must be embarrassingly real, because Dex flushes that nice shade of red he gets when he's flustered but not angry, and half-heartedly gives Derek a “yeah, okay, me too,” which, in the current flow of the conversation is a non-sequitur, but Derek gets it.

When it draws close to six, Dex packs up his basket and walks Derek back out, even though Derek has got a pretty good handle on navigating the outer ring by now, where the forest isn't yet labyrinthine and dim. Like always, he halts at the edge, but this time, he stops Derek with a hand to his arm, his skin warm despite the biting coldness in the air.

Dex is about to say something, but Derek word vomits on him before he can speak up. “You wanna come visit my dorm? We could watch Netflix, eat stale pop tarts.” It's such a fantastic proposition that Derek is surprised Dex doesn't immediately begin heckling him.

“Sorry, but I, uh, also gotta get home. Besides, you know they'd never let me into your prep school dorm room. Blue collar cooties,” he says with the sort of uncasual shrug that says he's accepted long ago there are places he isn't meant to go.

“I can't believe you just used the word cooties in a sentence,” Derek says, trying to lighten the mood, because even he's more than willing to sneak Dex in, doesn't mean his friend wants to go. He probably wants to keep their lives compartmentalized. They can share the woods; everything else is off-limits. That's okay. Derek can handle that.

“Some of us have to make do with our dollar store vocabulary.”

“I didn't say I didn't like it. You have the best cooties,” Derek says solemnly and clasps Dex’s shoulder.

Dex shakes him off, but cracks a smile, so it's a solid win. “Shut your face, Nursey. You know I wouldn't fit in with those guys. You'll just have to bring your pop tarts here. Not the laptop though; electronics don't work right in the woods.”

Derek swallows thickly, suddenly overcome with this invitation. It's new. Dex almost always sees Derek off with a demand that he watch his back and stay in school, like some kind of twisted after-school special. He never makes any indication that he actually wants Derek to visit, though Derek’s learned enough of his tacit signs by now to know that Dex doesn't mind his company. “Yeah? What flavor?” he asks when he unties his tongue.

“Wild berry. Extra stale.”

“I'll open a pack and leave it in my math binder for a week.”

Dex must remember that Derek avoids even touching his math materials if he can, because he laughs, and gives Derek a little shove closer to the field. “I'm counting on it. Hey, we need to make some ground rules though.”

“Rules? Like the name prohibition.”

The first couple of times they ran into each other again Dex had reiterated the ironclad importance of Derek never, ever uttering his name while in the woods. Dex nods now, relieved that Derek’s been bludgeoned with that information until it stuck.

“Right. Never tell anyone your name; that’s the most important one. Rule number two: don't trust anyone you meet in the woods. Got it?”

“Uh, what's that supposed to mean? Didn’t I meet you in the woods?”

Dex makes a complicated face and a jerky, ambivalent motion with his hand that Derek does not understand at all. “There's just some strange people in here sometimes,” he says, still hedging around something. “Be wary around them. If they ever try to make you break rule number one, get the fuck outta there. Even if it’s me, okay?”

What? Why would Dex ever…”Okay? If you say so?” What’s Dex afraid of? Brainwashing? Doppelgangers? Clones??

“Promise me, Nursey,” Dex says intensely, gripping Derek’s elbow tight. “I might not always be around to watch out for you.”

Derek must look too hesitant still, because Dex pinches his arm and he lets out a yelp. “Alright, chill, Dex. I promise.” Then, narrowing his eyes, he ventures to ask, “Is this a cult thing? ‘Cause my parents know people. We can help.”

“It's not a cult thing. And if it were, it’s not like I’d admit it.”

“Hmmmm.” Derek looks around, giving the woods a leery once-over, before leaning in to hiss, “Blink twice if they’re watching us. Blink three times if they’re holding you against your will.”

Dex stares at him for a few seconds before blinking deliberately twice (!), then a few more times for a total of five. Derek’s brain flies into overdrive as he tries to decipher this. Is it five as in two plus three? Is he giving Derek a signal? Or is he just messing around?

While he dithers over this, Dex purses his lips and blows a sharp stream of air right into Derek’s eyes. He recoils, clutching at his face.

“Ow, what the fuck, Dex!”

“That’s enough cultist bs for one day. Time to go home, Nursey. Walk slowly; wouldn’t want you to trip on literally nothing again and ruin your pretty face, city boy.”

“Ha ha,” Derek grouses, still rubbing his eyes. He’s well aware of his bad skin and awkward legs. Dex doesn’t need to rub it in. “D’you practice those lines on the squirrels before you try them on people?”

“Don’t be dumb. You ever seen a squirrel around here?” Dex snipes back, but the corners of his eyes crease in a smile and he mutters, “I practice on the trees.”

Derek is still laughing as Dex shoves him out onto the field toward home.

#nurseydex #nursey #dex #omgcp fic #some mistake #nursey's parents are a beautiful loving poly triad if that was not made clear yet

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