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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Level Up, Chapter Eleven (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

“I don’t think I could come up with anything negative about you.”

Brooke’s eyes are sincere as she says it, and Vanessa’s heart starts to beat just a little bit faster. Vanessa’s a person who’s always on the go, not one to slow down if she doesn’t have to but Brooke has the ability to make her world pause for just a second. Brooke changes Vanessa’s focus from what’s in front of her to solely her, and Vanessa almost wishes she could keep it there forever.

It’s never that hard for Vanessa to come up with words to reply with, especially not towards Brooke, but her brain feels like it has shuddered to a stop, pressing on the brakes because the small smile on Brooke’s face is more important to focus on. She could say something stupid, something funny, maybe return the sentiment but she doesn’t get a chance to decide on what to do before Yvie lets out a scoff.

“Except for your dislike of Chicken Little. That’s a negative if I’ve ever seen one.”

AN: Hi, I'm still alive, I promise. Popping back into this lovely fic nearly eight months later (a new job, a new apartment, a new city, and a new cat later too) and I love it just as much as I did in January. Eight months is good for plot to marinate and develop and I'm excited to get back to writing this fic again. If you're still around for this journey, thank you and know I'm so grateful for it. Please do tell me your thoughts if you read! Thank you writ for betaing ily <3

“So you have that interview with Glamour, I’ll set it up for some time this week, and Teen Vogue wants to do something on their Youtube channel. Who knew that was a thing? I’m working on Adidas’ rep to finagle a sponsorship outta them, and Under Armour on the backburner just in case-”

Vanessa bursts through the doors of the gym while Detox continues talking in her ear, not at all apologetic about the way that she has to interrupt her as she ambles towards Brooke’s office. “Just reached the gym. We’ll have to continue this later, ‘cause training waits for no one, right?”

“I see exactly what you’re doing, but I’m not mad at it. Go work on building those boxing skills that’ll keep lining your pockets for years. Toodles!”

Vanessa lets out a snort when Detox hangs up the phone. “Toodles? Who the hell says that?”

“Detox?” Brooke looks up from her book, an amused smile on her face. “I know that trick.”

“What trick?” Vanessa squints her eyes as she sits down, trying to read the cover of Brooke’s paperback. “Are you reading Chicken Soup for the Soul? ”

Brooke waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. And the trick of dipping out of Detox’s phone calls. Why else would you get to the gym so early?”

“Oh, come on. I’m early sometimes. Occasionally,” Vanessa grins, and Brooke doesn’t buy it in the least from the way she raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe not. I like Detox, I really do, don’t get me wrong. She’s hysterical and good at her job, real good at it, but damn.”

“Detox works hard,” Brooke nods, understanding in her eyes. “It’s a lot to handle sometimes.”

“She cranks up the exposure by a million and targets it in specific places and it works, ‘cause I have a lot of followers and deals now but…”

“But what?”

Brooke leans forward, pushing her book to the side as she looks earnestly at Vanessa. It’s striking, sometimes, how Brooke gives her full attention. How much she cares sometimes.

It’s nice.

“It feels real wild, y’know? Like all I did was become a meme, and now my face is going to be in a Spotify commercial. How does that jump happen?” Vanessa shifts in her chair, letting out a sigh. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

It’s as if Vanessa is riding in a car that’s only getting faster and faster, not quite in control of the steering wheel or knowing when she’s going to be able to stop. Sure, the ride is fun, but it also feels like she’s driving without a license, as if she’s skipped the learner’s permit stage and hit the highway instead.

“She wants to capitalize on it as much as possible. Keep you in the spotlight even after the next big meme rolls around,” Brooke shrugs, before pausing for a second, a look of concern in her eyes. “It’s not too much, is it? I can always talk to Detox with you if you feel like it’s overwhelming-”

“Nah, I’ll survive,” Vanessa shrugs, giving her best reassuring smile to Brooke. “Lush sent me some free shit the other day. I like goodie bags.”

Brooke snorts. “Fair enough. Bath bombs are a reason to keep going.”

“Want some? I got enough for a month's worth of spa days.” Vanessa makes a mental note to bring some of the freebies for Brooke on their next practice. She’s earned half of everything, at least.

“You have any of the sakura ones?” Brooke is tentative with her question, and Vanessa nods enthusiastically.

“You’re getting all of ‘em.”

“Now, hold on a second-”

“It’s six. Don’t we have practice to start?” Vanessa’s up and out of the office before Brooke can protest any further. “I’m gonna go change.”

Practice is nice. Practice feels familiar amongst all the new chaos in Vanessa’s life. It lets her turn her brain off and get away from the people that recognize her out in public, the way her Instagram is now solely for sponsored posts. The way she feels like a caricature of herself, almost, because others have an opinion of who she is based on a ten second video clip.

But practice isn’t like that. In the gym, Brooke is the same as ever, pushing and pushing her until sweat is drenching her back and her mind is spinning and she feels more alive than she ever has. When Brooke throws moves at Vanessa that she has to work in overdrive to block and counter with some of her own, it’s familiar. Even though she’s tired and gasping for breath, it’s what she knows how to do, and in an environment that isn’t unsettling or foreign.

The best part about it? Vanessa can still feel herself learning. Growing. Stepping up to the challenges that Brooke throws at her. Sure, she’s not aching to get back into the competition ring anytime soon, but the approving smiles from Brooke when she gets in a good hit or when she avoids a shot that would previously knock her on the ground gives her a thrill every time.

The end of practice leaves Vanessa with a new sense of longing that’s only been present the last few weeks, since this whole meme mess has started. Leaving the gym is hard, because it means Vanessa has to go outside again, pull her hat down when passerby on the sidewalk give her a second look. She has to unlock her phone and pretend to be busy, but then she’s faced with comments pouring in on every social media account that she opens. She can text one of her friends but it’s hard to continue a conversation, really, after it starts with a rousing Miss Vanjie, no matter how much in jest.

Being outside the gym means that she’s reminded of her new loss of normalcy.

She takes her time switching back into her sweats after she showers, dragging her feet as she leaves the change room with her gym bag slung over her shoulder. When she squints her eyes she can see Brooke at the far end of the gym, teetering on a stool as she repositions one of the crooked banners. Brooke turns around almost as if she can tell Vanessa is there, a good natured smile and an easy wave following immediately.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Need any help?” Vanessa’s stalling a bit by asking, but maybe Brooke really could use a hand with the banners, or at least an extra set of eyes to make sure that they’re nice and straight.

She’s just helpful, that’s all.

Brooke, to her credit, doesn’t call Vanessa out for it as she squints, admiring her handiwork. “I think they’re as aligned as they’re ever going to be. I’m going to get ready to leave for the night, too.”

“Oh,” Vanessa doesn’t mean to sound a little disappointed as Brooke jumps off the stool, fiddling with the jacket that’s slung across her arm. “Already?”

“It’s almost eight thirty,” Brooke points out, padding past Vanessa towards her office door and grabbing her coat off of the hook. “You’re not tired and ready to go home yet?”

“I just…”

Vanessa trails off, looking down at the ground. She’s not sure what to say, really. All that’s waiting for her is her apartment, but she can’t mindlessly scroll Twitter or Instagram before bed without seeing her face again. She needs to reply to her friends’ texts, but the notifications are piling up on top of one another like a mountain that she’s not really sure how she’s going to climb.

Vanessa just wants to avoid it all.

Brooke pauses, and each second that passes makes Vanessa’s heart constrict because maybe she should just try to explain, but she doesn’t know how to and it feels like too much-

“C’mon. My roommate and I are having a late dinner and rewatching Chicken Little. Are you in for a nacho night?”

Brooke’s looking at her expectantly and Vanessa wants to say yes, but what pops out of her mouth is what’s pressing on her even more. “Did you say rewatching Chicken Little?”

“It’s a good movie!” Brooke’s defensiveness makes Vanessa crack a smile despite how restless she feels, how much she’s fidgeting while standing in place. “Come over and you’ll see.”

“Y’know, we haven’t talked about movies before, but this recommendation is making me question what your taste is like,” Vanessa lets out a giggle, when Brooke’s mock offense takes over her face as she puts a hand to her heart.

“The disrespect. You’re not getting nachos with those kinds of statements,” Brooke grabs Vanessa’s gym bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she holds the door open. “Now c’mon.”

Brooke’s apartment is not what Vanessa expects - there are colours and tapestries lining the walls and even one on the ceiling, and she’s pretty sure she sees a bong on top of the refrigerator. It’s pretty, though, with the art splashed across every free surface and the shelves filled with books upon books, piles of even more on the actual floor. Vanessa has to resist the urge to go and sit down on the wicker chair in front of the television that’s suspended from the ceiling.

“Yvie’s the one behind the decor.” Brooke has a knowing smile on her face and Vanessa can feel her cheeks heat up, from how easily Brooke can read her mind. “Moved in a few years ago after she broke up with a long term partner. Never really got around to adding things of my own to the walls.”

Vanessa snickers before she can even get her joke out properly. “What would you add? A Chicken Little poster?”

Brooke, for her part, doesn’t miss a beat. “Nah. A poster of your meme.”

“Wow-”

“I know we were thinking nachos, but picture this. Chicken nuggets while we watch Chicken Little.” A girl with bright green hair pops her head out from behind a door, waving at the two of them.

Vanessa waves back, her eyebrows lifting higher and higher on her forehead when she realizes how tall the girl is as she walks closer. Even Brooke has to look up at her which is a strange sight on its own, considering how much Brooke towers over Vanessa.

Then again, Vanessa’s used to being the short one.

“Vanessa here is doubting the movie’s genius,” Brooke raises an eyebrow, and the girl lets out a fake gasp.

“Um, not a movie. Chicken Little is a film. An artistic masterpiece.”

“Are you two the presidents of the Chicken Little fan club?” Vanessa asks, as Brooke sticks her tongue out at her.

“Yes. And no, you can’t join.”

It’s interesting how Brooke’s work demeanor has dropped now that she’s in her own apartment, her normally squared shoulders a little more relaxed. It reminds Vanessa of when they went roller skating, seeing how much fun Brooke had while pulling her around the rink.

Vanessa wants to see more of it.

Brooke points at her roommate as the girl sticks out a hand. “Ness, this is Yvie. Yvie, Vanessa. I’m coaching her.”

“You’re introducing her as if I haven’t heard you talk about her every single day for the last however many months,” Yvie drawls and Brooke’s sputter is immediate, making Vanessa’s breath hitch a little in her throat.

Brooke talks about her?

Yvie pats Brooke on the back as if she’s choking on her water rather than on some words, sticking her other hand out for Vanessa to shake. “You’re Brooke’s favourite student. Also her only student, technically, but still a favourite nonetheless.”

Brooke’s cheeks are bright pink and Vanessa can’t deny that the sight is adorable, seeing her flustered for once. Still. Brooke probably recaps their training sessions and nothing more.

“As long as it’s mostly positive,” Vanessa shrugs, and the way Brooke emphatically nods makes her feel better than she wants to admit.

“I don’t think I could come up with anything negative about you.”

“Except for your dislike of Chicken Little. That’s a negative if I’ve ever seen one.”

The platter of chicken nuggets that Yvie places on the coffee table with a flourish is impressive, to say the least. There’s a little bowl of ketchup on the side, along with sweet and sour sauce and something that looks to be...ranch?

Whatever it is, Vanessa’s nose wrinkles at the sight. “Which one of you eats ranch with chicken nuggets? Is that legal?”

Yvie’s cackle and Brooke’s flushed cheeks tell Vanessa all she needs to know as she plops down beside Brooke on the couch, nudging her side. “Really?”

“The flavour combination is great!” Brooke mutters, grabbing a chicken nugget and dipping it in the ranch for posterity, holding it up close to Vanessa’s face. “Try it.”

Vanessa scooches herself towards the edge of the couch, away from the chicken nugget and the ranch that’s slowly dripping down like a melting ice cream. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s delicious-”

“It’s cursed-”

“More for me, then,” Brooke tosses the chicken nugget into her mouth, and Vanessa’s not sure, really, how she’s handling the flavours together without puking. “You’re missing out.”

“Very happy to miss out on that, thank you very much. I’ll take the ketchup.”

It turns out that Chicken Little isn’t so bad with Yvie and Brooke peppering in commentary as they watch, and Vanessa finds herself getting swept into the plot, as ridiculous as it is. The glass of cider that Yvie’s brought for each of them is making Vanessa feel a little more relaxed, her shoulders not as stiff anymore as she leans against the back of the couch. It’s fun to watch Brooke’s face, really, and the way she lights up while quoting the movie as it plays.

Vanessa makes a mental note to invite Brooke over to watch more movies. Better movies. Expand her palate. Chicken Little cannot be at the top of Brooke’s movie pyramid, not when there are better choices available, like Pretty Woman. Sure, Vanessa’s not exactly a film connoisseur herself, but still. Anything beats Chicken Little, right?

Maybe it’s just the cider settling in, maybe it’s the full stomach of chicken nuggets, but...it’s nice. Comfortable. Vanessa pulls her feet up behind her on the couch before grabbing a throw pillow to hug on her lap, and really, she could fall asleep right where she’s sitting, even to the dulcet tones of the main chicken character screaming about an alien invasion. Brooke looks over as Vanessa settles herself more into the couch, her expression unreadable but then she reaches over the back of the couch, grabbing the throw blanket behind them.

“Wanna share? It’s kinda cold.”

It’s not cold and Vanessa knows it, she knows that Brooke does too, but Brooke’s face is soft and tentative and adorable and sharing a blanket with her would make the couch situation even more cozy.

Plus, she can cuddle with Brooke, because Brooke is tall and thus is a tall, comfortable cushion to lean against.

Brooke throws the blanket across both of them and Vanessa scoots closer to her so that their laps are covered, the fabric fuzzy and warm. The side of Vanessa’s upper thigh leans against Brooke’s and she’s not sure why she’s so hyper aware of the fact, or why Brooke’s arm across the back of the couch makes her want to snuggle in even closer.

It’s just Brooke, after all. Brooke, who’s seen her when she’s all sweaty and about to collapse on the gym floor. Brooke, who had been there at her worst after the last tournament and still wants to coach her and spend time with her. Brooke, whose secret love for Twilight will never fail to make Vanessa laugh.

If it’s just Brooke, then why is Vanessa’s heart taking flight in her chest when Brooke starts to absentmindedly trace patterns on her palm? She doesn’t know why Brooke’s touch is lighting up a pattern of sparks on her skin either, or why Brooke’s side is so comfortable to lean against. Why Vanessa almost wishes that the movie could go on forever, so that she can stay warm and safe under Brooke’s arm that’s now draped across her shoulders.

Maybe Vanessa doesn’t need answers for all of those questions, not yet, not if finding out the answers would mean disrupting the delicate balance that hangs in the air between them. Brooke shuffles a little bit and when Vanessa’s head ends up against her chest, she can feel the way Brooke’s heart is beating, surely faster than any heart should. It’s a contrast from how seemingly relaxed the rest of Brooke’s body is, how her arms around Vanessa aren’t tense, restricting, but rather grounding, pulling her down.

Leaning back against Brooke is warm, familiar. It’s a feeling of home in a situation so novel, so different from how they usually are, like pulling on a sweater that Vanessa’s not sure how she’s ever lived without. Maybe, just maybe, Vanessa doesn’t ever have to take it off.

Vanessa doesn’t realize that the credits start rolling on the screen until Yvie rolls off of the lilac armchair, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. She lets out a yawn, stretching her arms up high before shutting off the TV. “I, for one, am exhausted. And as fun as this was, it’s my bedtime.”

Brooke snickers, and Vanessa can feel the way her chest reverberates underneath her. “You and I both know you’re about to go Facetime Scarlet.”

“That’s what bedtime means,” Yvie wiggles her eyebrows, and Brooke’s noise of disgust is immediate.

“Horrifying. You two better keep it down this time. My ears still haven’t recovered from overhearing you both last week,” Brooke shudders as Yvie cackles, shutting the door to her bedroom with a click.

Vanessa turns in Brooke’s grip, shooting a questioning look. Surely Yvie can’t be louder than the average person on Facetime. “Overhearing what?”

Brooke makes a face, the haunted look in her eyes almost comedic from the way that she sighs. “Let me put it this way. Yvie and her girlfriend are in a long distance relationship, which is hard on them for a multitude of reasons. One of them being their libidos.”

“Their libidos…” Vanessa trails off, her face falling when she realizes what Brooke means. “Oh no. Not that. Tell me not that.”

“Exactly that. They’re quieter over Facetime than they are when Scarlet visits, at least. That’s a blessing.”

Vanessa shudders. Sure, she’s not exactly quiet in bed either, but the thought of people on the other side of the wall being able to hear everything is horrifying, especially because of the fact that she lives with Alexis. Her sister does not need to know details about her sex life, that’s for sure.

Still, Vanessa wonders how loud Yvie must be. “How do they even make so much noise with phone sex, anyway? Yodel?”

“Mating calls that would fit in perfectly in a National Geographic documentary,” Brooke lets out a snicker, her hand clapping over her mouth when Yvie lets out an ‘I heard that!’ from behind her bedroom door. “Still, glad I’m not about to suffer through overhearing it alone. You’ve saved my evening.”

Vanessa snorts, pulling back from Brooke’s embrace to face her, leaning against the back of the couch. “Glad to be of service.”

Brooke is softness and kindness and contentment all at once, and the easy smile on her face is one that Vanessa feels so lucky to see the longer and longer that she knows her. It’s moments like these that Vanessa wants to hold on to forever - when Brooke’s guard is down, when her posture is relaxed and she’s looking over with eyes that Vanessa could drown in. She wants to package up this version of Brooke that isn’t tethered by reminders of her past, or with upholding a legacy that defines her whether she likes it or not. At times like this, Brooke isn’t a boxer with her father’s last name, or Vanessa’s coach responsible for facilitating her success. She’s just Brooke, a girl whose gaze is so mesmerizing that makes Vanessa’s breathing hitch in her throat without even realizing it.

Brooke holds out a hand and it’s almost second nature for Vanessa to link her fingers with hers, their hands fitting together in a way that doesn’t make sense, not when Vanessa’s hands are so much smaller. But Brooke’s grip is an anchor that keeps her from floating away, one that centers her and lets her focus on the upward curve of Brooke’s lips, the softness of her eyes when she smiles.

Except then Brooke’s brow is furrowing, a hint of concern in her eyes that Vanessa wants to brush away for her. “You okay? You’re quieter than usual.”

Vanessa can feel her face heating up as she stutters, pulling her eyes away from Brooke’s face to focus on the stitching along the couch cushions. “I’m fine. I...nothing.”

She can’t exactly go out and tell Brooke, someone who’s a coach and also a friend for that matter, that she’s just a little bit mesmerized by her face. Not something that’s likely to go over well.

Vanessa’s past relationships have been nothing short of peacocking, making herself known to those she’s had an interest in because they’d inevitably chase her right back. She knows her worth, knows how to go after what she wants, but…

What does she even want, now?

She doesn’t want Brooke, she can’t, not when Brooke is her coach and someone who’s becoming more and more important towards every aspect of her life, someone who she texts when she wakes up in the morning and who she’s messaging as she’s falling asleep.

Brooke’s not the type of person that Vanessa can parade around and go on a few dates with while drinking the cheapest wine on the menu for shits and giggles. She’s not someone that Vanessa can let go of easily, the way she’s had to with previous relationships that didn’t work out. Brooke is different from them.

She’s not disposable, not someone that Vanessa wants to let go of from her life. She isn’t someone that Vanessa can let go of at this point, because the thought of not seeing her amused expressions in the gym or the pride on her face while they’re training is too much to deal with. Vanessa’s only beginning to read through Brooke’s pages to learn more about her, and finding out little details that make her want to melt and pull Brooke just a little closer to her heart.

Brooke is too important.

Sure, Vanessa’s breath hitches in her chest whenever Brooke pulls her closer, and maybe Brooke’s smile is enough to drown out any background noise buzzing around them, but Vanessa also knows that she falls hard. And fast. She’s impulsive, following what her heart tells her to do and most of the time, she can deal with the consequences because she knows she’ll be able to get back up again.

But if this is a miscalculation? If saying something means that they’ll end up in pieces that neither of them will be able to put back together?

It’s too big of a risk. At least, for now.

Vanessa can’t be the one to take the jump off the cliff, not yet.

So she smiles, puts on the most reassuring expression that she can, hoping that it’s enough to soothe the concern that splays itself across Brooke’s features. “Really, I am. Just thinking about all the press shenanigans that Detox has lined up for me tomorrow.”

It’s enough for Brooke’s features to relax just a little bit, the smile on her face almost nostalgic. “I’m glad it’s you now, and not me, on Detox’s receiving end. She’s ruthless in the best way.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Vanessa’s chest by going for the cop out, but...she has no other choice. It’s not the way she normally handles situations like this, a fact made clear by how much she has to push down the butterflies in her stomach, and hide them behind a door so that they don’t escape and ruin stakes that feel too high, too much of a risk.

Still, Vanessa’s a bit of a sucker for punishment, and so when Brooke pulls her closer into a hug, it’s as easy as breathing to snuggle into her and rest her head against her chest, because Brooke’s arms are warm and safe and manage to slow her thinking down just a bit.

Part of Vanessa feels like she can handle it and hold herself back from doing anything stupid, if only to not mess everything up. She can be this close to Brooke and not have her chest split in two and maybe it’s a blessing, and something that she has to hold on to. Except that by leaning against Brooke, she can feel how fast Brooke’s heart is beating, threatening to escape from her chest before she can possibly stop it. It’s a contrast from the gentle way that Brooke’s fingers run through her hair, betraying the calmness on the outside that she’s trying so hard to convey.

Maybe Vanessa’s not the only one holding back. Maybe Brooke also feels it, maybe she’s also teetering on the bridge that Vanessa’s trying her best not to lose her footing on, and the thought gives Vanessa pause for a second, because maybe the risk is one they can manage, something they can work with...

No. No.

They can’t.

Not if it would lead to everything falling to pieces around them, not if it would mean no more training and no more Brooke in general. Because that’s how relationships always seem to end, don’t they?

As much as Vanessa has always wanted the romantic movie ending and a kiss in the rain, it hasn’t happened to her yet, much to her teenage self’s disappointment. There’s too much on the line to see if Brooke will be the one to veer her onto a different path and change the outcome.

So, Vanessa has to be happy with what she’s getting now, this friendship with Brooke and the coaching and accept it for all that it’s worth. Because Brooke’s important, maybe the most important person in Vanessa’s life and she has to take what she gets.

She’s lucky enough to have it in the first place, after all.

#rpdr fanfiction #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #branjie #lesbian au #boxing au #boxer au #level up #holtzmanns

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 4 years

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Labor of Love Chapter 4: A Critical Role Fanfic

Let me just say this, this pandemic has really been messing with my productivity. But in weird ways, like, some days I got through 1000 words, the next day I would barely write three sentences. Crazy times. This chapter...we got romantic progression. Which is exciting because that means next chapter will be dedicated to panicking. I love panicking.

As always, thank you everyone for the mountain of support I have received on this fic. Really, reading the comments and the reblog tags and everything is what kept me going.

Enjoy!

Read on Tumblr (CH 1, CH2, and CH 3)

Read on AO3

Preview:

Elves didn’t need to sleep as other species did, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t. Essek actively avoided sleep, mostly because he didn’t enjoy dreaming. He didn’t know how people did it every night, go under and then have your brain spew out images and sequences that didn’t make any rational sense. Essek liked everything organized, separated out, and delineated neatly with understandable criteria. Having a strange dream where he was being crushed under some warm weight definitely was not any of those things, and Essek didn’t appreciate it one bit...

...and then Essek tried to take a breath and he realized he wasn’t dreaming rather immediately. He woke up with a panicked start. Frumpkin, Caleb’s cat who took up residence in the bakery, was laying on his chest and had a paw on Essek’s mouth. He was batting at him like he had expected Essek to be dead, and when Essek awoke the cat blinked at him with wide luminous yellow eyes. He was an adorable mongrel, fluffy and orange...and large. He was at least ten pounds if not heavier and had taken residence on his body like he was the couch Essek was laying on.

“As cute as you are...I cannot allow you to kill me,” Essek informed the cat. “I’m sorry if I took your spot though.”

“Mrrp?” Frumpkin asked cutely, tufted ears flicking to the front.

“I know, I’m confused too,” Essek said as he managed to sit up. The cat offered no resistance and slid into his lap, only meowed plaintively at Essek’s movement and the loss of his comfy spot. Maybe it was because the cat looked so sad, or maybe he really was just losing his edge, but when he stood up he scooped the cat in his arms. He gave the cat a quick bounce, like he had seen mothers do for babies. For a moment, again, Essek swore his eyes flashed blue but it was probably the light. The cat cocked his head at Essek like he didn’t understand what he was doing...and to be fair Essek didn’t either. Essek carefully settled the cat down, earning a final meow before the cat trotted off.

The house itself was quiet and dark, the clock on the kitchen wall read 3:00 AM. He must have fallen asleep on the couch...how utterly embarrassing. Essek had to decide what he could do then...would he sneak out without a word or should he leave a note of some kind. He didn’t want the Mighty Nein to think him unappreciative...but he also wanted nothing more than to go home, bury his head in his own sheets, and let the heat in his cheeks fade until he was his usual cold, icy shell of a person.

A note would do, Essek thought. He would leave them a note, thanking them for their hospitality but saying how he had needed to get home-

His plans were immediately dashed by Caleb appearing in the kitchen. He was dressed in his uniform, the plan shirt and jeans. But his hair was bed-mussed, and he looked half-asleep on his feet.

“You should still be sleeping,” Caleb noted with a frown. “It’s much too early for you to be up.”

“Drow,” Essek said, pointing at himself. “I only need four hours to trance...about the same or less sleep when that happens. And you are certainly one to talk, you are a human. Aren’t humans supposed to sleep eight hours?”

“Baker’s hours,” Caleb explained, rubbing at his face before literally running into the wall. “Sheisse! I gotta be at the bakery for four...didn’t get to sleep until twelve...”

“Please, before you hurt yourself,” Essek motioning towards the stool by the kitchen island. “I’ll make some coffee for you.”

Caleb blinked owlishly at Essek, as if now just truly registering his existence for the first time. To be fair, this did all feel like a dream.

“You don’t have to-”

“I am not good at much in the kitchen, but I do pride myself on making a decent cup of coffee,” Essek promised him. “It at least keeps me alive and functional. Now, if you don’t mind?”

Caleb sat down, following Essek’s request. There was an ancient looking percolator on the backburner of the stove, which Essek was grateful for. It wasn’t the Marquesian Press that Essek had in his own apartment, but Essek was certain it would brew a decent cup. Instant cup coffee machines were a new invention, and certainly were useful. But the coffee itself was just never as good as when you took the time.

Essek filled the percolator with water and set the water to boil. He measured out a solid four tablespoons of ground coffee he found nestled between a sugar bowl and a honey jar, packing it down, placing the lid on the filter before putting it into the boiling water and covered it with the cap itself. As he let that boil and steep away he caught a glimpse at Caleb, who had mostly melted into the island, head in his arms. Frumpkin was curled next to him, tail swishing lazily. It was the tail running against Caleb’s bare arms that made Essek notice the scars there. They were old...pale against his fair freckled skin and red hair, marking up both forearms.

Not your business, Essek told himself firmly, taking the bread on the counter and slicing it for toast and popping it in the toaster. Essek spied some apples, in a bowl and set to cutting them up as he waited. He didn’t know what Caleb even ate in the morning...he just hoped that toast, coffee, and an apple would be enough. As he chopped, Essek felt like he was doing some pale imitation of a housewife from an Empire sitcom. Essek didn’t make breakfast...he didn’t even cook. When he was on his own he made smoothies or rice. He bought breakfast at Caleb’s bakery in the morning when he didn’t. Essek didn’t understand this strange urge to do this, but felt if he didn’t he would be crippled by his own conscience.

The coffee was done, and the toast popped up around the same time. And Essek settled it all in front of Caleb, who was definitely asleep from the way his breaths drew in and out calmly and deeply. Essek looked at Caleb for a long moment, taking in this quiet stolen moment of intimacy. Essek wanted to let him keep sleeping, but as Essek knew so well, Caleb’s job was important to him...and it was important to Essek.

Gently...Essek settled his hands on Caleb’s forearm and hand. Essek could nearly feel the warmth emanating from him where he was sitting, pressed recently out from his sheets, and cringed at the thought of his cold hands pulling him from that. Caleb made a noise, a soft...vulnerable release of breath and Essek felt like his heart was being wringed dry...dragged out from whatever dark musty cobweb covered corner that Essek hid it in because Essek had never wanted to kiss someone so badly before in his life.

“Caleb,” Essek murmured, forcing his voice to be calm and even.

“Hm?” Caleb asked drowsily, attempting to drag his arms closer to his head...a strangely boyish and charming attempt to hide from waking up.

“How do you take your coffee?” Essek asked him quickly removing his hands (even though he could have lingered in that moment forever), and this drew Caleb up...eyes fluttering open and squinting blearily. “And what would you like on your toast?”

“A little milk or cream...whatever we have in the fridge,” Caleb said, rubbing his face and running his fingers through his hair as Essek opened the fridge. When he turned back, his curls were even less tamed then before. “And...just butter, there’s marmalade in the fridge too.”

“There,” Essek said, pouring in a dash of milk into the coffee and setting the butter dish and bright orange fruit preserves on the table next to it besides the cut up apple. “Eat and wake up.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Caleb said, reaching for the mug as Essek poured his own cup.

“No, I didn’t. But what can I say, I’m a kind and caring person,” Essek said with a sarcastic smile, taking a sip from his own mug. The coffee was smooth and had a nice body to it. “But please...this is just the bare minimum.”

“It’s good,” Caleb said, his voice dipping and his accent drawing out the vowels. He took a second drink before giving Essek a look with humor glinting in his blue eyes. “You wouldn’t be in the market for a job as a barista, would you?”

“Oh please,” Essek said with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m not kidding! You are obviously very talented.”

“That’s my secret. I’m good at everything,” Essek said, raising his mug to hide his smile, basking at the compliment.

“Oh? Really?”

“And I’m terribly competitive. Give me your recipe book and teach me to bake and I’ll put you out of business in three months.”

“That I don’t doubt. I certainly wouldn’t want you as a business competitor,” Caleb chuckled.

“Thankfully for everyone, I am not in business,” Essek said, sitting across from Caleb. “And I also can’t bake so the Xhorhaus Bakery is safe for now.”

“We will all sleep well tonight with that knowledge,” Caleb said, slathering his toast with butter and marmalade and taking a bite. “Why don’t you have some?”

“I’m fine,” Essek said, taking another sip of his coffee. “I won’t be hungry for a few hours yet if at all...I find it difficult to eat in the morning generally. I’m content where I am.”

“Keeping me company?” Caleb asked with a quirk of his lips.

“If you don’t mind it,” Essek said.

“No, I enjoy your company.”

“You are a rare breed,” Essek noted.

“Clearly they are lacking taste,” Caleb hummed.

“Perhaps,” Essek said with a smile.

“It’s too early for you guys to be flirting,” Beau said as she burst into the kitchen. Essek felt his face heat up. “Sweet, is that coffee?”

“I believe it’s time for me to go regardless,” Essek said, moving by Beauregard to settle his mug in the sink, shoving everything down where he couldn’t feel anything because he needed to focus and escape this situation as quickly as possible. Her words were echoing in his head, thrumming like his desperate heartbeat. “Enjoy the coffee.”

“Essek,” Caleb said, sounding hopeful. “This was fun...we...we should do this again sometime.”

“Ah, yes-I mean, sometime, yes,” Essek said, cringing as he grabbed his coat and hastily yanked on his shoes.

He was out the door at a solid half-run, shoving his hands in his coat pocket, dragging out his keys and jabbing them into the ignition. He was halfway down the street, holding back a scream as he did so. Do it again sometime, Caleb wanted to do it again sometime. How? Why? It didn’t make any sense. But Essek couldn’t control the desperate beating of his heart and the heat in his face and the way his stomach was full of a fluttering sensation he couldn’t name.

Flirting. She was right, he had been flirting! Flirting with Caleb. As if that was supposed to help him or this or make anything better? Essek couldn’t think that way, but that was the problem he hadn’t been thinking. What on Exandria had he been doing? Making him breakfast and falling asleep in his damn house with not a care in the world and…! He stopped at a red light and watched a couple cross, pushing their kid in a baby carriage. Then, it smacked Essek in the face like a fireball.

Oh.

Oh no.

...he was in love, wasn’t he? This wasn’t just some vague interest or errant attraction. He was in love, Essek was in love with Caleb.

Someone honked at him and he realized he'd been sitting at a green light. Thankfully moments later he turned into the parking for his own building. He settled his forehead against the steering wheel, letting the waves of emotion wash over him. Essek wanted to scream. What was he supposed to do? What did people do when they were in love? How did people handle it? How was Essek supposed to deal with this situation?

“Alright, Theylss. It’s time to think. What do you want?” Essek demanded of himself, staring at his own reflection as he pulled down the mirror. Essek looked exhausted and vaguely unhinged to his own eyes. “Screw the rest of them, what do you want?”

What does he want? He supposed that was the million platinum question. Did he want this to be a light flirtation? Something hot and heavy and fast? Or did he want something to build his life on? Caleb wanted to do it again sometime...wanted to spend time with him and banter over coffee. And Essek found that he wanted that more than anything he could imagine, wanted it so bad he could almost taste it like coffee and sweets and something warm that he could dwell in forever.

But what if I ruin it? There came the part of Essek that he just couldn’t ignore. You’ll get hasty, you’ll make a mistake, and then the way you are won’t be a choice anymore...it’ll be your fault. It’s not safe. But...could he live with himself if he didn’t try?

“Nothing I do is safe,” Essek told himself sternly, snapping up his mirror and exiting the car.

---------

So now that Essek had realized that he was in love with Caleb and wanted something to happen with that love, what was he to do with that information was on his mind? Well, he knew what the next logical step was. Most people that desired a romantic relationship with someone else asked that other person on a date.

“A date,” Essek muttered, splashing his own face with water and then getting to work on his cleanser.

What would Caleb want? Essek didn’t really know enough about him to know. He wanted to learn so badly though, so the date itself should be conducive to learning. Essek, also, found most of the trendy dates they covered in the publication to be outright cringe worthy. As if the stress of trying to escape from an escape room would be good to test out a spark? Dinner perhaps? Everyone ate dinner. He could ask Caleb out for dinner. If he got the feeling it was going well...then maybe it could be a date. If not, he could just commit to enjoying Caleb’s presence and friendship and pine like a lovesick fool.

“Don’t rush into things,” Essek warned his reflection, smoothing on moisturizer and looking at himself critically. As usual his skin looked unmarked and unblemished...but...he could always go for a facial. His hair too could be done to be the tiniest fraction neater. It might be worth going to the bath house...but no, he was overthinking it...like always. He just needed to do it, find the right moment and ask Caleb out.

Essek went to the bakery that morning as usual, though nothing else about the situation felt like normal. The line was full of the usual customers, the regulars that Essek could almost consider them acquaintances at this point even if they had never spoken a word to each other. The orc secretary from the building across from Essek’s, the drow woman who was always bouncing a baby or pushing a carriage, the dwarf running over for his coworkers from the auto shop two doors down.

Essek got to the front of the line, and saw Caleb there. He looked tired, but smiled as soon as he saw Essek. There was flour splashed against the front of his apron, and the dusting of something pink on his cheek, and Essek swore he had never seen a man so beautiful before in his whole damn life. Who knew that knowing someone and loving them could make them more beautiful? It all had to be brain chemistry, it couldn’t be really true, but it felt true.

“Guten Morgen,” Caleb said. “The usual?”

“Ah, yes, and what do you have for breakfast today?” Essek asked, his voice normal to his own ears (thankfully).

“Jester was in the mood for some doughnuts, so I’ll be happy to put together a dozen for you,” Caleb said with a little smile. Jester. She was dancing behind the counter on the other side, chatting with usuals. She spotted him and waved, and Essek waved back numbly. She was beautiful, that was just plain to see. Essek wasn’t attracted to women like that but he knew it to be true. Caleb had smiled about Jester...what if? No. Essek scolded himself. It didn’t hurt to ask.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” Essek said, not really thinking about the logistics of twelve doughnuts. Someone would have to eat them...he couldn’t horde them to himself, after all. (Even though each individual doughnut was probably delicious enough to warrant such behavior.)

“I believe you’ll especially enjoy the black moss one,” Caleb said motioning to that specific doughnut in the case, punching in his order.

“Receipt today please,” Essek said, the thought suddenly springing into his head… a plan sprouting quickly. Caleb printed out the receipt for him and turned to gather up his doughnuts. As he did so, Essek scrawled his number with his name on the back and slipped it into the tip container before Caleb turned back with his box.

"Have a good day," Caleb said with a smile.

"Yes, you too," Essek said, stomach twisted in his anxiety as he rushed out the door.

Ball was in his court now. Caleb could text Essek, or he wouldn’t. And then if Caleb did decide to text Essek, Essek would ask Caleb out to dinner. Really, it was a perfect solution to the problem he was facing (which was, of course, the issue of the fear of being known).

Essek arrived at work carrying both the drinks and the box of doughnuts. He handed Quana’s and Leylas’ regular orders to their secretary and then settled down at his desk as he waited for the first meeting of the day that would begin in approximately fifteen minutes. Leylas was meeting with some TV producer and a creative director to hash out exactly what she did and did not want aired on TV. He eyed the box of doughnuts, before flipping the lid just to satisfy his curiosity.

Each doughnut was frosted with different decorations. There were two plain glazed, two chocolate glazed, and one plain and one cinnamon sugar it looked like. The rest were filled doughnuts, dusted with confectioners sugar or frosted with flowers or fruits decorating the sides. He picked up a doughnut, unable to resist it. It was quite beautiful, golden brown with a white frosting a single beautifully piped flower. Essek took a bite, if only to sate his grumbling stomach and wasn’t disappointed. It melted in his mouth. Black moss was a recent phenomenon, and the taste was much like a high quality green tea, subtly sweet and with deep earthy notes. But of course...the frosting was vanilla and almond and just the hint of lemon...sweet and deliciously sour and pairing perfectly with the filling.

Lemon again...that fool, Essek thought feeling oddly emotional because Caleb knew what his favorite flavor was. Not that he had ever had a favorite flavor before, but he didn't think anyone had ever cared enough about him to learn.

Essek looked at the top of the doughnut and realized that though there hadn’t been something written before, there was something written now. It’ll be a sweet day! The handwriting was feminine and looping and had hearts in place of periods, most likely Jester’s doing. Essek smiled at the doughnut in his hand. It was a very cute, and as always inventive use for the spell Illusory Script. He wondered how they had worked out that trigger. It was almost a shame to eat it, though, he finished the whole doughnut quickly. When you were eating something that disappeared like that, it almost felt like you were eating air. It was too good to feel bad about, though he made sure to close the box and push it as far away from his hands as he could. He definitely didn’t want to push his luck on a second doughnut.

Essek was in the middle of these thoughts when his phone vibrated, startling him out of his own brain. Essek nearly slammed his phone down onto the desk, screen down so he didn’t have to look at the message at first and then felt stupid for doing so. What if it was just a business text? What if it was his boss? He couldn’t just flinch and dither around all day like he was some lovestruck bachelor waiting by the door for word of an accepted engagement offer. He had a job to do, he couldn’t forget that. After all, his job was one of the one things that he was actually good at.

He turned his phone over, and saw it was definitely not his boss. It was an unknown number...and under it a message for him.

Hello this is Caleb. Is this Essek?

Oh Luxon, it was happening. He had really texted him. What did people normally do in situations like this? How long should he wait before texting back? It had already been two minutes since he had received the text, that should be an appropriate amount of time. After all, for work, under five minutes tended to be the sweet spot for communication. But what should he say? That was a whole other can of wyrms.

Hello, yes, this is Essek. Essek sent as he mushed ahead without a second thought, and then was immediately washed with a sense of existential dread so strong he wanted to bash his head into the desk. He reread his own response, wishing that he had majored in the dunamantic study of reversing time. He was being so formal and stilted. How was he supposed to bring up the idea of a date naturally in this state? Obviously someone was punishing him for his avarice and naturally impossible good looks. Really this was what he deserved. Maybe he shouldn’t have bad talked the Luxon so much as an angsty teenager.

His phone buzzed in his hand, making him nearly drop it. He scrambled to right it in his fingers and read what Caleb had written.

I’m glad, I had totally forgotten to ask you for your number the other day, was Caleb’s response. And then the second message came through before Essek could truly emotionally process what was going on, I meant what I said, I would like to spend more time with you if you would like?

“Oh fuck it,” Essek muttered to himself, throwing caution to the wind.

I was wondering if you would be interested in dinner? Essek sent, feeling his heart pounding in his ears as he did so. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, of agonizing over a single message because what if Essek had read this all wrong? What if Caleb didn’t feel the things that Essek did during those stolen moments during the day?

His phone pinged, and Essek scrambled to open it up.

Yes, I am.

Just that was enough to relieve the pressure he had found on his lungs, allowing him to draw in a deep breath. Caleb was interested. He was interested in dinner. Then to his surprise another text came through immediately after.

Tonight?

Tonight? Essek thought, mind reeling. He didn't have anything going on tonight. He could do it tonight. Could he get a table anywhere decent though was the question. He pulled up a certain restaurant and looked at the number. He may need to name drop. But, he could probably get it done...after all he was Essek Theylss. Getting things done how he wanted them was what he did for a career. He quickly managed to secure a table, and within five minutes he was typing back to Caleb.

Tonight it is. I’ll send you the address.

I’ll see you then.

Essek settled down his phone, attempting to control his urge to smile as he spun in his chair. Tonight, a date with Caleb tonight. Even if Caleb hadn’t read it as such, he could make this work to his favor regardless. Something to look forward to...that was another thing that Caleb had given him that had broken the monotony of Essek’s routine. It took so little to make him happy recently...another new development that was all Caleb’s fault. Just this...the promise of seeing Caleb again was enough.

“Essek, meeting’s starting,” Quana said as she walked by his desk. Essek stood up, pocketing his phone as he did so and grabbing his tablet.

“Thank you,” Essek told her as he walked beside her.

“Did something good happen?” Quana asked suspiciously.

“Perhaps,” Essek answered, his smile rehearsed...and yet, feeling more genuine than it ever had before.

------

Essek looked at himself in the mirror again. As always, he looked attractive. The trip after work to the barber had been worth the trouble he thought as he inspected the neat lines and cut of his hair. He still didn’t know if Caleb was attracted to men...or drow. He had heard that some people were particular about species, though he had never understood attraction to begin with so he certainly wasn’t an expert. But...he hadn’t pulled away when Essek had touched his arm...so that was a good sign that maybe he was in luck. Regardless, Essek found it hard to believe that many could resist his good looks. It happened of course, but, his pretty face could only serve as a boon tonight.

He had dressed in a charcoal grey suit, and was finishing tying his tie as his phone rang. Thinking it might be Caleb he excitedly picked it up, only to feel his face twist. Ugh. This was the last thing he wanted right now. Looking seriously at the caller ID on his phone, and knowing that if he didn’t answer he would be in a whole world of trouble, he sighed as he answered the call and opened his closet. He scanned the rack he kept of his shoes, looking for something formal but comfortable.

“Yes mother?” Essek asked her, voice clipped and short even to his own ears.

“Is that any way to greet your mother?” Dierta asked with a sigh, though she didn’t sound too annoyed with Essek. She had to be used to his attitude at this point in their relationship after all.

“I’m just a little busy at the moment,” Essek said, picking out a pair of black shoes and setting them down on the floor. “What did you need?”

“Essek, we’re going to have a dinner tonight with Den VeSunn, and we’ll-”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not available tonight,” Essek said with a sigh, managing to get his first shoe on by shoving it on his foot, but he almost lost his balance. He settled down on the couch, hoping to not repeat that performance. He found the second shoe was much easier to pull on sitting.

“You aren’t available?” Dierta asked incredulously. “What? Is Leylas having a party or something? I certainly wasn’t invited to one.”

“No, Mother, I have plans tonight so I will be unavailable,” Essek repeated as he walked over to his dresser and picked out some earrings that capped the end of his ear and dangled attractively without being too ostentatious. He put his mother on speaker so he could use both hands and not stab himself. He doubted that Caleb would find bleeding or bruised ears attractive.

“You have plans?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Essek asked sarcastically, and considering the noise his mother gave him on the other side of the line apparently it was.

“What could be more important than this?” Dierta demanded incredulously, sounding more annoyed than anything.

“If you must know, I have a date tonight,” Essek said with a snap at his phone, finally losing his well worn sense of patience. “Does that satisfy your need to know?”

There was silence on the other side of the line. It was long enough that he stopped what he was doing and confirmed that his mother hadn’t hung up on him. For a dark moment Essek was sure he had given his mother a heart attack and would now only be known as that poor son of a bitch who had killed his mother by having a social life. He realized then that he didn’t think he had ever told his mother about any of his dates before...not that he had gone on more than a handful, and he certainly hadn’t gone on any within the past five years. Oh Gods...what have a I done? Essek thought hopelessly. Why did I feel the need to tell her?

“Really?” Dierta asked, sounding shocked and delighted and stopping Essek from texting his brother to go check on her. Essek could feel a headache coming on. “What’s her den? Her name? Her profession-”

“Goodbye mother,” Essek said forcefully before hanging up the phone.

Essek shook his head and fixed his tie, looking in the mirror one last time before grabbing his keys. The drive itself felt like the longest ten minutes of his life, but thankfully he wasn’t inundated with calls from his mother or the den demanding answers. When he got to the restaurant he was about five minutes early, just as he had planned. He confirmed with the host about his seat, and he was brought over to a table in a more private section of the restaurant.

“Would you like to start with a drink, sir?” a waiter asked him.

“Just water to start, I’ll wait for my companion before ordering anything,” Essek told him, and as the waiter smiled and went to do as Essek asked. He took a moment to put his phone on silent and tuck it away in his jacket pocket. He didn’t even want to think about seeing any of his mother’s texts or emails from work. For once, Essek was truly on his own time.

It was a moment later that Caleb appeared, looking winded. He was dressed in a white cable knit sweater and tan slacks, his hair was half pulled back in a bun with red curls lapping at his neck. When he saw Essek he smiled, looking relieved.

“I’m sorry, I got a bit caught up with the bakery,” Caleb said breathlessly. “Guten abend, Essek.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Essek said, motioning to the other seat in front of him. Caleb took it. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”

“Please don’t thank me,” Caleb said with a warm...hopeful smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this since you asked me.”

“I...same,” Essek said, unable to come up with anything else to say really. What could he say? I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience but I’m in love with you and if you don’t love me back I’ll respect that but pine after you for the rest of my life like some sort of tragic widower waiting for her long lost husband who had been taken by the sea? Granted, that was all true, but it sounded pathetic when he laid it out like that.

“I’ve never been here before,” Caleb said as he looked around. “I don’t think I’ve eaten traditional Xhorhassian food before either.”

“You haven’t?” Essek asked, surprised.

“I have to admit...it’s a bit intimidating,” Caleb chuckled. “I grew up with a selection of eating potatoes, bread, and maybe a turnip or an apple for some variety.”

“There’s a lot of fermenting...vegetables especially. Use of mushrooms, and of course, whatever animals that are natural to the region. Also, of course, rice. Tell me, how are you with spice?”

“I’m fairly alright with spice,” Caleb said.

“I have a few favorites here and I’d be happy to point them out to you, but, when the waiter comes back we can order drinks first. No need to rush,” Essek said, spying the waiter returning with water. “Order anything you’d like.”

“This has to be one of the most expensive restaurants in the city,” Caleb said, sounding incredulous as he looked at the menu and did a double take.

“And I’m paying for it,” Essek told him, crossing his legs. “Whatever you want, I’m completely serious.”

“You shouldn’t-”

“Don’t argue with me, just enjoy this.”

“Alright then...there’s a saying about a gift and a horse but I don’t remember how it goes. Ach, I don’t know enough about Xhorhassian liquor to make an educated decision,” Caleb said, mouth quirking in a teasing smile. “And I don’t know what would go best with any food.”

“Well, for once I believe I have an idea. My personal favorite appetizer here is the Turtle Bone Soup, though, the spicy fried spider legs are quite good too. I’ve heard that...for your reference, turtles taste a bit like beef and spiders are like crab.”

“Turtle?” Caleb asked with a surprised laugh. “I haven’t had a turtle before in that way...I’ll have to give it a try.”

And so Essek ordered the two bowls of soup and a platter of the fried spider legs to share. As they waited they began to talk, first about the Mighty Nein itself. Essek couldn’t help but indulge his curiosity about what pit fighting must have been like. The answer was terrifying but very profitable. Caleb also recounted his first meeting with the other members of his friend group, laughing about how Jester had nearly broken all the windows in the bar with her demonstration of her magic.

“So she is a cleric?” Essek asked, taking a spoonful of his soup. The food itself was delicious, the meaty savory broth a perfect pairing with the spicey sauce and sweet meat of the spider legs and the cold root vegetable slaw that they served on the side. It was strange...he had eaten this exact order before...but he could have sworn it hadn’t tasted as delicious. He wondered if there was a new chef. “I was wondering, though, I hadn’t recognized the symbol on her bracelet.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned the Traveler to you yet,” Caleb noted. “She’s quite...taken with him, would be the best way to put it.”

“My mother is the same way,” Essek commented with a sip of his wine. “She had always been a religious woman, so I’m used to spontaneous religious lectures.”

“If it isn't rude to ask...what deity does your family worship?”

“The Luxon,” Essek said, “though I’m not religious...don’t tell my mother that though.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Is the rest of your family religious then?”

“It’s hard to say,” Essek sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. “My mother has had a few relationships in her life, she is long lived. I’m not particularly close to my half siblings as a result of them being...oh, about a hundred years older than me. My brother...well, I wouldn’t say he’s too religious but he’s more religious than me.”

“You have a big family?”

“Technically. We are drow, blessed with long natural lives and large dens. It leads to relatively complex family trees and strange family get-togethers,” Essek explained. “What about you?”

“I...ah…” Caleb said, a shadow quickly falling across Caleb’s features. Phantom pain twisted there, like Essek was rubbing salt into open wounds. “I lost my parents a while ago. The Mighty Nein is my family now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Essek said, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. Unsure of how best to comfort him, Essek squirmed in his seat for a moment trying to think of a response. But Caleb did it for him, as he reached out and settled his fingers over Essek’s hand. Essek stared incredulously at Caleb for a moment, but didn’t move his hand. He couldn’t believe that Caleb was touching him, in a way that could only be read as romantic. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“It was a long time ago,” Caleb said, though he looked as haunted as a man who had just suffered the loss the day before. Essek wondered what it must be like to love someone else in such a way. He wondered if that was what he was feeling now for Caleb. Just feeling it for Caleb was overwhelming...he couldn’t imagine having felt like this so many times before in his life and then losing those he had come to adore. How did one bear it? Just the thought was enough to twist his stomach...to make him want to make ridiculous promises to Caleb like the hero in a romantic drama. But Essek couldn’t do that...he was just Essek. All he could do was this.

“Tell me about something else then, Caleb, how did you come about spellcasting?” Essek asked, ruefully extricating his hand from Caleb’s as the waiter came back to fill up their glasses of water.

“Well, at first it wasn’t a hobby,” Caleb said. “Well, as a child I managed a few things with an old spell book my mother bartered from a passing merchant. But I did my compulsory years in the military, as do all men in the Empire. It was there that it was determined rather quickly that I had no talent as a soldier...but I could make a decent mage.”

“I see,” Essek said. “In Xhorhassian schools you are given introductory courses to most known and legal methods of magic but most don’t stick with it nowadays. Wizardry is a relatively niche subject to pursue.”

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“I did, I was top in my class at the Marble Tomes Conservatory,” Essek said with a proud smile. “I...I have to admit...it’s been a long time since I’ve thought so frequently about magic. But I find myself thinking of it often when I’m with you...it makes me happy.”

“Magic is what you love, ja? Have you ever just thought...fuck it? I’ll go back into it?” Caleb’s tone was light with humor.

“The thought has crossed my mind before,” Essek admitted. “But I’m good at my job...I find it hard to justify leaving it to chase a dream.”

“Forget your job for a moment,” Caleb said pointing at Essek with his spoon. “Imagine that money isn’t an issue. What is it that you are most interested in right now?”

Right now? He thought about it. He was most interested in taking Caleb’s face in his hands and kissing him honestly, but Essek didn’t think that was the answer that Caleb was looking for. But if he was thinking of a socially acceptable answer to the question?

“I’ve been thinking about the marzipan,” Essek admitted.

“...the marzipan? I don’t follow.”

“On the cake...for my bosses,” Essek said before sucking in a suddenly self-conscious breath. “Never mind, it’s foolish.”

“Nein, I want to hear it,” Caleb promised.

“Well… you know how it was discussed that you were going to be using sculpted marzipan to shape into birds...and then utilize animate object?” Essek asked and Caleb nodded, following his thought. “I was thinking about using the spell adjust density to compliment it...give the appearance that the birds fly and then return to the cake.”

“I’ve never heard of that spell,” Caleb said, sounding utterly enthralled. His food was forgotten in front of him as he leaned in closer to Essek, wide blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Is that from the school of dumaturgy?”

“Yes, it’s a second level graviturgist spell.”

“How fascinating,” Caleb said. “Tell me, how exactly does this spell work?”

Thankfully this carried the conversation away from Essek and his career to magic, which Essek was far more comfortable discussing. Caleb was excited about the idea, but also seemed genuinely interested in the mechanics and the minutiae of such a low level spell. It was one of the first spells a graviturgist learned in school, and yet Caleb seemed content to discuss how the spell could work in congruity with a spell like flight to both lengthen and strengthen the effect. Essek wished, strangely, that he had brought his spellbook. Not that it would have been appropriate on any other first date, but now he felt foolish for not thinking of it. His wrist pocket nowadays was home to things like his car keys and his portable phone charger...not his spellbook.

By the time dinner completed, they had managed to work through a few possible ideas on how Caleb could incorporate those spells into an already spell-heavy cake. Essek snapped the check out from Caleb grasp as the waiter set it down, sliding in his credit card before Caleb could even look at the bill.

“Now that was conniving,” Caleb said.

“I told you, I am happy to take care of it,” Essek said as the waiter returned and Essek signed the check.

“Then let me treat you to something,” Caleb said. “Veth’s husband Yeza owns the Apothecary. Have you ever heard of it?”

“No,” Essek admitted, frowning.

“It is an old fashioned apothecary in the day, but a nice cocktail bar at night. It’s only a few blocks from here...let me get you a drink, only if you would like of course.”

Caleb didn’t want this night to end either, Essek realized, hoping his excitement wasn’t plain to see on his face. He was, hopefully...as always...the picture of calm cool and collected. But beyond excited...it relieved Essek. Now it was so much easier to believe that perhaps...maybe...just maybe Caleb felt the same way that Essek did.

“I cannot abide by the idea that there is a bar that I am not acquainted with in this city so I’ll take you up on your offer,” Essek said as he put on his jacket and looped his scarf. When he finished he looked to see Caleb opening the door for him, allowing Essek to duck out first. Essek looked at Caleb, noting his scarf was in complete disarray and motioned for Caleb to come closer. Essek reached up and relooped the strands until Caleb looked presentable. “There. Now you won’t freeze to death.”

“I’m a little heartier than you might think,” Caleb laughed, cheeks and nose reddening in the cold. It made the dusting of freckles across his nose and his cheek more vivid, as did the shadow of his beard. He wondered what it was like to kiss a man with a beard. Essek had never done that before...

“Perhaps, but I’ve always been paranoid,” Essek admitted, trying to shake his mind from his desires for two minutes.

Caleb walked them down three blocks exactly and turned them left once. Essek found that the night air...though cold, was thankfully grounding in these strange dreamlike times. It was nearly impossible to argue that this whole date...it had to be considered a date at this point... so far was just a figment of his imagination when the winter air was biting at his ears and making his earring jingle. They arrived at the Apothecary, as it was advertised on the street.

The bar itself was pleasantly full, the building was a lot of warm exposed wood and lantern and candle lighting, with herbs hanging to dry and jars filled with various liquids in shelves on the walls. Couples and groups were seated at small circular tables and at the counter-bar. When they walked in, the halfling behind the bar perked up. Essek wasn't familiar with many halflings as they were still a new sight in Rosohna. The halfling man was balanced on a rolling stool. He wasn't traditionally handsome, but there was something immediately comforting about his appearance. He had an open friendly face, accompanied with a riot of untamed brown curls and sideburns, and round glasses that were precariously perched on his face. He grinned as Caleb walked up to the bad, and looked at Essek knowingly in a way that made his skin tingle. He wasn't sure what that meant but it wasn't a good sign.

"Good evening, Yeza. I don't think you've met Essek. Essek, this is Yeza Bernatto, Veth's husband," Caleb introduced.

"A pleasure," Essek said with a prim nod, before seeing the halfling's stocky hand pop out from behind the bar.

"So this is the mysterious Essek! It's wonderful to meet you, my wife's spoke about you many times! Thank you for coming to the Apothecary," Yeza greeted, and Essek took the offered hand as gracefully as he could and quickly dropped it. "Veth will be back out in a minute, but in the meantime Caleb do you want your usual?"

“Flight of Trost, ja,” Caleb said, his accent delicious on the word trost. Now that was something Essek wanted to drink down greedily.

“Trost?” Essek repeated as Yeza slid the drink menu to him.

“The word means comfort in Zemnian, but it’s a kind of beer,” Caleb said and Essek watched the halfling pour the four smaller glasses of beer and arrange them on the tray. “From a region famous in the Empire for it. Do you drink beer?”

“Not really,” Essek admitted, trying to refocus away from Caleb’s voice and back to reality. Beer in Xhorhas was a newer fad, and considering their abysmal track record of growing wheat, anything he had drank from Xhorhas had tasted watered down and stale. He had beers from the Empire before, at the luxurious parties put on by nouveau riche dens, but found it far less pleasant than other spirits. “I prefer wines and liquors.”

“How about a Health Potion?” Yeza offered, having obviously been listening in to the conversation.

“A health potion?” Essek asked incredulously.

“I’m very clever with titles,” Veth said, appearing from the back carrying snacks for the couple on the other side of the bar. She settled her hands on her hips and presented herself like a queen in her own castle. “It’s mulled wine, perfect for this weather. We keep it on simmer in the back.”

“Sure, I’ll have that then,” Essek said for lack of any other idea and because Veth was Caleb’s friend and Essek wanted them to like him for some reason he hadn’t quite figured out yet. He watched as Veth disappeared and then reappeared once more with a glass mug that she settled in front of him and then garnished with a cinnamon stick and a twist of orange rind. Mulled wine had to be a Empire thing...he hadn’t ever heard of heating wine. In fact, in Xhorhas they traditionally served wine at frigid temperatures and over ice. The liquid was a deep burgundy, and he prepared himself as he took a sip with all of the enthusiasm of a child taking a spoonful of cough syrup or an actual health potion.

Instead, the drink was delicious. There were the fruity notes of apple cider and the brightness of oranges, the deep flavor of a red wine Essek had yet made the acquaintance of as well as the softer feel of perhaps a merlot and the caramel finish of a port, and had the kick of cinnamon and cloves and cardamom. It immediately transported him somewhere with a roaring fire and a fur rug and a good book tucked next to him by his favorite armchair.

“What type of wine is this?” Essek asked.

“It’s from Kamordah, not one the more expensive vineyards...those can cost you an arm and a leg. But even the affordable booze from there is delicious,” Veth said.

“Veth’s the expert,” Caleb noted.

“Oh come off it,” Veth said with a dismissive wave before leaning against the counter, her long braids sweeping against the wood. “Or, you can continue to compliment me, I don’t mind.”

“We all know you are fabulous, my little friend,” Caleb said with a fond look in his eyes. “I knew it from the first time I met you.”

“Out of everyone in that holding cell, I can assure you, I was the best pick.”

“Holding cell?” Essek repeated, only because he thought he must have heard her wrong. But instead, Veth planted herself proudly in his view as if she could make herself three feet taller by just her confidence.

“We met in jail,” Veth said cheerily for someone who had been to jail, and Caleb hung his head in exaggerated despair. Then, immediately she looked suspiciously at him. “You aren’t going to report me right?”

“I don’t care about that sort of thing,” Essek said.

“Don’t tell him about my sordid past!” Caleb bemoaned.

“What were you in jail for?” Essek asked, faking suspicion.

“Public intoxication,” Veth said.

“Loitering,” Caleb admitted.

“Loitering?” Essek repeated.

“Sleeping while poor,” Caleb corrected. “I was roughing it most nights back then, ja?”

“We both were. But regardless, I’ll leave you two to it,” Veth said with a long knowing look at Caleb, which had Caleb blushing and hiding his face in his beer. Yeza had already drifted off to welcome more regulars to the bar.

“I didn’t know I was out with a criminal tonight,” Essek said with a sidelong glance at Caleb.

“Don’t look so damned pleased with yourself,” Caleb grumbled.

“Oh, I’m not smiling about your crimes...which are, I promise, nothing worse than I did in University. But, I’m more pleased at the thought of what my mother would say if she knew I was spending my evening with someone with an actual record of law breaking. I derive great pleasure from her pearl clutching,” Essek admitted with a grin that felt too sharp to be his usual placeholder.

“Oh? What sort of crimes did a young Essek Theylss get up to in university?” Caleb asked curiously, finishing his first glass.

“I made sure that everyone had what they needed at any given time,” Essek said with a smirk and a sip of his drink. “I have always been very good at cultivating relationships that benefit me. That’s what breaking the law while rich allows you to do.”

“...if you weren’t being so hilarious I might be offended,” Caleb said with a laugh that resonated from his belly and filled Essek with warmth, like the simmering mulled wine in his cup. He felt pleasantly buzzed, like he was drunk from just a few sips. But it was Caleb’s presence that was so addicting...so effecting. He couldn’t even remember a time where he had smiled the way he was smiling now...when he hadn’t been with Caleb or the Mighty Nein. He didn’t think anyone had ever called him hilarious. He was sure that if his coworkers or his family heard Caleb say that they would have had Caleb checked in for psychiatric help, and the Essek before wouldn’t have blamed them. But Essek was slowly becoming acquainted with the person he could be around Caleb and perhaps it was the person Essek actually was but not buried under the mounds of baggage he carried from place to place like it was the gravity pulling him straight to the center of the earth. And the more Essek was becoming acquainted with Caleb and acquainted with himself the more Essek didn’t ever want to go back.

“Perhaps you should be,” Essek dared because apparently Essek was daring now, another recent development that surprised him. Caleb’s eyes had a little heat in them as Essek caught his gaze, and Essek was thrilled because they were flirting and it was going well and it didn’t make Essek feel like he wanted to find the closest window to jump out of. Essek settled his hand on Caleb’s where it was resting on his chair. Caleb didn’t move it, instead he took another sip of his drink and intertwined his fingers with Essek’s. Essek blushed into his cup with his words stuck in his throat, but felt that this could certainly be enough.

And so Essek soaked up the next hour or so of Caleb’s company. They talked about a wide berth of topics, from philosophy to mathematics to even theoretical spellcrafting. That was the gift of Caleb, he was always able to meet him where his mind was going and find something interesting to say. He was quite unlike anyone else that Essek had ever known. What a gift it was to be able to just be with someone who understood you. It was something that Essek was learning to cherish. But at some point he noticed Caleb’s eyes drooping, and took note of the time.

“I should be heading home now,” Essek said, and before Essek could attempt to pay for this as well Veth waved at Caleb.

“It’s on Caleb’s tab,” Veth said, and Essek gave Caleb a look which he met with feigned cluelessness.

“Let me walk you back to your car,” Caleb said as he stood.

“There’s no need for that, you are going in the opposite direction,” Essek pointed out to him as they left the bar and stood on the street. Snowflakes drifted into streetlights, casting pale light that made Caleb’s eyes a vivid dark shade. “Thank you...for tonight. I had a wonderful time.”

“I would be happy to do it again any time,” Caleb promised him, standing close to him now...far more close then Essek could ever have imagined him being. “Your company is truly a great pleasure...there are very few people that I can talk to the way I do with you. I...I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do,” Essek is what he said. I love you, is what he meant.

For a moment that Essek swore was suspended in the air, they shared something heavier than a breath...a kiss that was almost softer than a kiss. It set his heart fluttering so he couldn’t have imagined it...the sensation of Caleb’s scruff and the warmth of his hand was too vivid for him to have made it up. It was inquisitive and gentle and all Essek’s and he wouldn’t ever trade it for anything.

I love you, Essek’s heart said as it finally found its rhythm between Caleb’s kisses. I love you.

#critical role fanfic #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast

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decembercamiecherries · 5 years

Note

hi sorry to bother you but i somehow came across starry x eyed and i just wanted to let you know that i love it????? if you ever decide to write the whole fic i will definitely be here

Oh, you’re not a bother at all! I find it really flattering, actually, that someone found starry x eyed and liked it enough to send me this ask, so thank you! ^-^

I’m not sure if I’ll ever finish this, the idea’s been done before and I have a hard time continuing it….but here’s what I have so far, as a thank you (I wrote this back in 2016 and totally unedited so be warned lol):

“Leave me! Now!”

Kite’s warning comestoo late. There’s a flash, and blood flies through the air in a wide arc. Gon’seyes widen and his mouth opens in a silent scream, but he’s too slow, too slow,too slow. Kite’s arm lands with athud behind them before Gon can do so much as blink.

The thing is curledin a hunch between them and Kite. Blocking their path. Gon feels a fury boilover inside him and his hands turn into white knuckled fists. He’s ready totake this creature on, to reach Kite, to fight-

Then it looks overits shoulder. A pulse ripples through the air as its gaze fixates on them.

Gon’s blood turns toice at the hungry interest in its eyes. It takes half a second for him torealize that desire is not directed at him. It’s not even directed at Kite.

It’s Killua. Thecreature wants Killua.

“Why,” the chimera antpurrs as it slides into a standing position. “-don’t you have some pretty eyes.Like gems. Would you mind if I took them from you?”

Killua is a statuebesides him and Gon’s paralyzing fear turns into burning anger in half asecond. He doesn’t care what that thing wants; it can’t have Killua. He shifts his weight so he can defend hisbest friend, sees Kite crouch low to the ground-

Pain explodes in hisskull. Everything goes black.

When Gon wakes up,he’s lying on a bed somewhere he doesn’t recognize. The sunlight is bright butthe sheets feel cold. It takes a heartbeat to realize what’s missing, whathappened before he passed out.

He throws himselfforward, heart jumping to his throat. His blood is roaring in his ears and hishands are shaking. Where is Killua? He looks frantically around the room. Where is Killua?!

His gaze lands onKite, who sits in a chair across the room. There are bandages wrapped aroundthe arm that was injured by that- that creature, but he’s alive. And Gon isgrateful, really, but it doesn’t stop the churning anxiety in the pit of hisstomach.

He says hoarsely,“Kite.”

The man glances up andhis stare is heavy in the worst way. Kite doesn’t speak. He’s scared to ask,but he needs to know. Gon swallowsthickly. “Kite. What happened? Where’s Killua?”

Kite pins him downwith flat blue eyes. He says quietly, “I’m sorry, Gon.”

Gon just looks atKite, uncomprehending.

“I couldn’t save him.The Chimera Ant wanted him, took him before I could do anything. I wasn’t fast orpowerful enough to stop it.”

There’s a dull roarin the back of Gon’s mind. It’s blocking out everything Kite’s saying. It can’tbe true. It just can’t. Kite is the strongest Hunter they’ve met, if hecouldn’t get to Killua, then- then-

No. Killua is- Killuais the most incredible people Gon’s ever seen. He wouldn’t just let himself getcaught like that.

“What are you saying,Kite?” Gon asks.

Kite regards him withsomething that must be similar pity but Gon doesn’t understand why. Killua isalive. He can’t be gone. It’s not possible. Without Killua, Gon is. Is.

“The Chimera Ant tookKillua, Gon. At this point, he’s most likely dea-”

Gon is suddenly screaming,“DON’T SAY THAT! DON’T YOU DARE!!”

Kite’s mouth shutswith a click. Gon’s breathing is erratic and he can’t stop the way his chest isheaving. He didn’t mean to shout. But it’s wrong for Kite to go saying lieslike that. It’s insulting. Killua can’t die.

It takes five minutesfor him to calm down enough to speak again.

“I’m sorry,” hemanages to say finally.

“It’s alright.”

“But Killua- he’s notgone. Even though the Chimera Ant took him, it doesn’t matter, you know? I’mgonna get him back.”

Kite closes his book,one handed. “You’re going to have to be a lot stronger if you’re going to fightthe Ants.”

Gon nodded,determined. “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter how hard I have to train. Me andKillua are best friends, I won’t ever leave him behind. I’ll get stronger andfind him. No matter what! And then we’re going to finish finding Ging together.I know we will.”

Gon’s eyes areshining and he can feel himself beaming. He can’t help it. Killua is his firstand dearest friend. Gon wouldn’t have gotten this far without him and they’dgrown and accomplished so much together!

Don’tworry, Killua, Gonthinks as he clenches his hands into white-knuckled fists. Nen dances acrosshis skin and shrouds him in white-hot aura. I’llget you out of there in no time, so just hang on until I’m powerful enough tofind you!

Off to the side, Kitestudies him with an unreadable expression but says nothing.

Killua doesn’t wakeup in a bed, or even in a room.

When he finallycracks his eyes open, he finds himself in a dark cave. Or, it looks like a cavein a way that it has dark walls and a rock-hard ground. It doesn’t feel like one though; the air pulses,heavy with humidity, and the smell of rotting bodies is almost enough to makehim gag. Even worse than that is overwhelming presence of…something. Something bad, really bad. Something that’s worse thananything he’s ever faced before.

“Oh, you’re awake?”

The question makesKillua freeze.

He knows that voice.It spoke to him, just him, back when he was with Kite and Gon-

Gon.

He jerks up into asitting position. “Gon- ngh.”

He slaps a hand tohis forehead, barely holding back a hiss of pain. A stabbing headache attackshis brain. Its relentless in its fury, making it nearly impossible toconcentrate. Through the haze, he realizes his whole body hurts, not just hishead. He can see cuts and scrapes dotting the pale skin of his hand and he canfeel their sting under his clothes.

His mouth goes dry.What had that creature done to him?!

He raises his eyes tosee the cat-like Chimera Ant that had sliced Kite’s arm off. It stood a gooddistance off, its head tilted to one side as it watched him, fixated.

Killua fights down ashudder. He refuses to show weakness to this- this thing.

“What-” He bites hislip to stop himself from crying out. The headache is getting worse with eachword he speaks.

He starts again,“What do- ungh- you want with me?”

“Who says I wantanything from you?” it asks.

Killua grits histeeth. “You wouldn’t take me for no reason. I’m nowhere near as strong as Kite;if you wanted someone more powerful than me, you could’ve had him. So you musthave a specific reason for choosing me instead.”

The creature smilesand Killua can’t help himself from staring: rows of sharp, knife-like teethglitter in the low light.

“Pretty and smart,” it purrs. “You really arethe whole package. But can your abilities back you up?”

Killua’s head feelslike it’s being sliced open. The cave sways slightly as he says, “Wha-”

The Ant is in is facebefore he can blink. There’s a sharp sting across his face and then he’s flyingthrough space, suddenly airborne. He has a split second to think- I have to stop moving- when his backcollides into a boulder.

All air leaves hislungs and stars explode across his vision. He collapses in a heap, coughing sohard he tastes the tang of iron on his tongue.

“Hm. Not as fast as Iwould have hoped, but I suppose there’s always room for improvement.”

Killua spats out amouthful of blood. It splatters on the ground. More dribbles from his lips.Disgusting. Blood was never anything but that: ugly, gross and morbid.

A flash of nostalgiahits him and he’s five years old again, staring down at his first murder. Theman was triple his age but weak in body and mind. It had been easy to kill him.He had died on the floor of his own kitchen as blood pooled around his feet.Killua had thought the sight was gross then, too.

The only differencenow, is that its Killua’s blood onthe ground, and not some random-ass stranger he’d been paid to kill.

Killua clenches hishands so tightly his knuckles turn white. Blood rushes under his skin. Aftereverything he’s been through, after meeting Gon,there is no way in hell he is going to die the same way as the weak strangerthat had been his first kill.

He slowly raises his headand glares at the Ant with eyes as hard as ice. The creature towers over himnow, hands on hips, its tail swishing back and forth.

It grins, pupilsdilating, and says, “C’mon. Let’s have some fun.”

Pitou doesn’tnecessarily like using Doctor Brythe.She can’t use any other nen with it in practice, which leaves her with astrange vulnerable sensation, and she’s forced to stay in her given locationfor however long its activated. All and all, it’s a complicated but boringtechnique, one that makes her back stiff from staying in a single place toolong and her claws twitch with impatience.

So she opts forwatching the white-haired boy laid out in front of her to pass the time.

She comments off-handedly,“This is the fifth time you’ve broken that arm. Do you have a preference forthat specific limb? Or do you just like having your bones snapped in half likethat?”

The boy’s lips pressinto a thin line but he doesn’t open those gorgeous blue eyes of his. Sometimesshe wants to tear them out and put them in a jar someplace just so she canalways look at them…

“No, I don’t,” hegrounds out, distracting her. “No one likesgetting hurt. You’d have to be stupid, or insane, to think like that.”

“Yet, you stillsomehow find a way.”

He snaps, “That’sonly because you’re making me! As if I’d ever try to take on ten Chimera Antsquadron leaders in a row!”

He has a point there.She cups her chin in one hand as she regards him thoughtfully. If he wasn’t beingforced to test squadron leader abilities, what would he be doing right now? Sheknew next to nothing about this boy she captured. The only thing she caredabout at the time was his beauty, and his strength.

She won’t lie; thestrength part had been a little disappointing at first. He was gifted, yes, butalso painfully underdeveloped and inexperienced. She had purposefully submittedhim to these one-on-one battles with the hope he would improve exponentially.

And that he had.

She plops down on theground beside him and folds her legs.

“What was that thingyou did with Rammont a few days ago? I’m just dying to know. You’ve nearlytripled your speed and skill abilities since then

#answered #dc writes #killugon #hunterxhunter #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #kite #pitou #canon divergence au #canon divergence #it made me really happy to get this ask #thank you anon <3 #wips #starry x eyed

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isadorator · 6 years

Text

A Fic Year in Review - 2017

dear god this was the busiest year i’ve had yet. let’s see how i did fic-wise!! :D and, as always, concrit and comments are welcome ♥

January

to win the hand of pasithea

this fic was hecka fun to read, not so much to write. the first, extremely silly draft was written while on a red eye cross-continental flight, and i had to post in time for the exchange it was for. luckily hallie was really patient as i cobbled together this marichat/ladynoir fusion nonsense during the next couple of months :’)

February

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (8/9):

no clothes

manga

i managed to squeeze in a few drabbles between an increasingly stressful school workload and my own brain turning against me (more than usual)

March

nothing posted this month, thanks again to the double whammy of school and depression :/

April

volpina ladrien drabble prompts (9/9):

the love at first sight/fish tank scene from romeo+juliet

I WAS. SO HAPPY TO FINISH THIS DRABBLE SET. i actually watched the entire movie for this drabble and ended up loving both, it’s a great scene and i think i did a good job with it :D

May

mlnsfweek prompts (3/3):

walking in on

"nice rose, but get off my bed"

dry humping

foreplay

i think i started my summer internship around this time, which meant less time to write. i got a few sin prompts done tho, as you can see, and ‘walking in on’ is probably my favourite thanks to chloe getting rejected XD

June

ladrien june 2017 drabble prompts (1/2):

comme il faut

cat person

god’s gift to women

“sorry, i wasn’t paying attention because your face is so distracting”

trying to finish the other’s sentences and failing

swallow

work still took up pretty much all my time, but i couldn’t let ladrien june pass without even an attempt at it. the sentences one is my fave thanks to nathalie being nathalie, but all of them were fun :D

July

tell the survivors (the help is on the way remix)

auuuugh okay. so. i was going through a lot of shit this month, including work but mostly involving my family, and i usually let out steam by writing. this is the fic i wrote to help me process everything. it turned out pretty good AND helped a lot, ngl

August

ladrien june 2016 drabble prompts (3/6):

late for class

alya's notp

identity slip up

soft ladrien in blanket

ladrien june 2016 drabble prompts (4/6):

desperate kiss

love spell | potion

still deep in work, so i decided to take another crack at the ladrien june 2016 prompts and finished a nice chunk. elaienar pleasantly surprised me with a ladrien art, so i decided to get back at her by writing a drabble to go with it, thus it is my favourite to write for this month :’)

September

everything's better with beanie babies

i went straight from work to school, which again meant little time to write. but crispy’s bday was this month!!! so i decided to finish writing this silly fic we talked about when i visited her as a present and ahhhh just thinking about all this is making me happy ♥♥♥♥

October

ladrien june 2016 drabble prompts (5/6):

sacrifice

rumours

ultimatum

my school went on strike about halfway through the month, which left me some extra time for writing. i went more cute than the suggested seriousness of the prompts and ‘sacrifice’ is probably my fave thanks to lovey dovey lb =3=

November

ladrien june 2016 drabble prompts (6/6):

weakness

caught in the act

falling

the best friend knows

fairytale

fashion show

‘weakness’ was first drafted more than a year ago and the strike meant i finally had the time to sit down and really rework it into something i’m very proud of. it’s probably my best fic to date and the one that challenged me the most this year. i never would have been able to get it to the quality it is without the help of my friends :D ♥

then i finished off the ladrien june 2016 prompt set, which i was also very proud of, ‘caught in the act’ got a little out of hand, but all of these fills i really love and enjoy |D

December

pire noel ladrien drabble prompts (1/6):

the fluffiest gd spin you can put on adrien finding out that ladybug is marinette

during an attack, ladybug tries to get adrien to hide in a certain store/place and adrien has to explain why he’s banned from entering that place for the next 3 years

what the thief left behind

sleet

adrien asks nathalie for girl advice

age difference au

space au

newly established relationship ladrien where ladybug finds adrien’s collector edition ladybug body pillow

adrien is a weeb. lb walks in on him sobbing over an anime/manga and adrien is only half coherent enough to explain why (or stop her from accusing another person of being an akuma after him)

balcony scene

termination shock

pire noel ladrien drabble prompts (2/6):

ladybug craves kisses, adrien is busy with something

adrien moaning

texts (+all the emojis) adrien would send as himself if only he had lb’s number

“ladybug, we need to talk about this problem of yours.” (aka, ladybug accidentally pisses off another holiday guardian because of adrien)

the strike ended near end of the november, but i was so stressed from the condensed workload and my own brain that i kinda retreated into writing fic as a type of relief. i started in on the pire noel prompts which i collected last December, with a brief foray into voltron so i could deal with my many, many feelings regarding aliens, and i really love i was able to stick to 300 words when i got most of them done (only 10 left!!)

Total Year’s Output: 33,115 words!

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

i wrote less than predicted, since i thought it would be around the 50k+ of last year. but this was also the busiest year of my life thus far, so i’m proud of how much writing i got done :D

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January 2017?

definitely voltron fic, since i love the show but i don’t really feel the need to write for it. the canon just happened to be the one in line with my pressing need to express my love for aliens

(i literally cried in my astrobiology class over aliens adskjafhlksd)

What’s your favourite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest.

definitely ‘everything’s better with beanie babies’ because it features the agrestes being ridiculous and reminds me of crispy :’D

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?

literally every year i say this, EVERY YEAR, but i want to:

a) finish my wips while making a significant dent in my ‘to write’ list, and;

b) WRITE A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. 2018 IS MY YEAR I’M GONNA DO IT I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD ALKDSJFHLAKSJD

#isayear #isameme #now for bed because holy shit am i tired #new year's this year was lit

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jesus-otaku · 7 years

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All right, first fic post of the day goes to continuing the prize for the wonderful @kwiibi! Thank you for your patience! I think parts will be coming out more frequently now.

Title: Peculiar Familiarity (Part 2)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Marichat

Word count: 2040

Part 1 is here!

“Marinette didn't respond right away. She was staring at him in what he could only presume was shock. It was then that he realized what he had just done.”

________________________

“No! That's not fair! I should not have died that time!”

Marinette looked over at Chat Noir with a smug smile. “All's fair in Ultimate Mecha Strike 3,” she said.

“Except for that,” Chat countered, barely managing to keep a straight face.

“You're just mad that I keep beating you.” She added another tally to her side of the scrap of paper they were using as a scoreboard of sorts. After Chat had found her walking the streets of Paris that second night, he had begun to keep more of an eye out for her, and it turned out that she snuck out of the house at odd hours of the night quite often. He had figured out the routes she would take, and had escorted her home more often than not since then. She'd complained at first, but now she didn't seem to mind too much. Then, one night, Chat had mentioned video games during their walk to the bakery, and Marinette had insisted that he come over sometime to play. This was their third game night, and Chat hoped that it might become a regular thing.

Well, as long as she didn't keep creaming him at Ultimate Mecha Strike 3, that is.

“I'm not mad that you keep beating me,” he replied. “I'm mad that you beat me that time by cheating.” He shot her a grin so she knew he was teasing. No matter how many times she beat him, he couldn't really get mad at her for it. It was a little frustrating, but she got too happy about winning for him to mind more than that.

Marinette returned the grin and set her controller aside. “So having better gaming skills is cheating?”

Chat leaned back on his haunches, dropping his controller next to hers. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“I wasn't aware that honing my talent at Ultimate Mecha Strike 3 would turn me into a cheater,” she quipped.

“A nasty revelation, isn't it?” he joked in reply.

Her grin broadened. “I think you're secretly jealous of my mad skills.”

He let out a scoffing sound, and waved her comment off. “Me, jealous? Never.”

“You're jealous,” Marinette said in a singsong voice. She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Admit it.”

“I will admit no such thing.” He nudged her back before picking up his controller again. “One more round. I have to avenge myself.”

She took up her own controller and scrolled through the game's options to get to the PVP screen. “You mean you want to get smoked again? I didn't realize you were such a glutton for punishment.”

Chat settled into his usual playing position, his fingers tensed over the buttons in anticipation. She wasn't going to win so easily this time. “The only one who's going to get smoked here is you, Princess.”

“Dream on, kitty cat.”

There it was again, that bizarre familiarity. He knew this feeling, knew this playful banter and this easy, friendly competition. But what was it? He never got the chance to do things like this with Marinette as Adrien. The one time they had played video games together with him out of the mask, it had been “training” for the tournament, and they had hardly spoken to one another until they had taken a break. This was nothing like that time. This was something entirely different.

So why did it feel so damned familiar?

He was so wrapped up in trying to figure out where the sense of familiarity came from that he didn't realize Marinette had started the game until he noticed his character had just been knocked out for the umpteenth time. “Hey, no fair! I wasn't ready!”

Marinette smiled devilishly. “So that's your new excuse, is it? You weren't ready?” She took the menu back to the PVP screen again. “One more round, then. And then we should probably call it quits for tonight. It's really late.”

He glanced up at the clock, and made a face. She was right; it was really late. They were both going to hate their lives tomorrow morning in school, no doubts about it. “One more,” he agreed. “And I'm going to win this time.”

“You're awful cocky for someone who's been losing all night,” Marinette teased. “Let's see if you can live up to all your big talk.” She hit the button to start their last round of the night.

At first, Chat thought he was imagining things—he seemed to be doing much better this round than he had up till now. Then he risked stealing a glance at Marinette's health bar and realized he wasn't imagining things after all. He had barely lost a quarter of his health, but hers was more than halfway gone. He was going to win! “You should have quit while you were ahead, Princess,” he couldn't help saying. “It looks like this one's going to end in my favor.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Marinette countered. Her focus was entirely on the screen in front of her, her tongue sticking out a little the way he had begun to notice it always did when she was concentrating. “I haven't lost quite yet.”

He braced himself for her comeback, but it never happened. For whatever reason, Marinette didn't seem able to bring about a turnaround this time. It didn't seem to be from lack of trying; she managed to give him a sound walloping so that his health bar was brought down to only a fourth left. But even with her throwing her all into the game, it was Chat Noir who emerged the winner.

“Yes!” He threw his arms up in victory. “Ladies and gentlemen, your champion of Paris, Chat Noir!”

Marinette laughed. “All right, you win that round,” she admitted easily. She marked a tally on his side of the scoreboard. “Happy now?”

Chat Noir glanced over at her; she was grinning, as if she didn't mind losing at all. And she had conceded defeat much more readily than he had expected. “Wait, did you … You didn't let me win, did you?”

Her grin broadened, and from this proximity he could see the little dimples in her cheeks. “You wanted to win, didn't you?” she asked in reply.

There! There it was again. That nagging familiarity was back, that feeling that he recognized this side of her even though he could have sworn that he had never encountered it before that first night he'd found her walking home. Some subconscious part of him, drawing connections his brain couldn't seem to make, whispered Ladybug. Chat started in surprise.

Was that why this was familiar?

Marinette's smile gave him the same feeling as Ladybug's did.

Was he starting to feel the same way about her as he did about Ladybug?

Hastily, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, not wanting to confront it. No. There was no way. This side of her must just remind him of Ladybug, that was all. Why she reminded him of Ladybug, of course, was another question, but there was no sense in overthinking things. There was no way, in a million years, that he could ever feel the same way about another girl as he felt about Ladybug.

“Didn't you?” Marinette prompted, still grinning, and Chat realized she was still waiting for his answer to her question. Figuring out his muddled thoughts would have to wait.

“Only if it was fair and square,” he replied. “Which it wasn't, if you let me win.”

She waved it off. “A win is a win, kitty. Don't complain. I could've beaten you again if I really wanted to.”

“I know you could've.” He helped her to put the controllers away for the night, and to put the furniture back where it had been when he had arrived so that her parents wouldn't know about her late-night visitor. “But knowing you could've beaten me if you wanted doesn't make my win any more satisfying,” he added as they pushed her chaise lounge into place. “It actually almost makes it more degrading instead.”

“Well …” Marinette sat down on the lounge once it was back where it belonged. “Keep playing, and maybe someday you'll actually be able to beat me fair and square.”

Chat raised an eyebrow at her playfully. “Is that an invitation for another game night?”

She raised her eyebrow right back at him. “If you're up for getting creamed again.”

“I'll learn how to beat you for real one of these nights.” Without thinking, he took her hand and kissed it—the way he usually did with Ladybug. “Until next time, Princess.”

Marinette didn't respond right away. She was staring at him in what he could only presume was shock. It was then that he realized what he had just done. Oh, God, he was an idiot. Five seconds of thinking she reminded him of Ladybug, and he was already treating her like his lady. She was going to think—he wasn't sure what she was going to think, but he was sure it wouldn't be good.

“I'll, um … get going, then,” he said, and started for the trapdoor to the terrace.

“Chat Noir, wait!”

On any other night, when he hadn't just made a fool of himself and possibly ruined a growing friendship, he would have stopped. He would have turned around right then, and waited for as long as she wanted. But he had made a fool of himself, and probably made Marinette second-guess her decision to befriend him, and so he hurried out and fled across the rooftops without another word.

“You could have at least asked for some food before you left,” Plagg griped when they arrived back at the Agreste mansion. “She lives in a bakery. They've got to have loads of cheese there.”

Adrien leaned back against the window. “I just made a total idiot of myself, and you're complaining about cheese?”

“It wasn't the smartest thing you've ever done,” Plagg agreed, “but you've done stupider things, too. It's not that big of a deal.”

“Thanks for the overwhelming support.” He closed his eyes and sank down to sit on the floor. “She reminded me of Ladybug for a minute. I didn't mean to treat her like Ladybug, it just—”

“Slipped out?” Plagg finished for him. He snickered. “So much for Ladybug being the girl of your dreams, huh?”

“That's not it,” Adrien protested. “I just wasn't thinking. It's not like I like Marinette, not like—not like that. The way she acted just … didn't it remind you of Ladybug? With the jokes, and the competitive attitude, and her smile, and—” He cut himself off, realizing just how strong the comparison to Ladybug really was.

When it became clear he wasn't going to finish his sentence, Plagg spoke. “You can say you don't like her all you want, but it sure sounds like it when you talk about her like that. She didn't seem that much like Ladybug to me.”

“But I like Ladybug,” Adrien argued. “I can't like Marinette too, that would just be—that would—it's—there's no reason for me to—”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, Adrien.”

The next time he found Marinette wandering around at night, Chat Noir hesitated a little before going to her. What if she didn't want anything to do with him after his blunder the last time they'd seen each other?

Marinette slowed, until she was standing still just a few steps away from the bridge. She had just passed Notre Dame; the lights on the building reflected in her hair and gave the black a gilding of gold. “I know you're there, Chat Noir,” she said. “You might as well come down.”

From his place amidst the gargoyles and chimeras, Chat sighed. No sense in hiding if she already knew he was there. He extended his baton, and dropped one level at a time down to the square. Marinette watched him descend. She smiled a little when he landed next to her, a tiny, crooked, I knew you were really there sort of smile. It was a very Ladybug kind of smile.

He liked that smile.

He liked that smile a lot.

Dear God, he realized, he liked Marinette.

#drabble #drabble prize #kwiibi #miraculous ladybug #marichat #otp #miraculous fanfic #peculiar familiarity

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gldngrl7 · 7 years

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Karamel Fic: Edging Toward Synchronicity (3/8)

Title: Edging Towards Synchronicity

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Began: March 11, 2017

Chapters:8

Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath. Intentional Anti hate is taken as encouragement and a challenge to up my game.

Author’s Notes:

I’m not even kidding around anymore. This story is about a journey to intimacy and that intimacy includes heavy elements of BDSM, Dominance/submission, and Daddy-kink. If you know you’re not into that or interested in seeing more, walk away now. Kid gloves are off, folks.

Dedicated to my fam member @mon-kai-el and dirty bitches squad (aka The Dark Side) whose dirty talk showed me that I could take the kid gloves off. Stay thirsty, my friend.

For those of you who care…there is in fact a plot. And it moves forward and everything!

PSA: If there are any Babysubs out there who read this and think, ‘this is me’ and you don’t know what to do. If you want to talk, message me. It’s important that you know this: THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU! Not a damn thing, and don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.

Tagging: @mon-kai-el, @actualpuppychriswood, @pwettypwita, @contygold86, @karamelizedlove, @kelbottumbles, @starcrossed-comets, @emarasmoak, @fangirlintheforest, @ships-sailing-in-the-night, @lostin-the-desert

Oh, I know you're feeling insane

Tell me something that I can explain, oh

I'll hit the lights and you lock the doors

Tell me all of the things that you couldn't before

Don't walk away, don't roll your eyes

They say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight

If this love is pain, well darling, let's hurt, oh tonight

--OneRepublic – “Let’s Hurt Tonight”

Chapter 3/8

The ear-splitting whistle of the teakettle cuts through the comfortable silence between them, causing Mon-El to recoil noticeably and kick starting Kara’s drive to tend to his psychological wounds. Rushing back to the kitchen, she steeps two bags of chamomile, while adding several lumps of sugar to his cup. She stirs his tea until the cubes lose their shape and become a grainy sludge at the bottom of the mug.

When Kara hands the steaming mug to Mon-El, he takes an immediate swig without regard to its boiling temperature, seeking the sweet comfort of sugar to combat the acrid taste that lingers on the back of his tongue. Thankfully, the bitter tang is already somewhat diminished, so the blast of sugar hitting his taste buds helps to erase the bizarre and unwelcome flavor.

He downs the cup in three gulps and takes it to the sink to rinse it out. “I think you’re right,” he says. “I think I’m going to take a hot shower and maybe call it a night. It’s been a long day.”

Kara nods, sliding up onto one of the stools that sits under the kitchen island and takes a sip of her tea. “It’s not every day a person becomes a superhero,” she comments after swallowing the hot liquid. “It’s going to get harder for a while,” she continues. “I just want you to be prepared. My first few months weren’t exactly smooth sailing. I made more than a few mistakes, and the media—Cat—covered them all. But the people can be forgiving when you show them that your heart is in the right place. Just know that…I’m here for you for…whatever you need.”

Mon-El considers her words, her advice, and recognizing that she’s talking about more than just weathering the trials and tribulations of being a superhero. He wonders just how long he can compartmentalize the increasing amounts of stimuli racing through his brain, without seeking help. Curling his hand into his fist, he knocks his knuckles against the wooden surface of the kitchen island. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promises. “Here’s to hoping they take it easy on me. Gods know I’m nowhere near your league. I’m not half the person you are, Kara.”

He walks away, leaving her speechless, her heart plummeting with sadness. Logically, she understands that survivor’s guilt can wreak havoc on a person’s self-worth—having had a singular experience with her own version of it. And in the beginning of their acquaintance, she had steadfastly refused to look beyond the fear that driving his survival instincts to see the good in him, buried deep though it was.

He is from Daxam, a culture that raised the act of deliberate ignorance to an art form so duteous it made the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel look like a kindergartner’s finger painting. He grew up inside all of that, within the court of the Crown Prince no less—the belly of the beast—and, so in the beginning she expected arrogance, entitlement, and stubborn resistance to the assimilation to an entirely new culture. And while it’s true that the dregs of that existed, she sees now that letting go of one’s culture and the throwing off of one’s upbringing is an undertaking much more easily discussed than accomplished. Even after thirteen years, Kara herself has yet to accomplish the feat.

Kara mentally castigates herself. She could begin by ceasing to refer to the Prince’s Court as ‘the belly of the beast’ even if only in her own head. That is merely the Kryptonian gossip of her hazy childhood memories talking, and already those types of thoughts have translated into action. Daxam and Krypton are long gone, and it is time both of them put their pasts in the rearview mirror. For Kara that means letting go of the things she learned about Daxam in her formative years so that she can stop associating them with the man she loves. As his lover—his mate—she must stop punishing him for any actions long past from which he clearly wishes to disassociate.

For Mon-El, putting his past away will be a much more visceral experience, she fears. She will have to use every tool in her shed to help him through it, if his breakdown this evening was any indication. Finishing her cup of tea, an idea strikes while she’s rinsing out the mug and setting it out to dry. She hears the music from the radio in her…their…bathroom turn on, and Kara whispers her gratitude to Rao because the extra noise should serve her purpose.

Digging into her purse, she retrieves her phone and flips through her recent calls before pressing ‘send’. Eliza’s warm voice answers on the first ring as though she has been awaiting Kara’s call.

“Kara, honey, is everything all right?” she asks, and Kara cringes when she checks her watch and sees how late it is. It must worry her mother when the phone rings this late.

“I’m sorry,” she winces, “I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

“It’s fine,” Eliza replies. “As long as you’re okay.” Kara is practically invulnerable to harm and still her adoptive mother worries for her. She cringes at the realization and thinks that if Eliza gets this worried about Kara, then thoughts of Alex’s well-being must keep her up nights. Almost by instinct, Kara’s hand drifts down her belly, and she marvels at the mere concept of being a mother and what that might mean. Tossing and turning each night over imaginary scenarios of her child in danger? Could she handle it? Was she strong enough for that?

“Honey, are you still there?”

“Still here,” she answers, quickly shaking off thoughts that are too premature to be entertained seriously. “I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”

“Is it about what we talked about before? Have you—“

“Not yet,” she interjects. “It’s about the other thing.”

“Ah,” her mother sighs.

“I asked Mon-El to move in with me,” she begins. Kara cringes slightly. She hasn’t taken a moment to consider what her mother might think of her recent decision to cohabitate with her boyfriend. “I don’t think it has been good for him, living in the DEO. As long as he was there he was never going to make this place his home. Not when he has to live under a curfew and be treated like a threat,” she rationalizes, providing reasons that she hopes her mother will be able to find acceptable from a logical standpoint.

“And because you love him,” her mother counters, taking Kara by surprise. “Because that’s the only reason that matters, honey.”

“Yes, of course,” Kara replies. As if she could fool her astute mother otherwise! Just as Eliza had understood Mon-El’s masked interest in Kara during their Thanksgiving get-together, Eliza had probably comprehended the depth of Kara’s feelings long before she had. Confessing her feelings aloud now, for the first time, makes them seem somehow more real and raises the stakes even higher. “But something happened when we got back to the loft tonight. He had a...” Kara grasps for the right word that doesn’t make it sound like the man she loves needs a padded cell, before recalling the word she heard Eliza use on multiple occasions when discussing her. “An episode,” she says. “He was back there…seeing things.”

“First of all…are you okay?” Eliza asks anxiously. “Did he say anything or do anything to hurt you?”

“No,” Kara denies. “Of course not.”

“Good. People don’t know what’s happening when they have trauma-induced flashbacks. It’s a fugue state, Kara. It’s so real, he could lash out to protect himself or say things…not intended for you.”

“I’m fine,” she assures her mother. “I’m worried about him though.”

“Of course you are.”

“It’s just that…I told him that I could help…that I know what to do. But the truth is, I don’t. I remember being where he is but not how it got better. Not really. I just remember you and Alex being there…all the time.” Kara’s emotions en masse well within her: fear for Mon-El, anxiety over being what he needs, being enough, and gratitude that she has someone to talk to who has walked this path before.

“I knew when we adopted you that, with your history, re-entry would be difficult for you. I talked to specialists and read books about dealing with post-traumatic stress.”

“What should I do?” Kara breathes, a lump rising in her throat.

“Don’t push him to talk about it,” Eliza answers.

“Okay,” she says, disappointed. “We’ll call that strike one.”

“It’s okay,” her mother reassures her. “Don’t push him to talk, but let him know, in no uncertain terms, that you are there to listen if he does want to talk,” she advises. “When he opens up…try to avoid making promises like ‘it’s going to be okay’. Being ‘okay’ isn’t always what people with survivor’s guilt want—not right away. They often see the guilt and the reflection as something they deserve for having the audacity to survive. Try to avoid casting judgments on his actions. It’s a rare individual who can be their best self when under that kind of duress. Most of us wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny in the kind of situation he faced, without warning and without the mental training or acclimation to that kind of stress.”

Kara’s mind races as she commits her mother’s words of advice to memory. “But it sounds like it’s my job…to do nothing?”

“Oh that’s not true, honey. Do things with him you normally do together. Encourage him to socialize, to be active. Find activities that work for both of you. Building camaraderie can work wonders. Why do you think I always made Alex take you with her when she went to hang out with her friends? Or that time I signed you up for soccer, so you could be part of a team.”

“That was a disaster!” Kara exclaimed. “I broke Jenny Sauer’s nose, and she had to miss the eighth grade dance.”

“That little snot had it coming,” Eliza snaps protectively. “After the mean things she said to you, she’s lucky I didn’t break her nose!”

“Mom!” Kara gawps, shocked by her adoptive mother’s uncharacteristic outburst.

“I’m sorry, but that girl brought it on herself,” Eliza defensively justifies.

“She was offsides, and it was just trash talk. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“A mother doesn’t distinguish. The point is, Kara, that you began building a life again, to make attachments here beyond Jeremiah, Alex, and myself. I remember that you started sleeping better after that.”

“I remember too,” Kara echoes, her mouth lifting in a half smile. There’s a moment of silence on the line that lasts long enough for Kara to wonder if the call has dropped.

“It takes a toll, honey,” her mother finally says, her tone one of uneasy warning. “You should be aware of what you’re getting into. In many ways…leading them out of the dark is just as hard on us as it is on them. But you can’t give up,” she cautions. “He won’t get better overnight—that will never happen—but if you keep being there for him, keep loving him, eventually you’ll look up one day and realize he hasn’t had a flashback in a while or didn’t flinch during the last thunderstorm, and it will feel like it happened overnight. You have to be patient,” Eliza added. “And know that there will be setbacks.”

“It was so scary,” she admits, letting down her guard a little bit more. “It was like he wasn’t really here with me. I didn’t think I would be able to reach him.”

“But you did, and that’s what matters. He’s been repressing for a long time. You never really did that. For you…there was always the thousand-yard stare—the haunted look in your eyes—right from the start. But when you had episodes you were nearly impossible to reach. I’m afraid I didn’t provide enough of a connection for you, enough of a lure to draw you back to reality.”

“That’s not true,” Kara claims, catching the strains of hurt in Eliza’s voice and wishing to alleviate it.

“It’s all right, Kara,” Eliza reassures. “I was under no delusions then. We got there eventually, but we had to survive the worst of the fallout first. Unlike our situation, you have the advantage with Mon-El, honey. He would do anything for you, if you only ask. I have no doubt that includes trying his hardest to get well.”

“I just hope that doesn’t hurt more than help.”

“When you fall in love with someone, Kara, their pains become your pains and their joy, your joy. The joy part is easy,” Eliza finishes, leaving Kara to draw her own conclusion about the painful parts of a relationship.

“I’m beginning to see that,” Kara acknowledges. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your advice.”

“Anytime, honey. What’s a mother for?” she breezes with a chuckle as though happy just to be of help.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Kara?”

“We’re still getting there. More and more all the time.”

“I love you, Kara,” she says softly.

“I love you, too. Talk to you soon.” She finishes exchanging her farewells with her mother and ends the call. She plugs her phone into the charger on the back wall of the kitchen counter for the night, then wonders what to do next.

****

The tea helped to relieve the bitter taste that resided in the back of his mouth from the onset of his vivid waking nightmare. But it did nothing to ease the lingering tension that still plagues his larger muscle groups. His thighs and upper back twitch and tremble in unpredictable intervals. He’s anxious to escape the laser-like scrutiny Kara focuses upon him, as though she expects him to shatter to pieces at any moment.

Perhaps he might, and he silently prays to every god he’s ever heard of that if it does happen, it won’t happen in front of her.

“But she’s the one you’ll need!” Ral groans, frustrated. “You’re going to want her to be there when you break.”

Mon-El closes the bathroom door behind him and turns to find Ral sitting on the counter, his legs dangling a foot from the ground. Mon-El opens his mouth to speak and then throws a glance at the door. There’s a radio-box on the counter; he’s heard Kara listen to the box when she showers sometimes. Mon-El examines the device and finds the power symbol so prevalent on the technical devices of Earth and presses the accompanying button. The radio-box blares to life, playing a song by someone named Ariana that he recognizes from the larger radio-box at the bar. It used to play a lot – back before the attack by Cadmus – on Friday nights when spirits were high and patrons wanted to dance. Mon-El turns the volume up two more notches.

“Yeah, her super hearing won’t be able to cut through that,” Ral smirks.

“She doesn’t eavesdrop,” Mon-El tells Ral…and himself. “Now…why?”

“Why, what?” Ral rejoins. His eyes widen, his eyebrows climbing his forehead, perhaps a little too comically for the tension of the situation.

“You said I’d want her there. Why?” Mon-El demanded through clenched teeth.

Ral shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t--? I thought...”

“You thought…what? That I know everything? Don’t be an idiot; I’m not Bask sitting on the throne of Val-Or. I don’t know all, Brother. I know what you know.”

“But you said...” Mon-El trails off, his mind trying to weave his conscious mind through the maze created by his subconscious.

“You don’t want to go there, my friend. Not yet,” Ral warns. “It’s best if these things happen on their own timeline. Stick with what you already know.”

“Like the waking nightmare?”

“It’s really begun now,” the hallucination declares, his face growing sadder. Ral shrugs, resigned. “You can avoid sleep if you like. It’s up to you. But the memories will come anyway now. A dam has been breached. Let’s pray to the gods what comes next is a slow leak and not a flash flood.”

“Memories?” Mon-El asks, his brow creasing with confusion. “That’s not how it happened.”

“Isn’t it?” Ral answers cryptically.

“But you put me in the pod,” Mon-El reminds his step-brother. “You put me into the pod and then went back for her. To be with her.”

“Hmmm,” Ral hums, his answer refusing to commit one way or another to Mon-El’s assertion. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Mon-El swallows, trying not to choke on the emotion that threatens to overwhelm. “Was there ever a girl?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Ral answers. “Probably? But if there was…I never made it back for her.”

“Gods,” he moans, dropping his chin to his chest as his mind flashes to the memory of Ral’s death. He could see it, hear it, and smell it as if he was there, but it is still too unreal to be believed, like a mirage that fades away when he gets too close.

“You won’t feel it yet,” Ral promises, placing a hand on Mon-El’s shoulder as he leans against the counter. “But now you know.”

“Why?” Mon-El inquires. “Why have you hidden this truth from me?”

“Because…sometimes truths are meant to be delivered in their own time. When they’re ready to be heard and not a moment before.”

“Truths?” Mon-El ponders, a sliver of fear lancing his heart.

“A single truth would be so simple, wouldn’t it?” Ral answers with a question, his hand gripping at Mon-El’s shoulder as if it’s tethering him to the same plane of existence. “And you and I both know that life is rarely simple, no matter how much we try to change ourselves to make it so.”

“Why can’t I just…go on?” Mon-El asks, rubbing his temples. His head hurts, pounding like the clang of metal on metal. “What’s wrong with forgetting that day?”

“Because then there will always be a part of you missing. Whether you remember everything or not, even now it’s shaping who you are…who you’re becoming. As much as you tell yourself that the man who pulled that car from the edge of a bridge exists because of Kara, that’s not entirely true. And soon you’ll know why. But don’t worry about when it will happen. I’ll make sure it happens at the right place at the right time. Leave it to me.”

Ral vaporizes the second Mon-El blinks – there one second and gone the next. “Great,” he sighs, unable to shake off the overwhelming feeling of encroaching doom. It’s just him and The Weeknd in the bathroom now.

He’s spent too long here without taking the shower he claimed he was after when he excused himself from her stifling scrutiny. Opening the glass door of the shower, he spins the dial for hot water until it will turn no more and waits for steam to fill the chamber while he disrobes. His clothing comes off piece by piece, his body moving like that of a weary old man as though he’s aged a century in the last day.

The buzz of the electricity he absorbed in the early hours of this morning, which had sustained him throughout the day, has long since dissipated, perhaps in part due to the waking nightmare…memory, he relived. He feels his body’s need to rest pressing in on him with all of the inevitable inescapability of a stasis sleep taken before a deep space jump. He can no longer afford to avoid sleep. If Ral is correct, the memories and visions will come whether he sleeps or not, and he’d rather avoid being in the thick of things when they do. Sleep it is, but first the shower to help him ease the tension wreaking havoc on his body.

Stepping under the spray, Mon-El feels the heat of the water but not the sting. How he misses the sting! The feeling of water beating down on him, hot enough to turn his skin the color of the Daxam sunrise. Breathing the steam deeply into his lungs, he savors the heated exhale of it, feeling more cleansed with each breath. But still the muscles of his back, along his spine and shoulders, twitch in an annoying manner as though he is a rebellious puppet on strings that refuses to dance to its master’s tune.

After being shot during his incarceration by Cadmus he’d felt like this, albeit to a lesser extent. His blood had pumped through him so fast, soaked up by his jeans, that it set his heart to racing. For hours after they had made their escape and were returned to the DEO, he’d shivered without feeling cold, teeth chattering while his wounded leg twitching painfully. Adrenaline, the physician had said, explaining that during traumatic experiences the system floods with the chemical, telling the body it’s in danger and attempting to provide it with the physiological tools needed to protect itself. Even once safety is reached, the chemical remains in the blood, oftentimes for hours, even days afterwards. It also has the added ‘benefit’ of searing memories of traumatic events into the mind like a slaver’s brand upon the skin, making them easier to recall and in greater, richer detail.

Taking a few minutes, he soaps up one of Kara’s fluffy, frilly sponges and hits all the important spots with the suds, until he feels quite overtaken by foam. This isn’t the utilitarian all-in-one soap provided in the showers at the DEO, he is certain from its purple hue when in the bottle – so he refrains from lathering his hair. He could take care of that tomorrow. Ready to rinse, Mon-El shifts until the pulsing stream of water beats down upon the top of his scalp, where the dull throb of his headache stubbornly refuses to be shaken loose.

Water easily defeats the delicate bubbles, sending them retreating down the hard exterior of his body and legs until they’re circling the drain at his feet. After a moment, he drops his chin to his chest so that the scorching stream of water funnels at the base of his skull and to his neck before planing down his powerfully built back.

Senses still on heightened alert, Mon-El hears the bathroom door click open over the sound of the radio blaring Justin Bieber’s ‘Let Me Love You’, feels the breeze of cooler air entering the room. He keeps perfectly still as she opens the glass door the bare minimum to admit her and slips inside the shower stall. The space wouldn’t be enough for the both of them were there any concerns in regards to personal space. Luckily for them, there are not.

“Hey,” he says, acknowledging her presence without turning around. Her hands brush against his hips with a feather light touch, an entreaty, before gliding up his back to rest on his shoulders.

“I thought I’d join you,” her voice whispers. “You don’t mind, do you?” Kara leans into him so close the front of her legs brush against the back of his thighs. Her belly lays flush against the compact muscles of his ass as she places open-mouthed kisses on the tension-riddled path of his spine.

“How could I mind this?” Mon-El pushes away from the wall and presses his back more firmly against hers, wrapping his other arm around until it lands on the back of her thigh. He turns his head to the side until he can almost feel her breath on his cheek.

With her lightest stroke, caressing him is like caressing granite. Even in the face of her loving touch, every part of him is unyielding, and Kara knows that’s not because he wants it that way. “You’re so tense,” she observes.

“I know,” he says, disturbed because the hot shower has seemingly had no effect on the state of his body. “I’m sorry. It must be from the...”

“Can I help you?” she asks, tentatively. “Will you let me help you?”

“How?” he sighs, unsure that anything can help at this stage. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to relax again or if this apparent state of heightened alert is his new normal.

Taking hold of his wrist, she removes his hand from her thigh and directs it elsewhere. “Place your hands on the wall,” she instructs.

“Am I under arrest, officer?” he jokes.

After a delicate snort that brings a smile to his face, she says, “You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

Mon-El does as she instructs, admittedly a novelty when they’re both naked, unsure of what to expect. The feeling of her thumbs digging into his trapezius muscles was nowhere on his list of possibilities – but it should have been at the very top. Her x-ray vision is unable to discern individual muscles, and yet she’s able to locate the knots beneath his impenetrable skin with pinpoint accuracy. The pressure she applies would crumple titanium, but instead it’s slowly loosening the knots of restrained emotion, to which his muscles seem desperate to cling.

“Gods, Kara,” he moans, the dissipation of tension feeling so good and her hands on him feeling even better. In fact, it feels so good he can’t keep the words, “Don’t stop,” from slipping out.

“I won’t,” she promises. Proving her vow, her thumbs move lower, to his middle back, applying their heavenly pressure to his lats. “Is this helping?” she asks, hopefully. Even without looking, he can practically see her biting down on her lower lip in that way she does when she isn’t certain about something.

Mon-El’s breath catches as she finds a particularly nasty ball of tension and goes to town on it. “You have no idea,” he groans, relishing the pain she provides, as if it’s resurrecting him from the stupor he’s been in for the last half hour. “Harder,” he begs.

“Really?” she clarifies.

“Yes, harder.” When she complies, his breathing shifts to a heavy pant, and he bites down on his lower lip with a grimace. He’s going to bruise, at least for a few hours, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. She spends a few minutes working her way back up his back to his shoulders before spearing her hands into his hair and massaging his scalp from the top of his head to the junction point at the base of his skull. When her hands glide down his now relaxed back, signaling that she is done, Mon-El declares, “Kara Zor-El, have I told you lately that you are a goddess?”

Peppering his tended back with kisses, Kara slides her hands around his waist and upward until they come to a rest on his chest, over his heart. Mon-El removes one hand from the wall to cover them, lacing their fingers together.

Kara’s unoccupied hand drifts down from his chest, past his abdomen until her fingers find the light trail of fur that leads exactly where she wants to go – but doesn’t. She caresses his shoulder blade with the tip of her nose and brief brushes of her lips before placing a series of open-mouthed kisses there. “Would you like me to take care of the front now?” she asks, delicately twirling her fingers through the hair on his lower belly.

Her innuendo—her presence—has his body stirring at the speed of light. His cock twitches in anticipation, already at half-staff since shortly after she joined him. “So what are you waiting for?” he inquires, his voice lowering to a rich challenge.

“You know,” she replies.

Mon-El reaches for the hand on his lower belly, grasping it as he spins around to face her and places her hand on his shoulder. Grabbing her hips, he tugs her flush against his body and backs her up until she is sandwiched between the hard planes of his body and the cool tiles of the shower. His lips swoop down upon hers, taking, drinking, mining for the taste of her, before she has even a chance to protest. Not that she ever would.

Kara melts into him, her knees losing their will to hold her up. She would slide down the wall into a heap on the tile floor, were his body not trapping her right where she is. With a mind of their own, her hands grip at any part of his shoulders and back she can reach, fingernails searching for purchase as his tongue and lips transfer their focus to the long, sensitive column of her neck. As if he has every right…he takes her breath away.

His hips tilt slowly, torturously against her belly as he lays ruthless siege to her neck, his cock seeking her wet heat but settling for the satiny softness of her skin instead. One of Kara’s legs steals around his, her ankle hooking around the back of his calf and traveling up and up until her knee is draped over his hip, opening herself up to him. Heat races through her, lighting a white-hot blaze under her skin, burning through her self-control like a wildfire. This has been her endgame all along when she’d decided to join him in the shower, but she hadn’t intended to dissolve into a jellied mass of need and desire quite so soon. She should know better by now. “Mon-El,” she gasps, instinctively canting her hips against his, seeking fulfillment.

He knows what brought her here – why she slipped into his shower and interrupted his solitude. She is afraid for him. Fears what might happen if she should leave him alone to his thoughts and ruminations, and he can’t say he’s not a little bit afraid as well. With some degree of difficulty, he tears his lips from the soft divot of flesh where her chest and neck converge.

He leans his forehead against hers, cupping the back of her head with both hands. “Tell me why you came in here, Kara?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“To distract me?” Mon-El pulls back, seeking eye contact. Kara obliges him by tilting her head further back, slackening her neck so that the weight of her head is cradled completely in his hands.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she confirms. “But if you want to, I’m always here to listen. I’m here for you…in any way that you need me. I just wanted to remind you that you’re not in this alone.” Her own fingers slide up his chest until they frame both sides of his face.

“By offering me your body?” His head tilts to the side, finding this tactic curious.

“By being what you need,” she counters. “Aren’t you always worried about being what I need? If I’m your mate, shouldn’t I do the same, Mon-El?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Kara, I’ve always wanted to be what you need. It’s what I work so hard for…but you should know…I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know what it was like on Krypton, but couples on Daxam didn’t have those sorts of relationships. We were latched to people to consolidate power and gain influence – for most, it was a business arrangement and nothing more. When we chose to mate with someone, outside of a latching union, it was usually merely a physical bonding. Neither was based in…based in...”

“Intimacy?”

“Yeah…that.”

Kara’s forehead gathers together, a deep crinkle appearing between her eyebrows. Part of her wants to place some distance between them, afraid of the answer to the question on the tip of her tongue, but there’s nowhere for her to go. “Does it bother you? The intimacy between us?”

“Kara,” he sighs. “How can you ask me that? Do I seem dissatisfied to you? I tell you this only to help you understand. My culture compartmentalizes these things. When a man needs the kind of thing you’re suggesting, he doesn’t go to his latch-mate…he finds someone else…someone willing…to use.”

A dark shadow crosses her eyes, and they squint into hard ice-like chips of blue. “Well, if you found someone else to use, I would kill you. So that’s never going to happen. It may have been that way on Daxam, but on Krypton, and on Earth it’s the opposite. Here we promise ‘for better or for worse’.”

Mon-El’s eyes widen. He’s seen enough of Earth’s entertainment programs to recognize those words and their inherent meaning. They speak of mating and of choosing a more permanent bond with implications of expanding the familial unit, but he’s never dared dream that she would bind herself to him in such a way. “Isn’t that from the Earth commitment pledge?” The question spills out before he can stop it.

Kara’s face freezes. Isn’t this what they have been talking about all this time? Choosing and mating? Isn’t that where it’s all been leading? Doubt floods her, and her eyes dart away from his.

It’s not easy to miss the uncertainty filling her eyes, and it occurs to Mon-El that while he hasn’t dared to hope for more than what lay between them, her mind has already gone there and planted that seed. He rushes to assuage her doubt in hopes of putting it to rest. “I just never thought you would want that…with me.”

“Mon-El!” she chastises, unable to believe the abhorrence laced throughout his words and their tone. Abhorrence for himself. She knows this, the survivor’s guilt talking—she’s experienced it enough herself to recognize it—but still it hurts her to see it. “Don’t ever say that!” she instructs.

“Kara, there are things you don’t know about me. There are things I don’t know about me. Tonight, I remembered for the first time that my stepbrother died right in front of me.”

“Sometimes the mind blocks out what it isn’t ready to handle,” she explains.

“Yes, but…what else have I forgotten? How can I ask you to pledge yourself to me when there are so many unknowns?”

“I know enough,” she insists.

But she doesn’t know enough, Mon-El thinks, not by a long shot. How does he tell her that he has regular conversations with a dead man? How does he tell her the truth about who he is, about what his father did to him? How does he tell her the thing about him that made his peculiarity merely tolerated among his people – all but Ral? How can he bear to see the inevitable disgust in her eyes?

He wishes he could forget those things, block them out like the too-horrible-to-be-recalled circumstances of Ral’s death. He would gladly trade every last horrific memory of the Fall of Daxam in exchange for forgetting the thing he would cut from himself if he could. “You say that now, but you hated everything about Daxam when we first met. Everything about the kind of life I led back there. You should know…I wasn’t just a bystander in that life. I was a blissful participant—blissfully ignorant, maybe—but blissful nonetheless. What if...”

“Would you go back if you could?” she questions, almost an interrogation. His mouth opens and closes in surprise, having not expected that question. “Well…would you?”

He considers carefully the almost intentional aimlessness of the life he had there and the emptiness it fostered inside of him. His duties, the expectations placed upon him that had nothing to do with his desires, as though what he needed meant nothing at all. He is still building a life here, and there are more than a few bricks missing, but with Kara he feels a solid foundation beneath his feet for the first time in his life. But for all of its absent pieces, the blanks waiting to be filled in, he is happier here than he ever could have imagined being on Daxam. Contentment is a feeling for which he has no frame of reference before arriving on Earth and falling for Kara. “No,” he declares confidently. “I would never go back to that life. Even if I could. My life is right here,” he says, stroking her cheek.

Lifting up she captures his lips with hers, as Mon-El reciprocates with equal fervor; soft lips meeting firm pressure with fiery intent. The forgotten shower water, slowly losing heat throughout their conversation, finally gives up the last dregs of its tepid warmth turning cold against their skin. Not uncomfortable but neither is it conducive to their activities. Blindly, Mon-El reaches behind him, his hand fumbling for the spigot before finally turning it until the water drips to a halt. Reluctantly, Kara drags her contented lips from his, her breath coming in shaky gasp. “Show me,” she demands, a hint of challenge in her voice. “Let me be what you need. Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” he says. “No games tonight, okay?”

Kara nods in agreement, reading the vulnerability in his eyes. “No games. Just us.”

Grabbing the backs of her thighs he lifts her until her legs drape of their own accord around his hips, her ankles locking together as her arms encircle his neck. Mon-El pushes open the shower door with his foot, lips and tongue tasting hers as he maneuvers them from the crowded room and to the bed.

TBC

****

#karamel fic #hanging on letting go series

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Pretty Please (Oneshot, Branjie) - Holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (word count: 3965)

Brooke’s not the jealous type. She’s not. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself, until an old classmate of Vanessa’s tests her on that assertion just a little.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the wonderful comments on ‘it’s nice to have a friend,’ I’m so happy that it was so well received and enjoyed. Here’s a quick trip back to the 'nobody knows where we might end up’ verse, in case anyone has missed neurosurgeon Brooke and cardiothoracic surgeon Vanessa. I was supposed to write this fic for Barbie last Christmas, if that tells you anything about how quickly I get things done. At least it’s here now? Thank you as always to writ for betaing and being the best <3

Brooke likes being Vanessa’s arm candy sometimes.

It gives her an opportunity to soak in just how brilliant her girlfriend is. Sure, Brooke’s known it since they were in undergrad with their heads buried in textbooks, but it’s magnified now, more than a decade later. Because the way Vanessa’s in her element when she talks about her research and her practice is almost mesmerizing to watch, and Brooke knows she’s not the only one who’s impressed.

From the standing ovation that Vanessa’s presentation gets after she’s finished talking? She’s just that good.

“Great job, babe.” Brooke whispers to Vanessa once she sits back down, squeezing her hand. “I feel bad for the poor sucker who has to follow that.”

“I’m just glad I could answer all of the audience questions,” Vanessa shrugs, “being in the early stages of the study and all. There’s still so much that we haven’t done yet.”

“And yet you were a rockstar. Proud of you. Now you get to enjoy the rest of the conference.”

A cardiothoracic surgery conference doesn’t normally fall under Brooke’s domain. Cardio is a little out of her element, with even the basic ideas being discussed requiring her to wrack her brain to recall exactly what they mean. Except that Vanessa’s team is making progress in their research, enough to present at symposiums and conferences to create some waves in the cardiothoracic surgery world and sue Brooke, she likes watching her girlfriend succeed. It doesn’t hurt that the conference is taking place in San Diego, either, because any chance to get away from the bitter cold of the Toronto winter is one that Brooke will gladly grab on to.

Besides, it’s kind of nice to turn her brain off for once. At this conference, Brooke gets to relinquish the notion of being an expert, unlike the neurosurgery conferences that she goes to every year. She doesn’t have to pay attention to the latest research and techniques or present any of her own findings, nor does she have to work her ass off to build connections with fellow neurosurgeons. At this conference, she can sit back and watch Vanessa do it all herself.

It’s an interesting feeling, becoming more settled in her career. Brooke knows that younger Brooke, even five, six years ago would feel like a fish out of water at this conference, intimidated by all the information that she doesn’t know. Except that now, Brooke knows what she’s good at. It may not be cardiothoracic surgery, and honestly? She’s okay with that.

Because Vanessa gets to be the one to dazzle everyone.

Vanessa’s surrounded by audience members once the current round of presentations is completed, forming a swarm around her to praise her work and ask her more questions. Brooke plops down beside Vanessa’s research partner, Jimbo, who’s already looking for places nearby to grab lunch.

“You’re not gonna help her out with that crowd?”

Jimbo shrugs. “Nah, she’s got it. I got my eye, meanwhile, on the shawarma place across the street.”

“They do give us a boxed lunch at this conference, y’know.” Brooke tries to hold in a laugh at the deadpan expression that Jimbo throws at her.

“Two slices of white bread and an apple. Delicious.”

Brooke rests her cheek on her palm, her eyes absentmindedly scanning the groups of people around the room. There are fancy suits and pencil skirts and button downs but there’s even a guy in jeans who Brooke remembers had presented in the morning. Brooke herself is in a pantsuit, because hey, even if she has nothing to contribute to cardiothoracic surgery, she may as well look good. Vanessa’s dress compliments her outfit by accident, the navy trim nearly the same colour as her suit. Brooke likes it.

She lets her mind wander to what they’ll do this evening once the conference wraps up for the day, because their hotel has a spa but they’re also near the beach, and maybe Brooke can catch some sun before it goes down, and-

“Brooke! C’mere!”

“Huh?”

Jimbo snickers when Brooke nearly falls off of her chair at Vanessa’s yell, and Brooke tries to ignore the burning in her cheeks that is only present when she’s caught not paying attention. It’s not her fault Vanessa’s audience still wants to talk to her about her research.

Vanessa’s gesturing to her to come over, and Brooke can’t help but smile back at Vanessa’s excited grin. Surely, whoever Vanessa wants to introduce her to must be great, and worth getting up from her comfy chair for.

“This is Jackie Cox. Cardiac surgeon out of Mount Sinai in New York. We…go way back.” Vanessa’s smile is shy as she reaches out, squeezing Jackie’s hand.

Jackie herself is smiling, too, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before pushing her glasses higher on her nose. “More than way back. Med school level way back. How would I have gotten through Genetics I without you?”

“Jesus, I still have nightmares about that class.” Vanessa shudders, and then her and Jackie are giggling, and Brooke can’t help the way her brow furrows.

Who even is this woman?

“Not gonna introduce me?” Brooke keeps her tone light because hey, she’s polite. Maybe Jackie is nice enough.

Vanessa claps a hand over her mouth. “Jackie, this is Brooke Lynn Hytes. Neurosurgeon extraordinaire.”

“What’s a neurosurgeon doing at a cardiothoracic surgery conference?” Jackie’s tone is friendly enough, but Brooke can’t help but bristle slightly, take a step closer to Vanessa.

“Just here to support my girlfriend.” Sure, the arm she snakes around Vanessa’s waist is a bit overkill, but Brooke can’t help it. Not when it makes Jackie’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“Oh! That’s lovely!” Jackie’s smiling, friendly as ever, but a little part of Brooke feels smug, especially when Vanessa tucks an arm around her waist, too. “I was going to ask Vanessa to grab some dinner after the conference is done for today to catch up and reminisce a little, but I suppose I should ask the both of you. Would you happen to be free afterwards?”

Vanessa’s looking up at her, eyebrows raised as if she’s leaving the answer to Brooke. It’s all too easy for Brooke to shake her head, put on her most convincing expression of disappointment.

“No. Busy, sadly. Dinner plans and after-dinner plans.” Brooke smiles at Jackie, channeling as much brightness as she can. “Another time, though! I’m sure we’ll run into each other again!”

Vanessa’s rolling her eyes as they walk away after saying goodbye to Jackie. “Wanna explain what that was about?”

“What?” Brooke answers just a little bit too quickly, because Vanessa lets out a snort. “I was perfectly friendly and professional.”

“Ah, yes, because ‘perfectly friendly and professional’ is becoming weirdly threatened by someone I went to med school with.”

Brooke scoffs. “Threatened? I’m threatened.”

She isn’t.

“Then why did you just practically drag me away from her after saying our goodbyes? Wait.” Vanessa pauses, her eyes widening for just a second before they’re filled with absolute glee. “You’re jealous!”

“Jealous? Who said I’m jealous? I’m not jealous.” Brooke sputters, but it’s no use, because Vanessa is grinning and looking a little bit too smug. Brooke huffs, crossing her arms. “She was being weird!”

Vanessa has the ability to read her almost too easily, after knowing her for so long. It’s nice sometimes, but other times, like now? Brooke feels exposed.

“She was not being weird. Jackie and I dated for a bit back in med school before realizing we were better off as friends.” Vanessa gives her a pointed look, but Brooke can’t help but feel a little vindicated.

“Ha! I knew I was picking up on some sapphic vibes. That girl is most definitely not straight.”

Vanessa, though, rolls her eyes. “Of course she’s not straight, dumbass. She’s married and has a wife. And three pet cats. But most importantly? A wife. Which you now won’t get to hear about because you turned down an invite to dinner with her.”

“A wife?” Brooke squeaks out the words as she feels her cheeks heat up, because shit.

A wife. Jackie’s married. She wasn’t hitting on Vanessa.

Whoops.

“Sinking in now, is it?” Vanessa’s giggling, though, and wrapping an arm around her waist. “You’re something else.”

“You don’t think she noticed, did you?” Brooke can’t help but think back to the interaction with Jackie. “Do you think she thinks I’m an asshole? I should apologize. Should I apologize?”

Brooke’s probably gone and pissed off one of Vanessa’s friends. Maybe she should ask if Jackie would reconsider dinner. It would be the nice thing to do, right?

Especially knowing Jackie is already married.

“Jackie is going to be just fine, babe.” Vanessa grins, looking over Brooke’s shoulder. “Especially considering the fact that she’s waving at us from the Starbucks line at this very second.”

Brooke turns, looking over her own shoulder in the direction of Vanessa’s pointed hand, and sure enough, Jackie has a grin on her face while waiting for her order. Brooke joins Vanessa in waving back, her friendliness a little more genuine this time.

“It’s cute that you were jealous, though. You rarely ever are.” Vanessa’s smirking as she whispers the words under her breath, and Brooke has to fight back the indignation that immediately bubbles up.

It’s true - they’re back together and doing so well, and, for all intents and purposes, Brooke feels comfortable and secure with Vanessa. She knows she has nothing to worry about, that Vanessa’s her person and that she’s Vanessa’s, too. There’s very little that can shake the foundation that they’ve built together, which is why Brooke’s unbothered when guys ask Vanessa for her number, watching amusedly as she finds creative ways to turn them down. She doesn’t mind if other girls hit on Vanessa, mostly because Vanessa’s the first one to stand up and put them in their place.

Vanessa has a handle on herself, and is more than ready to express her own commitment. It’s nice, knowing that Vanessa is the one, that Vanessa feels the same way about her, too. That they’re in this together.

Funny how a girl in brimmed glasses can manage to shake Brooke’s confidence in approximately thirty seconds flat.

Brooke isn’t jealous, though. She doesn’t get jealous. A fact that she wastes no time in reiterating to Vanessa with a scoff. “I don’t get jealous. That’s not me.”

“Sure, it wasn’t you becoming edgy beside me and wanting to move away from Jackie as fast as possible, but not before, let me mention, wrapping your arm around my waist at the most opportune time. Definitely not jealous.” Vanessa looks positively smug, and Brooke huffs, because, well?

She’s a little bit right.

“Okay, maybe I was a little bit jealous.” Brooke grumbles, as Vanessa lets out a snicker. “Just a little, though. Not that much.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.” Vanessa pats her arm, and Brooke has to hold back the urge to pout.

There’s a million different ways that Brooke can embarrass herself at a conference for a surgery specialty that she isn’t a part of. Acting like an idiot in front of an old friend of Vanessa’s, though? An unexpected turn of events.

“I feel a little stupid, now. She was nice enough. Especially since she’s married.” Brooke wonders what Jackie’s wife is like. With their luck, her wife’s probably here at the conference and Jackie is going to tell her all about Brooke being weird at their first meeting.

“You’re relieved at that part, aren’t you?” Vanessa’s grinning as she leans forward on her tiptoes to whisper in Brooke’s ear. “If it makes you feel better, it was hot. That jealousy. Though you didn’t hear it from me.”

Vanessa takes a step back, then another and turns on her toes to head towards Jackie and the Starbucks line, and Brooke’s frozen in place for a millisecond while her brain tries to comprehend what Vanessa’s just said.

The rest of the day goes by slower than Brooke wants it to, the presentations and research talks taking her back to the cardiothoracic units in med school that she would always want to skip over while studying. The slow ticking of the watch on Brooke’s wrist isn’t helped by the fact that Vanessa looks positively smug. Well, not smug, exactly. More excited. Full of anticipation.

It’s not hard to know why Vanessa’s smirking, either, not when she’s putting a hand on Brooke’s back when they walk between conference rooms, and when her hand is ever so lightly tracing on her thigh when Brooke’s trying her hardest to pay attention to the guy presenting about a new method of AV node ablation.

“Behave.” Brooke mutters the word under her breath when Vanessa’s hand starts creeping a little bit higher on her thigh, though the words have absolutely no impact, by the way that Vanessa’s eyes are gleaming as she glances up at her.

“Or what? You’re gonna punish me after?” Vanessa’s snickering as she crosses her own legs, knowing damn well how effective the subtle motion of her thighs is at driving Brooke crazy.

Though Brooke isn’t one to let Vanessa win so easily. “No. Or I’ll go to bed early tonight after a riveting episode of Jeopardy and leave you to take care of the problem between your legs by yourself.”

Brooke really, really hopes that the audience members around them are paying attention to the presentation and can’t hear a word of what they’re saying. It’s worth it, though, when Vanessa’s eyes widen and her bottom lip pushes out ever so slightly.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Maybe I would.”

“Maybe I’ll go to dinner with Jackie, then.” Vanessa’s smirking, flipping her hair over her shoulder and Brooke hates it, really, how easily it makes her skin prickle. “While you watch your Jeopardy.”

Jackie’s married, Brooke knows that. Her and Vanessa are solid and healthy and they trust each other and she has nothing to worry about at all, but there’s a little voice in the back of her head. One belonging to a little green eyed monster that whispers that Vanessa is hers, that she isn’t Jackie’s no matter what sort of dating history they had back in med school, and that there’s no way in hell Brooke wants to share.

“Maybe you should watch what you’re saying now so you don’t have to pay for it later, princess.” Brooke mutters the words into Vanessa’s ear as the audience begins to applaud the presenters, their presentation presumably coming to an end.

It’s exactly what Vanessa wants and has been baiting her for, and it shows from the way she bites her lip in anticipation, hooking Brooke’s pinky with her own.

“Promise?”

Vanessa is pliant in Brooke’s arms when she pushes her against the wall in the entrance of their hotel room, sucking in a breath that Brooke steals with a biting kiss. Brooke kicks the door closed with her heel, not bothering to lock it because she has more important things to attend to. Namely, her girlfriend who’s keening under her touch and trying to climb on her tiptoes to get closer to her.

Brooke pulls back as Vanessa chases her lips for a kiss, the corners of her lips curving up when Vanessa lets out a little whine.

“Why so desperate?” Brooke trails a hand up Vanessa’s side, the other planted against the wall and boxing her in.

Vanessa’s breath is coming out in pants, her fingers hooking onto Brooke’s belt loops. “Come closer.”

“You need me that much, huh?” Brooke leans down, placing a biting kiss on Vanessa’s neck, tugging just a little bit longer than she should in a way that’s going to show on Vanessa’s skin later on.

“Just come here-”

“Tell me. How much you need it. Need me.” Brooke trails the hand along Vanessa’s side up to cup her tit, her thumb brushing over the lace that she can feel through the fabric of Vanessa’s dress.

Vanessa’s whimper is immediate, her body already trembling under Brooke’s touch. “I…I…”

“What was that?” Brooke pulls her hand back, resting it against the wall near Vanessa’s shoulder so that she’s boxed in between her arms. “Tell me.”

“Need you so bad…” Vanessa’s squirming under Brooke’s gaze, but she’s tugging on her belt loops fruitlessly, trying to bring her closer. “Been thinking about this all day.”

“All day, huh? Even when you were presenting? Were you that horny, baby? Only thinking about us coming back to the hotel room?” Brooke presses another kiss to Vanessa’s neck, drags it down to her collarbone.

Vanessa’s cheeks are crimson when Brooke pulls back, biting at her already swollen lip. “Maybe.”

Brooke finds the zipper on Vanessa’s back, drags it down until her dress pools on the floor around her ankles. Vanessa is hot to the touch when Brooke brackets her sides with her palms, her fingers pressing small indents into her skin. “Beg for it, then.”

Vanessa’s too far gone to play their usual game of being a brat and teasing Brooke back until they’re both worked up, and instead the words fall from her lips in a way that makes Brooke want to squeeze her own thighs together. “Please, I need it, need you, I’m being so good, right, please fuck me, please-”

Brooke swallows her pleas with a kiss, tugging at Vanessa’s bottom lip before pulling back and Vanessa is a vision, with her mussed hair and dazed eyes and unsteadily balanced on her feet.

“On the bed.”

The way Vanessa leans back on her hands as she settles herself on top of the sheets is mesmerizing, her legs crossed almost demurely. It’s a sight that Brooke takes the time to drink in as she undoes the buttons on her blazer one by one, throwing it over the back of the desk chair. She keeps her shirt and slacks on, though, if only for the contrast that they create with Vanessa’s lingerie. The bed squeaks as Brooke leans against it, rolling up her sleeves to her elbows before straddling Vanessa, her knees against the mattress on either side of Vanessa’s hips and her palms nestling themselves into the sheets above her head.

“So pretty.” The words aren’t intentional but Brooke can’t help it, not when her girlfriend never fails to take her breath away, even when she’s the one who’s supposedly in control tonight.

“And all mine.”

The whine from Vanessa’s lips and her subsequent sharp intake of breath curl around Brooke like rings of smoke that she has to wade through to press kisses down Vanessa’s neck, along her collarbone, across the top of her cleavage. Vanessa’s hands fist themselves in her hair, and Brooke can feel Vanessa’s heart pounding underneath the areas of red that she decorates along her skin.

“All yours.” Vanessa’s breathless, already trembling underneath her and Brooke wants nothing more than to keep pulling her apart. “No one else’s.”

The words don’t need to be said, necessarily, not when Brooke already knows that they’re true and run through the fabric of her and Vanessa’s relationship. But they still calm the part of her brain that likes to act up every now and then, the one that starts second guessing and expects things to take a turn for the worse, even though with Vanessa, they never really do anymore.

The words are a comfort. A spoken truth, one that reminds Brooke of how lucky she really is.

Vanessa’s already wet when Brooke drags the pads of her fingers across the fabric of her panties, her thighs squeezing together around Brooke’s hand. She eases them apart, pulling off Vanessa’s panties all together before kissing down her stomach and past her hip bones. She dots a kiss on the inside of Vanessa’s thigh, and it makes Vanessa reach down and grab her hand for a second before letting go.

Brooke takes her time, savouring Vanessa’s gasps and moans as she teases at her folds. She works Vanessa up at a pace that would normally have her grumbling to hurry up, already, but today Vanessa’s too far gone to care, her hands fisting in the sheets below her, the rise and fall of her chest erratic.

She circles her tongue around Vanessa’s clit before sucking on it in a way that always makes Vanessa mewl, using one hand to hold Vanessa’s hips down onto the bed and to keep them from bucking. Brooke’s other hand drags up Vanessa’s thigh before tracing her folds as she lifts her head up, admiring the sight in front of her.

“Tell me who you belong to, baby, if you want to come.” Brooke crawls back up until she’s face to face with Vanessa and has the perfect view of how her thumb against her clit is already making her tremble.

Vanessa’s eyes are squeezing shut with a gasp when Brooke pushes a finger into her, a gasp that Brooke wants to hear again and again. Vanessa’s hot to the touch and Brooke feels like she herself is going to burn up, too, which is why the goosebumps rising along both of their skin make absolutely no sense. Brooke slows her pace down a little until Vanessa’s whining, her hips canting up and begging for more and she covers her face with the crook of her arm.

“I belong to you, I’m yours, all yours and no one else’s.” The words are mumbled and end with a moan when Brooke adds another finger, keeping the torturously slow pace that she knows drives Vanessa crazy.

“I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh? All worked up and whiny and dripping down my palm because you can’t hold yourself back?”

Vanessa, for her part, is hanging on by a thread and can barely kiss back when Brooke licks in her mouth. “Please, please-”

“No one else can fuck you like me, can they, baby?” Brooke speeds up, then, tilting her wrist slightly to get the angle against Vanessa’s clit that never fails at getting her to the edge.

When Vanessa comes she’s whining with her face buried in Brooke’s neck, her hands uselessly fisting in the fabric of her shirt. Brooke pulls her thumb away from Vanessa’s clit first when Vanessa lets out a mewl but keeps the pace of her fingers, pumping as Vanessa’s squeezing around them.

Brooke takes each finger into her mouth one by one when she pulls back, sucking them clean, but it’s all for show, really, because the sight of Vanessa watching her with dazed eyes is one that she’s never going to tire of.

“No one else can fuck me like that, that’s for damn sure.” Vanessa lets out a breathless giggle, grabbing the front of Brooke’s shirt to pull her in for another kiss.

Vanessa’s eyes are soft when Brooke pulls back, and the swell that she feels in her heart isn’t because of the sex, necessarily. It’s the way that Vanessa continues to look at her with complete adoration even all these years later, enough that Brooke sometimes feels the need to pinch herself to see if it’s really happening.

“Always yours, baby. You never have to worry about that.” Vanessa reaches up, tucking a lock of hair behind Brooke’s ear.

It’s true. Brooke really doesn’t. But sometimes, it’s nice to just hear it again.

Brooke’s about to reply when Vanessa shimmies in her grip, grabbing at her hips and-

“Hey!”

“My turn.” Vanessa snickers from her new position, straddling Brooke’s hips with her thighs and her hands waste no time, already working on Brooke’s shirt buttons.

“‘Cause I’m all yours, but you’re mine too, babe. All mine.”

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #nobody knows where we might end up #holtzmanns

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Elastic Heart - Part 3 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Soooo this chapter took a turn for the sad-bastardish, but I swear there will be less moodiness and more kissing in the future. Also I’m trying to use she/her pronouns in Drag Race, and he/him out of drag, but sometimes it all goes to hell, bear with me! Thanks to everyone who’s been so sweet about this fic so far.

Social media -

Is not Brock’s strength area.

Detox used to hassle him about it before he even went on Drag Race, and he made a promise to himself that he would do a better job after. Tell the world when he - ate a bowl of cereal or whatever.

Post photos of his cats at the very least.

So when his manager comes to him with the expectation that he and Jose play up their relationship for the fans, Brock says: (nonononononononononono)

He says “fine.”

Jose’s in, apparently, and - well, Brock can only take that information second-hand because the two of them haven’t really. Spoken. Recently.

He says “fine” and then he goes on Jose’s Instagram and almost has a panic attack (because some people are so pretty it is unfair, some people are basically built to break your heart - from atoms to molecules to cells.

Jose in sweats and snapbacks.

Vanessa in gloss and feathers.

Each one feels like a hand around Brock’s throat.)

So.

After about thirty minutes in the fetal position, Brock leaves it all in his manager’s hands (or whoever his manager is paying for social media these days.) Someone adds flirty comments and cute photos to anything Jose posts, someone keeps the fans happy.

Brock doesn’t need to see it.

It’s too soon (too much, too real) for him.

He tries to avoid Instagram; Twitter is about all he can handle (he knows his mom follows him and he doesn’t want to make her worry.) He doesn’t read any of the speculative articles about their relationship, but he is always extremely polite when he’s asked about it (just flirty enough to give the fans hope. Professional, friendly, not too fond. It’s a fine line, and he worries sometimes that his feelings rise a bit close to the surface. That the people who know him best are going to watch one of these interviews, peer through the ice at his blue skin and see everything.)

Friends keep texting him. Leaving him voicemails, asking him how he’s doing. Brock ignores the ones he can, and responds whenever anyone seems a bit too concerned. Gotta make sure the outside world stays outside.

Clearly it’s all going to come out by the time the finale airs, and that’s just something Brock will have to be ready for. Maybe he can do a European tour. Or an Antarctic one. They don’t have internet there, do they?

He’s wonderful, I love him, he says on ET Canada as if that doesn’t mean anything, as if it isn’t the first time he’s said ‘I love him’ out loud.

Brock keeps working (because he’s still a force of nature, even without a crown.) He does shows across the mid-West, hosts club nights, dances the house down because he is a queen, damn it. He goes on tour with the First Wives Fight Club, let’s Ginger Minj distract him with the most offensive jokes Brock’s ever heard (and it’s good to feel outrage rather than longing, for a change. It’s good to do something different, something that’s not related to Drag Race and soft-skinned Puerto Ricans who won’t answer his calls.)

Or probably won’t.

Because Brock hasn’t called.

It’s shady and pathetic and each day feels like pulling teeth out, but he’s trying to respect the boundaries Jose put up. They said their piece at the reunion before Brock died of blunt force trauma to the chest (it’s fine, he’s fine) and he’s not the kind of person to push someone to take him back.

To beg someone to want him.

He can’t say if it’s pride or fear that stops him every time he gets shit-faced and picks up his phone. He can’t count the number of texts he’s written and then deleted. And then re-written.

The night after the First Wives show in Vancouver, the other queens go out to whatever local club hasn’t been closed yet, and Brock goes for a run on the beach. It’s dark out, and after a couple of miles he stops, stretches, and sits cross-legged in the sand.

The ocean reaches out for him, black-fingered and impetuous, dotted with the twinkling lights of oil tankers.

Brock hasn’t had anything to drink. There’s really no excuse when he takes his phone out of his pocket, scrolls to Jose’s number.

His thumb hovers over the keys, thinking thinking (over-thinking).

(I’m on the West coast and I’m miserable without you and I want to hear you laugh again even if it’s at me even if it’s mean I want to hear your voice and you killed it on Jimmy Kimmel and I’m losing my mind I think you’re incredible I think you’re hilarious and brilliant and I miss you I miss youImiss -)

“Damn it,” Brock hisses, because he’s smarter than this. He’s stronger than this (he wants that to be true.)

“I’ll be at Drag Con,” he texts before he can think too much about it. “Hope i see u.”

He waits. He’ll probably delete it without sending. He should delete it without sending because Jose doesn’t want to talk to him.

His thumb sits on the ‘Send’ key, barely touching it. It’s such a pointless, empty message. It doesn’t say any of the things he wants to say.

This was easy once. Talking to Jose was like breathing. What the fuck happened? (He knows what happened, and he resists the urge to throw his phone into the sea.)

After a few seconds, Brock deletes the message and puts his phone down.

Then he picks it back up.

He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he mostly gave up in middle school.

This was easy once.

(“When this is all over –“

“Oh Jesus, oh Mary, there she goes.” Vanjie at her station, rummaging through yards of tulle. “You wanna shack up or something? Get cats, turn me into a proper wifey?”

“Well. I was thinking more like buy you dinner.” Brooke doesn’t touch her, because the world is watching. Still - her eyes linger on the bones of Vanjie’s hands, her wrists, her jaw. There is not a part of her body that doesn’t beg for contact, not a part of her that Brooke doesn’t want to touch.

“Ha, okay. But I’m a classy ho. It’s gotta be Olive Garden at least, get me some unlimited breadsticks.”

There’s a faint blush on her cheekbones even though she’s rolling her eyes, and it makes Brooke love her even more than –

Shit.

She did not just think that word.

They aren’t - there yet. Brooke’s tired and stressed and her brain is clearly short-circuiting. It’s nothing. It’s fine.

“That shut you up, hey? Olive Garden too bougie for you? Don’t worry, girl– when this is all over and I’m a honey-thousand dollars richer, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”)

He should have known then.

Stopped it all in its tracks before it got totally out of control. But he didn’t.

Brock lies back against the sand, breathes in the copper-sweet taste of the ocean.

(That’s a star, right?)

The waves roll in, and he can almost see stars.

* * *

Back in her hotel room, she’s running over choreography for Tuckpantistan in her head, counting under her breath (one and two and three and -) when a noise distracts her.

A papery scratching at her hotel-room door. When Brooke goes to investigate, she sees a folded note that’s been slid underneath it.

U up?

Then below it: Haha, JK. Got a PA to deliver this, some real high school shit. Thinking bout your pretty face. <3 <3 <3

It’s signed Papi and Brooke turns rose-petal pink with embarrassment and pleasure. Fuck, she wishes she had her phone. Wishes she could FaceTime Vanjie any time she wanted, see her all bleary-eyed and soft and sleepy. Just the thought of that image makes Brooke’s heart clench painfully, and she tries not to think about why.

Instead she takes out the notepad from the desk in the hotel room.

How do I know this is really you and not just a producer fucking with me?

She folds the paper into a flat square and writes Return to Sender on the front of it, before sliding it under her hotel room door.

Then she immediately feels like an idiot.

This is ridiculous. They aren’t teenagers.

Brooke goes back to rehearsing for tomorrow, and tells herself there isn’t a stupid smile on her face. That would just be too undignified.

About fifteen minutes later (not that Brooke was counting or paying attention or anything) she hears that same scratching sound, and goes back to the door. A new piece of paper has been slid underneath it, and Brooke bites down on a grin.

You want a ring or some shit?

Thought you’d like that, something only the real MISS VANESSA VANJIE MATEO would know. This PA’s real nice, I’ma take advantage of her. UNLESS SHE’S READING THIS.

What you wearing?

Brooke snorts out a laugh (then covers her face and pretend that sound didn’t just come out of her.) She sketches out a quick, terribly unsexy picture of herself (basically a beefy stickman in pajama pants and a t-shirt) then folds it up and sticks it back under the door. This is the most bizarre flirtation she has ever taken part in, and - and she shouldn’t enjoy it as much as she does.

Vanjie’s reply includes a decidedly more X-rated stickman.

I better get some nudes next. Gotta occupy my time somehow besides missing on you.

Brooke laughs at the thought of the horrified PA that could be reading this.

You’ve seen it all in the werkroom anyway, she writes, And you could occupy your time with sleeping, maybe?

Brooke sends the note off, and gives up the ghost of rehearsing for a minute. She stretches out on her bed, arms against the headboard and bare feet nearly hanging off the end. Story of her life, really. She’s always felt like she’s too big, too tall, too much. Compared to Vanessa, she’s like some sort of beast, stumbling around crushing beautiful, delicate things beneath her feet.

Vanessa is beautiful. Brooke wouldn’t call her ‘delicate’ though, not by a long shot. She knows Vanjie well enough by now to know that she can hold her own.

(She wonders how much of that attitude is for the show. What Vanjie’s like when she’s all alone. Every so often there’s a moment where it seems like the other queen is letting her guard down, softening the sideways grin and adorable swagger that Brooke sees when the cameras are rolling.

How much of that is protective, Brooke wonders. How much of that swagger is self-defense?

How much of that humor is about survival.)

There is a reply not even ten minutes later: Nah girl, you’re keeping me up. Gonna think about you in those overalls all night, haha. When I can’t do shit tomorrow I’ll be blaming your fine self for messing with my head.

Brooke folds and unfolds Vanjie’s reply too many times, unwilling to put it down. She’s glad she can’t see herself, knows that she’s probably glowing with affection. She’s got a crush, right, just like she told them in the confessional. That’s what this is. Just a massive, ridiculous crush.

An impossible, stupid, hopeless crush.

I take no responsibility for that.

But also your angel costume is the real problem here, how am I supposed to get anything done?

Go to sleep and dream about my overalls, Miss Vaaaaanjie.

Brooke has had crushes before. She’s always survived them.

When she slides her note back under the door she thinks that will be the end of it, but a reply comes later, clock nearing midnight and shadows sliding like fingers through the blinds.

Sweet dreams Brooky Poo.

Brooke holds the note against her chest, and laughs, and when she falls asleep she’s still smiling. Her dreams are full of white feathers, falling gently as snow from the ceiling of her hotel room. Settling soft as a promise against Brooke’s open mouth.

#rpdr fanfiction #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #branjie #angst #canon #canon adjacent #elastic heart #mia ugly #concrit welcome #submission #on set fic #s11

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