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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 1 month ago

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Protective Bob||Bob Reynolds x reader

Summary —you and Bob like each other but instead of being open about it you’d rather pine.

Word count-998

Warnings —club setting and mentions of a mocktail (it’s just cranberry juice, Sprite and a lime)

You weren’t supposed to be paired with Bob Reynolds tonight. Normally, it’s you and Walker, your usual rhythm, your usual snark, your usual cover stories. But he’s tied up in Prague with Yelena, and the extraction clock in Budapest doesn’t care about partner preferences.

So here you are. In a grimy underground club that smells like cheap vodka and cheaper cologne, running recon with the one member of the Thunderbolts who looks like he should be curled up with a book rather than lurking in the shadows of organized crime.

Bob Reynolds.

He’s tall, quiet, awkward in a way that isn’t unconfident so much as… gentle. You’ve never worked closely with him before, but you’ve seen how he treats the team. Always carrying an extra pair of gloves in case someone’s hands get cold. The only one who apologizes when briefings run long. The guy who’d rather take a hit himself than let anyone else get bruised.

The guy who makes you smile when he doesn’t realize anyone’s watching.

You glance over at him now, pretending to sip a mocktail that was a mix of sprite and cranberry juice while scanning the crowd. He’s posted up just a few feet behind you, pretending not to be tense, sipping soda through a paper straw like it’s part of his cover.

Your target’s contact hasn’t shown yet.

What does show up is trouble.

A man you don’t recognize definitely not on the op sheet sidles up beside you, reeking of cheap whiskey and bravado.

“Hey there,” he says, leaning in far too close. “You look a little too good for this place.”

You shift your weight but don’t respond. Eye contact is the fastest way to encourage someone like him.

He grins. “That’s not a no. You here with someone?”

Before you can shut him down, there’s movement behind you.

Bob. Barstool scraping. Boots against sticky floor.

Then he’s there right between you and the man, shoulders squared, hands clenched at his sides.

“She said no,” Bob says, voice just loud enough to cut through the noise.

The man snorts. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m her… bodyguard.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

Bob, who spent ten minutes apologizing for bumping your elbow in the elevator earlier, now stands puffed-up and awkwardly firm, like someone trying to look like they know how to fight without actually wanting to. His chest rises and falls in short bursts nervous adrenaline, definitely. But he doesn’t back down.

The man sizes him up. Bob’s taller, sure, but not exactly threatening. Still, there’s something… off. Not dangerous, exactly, but unpredictable. Bob’s eye twitches. His fingers twitch. He looks like someone trying very hard to act normal and failing.

It weirds the guy out.

“Right. Whatever. She’s all yours, man,” he mutters, retreating into the crowd.

Bob turns to you, eyes wide. “You okay?”

You raise a brow, biting back a grin. “Terrified. You’re so intimidating.”

He blinks. “Wait—really?”

You loop your arm through his and tug him toward a darker corner. “Oh yeah. Especially that ‘I’m her bodyguard’ bit. Classic.”

“I panicked,” he says sheepishly.

You laugh under your breath, finally relaxing. “You were great.”

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch. Contact shows, data transfers, you ghost out the back with Bob on your heels like a big loyal retriever.

By the time you get back to the safehouse hotel, it’s well past midnight.

You’re exhausted, and apparently, your room’s keycard doesn’t work.

“Seriously?” you mutter, jiggling the handle again.

Bob peeks out of the door across the hall, already changed into sweatpants and an oversized NASA tee. His glasses are off, blonde curls a bit messy. “Everything okay?”

“Locked out,” you sigh.

He hesitates. “Do you… want to crash in mine? Just until the front desk reactivates it?”

You blink at him.

His ears turn bright red. “Not—not like that. I’ll take the chair. Or the floor. Or you can have the bed—I mean, I wasn’t—”

“Bob,” you interrupt gently, smiling. “I trust you.”

His mouth snaps shut. Then curves upward.

Inside his room, it’s warmer than yours ever was. Lived-in. A book with a cracked spine sits open on the nightstand. Two mugs on the desk. He shrugs out of a blanket draped over the armchair and tosses it your way.

“Bed’s yours,” he says, sitting on the floor without argument.

“You can sit on the bed,” you offer.

He looks scandalized. “It’s your—”

“Bob. It’s just a mattress, not a holy relic.”

He huffs a laugh and finally perches beside you, both of you facing the muted TV, shoulders barely brushing.

You pull the blanket tighter. “Thanks for earlier, by the way. You didn’t have to step in.”

“I wanted to.”

His voice is quiet. A little hoarse.

You glance at him. “Even though it made you all twitchy and weird?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “You noticed that, huh?”

“Kinda hard to miss. You’re not exactly subtle.”

He fidgets with a thread on his sleeve. “I just… I don’t like the idea of someone making you uncomfortable. You deserve better.”

That makes you pause. Your breath catches just slightly in your throat.

You nudge his knee with yours. “Thanks, Bob. For caring.”

He turns toward you really looks at you. You can see it now, in the soft focus of the room. The way he holds himself differently around you. Like he’s always on the verge of saying something more.

Your heart thuds.

You want to lean in. You almost do.

But then he moves first awkwardly, shyly offering the hoodie that was bundled at the end of the bed.

“You looked cold earlier.”

You take it. Pull it on. It’s warm and smells like detergent and something soft and boyish.

You sit there like that, shoulder to shoulder, both of you pretending the silence is easy.

And maybe, just maybe, it is.

#marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel x y/n #marvel #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n

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senditcolton · 11 months ago

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Storm Warning

a/n: my first fic entirely about fictional people? more likely than you think! but i'm still mad they didn't kiss / cut the kiss in the movie so here we are. the alternative title to this was "aka the Tyler Owens & Kate Carter smut we all deserved"

pairing: Tyler Owens x Kate Carter song inspo: Storm Warning by Hunter Hayes (shocked this wasn't on the soundtrack) word count: 3.6k warnings: self-doubt, brief mention of Kate's past and scar, and smut (oral - f receiving & unprotected penetration)

Usually after a chase, when the team came back to whatever roadside hotel they were calling home, the sounds that followed them were cheers and lively chatter. But instead of the common jovial noise that often defined their return, tonight it was a defeated silence.

The only sounds that accompanied them were their boots scraping against the concrete stairs, their hushed disappointment, their quietly voiced ‘goodnights’ as they slip into their respective rooms.

Kate let out another heavy sigh as she shoves the keycard into the reader, the light turning green, allowing her to push open the worn wood door. Her tired eyes meet the cookie-cutter room with its queen bed, badly patterned duvet and the generic farm landscape photo hanging over the bedframe. Tyler is close behind her, his own disappointment melding with hers as he steps over the threshold, shutting the door and sliding the chain lock into place.

Kate is in the middle of kicking off her shoes when he wanders back over to her. She feels his strong arms embrace her from behind, pulling her body upright, her back meeting his chest. They stand there for a moment, simply breathing together before Tyler presses a small kiss against her temple.

“I’m gonna wash up,” Tyler mutters.

Kate’s only response is a small hum as she feels his arms fall from her frame, followed shortly by the click of the bathroom door closing. She stands motionless, even after she hears the sink tap turn on, uncertain of what to do next. Normally, she would be opening her laptop, analyzing the data they collected, and preparing for the next chase. But after today… it all seemed so pointless.

As far as bad days and bad chases go, today wasn’t nearly as high on the catastrophe scale as it could have been. They had all seen and experienced worse. But for Kate, it was more frustrating than destructive. And that felt heavier than any other possibility.

She understood the damage that tornados could cause; physically, emotionally. She knew it better than most, having carried a physical reminder of it with her for years. But it was an aspect of her job that she had come to accept and could now approach headfirst. However, now, when she had a chance to make a difference – when she knew for a fact that she could make a difference – and yet every attempt to prove it to the scientific community was met with either failing tech, unusable data, the unpredictability of the weather they chased, or a combination of it all… it made it seem so pointless.

Especially when she turned on the news and was constantly reminded of the damage that she could have prevented but failed to do so.

She was failing. It was that simple. And that deep painful feeling of defeat had slowly been building in her chest until now, in the silence of this random hotel room, it finally bubbled over.

It takes every ounce of energy left in Kate’s body to push herself to sit on the edge of the firm mattress instead of simply collapsing onto the rough carpeted floor. Unfortunately, that meant that that energy was depleted when it came time to will back her tears. Instead, they pool on her lower lashes as her head falls into her upturned palms, the weight of everything she still couldn’t control crashing over her.

Even the sound of the bathroom door re-opening doesn’t snap her back into the closed-off demeanor that she perfected years ago. Her only consolation was that at least it was Tyler with her in the hotel room. A comfort that proves itself as soon as his green eyes land on her slumped frame.

“Kate.”

Her name falls from his lips in a rushed breath, his boots tapping across the floor as he makes his way to her. His frame stands in front of her momentarily before he is dropping to his knees in front of her, his hands landing on her legs and his face coming into view from behind the curtain of her tangled hair.

“What is it?” he asks, reaching up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over the skin of her cheek, still slightly damp from the rain.

“Nothing,” she replies, sniffling back her tears in an attempt to hold it together. However, it seems as if her body is determined to prove her wrong, a single teardrop falling from her eyes. Tyler doesn’t point it out, doesn’t even let his expression change, knowing she is all too aware of the contradiction between her words and her actions – something that Kate is thankful for.

“It’s just…” she tries to begin, attempting to get her feelings laid out clearly. But that task seems as impossible to control as the reasons why she was so upset. “It feels like I’m failing,” she says, the defeat in her voice clear.

Tyler doesn’t say anything immediately, just lets her words sink in. He knows that he could refute her, tell her that she isn’t, that she has succeeded before and she will again. But he also knows that she knows all those things and that those truths and hopes don’t change how shitty it feels right now.

“It just seems pointless,” Kate continues, Tyler’s silence giving her the space to try to talk through her emotions.

“It’s not,” Tyler replies, the conviction in his voice startling even Kate. “It’s gonna work out. We’re gonna prove it, eventually.”

His quiet assuredness makes Kate’s brown eyes lift to meet his green ones, her heart softening at the fire and determination she sees behind his irises.

“And it’s all gonna be because of you. It’s all gonna be for you.”

“It’s not supposed to be for me,” Kate says, the flip of her voice bright with a quip instead of sharp with disdain; although the words were still ladened with the remnants of her previous tears. “You know why we’re doing this.”

“Yeah, I do,” Tyler concedes. “But I also know that we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing right now if it wasn’t for you. I’d still be shooting fireworks up tornados for views instead of making a real difference.

“You still made a difference by doing that,” she says, reminding both herself and him of the good that came out of his socials – the donations, the food, the help.

“Not like this,” he states, the conviction in his voice clear. “You saved lives instead of just helping them after the fact. You saved my life, and Lily’s, and so many others. We’re still here because of you and that’s why we’re gonna help you prove it.”

“So maybe I can get my face on a t-shirt?” Kate teases, the easy familiar inside joke bringing a warmth to the moment that she desperately needed. Tyler returns her shaky grin with that strong bright smile that made all the girls – including her – swoon.

“Baby, we’re gonna have to make an entire merch line with you on it. I’m talking t-shirts, hats, mugs, bumper stickers. Kate Carter: the Twister Tamer,” he says, his hands even lifting as if he’s picturing it on a billboard. “You can’t make a better slogan than that.”

The laughter, while still twinged with some of the prior heaviness, falls easily from Kate’s lips. Her eyes stay locked on Tyler’s face, his bright smile the closest equivalent she’s ever found to feeling the sunshine after a storm. Her hand instinctively reaches up to rest on his cheek, mirroring his earlier actions and caressing his own skin. Tyler’s gaze just stays locked on her face, taking in her shaky smile, a feeling of happiness soaring through his chest to see it again.

It is only a moment before Kate leans forward, capturing Tyler’s lips in her own. It was a kiss filled with thanks, with understanding, with every emotion that Kate could ascribe to it and to the solace she felt having Tyler in her life. Their connection was unexpected and wild, like the storms that they chased but it ended up being exactly what she needed. And from the way Tyler kissed her back, if was clear that he felt the same.

Their kisses deepen, the desire surging between them rising quickly. Kate’s hands move into his still tousled hair, Tyler’s body reaching up to get closer to her, his own hands falling to rest on her hips, his calloused fingers sneaking under the hem of her white tank top. She hums in approval at the sensation of his fingertips dancing across her skin, her head falling back slightly to give Tyler access, his kisses now trailing down her throat.

She allows him to linger there as her hands dance across his shoulders, briefly dipping underneath the collar of his t-shirt. Eventually, she pulls her body back, the space between them widening once more. A smile appears on Kate’s face at Tyler’s questioning expression, the wicked grin her only explanation before she crosses her arms in front of her, gripping the fabric of her top and peeling it off her body.

The action obscures her vision momentarily but when her eyes land on Tyler’s face again, his face had morphed to copy her grin as he tugs his own shirt over his head, exposing his golden skin to her. Their lips connect again, hands now free to explore the newly revealed surface of their bodies.

Kate’s palms trace over the expanse of Tyler’s back, relishing in the way his muscles move beneath her fingertips. His own hands trace a similar path down her spine before dropping lower, following the curve of her waist, and moving to the front of her body. Tyler blindly undoes the button and zipper of her jeans, and with the newly provided space, his hand sneaks underneath the waistband of both her pants and her underwear, his fingers reaching down until they slip between her thighs.

A sharp gasp falls from Kate’s lips, her own hand shooting down to grip Tyler’s forearm as his fingers flex, tracing her folds, the heel of his hand adding delicious pressure against her clit.

The noises that escape their lips are quieted as they kiss again, content to silence their moans by swallow each other’s. It is only when their vocalized need was muffled, did they hear the patter of the rain against the shingles, the drops tapping against the glass of the window.

“Did you,” Kate begins to ask, her lips tearing away from Tyler’s, her words now stilted because of the weight of Tyler’s hands, not the weight of her own emotions. “Did you or Javi or someone track the evening storms? See if conditions were good?”

“Don’t get distracted, Kate,” Tyler mutters in reply as he peppers kisses across her decolletage.

“By our job?” she quips, her gaze departing from the rain splattered window to Tyler’s face, a mischievous smirk playing at her lips.

Tyler’s eyes pin her in place, sparkling with that cockiness that she had grown to find endearing. He straightens his spine, his torso lifting and his expression deepening into one of pure conviction.

“My only job right now, is this,” he says, his fingers curling within her as a perfect punctuation to his sentence.

Kate can’t stop her eyes from fluttering close, her mouth falling open in a silent moan, her grip tightening against Tyler’s skin. Through the haze, she spies Tyler’s confident grin widening as his movements continue before his lips reattach to her skin.

He continues moving his hand against and within her, pulling more choked sounds from her throat. Suddenly, in a move that seems torturous in the moment but Kate knows will be forgiven soon, Tyler’s hand disappears from between her thighs. She still whines at the loss but Tyler simply grips the waistband of the only clothes that were still on her body, tugging gently. Kate helps him pull the denim and cotton from her lower half, Tyler keeping a hold on her ankle to toss her legs up onto the top of the mattress. She sinks down onto the somewhat scratchy duvet cover, her eyes following Tyler as he kicks off his own boots before stalking to the foot of the bed.

A quirk of her finger and a shared grin is all it takes for Tyler to lower himself onto the bed, the cheap frame creaking underneath their combined weight. His body covers hers as he hovers over her, lowering slightly to kiss her, Kate’s own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair again.

As usual, his kisses slowly begin to descend; down her neck, tracing her collarbones, along her sternum, over the ridges of her ribs, gently tickling the sensitive skin of her stomach before his arms hook underneath her thighs as he throws her legs over his shoulders.

Lightning flashes, brightening the room briefly before an echoing boom follows shortly afterwards.

“Now, don’t you go running outside into the nearest field, naked,” Tyler teases, pressing a gentle kiss against her hipbone before finishing the sentence with a teasing “again.”

The retort was poised on Kate’s lips, ready to escape, but Tyler makes sure that whatever words may have been uttered disappear as soon as his mouth attaches to her. And that was exactly what happened. There was nothing that Kate could say, no string of coherent syllables that she could form as Tyler works his tongue and lips against her. The only utterance that fell from her were pleasured moans, her body rolling in encouragement – a silent message that Tyler receives and responds to eagerly.

The thunder and the rain make for an apt and gorgeous soundtrack to the moment, Tyler’s ministrations pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Occasionally, his eyes flick up to Kate, her shaking frame just encouraging him more, her hands twisted in his blond locks holding him in place, even though departing from between her open thighs as something he was not going to do anytime soon.

He continues, reading and recognizing the subtle signs that told him she was almost there. It only when her body stiffens underneath him, her back arching, does he throw his arm across her hips, pinning her in place as her orgasm shakes through her frame. Tyler doesn’t cease his movements until he feels her muscles going lax, her fingers loosening in his hair to gently push him away from her sensitive core.

No matter how many times he finds himself in this position, he still hesitates to depart completely from her, his lips drifting from her folds to her inner thighs. His arms retreat from her frame, hands caressing her legs, his fingers gently tracing the scar lining her thigh. The sensitivity from the mark makes her shiver, the tremor pulling Tyler’s eyes to hers.

Her deep brown eyes are pools of emotion, something that drew Tyler to her in the first place. He knows her past, knows the origins of that scar, and knows the trauma holds – the invisible trauma included. But he also recognizes that that scar is the reason for all of this: the reason for their current job, the reason they were together in any capacity, the reason she came back, the reason she gave chasing another chance – the reason she gave him a chance.

Kate watches as Tyler leans down and presses one of the softest kisses against the mark, the weight of the action not going unnoticed to her.

It’s a reminder of what she’s lost, of her trauma. But it’s also a reminder of her strength, of what she’s gained; including the man currently laying between her legs.

The tenderness he shows towards her, his attentive and deliberate actions make Kate’s desire surge again, her hands scrambling on his shoulders, beckoning him up to crash her lips into his once more.

Tyler’s arms cage her head, this time his hands combing through her hair. She presses her body against his, her hands dropping to make quick work of the obnoxious belt buckle he insists on wearing before undoing his jeans, desperately pushing the denim down his legs as far as she could reach. He breaks the kiss, leaning his body to balance on one forearm to kick off the offending fabric, the position displaying the strength stored in his wired muscles.

However, no matter what level of strength Tyler had, his current position was not sustainable in the long run. But more importantly, as soon as his jeans were kicked off his ankles, his position made it easier for Kate to lift her body up and push Tyler down so his back was now the one pressed into the firm mattress.

If the movement was unexpected, no shock appeared on Tyler’s face. It made sense though – this was the man who chased the most unpredictable and unexpected weather. Kate knew that it would take something completely out of left field to surprise this man in the bedroom.

She didn’t mind it, though. Especially not when Tyler’s expression was something she never got tired of. Similarly, she never got tired of how his hands attached to her body, like a magnet to metal, the instant she rolls her hips against his.

There is no pause, no teasing – not tonight. Kate lifts herself slightly, keeping her balance steady with one hand pressed against Tyler’s chest as the other snakes between their bodies and her thighs. Her fingers wrap around his shaft, stroking once before aligning it to her center and letting herself slowly sink down.

The simultaneous moan echoes around the hotel room, never tiring of the sensation of their bodies connecting. Kate sighs, her hands coming to meet as she uses the leverage that Tyler provides to grind against him. He encourages her movements, his hands pressing and pulling her hips, matching her speed and rhythm. Tyler is more than content to rest against the pillows and watch Kate take what she needed from him, content to watch the way her body responds: her back arching, her head falling backwards, her chest rising and falling.

“Tyler.”

His name escapes her lips in a desperate sigh, her body shuddering as his cock hits that one spot inside of her.

“Let me hear you, darling,” he coos, the lighting once more illuminating the room, a crack of thunder coming shortly after. “No need to worry about our neighbors. Seems like Mother Nature is covering for us.”

“If only she could be this cooperative all the time,” Kate breathlessly teases, her movements not ceasing.

“Now don’t poke at her,” Tyler laughs, the sound slightly choking in his throat as he feels Kate tighten around him. “Just say thank you.”

Kate’s eyelids flutter open, her brown eyes locking gaze with him.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Tyler knows that her words are not directed at the storm. Instead, they were a quiet acknowledgement to him – for being there, for encouraging her, for everything. Not just from today but from the moment they met.

“Anything for you,” he replies, his hands tightening against her hips. He pulls her body deeper into his, encouraging her to increase her speed against him and allowing her clit brush against his skin, the dual sensations bringing her closer to completion. She lets him guide her, her moans falling freely now. Tyler’s eyes trace every inch of her skin, the awe and admiration that was usually directed at tornados now directed entirely towards her.

But that was exactly what Kate was to him. A storm that blew into his life, disrupted the way he used to be living, and turned everything he thought he knew upside down. She was perfect, she was gorgeous, she was everything. And he would willingly and gladly follow her into every tempest that gathered.

It’s impulsive, instinctual, the way Tyler’s torso shoots up off the bed, his arms wrapping around Kate’s frame. A small gasp escapes from her chest, her eyes staring into his before he leans in to kiss her. The two of them rock against each other for a few minutes more until Kate is stilling in his arms, the tremors running through her body as her hands cling onto him, her mouth open against his as her breathless moans fall. The sensation of her around him causes Tyler’s orgasm to follow closely behind, the thunder to her lightning, as he muffles his own groans against the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

The shallow breaths that pant from their lips are the only noise that fills the room, the tapping of the rain growing fainter and fainter. Tyler pulls himself away from her neck, their eyes reconnecting. A small smile tugs at the corner of Kate’s mouth, one that Tyler returns before kissing her again. She happily reciprocates, pressing her body against his again until it was hard to tell where she ended and he began.

They eventually disentangle from each other, wandering to the small ensuite together. A quick shared shower later, they’re climbing back into bed, their limbs intertwining as Kate rests her head on his chest. She and Tyler lay there in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the warmth of each other until Tyler’s voice breaks through the stillness.

“We’ll get it, eventually,” he says, referencing the goal the team was chasing. Kate just angles her head so she can look up at him, finding hope in the quiet confidence in his eyes.

“I know we will,” she replies. “For all of them,” she adds, addressing all the people they could help – all the people they would help. Tyler smiles, pressing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“And it’s all for you.”

#twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #kate carter #tyler owens x kate carter #twisters fanfic

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foodspark-scraper · 2 years ago

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Scraping Reviews from TripAdvisor: A Comprehensive Guide

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landoposition · 2 months ago

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hi babygirl!

-> i was peer pressured by @blairdii to write this /j (ily sfbb twin) !! enjoy this silly little blurb about nicknames

-> w.c: 595

──

The first time it happened, Yuki was in the middle of a chat with his team.

They were standing around the motorhome talking about the upcoming qualifying, discussing possible car setups with the mechanics, and joking around about strategy.

Then, Yuki’s phone rang, buzzing against his thigh. He raised a hand in an apology, fishing the phone out with his free hand. A glance down at the screen showed Lando’s name, followed by a stupid cat smirking emoji.

“Hey babygirl,” Yuki greeted, pressing his phone against his ear, head tilted to the side. The team members around him shared a glance, but they hadn't seen Lando’s name on the screen. “What's up?”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” came Lando’s voice from the other side of the line, the faint sound of excited laughter following. “Nothing much. Wanna meet up for lunch? I’m kinda hungry, love.”

“Yeah, sure. Want me to go over there?” Yuki said, eyeing his team before glancing towards the entrance.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Come in through the back,” Lando added, and Yuki could envision his boyfriend’s smile even three motorhomes away. “I’ll get us lunch from over here. Love you.”

“Love you too, pookie,” Yuki replied, laughing when Lando grumbled something from his phone and ended the call.

────

It didn't stop there.

Whenever Yuki picked up the phone around anyone, he'd always start with the corniest, most idiotic pet names, just to hear Lando complain over the other end of the line.

He did it to Lando’s face, too. How could Yuki not do it? Seeing the way Lando blushed and pushed Yuki off with a pout was just too cute to pass up on.

It became automatic, even. They would be kissing, hands wrapped around a waist and fingers tangled in strands of hair, and Yuki would just call Lando princess, which would always end up with Lando kissing him a bit harder, teeth scraping against his neck and being pushed against the bed.

But it being automatic brought on another issue, because he started calling Lando like that around their friends, during drivers’ parade, on the podium.

And then, one day, while Yuki was analyzing some data with his team before qualifying, Lando walked by the garage, race suit unzipped and falling around his waist, muscles stretched out under the thin fireproof layer.

Yuki stared, team conversation ignored, voices calling out to him as he watched Lando walk by.

And then, “Hi babygirl!”

Silence settled over the garage, mechanics and engineers and pretty much every team member turning to stare at Yuki with wide eyes. Well, except Max, who was laughing in a corner.

Lando had stopped dead on his tracks, glaring at Yuki with impossibly red cheeks. Yuki’s own face was burning with embarrassment, but he couldn't take it back, so he shrugged and smirked at Lando.

“Fuck you,” Lando called back, voice low and grumbled, hand raised to flip Yuki off before walking away.

Yuki turned around to face the silence of his team, eyebrows raised, lips turning up. “What?”

“Nothing, mate. Nothing,” the closest engineer said, shaking his head and looking back at the computer screen. The team slowly began to go on with their work, Max still chuckling from the other side of the garage.

And after qualifying — Yuki got P2 and Lando got pole, thank you —, half the Red Bull team congratulated Lando with a “Good job, princess!”

Lando didn't talk to Yuki for the next few hours, pouting and grumbling inside their hotel room, but Yuki thought it was worth it.

#f1 #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #lando norris #ln4 #yuki tsunoda #yt22 #tsunorris #2204 #lau writes ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #this is so stupid but i love it

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iwebscrapingblogs · 1 year ago

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Hotel Price Monitoring - Scrape Hotels Data and Prices Data

In the digital age, data is king, and nowhere is this more evident than in the hospitality industry. Hotels, resorts, and accommodation providers operate in a highly competitive landscape where pricing strategies can make or break profitability. This is where hotel price monitoring through web scraping becomes invaluable.

Understanding Hotel Price Monitoring

Hotel price monitoring involves the systematic tracking and analysis of hotel room rates across various platforms. This process enables hoteliers, revenue managers, and travel agencies to stay informed about market trends, competitor pricing strategies, and consumer preferences.

Traditionally, gathering such data was a manual and time-consuming task. However, with advancements in technology, web scraping has emerged as a powerful tool for automating data extraction from hotel booking websites, travel aggregators, and other online platforms.

The Power of Web Scraping

Web scraping involves extracting data from websites using automated scripts or bots. By leveraging web scraping techniques, businesses can collect vast amounts of information quickly and efficiently. In the context of hotel price monitoring, web scraping enables the extraction of real-time pricing data, room availability, and other relevant information from multiple sources.

Benefits of Hotel Price Monitoring

Competitive Intelligence: By monitoring competitor pricing strategies, hotels can adjust their own rates to remain competitive in the market. This real-time insight allows them to capitalize on demand fluctuations and maximize revenue.

Dynamic Pricing: Hotel price monitoring facilitates the implementation of dynamic pricing strategies, where room rates are adjusted based on factors such as demand, seasonality, and competitor pricing. This flexibility allows hotels to optimize revenue and occupancy rates.

Market Analysis: Analyzing historical pricing data can provide valuable insights into market trends, seasonal variations, and consumer behavior. This information can inform strategic decision-making and marketing efforts.

Forecasting: Hotel price monitoring data can be used to forecast future demand and adjust pricing strategies accordingly. This proactive approach helps hotels anticipate fluctuations in demand and optimize revenue generation.

Implementing Hotel Price Monitoring

To implement hotel price monitoring effectively, businesses need to follow a structured approach:

Identify Data Sources: Determine the websites and platforms from which pricing data will be extracted. This may include hotel booking websites, online travel agencies (OTAs), and meta-search engines.

Develop Scraping Scripts: Create custom scraping scripts or utilize web scraping tools to extract data from target websites. Ensure compliance with website terms of service and legal regulations governing data extraction.

Data Cleaning and Analysis: Cleanse and preprocess the scraped data to remove duplicates, errors, and irrelevant information. Perform statistical analysis and visualization to derive actionable insights.

Automation and Monitoring: Automate the scraping process to collect real-time data at regular intervals. Set up alerts and notifications to monitor changes in competitor pricing and market conditions.

Challenges and Considerations

While hotel price monitoring offers significant benefits, there are some challenges and considerations to keep in mind:

Data Quality: Ensuring the accuracy and reliability of scraped data can be challenging, as websites may employ anti-scraping measures or frequently update their structure.

Ethical and Legal Concerns: Adhere to ethical standards and legal regulations governing web scraping, including respecting website terms of service, copyright laws, and data privacy regulations.

Technical Complexity: Developing and maintaining scraping scripts requires technical expertise in programming languages such as Python, as well as knowledge of web technologies and APIs.

Dynamic Nature of Pricing: Hotel room rates can change rapidly in response to market dynamics, requiring real-time monitoring and agile decision-making.

Conclusion

In an increasingly competitive hospitality industry, hotel price monitoring through web scraping provides businesses with a strategic advantage. By harnessing the power of data, hotels can optimize pricing strategies, enhance competitiveness, and maximize revenue potential. However, successful implementation requires careful planning, technical expertise, and adherence to ethical and legal considerations. With the right approach, hotel price monitoring can unlock valuable insights and drive business success in the dynamic world of hospitality.

#Hotel Price Monitoring Services #Scrape Hotels Data and Prices Data

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yourstrulynameless · 2 months ago

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A Four Star Visit to Edinburgh // AO3

Cypher x Omen

5,032 words // Hurt/Comfort // Fluff // Wine // Don’t worry, no one gets drunk // Constellations // Omen Needs A Hug // Calm Conversations

Omen had gone missing. His agent tracker had been removed and tampered with, his traces were hidden, and for all Protocol knew, he could have been on the other side of the world by now. Maybe worse.

Cypher saw this as a problem. He decided he was going to fix it.

//or//

Amir "I can fix him" El Amari hunts down a not-so-local ghost in Scotland.

Cypher was always the first to know things, even if it wasn't his discovery. He read reports that were sent to Brimstone far before the man could read them himself. He saw private emails, read texts in group chats he wasn't in, and listened to voice memos the moment they would be recorded. Not a single thing was kept secret from him, not even people's communication with their own families. It was his job, after all, to keep online security to a maximum. Though he couldn't deny he also just enjoyed snooping around. He was Protocol's somewhat beloved weirdo.

It was no surprise when he was the first to hear Omen's last message before going missing. No one had even realised he had managed to leave, not even Cypher before he listened to the memo. Yet, this didn't come as a surprise to him. He expected it ever since the last mission at a Scion base. It wasn't long before Cypher began to track him down, especially when word got to Viper, who commanded him to get to work.

At his desk, when he began to track down Omen, there was a subtle pride he took while searching. He realised Omen was covering up his tracks and with the methods he taught him, no less. He smirked under his mask, his lenses glued to his screen. While his tea was getting colder and colder, he was too entranced to take a moment to drink. He leaned back on his chair and stared at the display. Omen had done particularly well disappearing as Cypher had done many times before, but he lacked the most valuable part of it all. Experience.

Cypher leaned back towards his computer and continued his search. He was specifically looking for any 'ghost sightings' or reports of any strange radiants on the news. Omen was certainly a strange-looking figure that the public's eyes would be on. Perhaps in the Omega Earth he could move around just fine, but here? Omen had to stay a boogie man unless he wanted to be looked at with strange glares, or worse, a camera lens.

"Bingo."

A post from a random social media account contained a somewhat blurry photo of his missing friend. He managed to track down the location from there with a mix of scraping the data off the image itself and stalking the account owner. There was his start, and the account's end. Such a shame there was an error and the account had to be terminated. There were such beautiful pictures of Edinburgh there.

/ / /

The door dragged open, and as Cypher stepped out and onto the roof of a luxurious hotel in Scotland, he looked upon the golden sky. A breeze carried with it a sense of knowing. Cypher left the door to close on its own with the sounds of a light thud and mechanisms clicking in place behind him. His footsteps were light but only due to muscle memory and practice. He had nothing to hide from up here. Not from the sky, the sun, or the ground. Not from the breeze or the soon-to-be moon. Not from Omen.

A few steps closer had his eyes caught on the runaway with the tail of his purple hood swaying in the wind. He was looking towards the sun, arms crossed and rested on the railings. How beautiful he must have seemed, outlined in golden rays that contrasted his dark figure. Cypher breathed in the scene, then forced his gaze to part.

He looked down at the table he stood next to. It was made from a polished metal and was circular in shape. Its legs were decorative and curled out from the center. Two matching white padded chairs accompanied it, and placed on top was a bottle of wine, a journal, and an empty, unused wine glass. He picked up the journal, which was kindly left open on a page that explained Omen's solitude, and began to walk next to him. He skimmed the words "Target annihilated," "Paid generously by Hourglass," "New kill contract," "The usual scientist," "Target's name is Sabine Callas." Neither broke the silence.

He rested his elbows on the railing, leaning down just as Omen had been the whole time. He flipped through a few more pages, catching himself up to date on the findings of his colleague's past. Most of what was written down was concerning assassination work funded by the Scions of Hourglass, but there were pieces of the mundane mixed between target descriptions and mission notes. Book lists, grocery lists, movie lists, to-do lists, and many more. Recipes written down with steps, park names with small written reviews, and even a few coupons pinched in between a few pages and clipped on others. Yet, despite everything in its thickness, there was a distinct lack of information about personal matters such as friends or families. There wasn't even much information about the author. Not even a name. Cypher's lip twitched at that. He masked the disappointment with an easy-going voice.

"This must have been an interesting read for you."

He continued to flip through the pages, making sure not to miss anything important. It was only after Omen's lack of a response did he continue.

"Though, it shouldn't have been too shocking."

He glanced at how Omen's hands gripped the rails, or rather, the lack of aggression and tension in them. Omen sighed.

"I asked not to be followed, Cypher."

Cypher chuckled.

"Oh? Really? Then why bother buying some expensive Moroccan wine, hm? The last I recall, you don't have the ability to consume things."

Omen's gaze never left the bright sun. The streaks on his face glistened.

"I said I asked not to be followed, not that I didn't expect you to meddle with my plans."

Cypher huffed through his nose and shut the book with one hand. He brought it to his side and turned towards the table, placing the book back and grabbing the bottle. He recognised the brand as soon as he stepped close enough the first time. It was an expensive red wine, but one he was certain this hotel did not sell. The thought Omen went out of his way to find it for this moment warmed his heart.

"My thanks."

He carefully tore off the seal and popped the cork before pouring it into the glass. When he swirled the wine, he raised it against the sun and watched the deep red practically glow in its light. He hummed, satisfied with the authenticity of its quality, and once again faced the table. With his back towards Omen, half his mask was peeled above his nose, and unfiltered air filled his lungs. He brought the glass to his face, taking in the scent, allowing just for a moment to be brought back home.

Then he laughs at that idea. He was always too poor back then to afford such pleasures and too focused on not leaving a trace when he did. It was only after leaving could he experience the treasures of his homeland. Only when imported to him, only when he was no longer capable of being welcomed back with an unveiled face, only when he was a stranger to his nation, could he enjoy it. It went down his throat sweet, then left it dry.

"مزيان, Omen. It's good." I just wish I could have shared it with a few others.

Still, Omen faced the sky. Again and again, he failed to come up with what he wanted to say. Cypher did not try to push him to talk. The glass was eventually empty once more, and he pulled down his mask. His gaze again landed on the journal and its leather cover. He chuckled to himself.

"You know, if there's one thing that stayed consistent between your current and past life, well, besides working a killing job, it is that your handwriting is just as terrible."

Omen scoffed at this, but Cypher knew it was just his way of making a laugh. He felt rewarded, as if Omen making a noise was a prize. It made his shoulders raise childishly.

He turned to look at him. The sun had set at this point, and the stars were out just in time. The moon had yet to fully rise, but Cypher didn't need its light to see. What good were his lenses if not to aid his vision? And in his vision, Omen's figure took it up as if it were the only thing he could see. Again, he approached, held onto the railings, and leaned. He looked out at the stars, then pointed.

"Do you know what that constellation is?"

Omen tilted his head up to see where exactly Cypher had been pointing. He stared, slits squinting just to attempt to make out any shapes, but ultimately lowered his head and shook it.

"I'm afraid I don't know star patterns well."

Cypher hummed and lowered his arm.

"Well, don't worry. It's a lesser-known constellation to begin with. Most people are unfamiliar with it."

He rested his cheek on one hand, his elbow still on the rails.

"It has four main stars that make a 'Y' shape. 'Sagitta,' not to be confused with Sagittarius, a much more popular one."

Zodiac signs were a whole other topic Cypher had many feelings about, but he would not complain about them yet.

"It's meant to be an arrow. According to the ancient Greeks, it was the arrow that Heracles used to kill the eagle tormenting Prometheus."

Omen looked up again in another attempt to spot it, but he couldn't make it out in the vastness of the sky. It didn't help that the constellation was one of the smallest, and it wasn't very bright. Though, he was far more caught up in the story about it.

"You called yourself Prometheus… once."

Cypher was honoured he remembered, but was equally as embarrassed.

"I did, yes. A moment of weakness and self-indulgence."

He scratched the back of his neck over his mask.

"Why?"

His hand froze. Then it dropped to the rails.

"It's simply a joke to myself, and myself alone.”

Omen stiffened, and Cypher mouthed a swear under his mask. A trip up. He wasn't meant to make him shrink. Not now.

"You could say I look up to him in a way."

At this, Omen seemed to relax slightly. Cypher seemed to breathe easier because of it.

"He suffered greatly, didn't he?"

Cypher nodded.

"Yes, he did, but it was out of love."

Omen looked down at his hands and bandaged arms.

Do you do the same, Cypher? Do we do the same? "Do you think we'll be saved just as he was?"

Cypher turned his head to look at Omen. He watched as Omen finally returned his gaze, and all his words caught in his throat. The bright blue slits on his face looked at Cypher, and he felt as if it was trying to grab hold of his soul. They burned like fire.

He stumbled out a response after realising he had gone quiet for a bit too long, and it was about the most pathetic he'd felt in a while.

"Well- I… I think—"

Cypher looked forward and forced his hands still against the railings. He had to fight against the natural reaction to bury his face into his palms. His lenses were wide open, staring out at the sky in front of him.

Deep breaths, Amir. "I think perhaps that's what this is."

He blinked slowly and dragged his gaze back at Omen, only to see, without mistake, his body language hinting disbelief. Cypher felt like Raze painted a mustache on his mask.

"What?"

Omen looked like he was about to speak, but paused and took a deep breath. He tried again.

"It's just… I never expected to see you look so caught off guard."

Cypher's grip on the railings tightened a little. He prayed Omen didn’t notice, and forced his embarassed ass to respond with a chuckle.

"Well, my friend, you're filled with surprises. How could I ever be prepared for all of them?"

He tilted his head innocently. Omen shook his and traced back.

"What do you mean you think that's what this is?"

Slowly, Cypher rebuilt himself.

"You've just gotten yourself confirmation you were hired to kill our dear friend Viper, am I not wrong?"

Omen made a low snarl.

"You… are correct."

Cypher stood a bit straighter.

"And you clearly wanted to be left alone, far away from everyone."

"Yes…"

"Everyone, besides little old me."

Omen didn't respond. Cypher hummed, delighted knowing he was correct.

"You trust me, for better or for worse. So, my friend, what is it you need from me?"

Omen continued to stare at Cypher blankly before he tilted his head downward in thought. It wasn't long before he pushed himself away from the railings. Cypher watched as he sat down at the table, and he joined him not too long after. He sat down, hands clasped and fingers interwining atop the polished metal.

Omen took the glass and bottle. He removed the cork once more before pouring. He held the glass's thin stem between his thumb and index finger, carefully rolling it back and forth between them. He took in the scent, then placed it down on the table. Using two fingers against its base, he slid it slowly towards Cypher.

"I want you to drink."

Cypher laughed.

"Till I get drunk?"

Omen grew impatient.

"I want you to drink."

It clicked.

Cypher stared impassively at the liquor. Omen couldn't tell if he was breathing, given how still he was. The moon was rising behind its prince.

"You ask of me a lot."

He spoke slowly and his voice missed that cheeriness he always placed in it.

"You asked me what I wanted."

Cypher looked back up to meet his gaze.

"Omen, I…"

How many years had it been? How much effort did he put into concealing his identity? How hard did he fight tooth and nail to erase himself from this world? How long had his fears and paranoia crawled under his skin and forged him into the man he had become? How hard did he try to forget himself, only to snap back to Amir in this moment?

He pinched the stem of the glass near the base and took it. He stared down at the deep dark red. His mask did not betray him, impassive still.

It felt almost like waking up from a long slumber. As if all his life between the loss till now had been just a blur, everything suddenly felt too tight around his body. Too well fitted, too expensive, too much. Where had the simplicity of his days gone? The freedom to live as a poor man was exchanged for the duty of a cruel one. Even his name had almost completely disappeared from the world. He had been responsible for that, and now he wondered, was it worth it?

His free hand came over the bottom of his mask, his gloved fingers hovering mere centimeters above. His vision was no longer focused.

No one knew Cypher. No one managed to pry their way deep enough. Not even Fade, who scraped off the information of his real name and the locations of his safe houses, truly knew him. She knew Amir, but she didn't know Cypher.

Then, he looked back once more at Omen and realised. He knew him. He knew the sort of teas he liked, even if he couldn't make or drink them. He knew the type of instant noodles he liked to eat when he was sick. He knew his favourite colour. It was gold, not blue like many assumed.

He realised three more things. He wanted to know Omen more, but that would require his trust. He wanted to know himself more, but that would require healing. He wanted to know what vulnerability was like, but that would require risk. Lucky for him, he always played high stakes.

"Well, بالصحة."

His free hand came off his mask and firmly threw his hat at Omen's face. It was with enough force that it knocked him partially back and covered the gap in his hood completely. Omen grabbed it quickly, growling. He had been mocked and he was infuriated. He yelled out Cypher's name as his claws dug into the brim of his hat, pulling it away from his face to see—

As Cypher toasted, his mask rested on the table. The moon shined behind him, and the wind carried his curls unevenly. The corners of his brown eyes creased, his pale lips curled into a smile, and immediately Omen seemed lost in the patterns of his vitiligo. He drank, just as requested, and the wine stained his top lip. When he was done, the glass came down to the table empty. How beautiful he must have been, illuminated with a silver rim that complemented his tan figure. It was more than what Omen asked for.

Cypher scratched his beard. It was a goatee that only covered his chin and was paired with a moustache. Both seemed equally well kept, though a scar that spanned below his eye diagonally across his mouth kept hair from growing over those spots.

"I suppose I have been rude keeping you from this secret for all these years. After all, there are more important things than a pretty face, hm?"

Omen only continued to stare in dumbfounded disbelief.

"You…"

He started but then stopped. He didn’t want to point out the obvious of Cypher actually showing him his face, the entirety of it no less.

"Thank you."

Cypher's hand almost raised in muscle memory of tipping his hat, but his eyes fell on Omen's hands around it. He hummed instead and nodded.

"Of course."

Omen looked down at Cypher's hat, realising in his small fit of rage that there were now claw marks. Sheepishly, he returned it to Cypher, muttering an apology. Cypher assured him nothing was wrong, and he placed it back over his head. Omen liked the look of it on him rather than on his mask.

"So, Omen, what more do you need from me?"

Omen sighed. They were going back on topic. He wasn't the vocally emotional type usually, but there was something that had been bugging him ever since he learned more about his past.

"I need to know, Cypher, be honest. All these years, did you know just like Sabine what I was? The crimes I committed?—"

"No."

The answer was immediate.

"I kept looking in the wrong place. I was never going to find the truth."

Omen tilted his head in silence. Cypher continued.

"I thought you were a Kingdom experiment, or an old employee of theirs. Perhaps you worked alongside Vi…"

Cypher's eyes darted away from Omen for a moment.

"…Doctor Sabine. I thought you were their best-kept secret. I was wrong. You weren't theirs to begin with. You were part of the Scions."

Omen crossed his arms and looked down at the table. On one hand, it was nice seeing Cypher. It made connecting what he was seeing, what he was hearing, and what emotions he sensed off Cypher, easier. On the other hand, it felt weird. A face to an anonymous man. He focused and realised how little Cypher actually knew.

"You’re right and wrong."

"Hm?"

Cypher raised a brow. Omen noted he was even more expressive than his mask.

"I worked for Kingdom, partially. That was part of the plan to kill her. I… was her friend. For a short while, we did work together. She knew me as John. Then my deadline came closer. I didn’t hesitate. Not even a bit."

Cypher watched as Omen's grip around his bandaged arms grew tighter, nails digging into its fibers. He frowned. Omen looked up to see it. He loosened his grip and glanced away.

"She acted in self-defence. She threw a prototype of her snakebite at me, and I came stumbling backwards into a testing chamber. She activated it while I banged on the glass, trying to escape. It tore me apart, then half-hazardly put me back together."

He trailed off. The memories were foggy. Distant. Almost felt like they were not his own.

"I think. I don’t remember much from my 'rebirth' despite my best efforts and my memory being jogged."

He traced his bandages.

"She made me the monster I am, and I understand why. She had every right to, especially after all I’ve done."

He felt hollow in this ghostly body of his.

"Omen,"

Cypher started. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and pushing the wine glasses aside.

"You aren’t John."

Omen looked back.

"You aren’t Fred, or Marcus, or Yohan, or Dimitri."

Omen's shoulders fell as he listened.

"You read Fade's dossier on me?"

Cypher scoffed.

"Are you surprised? Come now."

"Hmph."

Omen couldn't stay upset. Not when looking at the sincere smile on his face.

"But, you aren’t who Fade tried to find. You aren’t some hitman for the Scions. You aren't some cruel monster. You aren't just a John Doe. You are still Doctor Sabine's ally, and most of all, you're Omen."

Cypher rested his palm open to the sky. An offering. Omen stared down at it.

"What if I’m still the same man?"

He began to reach for it, but he hovered. Hesitant.

"What if you've changed?"

With courage, the hands meet. The touch is light. The touch is forgiving.

"What if it's not enough?"

They shift to meet straight against each other in the air, elbows rested on the table. Their fingers aligned with their respective partners. Cypher's hand was smaller, just by a joint.

"Then I’ll help."

Slowly, they intertwine. The hold isn't too tight, but enough to say I’ve got you. Both stare where they conjoin. Even with both hands gloved, Omen can feel Cypher's warmth. In turn, Cypher can feel his cold. It was the most intimate either had been in recent memory.

"If you want, I’ll even help you pick out a new name. I’ve made many for myself before."

Cypher's thumb stroked the side of Omen's. He seems fully entangled in the moment if his silence tells Cypher anything.

"I’ll… think about it."

Omen found himself longing for more than holding hands, but he did not act on it. He was already being given more than what he felt like he deserved. He couldn't allow himself to be selfish, not when he had already asked for and received too much. He wasn't even sure if he was ready for whatever more meant. He was sure even a hug might be enough to put him into shambles. Be still, Omen. His heart pounds against his chest. For once, he is reminded it exists at all.

"Whatever you'd like, my dear. I'm excited to watch you weave yourself into the person you wish to be."

Cypher smiled and tilted his head as he watched Omen. The man sure made it obvious when he was bashful.

"Thank you, Cypher."

Cypher tsked and shook his head.

"Ahh, don’t call me that when we're alone. You know my real name. I know you overheard Sova calling me it during an argument."

Omen froze. He did know. It was a piece of information he quite frankly tried to forget out of respect. Sadly, it seemed only when he tried to forget things did he remember them. Well, he doesn't think remembering it is as unfortunate anymore.

"Thank you, Amir."

Amir tried not to melt then and there, but the look in his eyes gave it away entirely. He was usually wonderful at hiding his emotions even without his mask, but he doesn't need to hide anything up here. Not from the sky, the stars, or the moon. Not from the wind or the sleeping sun. Not from Omen. Never again from Omen.

"You're welcome."

As all good things, the moment had to end. Slowly, their hands slipped away from one another, and that was that.

"I’ll teach you how to hide your tracks even better. The first thing you of all people will need is a disguise."

Omen kept his hands together and nodded.

"I suppose that’s how you found me then? On a camera?"

Cypher raised his hand and tilted it back and forth.

"More or less."

Omen sat up quickly, alerted.

"Wait. Cameras. Cypher your face!"

Cypher patted the air, trying to calm Omen down.

"The security cameras have been hacked into for a while, Omen. I took care of them. My tech hasn't alerted me that I’ve been kicked out of them yet. I’ll be fine."

Omen shrank back in his chair slowly.

"Good… I’m glad you’re safe."

Cypher set his hands down on his lap. He sighed, calming down from the small rush. He allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment. Here he was, alive and known. Nothing could make him happier. Well, nothing besides…

"Take me around Edinburgh, yes?"

He opened his eyes to see Omen's confused look.

"You went around there for this journal, didn't you?"

He leaned over the table and placed a finger over its leather cover. He tapped twice.

"Yes, I did."

"Then you must have seen some pretty sights. Take me to them."

He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on top of them.

"Wouldn't Brimstone be upset you're gone for longer without bringing me back?"

Cypher laughed.

"Fuck Brimstone."

Omen was visibly caught off guard.

"I would have come here regardless and without anyone's orders. They don’t know I’ve found you yet, so let's spend some time together, okay?"

Cypher smiled widely, eyes partially squinted. It was exactly how his mask's lenses looked when they were smiling, but infinitely warmer. Without his mask, Omen could see his story on his face. The skin that healed over stitchmarks from events previous to Protocol, the crows feet and other such wrinkles that proved he was a man who emoted, and his eyes. They didn't seem out of the ordinary at all. They weren't blue as Omen imagined. They looked like a dozen people's brown eyes he'd seen before, and yet, they were Cypher's eyes. That was enough to make them special.

Omen looked down, stripping himself away from the sight. He was given a request that he could never say no to. He could not disappoint. His hand came over one of the pouches attached to a belt and opened it. Digging around, he pulled out a small journal, similar in nature to the one on the table, and shut the pouch. It took a while for him to flip through, skimming and scanning for the things he wanted to remember.

"I think I know a few good places."

Cypher seemed intrigued.

"Oh?"

Omen placed a finger under something he wrote, then read it out loud.

"55°��55′ 6.27″ North, 3° 14′ 9.59″ West."

Silence. Cypher stared and blinked at Omen, lips slightly parted and brows lightly furrowed.

"…Did you write down coordinates instead of an address?"

Omen felt his shame welling up.

"…It's easier for me."

"Right. Well. That’s another thing for me to teach you, then. How to ask for and find out addresses."

Omen shut the small journal and placed it back in his pocket, refusing to look at Cypher in his embarrassment.

"I don't like talking to people."

"Alright, you antisocial butterfly,"

Cypher took off his hat and grabbed his mask.

"I'll help with that too. But for now, we can’t both stay up all night."

He bore the mask once more, concealing his curls and his eyes, vitiligo and scars, cheeks and smiles. No longer could Omen see his wine-stained lips. Cypher donned his hat and stood, pushing the chair back.

"Let's get to bed, shall we? I did notice you booked two rooms after all."

Omen followed suit and stood, pushing his chair back towards the table after. He looked at Cypher.

"That's not for you…"

Cypher kept his hands behind his back and tilted his head.

"Wait, then why did you book a second one?"

Omen took the journal from the table and grabbed the wine bottle by its neck.

"It's for someone new. Someone I'd like you to meet."

Cypher felt excited. Something had slipped past him and now there was a surprise waiting for him in the building. He couldn't remember the last time something like this had happened.

"Oh?"

Omen walked till he stood next to him.

"Their name is Clove. I'm sure Protocol would love to have them."

"What happened to you not enjoying talking to people?"

Omen looked to the side. He stared at the stars and began to recall the little adventures he had been on with Clove. The shenanigans they'd reel him into, the 'assistance' at the library, the jokes they'd make. He remembered how they first met. He looked back at Cypher.

"They approached me first. It just so happened our goals aligned."

The two began to walk towards the doors to the stairs.

"Well, now I'm excited to know more."

Cypher rested his fingers on the door handle.

"Soon, Amir."

He felt warmed once more. Amir basked in the moment, seeing the stars, the moon, and Omen one last time. He knew whatever this would lead to wouldn't be easy. He knew the pain that getting closer and closer to someone would bring. Yet, he found himself alright with that. He would love again. He would fall again. And when he would lose it all again? He would mourn. He would wait. Then he'd do it yet again. He pushed the door open.

"Say, you wouldn't have happened to book a room with only one bed, did you?"

Omen grumbled.

"Clove warned me about that…"

Cypher did a double-take.

"What?"

Omen looked just as surprised.

"What?"

Cypher went quiet. He was already piecing together the type of person Clove was. He closed his lenses and shook his head in disbelief. He huffed.

"Never mind. I'll just book myself a room."

Omen nodded.

"That would be for the best."

13 notes · View notes