#of taking two buses instead of one ): | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunsetchicane · 2 months

Text

Postcards - Part 2 of 13 [LN4]

lando norris x [travel] journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 7.3k

summary: The one where it's six months later and you still find yourself thinking about him. Maybe a another fated meeting will be the second chance you need.

warnings: fluff, banter, yearning, an unrealistic portrayal of London [probably], sexual innuendo, maybe a kiss or two idk, and...angst

author's note: Heyyy team. Back with another part for you. I think I really like this part and I hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback is appreciated!! So please feel free to leave any questions/concerns/comments you have. I hope you like it and keep your eyes peeled for what's coming next! Lots of love! [xoxo elle]

Summer Break July 2022

When walking down Camden Market, you can’t help but feel tucked into history. Life bustles in the walkways. Mothers corral starry-eyed children. Small bunches of friends are bent over their drinks while they taste each other’s. Couples promenade languidly, hands folded together and heads leaned in. Everything and nothing at all happens at Camden. Time stands still, holding tightly to memories and secrets. The brick that makes up the streets and walls stands proud and true, veterans at their trade. Music floats out of shops like dandelion seeds on a summer’s breeze, planting itself wherever fate leads.

It’s only your second day in London. You arrived late into the afternoon yesterday, not feeling up to checking out the subject matter of your project after traveling. Instead, you checked into the small townhouse that you’d be staying at for the duration of your trip and then wandered about the streets of London. You’ve never been to London before, but it was exactly as you’d imagined it. Tall red buses perused the streets. Towering buildings loomed over skinny walkways. But your favorite sight was the sun slipping just below the horizon, relinquishing the world to dusk, and the street lamps casting a warm glow over the summer night.

Today, however, you weren’t wandering the winding streets of the city, you’re acquainting yourself with one of London’s most well known attractions: Camden Market. When you were young, you saw pictures of it in some magazine you’d found in your school’s library. You’d adored the way the market looked on the page and promised yourself that you would see it for yourself someday and take pictures of your own. And now you are. The dream of a little girl flutters in your chest. You clutch onto your camera as your fingers tremble from the weight of your emotions. You really made it.

Closing your eyes and sighing, you bask in the moment for a second longer before fishing out your phone from your pocket. The market just opened, so you have the entire day to explore and find your story. The history of Camden is so rich that it can be found around every corner, tucked into every shop, and, most importantly, etched into the memories of the people.

Piecing together a story with stunning visuals here is difficult not for the lack of inspiration, but for the over abundance of it. How you’re going to choose what to share with the world, you have no idea.

This isn’t your first story with your publication, but it is your first major one. After working on small, local pieces, your boss finally caved and gave you a real assignment. It came in a nick of time, too, because you’d been getting antsy about staying in one place for so long. You needed to get out. But, there’s a lot of pressure to rise to the occasion. If you don’t do well on this piece, who knows when the next time you’ll be assigned something like this again.

You move through the market, stopping to watch or take pictures or talk with a shop owner here and there. The hustle and bustle keeps you moving, the current of moving bodies too strong to fight.

After a few hours of nonstop walking, you have dozens of ideas scribbled down and photos stored in your camera. You have a few specific shops and names written down to revisit when you come back with a more detailed idea of what your story is going to look like. The thoughts swirling through your brain move at lightspeed.

The only thing that breaks your intense concentration is the wafting smell of cooking food. Involuntarily, your stomach grumbles and your mouth waters at the savory smell. The only part of Camden that you haven’t sampled yet is the food. Suddenly, you’re desperate to find wherever that smell is coming from. You don’t think you’ve ever inhaled something so lovely.

After tucking away your notebook and slinging your camera off to your side, you hold your backpack over a shoulder and begin seeking out your lunch. There are a dozen different places to choose from, each producing a signature scent that crawls into the walkways. Signs that don each of the shop’s names does nothing to help you decide, everything speaking to your stomach in a different way. Frustration grows inside of you, fueled by hunger.

But then, as if the universe had a plan all along to keep you exactly where you were, you see him strolling down the walkway. Lando. Your breath catches in your chest, leaving you feeling lightheaded. Jaw slack and eyes wide, you take the sight of him.

His eyes are following the line of shops over his shoulder, seemingly focused on whatever they have to offer. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that hang from his hips and slouch against his sneakers. His plain black t-shirt hugs his arms and chest, but falls a little looser around his middle. To complete his look, he has a beat up black baseball cap atop his head. It pushes down his curls, framing his neck with soft brown coils. Even from this distance, you can see that his hair is much longer and healthier than when you saw him last.

The first thing you feel when you see him is immense exhilaration. Never were you expecting to see him again. After sending him his print and a postcard, there had been little in the way of communication. A few weeks after sending the package, you received a follow request from him on Instagram. Battling yourself for all of two seconds, you accepted it and then accidentally began stalking his page. He had posted a story only a couple minutes before requesting to follow you. Opening the story, you had found your photo of him tacked up on a wall in his home.

“My good side. Or so I’ve been told.”

The caption on the story had made you laugh. Staring at your phone, grinning like a fool, all for a boy a thousand miles and a different destiny away.

Following each other had been the only movement on either front. For a few weeks, you’d pull up his DM and write out message after message. Not one was ever sent. There was no reason for you to reach out to him. Plus, you didn’t know if he even wanted to hear from you. Following you on Instagram is a far cry from being cool with what happened between you half a year ago.

The night you spent together, though it was cut short, still haunts you and holds you.

You had been somewhat keeping up with this season of Formula One just to have a way to stay connected to him in a way. Even if you couldn’t see him or speak with him, at least you could watch from a distance. Every time you’ve tried to stop, tried to forget him, you’ve been unsuccessful. All of your tactics that you’ve been practicing your whole life haven’t been able to eradicate Lando from your system. He’s a bad habit that you can’t break.

You want him in a way that you’ve never wanted anything before. Slowly, you’re creeping to the edge of your own rules, wondering what fate looks like on the other side.

But, reality comes crashing in when his eyes lazily flick up to yours and the elation that was just coursing through your bloodstream turns icy cold. Terror seizes your chest in an iron grip. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, you can’t even run.

For a moment you both stand still, completely frozen in time while the world continues on without you. People rush in and out of view, obscuring your vision in millisecond intervals. Everytime you lose sight of him, you wonder if he’ll actually be there.

He is. He’s really there.

And now he’s walking toward you.

A million questions rush through your head in a panic. Is he still upset at you? What is he going to say? Will you be able to say goodbye again?

Caught in the spinning of your own thoughts, you miss him drawing closer and closer with a stupid grin splitting his face. When you finally snap back into reality, he’s standing right in front of you.

His arms wrap around your waist, hoisting you into the best hug you’ve ever experienced. Hands down. With his touch, every single thought, anxiety, and question evaporate. There’s nothing in this world except for the way his hands hold your waist and his arms flex against your back.

Dropping your bag from your shoulder, you can’t help but toss your arms around his neck, hugging him right back. Smiling wildly, you push your forehead into his shoulder. Your nose fills with the scent of him, sending you reeling all the way back to six months ago when you saw him last.

While you’re in his arms, it feels as though no time has passed. It’s simply the day after you met, both of you ready for your next adventure together.

Together.

The word feels odd to you. It’s so unused in your life. You’ve always been alone. Growing up in the foster care system, you never stayed with someone long enough to use the word ‘together.’ So, there’s never been a desire in you to ever experience ‘together’ with someone. Until now.

“Hi,” Lando says warmly. You can hear the smile in his voice. A rush of heat paints your cheeks red as you pull away from him. As much as you want to keep your hands on him, you drop your hands from his neck and take a small step back. He lets his hands slip away from your waist, your body suddenly cold from the lack of his touch.

“Hi,” you respond, unable to remove the smile on your lips.

For a couple of seconds you both stand in awe of each other. He’s grown so much, not that you didn’t already know that. His Instagram is regularly updated for race weekends and things in between, so you’ve watched him grow over the last six months. However, nothing compares to seeing him in person. The shitty part is that he looks so damn good. How are you supposed to say goodbye to that face, that smile, again?

“I can’t believe this,” Lando says while adjusting his cap that was thrown askew by the brute force of your embrace. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you say while watching his hands go about their work. “How are you?”

“Alright,” he says while nodding. “But great now. It’s been ages. What are you doing in London?”

Nerves buzz in your chest and fingertips. It almost sounds like he’s missed you. You’ve missed him. You’ve never missed anything the way that you miss him.

“I’m working on a story,” you say breathlessly. “About Camden.”

His face lights up as you tell him about your time in London so far. He seems excited when you tell him that you’re going to be here for a while and are looking forward to doing a little more sightseeing when you can. His eyes are wide and bright as he listens to you. Every once in a while you get caught stumbling over your words because you got lost in the curve of his jaw, or the smattering of freckles on his face, or by those damn eyes.

Unable to keep talking coherently, you ask him what he’s doing in London. He tells you that he’s on summer holiday and spending a little time with family. He flew into London this morning and came to do some gift shopping for his parents before driving to Bristol.

He’s standing so close to you that you could reach out with little effort and take his hand in yours. The memory of his hand ghosts along your fingers, urging you to just reach out.

But for all of your desires, you have to hold fast to what you know to be true. This is temporary. Everything between you and Lando will pass because it always does. These feelings only feel this full and vivid because he’s standing right in front of you. This is a chance meeting that should never have happened. It only makes things more complicated.

“What are you doing right now?” Lando asks suddenly, breaking you away from planning an exit strategy. Your heart sinks to your toes.

“I–well–” You’re floundering. You never flounder. How is this the time that you can’t come up with some witty response or a quick out?

“Would you like to grab lunch? Maybe do a little catching up?” he presses. There’s this look on his face that makes you die a little. His eyes are so bright, lit up by the softest of smiles on his face. He looks perfectly at peace in your presence. There’s a happiness that exudes from his aura, taking you captive in its warm arms.

“Yes.” It comes out in a whisper. You’re barely aware that you actually said it aloud. The answer fell from deep within your heart, spilling out because it had to. You’d like nothing more than to sit across a table from Lando and talk with him until the world comes to an end.

Immediately, you regret your answer. Agreeing to this means spending time with him and reopening the doors you’ve been struggling to keep shut. What you should be doing is locking those doors and throwing away the key. You should be doing everything in your power to do what you do best: to run. The urge is there, pulling you away from Lando and the fate that could be. The familiar safety of running away calls to you.

But it’s counteracted by the intense desire to stay.

For the second time in your entire life and for the same reason both times, you’re split in two. War rages inside you; mind versus heart; logic versus feeling; safety versus adventure.

Lando reaches over, snapping up your backpack and hauling it over his shoulder. He sends you a wink, which you roll your eyes at.

“Follow me,” he says while tilting his head back towards the food walkway. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to avoid smiling like a fool, you nod your head and fall in step with him.

Together you waltz along in front of the shops. Lando is looking down a little ways, obviously searching out a particular shop. You can’t help but be grateful that you didn’t have to choose which place to eat at. You probably would have spent the rest of the day hopping from spot to spot, tasting a little bit of everything.

After a short walk, Lando stops the two of you in front of a small stall. With a smile on his face, he explains what the shop serves. He obviously loves the place and can’t stop rambling on about it while you stand in line. Honestly, you only hear half of what he’s saying. You’re too busy watching the way his mouth moves and how his eyes dart around and the way he moves his hands while he speaks.

“So, what are you going to get?” he asks. You’d blanked out when he was explaining the menu to you.

“Just whatever you’re getting. I trust your judgment,” you say while shrugging, trying to be as normal as possible. You’d rather him not know that you’ve been ogling him this whole time. It doesn’t bode well for your attempts to get over him.

“You do?” he asks with a scoff. You laugh then, remembering the ice cream incident from six months ago. His choice was less than stellar, so why would it be different now? Maybe you should reconsider your options.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “But I’m giving you a chance at redemption.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s swiftly cut off by the woman behind the counter calling the next customer. Lando walks up in front of you and orders for the both of you. He pays the tender before circling back to you.

“No going back now,” he says while handing you a cup of ice water. Shaking your head at him, you pluck the water from his hand gratefully.

“What do I owe you?” you ask while reaching for your wallet.

“Nothing,” he says with a smirk. You glare up at him, trying to fry that smug look off his face. The opposite happens, his smirk growing into a grin.

“I think I’ve got it covered,” he says, reminding you that he’s a millionaire with just six words. What a snob.

“Fine,” you say while stuffing your wallet back into your pocket. “Just trying to have manners. Ever heard of them?”

His jaw drops and his eyes narrow in a look of disbelief. He’s carrying your bag and paying for your food. He’s actually being quite the gentleman, but you still need to bust his chops a little. The smug idiot deserves it, just a little bit. Behind your amused look, there’s an affection that scares you.

Standing side by side, you wait for your food while making small talk. It shocks you how easy conversation flows between the two of you. Nothing has ever been this perfectly natural for you. It just feels right to be by his side while talking about simple nothings.

Just as your hunger starts to crest into annoyance, Lando’s number is called. Excusing himself, he jogs over and grabs the two boxes from the counter. The smell hits you before he even arrives back at your side. It takes everything in you not to rip the paper to-go box from his hands and devour the food right there. Instead, Lando leads you both over to an empty picnic table.

Lando plops down onto the bench, setting both boxes in front of him. For a moment, you think about rounding the table to sit across from him. It would put more distance between the two of you, a safety cushion of sorts.

You sit right next to him.

Smiling smally, he slides your food in front of you. With a needy sigh, you pop open the box and look at the meal in front of you. It’s chicken strips and fries. Raising your eyes to the sky, you begin to pray to the powers-that-be to keep you from laughing in his face.

“What?” Lando says through a mouth full of fries when he catches you barely holding back your laugh.

“I was wrong when I called you geriatric last December. I know now that you’re actually a child.” you strain to say. Lando simply cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Hater,” he says while popping off the lid to his dipping sauce. “Would a child eat chili mayo?”

Smiling wildly, you watch as he dunks his chicken strip into the mayo. After taking a bite of it, he has a little mayo on the corner of his mouth, not doing anything to negate the child accusations.

Instead of teasing him anymore, you dive into your own meal. You have to hand it to Lando because these are the best chicken strips you’ve ever had. You don’t tell him that, though. No need to inflate his ego anymore than it already is.

The two of you eat like you haven’t eaten in years. He polishes off the whole box before you and waits for you to finish.

“Stop watching, you creep,” you say while finishing off the end of your fries.

“I’m not watching you,” he lies. “I’m wondering if you’re going to have that last piece of chicken.”

Rolling your eyes, you toss it into his box. With a cheeky smile, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth.

After you’ve both disposed of your trash, you begin taking a lazy walk around the market. There’s an unsaid agreement hanging between you to not acknowledge the fact that you’d only agreed to lunch together, not whatever this is.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Lando asks while watching the shops as you pass them by. A dozen different excuses jump to the surface of why you can’t stay with him for the rest of the day. Shame fills you as you realize that your first instinct to a simple question is to get out of it. For someone who’s living is asking questions and getting answers, you’re horrible at being questioned.

There’s yet again the choice that you were poised with all those months ago. With Lando standing in front of you, do you do the right thing and say goodbye or do you say to hell with your rules and reach out.

You’ve already tried endlessly to forget him. Maybe you just need to get him out of your system. At least that’s how you justify your decision.

“Not much,” you answer honestly. All you were going to do today was do a little more exploring before returning to your home for the next few days to iron out your story.

Lando turns to you with a surprised look gracing his features. There’s something else there too, something that surprises you. There’s hope in the way his lips arch upwards and in the tilt of his head.

“What?” you say in response to the face he pulled, turning your eyes from him to the scenery around you. Looking at him like this has your stomach in knots for so many reasons.

“Nothing,” He says while shaking his head. He sounds so pleased it makes your chest ache.

“If you’re not busy, I can show you around a little,” Lando says distantly while turning to examine some jewelry sold by a nearby shop. His nonchalance is transparent, a false front put up to curb his enthusiasm. In a way, it puts you at ease. You’re both going to pretend that this is just some casual meet up between old friends. If you can’t make yourself run away, maybe you can keep yourself safe this way.

“Don’t you have to get to your parents’ house?” you ask, not wanting to impose on his plans. He shakes his head, telling you that he’ll just go a little later than planned.

“Alright,” you find yourself saying. Lando freezes, then finally turns around to face you.

“Alright?” he asks, making sure he heard you correctly.

“Where to first?”

—

For a while in the afternoon, you stroll around the market until Lando finds a present for his parents. Once he buys it and tucks it away into your bag, he tells you that it’s time to explore London.

He forces you onto one of those buses that has an open air seating area, informing you that it is the best way to see the streets of London. He tells you that when he was a kid, he and his friends used to come on these and mess about. You can’t help but imagine a small Lando running up and down the aisle, causing chaos with a gaggle of little boys while their parents watched on. Parts of him still hold onto that childlike joy and wonder, shining like sunspots through the man he’s becoming. He must have had a happy childhood. An ache that feels like envy pinches at your heart.

You can’t help but wonder who you would be if you grew up the way he did.

After riding around on the bus, he takes you to walk along the River Thames. Crowds of people go about their days around you while you and Lando create your own little world together. Every place that he points out will forever be a reminder of him. His words paint over the sights, coloring them a shade of him in your mind.

Once you get close to the London Bridge, the two of you walk up to the walkway’s railing that overlooks the river. Instinctively, you pull out your camera to snap a few shots. At first, you take a couple of just the bridge in all its glory. The clear summer sky is a beautiful backdrop to the brilliant bridge that watches over the busy river that flows under it.

Lando has his back to you, his head turned toward the bridge. He’s mumbling something about the ships that skim across the surface of the river. But your attention is turned toward focusing him into the frame. His brown curls blow softly in the wind. The shirt he’s wearing fills and flutters with the river’s breeze. He looks perfect as he leans up against the railing, his arms rested against the top and his hands loosely folded together. The photo you take feels so intimate. For all the business and life going on, the eye is completely drawn to him. He’s captivating.

“Lando,” you whisper, wanting to get his attention while your camera is still raised to your eye.

Turning around, his face is caught in a look that you’re eternally grateful you caught on camera. There’s the hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes are wide, and his eyebrows are drawn up. He’s ready to answer any question you have, ready to hear anything you have to say. It’s a look straight from a movie scene. The look on his face changes swiftly from pleased to surprised when he sees the camera pointed at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a laugh forcing his face into a proper smile.

“Taking pictures,” you answer matter-of-factly.

Rolling his eyes, he begins to make faces at the camera. Without missing a beat, you keep snapping photo after photo of him. After a minute or so, you turn the camera off and drop it back down to your side. Lando watches you carefully, his eyes tracking your every movement. The way he’s staring at you makes you feel exposed and analyzed. Distantly, you think you should be scared of his eyes on you this way. But that’s a problem for another time.

The rest of the day passes easily. Lando brings you to some of his favorite spots around the city. He tells you stories; you listen carefully, trying your best to learn everything you can about him. You can’t help but feel like you’ve known him for a hundred years. The ease at which you speak, the natural way you understand each other's ques and mannerisms, it all feels instinctual. And yet, there’s still that layer of nervous excitement that lights you on fire. Every time your hands brush as you walk or you catch eyes lingering on each other, there’s an electricity that shoots through your heart.

Lando brings you to a place to grab a bite to eat for supper. As you sit together for another meal, you find yourselves arguing lightheartedly about the stupidest things. All things aside, you realize you haven’t had a friend like this in so long. When you began rejecting relationships with people, it had been a hard adjustment. But over the years, you’d grown so used to being alone that you forgot how lonely you were. Sitting across from Lando, listening to him laugh with you and tease you, it dawns on you just how lonely you’ve been.

By the time you’re done eating, the sun is starting to sink into the horizon. Golden hues are splattered across the sky, painting the city in orange. Lando promised one more sight that would put all the others to shame. Apparently Big Ben is highlighted by the setting sun and is a must see while in London.

With ice cream cones in hand, he hauls you quickly down the street towards the clock tower. Clouds create ombre lines in the sky, bringing the old clock to life. It’s a sight like none other. Big Ben stands like an ancient soldier keeping watch over his city by harnessing the light and fire of the sun.

Wordlessly, you take a photo of the scene in front of you, but only one. Turning your camera off and holding it loosely at your side, you just take in the view. It’s perfect. Everything about today has been perfect. You haven’t been this happy in a long time.

Lando looms right next to you, his presence warm and full. A hand ghosts over yours, just the fleeting touches of fingers against your skin. Breathing suddenly becomes difficult, your lungs laboring to take in any oxygen. You don’t move a muscle, afraid that he’ll admit that it was an accident or worse.

But it happens again. One of his hands reaches towards your’s, plucking the camera from it. Then his other hand slides into your now empty one. Instantly, the sky isn’t the only thing on fire. Warmth envelops your body, everything stemming from where your hand fits in his.

Looking over to him, you watch as he slings the strap of your camera around his neck. He looks over to you, a small smile on his face. As your eyes scan over his tanned features, you catch a small bit of ice cream caught at the corner of his mouth. An amused smile crosses over your face. He’s really never beating those child accusations.

“What?” he says while his face twists from peaceful to concerned.

“Nothing you just have some-” You say while you instinctively reach to wipe his mouth with your thumb. As you make contact, you realize what you’re doing. But it’s too late. You’re close enough now that you can feel his breath on your face. Inches separate you, mere inches.

Slowly, you finish the job you set out to do and wipe the corner of his mouth with your thumb. Hooded eyes greet yours when you dare to look at him.

“Ice cream,” you finish your earlier statement as your hand lingers against his face. Stubble rubs against your fingers, but his skin is soft and warm under it.

There’s maybe a half a second between you trying to pull your hand away and his coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb props up your chin while his fingers press into the back of your neck. You’re barely able to suck in a breath before his lips are on yours. Sinking into him immediately, you kiss him back with matched passion. He feels divine pressed against you. Fire licks at your body, turning you molten in his grip.

For the first time possibly ever, you feel confident that where you stand is exactly where you want to be. Reaching out to him, you grab his neck with both hands to pull him closer.

The kiss is damning, his lips drawing you closer and closer. Letting go is not an option, the end of this isn’t even a thought in your mind. Everything you know is this kiss. The rest of the world has faded away; your past has faded into an obsolete flash. While his hands are on you, there’s hope. While your fingers press into his skin, there’s a future.

His hands start to drift, needing to feel more of you. With gentle but firm fingers, he explores your body. One of his hands comes to rest on your waist while the other splays out against your lower back, encouraging you to arch into him. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, causing you to gasp.

The momentary severing of your connection allows you to breathe for a second. Then your name falls from Lando’s lips in a whisper like honey and you’re submerged once again. Dusk wraps around you while you kiss like the world is ending.

Six months have been spent dreaming of moments like this. Lando has plagued you every day and every night for months. The steady ache that you thought would fade has just been set to rest and replaced with a roaring fire. Down to the very marrow of your bones you feel his kiss. You’re insatiable, needing more of him.

Neither of you know how long you’ve been standing there when you finally pull apart. Lando doesn’t give any sign that he’s removing his hands from you. Instead, he just holds you close while his head drops between your collar and jaw. A jolt runs down your spine when you feel him placing the gentlest of kisses up your neck.

“Thank you,” he says while pulling away to look you in the eyes. Reeling back a little, it strikes you as odd that that’s what he’s decided to say after you’ve just experienced the best make out of your entire life. Your reaction doesn’t phase Lando, of course. He just smiles down at you like he knows something you don’t.

“For the photo and the postcard,” he finishes, putting your shock to rest. A baffled laugh rises from your chest and you let your forehead fall against his chest. Laughing with you, he adjusts his arms around waist, pulling you tight against him.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up right now.” you laugh into his chest, dumbfounded that he was even thinking about it.

“Why? This is the perfect time to bring it up,” he defends. You pull back in his arms to look at him and give him a confused frown.

“I wanted to wait until I saw you in person so I could thank you properly. Now I have,” he says smugly as if this was his plan all along. Not only had he been thinking about and scheming this all day, he’d been waiting for months to do it. Chills cascade over your skin as you let the weight of that sink in. Maybe he missed you as much as you missed him. It’s an insane thought because you should never have felt that way after meeting him once. Rarely over the last six months have you let yourself hope that he felt the same way. Maybe you should have had a little faith.

But to what end?

The familiar feeling of doubt begins to creep in, but you refuse to ruin one of the best moments you’ve ever experienced. Even if you’ll pay for it later, you’re going to do your best to preserve whatever just passed between you and Lando.

“That’s so cheesy,” you find yourself laughing. Lando squeezes your sides, making you squeal and press into his chest.

“I think you meant ‘romantic,’” he corrects, emulating the conversation that you shared months ago. It makes you smile.

“Maybe I did,” you concede softly. Raising yourself up off his chest, you lean in a press the barest of kisses to his soft lips. He accepts your lips on his with equal tenderness.

Pulling away for the second time, you press your hands flat against his chest to push away from him. He lets you go, but it takes a few seconds. After you’re free from the circle of his arms, you pull one of his hands into yours and begin walking into the night.

The dying light gives way into a sultry purple and navy blue. The air flits over the water and through the trees on a gentle breeze. With Lando’s hand in yours and your lips still tingling from his kiss, you can chalk this up to the perfect night.

“Can I take a few pictures?” Lando asks as he pulls you in front of him, your camera held in his other hand. You’d completely forgotten that he had taken your camera from you.

“Sure,” you say while nodding. “Do you know how?”

“Yeah,” He scoffs smugly. “Point and click. Easy as that.”

Blinking at him, you’re slightly in awe of his absolute blind confidence. A man really just believes whatever he wants, doesn’t he.

“Alright,” you say while dropping his hand. “Take a few for me.”

Confidently, he smiles at you and brings the camera to his eye. Then pulls it away with a frown on his face.

“Lens cap,” you tell him while pointing to the end of the camera. His eyes flick to you while his confidence falters for just a second. Once he has the cap removed, he brings the camera back up to his eye. He’s obviously a little more pleased when he can actually see his surroundings through the viewfinder.

Silently, you watch as he struts about taking pictures of this and that. Watching on, you can’t help the smile that spreads onto your face. He’s like a kid in a candy store. Once something catches his eye, he walks over to it and spends minutes on making sure it’s just how he wants it.

While he gallivants about with your camera, you have a moment to really think about everything that’s happened today. Playing it over in your head, it seems like a movie or as if it wasn’t really happening to you. The person you are with Lando seems so different to the person that you know yourself to be. It’s like the person that you are when you’re around him is this fuller version of yourself. Your broken pieces seem to draw together, finally ready to heal. There’s a joy that you’ve never known when your hand is in his. It feels right; it feels real.

And in the nighttime streets of London, you feel a star of hope being born in your chest. And you hold it tight. Maybe there are some things that don’t have to be temporary. Running is all you’ve ever known. Once a place doesn’t fit your needs or desires, you run away to the next place. But what if there’s somewhere, or someone, out there that will always fit your needs and desires. What if it wasn’t chance that brought together again two people whose paths should never have crossed?

What if you didn’t have to run?

“How do you get them to come up on the screen?” Lando says while fast walking over to you and pulling you from your train of thought. When he reaches you, you pull the camera from his hands. He rounds behind you, placing his chin on your shoulder and his hands around your stomach. Pressing the play button, you bring the pictures onto the display screen. It starts with yours from the beginning of the day. The bright morning shot of the Camden Market sign seems like a lifetime ago.

You drag the wheel dial back, sending you to the last picture taken. It’s completely dark.

“What?” Lando mumbles into your shoulder, his body going rigid against you. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Slowly, you spin the dial backward to keep browsing through his pictures. Nearly every single one is too dark to make out.

Obviously frustrated, Lando huffs and presses his forehead into your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his display of exasperation. His lesson has been well learned.

“I don’t get it,” he says while you turn in his arms. He’s pouty now, his face pinched into a frown.

“Did you adjust the aperture, the ISO, and the shutter speed?” you ask pointedly. He doesn’t give you the dignity of a response. Instead, he pulls his lips into a line and squints his eyes at you. He’s not taking any of your bull shit. Deciding it's your turn to play the smug jerk, you smirk at him.

“Point and click, right?” you tease while slinging the camera around your neck. You reach into Lando’s front pocket while looking him in the eyes to fish out your lens cap. His eyes go wide as your hand slides in and out of his pocket. Tilting your head to the side, you watch as he sucks in a deep breath. You’ve absolutely flustered him, something you don’t think often happens.

“Huh?” he mumbles, obviously not catching what you had said earlier.

“I can give you a lesson on the bus ride to my place if you’d like,” you say with an innocent smile. Lando blinks away his shock and then accepts your offer.

Walking side by side, you make your way to the bus stop. Hopping on the bus to where your house is, Lando leads you to a row and lets you have the window seat.

While the bus teeters along, you give Lando a brief lesson on camera basics. He nods along, his eyes following your fingers as they dance along the camera. He seems genuinely interested in what you have to say. A warm feeling flares in your chest that he cares about what you do enough to learn about it.

Too soon, the bus arrives at your stop. Together, you get off the bus and walk towards the town house you’re staying in. Lando has your hand clasped in his while he asks you question after question about cameras. You do your best to answer him, a smile constant on your face.

“This is me,” you sigh quietly while stopping in front of the gate of the house. He stops too, turning to stand in front of you. There’s a question poised on your lips that you already know the answer to were you to ask it. Once more the choice to reach out looms in front of you.

“How long are you in London for exactly?” Lando asks. He hadn’t asked about it all day. You’ve been wondering when it was going to come up and it finally has.

“Just the next few days,” you tell him. He nods along with your words.

“After that?” he presses while fiddling with your fingers.

“Back to Monaco for a while until I get a new assignment. Probably only a few days,” you admit. “What about you?”

“I’m going on vacation with my family to Bali for a week and then with some friends to Australia the next week. Then I’ll be in Woking for work,” he says, his eyes not lifting to find yours. The realization hits you like a dump truck.

“Then the season starts again,” you say, your voice strained.

“And you’ll be on assignment,” he shoots back, his voice the same as yours.

All the hope that’s been accumulating throughout your time with Lando burns to ash in a matter of mere seconds. The guiding star that flared to life just hours ago, collapses in on itself, creating a black hole inside of you. All joy is sucked away, leaving you cold and alone. Where hope once was, despair takes its place.

It’s nearly laughable that you ever thought you wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Even when you tried not to run, the universe did it for you. Thinking that fate brought you together was a child’s wish. It’s fate that’s tearing you apart. There can be no other way for you, running away is the only option. Saying goodbye will always be your fate, your curse.

“I’ll come to Monaco,” Lando says suddenly, his hands gripping yours. His eyes are like fire when you look into them. His face is stormy, angry even. You know the look well. He’s fighting. He’s a fighter.

You remember when you were a fighter.

“Alright,” you choke out, feeling utterly broken. Pulling you close, he takes your lips with his own. You can feel his promise in his kiss, his hope to see you again. It shatters you further. Tears well in your eyes, but you don’t allow them to fall. This pain is what you bargained for and now you’re paying in full. But you kiss him, you kiss him with everything you have because you know it will be the last.

Two fated times your paths crossed.

And two times you were ripped apart by that same fate.

When he pulls away, you can’t look him in the eye. He holds you close while he whispers into your ear.

“I’ll see you in Monaco.” His voice is stern and sure. All you do is nod into his chest.

When he walks away, he doesn’t say goodbye. He believes that this isn’t one. You know better.

This time, you don’t look over your shoulder to watch him leave.

182 notes · View notes

luxaofhesperides · 9 months

Text

Wings AU ; requested by @justwannabecat!

“Are you sure it looks good?” Duke asks for the sixth time in an hour.

Tim sighs and says, yet again, “It looks fine. Just give it to him! If he doesn’t love it, I’ll beat him up for you.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I could! But you’re right, I wouldn’t. I would just psychologically torment him until he broke.”

“Don’t do that, please. I’d like to actually have a chance with him, even if he hates this.”

“He won’t,” Tim says. He actually stops typing to give Duke a severe look. “Go and give it to him. If you don’t go now, he’s going to think you bailed.”

Duke glances at the time, then jumps. “Shit! Thanks for your help, man!” He’s out of the door before Tim can say another word. He doesn’t bother with the front door, or even going down the hallway. Instead, he opens the nearest window and flings himself out of it, unfurling his tawny wings to catch the wind beneath them and ride them into the city proper.

He briefly considers stopping for a moment to change into his Signal outfit so he can fly above civilian jurisdiction, then decides that it’s far easier to just bend the light around him so he’s invisible. He wouldn’t want to be late meeting Danny, after all. Especially not for this.

He hadn’t been expecting Danny to be into traditional courting methods. Most people tend to go the more modern way of dating, but Danny had mentioned once or twice that he thought it was romantic. He had blushed, mumbling the words, but Duke heard them and went into researching courting methods to see which ones Danny might like best.

Sure, he could just ask Danny out on a date like he normally would if he liked someone, but if Danny wants to be courted, then Duke is going to court him!

It’s why he’s been planning this out carefully, gathering his primaries after his wings molted a few months ago so he could string them together into a thin wing covering.

Admittedly, this courting method isn’t super common, but the thought of giving Danny his feathers, making it look like their wings are one and the same, has kept Duke up some nights, wanting it so badly.

Besides, he thinks Danny will like it. Considering the state of his wings after the Accident…

Duke holds his handmade wing covers closer to his chest, flier lower as he leaves Bristol and enters Diamond District. The streets are busy, full of people. Most tend to stay on the ground, wings tucked close to their bodies, but there are plenty still flying above cars and buses that Duke has to carefully fly around.

It takes another twenty minutes to get to Robinson Park, where Duke drops down to the ground and takes a moment to make sure all his feathers are straight and neatly displayed. Then he walks into the park, heading towards their usual meeting place.

For once, it’s a nice, sunny day in Gotham. Everyone’s taking advantage of it. The park is full of couples and families, walking around slowly, and kids dart through the air, still unable to go very high with their wings not yet fully grown in. It’s nice to hear the laughter and general chatter of people wandering the park.

Duke doesn’t spend too long walking the paved paths through the park. He steps off of it near the second water fountain on the path, then heads into the trees, passing two moms on a picnic with their three kids rolling around the grass nearby.

Tucked away in this corner of the park is a small clearing surrounded by thin trees. The tile is dirty and cracked, no one maintaining it at all with it hidden away.

He sees Danny’s wings first, with long feathers that trail onto the ground, a black that shines dark blue in the light. He follows the lines of his wings back to his body, where Danny sits on a bench, leaning his weight back against his hands as he lifts his head up into the sunlight, basking in the warmth.

He really is so pretty. He insists that he isn’t, but Duke regularly spends time with the Wayne family, all who have modeled before, so he’s got a better idea than most about what pretty looks like, and Danny fits the bill.

“Hey,” Duke calls out softly, watching as Danny slowly blinks his eyes open and turns to give him a warm smile.

“Hey! I’m free for the rest of the day, which means we have so much time to complain about things today.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”

“Nope,” Danny says. “I wouldn’t mind waiting, though. I like hanging out with you.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Duke walks forward. He doesn’t know if there’s something specific he has to say when presenting his gift, if there’s a courting tradition involved that he didn’t learn about. He’s terrified Danny’s going to reject it. He’s praying that Danny accepts it.

“Are you okay?” Danny asks, standing to get a better look at him. “You seem tense…” He trails off as he catches sight of what Duke holds in his hands, breath stuttering.

“I’m fine. I, um.” Duke steps into the clearing, entering the sunlight, and holds out his wing covers. “I made them for you. You mentioned before that you thought courting traditions were romantic… I don’t know if you like wing covers, but I thought you’d look good in my feathers… Only if you want it though!”

He’s trying so hard not to cringe away in embarrassment. He’s flirted with Danny before, half jokes and half serious, always playful. Duke was smooth then, delighting in how flustered it made Danny before he hit back with his own flirting. Now he’s a hesitant, stuttering fool, tripping over his words and struggling to find the perfect things to say. Maybe he should have thought up a speech, or something. Memorized a few lines to speak his intentions with this courting gift. Done literally any prep for giving the gift instead of focusing only on making it.

Danny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. He just stares, wide-eyed at the wing covers in Duke’s hands.

That’s a bad sign, isn’t it.

His hands lower just a touch, and he quietly prompts, “Danny?”

Just as he’s about to pull back, step away and try to fix things, messily attempt to salvage their friendship because clearly Danny doesn’t want to be courted by Duke, Danny’s hands snap out whip-fast and latch onto his wrists.

“This is… for me?” he whispers, awed.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s for you.”

“And you’re courting me? Like, for real?”

“Yeah, definitely courting you for real. Do you accept?”

Danny throws himself into Duke’s arms, careful not to crush the wing covers between them. “In what world would I say no?” he laughs, bright with joy. He pulls back a second later, not giving Duke time to hug him back, and turns around, carefully stretching his wings out. “Put them on for me?”

“Of course.”

He starts by smoothing out some of Danny’s feathers. He doesn’t get to do this often; Danny hates having his wings on display for anyone, with how they spasm occasionally, and have empty patches where feathers will never grow in again. The Accident, all that electricity coursing through him, it permanently damaged his wings. There is no healing to be done.

His wings are lacking too many flight feathers and primaries for him to fly. He’s stuck on the ground now, unable to use his wings for more than a minute. Old burns are still visible closer to his spine.

Danny prefers hiding his wings away. He hates thinking about the Accident, hates how it’s taken his wings from him, how it’s changed him completely.

But Duke loves his wings. He loves the softness of Danny’s lower feathers, how they shine in the light, how they always puff up when it gets windy. He’s only gotten to preen them twice before, and he treasures those memories more dearly than anything else.

This easily outshines both those moments.

He gently combs his fingers through Danny’s feathers, straightening them out, then lays the first wing cover over his right wing. His own brown feathers drape over the top of Danny’s wings, hiding the featherless patches from view. He does the same to the other wing, then adjust both until they lay perfectly on Danny’s wings.

As soon as he lifts his hands away from Danny’s wings, Danny is spinning around with a grin, flaring his wings out.

“How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Duke answers. He was right; Danny looks good in his feathers.

He watches, fond and amused, as Danny spins, keeping his wings flared, admiring his new look. “I’m never taking these off,” he says. “I love them so much. I can’t really make one for you, though…”

“You don’t need to.”

“I can’t just accept this and not give you something in return!”

“Well… There is one thing you could give me. Something I’ve been wanting for a long time.”

“What is it?” Danny asks, leaning towards Duke. He’s eager, ready to please, so delighted to be courted.

Duke smiles. “A kiss.”

“Done.”

He doesn’t have time to react before Danny is pouncing on him, hands fisting the collar of his shirt as he tilts his head up and kisses Duke. He pulls back before Duke can kiss back, blushing and unbearably cute.

And all Duke manages to say is, “Cool.”

He’s so good at this.

Danny rightfully laughs at him, then grabs his hand and pulls him down to the bench. “Come on, I promised to complain about my teachers today and I intend to deliver. And maybe later, I could take you out on a date? If you want.”

“Danny, of course I want to go on a date with you. I’m courting you! I thought I made my feelings clear!”

“I’m just making sure!” Danny shouts over him, and Duke can’t resist the urge to pull him closer and pepper kisses along his cheek. “Okay, okay, I got it. You’ve made your feelings clear. I��m going to date you so hard.”

“You better. It’s about time you put some work into our relationship.”

“Excuse you?!” Danny gasps in mock outrage, and they start bickering lightheartedly as they always do.

Even with their feelings come to light, even with a courtship started and a date promised, it doesn’t feel like anything between them has changed.

It’s just them. Just as it always has been.

Duke couldn’t be happier.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #this was going to be longer bc i got into worldbuilding but then it got TOO long so i scrapped all that to focus on duke and danny #first time writing wing fic.... the amount of thought i put into how this world works had my head spinning #like this one: most people sleep in hamocks or have beds that are off the ground so they can stretch their wings out #regular beds like ours exist but mostly for kids/senior citizens/people with damaged wings who cant fly #like danny. so he has a normal bed and duke has a hammock which means the cuddling situation is Difficult #usually it ends with danny on his back and duke on his chest or danny completely wrapped up in dukes wings #just picture that. youre welcome :)

441 notes · View notes

elliesfavbae · 3 months

Text

Summer camps and dead mouses, Part 1 SERIES

Summer camp with enemies to lovers Ellie Williams

part 2, part 3, part 4

synopsis: This summer, instead of rotting at home like you used to every summer , you decide to try something new. You go to a summer camp and you meet many new people, mostly friendly, except one being extremely mean.

pairing: mean!Ellie Williams x reader

warnings: use of y/n, reader is assigned to a room with girls, swearing, Ellie being a bitch:(

wc: 4000

School is over for the summer, finally. There will be so much free time you won’t even know what to do with it.

That’s how it usually was like. You would spend two months staying at home, not going anywhere, while your friends are traveling all over the world.

You wanted this year to be different. You decided to do something with it and it landed on a summer camp. It’s something new, you’ve never been to one and hopefully, you’ll like it.

You’re nervous as your parents drop you off at the parking lot, where the bus is supposed to pick you and many other teens up.

As your parents drop you off at the parking lot where the bus will pick you up, you can't help but feel nervous. The warm early summer air hits your face as you open the car door, and you see other teens milling around. Some look friendly, while others seem a bit intimidating. Your heart races with a mix of excitement and stress as you say goodbye to your parents, who seem surprisingly calm about leaving you with strangers for the summer, opposite from you

You find an empty seat on the bus and settle in, only to have a blonde girl named Olivia sit next to you.

She's your age and super kind, and you end up chatting with her for the entire five-hour ride. Knowing at least one person at camp already makes you feel a lot better.

As the bus pulls up to the camp surrounded by trees, you catch a glimpse of a hidden lake in the distance. Despite your nerves, the camp looks promising.

You enter through a metal gate and park near other buses, realizing there are a lot of kids here.

Stepping off the bus with Olivia, you take a deep breath of the fresh pine-scented air. It feels like summer. The counselors are gathered nearby, ready to help with anything you need. The adventure is just beginning.

People start to take out their luggage and you follow them. The camp staff is quick to introduce themselves and lead you to the cabins. They divide you into kids and teens, luckily these age groups will be living separately.

You stroll alongside your new friend, pleased to discover you'll be sharing a room. The cabins are spacious wooden houses divided into four sections, each accommodating five people. Each segment in the cabin is assigned to a few counselors.

Entering your new temporary home, it’s not as daunting as you imagined. When you heard the camp was nestled deep in the woods, you immediately thought of bugs and other creepy creatures, but you haven’t encountered any yet, at least not until now.

However, that was about to change. Upon entering the bathroom in your room, you spot a lifeless mouse on the floor.

“What the heck?!” You exclaim, and the other girls rush over, joining in your shrieks. None of you dare to touch the rodent, leaving it there as your screams continue. Your outcry draws a girl from the neighboring segment, who checks out the commotion.

Through the wooden door comes the girl, her toned arms and short auburn hair catching your attention first. She appears irritated by the noise, with furrowed brows on her freckled face.

“What’s with all the yelling?” She sighs, entering the bathroom and noticing the dead mouse. “Are y’all afraid of a little mouse? Come on.” She scoffs, using a paper towel to remove the rodent and dispose of it safely. With that, she disappears behind the door.

You exchange confused looks with your new roommates. After a moment, laughter erupts. That was certainly a strange first impression. And the girl who came to your rescue didn’t seem particularly… friendly.

As the evening settles, you get to know your roommates better: Leah, Emma, Mia, Isabella, and of course, Olivia. After a quick dinner and shower, you settle into bed, reflecting on the whirlwind of a day.

But sleep eludes you. The events of the day replay in your mind: saying goodbye to your parents, the bus ride, meeting all these new girls, and the incident with the mouse... and that peculiar girl who barged into your room.

Glancing around the dimly lit room, illuminated only by moonlight, you notice the others are deep asleep already. Deciding not to disturb them further, though still wide awake, you close your eyes, lulled by the deep, slow breaths and the distant chirping of crickets.

The next morning, the alarm jolts you awake. Blinking, you take a moment to remember where you are.

You need to be up by 7 for roll call and breakfast before 8. Rushing with your roommates, you step outside, feeling the cold morning breeze against your face, prompting a quick return for a hoodie. You walk across the dewy grass in flip-flops, your feet are wet, but despite the early hour and chill, there’s something captivating about summer mornings like this.

Gathering in the central square surrounded by cabins, you observe the other campers with curiosity. They all seem a bit groggy; some faces are familiar from yesterday’s bus ride. You also spot the auburn-haired girl who dealt with the mouse, her expression still bitchy. She’s conversing with another girl who looks equally unapproachable. Great. Hopefully, first impressions can be misleading.

The head counselor, Mr. Anderson, introduces himself and outlines the camp’s schedule. You learn about the daily routine: choosing three activities—either water or land-based—breakfast at 8 a.m., lunch at 1 p.m., dinner at 6 p.m., and two hours of free time after each meal. Evenings are capped with group activities like campfires or movies. Each cabin forms a group, sharing meals and a counselor.

After Mr. Anderson’s briefing, murmurs arise.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Mr. Anderson interjects sternly. “You’re not children anymore, and we won’t tolerate any disobedience. Curfew will be moved up to 9:30 p.m. from its current 10:15 p.m. if you misbehave; being late, being loud after the curfew. So, 10:15 is the time you’re supposed to be in beds, maybe not sleeping already, but at least quiet and ready for sleep”

The murmur grows louder but subsides quickly as the campers begin choosing their activities for the day. Most activities have limited spots, making it challenging to decide, but you settle on arts and crafts, archery, and kayaking, often joined by Olivia and occasionally your other roommates.

Afterward, the crowd disperses for breakfast.

“Sure, like I’m in bed by 10:15 every night,” Olivia chuckles as you head toward the dining hall.

“I don’t know, Mr. Anderson sounded pretty serious,” you scratch your head.

“Oh, come on, this is my sixth summer here. Unless you get caught, you’re fine,” she playfully punches your arm.

“I suppose…” you reply.

“But yeah, if you do get caught, you’re in trouble,” she adds after a pause.

“Have you ever got busted?”

“Once, from all of the five summers I’ve been here. Yeah, Mr. Stick-up-his-ass-Anderson made me clean the toilets. And all I did was sneak out to meet a girl after curfew,” Olivia rolls her eyes at the memory. “At least I didn’t get kicked out.”

“Yeah…”

At the dining hall, a large room with windows overlooking the lake, you find yourselves at a wooden table with your roommates. The food—scrambled eggs and sandwiches—is decent, that’s what the other girls at the table say too.

After breakfast, you return to your cabin, a quarter-mile trek through the camp. This distance might be problematic if you ever run late for a meal.

It’s twenty minutes before your first activity, it’s a land-based one that requires no change of clothes, so you take a stroll around camp with Olivia. Familiar with the layout, she points out various spots, including a secluded spot hidden among bushes.

“...Over there, there’s a hidden spot for, um, trysts.” Blonde haired girl points at something that at first looks just like wild bushes, but as you take a closer look, you notice a small path and a clearing in the plants and you make a realizing “ohh” sound. You walk closer and after you make your way through the bushes, you arrive at the alcove, it’s nothing really special. It’s a clearly frequented place looking at the trampled grass surrounded by tall bushes. At least it’s secluded and well hidden. There’s even a small bench in the middle.

Despite everything, it looks quite romantic.

“I don’t think any counselors know about this place, not even most of the campers. That’s good because not many people will interrupt you in… whatever you’re doing here. But yeah, the unwritten rule of this place says it’s a date place rather than an individual’s hideout.”

Olivia sits down on the bench and sighs with relief “If you ever go there, don’t get caught, ‘cause you’ll blow up the spot for every camper” She looks at you with a serious expression on her face.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful” You try to sound honest, because you actually mean it.

“That’s the place I was heading to that one time when the main counselor caught me after curfew, but fortunately he still isn’t aware of the spot” She says with a mysterious smirk on her face and gets out of the bushes, back to reality.

“So, that’s what people mean anytime they tell you to meet “In the Bushes’”

And after that, you head back to the cabin with your friend, just to arrive at the main square a few minutes later for the assembly.

You leave with your group for the first activity, arts and crafts. The one and a half hours pass surprisingly fast and you are left with a half-finished friendship bracelet after.

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

Archery leaves you with a similar experience, it passed by really fast in the company of a young counselor and other campers, whom you even managed to get to know better during the pastimes.

It’s after lunch already, you’re hanging out with the people you met at archery in one of the rooms. Olivia is there, too, but you notice she’s looking a little pale.

“Are you alright?” You lower your voice as you ask her.

“Yeah, I’m alright, it’s just… I got my period before lunch today and the painkillers won’t work…” But she doesn’t look alright and it seems like she comes to the same conclusion “Sorry guys, I feel really sick and I think it’s better if I lay down” And she quickly disappears from the room and you follow her.

You spend the rest of the lunch break in your cabin, keeping Olivia company. Despite an hour passing, the painkillers still offer no relief, forcing her to miss the last activity—kayaking. It was the only one you planned to do without your roommates except Olivia, leaving you alone on the water. It’s not her fault, obviously you’re not mad at her, but you’re leaving the cabin accompanied by her apologies anyway.

Gathering again for the afternoon assembly, you join the kayaking group forming in the square. Scanning the group, you spot the auburn-haired girl from the previous day, without her stern-looking friend. You don’t approach her, though.

Arriving at the lakeside, you’re struck by the array of water sports equipment. You eagerly anticipate trying everything during your month-long stay, but for now, it’s kayaks. You hoped to get a single kayak, but you’re disappointed to find only tandem kayaks left, you hesitate until the counselor pairs you with Ellie—the auburn-haired girl.

“This is Ellie, I’m sure she will be happy to share a kayak with you” You take a quick look at Ellie. Her expression looks like everything except happiness.

“I’m y/n” Beside her attitude, you decide not to give up from the start. “Have you kayaked before?”

“Yeah” It’s all you get from her before she turns and walks away to get her life jacket.

“Can you get one for me?” You yell to her but she either doesn’t hear you, or she pretends like she doesn’t. More likely the second option, you think.

You follow her to get a life jacket and a paddle yourself and when you come back to the kayak, you notice she’s holding two paddles, one seemingly for you.

“Bro, I thought it was obvious I’m bringing an extra paddle for you” She says grumpily and sighs with a “are-you-seriously-that-stupid” expression on her face. And no, it wasn’t obvious since she ignored your request earlier. Did she do all that on purpose? Whatever.

You bring your paddle back to the warehouse and finally you get in the boat with her. All of the other teams have already taken their boats onto the water. Ellie gets the seat on the back since she looks stronger with her toned arms than you. You have to admit, she’s attractive, but that’s where her good traits end. How can someone so attractive be that much of a bitch? Maybe she’s having a bad day, or two, you say to yourself.

“And where did you lose your friend?” You want to know more about the girl you’ve seen her with earlier.

“And where is yours?” She cuts the chat.

On second thought, you don’t even care, you say to yourself. You paddle along with her, you are quick to catch up with the rest of the group. You look around to see all of the pairs happily chatting while Ellie and you haven’t exchanged a word since you got into the boat.

“So” You clear your throat “Thanks for clearing that mouse yesterday from our room” That's the first topic that comes to your mind after paddling for ten minutes.

“So that was your room? Oh God, I did that only so you would shut up, seriously, that was just a little mouse, not even a rat”

Oh. You don’t even answer her, again.

The rest of the swim is spent rather in silence except the time when you accidentally splashed her with water and even though you quickly apologized, she still attacked your ears with a “Ow, what the fuck?!”.

Unlike the previous activities, this one drags on, especially when you see all of the other people having fun with their kayak partners. You just enjoy nature, the greenish water around, you can feel the smell of the lake and you can hear the birds chirping. The sun is strong, its heat mercilessly hits the top of your head, you should’ve worn a cap.

The counselor announces that it’s time to head back to the port and you sigh in relief. Finally.

After twenty minutes of silent paddling, you arrive at the coast and get the boat out of the water and up on the platform. You put almost no effort in doing it, though, because Ellie handles it easily. After she’s done, she hands you her paddle not even looking at you and she quickly leaves to help with the other kayaks. Is she suddenly nice or what? But then you realize, the only person she’s helping is the counselor, trying so hard to flex her muscles. Whatever. The counselor’s name is Amy, she’s pretty young for a staff here, the most you’d give her is 19 years. All of the campers are ready and waiting for her, already put their life jackets and paddles away, but she’s busy watching Ellie.

"Can we go back to our rooms now, Amy?" you ask, breaking through the counselor's fixation on Ellie.

"Yeah," Amy responds absentmindedly, still watching Ellie's every move. With that, you and the other campers head back to the cabins.

You go back to your room, Olivia is the only one there. You throw yourself on your bed next to hers and sigh.

“I wanted to ask how it was, but it doesn’t look like it was well” Olivia looks at you.

“Yeah… And how are you?” You look at the girl, concerned.

“I’m better now, I think I’ll even join you for dinner” She sits on the bed and turns to face you, you do the same “So, how was kayaking?”

“Well, remember that girl who took the mouse out of our bathroom yesterday? So I had to share a kayak with her because I had no one else to be paired with and she was such a bitch” You sigh once again. You want to say more but you realize you should be at dinner already. You quickly leave and walk to the dining hall as fast as you can without triggering Olivia’s stomach ache. You pick up the tray and food and sit next to your new friends from your room.

“I heard rumors that tonight's evening event is the Assassin game” Leah, a roommate of yours, speaks up between chewing her food.

“Ooh, I love it” Olivia responds enthusiastically.

You like it too especially tonight, frustration filling your soul after kayaking resulting in a need to spend the accumulated energy on something.

And you have a person you’ll especially hunt for this evening. The source of your anger.

You quickly finish eating with your friends and give the tray back to the kitchen. You walk to your cabin, the sun is slowly setting down, painting the sky so beautifully, the orange light covers the camp in a warm orange glow. There’s something nostalgic about warm sunsets like this, they always make you feel peaceful deep inside of you and help your brain drift with memories away to your childhood.

Right, that reminds you of home. You’d like to talk with your parents, but every camper’s phone was taken away right after they got off the bus, fortunately they are given back every Wednesday and Saturday for an hour to call everyone you need and go back to the normal life, at least for a quick while. But looking around, you rather doubt there is any signal here, not even mentioning Wi-Fi.

You change into long sweats in case the evening gets chilly, you still have almost two hours before the eventide activity, probably the Assassin game. The time passes quickly though, playing cards with other campers and before you realize, it’s time for the assembly on the main square. You quickly drag your new friends there, careful not to be late. You don’t want to piss out the main counselor.

However, Ellie seems to want the exact opposite. As everyone is already waiting, gathered together, one camp counselor reports the absence of one of his campers.

Five minutes pass, main counselor’s face begins to turn tomato-color. Everyone else is pissed off too, the director doesn’t want to speak up unless everybody is there.

Finally, five more minutes pass and the auburn-haired girl appears in your sight, slowly walking over from her cabin, always wearing this sassy smirk on her face. God, can’t she ever act, maybe, not like a total bitch?

As if nothing has happened, she joins her group.

“Come over here, right now!” The main counselor is furious, pointing at her with his finger.

“Who, me?” She asks stupidly

“Don’t be stupid” He raises his trembling voice. Ellie walks over to him, hands in her pockets, standing in the center of the assembly. “What is your name?”

“Williams” She responds calmly.

“Williams is going to clean up the horse stable tomorrow morning instead of the first activity” This creates commotion among the crowd, some people laughing, some people whispering to each other “Silence!” The man yells and the frightened crowd immediately goes silent.

“Since it’s your first… offense that’s all you get. But I won’t be so nice the next time”

“Okay.” That’s all she responds, walking back to her group.

The director clears his throat

“Okay, since, finally, everyone is present now, I’ll explain the rules. Everyone gets a lanyard with their name attached to it. Your task is to steal everyone else’s tag from them and to keep yours on your neck. If you steal someone’s tag, they die. The dead person also passes all of the tags they stole from the people before. The goal is to live and get all of the tags.

Now, you will pick up the tag and when I say, you have five minutes to hide”

You take the paper with your name and you put the lanyard on your neck.

“Olivia, do you want to hide together?”

“No way, there’s no teaming in this game!” And she runs away. Okay, so you have to act alone.

Your first thought is to hide in the Bushes, the spot Olivia showed you earlier, but you assumed someone else definitely thought of that before.

Then you look around for Ellie, because you want to get revenge on her for pissing you off all day today, but she’s nowhere to be seen. You look up, in the sky, and an idea pops up in your head.

You start walking to the lake, the view of the water and sunset will definitely be amazing and once the sun sets, you will start killing people.

You breathe in the warm summer air as you get closer to the lake, you see it from afar and it already looks amazing.

You hear people screaming and running past you, looking for a place to hide, but you stick to your plan. You find a well hidden spot behind the boathouse, perfect to sit down and enjoy the view. The big lake surrounded by trees is perfectly mirroring the previously orange, now pink sky.

A while passes, the sun quickly falls to the horizon and the sky gets darker and darker every second. You hear the birds singing their last songs of the day before they fall asleep, crickets chirping, occasionally people screaming and laughing in the back. It’s so nice here, but you remember the game, you can’t ruin the fun and hide here forever. And you have a very specific prey to catch.

And as if on cue, when you slowly leave your spot, you notice the girl with auburn hair nearby, her back facing you. Perfect.

#ellie willams x reader #enemies to lovers #series #ellie williams #tlou2 #fanfic #fic #wlw #summer camp #summer fic #y/n

202 notes · View notes

onsomenewsht · 4 months

Text

from the vault:

won't ask you to stay / but let me ask you one thing

》 Out of Love, Alessia Cara

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 fall out of love [idiom]: to no longer feel romantic love for someone

When Leah comes into your life, you don’t even notice at first. Her steps are light and her presence is comforting, never out of place or out of time.

It ends like it starts.

It starts with a jacket forgotten one late night, the summer air and your joined hands shielding her from the cold enough to leave it in your living room. You notice the piece of clothing the next morning, claiming it as your own.

It continues with vinyl records piling up in your library, some brought from her own apartment and others added just for you to listen to as you live around each other. You notice it after months, getting rid of some neglected plants to make more room for the growing collection.

It ends with her toothbrush next to yours, left behind after weeks of her not even coming to sleep at home anymore. You noticed it this morning, starting to gather her things for her to pick up.

It ends just like it starts, with light steps and a comforting absence.

“I think it’s all”

Leah emerges from the bedroom with a box full of what you assume are the last of her clothes.

Not even caring about what the blonde is putting in there, you leave her doing whatever she is here to do.

You already hid her jacket and she already has your heart, it’s not like she can take much more from you.

The truth is you wish to be anywhere else, not really in the right state of mind to watch the love of your life make disappear any sign this was once a shared heaven.

Your apartment turned into a crime scene and she’s getting rid of the evidence.

“Did you get the boots from outside?”

“Oh”, the English girl almost drops the box to turn as fast as she can.

You make no move to help her, so she has to open the door window without her hands.

She reappears after a minute, out of breath, “So, I–”

“The book on your bedside table?”

Leah looks embarrassed to have to go back into the bedroom, debating whether she should pretend to have already taken it.

The walk of shame is short and bittersweet, the box still secured in her arms.

You wish she’d hold you instead, her embrace always able to grant you and make you feel like a person can actually be the safest place on earth. The longing to ask her for a hug is too much to bear, you rise from the sofa to hide in the kitchen.

Busing yourself with the excuse of a coffee, you realise you’re crying when a couple of big tears mark the sleeve of your shirt – too used to a silent plea.

The athlete makes her way around you on tiptoes, like approaching a wounded and scared animal. The distance between the two of you is palpable, the box makes it physically evident too. It’s getting ridiculous.

“Can you put that shit down?”

“I– I’m not sure where”

Looking at Leah for the first time in weeks makes you immediately remember why you’ve been adamant about not finding yourself in her proximity.

She doesn’t seem as sleep deprived as you sure are, or drained of life as you feel. She’s hurt, you know.

You have not spent a stupid amount of time admiring her features to not know how she shows her feelings or tracing each new crease to not know what which ones mean. You know she’s hurt, but you know she’s hurt for you.

“Can I ask you one thing?”, you finally ask.

“I don’t think–”

“I’m not gonna ask you to stay”

She almost exhales in relief and you almost die right there.

“When did you fall out of love with me?”

#woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #from the vault

209 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 16 days

Text

Spotless: Tronco

Chapter Thirty Two

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Both bands, staff, and Gibson

Word Count: ~2475

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, rockstars, Emma is a Red Herring don't worry there, uncle-ness and a big decision

Series Masterlist

“SAN DIEGO! You’ve been amazing!” Dean professed into the mic, breathing heavily and sweating from effort. “We’re gonna do a couple more for y’all tonight— since you’ve gone and made us feel so welcome. We gotta show that love right back to ya--- Sound good?”

The crowd erupted.

Dean grinned. God, it was so easy up there, so freeing. He looked around to see the pride and amusement shining back at him in his team’s eyes. His family. His band.

Sam smirked and rode a note down his A string.

“Sammy’s ready!” Dean teased, playing to the crowd. “Kev-o?!”

Kevin started on the high notes, tinkling them like fairy bells then crashed down into the basement, thundering into a paralleling rattle.

“Oh, I’d say he’s ready. PAMMY! Let’s hear it, girl!” Dean bellowed, barely remembering to use the mic.

She kicked the bass drum, setting the beat, pulsing as she pushed it faster, the heartbeat of the night.

Lee answered with a wail.

Dean wagged a finger at him comically and gestured back to the kit, as if to say ‘it’s the lady’s turn.’

Lee shrugged and held up his hands.

The crowd ate it all up.

Then the cymbals crashed and Pam arrived, bass still pumping in everyone’s ears, high hat and snare collided and her sticks ricocheted across the set like an avalanche. It was times like this that Dean could have sworn she had more than two arms. Her instincts always bordered on precognition, but when she was left to her own devices, she soared.

“PAMELA! FUCKING! BARNES!” Dean bellowed.

And the audience lost whatever ounce of voice they had left. It was sheer pandemonium.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh, the amount of joyous energy had to go somewhere. She just kept going. “GOD, WOMAN, OKAY! We hear YOU!”

Lee cackled and shook his head at Dean, it was his funeral.

It didn’t matter, up there, they were all invincible.

“Well, I guess she’s ready, Lee? Buddy? Should we join her?”

Lee didn’t say a word, instead he tied a fresh bandana around his head and waited for Dean to start the opening riff for ‘The Sword’ from their second album, then flew above him on an ominous chord.

Pamela dropped the beat, silence rang out for a single moment. On cue they all jumped in place and crashed back into the fan favorite song.

The crowd sang along and Dean couldn’t hear himself a single bit, but he also couldn’t care less. This was it.

This was rock’n’roll.

And he was a fucking star.

They all were.

The hotel in San Diego was fantastic, but staying in one place for too long was dangerous. Fans started clocking them and it wasn’t too far of a drive for Paps to be on the prowl. They kept the tour buses at the venue and got cars back to the hotel after the trip down, it just wasn’t practical to drive around town in those gas guzzlers.

But they had a full week to kill before they were due to take on Vegas.

So they improvised. Sam called ahead and rented a restaurant on the older edge of town, somewhere that wouldn’t draw attention. Someplace normal people went on payday or special occasions, not a random Thursday in March.

Their hostess guided them to a small banquet room with its own private bar, clearly confused on who they were and why they were suddenly closed for a private party. The staff hadn’t gotten much warning, but Dean knew Sam made sure everyone scheduled would be making more in tips than they had averaged since probably the holidays.

That’s the way they did things, they took care of the people who took care of them.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Uh, we’ve still got a dozen or so more people showing up and we’ll need one kids’ menu if you’d be so kind,” Dean explained as he took in the room and the simple layout of round tables of eight.

“Of course, anything else you need right now?” She seemed like a good kid, probably a college student, with bright eyes and long, light brown hair.

“Not at the moment, but I’ll let you know—?”

“Emma.” She smiled, moved the extra menus she was holding, and held out her hand for him to shake.

“Emma, of course. Thanks. I’m Dean. I’m the brother of the idiot paying for this whole thing.”

“Well, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back when the others arrive.”

Dean grinned and turned back to the first carful of folks, which had also held Sam, Donna, Nancy, Bobby and Annie. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, everybody trickled in. Dean tried not to flinch when Victor and you came in together, but Jody and Kevin were so tight on your heels that Dean could tell you were all in a shared conversation. You hadn’t been alone with him on purpose, probably.

Gibson rushed in, hair slicked back and new bracelets from the merch stand proudly thrust out for Dean to comment on.

“Alright buddy! Bad ass! Here, you’re next to me for dinner.”

Dean fist bumped him and pulled out his chair, where the four-pack of crayons and outlined placemat-style menu waited.

“You get any sleep last night?” Dean asked after seeing Pamela drop like a brick into the seat on the other side of Gibson.

“A little,” Gibson said offhandedly as he ripped into his art supplies.

Pamela shook her head. “He had to tell me all about the show— in detail— the entire ride back to the hotel. Then he was hungry.”

“Well, you’ll sleep in tomorrow. Me too, if I’m lucky. Then again I’ve got nothing planned until we head out for Vegas. You guys?”

“Probably get to an aquarium at some point, if nothing else catches his eye,” Pamela said. “No solid plans, except I’m taking a day for myself tomorrow. So if you want to hang with your awesome nephew, call Lee.”

Dean chuckled and went to ruffle Gibson’s hair, but caught himself once he remembered all the product and care put into the ‘do. “I can do that.”

Everyone slowly got situated, taking up three of the tables closest to the bar. Each table had two servers at their disposal, adding to the seamlessness of the process. The food was amazing, Dean couldn’t remember when he last had a steak so well cooked outside of Bobby’s backyard.

Gibson picked at his food, carefully wiping off his hands between each bite so as not to sully his masterpiece.

Dean’s family talked around them, Donna and Benny seemed to be hitting it off across the table, discussing their favorite places to visit in New Orleans. Benny promised to show her where to get the real gumbo and she made him pinky promise not to forget. Bobby, Cesar and Kevin were laughing at the table on Dean’s right, while Annie and Trouble were sneaking pictures of the trio. Probably for blackmail later, Bobby did look a little tipsy after all.

Patience stood behind Lee massaging his scalp, it was unclear if this was a relaxation technique, a haircare discussion, or a potential mindmeld. With the two of them, nothing would surprise Dean anymore. The servers were bringing out a dessert cart and Dean leaned down to whisper to Gibson that he better finish his broccoli pronto.

Which the kid actually did without complaint, though sugar was always a good motivator.

The group grew more casual, standing and playing musical chairs when someone got up to grab drinks, or find the restroom. It was an easy night out with just the bands and their support staff, nights like that would grow further apart the longer the tour went on. After living in each other’s pockets for the next few months, they’d get sick of everyone else’s faces soon enough. But it was still early days and they were all still getting to know one another.

Nancy plopped down on the seat Pamela had vacated without so much as introducing herself to Gibson.

“Hey! Can I color too?”

Gibson didn’t even look up, he only nodded and said, “you gotta find your own paper, though.”

Dean smirked. “Trouble’s probably got a legal pad or something, if you want. Or I’m sure the hostess could grab you a menu too.”

He liked Nancy, there was something innocent about her that made him instantly equal parts protective and endeared. Kinda like when he first met Charlie, though he learned quickly that the redhead was far from innocent, just earnestly nerdy. Speaking of Charlie, Dean quickly glanced around the room, he hadn’t clocked where she was during dinner, he was too involved with his plate.

Nancy didn’t get up, she just pulled a little notepad out of her bag and commandeered the blue crayon that Gibson had set down.

Dean leaned back and continued to take in the room and all the good energy while he looked for his best friend to harass. Eventually he spotted her, chatting up the bartender and decided he was too comfortable to go and mess with her just yet. A swaying blob in the corner caught his eye, and all too late Dean realized the instrumental music playing in the background. It was Pam and Lee getting cozy in their own little world, their song playing over all the comfortable chaos.

Something inside Dean ached.

He didn’t want to come off judgemental, both Lee and Pamela had gotten their share of rants about their relationship from Dean over the years. But he also couldn’t look away. Here were two people so in love, that they found their way back together time and time again. He swallowed when he realized he was tearing up and cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna get some air,” Dean muttered as he left Gibson with Nancy and beelined to the restaurant proper, empty as it was.

He rubbed his face and tried to clear his thoughts. Something had been building inside of him this past week, and even though you still hadn’t given him a finish line, a reasonable hurdle to clear before calling this thing with Bela off, Dean knew he had to end it. It wasn’t helping anymore, in fact, it only seemed to stack more worry onto his plate.

Besides, at the end of the day, he didn’t want to be posting selfies with all the right hashtags with her. He wanted to be having a drink and a laugh with you, or doing literally anything else with you.

He pulled out his phone and dialed before he could guilt himself out of it.

She answered on the third ring.

“Dean, hi! Let me guess, she told you to tell me to shove it?” Bela said breezily.

Confused by the greeting, Dean fumbled. “Uh— no? I’m calling for me.”

“Are you now? And Y/N didn’t tell you I’ve been a bitch and that you shouldn’t play with me anymore.”

“No. But, actually, that is kind of why I’m calling. How do you feel about having an amicable break up?”

Bela hummed. “Are you sure you aren’t just trying to get her out of taking my calls?”

“What?! No. Look, you guys can work out your own shit. I have no idea why she’s ignoring you or if you were actually being a bitch or anything. I just need out. For me.”

There was a menacing patch of silence. “I see.”

“Oh don’t be like that, we’ve had a good run. You’ve even gotten more flashy names on the guest lists for any foreseeable fundraiser between all the suits you charmed and their significant others.”

“That is a good point. But, Dean, this was all about your image. What happens to that if you break my heart?”

“You’ll survive.”

Bela laughed. “Thrive, you mean. I know. But what is worth all the runaround this is gonna cause? Especially while on tour?”

Dean hadn’t thought she’d need a reason. They weren’t invested in one another emotionally. His brain spun its tires trying to come up with something other than the truth.

“Is there somebody else?”

Dean huffed. “Technically, you’d be the somebody else.”

Bela decided it was best to start toying with him. “Now I know it can’t be the drummer and the redhead’s like a sister to you— so that means—”

Dean groaned. “Shut up, like you didn’t already have some sort of idea.”

“Oh, no, Dean, you wear your heart on your sleeve quite nicely. But Y/N on the other hand is much harder to read.”

Dean felt his steak threaten to make a comeback.

“She hasn’t said anything about me?”

“Oh, she’s said plenty. But nothing that tells me anything you want to hear at the moment.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re certainly welcome. See the truth comes out eventually and I think this little nugget of information could settle whatever it is that has Y/N firmly in the avoidance zone.”

Dean felt the icy chill of panic drag down his back. “You can’t tell her— I should be the one— I need to see her face when she hears it— from me.”

Bela tisked. “Dean, I’m not gonna ruin the surprise. I mean the break up. I want to tell her. Hell, I’ll even take the blame if you’d like. But all the sentiments and grand gestures are in your hands. I promise.”

Dean exhaled. “That sounds fair. What am I missing here? Why does this feel too easy?”

Bela hummed with mirth. “Because what we’re doing is easy. But in practice—”

“We’re just giving Trouble more work to do! FUCK!” Dean kicked himself for the late realization. “You sure you’re good to pile this on her, too? Especially while she’s all catty with you?”

“Dean— we’ve been friends since college. We lived together for like two and a half years. Y/N and I have come back from far worse than me calling you a manchild who used her as an errand girl.”

“Ouch!”

“There was the time she ruined my Louboutins on spring break.”

“Not exactly the same thing here.”

“Probably not, but still, we’ll be okay. Just gotta let each other breathe a bit. Plus, we are missing like twenty brunches while you whisk her away all summer.”

“I’m not doing shit— it’s the job.”

“Well, maybe, you should think about the whisking and the wooing, then?”

Dean sighed and turned back toward the banquet hall. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see if this puts me in the doghouse first.”

“I’ll save you some room on the rug if it comes to that.”

“Thanks, Bela. For everything.”

“You too, Dean. Never contact me again.”

Dean laughed at that. “Deal. Be good.”

He could still hear the smirk in her voice. “Ta-ta!”

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

Chapter 33: Stronello

#spotless series #dean winchester fanfiction #dean/reader #dean/bela #slow burn #break up #fake dating #rockstar!dean #rockstar au #spn fanfic #spn au

49 notes · View notes

korpuskat · 1 year

Text

Engineering Ecstasy

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral, implied to have a vagina) Rating: Explicit WC: 2,065 Warnings: None

-----

Surrounded by tools and screens and lights, Ramattra stands in his workshop and stares at the device before him. It floats softly on a light pad. Beside it, a screen shows off its blueprints, complete with a cut-away view, to show where each piece will lay, where the sensors are suspended, the indicator lights. It's rather a marvel, if he's truly being genuine- the design is custom, the inlaid nodes are all cutting edge, fast and sensitive and durable. Every aspect has been nurtured and guided into the form displayed before him.

And this is the lowest he has ever felt.

Because the appendage that floats before him is an imitation of a human cock. A mockery, even, intended in every way to be better, but perhaps... familiar enough to not be off-putting. He hopes.

It's shameful.

Making the thing itself is not the problem. Life was meant to be enjoyed, omnics were meant to explore and seek new experiences and integrate themselves among humanity- sex was a part of that. Even at the monastery it wasn't unusual for those omnics that had the hardware to use it- and to discuss the implications of having it to begin with. But he did not envy his brothers and sister who were made with genitals. Ramattra had never seen the appeal; all the ecstasy and release from sensory overload could be achieved without any attachments.

He had not understood the desire until you.

You and your laughter that plays endlessly in his memory banks, your soft, fleeting touches to his plating that tingle hours after, your kind words that pull his mind from the task at hand. He's itched endlessly to reach out and touch you, to know what it is about you that's made his processors hang, caught endlessly in the minutia of your existence. And how he wishes it was just simple fascination- he hates how quickly it turned to him prodding at his own sensory nodes, plucking wires in his hips and wishing it was your hands instead.

This- the purple silicone device in his hand- is only the latest fantasy he's indulged.

After all, what if he were to finally approach you and you were uninterested in toying with his systems? And even if you were, he wouldn't be able to please you at the same time-- he would not risk an unintentional twitch of his hands. This... this was just an investment in the future. He hadn't quite gathered your input on the design or shape or size-- or expressed his interest in you at all-- but he'd invested time to research popular shapes, ones well-received by humans. This... he's fairly sure will please you, if you let him- and if it isn't to your tastes, then he'll make it again and-

...

He should probably test it, before he gets ahead of himself.

He takes the cock in one hand and examines the ports, where it will connect to his frame. He squeezes it, feeling the firmness of the silicone. Honestly, he isn’t sure what density he was aiming for; it’s so much softer than his plating, he has no idea what would be ideal. Not just for what you want from him either; if the silicone's curing has somehow distorted a wire or dulled the sensors’ abilities, then the whole design will have to be scrapped.

Ramattra's hands shake as he disconnects the paneling at the end of his torso. Before, this little crevice had only housed a chip for monitoring the health of his hip joints. Now that was pushed further back towards his spine- with a minor upgrade to allow for more precise movements, smoother rotation of the joint- given the purpose of the device, it felt appropriate to make sure he could use it correctly. Where the chip had sat before is a new plate with two jack outputs.

They line up with the ports, at least. Ramattra allows himself one more moment of preparation before slotting them together. The circuits connect at once- and the buses inside are still working, aligning themselves with his systems, synchronizing, adjusting the pre-loaded drivers, running a self-check automatically. The internal display of his model updates- and another wave of shame nearly makes him pluck it off again as the cock- his cock- appears on the diagram.

The self-check concludes, the indicator lights flash green- muddied through the purple- then match his preset red. Every system reports back: ready, online. Between his legs his cock stands proudly. The translucent silicone glows where the red lights shine just under the surface.

He could leave it at that…

but he should test the sensors. After all, they all might be online, but they still might need adjustments. He has no idea if the silicone has disturbed their functionality at all. Hesitantly, as though the appendage would burn him, Ramattra touches the surface above one LED. It's smooth and cool to the touch. Something prickles in his sensory subroutines, the data input on his cock is so minuscule and yet so sensitive.

He wraps one finger and thumb around the base. Instantaneously, warmth spreads through his circuits, settles into those wires at his hips. He strokes upwards-

”Aaah…” The noise slides from his voice box unbidden, a kernel-level reaction to stimuli coming forth unintentionally. And Ramattra would make a note to investigate that, to minimize uncontrolled reactions- except that every process is overridden by the drag of silicone on metal, on the rubber pad of his palm, on how every wire in his body is lighting up.

One stroke and it’s like you’ve breathed on every sensor in his body. And you- how does his mind always wander back to you?- your hands would be so much smaller, softer- delicate, even. You would- he shudders, delves into fantasy- You would start so slowly, fingers barely touching him. His hand mimics his thoughts, loosening until there’s barely any pressure, stroking so slowly it hurts. Maybe you’d be nervous- it’s okay, he would be too.

And you- you would see how he’ll try to be still, to let you explore him, and you’d see how badly he needs more. You would be kind to him, wouldn't you? With those soft smiles, you wouldn't deny him. At least, in his fantasy. His grasp tightens again, thinks only of your little hands on his cock.

Each motion brings fire through his circuits, a haze to his mind. You… oh, you could do this to him as long as you wanted. Forever, maybe, if it always felt like he was burning from the inside out. Maybe... you would touch him elsewhere, too. Perhaps bracing yourself against his chest or shoulder, or exploring his ribbon cables or along his neck, down the sensitive, covered wires of his spine. He can almost feel you, your weight across his thighs, stroking with one hand and holding him close with the other- and he would hold you, splay his hands across your back and lean in closer to press his array to your forehead.

The thought alone has him shuddering, warmth spreading in his chest and-

and he needs more.

He would whisper to you, May I have you?, but even in his own mind he sounds desperate, aching.

It wouldn't matter, because you would say Yes, of course, I'm yours.

He groans aloud at the last one; yes, yes, he wants- he needs you. To have you, not just in physicality, but in every other way he can imagine. And he imagines much. Like how you'd move, how you'd reveal yourself to him. It isn't what lies beneath that excites him- it's you doing it at all, showing him what you hide from everyone else. Letting him explore you the same way, though he's not sure what you would feel like. Most of his experience with human skin and flesh is not what he wants to associate with you, so he skims this part of his fantasy until he's prodding between your thighs.

The internet has helped him visualize this part. He may not know what sensations you would provide him there, but he can picture your face when he slides into you. How your brow pinches, how your lips part- and you would be so wet for him-

and suddenly the drag of metal and rubber on silicone is not nearly enough. He needs- he needs to know how it would feel, that slickness you would surround him with. His workshop table provides an obvious option. A bottle of machine lubricant would be close enough- anything at all to sate the impulse. He pours the oil over his hands- and thinks of his fingers covered in your arousal instead.

When he strokes this time, there's hardly any friction at all. A smooth glide from root to tip has him throwing his head back, voice box crackling out another broken moan. All of that burning inside becomes liquid, waves of hot pleasure that crash over him with stunning ease. His hips twitch into his palm- and he lets the instinctive chase of desire take over, fucking into his fist with abandon.

He imagines you on top of him- and oh, he'd have to be so gentle with you, but he can't with himself now. He'd hold you, careful with his hands when his hips aren't. You'd cling to him, barely keeping yourself up as he fucks you- and he likes that, how you'd melt against him in pleasure. The pleasure he gives you. You would trust him with this, that he wouldn't harm you. And in turn, the moans he's heard in his research would be nothing compared to the noises from your lips. Would you be loud, quiet? Would you call his name- oh, yes- an overheat warning pops into his HUD, he likes that. How you'd sound saying his name, moaning it in broken tones, like his staticked voice as he pleases you until you-

his frame shudders as he strokes himself faster, imagines how your face would twist and pinch as you'd near your end with him. Would you tremble when you finished? And inside, what does it feel like in-

His ventilation falters, half his fans seizing as tips over the edge. Pleasure floods the same wires he used to manipulate, a white static rushing through every logic circuit, drowning out every thought as his body rushes to dump the excess sensory input. Heat surrounds him- literal heat, as his processors run and run with no coolant pumping. A droning noise fills his workshop- and it takes much too long for him to realize it's his own synth.

A pop-up tells his release vents have opened- a quiet hissing of steam and hot air rushing out somewhere. His fans resume their buzzing pace as he finally begins to cool off.

Ramattra falls back onto his workshop table and lays there, waiting for his systems to completely refresh- and enjoying the lingering tingles like sparks between wires. After only a few moments the high has passed, systems flushed and returned to working order. An automatic check returns ready, online across every parameter.

And Ramattra is left with his own cock once more standing proudly between his thighs. Perhaps that would be awkward for you, in the time afterwards.

Afterwards. When you're flushed and panting and curled up next to him- you would stay, wouldn't you? He's read humans need care once the activity itself has concluded. His refresh would mean he could tend to you in whatever way you needed; sustenance, contact (though, he would have to purchase pillows), perhaps he could clean you. A stray thought slips by, the image conjured before he can stop himself: What would you look like with...?

The shame returns, but Ramattra suspends the feeling and adds a note to the blueprints of his cock- should he make another, he'll add a fluid reservoir tank. It's practical, he argues. Self-lubrication would make this much easier.

With an internal tank he could leave his fluids on you- in you. Non-toxic- in case you wanted to... A prickle of stray electricity runs down his spine. His fist curls around the silicone again, still slick with oil. With the thought of your tongue peaking out to taste him, he can't stop himself from beginning to stroke again.

After all, another set of data would be very useful...

#ramattra x you #ramattra x reader #overwatch #ramattra #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #reader insert

301 notes · View notes

iamthecomet · 5 months

Text

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯: 𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

Rating: T Pairing: Aether/Dew but also Aether/Everyone Word Count: 986 Featuring: Some angst and a bad dirty joke or two.

Also could count for "telling stupid jokes" which was the actual day 7 prompt because Dew is Dew and I couldn't resist.

Many thanks to the amazing @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together again. And to @ghuleh-recs for the divider which I am mildly obsessed with.

It’s worse than he thought. He thought staying would be easy, but it’s clear the moment the buses pull away that it’s leaving that’s the easy part. Staying is agony.

Aether knows he’s made the right choice. That Aeon is ready and the Ministry needs him here and that he and Sunny will be fine.But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

He watches the driveway until the dust settles, and then he turns his back, his pack out of sight, and walks back into the Abbey proper. Sunshine had already gone inside–a meeting with Imperator she said. But Aether thinks maybe she just wanted some time to herself–he doesn’t blame her.

Aether keeps busy for the first couple weeks. Picks up extra shifts at the infirmary. He works most nights. The idea of climbing into an empty bed in the middle of the night makes his chest hurt–it’s easier to do it in the day time when he can imagine that the rest of his pack is going about their day–not gone.

He talks to them on the phone every day. Dew video calls him from the bus after every show. Swiss texts him pictures of all of the weird snacks he buys. Cumulus sends him beautiful landscapes, and little I miss yous. They call call him–he speaks to at least one of them a day, usually more.

The missing goes both ways. But they’re busy. He isn’t. Even with extra shifts, and begging Imperator for things to do–he even offers to help with taxes, which is a huge mistake, he still feels like he’s got too much time to think.

He walks the grounds. Sits at the lake on warm summer days and thinks about how unfair it is that Rain is trapped on a bus and not here floating. He offers to help Sunshine take care of Mountain’s plants, but she waves him off. She’s been given very specific instructions, and one of them is to not let Aether anywhere near the greenhouse.

He and Sunny cling to each other like a lifeline on harder nights. Especially once the rest of their pack has gone overseas and the timezones get more and more ridiculous to manage. They nap together, curled up in swatches of sunlight like cats. Aether wakes up warm, and comfortable, and loved and still feeling like one of his limbs has been removed.

Dew calls him early one morning–before the sun is even up. It’s late wherever he is. Dark. Aether can barely see his face on the video call. Aether sits up in bed and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“Dew?”

“Shit sorry, timezones. Forgot how early it is there. I can call later–”

“No,” Aether says quickly. Trying to force himself to look more awake. He turns on the light next to his bed. “No. No it’s fine. I’m up. Don’t go.”

There must be something in his voice. A hitch. A tilt in pitch. Because Dew’s mouth pulls down just a little. A tiny frown of worry that Aether wishes he could reach through the screen and smooth away.

“Not going anywhere, Starlight,” Dew promises. His bunk light switches on and Aether can see him better. Sitting up in the corner of his bunk. Phone resting on his knees. He’s eating chips from a bag that looks familiar.

“Are you eating those weird chips Swiss got?”

Dew nods. “I’m the only one who likes them. They’re good weird you know? You’d hate them.”

Aether watches him chew and feels the ache start to ebb, just a little. The same way it always does when he gets one of his packmates to himself for a minute. When things feel unhurried and he can talk to them like they’re sitting next to him instead of a continent away.

“Swiss said they tasted like ass.”

“Probably why I like them,” Dew shrugs. Aether snorts. He smooths his hand over his face, dragging his fingers through the mess of his hair.

“How many more weeks?” Aether asks, can’t help it.

“Three,” Dew answers without hesitation. “Not that I’m counting.”

“I am,” Aether admits.

Dew frowns again, a little deeper. He looks at the screen a little too directly and Aether feels like he’s being seen in a way he isn’t ready for.

“Yeah, Sunshine said you’ve been moping.”

“I haven’t been moping!”

Dew rolls his eyes. “Whatever. But just–you know we miss you too right? Like you’re not just stuck at home missing us while we have this grand adventure. It’s tour. It’s boring and humans are stupid and the food is awful. And it’s not the same without you.”

“Isn’t Aeon doing–”

“Aeon’s fine. He’s good. He’s kicking ass every night but you know that isn’t what I mean. It isn’t all about the music you know.”

Aether’s chest constricts. “I know.”

“Nineteen days,” Dew says after a minute. He rolls the chip bag closed and for a minute that’s all Aether can hear, the ungodly crinkle of whatever magic material chip bags are made out of. “Less than three weeks.”

“You are counting.” Aether teases.

“Of course I’m counting,” Dew counters. “I’ve been counting since the day we left.”

“You love touring.”

“Yup,” Dew agrees, nodding. “I do. I still do. But I love you too, and just because I’m happy to be out here doesn’t mean I also don’t want to be there. I miss my bed. And being able to cook a meal that doesn’t come in a styrofoam cup. And you.”

Aether feels his chest crack open, but this time it feels good. Warm. Like he really can reach out over all of these miles and slide his hand into Dew’s–just for a second.

“You just miss me for my ass,” Aether teases. Awake now, and warm and loved despite his empty bed. Dew laughs. “Well, I mean, it does taste better than those chips.”

#Comet writes #mushy may 2024 #Dewther #Dewdrop/Aether #Aether Ghoul #Dewdrop Ghoul #Ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fic #nameless ghoul fanfic

87 notes · View notes

god-has-entered-my-body · 5 months

Text

Caught up in Fashion - Matty Healy

A/N: something that isnt smut???? applaud me. Also #unedited if there are any errors no there arent

wc: 3.5k

content warnings: bit suggestive, mpind typical cursing, drugs (weed), kissing, matty gets handsy?, he's done way worse

The British public transport system has been an ongoing source of disappointment since the day you learned how to spell the word. Busses that acted like they didn't have places to be, coming too late or just not coming at all, leaving you stranded on the highway in the middle of some city you didn't know the name of, Matty at your side, whining and complaining and being totally unhelpful in general.

This time, however, you had struck gold. Both your buses had arrived on time, making you actually catch the next one and not forcing you to wait around for another, or god forbid, try your luck hitchhiking.

It was a bit loud, the sounds of families on their way to day trips or lunches filling the bus with noise, the occasional baby crying out for its parents. You were sitting at the window seat, your back to the glass as your legs draped across Matty’s, the soles of your shoes slightly blocking the way for other people, but seeing as the two of you were in the second to last row, it didn't actually bother anyone.

It was nearing summertime, the blazing sun making clothes stick to your skin and makeup melt off, no brand of setting spray managing to set it. Matty, instead of being a normal fucking person and wearing short, was clad in his signature black skinny jeans, the only flow of air coming from the giant hole on his left knee.

The two of you had finally found the time (and finances) to go shopping at a mall that had recently opened across the city. You were determined to get there, even if it did take you an hour and two bus connections, Matty insisted that he needed new clothes.

“I need some tops, seeing as you steal all of mine.” you comment, earning yourself a piercing look from Matty, an insult forming behind his lips.

“Fuck off, give me my joggers back and then we’ll talk” he gestures to the pants you were wearing which were, in fact, his. They sat perfectly on your hips, hanging low enough so even your longest tops looked cropped.

“I dare you to try and take them, fucking watch what happens” you threaten him, clutching your pants like he was going to rip them off your legs right then and there out of pure spite. “I look better in them anyway” adding that little comment only made him huff in reply, deliberately turning his head away when you try to give him an apology kiss.

“Fuck you do! I rock everything, especially when it's mine.” you roll your eyes at him, successfully planting a kiss onto his lips. The smile that spreads onto his face is impossible to hide, even if he denies it.

The bus finally comes to a screeching halt, the breaks to sound it makes you cover your ears at the high pitched noise. Matty giggles, his eyes creasing up as he laughs at your misfortune.

“At least I haven't gone deaf from having my music at 100 you knobhead.” he holds his hands up in defeat, pushing your legs off of him to get up, exiting the bus. You latch onto him from behind, letting him lead you over the gap between the door and the floor, catching you in his arms when you pretend to trip, performatively falling in slow motion. His hands grip onto your waist, setting you down onto the hot pavement.

“Smoke?” you nod, walking over to the bench under the bus stop’s roof, the plastic of the seat warm against the back of your thighs as you sit down, leaning against the Fanta advertisement behind you.

Matty pulls out his packet of cigarettes, taking out two and handing one of them to you. A smile spreads onto your face when you see him lighter, your initials decorating the side. He catches your look, running his fingertips over the slightly faded rhinestones and lighting your cigarette first.

You take out your ipod and headphones, gesturing for Matty to take one. Without asking, you put on ‘The Masterplan’ by oasis, quietly singing along to the lyrics as he nudges you in the arm.

“Your music taste is not a shit as it used to be.” he comments, looking almost proud of you. You click your tongue, leaning your head against his shoulder and taking a drag of the cigarette between your fingers. “Seems like you’ve terrorized me so much I finally gave in.” The smoke leaves your mouth as you speak, cheekily smiling up at his deadpan expression, obviously hoping for a different answer.

“Dramatic much?” you kiss his shoulder, playfully biting his arm making him jump at the feeling of your teeth digging into his skin.

“Ow??” you just laugh, collecting your hair and brushing it over your right shoulder, making your position a bit more comfortable.

The inside of the mall is air conditioned, a groan of relief leaving Matty’s lips as the cool air kisses his skin. You take a look around, eyes landing on a store down the giant hallway. Hollister. Matty turns to you and nods, booking it down the corridor in its direction. You hurry after him, his hand dragging you faster than you could keep up.

“It’s fucking massive.” he breaths, stopping right infront of the entrance. Racks filled with piles upon piles of clothes makes the little shopping addict in Matty twirl, completely forgetting the amount of money he had left the house with.

The two of you part ways, going into different sections and rifling through clothes, groaning when your eyes fall on the price tag. You see Matty coming towards you in the corner of your eye, holding something in his hands.

“You like?” he asks, holding a black, floor length floral skirt to his lower half, spinning around in a small circle. It flows around him, the multicolored flowers standing out against the jet black fabric nicely.

“It's cute, it makes you look a bit taller.” you admire him, obviously giddy from finding something he really liked that didn't have a two digit price tag. And it's true, it did make him look taller.

“Not that I need it.” he states, gesturing at his body, standing at a totally average 5’11 (6’ in boots). You decide to tease him a bit, loving watching his grin disappear as you speak.

“Oh you definitely do, you're like an oompa loompa who's managed to escape the chocolate factory.” his jaw drops in disbelief, almost looking genuinely offended.

“Fucking oompa loompa, maybe fix your contour before you come at me.” he shoots back, making a point to wipe at you face, some of the product coming off.

Your hands go to cover your face and you rush to a mirror, absolutely mortified. Upon taking a look at your reflection, you realize he was taking the piss out of you, and that your makeup looked perfectly fine, apart from your eyeliner being a tad smudged. It looked good, nonetheless

“I fucking hate you.” you spit at him, attempting to shove past him, his hands gripping your shoulders stopping you.

“But you believed me, didnt you?”

“Fuck off and die, I hope your scrote falls off.” you can't help but giggle at your own words, biting your lip between your teeth.

“Awwee, but who would keep you happy and satisfied then? Can't make you cum without my precious little friend.” he winks, wrangling his eyebrows at you. You cringe, your nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Don't ever refer to your dick as ‘precious little friend’ again, or I will leave you for George.” George would at least have the decency to not name his dick.

“He’d be a shite shag.” Matty says, matter of factly, like it helped his case. Deciding to try and rile him up in retaliation, you twirl your hair around your fingers, speaking in a dreamy voice.

“But look at the size of him, you know he’s packing at least twelve-” Matty cuts you off with a harsh kiss, both his hands cupping your cheeks. You let out a surprised noise, it getting swallowed up as he slips his tongue into your mouth, running it across your bottom lip.

“I do not want to speculate on the size of my best mate's cock, thanks.” you nod, slightly breathless from the kiss, too dazed to debate him further. You go back to the rack of clothes behind you and Matty walks over to a display of skimpy going-out tops.

“D'you like this on me?” you press a black and pink tube top to your chest, getting Matty’s attention. He takes his eyes over you, smirking as he notices the bottom of the shirt is completely sheer, only a black strip of fabric keeping you from flashing everyone.

“It's hot. You should try it on, give me a preview.” his fingers touch the bottom of the top, running his fingers over the pink mesh. It looks tight, too tight for a bra seeing as it could cling to your body if you decided to wear it.

“You’re such a boy.” you snigger, adding the top to your pile of yes’s.

“Can you blame me?” his arm wraps around your waist, fingers hovering over the curve of your arse, giving it a quick squeeze. You smack his hands away, cursing at him for basically groping you in a Hollister.

He smirks against your ear, attemüting to whisper into it before you shove him off, changing the subject by asking what he had decided to buy.

Matty holds up the skirt from earlier, bragging about how it was “Only nine quid, can you believe that??”

The second item he had picked out was a thin, long sleeved top in none other than leopard print. You giggle at him as he proudly shows it off to you, boasting about how sexy and delicious he would look in it, deliberately having taken a size or two too small.

You pay at the till, and Matty legs it to the changing stall, peeling off this shirt and putting on his new top, letting it ride up to show the low rise of his jeans. He actually looks quite good, even if he gives off ‘old hollywood hooker’ vibes with the top.

His hand intertwined with yours as you walk into a children's store for shits and giggles, looking through the vast catalog of toys and fake makeup.

Your eyes land on a matching pair of kids friendship bracelets, one pink, one blue. Matty asks you what you have, and you show it to him, begging him to wear them with you

“Its cute!” you argue, trusting the cheap pieces of plastic into his hands.

“Its tacky, does not fit my vibe at all.'' He tries to deny you, but the look on your face is too endearing to say no.

“You are the embodiment of the word, look at what you're wearing!” you point at his top, bursting out into a fit of laughter when he pops out a hip, standing with one hand resting on his waist.

“It's fashion.”

“That's one word for it.” you snigger as he reluctantly pays the 1.99 the bracelets cost. He slips his on first, the pink a stark contrast to the otherwise sandy and dark colors of his outfit. The blue bracelet fits perfectly around your own wrist, half of a heart connecting with the half on Matty’s via a cheap magnet.

“Look at us, defying gender roles.” Matty smirks at you, admiring both of your pieces of jewelry.

“Fighting the patriarchy! You did pay for me though, so not completely feminist." His laughter makes a fuzzy feeling spread through the body, an intense feeling of adoration making your heart pound in your chest. Fucking idiot.

The two of you wander around, stopping to window shop in a store you could dream of actually going in, knowing you’d be thrown out in under a minute. His eyes gleam as he sees a proper jewelry store, acting like a child on christmas morning as he flips through the piles of discount earrings at the back of the shop.

“You don't even have pierced ears mate, how’re you gonna wear them?” you snap him out of his little adventure, reminding him of his inability to actually wear the hoops he so desperately wanted to buy.

“I'll go get them pierced then, have Rome do it for me.” Rome was now working on opening an actual shop, finally graduating from piercing people on the beat up sofa in his living room.

“There's a piercing parlor literally there, and it's like five quid.” you gesture to the neon sign next to the till, pointing to a back room labeled ‘Sasha’s piercings’, which was a really shit name if she wanted to attract actual customers.

“Will you hold my hand?” he juts out his lip, pouting at you in a childish manner. Sasha, the only employee (surprise surprise), greets you with a warm smile, asking what you wanted to get done. Matty tells her he wants to get his ears pierced and coughs up the five quid, sitting down onto a red leather chair. It was when she pulled out a piercing gun that he started to look a bit nervous.

“Fuck no, that is not touching my ear.” he squirms away from the lady, a confused look on her face. Matty was a grown man, after all, even if he did act like a behaviorally stunted 8-year old.

“You're so pathetic it's actually quite sad.” you say, urging him to just get it over with, and that he was being a wanker making the employee wait.

“Usually I'd appreciate you calling me that, but genuine degradation isn't really my kink.”

The piercer looks mortified, asking you if you needed a bit of time before the piercing, and you nod, watching her step to the side.

“Its fucking gun.” he mutters under his breath, eyeing the device that set onto a steriel tray on the table next to where he was sitting

“A piercing gun.”

“It has the word gun in it.'' Obviously normal, adult reasoning isn't cutting it, so you went with the next best thing.

“Do it and I'll give you a blowjob.” Matty’s eyes light up at your proposition, a filthy smirk spreading onto his face.

“Fucking sold, go on then.” you're surprised it actually worked, scoffing in disbelief.

“Men are so simple.”

“Says the one who let me finger her in the bathroom of a club.” he shoots back, watching the blush creep onto your face as that night flashes behind your eyes. The smell of that bathroom is ingrained into your mind, no amount of wishing letting it leave your memory.

“Don’t fucking speak about that,” you huff, fucked off that he brought it up. It was genuinely embarrassing, the way you humped him on the dance floor and then dragged him off into a stall. “We were both so off our tits, I died for about 72 hours after.” you shudder at the monster hangover that left you immobile for the days following, having to get Matty to bring you all three meals for a concerning period of time.

“Sureee, just deny deny deny you loved it.” you finally call the poor girl over, hoping she didn't accidentally overhear your crude conversation. Matty whimpers slightly as she brings the gun to his ear, pressing down. Squeezing your hand so hard you were sure your blood flow was cut off, he winced before relaxing, realizing that he was, in fact, losing his mind over absolutely nothing.

The second ear takes a fraction of the amount of time the first ear did, Matty grinning like a maniac at the lack of pain apart from a small sting in his earlobe. You shake your head apologetically at the lady, knowing she was probably rethinking her place of employment.

“And you call me dramatic.” you snigger as she puts in two silver hoops, matty blatantly ignoring her recommendation to start with studs, saying they looked boring. He admires his new accessory in a small hand held mirror, flicking the earring back and forth before answering you. “It did actually hurt! Of course, I took it like the legend I am.” an exasperated sigh leaves your lips.

“Tosser, more like.” he smacks the side of your arm, laughing right along with you.

You had spent almost the entire day there, running around stores, trying on piles of clothes just for the fun of it, feeling like teenagers in an American film. But even you had your limits, and your stomach started to growl as the sky began welcoming traces of night, the sun slowly setting over the horizon.

Matty had spotted a chippy right across the road from the mall, draggin you there to get you something to eat. Both your wallets are almost empty, but you manage to find an old, crumple up fiver behind your expired school I.D. It was just enough to get one large portion of chips, the guy behind the counter generously adding a little extra when he noticed you’d be sharing it.

Your hand clasps his as you trudge up a small hill off the side of the highway, hoping there would be a nice spot to sit down somewhere, away from all the noise. Matty’s inner compass somehow always knew where to go, his intuition sensing it or something. It was weird, but you’d learned to just follow him, knowing it your be worth it in the end

And fuck, was it worth it this time. The hill slowly ended, the top of it nearing as you saw a pile of giant rocks, covered in graffiti. The sun was beautiful, hues of orange and purple painting the sky, clouds looking unreal in the light. He plopped down onto one of the rocks, facing west as you sat next to him, the box of chips on the ground between you.

Matty feels around in his pockets and you raise your eyebrows at him, wondering what he was doing. He grins as he pulls out a spliff from his jean pocket, presenting it proudly like it wasn't the most beat up joint you've ever seen in your life. Still, you were thankful, plucking it from between his fingers and lighting it for him.

“I think I might actually love you, mate.” you place the lit spliff between his lips, thanking his past self for remembering to bring weed, knowing you'll be craving it at the end of the day.

“Of course you do, and for the love of god, stop calling me mate. You’ve quite literally fucked me multiple times, maybe its time to drop it?” he huffs, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs. His expression changes when he hands it back to you, visibly more relaxed.

“What else would I call you?” Matty scoffs at your question, listing weird, couple pet names off the top of his head.

“Baby, darling, the love of my life. Fucking anything that doesn’t make me feel like im talking to Ross.”

you take a drag, listening to his little rant, nodding along as he rambles. You cough a bit when the smoke hits your lungs the wrong way, your eyes watering.

“Fine, love it is.” you choose at random, only to make Matty stop ruining your high. Groaning, he pushes you, almost making you lose your balance on the rock you were sitting on.

“Love of my life.” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure Matty, whatever shuts you up.”

“I know plenty of ways you can shut me up.” he coos, grinning wildly as his fingers trail up your bare arm.

“God, I forgot you have the sex drive of a fucking bonobo.” you roll your eyes, putting on a display of faux annoyance. Matty giggles at your response, smacking his knee as his laughter grows louder.

“I meant kiss me, but if you wanna-” oh god, he knew you would interpret it as something inherently sexual, especially if it came out of his mouth. You had fallen right into his little trap, his infectious laughter making it hard to even oretend to be fucked off at him.

“Fuck off, giz a kiss.” you mutter, crashing your lips against his. His tongue licks into your mouth, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Matty moans into the kiss, his hand gripping the base of your neck as you make out in the orange glow of the sunset, only pulling away to take drags of the spliff, even attempting to shotgun one.

You fail miserably, too high to think straight, let alone get your mouths that close together without one of you kissing the other out of pure instinct. At some point, you move to the ground, laying flat on your back as the warm summer air kisses your skin.

Matty’s shoulder is against yours, your fingers interlocked between your bodies. Neither of you speaks, silently admiring the stars that littered the night sky, glimmering against the darkness of it. Crickets chirp in the distance as the cars become less and less noticeable, a veil of calm draping over the two of you.

92 notes · View notes

niko-sasaki-dbd · 4 months

Text

So, I've seen several questions about this, so I'm gonna try to do my best to share my explanation of the:

THREE FLIGHTS AND ONE FERRY RIDE LATER

FIRST IF ALL: THE DESTINATION

Port Townsend is a city, located at the Quimper Peninsula, in the Jefferson County, Washington, USA.

There's several ways to get there, and one of them is by ferry, in the following map, you can see the geographical location, and the ferry route (Coupeville – Port Townsend).

Now, let's go back to the start!

FROM LONDON TO WASHINGTON (THREE FLIGHTS, I GUESS)

Here, the questions are not about the route, but the money. For a lot of people, the logical and immediate answer is that Crystal used her powers to get into an airplane, but I think is plausible that she didn't use them exactly to avoid paying, and if she did, she felt very guilty about it (I'm gonna explain this later).

What is certain is that she used her powers to avoid security and registration at the airport (all the airports), because there was no way a minor was leaving the country, or jumping from one jurisdiction to another without documentation, a passport or an ID.

About the route, there's a lot of options here, but if I believe Crystal didn't use her powers to avoid paying for the tickets, is simply because there were better options than taking three flights, and if she was going to stole the tickets anyway, why no choosing a direct flight? Or at least, a faster one?

I mean that could have saved her a lot of trouble, because going from one airport to another with Charles and Edwin quarreling around her is not exactly the definition of a holiday vacation.

I'm sure she would have chosen any flight that could take her to Washington the fastest, the thing is that she didn't.

She got into a flight with two connections, and secured herself a headache too, so I guess she used the money she had on her, or most logically, her money + the money from the agency (let's give the boys some credit, at the end of the day, they're good at their job, and they care about getting paid).

Now, the route could have been something like this (based on a real flight itinerary):

London, GB -> Frankfurt International, DE

Frankfurt International, DE -> Calgary Intl Airport, CA

Calgary Intl Airport, CA -> Seattle Tacoma Airport, US

[I'm using ISO 3166 country codes, instead of the airports abbreviations]

Which translates into:

First flight: 1 hour and 30 minutes (+1h 30min)

First layover: 2 hours (+2h)

Second flight: 10 hours (+10h)

Second layover: 5 hours (+5h)

Third flight: 2 hours (+2h)

All of these sums up 20 hours and 30 minutes of dealing with Bert and Ernie, without a possible escape.

But the point is, that there are faster routes; a direct flight, or even a flight with only one connection, has a duration of 14 hours or less and is only €100 more than the journey of nightmares I just described, so why did she pick the longer flight if she wasn't going to pay anyway? quality time with the boys? weren't they supposed to be in a hurry?

Obviously, is possible that the flight they took was the first available, or even that they took a flight to a different state, and then travelled within the US, but in either case, I'm sure they didn't pick the fastest route available and the only reason for that is the price of the plane tickets.

Additionally to that, Crystal didn't have much money left to pay for rent when they arrived, and she was the most worried about getting money out of the cases all the season.

FROM SEATTLE TO PORT TOWNSEND: WE'RE ALMOST THERE.

There's no direct way to get from the airport to Port Townsend, they need to get to the ferry terminal in Coupeville first.

Don't worry, is not that hard to get from Seattle to Coupeville, is a two-hour bus ride and the buses leave relatively often, and you can take one from the airport.

So, here we are, back at the beginning. Welcome to Port Townsend, you will surely be enchanted by its beautiful Victorian architecture and the witch kidnapping little girls.

Isn't it the coolest small town ever?

FINAL NOTE:

Clearly, I just did this for fun, but if it is helpful for some of you, that's great!

Doing this also made me think about some headcanons, and I'm gonna be analysing them for the next three business days.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective netflix #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives agency #crystal palace surname von hoverkraft #crystal palace #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #paineland #payneland #painland #paynland #chedwin #dbda fanfic #dbda meta #notebook entry #[s1e1] the case of crystal palace #dbda

73 notes · View notes

star2fishmeg · 1 year

Note

Hello! I’d like to request a fujio fic pwease. I was rewatching Romeo + Juliet with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes and thought Leo’s version of Romeo fits fujio’s personality really well. Basically a fujio x shy reader. Also I didn’t see him on your character list but would you ever consider writing for shoji in the future?

sɴᴏᴏᴢᴇ

Pairing: Hanaoka Fujio x afab!reader

Summary: Fujio and y/n take the same bus almost every day. Y/n’s too shy to speak to him while Fujio makes it his life mission to get y/n to stop running away

Warnings: fluff, swearing

Authors note: thank you for requesting! I also got your other request and I will absolutely give Sameoka a shot! This one’s a quieter fic, Fujio and fluff are just so cute, I couldn’t help myself

Request: above!

They had always walked in the same direction to and from school, but her nose always remained in her phone in the hope that Fujio wouldn’t engage in conversation. It’s not that she didn’t like him, he wasn’t repulsive in any way and usually focused more on chasing the birds or fishing for frogs once they’d left the bus. It was because he was cute that she didn’t want to talk to him. At all. When you only really see someone in the morning and sometimes the afternoon, what were you supposed to even talk about? She couldn’t even sit near him on the bus without her heart palpitating.

However, her streak of avoiding Fujio had come to an end, much to her dismay, when two of the other buses that ran to the countryside had been terminated, meaning all the country folk who needed access to the city took the same rush hour bus. Every day. Meaning less room to hide. Leading to Fujio noticing her and claiming the seat next to her. All. The. Time. But still, she never said a word, just sat on her phone, taking quiet side-eye glances at him when she couldn’t feel his eyes on her. And how she couldn’t help herself from looking once she had started. His handsome side profile, the way that he never seemed to stop smiling and helping the elderly with their groceries and then sprinting back to the bus before it left. Then it got to the point where it would just leave the two of them on the empty bus, side by side.

Sometimes he would talk, just spilling words about his day or telling a story. Sometimes asking rhetorical questions and other days reminiscing about his grandpa. She’d only respond with a small smile, her voice completely failing and resulting in either nodding or shaking her head when asked a question about herself. That’s how they bonded.

Fujio liked it. A lot. After a full day of Oya, retreating to her quiet company was like heaven. He found himself almost running to the bus stop, hoping she’d be there just so he could at least know she was okay.

Shit shit shit

She panted, slipping through the bus door as it closed behind her, scanning her pass she weaved her way through towards the back of the carriage to find at least a pole to hold onto. Fuck the council for terminating the other buses, it’s like they wanted to make things harder for people to commute. Shimming through to find her usual place, knowing it would be taken, the stress that had her in a chokehold completely ascended off her body seeing Fujio sat there instead of the sweaty bloke she had to settle with standing next to. For the first time, her eyes had contacted his, and even with his eyes, he could smile. With a small smile, she nodded, and he stood up, motioning for her to sit in her seat.

“I saved it for you.” He whispered, watching her sit down as his hand took the place on the pole. As usual, she scrolled through her phone, while he watched her with soft, fond eyes.

It wasn’t long until Fujio himself could sit next to her. He hadn’t realised how warm the vehicle was until he sat down, feeling his cheeks flush suddenly and eyes heavy. His eyes drifted closed, head leaning back against the window until he relaxed, y/n feeling a weight on her shoulder. Barely able to shift her head, she froze at the sight of him, slumped on her and peacefully sleeping while her brain raced at a hundred miles per hour, eyes skittish and unknowing of what to do. Did he want her to wake him up at their spot? Had he meant to fall asleep? She really didn’t want to have to speak to him, perhaps he’d wake up naturally and everything would be fine. Perhaps this consuming feeling in her stomach would pass quickly when he woke up soon.

When they had reached their stop, Fujio still stayed slumped on her, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Hands running through her hair in panic, y/n gently shook Fujio, her voice soft as – what Fujio would describe – an angel gracing his eardrums.

“Fujio, we’re here.” She mumbled, watching his eyes flutter open and a smile form on his lips. How dare he look at her like that. Like she was the treasure he’d been trying to find all along. She avoided his gaze, standing up to leave in a hurry.

“Let’s go home, y/n!” his voice rasped, linking their arms together while he pulled her through the doors and down the gravel path.

That was the beginning.

Tuesday was the same, bus crammed to the brim, but this time y/n had managed to get her seat comfortably. The only horrendous element being Fujio standing over her, and the angle she saw him. Had his jaw always been that sharp? His posture always look that…protective? She’d seen a great deal of his personality, but never his physical appearance. At that moment she started to understand why the girls opposite her giggled over him all the time. Maybe she did like his outgoing attitude a bit more than she expected, maybe him doing the talking filled some sort of void. She leant her head back against the window, shutting out the world around her delving into her own.

She was only brought back into reality when Fujio’s head found comfort on her shoulder again. His arms folded and surprisingly soft hair tickling her neck. She couldn’t lie to herself much longer; the mullet did look good on him. Incredibly good.

Yet again she hoped he’d wake up before their stop. Yet again he had not. What made him so tired recently? Was Oya that tiring? Did they even study? Questions she’d never get answers to.

She poked him, “Fujio.” He stirred, lips forming a smile again but choosing to keep his eyes closed. Her breath hitched, hesitantly bringing her hand to his head, and giving it a gentle pat before repeating his name. When he did decide to ‘wake up’, his chest tightened at the blush that dusted her cheeks.

“Sorry, y/n. I’m so tired lately. Thanks for waking me up again!” He winked.

Thursday was like the other days, except Fujio hadn’t turned up for the bus on Wednesday. And as much as she refused to admit it, it felt empty without him. She missed his update on his day, the way he’d look at her like she was a deity that had graced him. Just one afternoon felt painfully long. But he was back on Thursday, slouching back into the tatty seat, the afternoon sun giving his skin a warm glow. Y/n knew he’d dozed off again, his breathing pattern changed, and his shoulders relaxed. Another afternoon where she finally had the chance to properly look at him secretly, and noticed the veins raised on his hands and arms as if he’d just been working out, his nails not too long but not bitten short either and how coarse his palms were.

She tilted her head against the window again, watching the holding straps swing until her lap had gained a suspicious weight. Gaze flickering down, Fujio’s head lay comfortably; one hand flat on her knee and thumb rubbing gently. Her stomach protruded into her throat, her cheeks burning, breathing almost erratic. She had just become accustomed to her shoulder being a pillow, but this was another level of ‘what the fuck do I do?’. Hanaoka Fujio would be the death of her.

Friday, one more day of Fujio sleeping on her then she could catch a break.

She had barely enough energy to fight for a decent place on the bus, she hoped that all the people standing with her felt the same. As usual, you had the anomalies, such as the boys from her school making comments about people, especially her, heckling about if she talked more the boys would ask her out and all that high school shit that doesn’t matter. However, while y/n may have not been bothered by it, Fujio was fuming, so much so that his arm snaked over her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side.

“Sorry for the sudden gesture, I’ll let go when we’re on the bus.” He leaned into her ear and whispered. The boys stopped their giggling. The Hanaoka Fujio of Oya High with y/n? Lord save their souls, they’d heard what happened at Oya.

Even on the bus, she felt those boys’ glares on her. All she did was scroll through her phone, Fujio’s head resting on hers and watching over her shoulder. She had become used to him, even if he’d become bolder over the week, she was strangely quick to adapt. But it didn’t last long before she closed the screen, eyes drifting close and letting her body fall into his side. Giving the boys a serpentine glare, his arm once again slid around her shoulders, keeping her comfortably close to him so she could rest peacefully this time.

“Sleep tight, pretty.” He placed a feathery kiss to her head.

H&L harem (if you wanna be tagged/removed in future H&L content, comment or lemme know via ‘chat to me bbygorl’ :D);

@straysugzhpe @airbendertendou @strxwberrychocolate @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @rinwhore @simpforchuchu @thatpoindexterpixy @rainisawriter @cheshirecatuniverse

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

#fujio hanaoka x reader #fujio hanaoka #hanaoka fujio #high&low #high&low x reader #high&low the worst #high and low #highandlow #high & low #oya high #high&low the worst x reader #high&low the worst cross x #high&low the worst cross #high&low the worst x cross #high&low the worst cross x reader

148 notes · View notes

rootedinrevisions · 8 days

Text

Twisted Fate: Part 3

SUMMARY: As the cleanup from the storm continues, Tyler and Lex are forced to say their final goodbyes to each other.

WARNINGS: Angst.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

PART 1 I Part 2

I woke up to the harsh reality of another day. The weight of what I had to do pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Today would likely be the last day I could recover anything from my destroyed home. I knew Tyler had already grabbed a few things, but I needed to see for myself. I had to be sure nothing important was left behind.

I got ready for the day slowly, the dread hanging over me like a dark cloud. After a quick shower and pulling on the clothes provided by the Red Cross, I brushed my hair and put on a brave face. With a deep breath, I stepped out of my hotel room and headed down to the lobby, where the hotel offered free coffee and breakfast.

As I approached the breakfast area, I spotted Tyler and Kate, already there and chatting over their morning coffee. They seemed to be sharing a lighthearted moment, laughing softly. My heart ached a little at the sight. It was clear they shared an easy camaraderie, an affection that was evident in the way they looked at each other and the gentle touches they exchanged.

"Morning," I greeted, forcing a smile as I approached the breakfast bar.

"Hey, Lex," Tyler responded with a grin. "How'd you sleep?"

"Not too bad, considering," I replied, grabbing a cup of coffee and pouring myself a generous amount. I took a sip, savoring the warmth and caffeine. "What about you two?"

"Same here," Kate said, her smile friendly and open. "We're heading out to chase the storm today. It looks like it's going to be a big one."

I nodded, my mind already drifting back to the ruins of my home. "I'm going back to my house today. I want to see if there's anything else I can salvage."

Tyler's expression shifted from relaxed to concerned in an instant. He looked at me, then back at Kate, clearly torn. "Do you need help? I mean, I can come with you."

Kate gave him a look, understanding but firm. "Tyler, we need you with us for this chase. It's going to be intense."

I quickly interjected, not wanting to be a burden. "No, it's fine. I appreciate the offer, Tyler, but I'll manage. It's something I need to do on my own anyway."

Tyler's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Okay, but if you need anything, call me. I'll come as soon as I can."

I appreciated his concern, but I could see how much he wanted to go with Kate and the team. "Thanks, Tyler. I'll be fine."

As we finished our breakfast, I couldn't help but notice the way Tyler looked at Kate. There was something there, something deeper than just friendship. It stung a bit, but I knew it wasn't my place to ask. Instead, I focused on the task ahead, mentally preparing myself for the emotional toll it would take to go back to what was left of my home.

As I waited in line for one of the buses that would take me back to the town where my home had been destroyed, the weight of the day settled heavily on my shoulders. People around me murmured quietly, their faces marked with the same exhaustion and sorrow that I felt. I tried to focus on the task ahead, but my mind kept drifting back to Tyler and Kate, to the easy way they interacted, and to the storm that was drawing them away.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice Tyler approaching until he was right in front of me. "Hey, Lex," he said, his voice breaking through my reverie.

I looked up, surprised to see him standing there. "Tyler? What are you doing here?"

He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I thought you might need some company. I told the team I was going to sit this one out. I want to be there for you if you need it."

I blinked, trying to process what he was saying. "You're not going with them?"

Tyler shook his head. "Nope. They can handle it without me for a day. This is more important."

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. I was touched by his offer, though part of me still felt a pang of guilt. "Are you sure? I mean, I don't want to take you away from your work."

He shrugged, his smile becoming a little more genuine. "I'm sure. Besides, you shouldn't have to go through this alone."

I felt a lump forming in my throat. I wasn't used to people going out of their way for me, and the fact that Tyler was willing to put aside his plans to help me meant more than I could express. "Thank you, Tyler. I really appreciate it."

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the parking lot. "My truck's over there. I'll get you there faster than any bus."

I stepped out of the line, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. "Alright. Let's go."

We walked to his truck in silence, the gravity of the day ahead of us making small talk seem pointless. Once we were on the road, I glanced over at him. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

Tyler kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was gentle. "I know. But I wanted to. You've been through enough already. If I can help make this a little easier for you, then it's worth it."

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."

He glanced over and gave me a reassuring smile. "Anytime, Lex. Anytime."

As we drove toward the ruins of my home, I felt a sense of calm I hadn't expected. With Tyler by my side, I felt a little stronger, a little more capable of facing what lay ahead. For the first time in a while, I felt like I wasn't alone.

Tyler and I parked the truck a short distance from what was left of my house. The sight of the rubble, a stark contrast to the home I'd known, hit me like a punch to the gut. Tyler, ever observant, noticed my hesitation and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"Take your time, Lex," he said softly. "We'll go through this together."

Nodding, I took a deep breath and stepped forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. We began sifting through the debris, starting with what had once been the living room. As we uncovered broken furniture and scattered belongings, I found myself sharing stories from my past.

"This was where I put up my Christmas tree," I said, pointing to a corner now buried under shattered glass and twisted metal. "I used mom's tattered old ornaments. The ones she insisted on using every year."

Tyler smiled, his eyes soft with understanding. "Sounds like she had a lot of sentimental value in those ornaments."

"She did," I replied, my voice tinged with nostalgia. "She said they held all our family memories."

We moved to the next room, my old bedroom. I found a framed photo of my childhood dog, Max, the glass cracked but the image still intact. "Max was my first pet. He was always there when I needed a friend."

Tyler chuckled. "Dogs have a way of being there for us, don't they?"

As we continued, I shared more stories, each one a piece of my past. But then, in what had once been the spare bedroom, I found a small jewelry box buried under the debris. I opened it with trembling hands and found my parents' wedding rings inside, still gleaming despite the chaos around them.

My breath caught in my throat as a wave of grief crashed over me. "These were... my parents' wedding rings. They never took them off."

Tyler knelt beside me, his expression gentle. "They were really special people, Lex. From the first time I met them, they welcomed me with open arms. They were always so proud of you."

"They were," I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes. "Losing them... it was the hardest thing I've ever gone through."

For the first time since their death, I allowed myself to speak about the pain. "I felt so lost without them. I didn't know how to cope, so I pushed everyone away. Including you. I'm sorry, Tyler. I shouldn't have shut you out like I did."

He listened intently, his usually boisterous demeanor replaced by a quiet, comforting presence. "It's okay, Lex. I understand. Sometimes, when we're hurting, we don't know how to let others in."

The dam broke, and I began to sob, the weight of my grief pouring out. Tyler pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. "It's alright," he murmured. "You don't have to hold it all in anymore. I'm here."

I clung to him, feeling the warmth and solidity of his embrace. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe enough to let my emotions flow freely. Tyler held me until my sobs subsided, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of my feelings.

When I finally calmed down, I pulled back slightly and looked up at him. "Thank you, Tyler. I didn't realize how much I needed this."

He nodded, his eyes filled with empathy. "We all need someone to lean on sometimes. I'm glad I could be here for you."

I wiped my eyes, managing a small smile. "What about you? You always seem so strong and confident. Do you ever feel like it's too much?"

Tyler sighed, his gaze distant. "All the time. Storm chasing... it's exhilarating, but it's also dangerous. I've seen things that haunt me. And it's hard to maintain relationships when you're constantly on the move. People don't understand the risks, the obsession. I've lost friends and relationships because of it."

His vulnerability was unexpected but deeply appreciated. "I'm sorry, Tyler. I didn't realize it was that tough for you."

He shrugged, a hint of his usual bravado returning. "It's the life I chose. But sometimes, I wonder if it's worth it. If maybe I'm chasing the wrong kind of storm."

I reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You're not alone, Tyler. Whatever storms we're facing, we'll get through them together. And I mean, you've got the best crew I know. You couldn't have better people around you."

He smiled a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. "Thanks, Lex. That means a lot."

We sat there for a moment, amidst the ruins of my past, finding solace in each other's presence. In that shared silence, I felt a flicker of hope, a sense that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

I turned and took one last, lingering look at the remnants of my house, my heart heavy with a mix of sorrow and resignation. I turned to Tyler, who was watching me with a gentle, understanding expression.

"What's next?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Tyler glanced around, then back at me. "How about we take a break? There's a park nearby. We could use some fresh air."

I nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "That sounds nice."

We made their way to the park, the silence between us comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Once we arrived, we found a bench under the shade of a large oak tree. The park was quiet, with only a few people scattered about, giving us the solitude we needed.

We sat side by side, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. For a while, we talked about lighter topics, sharing stories from our past and reminiscing about happier times. I found myself laughing at Tyler's anecdotes, momentarily forgetting the weight of my current situation.

Just as I was starting to really relax, Tyler's phone rang. He glanced at the screen and answered, his tone immediately softening. "Hey, Kate. What's up?"

I listened to the conversation, my heart sinking as I noticed the concern in Tyler's voice. He spoke to Kate with a tenderness that was unmistakable, his eyes lighting up at the sound of her voice.

"Yeah, I can help with that," Tyler said, nodding as he listened. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll be there."

As he ended the call, my suspicions were confirmed. The way Tyler talked to Kate, the softness in his voice, and the concern in his eyes—it was clear he had feelings for her. I felt a pang of jealousy and sadness, realizing I had to accept that Tyler had moved on.

Tyler turned to me, his expression apologetic. "Kate needs help with some equipment. I should go give her a hand."

I forced a smile, trying to hide my disappointment. "Of course. Go ahead. She needs you."

Tyler hesitated for a moment, studying my face. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," I assured him. "I just need a little more time here."

He nodded, though he seemed reluctant to leave. "If you need anything, just call me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Tyler," I said softly. "I appreciate everything you've done."

He gave me one last, lingering look before standing up. "Take care, Lex. I'll see you around."

As Tyler walked away, I watched him go, my heart aching with a mix of emotions. I knew I had to accept that Tyler's life had moved in a different direction, one that didn't include me. The realization was painful, but it was a step I needed to take to begin healing and moving forward.

Sitting alone on the park bench, I let myself feel the full weight of her emotions. I knew the road ahead would be challenging, but I also knew I had the strength to navigate it. And while Tyler had moved on, I would find my own path, one step at a time.

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction

29 notes · View notes

unholyverse · 6 months

Text

awtto toronto is my ryden seattle: a rambling

yeah yeah ik ryden seattle has been debunked but this is similar enough to that and seems more plausible so. bear with me here. thanks to my good friend @filthyjanuary for actually watching all of this go down and having pics so i can be insane about it and write stuff like this lol.

also disclaimer before anyone tries calling me out. i don't actually know anyone in the band and this is all speculation for the sake of good ol fashioned real person fiction meaning don't take this too seriously and don't show this to the band or anyone connected to them. cool? cool.

night one: september 4, 2022

waterparks were on their final opening spots (if you don't count la night 4) of their leg of mcr's return tour in toronto at scotiabank arena.

this was already a strenuous tour despite the short length because not only would this mark parx's first time playing arenas, but it directly followed their run on the sad summer tour that year, putting some extra strain on them. in some of my mutuals' words, awsten was annoying and sounded like shit.

up to this point, waterparks had been doing free meet & greets after shows. however, this would be the only show (besides la) they would not do m&g because awsten posted this on his story at roughly 11:21 pm.

however, he was seen leaving the venue with otto roughly around 10:50 pm. a fan had caught them outside the venue by the buses and tweeted about the experience.

(note: the tweet embeds have timestamps in UTC; these tweets were posted on the 4th at 10-11pm EST and the UTC version is equivalent to that)

not anything too weird. they just left the set earlier than the rest of the band and crew since awsten was feeling out of it; lucas and geoff were seen leaving during the last song anyway.

the weird stuff starts with the fact that otto flooded the showers backstage (audio taken from this interview).

otto estimates that around 2:00 am, he was scrambling to find custodial staff to help him clean up his shower mess (literally a situation only he of all people would get in lol).

weird though, right? if otto was so concerned with cleaning up that mess, why would he leave with awsten long before he even tried? and even then, why would otto leave the set of his favorite band ever to go with awsten?

also let's shift to the day after: supposedly an anon of mine had met awsten in a starbucks the next day and said he was wearing the same clothes he had wore onstage on the 4th.

they also said he smelled good but he always does

this would align with a couple of things i already thought were likely. there are a couple of starbucks locations in the area, but if awsten and otto had walked out on their own instead of with the crew, they were likely within a short distance of the arena to do so. as you can see there is not only a hotel within walking distance of the arena, but there is also a starbucks within the vicinity of the hotel.

there's no proper way to put this and this is just rpf madness anyway but my theory is: they were sucking and fucking that night and awsten was tired enough after he slept in his stage clothes and sprayed a bunch of cologne on him for his coffee run the next day. end of story.

night two: september 5, 2022

this show would mark parx's last opening slot for mcr before la night 4. my friend said awsten sounded better that night. can you sound better a night after getting dicked down? who knows that's an answer for science.

also after their set, parx were caught watching the show on the floor and awsten was sitting down with otto's hand on his shoulder and it was very cute.

anyway, parx were able to do once final free m&g that night. one thing to note though was otto and awsten's change of clothes between their set and the m&g.

(terrible cropping and sorry to the fan i cropped out)

as you can (kinda) see, awsten is wearing a red tank top and otto is wearing a yellow shirt during the show. however, once their set was over, awsten and otto decided to wear matching mcr merch (and not tell geoff because he's still wearing the same shirt from onstage).

what would make these two do this who knows. they're no strangers to sharing or matching clothes anyway but it is sorta funny to me how they're matching like a couple and leaving their own bandmate to third wheel that lol.

was something in the air between awsten and otto in toronto? maybe, but it's not like we'll ever know. i can only imagine what they could've done.....

#awtto #rpf #welcome to my twisted mind

64 notes · View notes

gotham-ruaidh · 7 months

Text

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart || Chapter 17C: I'm Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 18: Turn The Page

New York City || September 1988

So you walk into this restaurant All strung out from the road And you feel the eyes upon you As you're shakin' off the cold You pretend it doesn't bother you But you just want to explode

-- “Turn The Page,” Bob Seger (1971) [click here to listen]

Claire Fraser took a long drink from the glass of water beside the bathroom sink. Closed her eyes. Counted five deep breaths.

Bob Seger’s voice flowed through the tiny portable radio that she and Jamie took everywhere on the road.

Here I am, on the road again There I am, up on the stage There I go playin' the star again There I go, turn the page

She opened her eyes. Listened to the man sing so passionately, so desperately, about his exhaustion and heartbreak from living in the spotlight. Touring relentlessly. Feeling displaced in his own life.

“Claire?”

Jamie poked his head around the door, humming along with the song.

Not for the first time, Claire was grateful that the tour had wildly exceeded all expectations – the private plane instead of tour buses; limos to and from the gig; and hotel suites that were so large they typically had two bathrooms.

Not that they minded sharing, of course – but living on top of each other could be hard sometimes. On nights like these, she needed her own space.

And now, Jamie met her eyes in the mirror.

Enjoyed his surprise.

“What…you…”

She turned to face him. Took a moment to admire him in all black – the dress shirt that she had ironed for him this morning, black jeans, black belt with silver studs, boots. The leather jacket whose inside pocket she tucked a love note into every morning.

She raised her arms. “What do you think?”

The red dress wasn’t something she had intended to buy, that afternoon in Miami when the band needed a few hours with Colum to discuss the European leg of next year’s tour (“the leg owed to the fans, after the shit Jamie pulled last year before he got clean,” he had reminded them). She had kindly suggested to Charlotte and Molly – Angus’ groupie girlfriends – that rather than spend another afternoon inside, they explore the shopping mall attached to the hotel. Jamie had insisted that one of the roadies go with them, to deal with any photographers or aggressive fans – but Claire had only smiled and said that it would be fine.

She had been correct, of course. It was such a breath of fresh air to walk up and down the long corridors, eat Cuban sandwiches in the food court, browse the selections in the department stores and specialty boutiques. Anonymous. To interact with sales clerks not as the wife/girlfriend of the biggest rock musicians in the world – but simply as three women having a nice afternoon out together.

And, truth be told, it was good to get some time with Charlotte and Molly. They asked – respectfully – about her relationship with Jamie, and she in turn asked – respectfully – about their relationship with Angus. Watched them tear up when Charlotte started talking about the uncertainty before them when the tour ended, and when Molly wondered whether they would ever be enough.

Not quite knowing what to say, Claire absently pulled through a clearance rack – and then…

“Ohmygod Claire!” Molly exclaimed. “You have to try that one on!”

Startled, Claire focused on the sleeveless, ankle-length red dress.

“Jamie will freak when he sees that on you!” Charlotte smiled, shifting an armful of lingerie to look closer.

Claire pursed her lips. Thinking.

“Come on, Claire! You need to look like the rockstar wife you are.” Molly grabbed the dress. “Let’s go try it on. Come on!”

Initially she had only wanted to placate Molly. But when she saw herself in the dressing room mirror, she immediately knew how Jamie would react.

Three weeks later, she was correct.

She swirled slightly, enjoying the feel of the fabric swishing around her calves. The bite of cold air on her bare chest and belly. And the incredulous look on Jamie’s face, eyes dark.

“It’s very…red,” he stammered. “Are you wearing a bra?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s our first event as a couple. And as husband and wife. We need to make a splash.”

He swallowed. Stepped closer to take her elbows, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I suppose. Every man will have his eyes on you tonight.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll only feel yours.”

His eyes darkened. “I like knowing, that at any time tonight, I can just do this…” One hand trailed across the fabric of the dress, over her breast, until it reached the strip of exposed skin spanning her neck to her navel. “And then this…” His thumb edged under the flap, teasing the underside of her breast, in the way he knew would drive her absolutely crazy.

Her lips parted. His eyes locked on hers – taking in the red tones sweeping her eyes and cheeks, and her scarlet lipstick, and the silver hoops hanging in her ears.

“Can we just stay here tonight?” he asked softly, not exactly joking.

She shook her head. “Jamie, Lou fucking Reed came to the show at Madison Square Garden last night and not only insisted on meeting you and complimenting your music, he invited us to his party tonight. He’s had his own addiction issues, he’s not a dummy. And we’ve talked about this, we can’t avoid parties forever. It will be good for all those people to see you.”

He removed his thumb from her breast, and bridged the gap between them to lean his forehead against hers. Without words, their hands found each other, twining and grasping.

As was their habit now, he pressed their thumbs together. The C she had tattooed at the base of his thumb, mingling with the J he had tattooed at the base of her thumb.

“It’s going to be so hard, Claire. Not that I don’t want to see people, or show you off, or help you get to know them.” He swallowed. “I’ve been to these kinds of parties before. Huge open bar. Waitresses in low cut dresses handing around trays of drugs like it was a tray of snacks. People doing lines on the tables. People…fucking in the bathroom.”

She swallowed. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. You can be my excuse to stop talking to someone if it gets too awkward. Or to say no, if something like that is offered to you. You know I don’t care, right?”

He nodded. Hands shaking.

“Do you want to call Raymond?”

He shook his head. “Not right now. Tomorrow, definitely. Let me see how I get through this. Maybe we agree on a few points for tonight?”

“Anything. I love you.”

He smiled. “OK. I’ve got gum in my pocket – that will keep us from getting too thirsty. And if we need something to drink, we’ll ask for club soda, and we’ll watch the drink poured in front of us. I don’t care if it’s awkward. I can’t trust.”

She released one hand from his grip, and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Got it. And you know it’s easier if we touch, right? Hold my hand. Put your hand on my hip. I don’t care. I’ll be right there with you. And you’ll be right there for me.”

He stepped closer, and she parted her legs, and he stood between them. Pressing her hips against the bathroom counter.

“If we get separated, Jamie, I promise I’ll stay true to my sobriety, and to you.”

“I promise the same. I only want you.”

“I’ll touch my letter on you. Will you?”

“Yes,” he swallowed. Kissing the arch of her eyebrow. “That will help. But let’s also agree on a signal, if one of us feels need for love. And the need to go.”

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. Breath so warm on his lips. “How about…” She tapped the center of his chest. “Touch here. Close to your heart. That’s where I feel need, when I want to love you. Is that where you feel it, too?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “It pools here. Like fire. God, I need to kiss you, Claire. Please let me kiss you.”

She turned her face away, smiling. “I don’t want you to smudge my lipstick. And I want you to hold that thought all night, Jamie. Hold on to that pool of fire. Can you do that for me?”

She felt his smile against her jaw. “Gonna be so, so good when we get back here,” he growled.

“I know, baby. It will keep us strong and true tonight. I love you.”

He pulled back a bit. Raised her hand to his lips. Kissed her wedding ring.

“I love you, Dr. Mrs. Fraser.”

She smiled. “I love you, you idiot. Come on. The limo should be waiting.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #little bit better than i used to be #jamie and claire

61 notes · View notes