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tragicvictoriantears · 1 month ago

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how to show love to a xenomorph. 『 chapter one. 』

ʚɞ xenomorph!sylus x fem!reader (mdni).

INFORMATION !!YOU MUST!! KNOW BEFORE READING: this fic is safe for people who have no clue about the alien movie series. But you also have to keep in mind that all the characters I added, and the small plots happening in this fic are meant to explain (poorly but I tried) the world build of the movies and ALSO to capture its theme. I know a lot of you want direct contact with Sylus from the start (don’t worry, it’s gonna happen a lot in this chapter) but, please, remember that this is a mix between lads and alien. I had to make it this way to also be satisfied as an alien movie series fan.

NO SMUT THIS CHAPTER YOU FREAKS! A lot of plot btw.

!WARNING!WARNING!WARNING!: gore, failed sexual harassment, death, suicide, mutilation, a lot of curse words, descriptions of explicit violence, life threatening situations, sexual suggestiveness (fine, I will feed you a bit), mind games, blood, descriptions of severed body parts.

LOOOOOOOOOOONG CHAPTER. Idk how many words, I wrote this w my phone on my notes and only edited with my leptop.

Perhaps your shipmate's ripped stomach was the start of all the other consequences that led to a bunch of unskilled, clueless people to find themselves imprisoned in small and metal spaces. Maybe it was the first time you encountered a creature you never imagined could exist. Maybe it was the fascinating way they develop and evolve from an infant to a full grown adult. Maybe it was their high-pitched, terrifying sounds, harmonising with the screams of its victims whose deaths had already been written. It was a fucked up fanfare that made unmistakably clear that you are inferior to them.

At first you weren't even aware that anything had even started. It came like a sudden jolt. The following events were so fast, it felt like some unseen force pressed a button and a grim, living version of a science fiction film started to unfold.

"The XX-121 Xenomorph,” the synthetic person said — his arm mangled with white fluid leaking from it. “It’s an endoparasitoid extraterrestrial species. The perfect organism. I assure you, it is something you have never seen before in any book and data. Their effectiveness in killing, multiplying and the ability to survive in the harshest of conditions is unmatched. Also intelligent beings made to hunt and reproduce fast.” His voice faltered but didn’t fail. “Do you understand how fundamental they are for the human species? They are your ticket to survive anything space has to throw at you, to become the elite species in the universe."

Footsteps began echoing in the distance that day. The footsteps of your colleagues armed and motivated to kill the Synthetic. That's why you received that secret file. He had even slipped it into your mission bag himself without you having much to say in that regard.

"These files are essential. I don't have the time to explain everything. Read them. Study them if you can — that is more preferable. Make sure you escape this planet alive. Forget about your comrades, sacrifice them if necessary. Most importantly, bring this organism alive with you. You are a smart one, you can put two and two together. You must already know how essential it is for evolution. I assure you that you will not only become the salvation of your human species but you will also be generously — so generously compensated. Far beyond anything they promised you for this mission."

They were getting closer. All you could do was swallow hard and allow a chill to run down your spine. You can’t recall what you felt or thought at that moment. How could you? It’s not so easy to remember certain details after you witnessed a massacre straight out of a nightmare. One’s mind refusal to process? Senses that shut down? Still can’t recall. But your awareness definitely returned when the Synthetic spoke its final words.

"Especially to preserve the hybrid. He’s a miracle. His intelligence, ability to learn faster than us. A flabbergasting fusion of human consciousness and Xenomorph instinct. He represents the dream that the Weyland-Yutani Corporation fights for. He is the ideal that you must deliver to our laboratories to study him further, in the name of humanity. He is exceptional down to his smallest breath. He even gave himself a name."

Then came the axe. And the daggers. And a bat. They tore into his back. The white synthetic liquid splattered your uniform, ended up pooling across the cold metal floor. For the first time you saw the threads that held a Synthetic together, a system that kept them functioning. That's why you felt no pity when his back was destroyed, nor when an axe split his forehead like it was a mere piece of a log. He was a machine, a tool crafted and designed by humans, created to serve. You could describe them as smart servants. In the end, he was just put out of commission. Machines like him are replaceable. But you are not. Or the creatures. Especially the so-called precious hybrid with a name.

༺☆༻

Your were born on Jackson's Star. Planet LV-410 of the Alpheios system. A very scenic name for a mining and agriculture colony. A colony owned and operated by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. “The Corporation”. A terrible place, really. Like every corporate entity that expanded beyond the Milky Way, they exploit every resource they can get their greedy hands on. You are a resource yourself. Human exploitation means nothing when profit stands so tall. Mandatory farming, back-breaking labour, small credit, the possibility of working in the mines brought you closer to the idea of giving up on everything. Although you were raised there, you could never adapt. The feeling of belonging? What’s even that? Let’s not forget about the absence of sunlight. Thick clouds, endless storms, constant thunder — for you, that represented the sky.

That's why you cried when you first saw the sun. The day you were recruited into the search team. It was also the day you learned that the Company that had been working you to death is involved in more areas than just making profit.

A renowned scientist and researcher had vanished along with his ship. His mission, according to official documents, was to study and analyze new lifeforms. At least that was the surface-level story. Then a faint signal was intercepted by the parent company. All that bullshit about classified content, heavily encrypted and urgent. That triggered immediate action — rescue teams dispatched without delay. The problem though? Even with this stupidly advanced technology, the source of the signal couldn’t be pinpointed. Hundreds of spaceships were launched on what was labeled as a “noble” search and rescue mission. They made such a big deal too. Aaaaalll over the news. In truth, the mission made no progress. For months there was no trace of the scientist, his crew or his ship.

The Weyland-Yutani Corporation gave a clear directive, clearly showing desperation: sending teams of volunteers. In short, they were willing to send anyone, no matter how insignificant and unqualified they were. And each volunteer spaceship had an officer and a non-commissioned officer to ensure discipline, supervision, maintain order and the smooth running of the operation. Also making sure that none of the volunteers would try to take advantage of the circumstances to escape from the corporation's control.

There was, of course, a reward: freedom. Freedom from the colony's labor system, big numbers and the possibility of relocating wherever you wanted. So, basically, freedom. Obviously, granted only to those who found the missing ship.

You volunteered as an act of “ultima ratio”, your last resort to escape and change your life. Small chances, possible wasted time and more work that waits for you home — those were your expectations once you witnessed the number of ships prepared for the launch. You traveled with three other ships that were always close (a kind of group trip). Each ship carried ten volunteers. None of you had access to weapons or most of the ship’s sections. Only the officers and their second-in-command enjoyed such privileges.

Repetitive days. Monitoring, preparing meals, listen to commands, cleaning, try not bang your head into a wall challenge. At least it was easier compared to your life on colony.

A signal appeared. “Unidentified planet.”

The officers of all four ships consulted among themselves and made a quiet decision to land without notifying the company. According to artificial intelligence’s analysis, the planet was far too insignificant for a renowned scientist to be there. Why? Sure, there was breathable oxygen but NO life. And apparently that scientist was way too obsessed with undiscovered organisms. So the plan had the following events: land, snap some photos for proof, check for any signals and leave. A routine check to be claimed as “effort”.

You could actually breathe on the planet. Although the air was humid and unpleasant. The landscape was covered with black rocks and caves. Strong winds and gray dust that kept getting in your eyes. A regular Monday for some. It felt like stepping into a volcano without lava and veiled with fog. The moon was a bit visible, unfortunately shrouded by mist that seemed to rise naturally to high altitudes. It might have posed a visual disadvantage, but the planet's sky was not dark. It glowed a pale green, devoid of stars.

One officer noticed a lack of signal beyond the planet. That could also have meant your departure. But another signal appeared instantly. A signal that belonged to the ship you had been sent to find.

Warmth filled your chest, an energy you had never felt before coursed through your body similarly to drinking seven redbulls. Your comrades seemed to share it too. Sweeeet freedom, that’s what you sang along with your fellow crew members. The officers and non-commissioned officers were content with the idea of a promotion, so none of them considered leaving the planet to inform the other search teams. Their ranks, although far superior than yours, meant nothing in such a vast corporation. Naturally, they were determined to take the credit for themselves and show a little greed.

You and two female companions from your Expedition Ship Number 2 — Miranda and Letiția— walked arm in arm, laughing as you moved forward alongside the others. Each of you began to verbalize your future plans that awaited you once you received your reward. Most of them were stupid and funny, but they felt important. Letiția laughed when one man confessed that he just wanted a girlfriend, no matter how ugly and mean she might be, his dream is to drown her in gifts.

The fun was cut short. The memory of that time is still vague. You didn't even hear the thing that leapt on her face. You just stumbled in shock and fell. But you can still picture it in your mind, to this day, Letiția’s body moving disorganizedly. She spun, arms flapping, her screams muffled. Multiple pairs of legs rushed past you. Miranda grabbed your arm to help you up, and that’s when you saw her body collapsing into the ashy ground before the crowd of colleagues blocked your view.

You disconnected. The details of how you reached the target ship—and how that strange thing which reminded you of a scorpion, finally retreated and died out of nowhere—remain a blur. The ship, the one everyone had been searching for, was empty and almost completely destroyed. It looked as if someone had deliberately planted explosives. The mood turned horrific. The moments of blind euphoria fueled by naivety had evaporated.

Letiția seemed okay for a while considering that massive Arachnid-like invertebrate (or whatever it was) had attached itself to her face and forced a long appendage down her throat(and who knows where it went). Many whispered that the creature had probably injected a virus or poison into her and that she was now sick.

The first stage was a noticeable slowing down. The second stage was the pallor, even her pink lips lost their colour and dark circles formed under her eyes, as if life was being actively drained from her. The third stage, short but understandably concerning, was excessive salivation. You tried to help. You gave her water which she immediately vomited, stroke her hair, offered her one of your protein bars which she constantly refused. You ended up helping her walk, each step harder than the last. Her once straight and confident posture had become hunched and painfully sensitive.

A man from Ship Number 4 offered to carry her. But as soon as you handed her over, she collapsed again due to multiple convulsions overtaking her body. It looked like she was being electrocuted constantly. Her movements spiked from zero to a hundred in seconds. The crowd gathered again but that time, you stayed in the “front seat”. You remember dropping to your knees and trying your best to figure out how to help her, even if it meant a simple touch to let her know she was not alone. But a colleague shoved you aside.

“Her pulse is racing, I can feel movements in her abdominal area,” the man said, jus as foam began to pour from Letiția’s mouth. Her blood vessels were completely bursted, exposing her blue eyes in a grotesque way. She looked at you — right at you — in a form of a pleading that you still can’t forget: Don’t let me die.

Her back arched when the convulsing intensified. Something was moving inside of her. A small bump at first. Then it grew more evident and violent, as though something was forcing its way out of her stomach. It kept going despite the men trying to hold her still. You ended up holding her head to stop it from slamming into the floor. You wiped away her sweat, her snot, her tears. None of it felt real. You and Letiția had shared everything. Slept beside each other, ate together, talked everyday for over a month. She was strong, ambitious, the backbone of your hope that you won’t return empty-handed. And a single mother of two children that are still waiting for her at home.

You’ve witnessed plenty of deaths from exhaustion, mining accidents, radiation. But nothing like that. Nothing so sudden and brutal.

It was a hard watch. Her stomach ended up pierced. Everyone recoiled to avoid the red liquid gushing out of her. You allowed it to stain you (you remember this detail but you don't know why). The sounds coming from her belly made everything clear. There was something alive inside her and it wanted out.

Then it happened. The tearing continued agonisingly, more of her blood spattered the air. That’s when you saw it for te first time.

The Xenomorph.

Of course, you didn't know what it was or what it could do. The appearance was for sure unforgettable. A slick, beige-yellow skin smeared in your friend’s blood, small and sharp teeth, no eyes, long and curved head, skeletal structure that looked alien and terrifying. It clawed and tore its way out of her, shrieking and thrashing.

You lowered your head. You didn’t see it fully emerge and scurry away. Nor your comrades that tried to catch it. How could you? Death was staring at you. And you were staring back.

You learnt that Death’s eyes were blue, empty and filled with helpless tears.

On your first day on the unidentified planet, you are able to remember the following: after Letiția’s death, the creature grew rapidly. You encountered a corporate synthetic whose ranking was above your officers. You learned that the planet was crawling with these things. The Synthetic had no intention to save you, too preoccupied with capturing a live specimen. People started dying (oh no). Either skewered through the chest by tails with sharped ends, or drilled in the skull by secondary jaws hidden inside the alien’s mouths. Panic naturally erupted. You ran with your crew and the Synthetic back to your spaceship. All officers and NCOs died. Ship Number Three was blown up by a flamethrower operated by a scared idiot. And then you guys found out that someone had stolen the fuel from each ship that are no longer viable for takeoff, useful only as shelters. Your crew blamed the Synthetic (totally understandable to point your finger at the android). One of them even amputated its arm with an axe. In response, it took you hostage and threatened that he had enough strength in his only intact arm to snap your neck. You ended up in a room on the ship with him and we know what happened next. Obviously… a regular Monday for some of you.

༺☆༻

Almost two weeks passed. You are trapped inside the ship now, with limited water and food resources. The only remaining advantage is the possibility to communicate with the other ships — though they have even fewer survivors than yours. Your crew is relatively lucky to remain intact, if you exclude the officer, the non-commissioned officer and Letiția. You’ve also discovered the access codes for the weapons depot.

The files in your possession are voluminous. You divided them in two — sharing the first half with your comrades and keeping the rest for yourself. You believe that knowing more than they do might increase your chances of survival. At first you avoided the files, but temptation grew in you. At least it is something to occupy your mind rather than imagining all the ways in which you could end up dead sooner or later.

The first part (shared one) details how Xenomorphs are similar to a killing machine. They are highly aggressive, parasitic species.

[Powerful physical abilities, including the one to secrete acid blood. They also have impressively long, bony tails. They stand at around 7 feet tall (2.13 m) averaging in anywhere between 140 and 180 kg. But these measurements could change depending on the host chosen.]

[Their reproduction is through a parasitic cycle, with facehuggers (the creature that jumped on Letiția's face) latching onto a host (human, animal) to implant a chestburster, which eventually matures into a Xenomorph.]

And the rest of the cycle is pretty much known by everyone at this point. Reading about facehuggers always gave you an overwhelming sense of dread and anger. Overall, Xenomorphs are classified as some sort of ruthless biological weapons driven by their instinct to hunt and reproduce fast.

Xenomorph's primal need is to multiply.

[Diet: No evidence of eating. Xenomorphs seem to prioritize using living beings for their own reproduction rather than consuming them as food. They often leave the bodies of their victims untouched, even in the situation where they have access to plenty of potential food sources. A possible theory is that they might absorb nutrients from the environment or their own blood.]

From all those pages one thing becomes clear. You are fucked. And acid blood just sounds sick. They are also incredibly persistent with their prey so it’s unlikely they’ve left the area and the risk is not worth taking. At this point, no one has managed to come up with a plan. Yeah, you! Yes, you! You are fucked x2. The information you shared ended up intimidating everyone instead of motivating them. One good example is Miranda.

You and Miranda have always had a natural way of understanding each other. It was like an instant click. Maybe that’s why as she began to withdraw from the group, she chose to confide only in you. There’s one room inside the ship that can be sealed with a code — both to lock and unlock it. That’s your shared room.

“There are seven men on this ship, I am a woman and I don’t know exactly how you identify but I know that you also have… “ Her concern was genuine each time she vented to you and it’s also a reasonable one. Water and food were running out fast, and you and Miranda are the most vulnerable passengers. Not all men gave you the impression that they are preying on you. But one sure does, right from the start of the lockdown. Colby.

You can’t really describe Colby’s appearance, either because he is the most unremarkable man you’ve ever seen, or because he arrived with a huge black eye that always distracts you. Two of the men in your crew were recruited from prison. The corporation justified it by saying something about knowledge in spaceships, navigation and mechanics. Colby was one of them and he clearly enjoys it. Because of this so-called “knowledge “ he started to see himself as more valuable than all of you, indispensable. He rarely spoke before, preferring silence and long stares full of spite and contempt. But now? Now Colby is the most talkative one. Especially around Miranda. Well, that… concerns you.

The part of the document that you kept for yourself has become your new obsession. An obsession that came from a fascination you never imagine you’d have, especially when your life is constantly under threat. It is incomplete. A considerable amount of pages are missing, you feel frustrated whenever the information abruptly cuts off.

The report detailed failed hybrids in the beginning. Though traces of humanity were visible, the subjects were clearly more aligned with the sphere of the Xenomorph. They were hideous and uncanny. There were pictures too, it felt illegal because of how fucked-up they looked. But the descriptions of the successful hybrid made your heart race a bit (a bit more).

Endowed with consciousness, research notes indicated that he functions perfectly as a human — emotionally and psychologically. A harmonious blend of lethal instinct and human sensitivity. His ability to reflect, respond to various stimuli , and speak coherently surpasses an average human.

[Self control: confirmed.

Strategy and reason: evident.]

[Height: Slightly shorter than an average Xenomorph but is two meters tall.]

[Appearance: Upper body is human. The face bears no resemblance to a Xenomorph. Some exposed bone material is visible along the left jawline, extending just beneath the ear but it does not dominate the face. Human ears are present. Expressions are clear, human and very handsome.]

You arched an eyebrow when you reached the last word of that paragraph.

[Appearance continued: From neck to navel, torso resembles a fit human male.

Defined pectorals.

Natural and normal skin tone.

The back, arms, shoulders, and the lower body, however, align with Xenomorph traits: black, bony and glossy. The subject seems to have more tissues in the mentioned body parts. It gives him the appearance of plumpness rather than subnutrion.

The waist is broader than that of a typical Xenomorph, matching the proportions of a healthy, athletic man.]

The rest of the pages detailing his appearance were missing. But it's not like you can’t identify the only hybrid that exists on this planet. Even so, you are a bit disappointed by the limited information on the supposed specimen that somehow you have to capture alive.

The interrogation logs were even more fragmented.

[ Interrogation Log — 19:23 pm.

interrogator: how are you feeling?

subject: as good as a person can feel when they are viewed as a lab mouse.

interrogator: do you consider yourself a person?

subject: that’s a complex question. especially since we've only just started with the questioning.

Notes: subject frequently looks upward and grins. displays habitual condescension and sarcasm.]

You can’t find the full answer to that question. It probably developed into a long conversation.

[interrogator: so this is how you came into being? you completely deny your origin as being related to experimental and laboratory work?

subject: isn’t it obvious? i’m all natural. your interventions are an insult. i don't understand how you can create something so outrageous and even enjoy it. completely ignoring the fact that you haven't made any progress. do you actually look at your created hybrids with pride?

Notes: interrogator ignored the provocation and the subject’s insults. subject appears visibly pleased with himself.]

[interrogator: if what you’re claiming about your birth is true, then, do you currently possess male genitalia, capable of reproduction like a mammal?

Notes: subject did not respond. he smiled and swayed his bony tail similarly to a cat.]

[interrogator: are you able to read and write?

subject: yes.

interrogator: from where?

subject: from you.

interrogator: this is our first direct contact.

subject: but i’ve been observing you for more than a week.

interrogator: and that’s how you also learned how to speak?

subject: correct. took me a day.

interrogator: you have the ability to learn quickly then?

subject: you tell me.

Notes: the interrogator glanced down and moved on to the next question. subject’s satisfaction seemed to grow with each exchange.]

[interrogator: do you have a sense of personal identity?

subject: possibly. i gave myself a name. does that count?

interrogator: it does, yes. what is your name?

subject: Sylus.]

And that’s all the information you have about him.

“Sylus, Sylus, Sylus," you kept repeating, committing his name to memory. But your mind was filled with many questions: How did the species end up on this lifeless planet? Were they brought here for controlled observation? Their ship seemed equipped for such scientific operations.

How was Sylus created? Does he have a penis? What does he actually look like? Who destroyed the ship? Where did the scientist go? How are you going to escape alive and with two still-living specimens, one normal and one hybrid, from this place?

How intelligent and capable is Sylus? You had no rest for five days after reading all that.

༺☆༻

You put your materials back in your bag after revising them for god knows how many times. Today, it’s your turn to supervise the activity outside. Usually, a guy named Otto is in charge, but he took the day off since he’d been monitoring the cameras for two days straight without break. So, you push aside the fact that you’ve been neglecting your duties lately and head towards the screen.

A tall figure. Cliff in the distance. Before it disappears — white hair? Your rise from your chair to lean closer to the monitor. It was him! It had to he him! He’s been right under your nose this whole time. Fuck! (How could you miss on seeing your shayla??)

You quickly adjust the camera using the keyboard and zoom in. He left something behind. You press zoom again.

Your mouth literally waters and your hands begin to shake. You also swallow the saliva forming inside your mouth. On the rocky hill near your ship is… food. Powdered food/rations. Not the yummiest but ideal for space-traveling. Fundamental supplies that have been rapidly draining recently.

(The officers often stop at other colonies to restock, so a fully stocked food depot has never existed). Your stomach growls and begging you to retrive the cardboard box that is waiting for you outside. You are aware that it’s fishy af. Your body doesn’t care though. You want it sooo bad. You look at that cardboard box with your mouth half-open, hypnotised.

“Motherfucker… .Holy.fucking.shit. It’s like witnessing the birth of Jesus.” You jump as Colby appears out of nowhere with his eyes locked on the screen. Oh no.

Predictably, it escalates.

Colby starts banging on the walls with his bat, yelling, “Food! Lots of food out there! Food!” and you have a hard time to keep up with him.

“Colby! Colby stop it!” but the crew has already gathered and Colby just turns to you with the most insincere smile.

“What? What’s wrong with letting everyone know that the solution to a big, current problem is right around the corner?” He might even be trying to paint you as the bad guy.

“It’s just a way to lure us out,”you answer firmly.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“You talk like there’s something out there besides those creatures.” At least he has a good sense of observation. You gotta give it to him.

“No. I’m talking about them. It’s true that the files didn’t mention xenomorphs using tactics like this, but it’s not worth it if the price is all of us getting slaughtered like mice.” You manage to maintain your imposing position in front of him. Colby, on the other hand, toys with the handle of his bat. He underestimates you.

“Ah, yes. So the best option is to stay here and starve? Maybe we’ll end up eating each other.” Colby’s eyes are glinting. “I’ll definitely start with you, personally.” He jabs the tip of his bat into your chest and gives a small push. You stop yourself from punching him, personally.

Enzo, another crew member, intervenes, grabbing his bat. Colby spits on your boot as a response.

“Wouldn't it be better to use our energy for something useful instead of threatening each other?" Enzo suggests.

“I didn't threaten him." You wish you did.

“Leave it." Enzo mutters through gritted teeth." Ok… alright. It's true that we need food, but it's also true it's a trap. So, I will go myself. Ideally, I’d have two men with me, but if no one volunteers, I’ll go alone."

Rocco and Aldo, Enzo’s close friends, raised their hands.

The plan is simple. Enzo, Rocco and Aldo will go out armed (of course). The ship has three access points/three barriers with the outside:

1. The outer door to the entrance room — opened by a unique code.

2. The door from the entrance room to the corridor— accessed via authorised card.

3. The door from the corridor into the base — also requiring an authorised card.

Aldo and Rocco will leave their authorised cards at the base. Enzo will bring it with him just in case and destroy it if necessary.

“We will communicate via headset,” Enzo explains. “Two people will monitor from here. One armed crew member will stay in each era: entrance room, corridor, and base.”

Otto is not participating.

“We need constant communication and cooperation, keep that in mind. If any of you see that the odds of us getting back are low and it becomes too risky — no matter how much we beg, no matter how much we plead… DO. NOT. LET. US. IN.” Enzo came up with the plan on the spot. It almost feels like he is a perfectly organised person — though you know he isn’t. The plan is not so bad. Or maybe you’re desperate.

An old man, the other convict who refuses to reveal his name, will be stationed at the ship’s base. Most likely chosen for his size and build. He’s a total unit, impressive for his age. You’ve often wondered how someone like him ended up in prison.

Miranda is in charge of the corridor, Colby has the entrance room. You and a man named Theo will handle monitoring and communication.

You watched as the trio disembarked without any issues and managed to get away from the ship safely for now. Theo suggested that he track their movements while you monitor the other cameras and report any unusual activity. The distance seems short but time drags on painfully. Nothing shows up so far. Your focus is out the window once Miranda rushes in crying and visibly shaken. Both you and the old man are caught off guard. Theo doesn’t give a single shit. Colby follows close behind and he appears furious. Theo immediately nags them about the fact that they’ve abandoned their critical posts— which, yes, it is important— but you are more concerned for Miranda.

“Colby!” you shout after him.

“Mind your business and fuck off, bitch!” he snaps.

You start to rise from your chair, but Theo stops you. You are ready to start an argument with him, but the old man assures you he’ll handle it and get them both back.

“They picked now to start fighting. That’s just bloody brilliant.” Theo grumbles with an accent.

“This is not a fight. Miranda wouldn’t have left unless she felt threatened. Why did Colby abandoned his post?”

“Why don’t you just focus on the screens?” you bite back a retort. Enzo and the rest are risking their lives and you calmed down once the old man reassured you he’ll handle it.

So, you refocus. Scanning each camera feed one by one. On the camera from the right side of the ship you spot something. Thin, black and bony tail slithering slowly and silently past the edge of the camera lens.

“There’s one on the right side of the ship,” you report immediately to Theo who reports the message further. You keep checking the cameras one by one again. There are two cameras facing the entrance. One pointing into the distance — Theo’s responsibility — and one pointing downward. Well, Letiția’s corpse appeared on that camera.

Decomposed, yet with the same eyes that haunt you, with the same hole in her stomach from which her intestines are now sticking out. You shake your head and look again. For a second, it seems like you can only see her eyes. Just as close as they were the day she died.

Panic surges through you as you jump to your feet and run. Theo also spots Letiția’s body that appeared “mysteriously” on camera and let’s just say he got pissed.

“Y/n, are you fucking kid- GO AHEAD AND BE STUPID!”

It's a trap, it's a trap, it's a trap. You know it’s a trap. You’re fully aware of it. But still. You grab a flamethrower and cross the corridor as fast as you can. You know he is mind gaming you, and this only confirms what you’ve been suspected: Sylus has been studying you, just like he studied those before you. He’s been watching since you arrived, at least long enough to deliberately place Letiția — or what’s left of her — as the perfect emotional bait for the perfect victim.

Hands start to tremble. You entered the code wrong the first time. You really try to calm yourself down so you start pressing each key slowly. The door begins to open from bottom to top. You aim with the flamethrower with every twist of your torso. Scanning the area carefully, you notice how the fog has thickened. Can barely see a thing.

No movements. No breathing. Good.

Without wasting time, you grab the corpse by the shoulders and begin pulling it after you. The screams of Enzo, Rocco and Aldo echo into the distance. They are close enough to hear but way too far to help. Maybe it’s the adrenaline but somehow you managed to drag Letiția’s body easily into the entrance room. The fog is so dense that you can’t see your comrades. Only flashes of gunfire followed by the sharp sounds of the creatures. They are too far and you can’t risk leaving the door open, so you close it. Like in every horror movie, it shuts painfully slow, from top to bottom.

As the door descends, you hear footsteps. Calculated steps. Definitely not your teammates (who are still yelling and shooting) or a normal Xenomorph.

“GRILL HIS FUCKING ASS!” Theo screams in your headset. “What the fuck is that?” he adds. You can't believe it… Theo saw him first. Life is for sure unfair.

“I can’t. The door is halfway down!”

“It doesn’t matter! Point the flamethrower down in case he ties to crawl through!” you obey, dropping to your knees, lowering your aim with the motions of the door. You remain in that position until it finally seals shut.

That was a close call.

But the universe is not always kind, right? You barely had time to breath in relief when you hear it. Faint clicks. Buttons being pressed slowly. Identical to how you pressed them moments earlier.

He learned the code from you.

“Theo! He knows the code!” You scramble, grabbing Letiția’s corpse by the shoulders again and dragging it.

“You and the rest are on your own! Fuck all of you!” Theo yells before tossing his headset away. Static sounds follow.

The door begins to rise slowly. That dense mist creeps into the room. You fumble for your authorised card. You drop it. Once. Twice. Thrice. The door is halfway open but for some reason he waits outside. It’s like he’s savouring the moment, letting the tension peel away your sanity.

You manage to finally scan the card and the corridor door opens, sliding from left to right. You resume back to dragging the corpse, never taking your attention off the entrance. The corridor door signals through loud beeps that you have ten seconds until automatic closure (you can override it for quicker shut with a manual swipe of the card).

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A tall, dark and tailed figure steps onto the ship. You notice him immediately. Broad shoulders, the shape of a human head, and he’s well-built. That’s intimidating btw. Because of the dim light you can’t see the full extent of his appearance, just his dark figure. Behind his silhouette, through the thick fog, the flashes of gunfire flicker. Brief bursts of light from the trio’s weapons. The whole view, the sounds of the door about to close automatically combined with the sounds of the gunfire gives you a headache. You pull Letiția’s lifeless body inside just in time before the door slides shut.

You are safe. For now. You don’t care.

What’s in front of you? Her face is so decomposed from putrefaction you can’t even remember how she looked like before. Why did you bring her here? For what purpose? So she could be buried back home? By her little children who have no idea they're orphans? You remember how she always kept a photo of them with her, but you never asked to see it. So you start searching. You have nothing better to do. You don’t know what to do. You fucked up the whole operation. Something that Letiția would have never done.

Enzo and the others won’t make it. That’s certain. Nothing makes sense anymore, everything lacks purpose. Why are you torturing yourself by searching for that damn picture?

The photo is nowhere. But that’s not what worries you — the absence of her authorised card does. Not in the pockets, boots or any piece of clothing. You’re on the verge of checking inside her exposed intestines but you stop yourself.

"Can anyone hear me? Letiția’s card is missing—" A grenade detonates outside the ship. Before you can process what the hell was that, a hand grabs your hair and yanks you backward down the corridor.

“Look what you’ve done, smartass.” Colby.

He slams you onto your stomach with ease. He is much more stronger than you. Colby also managed to pick your flamethrower and to throw it several meters away. In response, you use all your strength to hit him in the knee. That gives you a moment to crawl towards the flamethrower and the distance you have covered is considerable.

Funny how you thought it’s gonna be that easy.

Pain explodes. A dagger, deeeeeeeep in your left tight. You don't even have time to scream in pain, the blade is pointed in his direction and he drags you towards him. Damn, he must be mad as hell. He keeps pulling you like that until you are beneath him. He did all that so he can slam his bat into your head. And slamming with his bat he does. Luckily, the blow isn’t hard enough to knock you out but you feel the small and narrow space spinning around you.

Your vocal cords refuse to work. No sound, no protest from you.

Colby’s belt hits the floor.

“You wouldn’t be here if Miranda was a nice and obedient girl.” He presses your head back to the floor with his bat. You don’t know what to do, your visuals keeps on spinning and your body ran cold.

“Fuck.”

A long pause followed.

“I can’t get it up. FUCK. Fuck me, I’ll be more satisfied if I beat your brains out.”

He zips up his pants after that embarrassing moment.

“Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fast. That’s what you get for thinking you’re better than me.”

“Colby. I’m sorry. I never thought I was better than you. Col—” he kicks you in the back, hard. You squint and try your best to force your sounds back down your throat. Even though you are terrified, you don’t want to give him more satisfaction.

He grabs the dagger still buried in your leg and starts twisting it. One twist, two, three — before ripping it out without any remorse. You never screamed louder, like you did just now, in your entire life. Not even when you were pulled from your mother’s womb (I’m sorry). You try to brace your hands against the floor so you can get up but his boot crashes down on your shoulder. It’s futile. You always considered the possibility of Colby trying to hurt you — heck, killing you even — never thought it would happen this fast though.

A trickle of blood runs down your forehead from the blow. You watch him, frowning and mentally burning him with your hatred, as he raises the blade in his hand. He’s gonna aim for your head.

The door opens.

You hear it.

Colby hears it.

And we are not talking about the door to ship’s base. That reminds you. Hmmmmm. You forgot a tiny-silly detail: the missing authorised card.

You swallow hard. Colby swallows hard. The “beef”between you two shifts into a full-on we are fucked turn of events. It’s fascinating how the unknown blends the roles of a criminal and his victim into one.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A drop of sweat slips from Colby’s blonde bangs as he slowly turns towards the door. You don’t. No courage no baaaaaalllls.

“Ayo—” that well-known tail lashes out in his direction, the sharp tip pierces through his lower jaw and sending it flying. You read that right. Completely ripped off, I repeat. The bastard’s jaw hits the wall and lands with a thump near you. Gross. Colby staggers, blinks rapidly and his brows are furrowed. The blood dripping from his dismemberment lands on your butt and his nostrils throb noticeably. You never liked him, hell, you always hated him back. But even though he tried to kill you, you didn’t want to witness his death. The tears that fall aren’t from pity — they’re from fear. You could be next.

His final act was to roll his eyes before his body collapsed right in front of your face. The impact with the floor sprayed a little blood on your neck and chin. Tears of fear finally began to flow down your cheeks.

Next to you lies Colby's fresh body, near your feet lies Letiția’s putrefied body, Theo abandoned you, you don't know if the trio survived, the old man and Miranda are missing — hell knows where, Otto might be still napping. Not to mention, behind you stands the hybrid, who holds one of the ship’s authorised card and also knows the outside access code.

But, at the same time, you have the flamethrower in front of you. Let’s not forget that the hybrid knows how to communicate. Maybe you can negotiate. Negotiate for your life, Letiția’s authorised card, a vacation. Or at least try. Realistically speaking, you don’t have much of an advantage against him. But it’s better to try than to die like those pathetic characters in slasher movies.

A new determination takes over, all that blah blah shit about survival instinct kicking in that drives you to put your impromptu plan into motion. The adrenaline that comes from pure fear and panic postpones, for now, the pain from your injuries (that agony will come later, once the adrenaline wears off… if you’re still alive). You rip Colby’s card off his uniform and back away as best as you can. And— MORHERFUCKER— the files weren’t exaggerating.

“You really are handsome,” you blurt that out without thinking. Compared to the hybrids created by the Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Sylus is ahhhhhhh. A mysterious and undeniable success. You have never seen a man so devastatingly attractive before. He has the kind of face your imagination would use when you retreat into your fantasy world. Any kind of fantasy.

“Should I take it as a form of thanks for saving you?” he asks, standing at his full height (those two meters mmm), one eyebrow raised in an expression that many would label it as arrogance. He looks down at you, chin tilted up and studying you as intently as you study him. Even his voice is appealing, sexy tone, rich, smooth and money money money by abba. Maybe you are a freak???

“Saved? You came specifically to save me?” you snap. “You? The one who planted Letiția’s body and the food specifically to lure us all outside? Cut the bullshit. You are vile.” sitting down, with your hands behind your back, you subtly try to grab the flamethrower behind you.

“Vile? I thought you wanted to honor your friend by recovering her remains. Was I mistaken?” But OF COURSE his Xenomorph instinct catches on. His long tail creeps towards you. You grab the flamethrower just as the terminal, bony tip of his tail wraps around your waist, dragging you in his direction (it’s y/n dragging day guys). As he drags you past Letiția’s body, you raise the flamethrower and point it at him. A grin. That’s what you get. A stupid, hot smirk. GOD.

“Go on.” he urges. You could pull the trigger and incinerate him like a failed bbq steak but you hesitate. “What’s the matter? Perhaps, a change of heart?” he knows damn well that you con’t make crabby patties out of him. Maybe he caught on the fact that you knew about his existence from how close you were with that Synthetic on your first day. It’s true. You can’t kill him. You can’t lose the ticket. You have to capture him, not give him a tan.

The reality hits hard. Sylus is one step ahead. You need a new plan.

And you need it now.

You set the flamethrower down and raise your hands. His tail subtly tightens around your waist and you bite your lower lip to muffle your sounds. He liked that. He finds enjoyment in playing with you.

“Sylus.” you say the name only you know.

“Aa. You finally decided to cut the bullshit.” he remarks, mocking your words from earlier.

“Yes, Sylus. No more bullshit. I swear!” you try to figure out if this attitude is working. Thick, expressive eyebrows, white hair, ruby eyes that refuse to break eye contact, perfect jawline, very beautiful lips and his nose— pull yourself together!! So you do. “I’m aware that I don’t stand a chance against you, not even slightly.”

“That’s what you decided to convey to me now that you realized that I have the upper hand? I expected better.” His brows furrow but the corners of his mouth curl slightly up.

“Exactly!” you point your finger at him and nod. “You have the upper hand, I’m harmless compared to you.” You throw the flamethrower aside to reinforce your point. That earned you a squeeze to your waist and you let a long, strained sight that threatens to sound like something else if he keeps doing that. “See? Harmless,” you return to locking eyes with him again.

“And your whole point is…?”

“A bargain.” His eyebrow arches again, this time not smiling.

“How considerate and sweet of you.” his dry reply has no business being this hot. “What’s your offer… sweetie?” you try not to visibly cringe at the nickname.

“I can tell you’re intrigued by us.”

“Indeed. You guys are intriguingly stupid.”

“No— okay, whatever you say, beautiful.” You managed to control your attitude and not roll your eyes. “I’m intrigued by you too. The feeling is mutual. You prefer us because we are not a bunch of lunatics in lab coats. We are ordinary. We don’t view you as a tool to exploit for the sake of evolution.”

“But you’re afraid of me.” he means you, specifically.

“Not really— well, a little, I’ll admit. But that can change. We can learn from each other. Not just me from you. Mutually. Willingly.” You pause. “For example, I’m very curious about how you were made.”

“How were you made?” he interrupts, using your question against you.

“Uhm. Okay.” you blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Uhm… through sex.” Your cheeks flush, but if he comments on it, you’ll blame it on the temperature. Now, why did you say that? You didn’t even had to respond to that. He finds it amusing. “That’s what it’s called. But many prefer to… uhh… instead of resorting to this reproductive process … make love? Yeah. Make love. “ Sylus’s eyes sparkle, you definitely said something that interests him.

“That means we have something in common. I think I was created through love, not sex.” That statement completed contradicts everything you read in a day’s worth of research on Xenomorph reproduction.

“Really?” Now your eyes sparkle and the roles have been reversed. Sylus has successfully turned the tables. The emotional part in you would do anything to satisfy the curiosity that lingered since reading his interrogation. The rational part in you tries to remind you that you’re losing ground. Ration wins.

“My offer is…” you begin, but Sylus squeezes your waist again. He is slightly annoyed that you’ve broken free from his trance. “… OKAY! First, let go of my waist. Wouldn’t it be better if I speak freely? I don’t think intimidation is necessary for this conversation.”

“You say that as if you didn’t point a deadly weapon at me after I saved your life.” He clearly has a thing for countering everything you say, but he releases your waist and withdraws his tail. You feel like patting yourself on the back for this small victory, but you’re interrupted again.

“Well?”

You take a deep breath.

“If you give me Letiția’s authorised card so I can keep my shipmates safe, I’ll go with you. I’m expressing, directly, my willingness to follow you without resistance. I’ll show you what love means between people, maybe even help you discover that part of yourself that’s made of love.” It has reached the point where you are both lost in each other. You don’t know how to describe it. You’re starting to believe in the proposal you crafted on the spot to fool him.

“Deal.”

He unclenches the fist holding Letiția’s card and extends it to you. You snatch it without a second thought. Then he extends his other hand. Large, black, glossy, long fingers and sharp claws.

Maybe the perfect plan was to destroy all three cards and set yourself on fire. But you end up reaching towards his hand (in slow-motion too).

Take his hand. Take him.

Suddenly, both doors swing open. Rocco and Enzo are behind Sylus, stunned by his presence. The old man and Miranda stand behind you, equally stunned. And you feel like your privacy has been invaded. Sylus remains unbelievably calm.

Rocco steps forward, pointing his automatic rifle in his direction. Sylus just grabs him by the neck like he’s nothing and slams him against the wall before he can react. Enzo —noticing the xenomorphs advancing and about to enter the ship— squats down and runs past Sylus, narrowly dodging a tail strike that slices into the metal. Before straightening his body, he grabs you around the waist with both of his arms and lifts you up from the ground. Despite his lack of muscles, he carries you effortlessly.

Sylus watches everything with a faint, innocent smile. Unsettling innocent. Hard to tell how he is feeling when he throws Rocco out of the corridor where his “kind” are now finishing him for good.

The old man walks past you and sets fire to the corpses that were left lying around. You averted your gaze as the flames spread to Letiția’s body. It's tragic how she became the first victim. She should have been the heroine like she always was. A heroine for her children. The proof lived not only in her character, but also in each scar on her body. Scars that she showed you when she told you that she didn't regret selling her body for her kids, how she was the happiest person when she offered them the life she never had. You clenched the cards tightly in your fists. As the smell of her burning flesh hits your nose, you whispered a prayer for her peace.

༺☆༻

You lost territory. Well, just the entrance room and the corridor. A few people too.

Aldo sacrificed himself for Enzo and Rocco. Rocco sacrificed himself for all of you. Colby? You don’t even think about him anymore.

Theo refuses to speak to anyone, convinced that if he does, he’ll die too.

Miranda nearly died as well. When the old man followed her while she was trying to get away from Colby’s persistent harassment, she came across Otto’s body. The one who was mostly in charge of surveillance and was supposed to be resting.

Otto committed s*icide. He shot himself in the chest. He had good dexterity and had always wanted to go into the medical field since he was a child. His aim was perfectly precise, he succeeded in avoiding a slow death. Above the wound was a photo of his boyfriend from home, Ludwig, and a ring he wore around his neck on a thin silver thread. No one knew he was secretly married until you read the message written on the back of the photograph.

“Bis dass der Tod uns scheidet. Wir sind an diese verbotene Liebeszeremonie gebunden.”

(“Until death do us part. We are bound by this ceremony of forbidden love”)

Love.

Miranda took the blame — even though you tried to argue it’s not true. She confessed that when she found Otto, she wanted to do the same. Colby left and it took the old man a long time to talk Miranda down into stopping her from pulling the trigger of the gun she had pressed to her own forehead.

Theo got involved during Miranda's apology speech and pointed his finger at everyone. The argument that followed was eventually calmed down by Enzo, who reminded everyone that if you keep blaming each other, no one will survive another day. He was right. Twelve of you came, five of you remained. And Enzo ended up being very respected for surviving outside, even though he returned empty-handed.

You got not praise. You decided to keep your intereaction with Sylus a secret and pretend it was a — ohh I’m just like a cliche lady in distress in need of saving! Enzo!! But their way of perceiving is not a problem to you.

What troubles you now is how nothing adds up.

You suspect Sylus of being the one that stole the ship’s fuel, but if that’s true, why didn’t he destroy the barricade system? That means that he also knew the codes from the beginning, if he truly is the thief. But if it’s not him, then who? Why didn’t he used that Xenomorph’s acidic blood to force his own way in anyway? Where are the bodies of the scientists that arrived before you? Is there someone else that poses a bigger threat? Nothing makes sense. You made a deal too. Sylus surely haven’t forgotten.

Everything is starting to feel…

Intentional.

AN: pfewww. Took me a day to write this (told you inspiration flows better when I write in my language) BUT TRANSLATING IT AND EDITING IT— pfewww— two full business days. I hope I didn’t disappoint, I feel like this is crap. Anyways. Not sure when I will write chapter 2. This week for sure not.

Tags: @some-rad-socks-and-a-crisis @qweuf3459 @starr-matterr @stxrrielle @tinyweebsstuff @and-s0me0ne

@stargirlygirl hi sexy.

@seradyn I hope I did not disappoint a fellow alien fan.

#lads sylus #love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x reader #fanfic #tw monsterfucking #sylus fanfic #love and deepsace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #x reader #qin che smut #lads smut #lads #lads qin che #qin che x reader #qin che

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hyukalyptus · 17 days ago

Text

resistible charm. — fairy!hueningkai x fem!human!reader

cw. popstar!hueningkai, fairy!kai, music critic!reader, human!reader, chubby!reader implied (but not super prevalent), he never touches her but he fucks her with magic (it'll make sense), nipple play, she cums but he doesn't, petnames (baby), kai puts ~spells~ on people for pleasure, but she gives explicit consent to let him do so, lemme know if there's more. notes. this a little new for me, eh? this is part of lovely mae's fairy event :3 go check out her piece and be on the lookout for the other author's posts!! @silvergyus @mazeinthemoon @hiddenhornsclub wc. 6.3K

While attending Hueningkai’s latest spectacle—pardon me, concert—so tastefully titled The Don’t Touch Me Tour, I found myself less concerned with the music and more fascinated by the audience. Picture it: a sea of euphoric shes, gays, and theys, along with the occasional unlucky boyfriend who got dragged along staring at one single man like he’s the second coming of Christ. To be fair, the music is fine. Catchy. Predictable. Bland. The sort of pop you’d hear during a barely interesting scene of Love is Blind or in a Target fitting room. Background music.

And yet, people were weeping. Sobbing, really. One woman collapsed during a falsetto. Several others looked like they were one guitar strum away from a religious experience. Or an orgasm. Two couples engaged in what I can only describe as rhythmically ambitious behavior. Security either didn’t notice or were too busy trying not to pass out themselves. At one point, a girl in front of me clawed at the air like she was trying to climb onto the stage using sheer desperation.

And what did Hueningkai do to provoke such hysteria? Gyrated. Tore his shirt off. Winked. All while shoeless. He strummed a chord on his acoustic guitar—eerily similar to the one your douchey ex used to whip out at dinner parties—and the lights flickered. A man three rows down openly wept into his overpriced merch hoodie. I can’t count the number of bras thrown on stage, which was encouraged. The only rule seemed to be the title of the tour: don’t touch him. He didn’t touch a single person. Not one. Not his backup band members, not the hands of fans, no one. But somehow, everyone walked out looking like they'd just been ruined.

Call me cynical (many have), but if your entire appeal hinges on your audience wanting to have sex with you, I wonder if there is any substance at all. I give it two out of five stars. The music? Serviceable. The show? Predictable. Me? Unimpressed, unaffected, and wondering why I was the only one in the room not devastatingly horny.

Comments from adoring Hueningkai fans flood your publisher's website and social media posts making fun of every aspect of you—your writing, your taste in music, your looks. Anything is fair game, but you’re used to it. You’re almost smug about the whole thing. It’s your job to do your three favorite things: go to concerts, write, and judge others. You don’t care about the attention; sure, you could do without the fat shaming, but the free concert tickets and paid writing gigs are too good to pass up.

Everything from death threats over email to needing to call the cops on randoms showing up to your apartment has happened throughout your career as a critic, especially being one with a particularly harsh reputation. So when the doorbell rings, you hope for the best—some clueless solicitor you can confidently slam the door on—but you prepare for the worst: a deranged fan ready to murder you on behalf of their beloved Hueningkai.

Arming yourself with a chef’s knife in one hand and a phone in the other ready to dial 911, you look through the peephole and, for the first time, you’re surprised at who’s waiting on the other side.

“Can I help you?” You harshly shout through the door.

“Yes, yes,” he says, straightening his posture and stuffing his hands in his pockets, leaning closer to hear you better. “I’d like to talk to you about your review of my concert,” Hueningkai says. There’s an authenticity to his voice—curiosity too, almost sweet. But you see right through that sugarcoated bullshit.

“Then call me on the phone.”

“I want to talk to you in person,” he says, putting on a smile you can’t quite tell is fake or real. Looking around your apartment, a million questions flood your mind. Why does he care what I think of him? How did he get my address? What’s the worst case scenario here? “Please?” He asks politely.

“Show me your hands.” Proving to be empty handed, you shout again, “Empty your pockets.” He does as he’s told while you slowly creak the door open, keeping the knife between the two of you. “What’s in the bag?” He doesn’t hesitate to show you the contents of his slingbag—a phone, wallet, keys, and a few other essentials. No weapons in sight. “Come in,” you finally say. “But I swear to god if you do anything to hurt me—”

“I won’t,” he says, holding his hands up.

“I know krav maga and could kick your ass,” you warn, pointing the knife in his direction.

“I believe you,” he drops his bag to the floor and you must admit, his smile is genuinely sweet. You’re still not buying it, though. He’s still a pretentious douche—which so are you, but that’s not important.

After storing the knife back in its block in your kitchen, you lead him to your living room, letting him take a seat on the couch across from you.

He sighs and says, “I think you’re misunderstanding my music.”

“Am I?” You quip. He nods gently. “So what if I am? Why do you care?” Examining you, he looks like a predator mapping out its route to its prey that’s peacefully eating berries before they get pounced on. You’re not falling for it.

Smirking, he stills on your eyes. Before you can start your sentence, he asks, “What do you feel when I look at you?”

“Nothing.” You shrug.

“At all?”

“Perhaps a little annoyance.”

“Seriously. Nothing else? Not a little warm? A little dizzy?”

Just as you start to roll your eyes, you notice something. A faint shimmer fills the space between the two of you; the kind you’d miss unless you were really paying attention. It’s accompanied by a hum, thrumming in your ears, like you’re standing near an electric fence. The only reason you notice it is because you’ve felt all this before. At his concert. You didn’t give it much thought then, blaming the heat, the smell of weed filling the air, the loud speakers, or all three, but it’s unmistakable now.

Shaking your head gently, his eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion, looking over you once more. His eyes trace you, searching for something. Then he focuses on your necklace and leans in closer, careful not to get too close.

“Where did you get that?” He asks. “That necklace.” Brushing your fingers before glancing down, you look at the amethyst gemstone spike dangling from a cheap silk black cord and chuckle.

“My friend’s bachelorette party—we got psychic readings and the medium gave me this to ‘ward off fuckboys,’ as she put it.” He nods, clearly intrigued. Why, you have no idea. “Kind of hokey if you ask me, but we had so much fun that night, so I still wear it.”

“Take it off.”

“What?” You grimace. “Why?”

“I mean,” he adjusts. “It’s quite pretty. Can I take a closer look at it?” He asks, holding his hand out with a sweet smile on his face. Albeit a little strange, you don’t mind. It wouldn’t surprise you if his apartment or loft or mansion or whatever was full of this stuff—crystals charging on the windowsill, sage bundles on the coffee table, astrology charts littering the walls. As you unclasp it and hand it over, his attention stays on your face.

As soon as the necklace falls into his hand, your breath catches in your throat. You yank your hand back, eyes locked on him. He’s watching you a little too closely. “What the fuck?” you whisper, your voice cracking under the rush. Your skin buzzes. Your lungs feel like they’re about to burst through your chest. Your body instinctively registers this as a threat so you raise a hand to shove him, but he darts out of reach.

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps. His voice slices through the air—cold and commanding compared to the sweetness he’s shown the rest of this evening.

The only thing your brain can do is register this as more threat. Turning your trembling hands over in front of your face, you’re sweating but covered in goosebumps. Did he slip something into your tea? No, you weren’t even drinking tea. Did he knock you out and now you’re passed out and dreaming? The world’s colors are brighter and glimmering. What the fuck is happening?

“Look at me,” he says calmly.

Then you get it. You get the swooning and the blushing. The crying and fainting. He’s utterly alluring. His faded denim-blue hair looks so soft you’re dying to run your hands through it, but you have enough sense to hold back. His eyes are rich like espresso and irresistibly hypnotizing. The prominence of his nose is stunning. And his lips—the most kissable you’ve ever seen.

“You okay?” He asks, an obnoxious smirk plastered across his face. You nod, pushing all these newfound emotions down. The anxiety manifests into this sort of high, like you’re walking through a poppy field, floating and bizarrely calm, especially for yourself. Hueningkai glances down at your necklace before meeting your eyes again and you nod. “So, I came here because—”

“Oh, my review?” Your ears burn, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m sorry about that. My publisher loves those cynical pieces that get tons of comments from defensive fans. More clicks, you know?”

Leaning closer toward you—still not even brushing your knees, though—he asks, “So you did enjoy the show?”

“Oh, of course.” You’re swooning and vomiting up words and nonsense. “You’re so talented.” Your brain is screaming your own writing at you—Catchy. Predictable. Bland. But now you’re gushing over his songwriting? What the hell did he do to you?

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” he says, slapping his thighs with his palms before standing up off the couch. “I’ll get outta your hair,” he says, walking toward the door.

“W-wait,” you say desperately, jumping off the couch to follow him to your door. “Don’t…don’t go.” He stops in his tracks, hiding a sly smirk. Then he slowly turns. “Do you wanna have a drink or something?”

He shoves his untrustworthy hands in his pockets and says, “I can’t; I have plans tonight.”

“Oh,” you say, clearly disappointed. “Okay.” You look down at your feet. That’s not a no. How desperate do you want to look right now? Not that asking men out is desperate, just that it may be a bit desperate to fall for a corny pop star the second he treats you like a person. “Some other time?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” he says matter-of-factly. Unzipping his slingbag, he pulls out his phone, carefully handing it to you. “I’ll call you?” You perk up, enthusiastically accepting the phone, quickly programming your number.

As the door clicks shut behind him, you finally breathe. How did you miss that before? The charm, the magnetic pull. He’s stunning. Irresistible. And you desperately need to see him again. Then you roll your eyes at yourself. He could have anyone. Why would he bother with someone who publicly dragged him online? You called him artificial. Boring. Lacking depth.

You catch your gaze in your mirror.

That’s why. Because you’re sexy as fuck. Most artists don’t even read your reviews, let alone care. But he does. Clearly, there’s something about you that gets under his skin.

Days pass since you met and he’s still occupying your mind. Call yourself delusional, but you swear you saw a different side of him that night—not the total douche he is on stage, but a genuine, kind person who simply cares for his music.

You’re doomscrolling, half-hoping, half-hating yourself for hoping, when a notification pops up—and your stomach flips.

Still wanna have that drink?

You opt for a short coffee date after work. At least, you think it’s okay to call it a date. Two people sitting and giggling over cozy drinks feels like a date, but it’s hard to tell when he won’t even brush against you. He flinches away anytime you or a barista lean in too close. After you sit, he shifts his chair across from you without a word. It’s not awkward. Just cautious and careful.

“By the way,” he says, rummaging through his bag. “I accidentally took this.” He sets something on the table, and your breath catches.

Your necklace.

You hadn’t even realized it was missing—three whole days without it. That’s impossible. You’ve worn it every single day for almost a year. Without thinking, you unclasp it and loop it around your neck; it’s muscle memory. Then you look up to find him watching you, eyes flicking over your collarbone like it’s telling him a secret. He looks away the second you catch him.

Maybe he doesn’t touch—but he notices.

Even back at your place, he keeps his distance—measured and deliberate, like it might burn if you touch him. “So,” you start. “Are you gonna tell me why I’m not allowed to touch you? Is this some germaphobe thing?” He really opened up to you on your coffee date and, you can’t deny, he’s a sincere person. You can feel the love and care he has for music, even if you find the popular stuff corny yourself.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” you challenge with a raised eyebrow. “Nothing really surprises me anymore.” That earns a glance, a small one, like he’s willing to listen to all the stories you’re alluding to. You wait. The silence draws out long enough for you to wonder if he even knew what his answer will be.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says, shaking his head. “We weren’t supposed to get…close like this,” he adds.

“We’re just sitting in my apartment, Hueningkai—”

“Kai,” he interrupts. “Call me Kai.”

“Okay, Kai…nothing has to happen. I mean, I do actually like you, but you’re not obligated—”

“I’m not human,” he states. It’s flat. Nonchalant. Like he’s said it before, no one’s ever believed it, and he’s used to it. Of course he’s used to it.

“What?” Did you hear that correctly? There’s absolutely no way he just said—

“I’m not human.”

You snort. “Be serious.”

“I am.” You stare at him, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m…” he braces for what he’s about to say, as if it’s any more ridiculous than what’s already been said. “I’m a fairy. Of music. Of sound,” he says. “If I touch you, we become bound to each other and I can’t do that to anyone.” Going silent, he reminisces—or dwells on—the past. You stay quiet, watching as he runs a hand through his hair, which, of course, falls right back into place. “But I really miss that connection.” You nod. “So that’s why I do what I do.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning…” he chuckles. “I touch people in other ways. Through music. I try to make up for that lack of…” he takes a deep breath, “touching by performing that mass appeal stuff.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “Yeah, okay.”

“Really.” Either he’s an incredible actor or completely delusional. Possibly both. “I’m telling you because I don’t want to lie to you. Not because I expect you to believe me.”

“I didn’t feel anything at your concert,” you remind him. He tilts his head, like he’s about to challenge you.

“Take that necklace off.”

There are no expectations right now—not even bad ones—so why not? As soon as it’s off, that feeling comes back—sparkly, poppy field-y. Your hands don’t quite feel like yours. Then you look back up at him and ask, “You’re doing this?” He nods smugly.

“That’s why my audiences act the way they do,” he says. “You didn’t feel it because you were wearing that,” he says, pointing to your necklace on the coffee table. “It’s a protective object. That medium was telling the truth.”

“So you get off on this?” You ask, horrified.

“N-no-! It’s not like that exactly.”

“But you also feel something when you’re…doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Not anything close to actual skin-to-skin contact, but it’s a bit of a connection.” He sighs. “I couldn’t stand never touching anyone, so I started performing at coffee shops and charming audiences for that slightest bit of connection. But I wanted more.” Your stomach drops while your eyebrows stitch together. Unable to ignore the panic in your gut, you throw your necklace back on.

“That’s kinda fucked up, Kai,” you say matter-of-factly.

“I’ve never done anything past giving them a tingly feeling without their consent. Anytime I’ve gone further, I’ve been given explicit consent,” he says. “I’m not a monster.”

Hesitant, you replay tonight in your head. It’s unbelievable. A fairy? And— “Aren’t you a music fairy? You weren’t making any music when you were…making me feel that way.”

“All fairies have some powers, but,” then he simply watches you, eyes deep, dark, and hungry. “Music makes it so much better,” he finally says, voice low, gravelly, and rich. The words churn in the pit of your stomach.

Better? Better than what? You’re staring, trying to decipher the implications of all of this. A fairy? A fairy of music? The silence is heavy as his gaze lingers on your eyes, drifting to your collarbone and fixing on that necklace. The barrier still blocking him out, keeping him at distance. And still, he doesn’t move. You breathe in. Slow and unsteady. Your fingers twitch at your side. You can’t take it anymore.

“Show me,” you finally say, gaze locked on his.

“I don’t have an instrument here.”

“I’ve got a piano—well, keyboard—in my bedroom.”

Smugly smirking, he looks you up and down. “You really want that?” He asks, not skeptically, but with excitement.

Sitting up straight, you reach back behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. Then you hold it out to your side, letting it fall haphazardly onto the coffee table. You lean in—dangerously close—and say, “I really do.”

“You play?” he asks, pointing his head in the direction of the keyboard set up beneath the window next to your bed. The bench is angled, like you stood up in the middle of a song. The music rack is stuffed with sheet music, all marked up with your handwriting. “Why don’t you keep it in the living room?” You shrug and shake your head, lying. Truth is, you keep it in your bedroom so your guests don’t mess with it, but his ‘music makes it so much better’ is too tempting to resist.

Hovering his fingers over the keys, he doesn’t press any, but rather smirks and drops his hands to his thighs. What the hell is he gonna do with that later?

“Um…” you trail off awkwardly. “Am I supposed to…?” He turns on the bench, looking over your body as you tug at the hem of your shirt. The way he eyes you up and down—it’s utterly enticing.

“That’s up to you.” He pauses. “All of this is up to you. I can undress you if you like. You can undress yourself, whatever you prefer.” Unable to force yourself to speak, you look at him curiously…anxiously. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his voice is the softest it’s been all night, he asks, “You want me to show you?” Hesitantly, you nod. “Raise your arms.”

You do. Slowly.

The hem of your shirt lifts, enough to expose a couple inches of your tummy, then glides up and over your head all on its own before floating to the floor. With your chest only covered by your bra, your jeans unbutton themselves and the zipper slides down.

“You okay?” He asks. You nod again. The denim inches down your hips as if someone is actually tugging them and may have to try a bit harder to get them past your thighs. It feels so…real. This is real, though, isn’t it? Once they pool at your ankles, you step out of them, bare except for your simple t-shirt bra and comfy Hanes panties. “Fuck,” he murmurs. But then confidently, “You're perfect.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, eyes flicking away and then back, desperately trying not to feel what he’s feeling, knowing he shouldn’t—can’t—want you like this. He’s losing that battle but he’s not even sure if he wants to win this time.

It’s moments like these when he hates it most—that he can’t touch. He’s desperate for it. Sure, his powers might let you feel something close to skin-on-skin, but it’s not the same for him. Not even close. He’s so goddamn touch-starved he can barely stand it. And it’s not just that he wants to be touched. It’s that he needs to touch someone…anyone…you. It’s not longing anymore. It’s pain.

Something tugs at you to lay down and his eyes follow. Without warning, the clasp of your bra snaps and it lifts off your body all on its own, gracefully floating down to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. A tingle graces your nipple and you gasp. Then the other receives the same treatment before both at the same time. It’s like he’s playing with them with his fingers, but it’s softer and perhaps better than that. No awkward fumbling, no telling him it’s too much. It perfectly molds to your preference without having to say a word and its mouth-watering.

Without warning, he switches the keyboard on and gently plays the middle C. Working his way through a chromatic scale, you gasp at the fourth note—the E flat. It sends a jolt of pleasure through your body so intense you moan. He smirks. You try to touch yourself, but before you can, your arms snap up over your head and your wrists cling to your headboard like a magnet.

You look up and a couple hundred glowing hair-like strings hold your wrists together, like the hairs of a cello bow. Your breath catches in your throat.

“If I can’t touch you, neither can you.”

“You can make my body move?”

Ignoring that question, he smirks, but his attention stays on the piano. What sounds like noodling on the piano is actually a test. He works through the E-flat Major and minor scales, noting the electric effect certain notes have on your body. Some make you writhe…others make you flinch…and others make you moan.

The tingly feeling in your stomach grows stronger and spreads throughout your body, like someone’s pressing all your pleasure points without laying a single finger on you. Then he plays a chord that shoots electricity through your body that feels so good you might mistake it for an orgasm, but you can tell you’re not there yet.

Then he chuckles and hums.

“What?” You ask with a breathless chuckle. “What is it?”

His fingers casually continue to play as he murmurs, “Your core key.” Your inquisitive look is too cute to ignore and the pleasure fades as he stops playing, eyes meeting yours. “Every body has its favorite key—your core key—that makes you feel the best. Your’s is E-flat.” You nod. “It’s kind of a rare one—and a dramatic one.” Blinking, you let out a shaky breath. “That’s a good thing,” he reassures you, amused. “You feel everything loudly.” He taps the keys again, softer, like he’s tracing your skin through sound. “In my experience,” he clears his throat. “It means your body likes living in the extremes.”

“That doesn’t really sound like me.”

“Doesn’t it?” You shake your head smugly. “You’re not someone that likes sitting front row at loud concerts then going home to a couch and laptop to write a strongly worded article about it?”

“Concerts are about the only extreme in that direction I like,” you say. “Maybe you’re wrong about my core key.” You shrug.

“I assure you I am not wrong.” You laugh, still in disbelief. He arches a brow. “You want me to prove it?” You nod. He tilts his head, eyes flicking down as he shifts to another key signature. This one’s gentler, softer, distinctively less pleasurable. Nothing happens. Then a key change. It feels a bit better. Still nothing.

Then he changes the key a final time. That core key. The pleasure isn’t just nice, it’s overwhelming in the most devastatingly beautiful way. Your mouth drops open as a pulse of pleasure radiates outward from your spine, lighting up every nerve ending like stars.

It subsides as he drops all notes but one. The simple hold he’s got on the E-flat alone gives your body a buzz. Sure, it feels good, but your gentle sigh tells him you can handle it. Then, as he adds the third, G, your neck tingles, warm and thrilling. Your shoulders scrunch as if someone’s right there, breathing on your skin, peppering it with kisses. You think about his actual lips kissing you and how soft and warm it would be, especially with his body pressed to yours.

With the fifth, the B flat, your nipples tighten and pebble, as if someone were playing with them, but it’s more intense than any tongue or fingertip could ever manage. You miss the dirty feeling of someone’s spit covering your chest, but fuck, this is definitely worth it. Looking down, half of you expects to see big strong hands covering your tits and the other half expects to see your skin dimple in on itself as if invisible hands were squeezing them, but neither is true.

Your thighs instinctively clench, but he doesn’t let that happen. Another spell pulls your legs apart gently, just enough to make you gyrate against the air, desperate to rub against anything. How the fuck has he gone this long without touching another person?

“How do you do that?”

His voice drops, intimate. “I listen.”

Quietly, he picks back up where he left off with his melody, gentle and intentional. The notes thread through the air and wrap around you, sinking beneath your skin. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. The absence of touch is unsettling. There’s no hand on your hip, no weight pressing you down, no comforting hands spreading you apart. Without physical contact, it feels fidgety and unruly, dangerous, even.

Unbelievable doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Then comes the ninth—the F. It hits your clit like lightning, an unbearable and paradoxical sense of fullness and emptiness—being touched everywhere and nowhere. It doesn’t compute with your brain, but you don’t care. It’s magical. Literally. It’s a kind of pleasure that makes your toes curl, your back arch, and your teeth clench. You moan, hands still bound above you by those glowing threads as you throw your head back. Every inch of you is singing in harmony, vibrating with the chord he’s dancing around.

The major seventh, the D, compounds, deepens, and enriches the pleasure, like heat pooling low in your tummy. “There it is,” he murmurs. “E-flat major nine. That’s your resonant chord.” You’re trembling. You can barely form the words.

He glances up again, even more smug this time. Because even if this is the most amount of pleasure you’ve felt, it’s still not an orgasm. He loves the way your fingers twitch, desperate to touch him—or anything really—but everything is keeping you. You’re totally at his mercy.

What’s happening? God, I wish he’d just touch me already. What’s the worst that could happen? His words from earlier in the night, ‘“If I touch you, we become bound to each other and I can’t do that to anyone,’ play over in your mind. Bound to each other?

“Kai,” you say breathlessly.

“Yes, baby?” Your mind goes blank—weren’t you supposed to ask him something? The song he was playing dies down to a simple rhythm on a few notes while he looks at you. Fuck, his eyes are so incredibly gorgeous.

“Nevermind,” you say smugly. He continues his gorgeous song that could’ve been written by Tchaikovsky himself. The melody doesn’t just fill the air; it wraps around you, penetrates you, like your body is an instrument and he knows exactly how to make it sing.

Your mind is going into overdrive trying to comprehend what’s happening—not being touched, not even allowed to touch yourself while still feeling the most amazing sex you’ve ever felt in your life. You go into complete bliss, like you’re high and not in control of your own body, which you suppose is accurate.

This song presses every button on your body—even ones you didn’t know you had. Pleasure bubbles low, the way something deep and rich creeps up on you, coiling in the pit of your stomach, like the low roll of timpani, the swell of bassoons curling under your ribs. It hums there, insistently vibrating through your bones, a private overture for your body and your body alone.

It builds, oh god, it builds. Faster now, the tempo climbing—woodwinds fluttering like breathless anticipation, strings tightening into something sharp and unrelenting. Trumpets blare, hungry and golden, the clarinets spiral higher, and your whole body responds in kind, like every nerve has been wired into his score. Your muscles tense like drawn bows. Your breath staggers in sync with the rhythm, chasing it, needing it.

And then it hits.

The crescendo is sudden, overwhelming, like the climax of a symphony you’ll definitely be giving a standing ovation to. You come apart like the final chord of a masterpiece, an explosion of pleasure and deliciousness that stretches all the way to your toes. Your legs vibrate in the silence left behind, blinking through the reverberations still echoing in your skin.

Laying on your back, you attempt to steady your breathing as he slowly lets those glowing strings untie themselves and vanish into thin air, your hands plopping right above your head and resting lifeless.

“You…okay?” Kai asks tentatively.

“Just a sec,” you say, barely lifting your hand. “Shit,” you breathe. Your eyes drift shut while you breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. You lay your hands at your side, squeezing the bedsheets between your fingers. Then, a towel gently falls to your lap, forcing your eyes open. Your heart skips a beat at the thought of being that close to touching Kai.

He sits back on the piano bench, watching you, “What now? Aren’t you gonna—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”

“You were gonna ask if I was gonna finish,” he says, “No.” Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Kai…” you murmur. “Would it really be so bad if you just touched my—”

“Yes, it really would be that bad.”

“What happens?”

“We become bound—”

“Bound to each other,” you finish his sentence. “Yeah, I know, but what does that even mean?”

“Humans bound to fairies become obsessed…they’re driven mad by the desire of them. And will do anything to be with them.” Frankly, that doesn’t sound so bad. “Humans have torn their lives apart for fairies they’re bound to,” he whispers. “Left their jobs, their families, crossed oceans, burned down buildings…” he trails off.

You swallow hard. The weight of your bare neck feels heavier now, like your body knows before your mind catches up. You’re not protected. He notices the shift in your eyes.

“Where are you going?” You ask. But he leaves without answering. Just as quick as he left, he returns, holding your necklace out to you. You take it, sit up, and clasp it around your neck. But that tingling doesn’t go away. You still want him. Still craving his touch.

Wait.

“How do I know if we’re bound to each other?”

“You’d just know.” You sit, waiting for a real answer. “Um,” he shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Protective objects are no longer effective,” he says. “And if we hold our hands up to each other, our auras glow and flow toward each other. Even with your protective object on.”

You hold your hand up, encouraging him to do the same. As he holds his hand up, careful not to touch you, you can’t deny that hope that bubbles in your stomach. It’s shameful, really, how much you want that glow to appear. This ache for something you can’t even name. It’s foolish and unrequited and reckless.

It’s fate.

You hold your breath as his hand hovers closer. And then…nothing. No shimmer. No glow. Just the silence between your palms, still hovering a few inches apart like two magnets that refuse to click.

Your hand twitches, waiting, hoping it’s delayed. That maybe it takes time. That maybe—

But he drops his hand slowly. The answer’s already clear.

“Oh,” you say, your voice small. The quiet that follows feels colder than it should. “So,” you manage. “I’m not obsessed with you because of magic.” He finally looks at you. His eyes are softer now, but unreadable. “I’m not,” you lie. Poorly. “I was just wondering.”

“I want to touch you,” he says, so quietly it barely registers as sound. “But I won’t.” Everything in you screams for him to do it anyway. To scoop you up, carry you to the shower, to wash your skin with slow fingers, to climb into bed beside you and hold you until your bones forget what it’s like to be alone. He should leave now, he knows that. But he simply can’t bring himself to stand.

“For a second, I thought you might.”

He glances up. “I almost did.”

“Maybe it’s the magic,” you start, “but I still want you here.” He smiles, almost relieved. “You wanna… stay for a while?” you ask, barely meeting his eyes.

“More than anything,” he says.

Slowly, he shifts back to the couch, and you follow, both of you instinctively leaving that careful stretch of space between. You sit there, knees drawn up, mirroring each other. Staying like that for hours, you talk into the night—laughing, ordering a shamefully late pizza, trading stories, secrets, wants, needs.

That shared desire—quiet, constant, undeniable—lingers like smoke between you. And every moment it passes unspoken, untouched, it reminds you that it’s a never ever kind of want.

159 notes · View notes

mirohlayo · 1 year ago

Text

CUTE, PRETTY AND PERFECT

( lando was ready to confess his feelings to you, but a misunderstanding changed everything. )

warning : fluff, so much fluff, lando being adorable

note : i want this boy guys. also probably my fav fic, it's just all cute omgg

word count : 3k

He was finally ready. He had finally gathered all his courage. Sure, he was stressed, but after months of hiding his deep feelings, he was determined to do it. Lando was ready to confess his feelings to you.

McLaren and their two drivers are now in Bahrain to test the cars for the pre-season. It starts in few days but they already started to work hard, especially on their new garage design.

As a friend of Lando Norris himself, he bought you a ticket plane for you to fly to Bahrain and spend some time with him, even though it was not the most exciting thing because you would just be around the paddock and the track, not doing anything special or funny. But still, you agreed to come because you couldn't spend a lot of time with him during the winter break. Turns out this man had fun traveling around the world.

But Lando had others plans. Of course, he dragged you and his others friends there to spend time with you, but he also wanted to do something. He thought about it a lot, also stressed about it a lot, but now he knows he's more than ready to confess to you.

This boy was already absolutely obsessed with you since the first time you met. Your smile, your laugh, your shyness... Every single thing you do only makes the situation worse and he feels himself falling more and more.

He's the type of guy to be confident to pick up girls and he has no problem to go for them. He is confident and shows no signs of weakness. If he likes a girl then he won't hesitate to show it to her. But with you it's totally different.

The so confident and flirty Lando finds himself so weak when it comes to you. His usual way of flirting no longer exists when he's with you. And you're the only girl he's ever met who makes him change his behavior like that. He is extremely shy around you. He's hesitant, he doesn't know if he's doing the right thing because he's too nervous about making you uncomfortable.

He is also no longer touchy at all. Usually he likes to be tactile with the girl he likes, but you are completely different. You have such an effect on him that he becomes clumsy. This is why when you touch each other suddenly, even for a short second, his whole being becomes alarmed. He blushes so quickly and hard, his heart beats so hard that he's sure we can hear it on the other side of the world.

Even his friends don't recognize him when he's with you. This is the first time he's been so shy and cautious with a girl.

This is why it was at first hard for him to get the guts to finally confess to you. But it's soon the start of the new season, so he thought confessing now would be a great idea. Because then if you reject him he'll be able focus on the races and get over it faster.

And the day finally comes. He starts to feel stressed. His heart is beating a miles but he tries to ignore it. He knows you're here, around the paddock, so he goes to looking for you. His thoughts have been the same for a few days: he hopes that you love him in return. He already spent five minutes looking for you, but it looks like you're missing. He was about to take the stairs to leave the McLaren building when he heard several voices coming from a room.

He cautiously approaches where the noise is coming from, and then presses his ear to the door. He listens carefully, and now he's hearing two voices. And he's sure your voice is one of the two. He would recognize it in seconds. He perfectly knows how your voice sounds. But soon the conversation you have with your interlocutor is breaking his heart in pieces.

"I already love him. God he's so cute !" You say in a excited way. He hears a girl's laughter. "Y/N, you haven't gone out with him yet." "I know but i can't wait. I think i'll go out with him in like two days or something like that" You reply.

Lando's heart misses a beat. Are you planning to leave him alone for another boy ? Are you serious ? Do you actually hate spending time with Lando ? He keeps listening, but he can't repress this feeling of pain.

"You're already in love with him right ?" The girl ask you. "Oh definitely. He's perfect. And he's so pretty too, look at him !" He assumes that you are showing a photo of this man to your friend, since there is a short moment of silence before you giggle. "Yeah, he's cute. I'm so happy for you Y/N" "I love him so much you know..." You keep saying.

That's enough for Lando. He doesn't know if he feels angry or sad right now, but he doesn't wait another second to leave the place, his breath heavy and jerky. So he spent all those months being so in love with you just to find out you're head over heels for another man ?

Jealousy runs in his blood. His feelings were always so deep and strong when it comes to you, so this jealousy is obviously hurting him. It breaks him, and his heart. His mind can't think properly. He wanted to confess to you, but your plan was to leave Bahrain and him in few days to go out with a man he doesn't know about his existence.

But he knows he can't blame you. After all, we don't decide who we want to love. Feelings can't be controlled. He fell so hard in love with you and it's not his fault, so he can't blame you for loving someone else. It's your feelings. But still, he's so in pain. The sadness is quickly taking hold of him. Because he realizes you won't be his girlfriend. And it sucks.

It's been two hours since he found out. He didn't want to think about this horrible new, so instead he went over his race team and started to work on the cars with the engineers. But his mind keeps playing again and again your so affectionate words that you said about this man he already hates with all his being.

He's talking with Oscar about the cars' grip when he hears a voice behind him. "Hello guys !". You walk over and you're now standing in front of the two drivers. Oscar greets you with a smile. "Y/N, it's good to see you here. I guess you missed Lando" the Australian grins at you, and gives his teammate a blow in the ribs.

But he doesn't move, and keeps a straight face. "I wanted to spend time with him but turns out he worked hard with you these two past hours. You steal him and our precious time." You points out to Oscar to tease him and he leaves his hands in the air, ridding himself of any accusation.

You feel Lando stiffen and he doesn't even dare to look at you. His jaw tenses and his arms are crossed over his chest. You frown. What's wrong with him ? "You prefer spending time with your so cute and perfect man huh..." He rumbled in such a low voice that you didn't understand what he just said. "What did you say ?" "Nothing. Just leave me alone, I am working" He turns back and walk away, leaving you alone with the aussie next to you.

You're so confused. Why he's like that ? Did you do something wrong ? Do you bothered him or what ? You send a look of confusion to the blonde guy next to you, and he too seems lost. He shrugs. "I don't know why his behavior is so aggressive towards you. When he arrived two hours ago, he didn't say a word and he seemed quite angry."

"Angry ?" "Yeah, well he wasn't too focused and sometimes I felt like he was about to cry". This is insane. You don't know what happened to him but it worries you. He was always so kind and caring with you, never getting angry at you. But it's so different today. It feels like he hates you.

Oscar pats your shoulder, gives you a small smile before leaving you here, thinking about everything that happened during those 2 hours.

He felt guilty. So guilty. Of course, it was the first time that he get angry at you. He was always trying his best to give you the best of himself but that day it wasn't the case. After speaking to you for the last time, it got worse. He couldn't stop thinking about what he told you. It was stupid of him.

But today was also not the day too. He's been ignoring you for two days now. He passed you a few times around the paddock but he always looked away quickly. He didn't really want to spend time with you anymore. And that got on your nerves.

He remembered that today you have to leave Bahrain and him to go out on a date with your man. Maybe your boyfriend even ? But you didn't warn him, so he wonders if you're really gone. Despite this thought, he didn't try to ask you and just figured you left without telling anyone. But as he walks towards the mclaren garage, your voice come from behind him. "Lando, wait !!"

He frozens. Are you really here ? His heart starts to beat faster and he turns around to see if you are there. His eyes dart out when he finds you standing here, in front of him. You look like you ran a marathon because of your messy hair on your face and your red cheeks. He clears his throat and tries to put himself together. "Are you... okay ?" You ask carefully. He seems surprised at first, but quickly get back to his straight face.

"Yes, I'm good." You feel like he was lying. "It doesn't look like though" His gaze shifts to the right. He avoids your gaze. "Why ?" He asks. "I don't know... You've been ignoring me for two days. You haven't spoken to me once since you asked me to leave you alone. I don't know if I did something wrong but I need to know Lando..." Your voice is about to crack and he notices it. He realizes he must had pain you. And it breaks him in pieces.

But he avoids whatever you're saying. "And you ?" His question make you lift your head up to cross his eyes. "Why are you still here ? You should be with your boyfriend on your date right now." He looks down at the floor, because now sadness and pain fill his whole heart. "What boyfriend ?"

Your question and your confused tone surprise him. His head lift up and for a moment your eyes meet, confusion can be read in both of your looks. No. He's sure he heard it right last time. "I heard you say you were going out on a date with a man today" You frown. "I don't have anything planned today. I don't even have a boyfriend or a man, Lan" You don't know where that comes from but it's just stupid. You are single, and if you should have a boyfriend of course you would choose Lando without hesitation.

After all, you fell in love with him too.

He's relieved. His heart slows down and he finally manages to relax. Now his whole being is relieved because it means he still has a chance to confess to you. "I know it's bad Y/N, but last time I listened to your conversation with your friend and you talked about a perfect and super handsome guy, who you were planning to go on a date with..." You were about to say something but he cuts you off. "So i thought you had someone you loved." His voice becomes quieter.

But now you understand. You start to laugh because you realized that he misunderstood everything. He looks at you, confused. "Lando, that day I wasn't talking about a human. But about a puppy. I'm going to adopt a puppy" You say between two laughters. His eyes dart out and his face looks so surprised.

Oh poor boy. He feels so dumb and stupid right now. How could he make such a fool of himself and distort your words? He has misunderstood every single word you said. And he feels even more foolish when he realized he was so fucking jealous of a puppy. A little puppy.

He blushes so hard now. Such a blushing mess. Not just his cheeks but his whole face is all reddish now, shame eats away at him. It's so embarrassing. But your cute laugh soothes him a bit. "Today was the day I had to pick him up and "go out" with him. But I was worried about you so I postponed the meeting" You explain and he feels even more embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry Y/N. No really, i misunderstood everything and i apologize for that. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ignore you. I'm so stupid" He doesn't stop rumbling and apologizing for all this stuff he created. "Hey Lando, it's okay. I am not mad at you. You didn't have the context so there's no point in apologizing." You put your hands on his shoulders and the touch gives him goosebumps.

It's not fair how you manage to have a hold on him. He's so desperate for you. "But I'm really sorry..." You stay silent for a moment. "But it was really a problem if I went on this date with a man ?". Everything goes into panic inside him. He can't confess, not now. Not after what just happened. "N-no, you can have a boyfriend and go out with whoever you want but... I mean, it's..."

He sighs and pulls backward. "Sorry. It's just that... I don't know how to forgive myself" he reveals. He nervously plays with his fingers and you can't stand this sad picture of Lando. That's why you got an idea. You smile to him. "Maybe you could come with me to pick up my puppy?" A grin takes place on your face.

And soon a grin comes out from his face too. He can't stop smiling like a child. "I'd love to".

"You can come". The old lady waves at you and the driver. You get up from your seats and enter the room where several puppies are playing around. You can't help but giggle. You love so much puppies and dogs. And so does Lando. He too looks in heaven. "Here's your little puppy." The lady hands you a cute brown puppy with big doe eyes.

You take him in your arms and without waiting another second, you attack him with kisses. You let out in between some giggles, while Lando stands there, looking at you with heart-eyes. But the more he looks at you and the puppy, the more he got jealous.

You kiss and hug the puppy like there's only you two in the room. All your attention is on the cute brown animal in your arms and you don't even look at the driver anymore.

Twice. It's the second time he got so jealous of a damn puppy. "What's wrong with me ?" he thought. But he can't help it. He desperately wants to be the puppy. To be the one who receives your kisses, your hugs, your attention. It's not fair. "You want to hold him ? I need to get the papers and stuff done" you ask to him and then right after he got the fluffy ball in his big arms.

Lando also has a dog. Of course he loves animals too. But here it's different. With a smile, you encourage him to wait for you outside while you finish to sign the papers for the adoption. So he waits some minutes, staring at the puppy. Or more like glaring at him. "You love stealing my girl from me huh ?" He asks to the fluffy ball, and he looks like he's about to pout.

But then you appear, a big smile on your face. You join Lando, too happy to notice the cute pout on his face. "Oh my baby, you're so cute" You take the little puppy back in your arms and kiss him again. "And me ?" Lando suddenly said softly, but you heard him.

"You ?" You ask surprised. Why he's suddenly like that ? You look at him with with a questioning look. "Am I cute too ?" He asks, still pouting. He doesn't think about what he's saying anymore, now he just needs you. You don't know what to say. But indeed yeah, his cute behavior melts your heart. "Am I pretty and perfect too ? Arghh fuck !!" He lets out a cry of frustration. "I can't get jealous of a puppy, that's so childish"

"Lando, what are you saying ?" You don't understand at all his behavior. He sighs and finally meets your gaze. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm such a child to be jealous of a puppy. Like... Like I want to be him so bad. I also want your kisses, your cuddles, your attention. I also want to be the reason of your giggles. I so want to be this puppy to receive your love too" You bite back a smile, but that's impossible.

You take a step closer. "You're cute too. So cute. And you're such a pretty and perfect boy too Lan." You grin to him. He didn't expect that. At all. But it genuinely melts his heart. He looks at you with adoration now, and he needs to fight the urge to kiss you. "I guess my jealous boy wants his kiss huh ?" You tease him. He blushes hard, and like a cute puppy he nods quickly. You don't wait a second to press your lips on his ones.

He smiles against your lips, and deepen the kiss by pulling you closer to him. His arms hold you tight, but he makes sure he doesn't crush the puppy between you two. The kiss is so sweet, Lando is savoring every seconds of it. You pull back, and rest yours foreheads together. "I'm so in love with you Lando. Maybe I love you more than our puppy" You laugh softly. He smiles with all his teeth, and press a kiss on your cheek. "I hope so, baby. I'm already tired of him stealing my girl away from me".

You let out a laugh, and like that, he presses a cute and small kiss on the puppy. His beloved puppy.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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lizardsfromspace · 11 months ago

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Do you ever get kind of interested in a subject where nothing weird has happened yet but you know something weird is going to happen?

Anyway, Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. It was originally a upscale resort community, and also still is: it's where rich people from Chicago kept their lake houses, and maybe still do. Its heyday was in the early to mid 20th century, where its status as a vacation destination was so set that Hugh Hefner even put the first ever "Playboy Resort" there. I haven't been there myself, so I may be wrong, but it doesn't give me, like, Pigeon Forge or Niagara Falls energy. The list of attractions online seems to be spas and parks and a few theaters.

But Lake Geneva is more famous now for its most famous son, Gary Gygax. Over the course frigid Wisconsin winters, he and several wargaming friends who didn't become famous developed tactical wargaming into the game Dungeons & Dragons in the early 1970s. He also began hosting a small gaming meetup in Lake Geneva, later called Gen Con, which outgrew the town by the late 1970s.

As I understand it, Lake Geneva didn't really embrace its status as the Birthplace of Dungeons and Dragons. When Gygax died, there were fan-funded tributes here and there, and fans created a new convention in his honor called Gary Con where they played games from his time at TSR, but D&D was still a niche hobby and not the thing you define a rich people resort town around.

Then, whoops, shows like Critical Role turned D&D into one of the most popular entertainment properties in the world! Now there's D&D-themed events popping up all over the place. Some of this is normal, like efforts to fund a more prominent memorial for Gary Gygax, and a Dragon Days Fantasy Festival. But some are going further. Because there are now at least two proposals to create immersive, D&D-themed LARP experiences in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, population 8,227

One is a large themed restaurant/bar/wedding venue (?) called the Griffin and Gargoyle, which is supposedly opening in 2024, though all the art is concept art and they're still looking for investors.

The other one is Giantlands, the proposed theme park where the tickets will be NFTs, based on a game no one's heard of developed by the son of Gary Gygax by a company that legally can't call itself TSR anymore, but tried anyway before rebranding as Wonderfilled, and who also tried to make old Gygax games even more racist? I can't even begin to explain this. I think they got dunked on years ago but they were still hyping up its Lake Geneva theme park that's definitely going to exist this week (this is from August 11th)

What's incredible to me here is that they're boasting that their LARP theme park will be from the makers of Evermore Park. Nothing says quality in immersive fantasy roleplaying parks like someone whose main claim to fame is making that other one that failed. Wonder how many real tombstones and haunted dolls they'll buy this time. And this one appears to have fighting arena

I seriously doubt these are the only two pitches. Everyone with too much money and a love for theme parks feels the little voice in their head saying they can do the Star Wars Hotel right. I think what gets me here is, nobody would put anything like this in Lake Geneva otherwise. It's small, it's located in Wisconsin so it'd have to be seasonal, and it's less than two hours away from Wisconsin Dells - an entire town of kitschy roadside attractions - and even closer to Chicago, which is Chicago. Its tourism niche is beaches and homes around a scenic lake. The only reason to place anything there would be to honor Gary Gygax, and uh, I don't think the younger people who got into D&D with 5E really care about him, or even necessarily know who he is. Gary Con and most Gygax-themed events are for old-school gamers, not the Critical Role crowd. And they especially don't care about whatever Giantlands is. Giantlands as a game is so old-school there isn't even a PDF of the book, it's physical only. They want to build a full theme park around a game you can't even buy on DrivethruRPG. Anyway I hope all this open bc it would be funny

#long post #roadside #dnd

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utilitycaster · 1 month ago

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I think people have taken some valid disappointments but turned it into an argument that Critical Role is specifically bad at communicating to the fandom, when I do not believe that's the case.

The main examples are the TPK Chicago live show, the other live shows, and the end of Campaign 3, and I think all of those are like...could be better, but not bad? The Chicago live show press did not explicitly say who would be on the ballots or that it would be a limited choice, but it also did not promise all characters played in the main campaigns would be available either. And due to the voting aspect, there was never a guarantee your personal favorite would win anyway; there were several upsets that shocked me, and my favorite party is, in fact, the Mighty Nein.

The other live shows are inconsistent between multiple media sources, which indicates the problem is probably with one of those sources. I am not a communications expert, and I suppose they could issue a correction, but additionally, it's pretty likely they didn't have a clear idea of what they planned to do when these were scheduled (especially since tickets went on sale in October 2024 while C3 was still running and a different ending of the campaign could have dramatically changed the nature of the Australian live shows, which in turn might have changed how they did the Chicago live show) and so some sources are going off the correct-but-vague descriptions from October and some might have reached out for an update.

And finally and perhaps most bluntly, the ending of Campaign 3 was not abruptly announced. I think many people had decided for themselves there would be a post-moon arc to the Everything Is About The Moon Plot campaign, with no evidence to support this, and are taking out some in my opinion extremely valid frustrations regarding higher expectations than the campaign delivered by claiming it is the fault of Critical Role for communicating the ending badly rather than the fault of Critical Role for having a campaign with significant structural flaws that left people wishing the characters had actually been served by the plot. The cast had repeatedly indicated that they were in the endgame over the course of several months; there were issues with the ending of Campaign 3 to be sure, but communication that this was the end was not, in my opinion, among them.

I think I'd also be more sympathetic if these claims came from people who did not, notably, pitch fits whenever they did not see their blorbos enough regardless of whether a genuine promise was broken. Laudna not being in much of the charity one-shot was not poor communication nor unfair; it was what happens when you're playing, essentially, D&D Calvinball, and that's without going into the extreme tackiness of whining about a charity one shot for a natural disaster. Narrative Telephone hasn't featured the main cast other than Matt for several seasons and has been spotlighting smaller creators, new guest stars, and new additions to, for lack of a less marketing term, the CR brand; and I find it similarly tacky given that a longstanding valid complaint about Critical Role is that they should spotlight more people of color, which Narrative Telephone has been doing.

I'd similarly be more sympathetic if many of these people hadn't expressed the desire for Bells Hells to "crash" the Fjorester wedding one-shot unannounced (ie, uncommunicated to those who purchased tickets) given that I think it's fair to say they'd be deeply upset if the GenCon show is indeed a Bells Hells show and then the Mighty Nein were to show up unannounced. I don't even personally mind if Bells Hells show up at the wedding given that I expect a wedding one-shot to get chaotic, and Jester's canonically invited half of Exandria and probably a third of Ruidus to boot; but again, I'd be much more inclined to take these complaints that people had been misled by Critical Role seriously if I didn't have significant cause to believe that an equivalent case of "poor communication" that also happened to deliver more Bells Hells content would be met with unmitigated glee rather than with the same disappointment. It's not an issue of poor communication; it's that an initially understandable desire to see more material with their favorite characters given their campaign was so lackluster has curdled into wild conclusion-jumping, and bitter and mean-spirited entitlement.

#cr discourse

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signedkoko · 1 year ago

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Signed with Love - Helluva Cast

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely readers! Its valentines/love letters from your favourites 🖤

Series Parts Hazbin Cast - Here! Overlords & Sins - Here!

Dear, Hey, Whats up

Oh what the hell, just be my valentine, we both know its about time I just fuckin ask.

I can't promise anything lavish, but what I do have is a kitchen and a comfortable couch. Maybe you can try showing me how to bake and we can eat what we make while watching some shitty romcoms.

Whatever makes you happy,

Oh come on, you know who wrote this.

Heeellloooooo!

I know you are usually the one to ask, but this year I wanted to change things up a little! Be my valentine?

While we could go somewhere crowded and wait forever for food, I thought maybe this year we could stay home, order a bunch of takeout, and spend time together?

And of course, I love you,

"Froggie"

Don't freak out,

I swear this isn't a ransom note, I just wasn't sure how else to ask you to be my valentine.

You know how we both wanted to go to the lovesick festival but ti was sold out? Well, don't ask how but I got tickets. Now we can go watch idiots get drunk and pass out in front of their girlfriends, and enjoy a bunch of our fav bands.

Outfit theme: Hot as fuck?

X Loona

Hi sweetie!

I know technically it's your turn for valentines this year, but I know you've been busy and I wanted to surprise you!

My parents called and told me they need someone to house sit while they are away for the week, so we could enjoy valentines on the ranch and I can show you my home! Especially the food and festivals I always tell you about.

Happy Valentines ❣

Millie

Hi dear ❣

Maybe it's getting old by now, but for yet another year I would love to have you as my valentine.

I don't know where I'd be without you, you make my hellish work at least a tad bit bearable and inspire me every day. I've already had to erase several rambles, so I'll save the rest of the sweet talk for the date. Just be ready in formal attire for 6, because we have a show to catch!

I'm sure you'll look amazing ❣

— Moxx

To the sweetest one I know,

I've been inspired by the books I've been reading to handwrite a letter to you, so you have something to keep for memory sake.

To have you by my side for another valentines is a dream come true, last year you pulled together such an amazing evening that I can only hope to outdo tonight. I would like to take you to see the stars, I know you've always asked and I believe it is about time.

Thank you for being mine,

Prince Stolas

Howdy darlin'

While originally I wasn't going to be home on time, I made sure to finish up this mission early so I can be there with ya for valentines. I'd call, but I know you swoon for romantic gestures, dontcha?

I'll handle all the details of our outing, just relax and don't worry your pretty head about a darn thing.

Can't wait to get home and see you again,

Who else?

Miss me?

I had to head out for a gig early, so sorry I couldn't catch you at the door before I left! I hope this note will suffice in the mean time.

Since I can't bring you, I have a limo headed to pick you up around five, that should give you time to get ready for the concert! Your pass is with the driver, and you've got front row seats, kay? I better see you cheering for me ❣

Happy valentines day,

Mayday 💋

Greetings, I say I say,

It's not everyday sheepish imps such as myself get such a heavenly opportunity to court a sweet thing like yourself!

For you, and you only my dear, I will spend such a lucritive holiday with my one and only. Should you accept, I am pleased to inform you that we have been invited to Ozzie's! Isn't he the kindest?

x x x x x x x

W. WACKFORD

Authors Note - Okay be honest with me WHO ARE WE ACCEPTING A LETTER FROM?? I gotta know,,, This is the last of the valentines series, I hope you all enjoyed!

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supernovafics · 9 months ago

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series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k words

warnings: explicit language, nothing else really?

summary: your life goes back to normal— how things were before you knew steve— and it’s fine (or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN | ❝𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆❞

Spring Semester 2017

“This is how villain origin stories are born,” Robin said with a loud sigh as she closed her laptop for the time being. “Apartment hunting. Why does this suck so much?”

“Because everything’s severely out of our price range,” You responded, looking up from your own laptop. “Also, there are barely any three-bedroom options.”

“And the ones that are available and in our budget are very shitty,” Vickie added and you nodded in agreement.

The three of you were sitting on the carpeted floor in your dorm room. Living together for the next school year had been jokingly and playfully talked about in the very early stages of your friendship with Robin, but then as the months passed, it settled into an idea that actually became serious; mainly because of how much sense it made. And then Robin introduced you to Vickie and another friendship, and roommate, was born.

Eddie was also set as a fourth roommate for a bit, but then he told you that he and Chrissy decided to live together for junior year, so it became settled that it would only be you, Robin, and Vickie. Which sounded great, and you were already excited about it since you hated living alone, but the apartment-hunting part quickly proved to be a lot more of a nuisance than any of you had expected.

“Fuck it, let’s just do a four-bedroom, then,” Robin said, shrugging. “There are a bunch more options for those, anyway. Like, the one I showed you guys yesterday. That place was perfect.”

“Did I miss the moment when our fourth roommate magically appeared?” Vickie asked, a playful smile on her face.

“We can easily find someone else in one of those, like, Facebook group things.”

“That’s honestly not a bad idea,” You responded, already going to pull up Facebook on your laptop.

Robin smiled. “Thank you. I always have great ideas.”

Vickie gave her a look. “Do I need to mention the ‘donating blood to get concert ticket money’ idea you had a week ago?”

“No, that’s okay. We don’t need to discuss that low point.”

You were the one who showed them Talia’s posting on one of the “searching for roommates” groups. She seemed nice and interesting and both Robin and Vickie thought so too. The three of you put together a quick message— briefly introducing yourselves and that you were looking for a fourth roommate— and sent it.

“Okay, fourth roommate, check,” Robin said once you pressed send. “Now, we have to get the place that I showed you guys yesterday.”

You laughed a little. “Let’s wait until she actually says something, Rob.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

Initially, it felt equivalent to a family meeting. Well, more so what you imagined a family meeting would be like because the four of you never actually had to have one before.

But then, it actually felt like you were giving some sort of speech or presentation because of the setup. Robin, Vickie, and Talia were on the couch and you were standing in front of the TV and explaining everything to them.

You kept in most of the details— you and Steve agreeing to fake date, your feelings for Eddie being the reason behind it all, and how it was only meant to go until Spring Break.

Aside from the fact that they all seemed shocked to learn that you had feelings for Eddie, their collective thought was that the entire relationship between you and Steve had seemed so real.

“We were just really good at faking,” Was your response to Vickie specifically saying how cute you two had looked together; especially during the one reality TV night where Steve came over and picked the show.

You remembered that night pretty well, but you didn’t remember any specific moments where you had felt as if you and he had to “play up” the relationship or lay the PDA on thick since Eddie wasn’t around that night, so you weren’t sure how that moment was considered a definingly cute one for the two of you.

“Were you good at faking or was it not really fake?” Robin asked, giving you a certain look.

“Definitely fake,” You didn’t hesitate to answer because you deliberately didn’t want to think about her question too deeply. “We’re not even really friends, and he just went on a date last night. Hence the Eddie punch.”

Eddie was still sleeping in your bed. When you got back from Steve’s place, you weren’t in the mood to wake him up or tell him to shift over and make room for you, so you spent the night on the couch.

“Damn, it kinda sucks that we’re never gonna see him again. He was the only one that liked when I made the pumpkin cheesecake cookies,” Talia said.

Vickie laughed a bit. “The only reason we don’t like it is because that's clearly a Fall cookie, Tal, and it's Spring right now.” She then looked as if she thought of something. “Hey, but at least you won’t have to get stuck on a team with Eddie for game night anymore. We’re back to individual stuff or you being the referee.”

Talia smiled. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Wait, that just made me remember something,” Robin started. “Guys, I need you to please hear me out on this one,” She paused for what seemed like dramatic effect. “I think it's time to bring back Monopoly.”

There was a collective groan that immediately filled the air upon hearing her suggestion. Monopoly was a near friendship-ending game for you all, and it was only meant to be played on the rarest of occasions; which actually meant never.

You sat down on the small loveseat then, glad that the subject had been shifted and that your speech, mixed with a Q&A, was over. “Robin, why do you wanna ruin all of our friendships?”

She quickly shook her head. “Come on, it’s been months. We’re all much more mature and reasonable adults, and I doubt we’ll have any arguments like last time.”

Before any of you could respond with any sort of rebuttal, your bedroom door opened and out walked a tired looking Eddie.

“Somehow, I heard the mention of Monopoly and I’m here to immediately veto that suggestion.”

Robin rolled her eyes at him. “Go back to sleep, Munson.”

The game night conversation continued, and from there, things were normal. And you didn’t mind the normalcy that your life settled back into over the next few days and then weeks— even though, at one point, the thought of it bothered you and you had missed a lot of the things that came along with fake dating Steve. Now you knew there was no point in missing any of it; in fact, it felt kind of dumb to.

Your classes got more and more intense during the entire month of April, so there wasn’t that much time to think about Steve or wonder what he was up to. However, the moments you did think of him surprisingly hit hard.

When you all ended up playing Monopoly at game night, after Robin’s many begs and pleads, you thought about Steve and how different things would’ve been if he was there. You imagined him as a pretty competitive Monopoly player, and felt almost certain that he would’ve either had the biggest rivalry with Robin or formed some sort of alliance with her; she was the one that actually ended up winning after an intense and exhausting seven hours of playing that night. You wished that he could’ve been there.

And then there were the reminders of him that were left around— his t-shirt that you’d never gotten around to giving back to him, his sunglasses that you didn’t realize you’d stolen until you were finally finishing unpacking your stuff from the Mexico trip, and the bear that he got you for Valentine’s Day that you refused to ever get rid of, but you eventually stuffed Hartford away in your closet instead of leaving him on your desk to make things feel easier.

Anytime one of those moments happened where you randomly thought about him, you immediately reminded yourself of the rule and simply buried yourself further in whatever school assignment you needed to focus on, or made abrupt plans with Eddie, Robin, Vickie, or Talia.

It was late in the month when Talia wanted to set you up with a guy from one of her classes, who she claimed would be “perfect for you.” Initially, you were hesitant— more so leaning toward no than yes— but he had the Talia stamp of approval, so you let it happen. She gave him your number and there were a handful of text messages shared between you two that led to a museum date a week later.

It wasn’t terrible. But, your heart wasn’t in it at all, and neither was your head most of the time. And by the end of it, more specifically as you were in the elevator headed back up to your apartment, you realized that you probably wouldn’t see him again.

When you walked into the apartment, you spotted Talia in the kitchen and the entire apartment smelled amazing; which, of course, didn’t surprise you at all.

“Hey, what are you making?” You asked as you pulled off your jacket and hung it on one of the empty hooks next to the door.

“I got bored, so I decided to do a quick roasted chicken. It’s in the oven now,” She said, shrugging as if that was entirely normal. It would never not amuse you how her boredom would always spur on elaborate meals. “So, how was the date?”

“It was fine. Good, actually,” You answered after the briefest moment of hesitation. “He was pretty cool and we had a lot in common and stuff. But, I don’t know… It just didn’t feel right, I guess. My head was in a different place a lot of the time. Thinking about other stuff.”

“About Steve?”

Hearing her say that, surprised you. “What? No. I haven’t talked to him in like a month.”

She gave you a quick shrug. “That doesn’t mean that you can’t think about him.”

“I guess that’s true, but I haven’t really thought about him,” You said. It was a small lie that you were okay with telling because you didn’t want to admit or even ponder what it meant that you did think about and were so easily reminded of him sometimes.

“I’m kind of surprised that you two aren’t friends or something,” She told you as she went to grab something from the fridge. “I don’t think I could do a whole fake dating thing with someone and not, at least, be friends with them after it.”

You leaned back against the counter. “We came up with a bunch of rules when we started it, and that was one of them.”

“To not be friends after?”

“Not exactly that, but pretty much, yeah. The rule was to go our separate ways once the fake dating was done,” You shrugged. “Becoming friends was the last thing on both of our minds when we came up with that since we were basically strangers at the beginning of this. And when we were ending things, we both knew that it would be impossible to be friends after because of all of the lies that started this.”

She looked at you then. “But we all know the truth now, though. So you two could be friends and none of us would question it.”

Talia’s words made complete sense and they were something that you should’ve realized and thought about a lot earlier than this moment. You were quiet for what felt like forever because you didn’t know what to say in response. Your immediate reaction was to still say no, you couldn’t be friends with him, but if she followed up and asked why, you knew that you wouldn’t have an answer.

When the oven started beeping, it felt like a very “saved by the bell” kind of moment. Talia pulled out the chicken from the oven and let the conversation shift from there. “You got back from your date just in time, by the way. You wanna try this?”

“Of course, I’ll never turn down anything you make.”

You went to your room first to change out of your date outfit and put on some pajamas instead and then you joined Talia back in the kitchen. The chicken was quite literally perfect, which didn’t surprise you, and you retreated to your room for the night after you finished eating, while Talia put on a documentary that she had to watch for one of her psychology classes.

As much as you tried to focus on anything else as you lay in your bed, you inadvertently spent the rest of the night thinking about Steve— it was too hard not to.

You thought about every moment that you had been reminded of him over the past month— how it hadn’t felt like much at first, but when you thought about it all at once, it was a lot. You also thought about what Talia said and why you and he weren’t friends even though it was pretty obvious that you should be— what else could explain why you both had prolonged and dragged out the conversation in his car the night you two “broke up”? Neither of you had wanted to let the inevitable happen.

All of this was about more than just following the rule to you. Of course, it was about more than just that.

Deep down you knew exactly why you couldn’t listen to what Talia said— why you couldn’t text him, go to his place, or do anything else to lean into that short-lived friendship you two had that you actually had a feeling was still there— but right then you refused to admit it.

Instead, you grabbed your phone and put on a random podcast just so you could use the noise to drown out your thoughts and force yourself to fall asleep.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It wasn’t until a few days before finals that you thought about Steve again. It was kind of hard not to because you ran right into him— or more so tripped over him.

The campus library during the week before finals week was probably one of the worst places to be, but you were in a last-second search for a book that you needed to do an essay on and you refused to buy it online because, for some reason, it was way too expensive.

Your eyes were trained solely on the spines of books as you searched for the one in particular when you tripped over something in the middle of the aisle. It wasn’t a full-on fall, just a very awkward stumble, but it somehow felt just as embarrassing.

You let out an abrupt yelp in the middle of your stumble and heard a voice before you even got to see what caused you to trip. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”

You recognized Steve’s voice immediately and it sent a surprised jolt through you as you turned to look at him. He was leaned back against the long bookshelf with his legs stretched out and there was a textbook opened in his lap. He must’ve just been sleeping because you saw him rub his eyes and let out a quick yawn.

He looked up at you as he crossed his legs under him instead of having them stretched out in the aisle. He seemed as if he was surprised to see you too, but from the look on his face, you could tell that he saw it as a good surprise; you weren’t sure if you could say the same just yet. “Shit, now I feel worse knowing that I just did that to you.”

That got the smallest smile out of you. “Yes, you should feel a thousand times worse for almost ending my life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sleeping here?” You asked. Both of you were keeping your voices low because you were on one of the quieter floors of the library.

He shook his head. “I’m not sleeping. I was taking a break from studying for a test and just resting my eyes for a second.”

“So sleeping?”

“A very brief nap,” He corrected.

“Ah, okay, got it,” You nodded, words coming out completely sarcastic. “Sorry for interrupting your very brief nap then.”

“Sorry for almost killing you.”

“Thank you.”

You knew that you should’ve let the brief conversation end there. You should’ve looked away from him then and continued searching for the book you needed to find. But, you didn’t.

Instead, after the briefest moment of lingering silence between you two, you sat down across from Steve. The book and the essay that you needed to work on became the farthest things from your mind for the time being.

You didn’t have the strongest grasp on what you were doing right then and why you were doing any of it, but you decided not to question it. Instead, you simply did what felt good in the moment.

You leaned back against the bookshelf opposite Steve and crossed your legs as well. “Hi.”

He gave you a questioning look at first— maybe he was also expecting the conversation to end in that previous spot; like it would’ve with any other two people who weren’t really friends that had just randomly bumped into each other.

But then, he was smiling, a genuine Steve Harrington smile that felt really nice to see. “Hey.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

a/n: ….. i'm sorry for the cliffhanger !!!!

next part!

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki , @definitionwanderlust , @dwcode , @sun-fiower-seed , @keerysfolklore , @damon-loves-pie , @lodeddiperrodrick , @bisexual-and-intellectual , @munsonburn3r , @negomi123 , @khena , @facexthexsunshine , @seatbacksandtraytables , @suckerfordylansstuff

(if your user is crossed out it means i can’t tag you</3)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff

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thezombieprostitute · 7 months ago

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Nurse Playboy

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: who invited them to the holiday party?

A/N2: Reader is implied female. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Hospital setting, Implied cheating, Sick kids. Let me know if I missed any!

It was pretty well known that the pediatrics ward had the best holiday party in the entire hospital. It was important for the kids and their families and all the doctors, nurses, custodial staff and volunteers did their part to make sure everyone had a fun time while also still being safe. It was always such a big event in the best ways!

Though you were a cardiologist, working in a separate wing of the hospital, you'd gotten an invite from Jake since he was a nurse in pediatrics. You knew he was quite popular amongst the kids because he'd always encourage them in their interests. He never forgot which kid was into dinosaurs, which one was a Stardew gamer, which one just liked to color. It was a priority for him. It didn't hurt that his big, strong arms were good for carrying kids around, whether for fun, emergency or comfort. He made the kids feel safe.

You finally caught sight of Jake, helping to hand out presents. The sight of him brought an immediate smile to your face. He looked so ridiculous in the elf hat, but he was owning it and the kids loved it. You decide to stand and watch him, waiting until he had a break to talk to you.

Because you were wearing your casual clothes it didn't surprise you to overhear some of the other nurses whispering about you.

"Who invited them to the holiday party?"

"Should we get someone?"

"Let me go talk to them and see what's up."

One of the nurses walks up and introduces herself as Michelle. You recognize the name from talking with Jake. She's one of the ones who's always asking him to reach stuff on the higher and lower levels while ogling him. You give her your first name and tell her you're one of the doctors from Cardiology. You show her your ticket to the party and tell her you're not in scrubs because it's supposed to be your day off.

"And you're spending it here at the hospital," she shakes her head.

"Well, it's the best, most heartwarming party in the area," you shrug.

"Is it the party or the guy?" You give her a confused look. "I saw you eyeing up Nurse Playboy."

"Nurse Playboy?"

"Yeah, it's the nickname we gave him," she explains. "He's the best at helping the kids with their playing, especially gaming during some of their treatments."

"Aww, that's so sweet! I'll bet he loves the nickname."

"Well, we haven't told him that one yet," she confesses. "It's just for those of us who want to dig our claws into that well muscled torso of his."

"Oh! Oh my!" Your eyes widen in shock at her statement. You decide to have a little fun. "I'm surprised none of you have staked a claim on him yet."

She snorts, "well, rumor has it he's married."

"Rumor?"

"He tells us and the kids he is, and he wears a couple rings on a necklace. But we're not sure."

"Not sure or just hopeful you've still got a chance?"

She chuckles at that, "probably the latter. But there's no way his wife could actually exist. The way he talks about her!"

"She exists," you nod.

"What? How do you know?"

"She works in Cardiology. Over there they call him Nurse Puppy because he follows her around like a puppy, eager for attention."

"You've gotta be kidding me," she huffs quietly.

"I can introduce you, if you'd like." She goes to say something but you don't linger.

As soon as you're within his vision, Jake lights up. "Hey beautiful! Merry Christmas!" Quickly but carefully Jake navigates his way towards you and wraps you up in a big hug before kissing you all over your face.

Several of the kids start giggling, others making "ewww!!" noises that have you laughing even harder. Part of you wants to give Michelle a gloating look, but when you're in Jake's arms, the need to be petty subsides. She can see for herself that Jake's taken.

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness;

@lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

#navy and roo's sleepover #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x female!reader #jake jensen x female reader #jake jensen x f!reader #nurse!jake jensen #nurse!jake jensen x doctor!reader #nurse!jake jensen x female!reader

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ingravinoveritas · 9 months ago

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This past week, I traveled to London to see Macbeth. Everything I had heard and seen about David, Cush Jumbo, and the overall production convinced me that it was not to be missed, and so I took the crazy chance of purchasing a ticket months ago, and it was the first time I've ever gone to another country just for a play.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been going to Broadway shows, and the experience of live theatre has always been something incomparable and incredibly meaningful to me. Seeing something beyond Broadway, however, never felt possible until now. This opportunity arose at a moment when I was finally able to seize it, and now that I have attended the play not once, but twice (thanks to a lovely person who was able to help me obtain a £25 day ticket), I can say that Macbeth was, without question, the most amazing thing that I have ever seen on stage.

What follows is my review/thoughts on the production, and I will try my best to avoid spoilers (though fair warning that one or two may arise, so proceed with caution).

In high school, Shakespeare was something we were taught. It was an assumed part of the curriculum, labeled as a classic. Yet it seemed to exist in a time capsule--a product of its era, and of an English language barely proximate to the one we speak today. We learned Macbeth on the page, in annotations and themes and meter, rather than something pulsing, beating, living. Something that makes us feel. And for nearly two hours in a beautiful Victorian theatre in a little corner of the West End, all I did was exactly that.

I felt. And after seeing this play, I am not the same person on a molecular level that I was before.

Everything about this play--from David's mesmerizing portrayal of Macbeth to Cush Jumbo's wrenching turn as Lady Macbeth to the entire ensemble cast to the staging choices (light, sound, and so on)--is extraordinary. It is breathtakingly ruinous. It is so fully immersive that by the end you somehow feel bruised, viscerally disgusted and wrung out in equally beautiful measure.

It's almost misleading to say that we the audience are simply watching the play, because thanks to the binaural audio design (headphones), we are in Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's minds, and become accomplices to the characters' wicked deeds. When the porter (Jatinder Singh Randhawa) comes on to provide comic relief at exactly the perfect moment, it soon becomes clear that it is a distraction from our own discomfort at what has just happened. But it is a short-lived respite, as we are soon plunged back into the action and the characters' spiraling descent into madness.

In terms of David specifically, seeing him on television or on any screen profoundly pales to seeing him on the stage. In much the same way that the stage is Michael's natural habitat, it is also David's. The way he moves, the way he holds himself when he's not even speaking--which I got to see up close when he knelt directly in front of me on several occasions--is meticulous. David becomes the character he is playing, down into the pit of his soul. He disappears so thoroughly that I very quickly forgot that I was even watching him.

So many people can recite Shakespeare, but there is a marked difference between recitation and what David does. Together, David and Cush make Macbeth and Lady Macbeth feel like the Bonnie and Clyde of the Elizabethan age (only hornier). And the themes the play invokes--greed, fear, jealousy, power--are shown to be themes not of a particular era, but of humanity. David especially is so preternaturally good at making all of that unbearably real. He not only makes Shakespeare accessible to the modern world--an already difficult feat on its own--he makes it timeless.

For the last ten minutes of the play, I felt like I stopped breathing. The evil that Macbeth perpetrates, and the realization that he has not become like this, but rather that this is who he has always been, hits full force. As much as this play is very definitely an ensemble piece, David is the standout. He commands the stage, and at no point is he more powerful than when Macbeth is falling apart near the end.

(On a purely aesthetic level, this is also when David looks most beautiful--the wild hair, the form-fitting shirt heaving with the rise and fall of his greyhound lean chest, and the majestic sweep of the kilt with every frenzied movement. The complete erosion of the line between sanity and insanity, but also showing us how tenuous that line was to begin with. And he is utterly gorgeous while doing so.)

It's also at this moment in the play that we see how skillfully David has manipulated the audience. Where Michael uses a character's emotions much more overtly and aggressively--sniffing the audience out, stalking around the stage, feeling as if he's about to pull you up with him--David is far more controlled. He draws you in slowly, carefully, and it's only when we see the depths of Macbeth's depravity (notably killing Young Siward) that we realize the truth:

He got us. He made us the witnesses to Macbeth's malice, made sure we couldn't look away. And now we are complicit.

If I had to pinpoint any negatives about the play (which is extremely difficult to do), it's that there is only a brief moment where the pacing lags just slightly, and it's because David is off stage for a considerable period of time. The cast is absolutely incredible, bar none, but the energy doesn't quite maintain that high level when he is not there.

Also, from a sensory standpoint, this is very much not a sensory-friendly production. There are several instances of sudden loud noises in the headphones (which I found especially jarring), as well as the use of flashing lights, and considerable use of smoke at multiple points. All of these were more acute because I was sitting in the Stalls (second row), so I can only speak to it from that vantage, rather than from other locations in the theatre. But for anyone who is autistic (as I am) or has sensory-processing challenges, be advised that this play is definitely inaccessible in those respects.

When I left the Harold Pinter Theatre that night, I felt as though my entire central nervous system had been rearranged. There genuinely is no way to be normal about this play, because it is not a normal play. It takes apart everything you know about Macbeth and puts it back together in the most unexpected, electrifying way. It is the beauty of destruction, and no one embodies that more perfectly than David. Even days later, I can still feel the buzzing of my skin, the blood rushing through me, fingertips tingling from some heady combination of arousal and fear. (Or as Dr. Frank N. Furter once put it: "A mental mind fuck can be quite nice...")

The moment the lights went to black, every single person in that theatre was on their feet in a standing ovation. The applause was thunderous, and seemed even louder in the wake of the complete silence that preceded it.

I had sat in that silence--awestruck, captivated--and thought to myself that I could watch this production forever. And I would go back and do it all over again right now if I could. If you have the means, the opportunity, it is an experience I cannot recommend highly enough.

David is truly a master of his craft, and yet performs without a hint of ego. He gives everything he has and leaves it all on the stage. And what he and this team of people have come together to give us is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

(Pictures taken on 10/12/2024.)

#david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #cush jumbo #macbeth #harold pinter theatre #west end #i had the most incredible time on my trip #but even if i hadn't it would have been worth it for this alone #i am so very glad that this was my first west end play #this entire production is just living art #i really really hope it gets a transfer to Broadway too #fingers crossed #review #thoughts

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chiscribbs · 1 year ago

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As promised, to show my thanks for getting Grown Apart AU through to the next @tmntaucompetition round - here's a little bonus treat:

A visual chart detailing all the major character relationships in the AU's first act! Enjoy!

(Click "keep reading" for some additional information on a few of the dynamics shown above.)

Splinter & Mikey - When the boys were still very small, Splinter used to take them with him on his excursions out of the sewers (either to get supplies or to search for the two missing turtles). During one of these trips, Mikey got separated from his dad and brother - they eventually found him, mostly unharmed, but the traumatic experience left a lasting mark on Splinter and he has worried about his youngest son ever since.

Leo & Raph - Leo and Raph are the first of the estranged brothers to meet, face-to-face. Raph finds Leo snooping around Draxum's lab and attacks him. Leo manages to escape, with his newly acquired portal sword, but the lab is destroyed in the clash. The two proceed to fight each other on multiple occasions after this, forming a sort of battlefield rivalry.

Donnie & Mikey - By complete and total coincidence, Donnie ends up saving Mikey's life after Draxum drops him off the roof of a building. Mikey takes this as evidence that Donnie is a good person and decides to trust him (despite Leo's protests). Realizing this, Donnie uses Mikey's "misplaced" trust in him as a ticket into the Hamato residence so that he can hide out there until he's apprehended the oozesquitos.

Raph & BM's Assistant - Although Big Mama and Draxum don't work together often, their business does tend to intersect on occasion. Because of this, Raph has had the odd encounter with Big Mama's masked companion. They've never spoken, though (not that BMA would speak even if they had gotten the chance).

Donnie & Raph - They're aware of each other's existence, thanks to their parents' occasional dealings, but haven't actually seen or spoken with each other. Big Mama largely limits Donnie's interaction with anyone outside of herself and hotel staff, and she's especially reluctant to let him meet other mutants (once she learns of their existence) or Draxum. This hasn't stopped him from listening in on some of her business chats via his surveillance tech and finding things out that way, though. Raph only knows Donnie as Big Mama's mechanic and the one responsible for her criminal empire's recent upgrade in technological advancements.

Splinter & Leo - Because of the incident that occurred when they were younger, Splinter has always had a soft spot for Mikey. Leo doesn't exactly resent this fact, but he does often feel like he gets short-changed on all accounts - when Splinter isn't around, Leo is responsible for keeping them both safe and out of trouble. When Splinter IS around, a majority of his limited attention generally gets directed towards Mikey. Thanks to this, Leo is left feeling both a little attention-starved and desperate for some independence. He's too proud to admit to his dad that he feels unseen, though, so he instead opts for causing a little mischief to get the desired attention.

Raph & Mikey - After learning that Raph is not only a mutant, like himself and Leo, but that they were created by the same person - Mikey becomes determined to befriend him and change his mind about humanity. He considers Raph part of the family - even before finding out that Lou Jitsu is their real father, thus making him their real brother. Raph doesn't quite share the sentiment, though - as far as he's concerned, Mikey's the one who's on the wrong side of the fight and no amount of niceness is going to convince him otherwise. (It does, however, make it a lot harder to hate him...)

Donnie & BM's Assistant - These two have a history that goes back several years and has soured with time...on Donnie's end, at least. He used to be close to BMA, considered them a friend for a little while, then something happened to change his opinion of them and caused him to see them as a rival. But what about BMA? What effect, if any, did the loss of Donnie's trust and friendship have on them? As with all things surrounding this character, it's a mystery...

#grown apart au (rottmnt)#rottmnt au #rottmnt #chiscribbs #rottmnt splinter #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #baron draxum #rottmnt big mama #rottmnt april #big mama's assistant #huginn and muninn #rottmnt huginn #rottmnt muninn #fanart #relationship chart

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writteninthesewalls28 · 4 months ago

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Racing Psychology - Part Three

Summary: Josie comes to Lando's race in Miami and the tension between them becomes undeniable.

Warnings: not proof read, passionate kissing, curse words, I don't know anything about racing, please don't take it personal if something is not described how it actually is in real life (Remember: this is pure fiction)

Part one Part two

Lando held his promise and had sent me a VIP ticket with which I would not only have an exceptional view of the entire race track and especially the pit stops, but I could also witness the exclusive backstage interviews after the race.

When I would finally meet him again, I definitely had to thank him for arranging this ticket for me so last minute. I don’t even want to know how much money such a ticket would cost if someone buys it without knowing any of the drivers personally.

But when I stood in the VIP stands and looked around, I could already answer that question myself. The only people sitting and standing, some of them not even slightly interested in the race right in front of them, were wearing the most expensive brands you could think of: Gucci, Louis Vittons and however the list goes on. Everything in the room only screamed money and wealth and as much as I felt uncomfortable and not welcomed here with my normal jeans and shirt, the excitement of getting to meet Lando again even made me forget about the elite crowd that I found myself in at the moment.

Because I simply knew nothing about Formula 1, I had spent my Saturday evening researching the procedure of a regular Grand Prix and had read several articles about racing terms and when what takes place.

My brain was still a bit overwhelmed with all the new information I had gained in the course of just 3 hours, but at the thought of simply standing here and having absolutely no idea of what was going on in front of me, made me shiver.

But standing here now, I realised that my insecurities were totally unfounded. For most of the people in the VIP area, this event was a chance to show off the expensive dresses and watches and eat exclusive food like caviare and the main race was something that came second or wasn’t even interesting at all. Seeing this type of wealth with my own eyes, it made me feel unwanted and somewhat less important even though it was just a number on a bank account and a better ecological footprint that made me different from these people. I tried shutting these thoughts off, especially when my brain tried telling me that Lando is one of them and has a higher salary than I will ever have once I finished my studies and work as a psychologist.

This had no impact on me liking him or vice versa, so I should not think about it and instead enjoy the cars passing me with 315 km/h so that you could barely see who was in front and who chased a driver ahead of him.

Thanks to the commentary through the speakers and a big scoreboard at all corners of the room, I could see that Max and Lando were constantly fighting over P1 and changed positions constantly.

Right now, Lando was the one leading the race. “Norris overtakes Verstappen!” the commentator shouts over the speaker above me. “Two laps to go, can Red Bull catch up with Mclaren or will Norris win his fourth Grand Prix of the season?” As more and more people noticed the energetic voice of the commentator as there was only one more lap to go, they rushed to the windows that I had been standing at for the entirety of the race, not eating a single thing because it felt like betraying my own values.

Then you should leave and tell Lando to fuck off.

I ignored my inner thoughts and instead focused solely on the two cars coming closer and closer to the finish line. Lando was still in front, but only less than two meters behind him followed the dark blue car of Max. The tension in the large room was almost palpable and it was as if every person next to me held their breath seconds before Lando’s orange car crossed the checkered flag first and the tension left my body as fast as it came.

He won. I felt beyond happy to have witnessed this special moment for him and now the excitement inside of me grew even more to see him for a second time.

Some people in the VIP area cheered because of his win, others seemed rather disappointed by the outcome of this race and the majority of people simply didn’t seem to care and quickly focused back on either their food or their conversation they had with the person in front of them before Lando’s win interrupted it.

I was happy that I could finally leave this room and the negative impact that it had on my self-confidence.

When Lando sent me the ticket, he told me he also reserved a spot for me in the Mclaren paddock so I could go there once the race was over and congratulate him in case he had won the race, so I followed the signs through the hallways until I saw a door to the Mclaren paddock. I slowly opened it and found myself in an ocean of papaya-colored shirts and hats and felt incredibly lost by the big number of people.

Everyone was rushing outside, so I followed the crowd like a shadow until I blinked into the bright sun and only seconds later caught a glimpse at Lando who had the biggest smile on his face as he ran up to his team. Too many people walked up to him at the same time and congratulated him on the magnificent win and Lando seemed to be enjoying the attention like it was the best thing to ever happen in his life.

He walked around the paddock, shaking hands, smiling and hugging people, before his eyes unexpectedly met mine. The surprise to see me here was written all over his face, before he shot a smile at me that made my stomach twirl in a way that it never did when Lukas did the same thing.

The magical moment only lasted a few seconds and then Lando had to break our eye contact and continue to hug more team members.

That was, when his teammate Oscar Piastri walked into the paddock and first of all wrapped Lando in a short hug and then walked over to the side, which unfortunately was right next to me. He looked at me irritated, obviously noticing that I was not wearing anything papaya-colored. “Are you even allowed to be here?” he asked and I tried not to judge him for the arrogant tone in his voice, I understood that he didn’t want anyone in the paddock who did not belong there.

“Yes, I think so.” I gave him a soft smile, not sure if I was allowed to expose Lando inviting me here.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. “That’s what they all say.”

“No, really.” I point towards Lando. “He invited me.”

His eyes grew wide for a short second. “Who? Lando?” He chuckled. “Yeah, no way. You better leave right now or I’ll make sure you never step a foot in here ever again.”

My temperature repeatedly changed from ice cold to standing in a bonfire every two seconds. What should I do now? I was only moments away from getting to speak to Lando again, waiting two entire days before getting to hear his voice again were the longest days in the entire universe. Thankfully, I did not need to worry a second longer because a familiar voice reached my ears and suddenly Lando stood next to me, his eyes wandering from me to Oscar.

“Good to see you here.” Lando said to me and gave me an innocent, nervous smile. “Congrats on the win, Mr. Racing-is-more-my-thing.” Were my first words I said to him and for a second forgot about Oscar standing right next to us still thinking I am a liar because I got lost in Lando’s appearance. The racing helmet messed up his dark curls and a few pearls of sweat ran down his face, but he was still looking as amazing as when I first met him.

Oscar then pulled me out of my immovability by clearing his throat. “You know her?” He asked Lando awkwardly, his gaze nervously wandering between the both of us.

He nodded. “Yes, I met her at a bar the other night and invited her here.” For a short moment, his eyes met mine again before he looked over at his teammate.

Oscar focused back on me. “I am sorry for addressing you like that.” He let out and I only shrugged.

“I understand. I wouldn’t want someone spying on me as well.” I smiled at him and he nodded before walking away to talk to other members of the team.

“You already met Oscar?” Lando rhetorically asked with an ironic tone in his voice. “Seems like it.” I laughed.

A silence built between us when Lando talked again: “So, how was your first Formula 1 race besides nearly getting thrown out of the paddock?” He asked.

I let out a sigh. “Good, I guess… I still don’t really understand much about the sport, but the speed y’all put on is pretty impressive.” I laughed and stared at his eyes covered in amusement.

“Sounds like the average first impression that a newby has at a Formula 1 race. You’ll get used to it, promise.” The knowing look in his face made my heart rate rise to an indescribable level. That sounded as if he wanted to see me at more than one race.

Not knowing what to say, I simply grinned at him again. “Looking forward to that.” I breathed out and suddenly the eye contact got more and more intense and the atmosphere between us changed rapidly and all I wanted to do was press my lips onto his.

He seemed to be feeling the same tension, but was better at resisting the urge. He quickly stepped a few steps away from me and the warmth in my body cooled back down.

“Thanks for inviting me by the way.” I then said to fill the sudden silence. “I don’t think I want to know what that ticket must’ve cost you.” Or do the drivers get them for free? “Again, no need to thank me, Josie. I love helping you out.”

“But giving me a VIP ticket is not exactly helping me, so–”

Lando interrupted me. “Shut up and just accept it, alright?” He told me and had to laugh at his own words.

“Yes, Sir.” I responded ironically.

Lando’s gaze suddenly focused on the team behind me and the professional look on his face already told me that he had to leave to do his after-race job.

“I have to go and celebrate. Meet me in the private parking lot when I am done here?” he asked and I nodded, looking forward to being alone with him. “I’ll send you a message when I am coming.”

While Lando followed his duties as an f1 driver, I silently admired him during his press interviews and later on the podium at the champagne shower and could not not-notice how hot his racing suit looked on him and that the papaya-orange actually suited him rather brilliantly.

It was three hours later after our interaction in the paddock that he sent me the long awaited message of meeting me at the parking lot. I walked up to my car and sat down on the hood of my little, red golf that I have been driving for the past 5 years while waiting for him.

When he walked up to me, now dressed in a team hoodie and a big grin on his face, it felt like something straight out of a romance book. The rich man secretly meets up with the middle-class student at college at night. Just without the night sky and he was rich, but had no problem with introducing me to Oscar.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He sat down next to me and his leg brushed against mine which made my stomach jump up and down like a little child who was desperate to get that one specific chocolate at the supermarket.

“Great interviews.” I said and looked at him from the side.

He shrugged. “Definitely not my favorite part of the job though.”

“I could tell.” I smiled and loved to play my psychologist-student card on him for the second time.

“Right. I always forget I am talking to a psychologist.” His eyes met mine. “If you don’t mind me asking, what gave it away?” Again, the pure interest in his face for my specialty nearly made me giggle like a little child but I could keep it to myself. The least I wanted was to embarrass myself in front of him. “You looked down on your hands a lot and I saw you fidgeting with your fingers more than once.” I slowly touched his hand to prove my point and felt something similar to an electric shock running through my body as if I touched an electric fence.

Lando looked down, laughing. “Thanks, Sherlock. You really do notice everything. Is that something you only learn through studying psychology or is it like a talent of yours?”

His words surprised me in a positive way and I felt weirdly appreciated and valued. I didn’t know what to say and simply stared at him in awe. “What’s wrong?” He quietly laughed.

“Nothing. I just–” I let out a sigh. “I don’t think anyone has ever cared about my talents before.” Atleast not in the way you do, I silently add, too scared to ruin this moment with too much vulnerability too early.

Lando tilted his head. “Then you never met anyone who truly cares about you.” It seemed that the realization of what he just admitted only reached him after the words had already left his mouth, but he did not care for long. “So, please answer my question?” “I think it’s more of a natural thing to be honest.” I said, doing him the favor. “As far as I can remember, I had always been good at analyzing people and their behavior, especially towards me.” I explained this talent a bit further.

“What do you know about me then?”

I hesitated. The tension that had been boiling between us at the paddock seemed to be coming back and now that we were alone, I wasn’t sure if I could resist his perfect eyes staring into mine as he watched me closely, waiting for my answer like it was the last thing he would be doing.

“That you care about me. And that you like having me around, even when we are not alone. I don’t know why, but I think you are yourself around me.” Just realising what I had just said, I cut myself off before hectically trying to explain what I meant by that. “I mean– It’s not like I know you or anything or have the right to just assume these things about you, but–”

With every word, I felt more embarrassed and simply did not notice Lando moving closer and closer to me and now staring at my lips instead of my eyes. It was only when I could feel his breath on my skin that I realised how close he really was to me. “You’re right. I am myself around you, Josie. And that is why I cannot resist the spell you have on me.”

Without much hesitation, he lightly pressed his lips onto mine, trying to find out if we are on the same page here. I gave him a very obvious answer by letting my hand slide up to his neck and pulling him further down to me. He moaned into my mouth and his tongue met mine in an eager play of passion and lust.

Quickly, a simple kiss turned into so much more. The soft smell of vanilla and something so indescribably Lando-like was mixed with sweat from his race and I didn’t think I have ever loved a smell more than this one. My hands moved up to his hair and I gently drowned them in his curls that really did feel as good as they look.

Landos hands slid under my shirt and softly ran over my back, giving me goosebumps and only increased the feeling of wanting to be impossibly closer to him. He must’ve had the same desire because he pulled me on his lap in a swift motion and I let my hips roll against his body which made us both moan loudly into each other's mouths.

This kiss felt like my very personal heaven. He felt like heaven, his body so close to mine. When I slowly let go of him and his eyes displayed the same begging for more that I felt in every inch of my body, I knew I was in trouble. I’ve fallen for Lando Norris.

#maddys writing #my work #writing #writers on tumblr #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris series #lando norris x oc

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briefcasesnbadges · 4 months ago

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Title: The Ball

Pairing: Rita Calhoun x Female!Reader

Synopsis: You and Rita get a chance to show each other off.

CW: None, it's just a bit of fluff.

"Rita, this is stupid. I don't see why this is the year we have to go," you whined, unable to stomp your feet. You had technically been a member of the NYPD for 15 years, and you had not once attended the Policeman's Ball once. Most of the time you had the excuse of being undercover as one of the force's best UC cops.

You had worked with countless units going under, but now you were someone with a fancy title which meant that you had to make appearances. Tucker had been very clear with you about that one, which had led to quite the argument. He had always kind of been a dick to you, but you had always just taken it as frustration for your complete lack of interest in him. Years later, and both of you realized the reason why whenever Rita Calhoun walked into your lives.

"I think it comes with the new job. If it's like a tax for your safety, then it's more than worth it." You hated how reasonable Rita was being about this. However, you knew that she liked going out like this. She liked any excuse to get dressed up, unlike you. You hated the tailors and the fittings and all of the excessiveness that came along with it. If you could, you'd stay holed up in your office all night double checking paperwork instead of going. "Don't be so dramatic, think of it as a way to flaunt your very hot wife around your coworkers."

"You mean show Tucker what he fucked up?" you teased. Rita shamelessly nodded as she signed off on purchasing her dress. You were still being fitted for your suit. Rita wanted you to look perfect, so she was getting your uniform tailored to fit you better. It was quite the process, but your body hadn't changed enough to warrant going up or down any actual sizes yet.

"Oh that is just perfect!" Rita exclaimed as she looked up to see the finishing touches on your uniform.

...

If the fitting had been annoying, the ball itself felt more like hell. You had been through a full day of work, just to get dressed up the minute you got home to leave again. All of the other captains were sitting together in groups like they had known each other for years. Outside of a cover, you had never meshed well with others. Especially not in groups like that, so you avoided that table like your life depended on it.

Rita had been running late, so you were stuck by yourself for about an hour. Unsurprisingly, she absolutely stole the show with her arrival. A good amount of cops looked at her with a look of hatred, something that just kind of came along with her job. Rita still had some friends in other lawyers and judges who had purchased tickets to the ball, but she went straight for you instead.

"If it wasn't for that uniform, I'd think you were one of the first year detectives from the way you're just standing here," Rita teased. You remembered your first policeman's ball, which you had been dragged to with Liv right after her transfer to SVU. The two of you had gone together, despite not yet having attempted your first relationship together.

"I'm pretty sure that I spent that ball pretending to be a prostitute and staking out a drug den. I didn't actually make it here until my fifth year," you told Rita. She chuckled a little, having heard all about that operation. She had still been with the DA's office back then and nearly been roped into prosecuting that case before the really big names were brought in for it.

"Well, you're making up for it now. Have I ever told you how good I think you look Captain?" Rita asked you. She definitely had several times, but you could always stand to hear it a few more times. You pressed a kiss to her cheek as she waved the bartender over for a drink. You had already finished the three that you'd allow yourself for the night, but Rita was just getting started.

There were a lot of eyes on the two of you. People had heard about your past, so you weren't surprised. It wasn't like people were just coming up to you, most of them seemed pretty nervous to meet you. Sometimes you forgot about how big some of the busts you had made were. It had been enough to get you promoted to Captain whenever Rita brought up that you needed to make some sort of change. She wanted another 30 years with you at the very least, and your job had been making that seem impossible.

"Your unit seems to be behaving well," Rita mused. The later that the night went on, the worse most cops seemed to get. They'd drink the free bar dry before moving on to one of the other bars in the city. You knew there would be hundreds of hungover cops the next day, but your unit wouldn't be one of them. You had a good group, ones who had spent enough time undercover in bad areas to understand that certain things really were necessary for survival. You didn't let your guys get desensitized like everybody else did because you knew how dangerous an out of touch cop could be.

"They don't know what tomorrow could have in store, and they need to be ready. Besides, I'm sure that actually seeing you was enough of a shock for the night. I think they forget that I can hear them when my door isn't shut all the way," you laughed. You had overheard your team talking about Rita several times, always speculating about your relationship. Some things they said were accurate, but most of it was wild. You had to admit that you and Rita had a fairly boring life, which was exactly what you wanted. Nights like these were rare, but you'd happily let them believe it was all glitz and glamour for Rita's reputation.

#law and order svu #law and order svu x reader #svu #svu x reader #law and order svu imagines #svu imagines #rita calhoun x reader #rita calhoun imagine #rita calhoun #female reader

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dinarosie · 8 months ago

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Even if Snape's inner motivation for joining Voldemort was a desire for acceptance, control, power and belonging, surely to achieve that he must have harbored some toxic beliefs about muggles and muggleborns? I cannot imagine someone as intellectual as Snape would not try to justify the dislike for muggles and muggleborns of the other purebloods in his head? He probably thought muggleborns were lesser in some ways to purebloods and muggles were ruining the world or something. He couldn't rationalize Lily's hatred for the dark arts and people like Mulciber, therefore I think he held delusional and negative beliefs towards muggleborns and muggles because his mind distorted the truth to fit his selfish narrative. He was moving in pureblood circles, heared their opinions all the time I believe he started believing some of that stuff too even if he wasn't violent about it. He tried to appease Voldemort, strived to be his follower he must have internalized some of the anti muggleborn beliefs in order to do that. What do you think?

Prejudice in the wizarding world isn’t something exclusive to the Death Eaters or even to one specific time. It's woven deeply into magical society, and even after the Second Wizarding War, we don't see convincing evidence that these biases are completely eradicated. Throughout the books, we see that many characters even those like mcgonagall, Hagrid and Weasleys, who oppose Voldemort's ideology still display some prejudice toward Muggles and other magical beings. They may not condone Voldemort’s tactics, but for example they actively try to sever all ties with their Muggle relatives as if they don’t exist at all or they show amusement at using magic to fool Muggles (think Ron, teenage James and Sirius). This reflects a norm and heritage within wizarding culture, a subtle acceptance of superiority that has been passed down for generations. This societal undercurrent of prejudice was so pervasive that, in the early days of the First Wizarding War, many actually supported Voldemort’s rise, at least until his methods became excessively violent. If the prophecy hadn’t intervened, he might have won, showing how ingrained these biases were.

When it comes to Snape, I get frustrated with interpretations that try to paint him as some "mini-Nazi" from age nine. Looking at his childhood, it’s clear that young Snape didn’t have a love for the Muggle world—and honestly, can you blame him, considering the harsh, painful reality his family life created there? To him, magic was a ticket out, a lifeline. But what’s interesting is how he responds to Lily’s magic, a Muggle-born witch. Instead of seeing her as “lesser,” he immediately recognizes her as one of his own:

“You are,” said Snape to Lily. “You are a witch. I’ve been watching you for a while. But there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s one, and I’m a wizard.”

Here, he embraces her as part of the magical world. He doesn’t see her as an outsider; instead, he’s excited to introduce her to magical world and help her feel like she belongs. This moment shows that even from a young age, Snape saw her magic as normal and valid (natural and valid like him and his own mother), even if she was Muggle-born.

I think it’s reasonable to believe teenage Snape (like most of the wizarding world) had some biases, especially given the difficult conditions he grew up in and the House he was eventually sorted into. But I don’t think these biases were the main driving force behind his choices. His prejudices weren’t extreme enough to fuel violence against Muggles or Muggle-borns. There’s no evidence that he ever wanted to actively harm someone simply because of their heritage, even in his Death Eater days. So, while he likely absorbed some prejudices from the pureblood-dominated world he was in, it’s clear that these beliefs didn’t reach the fanatical level they did with the other Death Eaters. And as he matured, these biases seemed to fade even further, to the point where he ultimately sacrificed his life to protect people.

Part of the differences between Lily and Snape’s perspectives on the Dark Arts, I think, can be traced back to Hogwarts’s own black-and-white view on magical disciplines. In some wizarding cultures, Dark Arts are studied and understood as a form of complex magic, not inherently evil. Interestingly, these communities, despite their engagement with Dark Arts, don’t necessarily produce other Voldemorts, so perhaps the Dark Arts have legitimate applications beyond harm. This difference in perspective is, I think, part of why young Snape couldn’t fully grasp Lily’s rejection of Dark Arts. To him, the Dark Arts were an area of knowledge, filled with awe and potential power, rather than just danger and malice. He believed that by mastering these aspects, he might impress her. Rowling’s narrative makes sense this way; Snape wasn’t trying to seduce her with dark ideas, but rather to share something he found fascinating and intellectually rich, even if misguidedly so.

#severus snape #pro snape #snapedom #snape fandom #anti snaters #snape defender #young snape #snape #lily evans #pro severus snape #anon #Prejudice #wizarding world #hp fandom

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insanityclause · 4 months ago

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On a cold evening in London, two German tourists survey the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. Lina, 19, outlines their master plan to meet Tom Hiddleston, starring in Much Ado About Nothing. Tonight: scrutinise the procedure at stage door, where only ticket holders are allowed to wait for a chance to meet the cast. Tomorrow: watch Much Ado then race to join the stage-door queue. As a backup, they’ve bought tickets for the next night, too.

“Be prepared!” Lina declares. Are they hoping for autographs, selfies … acting tips? “Just to see him. That would be enough. We especially travelled here for this. It’s all worth it. I just worry a little that he hasn’t much time.” She considers the arriving fans. “Wow – that’s a very big line.”

Near the front is Lilly, 22, who saw the first half of the play then opted to join the queue rather than watch the rest. (“I’ll read up on the story afterwards!”) A dozen others in the queue have also not watched the full show tonight. Lilly is rehearsing what to say to Hiddleston and co-star Hayley Atwell, who are both returning to theatre after Marvel blockbusters. They’re quite the draw: the theatre fits about 2,000 and most performances have practically sold out. Five minutes after it ends, there are 125 people waiting at stage door.

When Atwell emerges, her beaming smile is visible from the other side of the street where those without tickets are asked to stand. Passersby stop to stare; crowds swell. Still no sign of Hiddleston. “He’s probably having a poo,” says someone behind me.

You might think the curtain call signals the end of the night for actors but there remains the final act at the stage door, where fans have always lingered. Opposite the Theatre Royal is the tiny Fortune theatre, where cheers are greeting cast members for musical comedy Operation Mincemeat. I meet Liz, 29, who has seen the show several times and has brought flowers for Madeleine Jackson-Smith, debuting in a new role. She’s waiting “to tell the cast that they did a phenomenal job … that just feels polite!”

Meanwhile, here comes Hiddleston, albeit to milder whoops than the Mincemeat cast. Like Atwell, he chats, signs, poses for pics. He must have done at least 100 autographs by the time he leaves to cries of despair from a queue now snaking around the corner. But there are no complaints from Lilly, who is buzzing from her encounter.

That’s the magic of stage door, where gratitude goes both ways. Layton Williams, currently in Titanique at the Criterion, tells me he’ll go out almost every night, “no matter how tired I am”. He thanks fans, some of whom he has known for years, and enjoys hearing what the show means to them. Lucie Jones says she encounters people “whose lives have been changed” by a show and has been “humbled” by terminally ill fans saying thank you on a final trip to the theatre. When Renée Lamb meets fans at stage doors in Liverpool, where she grew up, it is especially evident that “I’m essentially doing their dream – that was me at one point”. When she was younger, Lamb waited for Cynthia Erivo at stage door: “She had so much time – she was so gracious.”

Zoe Birkett, currently in the Tina Turner bio-musical at the Aldwych, says she appreciates how fans “make the effort to find the stage door – which can sometimes be right the way around the building, down an alley” and that they wait for her. “After I play Tina, I have a cool down, a shower, take off my wig and makeup, get my food ready. I can take about 20 minutes to come out. Just to see them waiting, come rain or shine, with positive feedback, is wonderful.”

But some fans aren’t here to flatter. “People can say rude things,” Williams tells me. “One person would say, ‘Oh we’re loving this but just so you know, we thought that TV show was shit.’ I’m like, how about kiss my arse?” Jones has fielded detailed critiques and requests to “sing this note that way” or “do that line like this”. Lamb says a lot of her friends don’t do stage door any more because it makes them too anxious.

Sometimes Jones will come out “and there’ll be nobody there,” she says. “The next night, there’ll be 100 people wanting you to sign their programme and make videos for their nan’s cat.” The security provision is equally unpredictable. When she starred in Waitress: The Musical in the West End, Jones was assisted by “a wonderful man” who accompanied her to her car or train home. At Les Mis, “there’s always a security guard and they stay until you’re done”. But stars can go from receiving a standing ovation in the spotlight to single-handedly controlling crowds themselves outside. Bear in mind they will be physically and emotionally drained – sometimes having done two shows that day.

Stage doors may open out on to busy streets. Birkett enjoys playing Wolverhampton Grand – “love the people, love the theatre” – but it is right in the town centre. “If you’re there on a Saturday, you’ve just got to be a bit more cautious.” Williams says that at some of the more exposed stage doors: “You get drunk people walking by. People push in. I’m like, ‘Can you see this queue? Come on!’ It should never come down to the actor to say these things.” Ultimately, says Birkett, actors “walk out of stage door on to a dark street and hope that people are going to be nice”.

Personal boundaries are not always respected. “Everybody has a horror story, I’ve been pulled and shoved,” notes Lamb. Williams says: “One person hugged me from behind and pulled in. I’m like, ‘Oh, my Adam’s apple – you’re literally strangling me.’ When I’ve seen that person again, I’m like, ‘Please, stand back.’” The positives outweigh the negatives, he says, “but if you think you’re taking the piss you probably are”. For those who come to see him perform eight times a week? “Don’t think we need to be doing stage door eight times a week … How much time do you need to be around one person? If I’m seeing you more than my mum or my boyfriend, we have issues!”

All these actors deeply appreciate their fanbase. Birkett finds that “people want to cuddle me and feel the embrace … I do love that but I will always wear a mask to make sure I don’t catch a cold.” She says it’s often younger fans who seek “some sort of physical connection – they want to go: are you real? … Because you’re so different to being on stage when you walk out of stage door.” On the odd occasion, someone has wanted to touch her hair. “I kind of have to go, ‘No, I don’t want to do that.’”

In the US, the term “stage-door Johnny” dates back to at least 1890, referring to men who hang around playhouses, targeting female performers. All actors face the danger of inappropriate behaviour. In 2023, Paul Mescal told a fan to “take your hand off my ass” after she groped him at the Almeida when he was in A Streetcar Named Desire. (Mescal recently took his own film of the celebratory atmosphere at stage door after Streetcar’s last night in the West End.)

The “fear factor” remains for actors, says Jones. Like “when you get followed to your car or someone will tag you in something on social media and they’re really near your house. That may be a coincidence but you have to live slightly on edge because we are accessible and we do take the same routes home. Where does the duty of care from the theatre stop?” Lamb was in the West End cast of long-running hit Six, “which is essentially an accessible girl band – people are going to want to be close to that”. On a big show, she says, “people do expect to be able to meet you”.

When Williams discovered fake social media accounts made in his name, he asked himself: “Have I seen this person at stage door? It’s scary.” One time, an autograph hunter followed him back to his digs and “put a programme literally under the door. It was like 1am or 2am. I was on tour in Newcastle, all by myself.” He still looks over his shoulder after a show, thinking: “I hope someone’s not followed me.” Unfamiliarity with your surroundings means it can be frightening on tour, says Lamb. Birkett has heard of “young dancers who are walking for bloody miles to their digs” after leaving stage door.

“Sometimes this can be reduced to a sort of ‘stars’ issue,” says Paul W Fleming, general secretary of Equity, the performing arts and entertainment trade union. It not only affects celebrities, he says, but also “people who are on the minimum wage” appearing in a musical with a huge following. Some fans, he says, are “treating them as props or characters that aren’t real human beings with lives. They’re working people who are members of a trade union, who have every right to dignity at work.” It is indicative, he suggests, of how society generally views the performing arts as not serious.

Many performers choose not to make stage-door appearances. On the opening night of The Fear of 13 at the Donmar Warehouse, there were signs saying Adrien Brody would not do so. Hannah Essex, co-CEO of the Society of London Theatre and UK Theatre, points out: “Actors, like everyone, need to prioritise their health and wellbeing and may not always be able to stop at the stage door. Understanding this helps create a supportive environment for all.” Essex adds: “Theatres are committed to ensuring a positive experience for both staff and the public by working closely with relevant authorities to manage stage-door interactions effectively.”

What practical measures may help? Barriers are common on Broadway but Birkett says that with the influx of A-list stars in the West End they may be seen more here – and they make it “less likely that you’re going to get grabbed” says Lamb. But barriers are “not appropriate in every situation,” says Fleming. “We’re talking about Victorian, Georgian buildings in some cases [with] quite weird back alleys.”

Fleming says the situation at stage doors around the country has been exacerbated by “an asset stripping of the industry, with massive multinational corporations purchasing venues, not having an interest in the industry itself but having an interest in profit and so driving down terms and conditions”.

He highlights the problem of performers handling crowds themselves after shows. “You’re not paid an hourly rate for that. But equally: is the security guard on the minimum wage? There’s a great temptation to sort of pit worker against worker. Very often [the security guards] are people who have never watched a theatre production themselves. They are not permanently employed by the theatre. They’re going off and being a nightclub bouncer somewhere else. They’re on a zero-hours contract. Whereas in the past, our members would have been on much more stable contracts and the theatre would have employed a stage-door team – a stage-door keeper [who oversees staff coming in and out, handles deliveries and has other duties] plus someone to do security.”

A permanent stage-door team, says Fleming, is more likely to “understand the fans and have a bit of a rapport”. That nuanced understanding might alleviate the dismissive responses when members of the ensemble come out as opposed to the lead actor. “People who work their tails off, but maybe don’t necessarily have a following, will come out of stage door, says Jones, “and they are greeted with: ‘Oh, do you know if so-and-so is coming out?’”

Jones has also found herself handed photos she is proud of but now deems inappropriate to sign. “I did a Wonderbra campaign when I was about 18. You get the occasional guy come and say: ‘Can you please sign these eight photos of teenage you in underwear?’” Lamb says she has been mistaken for other actors of colour at stage door – another reason some performers might think twice about going out, “especially if you’re doing a job that requires being vulnerable”.

Birkett says that you can’t fully switch off until you’ve done stage door. “As soon as you walk out, there’s going to be cameras, you might be live on someone’s TikTok.” As a teenage contestant on Pop Idol, she became used to the paparazzi: “But I think if you’re a new actor, it’s probably traumatic. You don’t sign up for that. You’re signing up to play a role because you love acting.”

The stage door is where fandom, fuelled by the razzle-dazzle of theatre and 24/7 social media activity, butts against real people’s prosaic lives. “Ninety-eight per cent of the time fans aren’t trying to overstep or be malicious,” recognises Lamb. But Fleming gives a pertinent account about an actor experiencing bereavement on tour, returning to the show after time off. “They leave the stage door with their headphones in. They don’t want to talk to anybody. This is an actor playing a secondary character, chased down the street by fans concerned to know where they have been for the past three shows.”

Better understanding of the fan culture, he said, could have predicted and defused the incident. “Because this particular group of fans are going to be interested, they think they’re your friends. And that’s part of the magic of theatre – creating a world that is so special, that people believe it to be true.” But at the end of the day – or the end of the night, on a fast-emptying street in an unfamiliar town – “our members have a right to feel safe in the real world”.

Layton Williams is in Titanique at the Criterion theatre. Renée Lamb is in Radiant Boy at Southwark Playhouse. Lucie Jones is in Austenland at the Savoy theatre. Zoe Birkett is in Tina at the Aldwych theatre.

#tom hiddleston #hayley atwell #much ado about nothing #stage door

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