#airport shuttle door to door

[shuttle2home]

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[switzerlandtransfers]

Airport door to door shuttle

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[cookinguptales]

oh my god, I might literally throw a party. I might literally buy myself a cake tonight. thank you, thank you, thank you, Pete Buttigieg.

things that have happened to me specifically while flying american:

being asked to stand in a very long line to check my bag before they'd let me have access to a wheelchair

not being picked up by an attendant in time to get to my flight despite arriving over two hours early

being loaded into a broken accessible bathroom. the door wouldn't close all the way so my naked body was visible to people in the terminal.

being refused restroom access at all, sometimes for hours at a time. I'd say that this one happens about 80% of the time when I fly, especially when getting off the plane.

being denied stops for food at the airport as well

being left outside a restroom for over an hour because the attendant straight-up left. I had to TWEET AT THE AIRPORT FOR HELP because I knew being public was the only thing that would work.

being left on plane for over 45 minutes for the same exact reason. once off the plane, I was left at the gate for an additional hour. my parents, waiting for me at baggage, were frantic. a gate agent got into a screaming match with a wheelchair attendant. it was wild.

having a wheelchair attendant harass me about my homosexuality the entire time they took me through the airport; I'd just come from pride and had an identifying t-shirt. I couldn't get away from them or their lectures about being a good christian.

never being collected for a connecting flight, forcing me to walk or miss the flight. I dislocated my shoulder trying to get there.

once I was loaded onto a shuttle but no one bothered UNloading me, so I had to bang on the glass to get passersby's attention

not being preboarded a solid... I'd say 20% of the time. this is important because preboarding means I don't need to stand for an extended period in a narrow aisle behind people putting their things away, and also provides me with additional space to put away my accessibility devices.

once this happened because the wheelchair attendant was late (as usual) and the gate attendant assured me they'd hold the line so the aisle would be clear. once I got down there, they refused to do this and wanted me to stand for 15 minutes, which would have been incredibly painful while holding my bags. I refused to board until the aisle was clear, so they started directing passengers around my wheelchair. it was only after a passenger straight up refused to board and blocked everyone else that the aisle was cleared and I was allowed to board.

I have also had passengers break rules to take me to the bathroom when I was literally weeping at the gate from how badly I needed to pee and how much I did not want to publicly wet myself. thank you to those passengers. (and the ones that yell that I need to be preboarded when they "forget" to do so.)

I've been told to get off the plane because my wheelchair was there, but got off the plane to find out that it wasn't -- and they wouldn't let me back on the plane. they wanted me to walk to baggage, but I couldn't. I sat down on the filthy floor of the bridge and wouldn't move until they brought a wheelchair, no matter how much they yelled at me and threatened me with security. what a fucking mess.

they have given away my seat near the front of the plane before and forced me to walk to the back of the plane. I was openly sobbing from the pain by the time I made it back there.

things that have happened while flying in general (TSA, other airlines, etc.):

(trigger warning for sexual assault)

TSA giving you the most invasive pat-downs you can imagine. if you remain in your wheelchair, often they will run their hands under your thighs, bottom, and genitalia. the weight of your own body means that I have had fingers part my outer labia through my pants. one I started crying during a pat-down because I am a survivor of CSA and they yelled at me then restarted the pat-down from the top.

I have had attendants refuse to help me with my belongings during security, instead insisting that I get out of the chair and do it myself

I have had security make me get out of the chair, then lose the chair until my legs gave out and I sat on the floor, which also got me yelled at

broken accessible bathrooms have happened at MULTIPLE airports.

delta has broken not one but TWO of my personal wheelchairs

once while boarding an attendant (who was already mad at me because I'd refused to walk up the steep tarmac ramp without wheelchair assistance) grabbed my cane while I was using it and I almost fell. I was never notified that this would be a tarmac boarding to begin with.

once, during a different tarmac boarding, they expected us to go down a flight of stairs, despite me being loaded onto the plane via wheelchair. I would not go down the stairs and they had to call for the lift to be brought. it took about a half hour, and the entire time the attendants kept asking me if I really needed it and wouldn't I just go down the stairs? like I was just being a recalcitrant child and not someone who's broken her ankle stepping off a curb before.

honestly the refusal to let me eat and pee is pretty universal, as is wheelchair attendants ghosting me, refusing to talk to me, acting like they're transporting luggage instead of a person, etc.

believe it or not, that is not an exhaustive list. they're just the first examples that come to mind. whenever I fly and it goes completely smoothly, that's more of a shock.

and like... it's dehumanizing. it really is. not being allowed to go to the restroom? having people refuse to talk to you? being abandoned in random hallways?

I'm always in so much pain after I fly, a fact that is generally worsened by poor treatment at the airport, and even the literal dislocations have hurt less than being treated like I'm less of a human person than my fellow passengers.

so uh. rock on, Buttigieg. fine them into fucking oblivion. I'll be cheering you on the whole way.

[planet-mabel]

book thief - niall horan

an: hellooo!!!! i was reading at the beach and could not get this idea out of my head so HERE WE ARE!! i hope you enjoy :) I'm cooking up part two right now

summary: a trip to bora bora leads to bumping into niall horan by the pool and accidentally swapping books!

wc: 1.8k

what i was listening to:

As I disembark from the plane, weary from the long flight and craving a good meal, I step into the Bora Bora airport. I've treated myself to a solo stay at a delightful resort here for the week, and the anticipation of this moment has been a beacon of joy during my busy days back in NYC. I yearn for some well-deserved relaxation, as the incessant bustle of New York's streets and blaring car horns can be overwhelming at times. As I make my way towards the baggage claim area, I take a moment to savor the view from the airport windows. Though it's just a glimpse, I can see fragments of swaying palm trees, and a sense of tranquility washes over me. Leaning against the baggage trolley, I pause, eagerly awaiting the familiar "beep" that signals the arrival of our luggage.

I catch sight of my obnoxious purple suitcase as it comes around the conveyor belt and quickly snatch it before heading over to the shuttle bus waiting to take me to the resort. After stowing my suitcase in the overhead compartment, I sink into the luxurious seat on the bus. While waiting for the other passengers to board, I take a moment to text my friends and family to let them know I've arrived. The bus engine roars to life as we set off down the road. I glance up from my phone and out of the window, cranking up the music in my headphones. I take in the beautiful scenery as we wind our way toward the resort. Looking around at my fellow passengers, I notice that they are all families and couples. A faint feeling of loneliness creeps in as I realize I'm traveling alone.

I let out a deep sigh, gazing out of the window at the serene, azure skies and the gentle, rhythmic dance of the palm trees swaying in the breeze, attempting to distract myself from the overwhelming sense of isolation.

As the shuttle comes to a stop at the resort, the passengers begin to disembark, and I patiently wait for my turn. Once off the shuttle, I make my way to the front desk with my bags, eagerly anticipating some rest and relaxation in my room. I provide my name and reservation to the woman at the front desk, and the concierge swiftly arranges for my bags to be taken up to my room. The humidity of the Polynesian air causes my t-shirt to cling to my skin as I wait. 

While the woman prepares my room key, I glance at a man nearby who is also checking in. His accent intrigues me, and I find myself admiring his appearance. I'm momentarily lost in thought until the woman's clearing of her throat brings me back to the present. After receiving the room key, I exchange a tight smile with the woman and mutter a quiet 'thank you.' As I head towards the elevator, I briefly meet the man's gaze before pressing the button and entering the elevator. I select the third floor, my hand tightening around the room key as the elevator ascends.

I stumble into my room, weary from the day's travel, and collapse onto the plush duvet covering the bed. Propping myself up on my elbows, I take in the surroundings. The TV faces the foot of the bed, and a familiar mini fridge rests beneath it. To the side, a closet is built into the wall, and opposite that, a sleek desk catches my eye. Across from the entrance, a sliding glass door beckons me to venture out onto the petite balcony. I rise to my feet and make my way to the small mezzanine, stepping outside to be embraced by a balmy breeze and a mesmerizing vista. I pause, closing my eyes, letting the scenery wash over me.

After re-entering the room, I gently closed the door and made my way to the luxurious en suite bathroom. I marveled at the elegant plumbing and the spacious, extravagant shower. I couldn't help but let out a whistle of admiration, feeling impressed by the lavish amenities, almost forgetting that I had only booked this place for a week but paid the equivalent of a month's rent.

I let out a contented sigh and realized that I deserved to unwind by the pool for the rest of the day. Without bothering to unpack, I quickly slip into the first bikini I lay my eyes on - a vibrant, eye-catching pink one. After ensuring that I'm thoroughly coated in sunscreen and throwing on a comfortable t-shirt for extra coverage, I grab my purse and the book I've been meaning to read. As I make my way out, I return to the elevator and descend back down to the lobby.

I hurry downstairs and make a beeline for the pool, scanning for an unoccupied, plush reclining chair. As soon as I find one, I eagerly lay down my belongings beside it, exhaling contentedly. After slipping on my sunglasses and discarding my t-shirt, I settle back, flipping through the pages of my book to pick up where I left off during the plane ride. The book in my hands is 'Violet Bent Backwards over the Grass' by Lana Del Rey. It may seem a bit unexpected for a beach trip, but I have a fondness for poetry and adore Lana Del Rey, so I thought it was worth a chance. Immersing myself back into the pages, I lose track of time, captured by the words on the pages.

I slowly rise from my lounge chair, feeling the stickiness on my back from the sun's rays. Deciding it's time to take a break from tanning, I toss my book onto my chair and head towards the glistening pool to cool off. As I settle by the water's edge, I take in the mesmerizing sight of the swirling pool while dipping my toes into the refreshing water. Surprisingly, the area is deserted, giving me the perfect opportunity to submerge myself in the pool. I resurface, gently wiping my eyes before reclining on my back and savoring a tranquil moment, finding relief from the intense heat of the island air.

I emerge from the water, climbing the steps in the shallow end. The droplets slide off my glistening skin as I make my way to my chair. As I approach, I notice a man sitting in the chair next to mine. I recognize him as the guy I saw in the lobby, engrossed in a book. I glance around at the empty seats on the pool deck, wondering why he chose the one next to me, and furrow my brow in mild irritation. Despite my annoyance, I take a moment to study his appearance. His unkempt brown hair and pointed nose catch my attention, as does the way his scruffy stubble complements his deep blue eyes. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I finally reach for my towel. I clear my throat to catch his attention and he looks up from his book, smiling softly. He gestures to the book in his hand and I immediately clock it as ‘Violet Bent Backwards over the Grass', the same one I’m reading. I glance down at my chair in search of my copy, not completely sure he didn’t swipe mine. I clear my throat to capture his attention before speaking.

"Excuse me?" I managed to pipe up, my voice a blend of nervousness and amusement. "I think that might be my book." With my towel wrapped tightly around me, I glanced down at him. He met my gaze and then looked down at the book in his hands before responding.

"Oops, my mistake," he chuckled and handed the book back to me. "I noticed it here and thought someone must have left it behind. The title seemed intriguing." I reclaimed the book and settled back into my chair. "I didn't even realize you were here, geez. If I had known, I wouldn't have sat so close." His over-apologetic tone made me chuckle softly.

"No, it's okay. I'm traveling alone, so I appreciate the company," I assured him, readjusting in my seat. "Have you read it? It's a good book, isn't it?" I say enthusiastically as I glance back at him, thumbing through the pages again. He nods before replying.

"Absolutely! I can't resist a well-crafted poem," he responds with a nod, gesturing toward the book of poems resting on the arm of his lounge chair. I let out a soft chuckle in response. 

"Ah, cool. Nice to meet another poetry enthusiast," I say with a smile before returning my attention to my book. I sense his persistent gaze on me before he speaks again.

"You mentioned you're traveling alone?" he inquires. "So am I." I look up from my book, slightly puzzled. 

"You? Why's that?" I ask, marking my place in the book and placing it on my lap. 

"You first," he counter-challenges. 

I shrug before responding, "Just needed a break. New York can be overwhelming at times, and none of my friends were up for splurging on a vacation," I explain, gesturing dramatically. "So, here I am, flying solo." I give a somewhat forced grin, and he chuckles. 

"Same here," he remarks, leaning back in his beach chair. "You mentioned New York City? Sounds exciting," he comments. I nod slightly.

"Yeah, mostly. How about you?" I inquired, curious to confirm my suspicion about his distinct accent. 

"Dublin," he declares proudly. "Dublin, Ireland." I raise an eyebrow. 

"So that's where the accent comes from," I remark slowly, raising an eyebrow. 

"I don't have an accent; you have an accent," he retorts playfully, feigning a scowl, which elicits a soft giggle from me. He grins at me, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

"Well, I should head back to my room. The chlorine always does weird things to my hair," I say with a soft chuckle as I pick up my bag and wrap my towel around my waist. He sits up in his beach chair to look at me.

"Hey, let me buy you a drink later," he suggests, gazing up at me. I take in his shirtless form reclining on the chair in front of me and for a moment, I struggle to find my words.

"Um, well, okay," I say hesitantly before regaining my composure. "Yes, that sounds good." I offer a soft smile, trying to conceal my unease. 

He nods and continues, "I'll see you at eight at the hotel bar." He stands up and I nod in response. 

an"I'll see you, book thief," before giving a small chuckle and walking from the pool deck back into the lobby. As I leisurely make my way back to the door, I hear his quiet laughter echoing behind me. A grin spreads across my face, and in that moment, I feel as lighthearted and carefree as I did in my teenage years.

[leiascully]

Fic: POANG (M, MSR)

4400 words; rated M for a lot of real and imaginary sex; the solve high hits Scully right in the libido and a trip to IKEA doesn't help. happy birthday, @laurencem (ao3)

There’s a novelty to working a case in a city. They’re usually in smaller towns, out on the edges of things where the fields blur into the woods and the monsters wear animal skins. Today’s monster is human, or something that resembles one. Scully doubts sometimes that it’s possible to be so brutal and retain humanity.

They’d been called in on this one on the suspicion of witchcraft. There had been a series of killings: bundles of herbs left at the scene, dead bees scattered about, cedar smoke lingering in the corners of the rooms, corpses ritually disfigured. The perpetrator turned out to be more ecofascist than druid. No caltrops for him, and no nice trip to the woods for her and Mulder. This killer has been cultivating poison plants, including the kind of mushrooms that reduced a person’s liver to a liquid. He raved as they put him in the car, something about the city being a hive and its denizens mere drones. Scully tuned it out.

Case closed by noon and they’re back at the hotel. It’s not a particularly nice one: no restaurant, no pool, no premium channels. They’re close to the airport, far from most of the amenities. The closest landmark is an IKEA looming blue and yellow by the highway. Scully regrets making them drop off the rental car early, but Skinner’s been making noises about expenses again. Frugality and a high solve rate are the better part of valor. There’s a free shuttle to the airport, but their flight isn’t until tomorrow morning.

“Where do you go to eat around here?” Mulder asks the college-age kid at the desk.

The kid shrugs. “IKEA.”

“To eat?” Mulder sounds skeptical. It’s music to Scully’s ears. She settles her hip against the wall and watches him.

“I mean it’s not where I would take a date, but they’ve got food,” the kid says, glancing between them.

Mulder turns to Scully. He lifts an eyebrow.

“IKEA it is,” she says.

It’s a short walk, at least. Scully’s used to the touristy part of DC, which this is decisively not. She’s used to walking next to Mulder in a suit and heels instead of jeans and flats. It feels different. She never feels small, walking next to Mulder. He makes space for her, even when they’re out on their own time, like this. She wonders if that makes it look like they're on a date, when they’re out of uniform.

She wonders, just a little, if they’re on a date.

The automatic door of the IKEA opens invitingly, a wide mouth to swallow them up. Mulder ushers her in, an ironic little twist to his lips that tells her he knows what she’s thinking. The maw of capitalism. An ecosystem where the consumer is the consumed. Clearcut forests shimmering with ancient insects.

Also, meatballs.

The end-of-case adrenaline is starting to hit her. All the emotion she locked down in the moment comes back, rerouted from fear to something more feral. She’s restless. She is, truth be told, a little horny. Some confluence of her cycle and the solve high has her wishing she’d stayed in the hotel room. The bathtub looked clean enough. She could have enjoyed herself. Instead she’s letting Mulder lead her through a labyrinth of simulated lives and enticingly arranged furniture. He stops to mosey into one of the staged spaces and beckons her over.

“Look at this, Scully.” He spreads his arms. He can almost touch both walls of the fake apartment. The grey t-shirt he’s wearing stretches in such an enticing way over his chest and shoulders. She gets a whiff of his deodorant and it makes her toes tingle. There’s something about the scent of artificial woods layered over just a hint of sweat that makes the feral part of her flex its claws. She’s always susceptible to the scent of Mulder, but this is something else. She could duck under his arm and sink her teeth into the bare skin of his bicep.

Some part of her is mortified to think of him in this way. Most days, that part gets the upper hand. Today, it’s been outvoted and overpowered. Want prowls back and forth in her belly. She steps closer.

“Can you imagine living here?” he asks. “Actually, you probably could. It’s about the size of a ship’s cabin.”

“Compact,” she says.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles at her. “Just like you.”

I’d compact you, she wants to say, even though it makes no sense. She wonders if her pupils are dilated as she gazes up at him. She wants to push him up against the wall, but there’s a cabinet in the way. He’d hit his head, and he’s had enough cranial trauma. She’s his doctor. She knows better.

He’s still smiling at her and for a moment, her wild desire recoils, rebuffed by doubt. How would he react if she lunged for him? Does he even think of her that way? There have been hints over the years, but Mulder’s mouth writes checks the rest of him isn’t willing to cash. In his mind, are they just on a nice little outing, two work colleagues grabbing dinner? Was he planning on going back to his hotel room to watch whatever film features a leggy brunette wearing the fewest clothes?

“Kidding,” he says, and she realizes she’s staring at him. “Scully. I’m kidding.”

“Right.” She takes a step back as he lets his arms fall to his sides.

“Are you all right?” He ducks his head. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” she says automatically.

“I guess it’s been an exciting day.” He meanders out of the fake apartment onto the floor of the store. They seem to be in the seating section. Scully doesn’t need a sofa, and she doesn’t need to look at sofas and imagine on them herself cuddled into Mulder’s side. None of these options are as sexy as his leather couch anyway. Oh god, when did she start thinking his couch was sexy?

Mulder stops by a chair with a light wood frame. “POANG,” he reads off the tag. It’s got white cushions and a sort of modern look. “Oh hey, it’s a rocking chair.” He tips it with one finger and it obligingly rocks. “Maybe you need one of these for your living room.”

Scully is possessed by a vivid image of the chair as it might look in her living room. Mulder is sitting in it, jeans yanked open and shirt rucked up, and she’s straddling his lap and riding him until the runners squeak under them. The motion of the chair accentuates the motion of her hips and her tits swing until he captures them in his big warm hands and and and…

“Maybe,” she says. “But Mulder, we have an IKEA closer to home.”

He drops onto one of the sofas and stretches out. He’s obnoxiously long. His shirt rides up, revealing a wedge of golden skin. “You’d probably rather have something vintage anyway. You’ve got champagne tastes, Scully. You like your creature comforts.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” She crosses her arms.

“No.” His lip twitches in amusement. “Although I have to say, if I had your bed, I’d never get out of it.”

Please, she thinks, fervent as a prayer. “Is that why it took you so long to stop sleeping on the couch? Your inherent slothfulness?”

“What can I say.” He brushes his hand over his stomach, smoothing his shirt down. She bites her lip and looks away. “I’m a man of many vices.” His voice is low, almost a purr.

It’s exactly this kind of fucking behavior that feeds the poor confused wild thing inside her. Does he know that? She knows him better than anyone else in her life and she has never been able to decide if it’s real, not even the time they almost kissed. Her need for him gobbles up every scrap of plausibly deniable flirtation, simultaneously satiated and starving.

She looks away from him. The next section is more innocuous - lots of cute little baskets and boxes. “I thought you were hungry.” She can’t imagine a magazine holder stoking her libido.

“Right,” he says, rolling off the couch. “Date night.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Who knows how long it’ll take us to get to the restaurant?” He shades his eyes with his hand, as if he’s peering over some dim horizon. “This place is engineered for maximum distraction. Think of all the lives we could live between here and there, Scully.”

She manages to haul him through the living room storage without too many detours, although she does have a wistful moment over another one of the staged living spaces, imagining the two of them sharing an apartment. She shoves the thought away. They spend so much time together she should be sick of him. She should fantasize about freedom, or solitude, or meeting a handsome stranger in a tiki bar on a tropical beach. But even when she loathes Mulder, she longs for him. Even the way he examines a Billy bookshelf gives her a rush of fond familiarity at the way he devotes his whole attention to it.

“Should we get you a desk?” he teases as they enter the next section.

Only if you’ll fuck me on it, she doesn’t say. Instead, she rolls her eyes and marches toward the shortcut, knowing he’s drifting in her wake. They skip the kitchen section, which is good; she doesn’t have to imagine herself with her hands braced on a countertop as Mulder presses against her from behind, one hand palming her tits and three fingers of the other inside her. They proceed through dining. In her head, she’s definitely not bent over this table as he takes her from behind, or sitting on that one as he has her for dinner, his lips moving eagerly over her thighs.

There’s something wrong with her. The heat deep in her belly keeps building. It’s Mulder’s damn grace and the way he smells and the fit of his jeans and the way the t-shirt strains when his arm flexes. It’s been too goddamn long since she had sex - years, and that was the once, and years before that - and something has awoken inside her, stirred out of sleep by the moon or the tides or who knows what the fuck. She’d go out on a limb for ancient prophecy at this point. That’s how primal her desire feels. It’s wild inside her, barely contained. And it’s so fucking stupid to feel all of this in the middle of an IKEA - a sanitized, flatpack world of sexless confused caricatures and beds that look too flimsy to fuck in.

Beds. So many beds. Acres of beds. And they do look flimsy, but she imagines fucking in them anyway. That one has a slatted headboard she could attach restraints too. That one has storage drawers for her collection of sex toys and Mulder’s collection of dirty magazines. She’d fuck him in a trundle bed at this point. Hell, she’d fuck him on the floor and let security drag them out and shove them into the cop car still coupled together, because there’s no way she’d let him go.

She somehow makes it through beds.

“You must be hungry,” he says at her shoulder. “Or else you took up competitive speedwalking.”

“That continental breakfast was a long time ago,” she says without looking back. She doesn’t need to look. She can sense him: his heat, his bulk. She could reach out for him and know exactly what she’d touch. That’s the problem with her fantasies. She knows him too intimately.

The wardrobe section doesn’t trouble her much, aside from a brief vision of dragging him into a small dark space and having her way with him. She doesn’t even flinch when they get to the children’s section, or at least not outwardly. Her eyes are on the prize and for once, it’s not Mulder’s ass. It’s the IKEA bistro at long last.

They dine. Mulder has meatballs. Scully has the salmon. The meatballs look suspiciously pale to her, but Mulder assures her they’re delicious. He holds out his fork for her, won’t take no for an answer. She relents and he feeds her a fragment of meatball dipped in the sharp sweetness of lingonberry jam. It’s better than she expected. She eats her salmon and wonders at her impulse toward the ascetic. Mulder is supposed to be the one who’s chosen a lonely, constrained life, but she’s the one denying herself mashed potatoes and a potential heaping helping of Mulder. If his flirting means anything, and that’s the if of her life at this point.

She sighs and puts her fork down on her plate. Mulder eats the last bite of her salmon, but only when it becomes clear she isn’t going to eat it. He smiles at her and her heart and her loins both throb. Fuck, she loves him so much.

They escape the IKEA without any further purchases. Fortunately, most of the rest of the store is small goods and packaged furniture, so the only thing to tempt her is the occasional surface that looks firm enough to support them both.

“Call me when you want dinner,” Mulder says when they get back to the hotel. She locks herself into her room and scans her notes on the case. She waits five minutes, fifteen, an hour. There’s no knock on her door. She starts to run a bath. Her whole body feels congested. She knows it’s not possible to die from metaphorical blue balls, unless it is and she’s about to be in the X-Files again. She wants him so much she feels like a teenager again. If they’d grown up together, he would have been her first kiss. She knows that. Four years would have made a difference until it didn’t. She would have waited for him to finally, finally see her.

She’s waiting for that now.

There’s a full length mirror near her door and she stands in front of it. There’s nothing wrong with her, surely. She’s not as buxom as some, not as curvy as others, but he’s dragged his eyes up and down her body a hundred thousand times. She’d know what that meant from anyone else. With Mulder, who knows? It could be sacred geometry. He could be comparing her to the women in the tapes he stashes under his tv. Maybe she’s just in his line of sight and he’s thinking about something else, sinusoidal curves or what inhabits the bleak depths of space, and it only looks like interest.

She squeezes her breasts, thumbs her nipples. Her own hands aren’t what she wants, but they’re familiar. She slides her palms over her body as the water thunders into the bathtub. If she closes her eyes as she tugs off her t-shirt and unbuttons her jeans, she can imagine it’s him. Fire follows her fingertips as she draws a topographical map of her body with his phantom hands. She’s down to her bra and panties when someone raps on the door.

“Just a minute,” she calls, and turns off the water. She peers through the peephole, wrapping a towel around herself. It’s Mulder. Of fucking course, it’s Mulder, interrupting her at exactly the moment she would want him to, so that he can tell her about fairy rings or the exciting properties of silicon instead of fucking her through the hotel bed.

She lets him in, rolling her eyes at herself.

“I went back to the IKEA,” he says. “In the vein of the heroes of old. I conquered the extremely domestic wilds of the main floor and I may have ordered you a POANG chair to be delivered. Also, I brought cake.” He puts two plastic boxes on her dresser. “But I didn’t know if you’d want chocolate or strawberry.”

“Why?”

“Why? We solved the case, Scully. I think a little celebration is in order. Or why the chair? I thought it would look good in your living room. I don’t have the space for one.” He looks her up and down all too briefly. What a gentleman. “Are you busy? I can come back later.”

“I’m not busy,” she says, just to see if he’ll accept it. For two people so passionately devoted to the truth, they lie to each other all the time. Maybe it’s plausible that she frequently sits around her room en déshabillé and he’s just missed it every time.

“Chocolate or strawberry?” He produces two forks. “Although I guess we can share.”

“Mulder, does it look like I want cake right now?”

He does the slow pan up and down her body this time. Heat rushes up her body, a sudden blaze that stokes the furnace in her belly to a roaring flame. She can feel the flush in her cheeks and down her chest.

“I admit, you don’t seemed dressed to dine,” he says at last.

She opens her hand, a gesture that invites him to follow his thoughts to their logical conclusion and leave.

“The cake was a ruse,” he says abruptly, ignoring her hint. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed a little off earlier.”

“Off?” She sits on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, maybe frustrated or angry.” He drags the standard-issue chair over, sits with his knees almost brushing hers. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. It was a weird case.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” she says.

He stares at her. There’s a long, long moment, during which she thinks about kissing him. She can’t stop looking at his mouth. As if he senses her gaze, he licks his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay what?” she asks, still half-mesmerized.

He taps her knee with one finger. “You said you were fine. Okay. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” He gets up.

“What?” she says, flummoxed by his sudden pivot. “Mulder, the cake.”

“You can have it,” he says. He tosses the forks on the dresser by the cake. “Eat it in good health. I’ll be back later.”

“Where are you going?” she asks.

He paces back and forth. “I don’t know. It kind of feels like you don’t want me here.”

She opens and closes her mouth. “First of all, I’m in a state of undress.”

“I don’t care about that, Scully.”

“You don’t care?” She stands up. “What if I care?”

He makes a dismissive gesture. “I’ve seen you undressed, you’ve seen me undressed, it doesn’t have to be weird.”

“It doesn’t.” Her voice is flat with disbelief. “It doesn’t have to be weird.”

He shrugs. “Not unless you want it to be weird.”

“Fine.” She’s fed the fuck up. It’s been a long, weird, fairly excruciating day. She drops the towel.

This time Mulder really looks at her. She can feel the way his eyes drag over her skin, stopping to caress each rounded nipple, dipping toward the elastic of her panties.

“Not weird at all,” he says, but his voice is hoarse. He shifts, which makes the bulge of his erection more noticeable. Fuck it, Scully thinks. You don’t get to the moon if you never fire the rockets. She feels drunk. Mulder’s full attention has always been 100 proof.

“I wanted to fuck you in the POANG chair,” she says conversationally.

“Yeah.” He shifts again. “I wanted that too. Maybe that’s why I bought you one.”

“The way it rocks,” she says, and shivers a little, which makes him shiver too.

“I wanted to play house in those little apartments,” he tells her. “You and me, falling asleep watching tv, but in the same place for once. You and me, sharing a bed.”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Is that why you seemed mad?”

She nods. “Also I was hungry.”

“Where else did you want to fuck me?” he asks, stepping closer. His eyes have gone dark green. His pupils are wide.

“Everywhere,” she tells him.

“Wanna start with this bed and see how far we get?” His hands settle on her hips, so lightly, as if he’s afraid she’ll pull away. Instead, she drags his head down, breathes against his lips for a moment, and then kisses him.

The universe implodes. That’s what it feels like, anyway. But even if it were the end of all things, she couldn’t stop herself. He smells like pine and musk and his neck tastes like salt and she’s kissing him everywhere, everywhere. He lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist and he has one arm around her waist and one hand under her ass and his fingers are stroking the outside of her thigh and she thinks if he’s not inside her in the next minute, she’ll just die.

He laughs and she realizes she said that out loud.

“I think so too,” he says. But he’s still dressed, he’s still wearing all his goddamn clothes, and she tugs at his shirt until he takes the hint and drags it over his head. She lets go and works on the button of his jeans. His jeans and his boxers come off together when they shove at them, and then he’s less dressed than she is. He kicks off his shoes and the tangle of denim and silk and she undoes her bra because she trusts his competence, but also she doesn’t. Need has made them so, so foolish.

“I want to,” he says, and swallows the rest of his sentence, but he hooks his thumbs into her panties and she lies back and lifts her hips. He skims the fabric down her legs. There’s hunger in his eyes. She lets him look, dropping her knees wide. He swallows hard and crawls up the bed to lie next to her.

“I wanted this to last,” he tells her.

“Me too,” she says. “I thought it would be different.” The light in his eyes dims slightly. He starts to turn his face away and she presses her palm to his cheek and turns it back. “Mulder, no. I wouldn’t change anything about this.”

“You sure?”

For answer, she kisses him, throwing her leg over his hip. Maybe it’s not what she expected. But she’s had years of self-denial, and she’s finished with that. There will be opportunities later for endless foreplay (as if every interaction since their handshake in the basement hasn’t been foreplay) and romance and slow indulgence, but she doesn’t have the patience for that. She’s already reaching for him, already wrapping her hand around his hand around his cock so they work together to guide him in. It’s such a relief that she almost cries, even though she aches as she stretches to accommodate him. And then he’s moving in her and it’s the rhythm of the universe, the pulse of existence. They’re not being safe and she doesn’t fucking care. He’s inside her, he’s touching her, he’s kissing her, and she’s wrapped around him like she can fuse their bodies together.

Every texture of him is a revelation: the hot satiny skin of his cock, the sleekness of his belly, the light fur on his chest. She knows them all and yet. And yet. It’s so different now. She feels the slickness of his lips and the rough friction of his tongue in her mouth and on her skin. It’s everything. Finally, she’s filled up, satisfied, satiated, maybe for the first time in her life. She wants more, oh God, she wants more of him. She wants to live under his ribs like that conjoined twin. She wants her bones jumbled with his. She wants him to fill her every way he can think of. She wants to buy a whole new range of sex toys and treat him just right. But for now, this is enough.

“More,” she says, and he pushes her onto her back without sliding out of her. She spreads her legs wider. He pins her, lacing his fingers into hers and stretching their arms over her head. His hips jolt as he shoves into her, harder and deeper, and she arches up to meet him. Every cell of her body feels like it’s filled with sparks of pleasure; she could map her nerves for him if she still had the power of speech. But he understands her incoherent cries. He always understands her.

She’s whimpering under him, helpless in the throes of her pleasure. The tingling starts in her extremities and washes through her, a tide rising higher and higher. She can feel his muscles tensing. His stomach is trembling. He’s holding back, wanting her to come first. One day, she thinks, she’ll indulge him, urge him to think of himself, but not tonight. She squeezes around him, taunting him. He groans and looks at her. She smirks at him and he growls in his throat. Now it’s a challenge: he has to make her come first, not just wish for it. He doesn’t let go of her, but drags their joined hands down her body. He rubs their fingers against her clit, tight circles that have her gasping. And then she’s coming, her body bucking under his, and he makes her ride it out before he’ll let go.

“Please,” she says, and he thrusts into her shivering body and she wraps her legs around him and holds him so tight as he buries his face in her shoulder and yells. He tries to roll off her right away but she won’t let go. She wants his weight, all of it, and after a moment he surrenders and lets her take it.

“We’re definitely going to fuck in that chair,” she whispers in his ear after a while.

He laughs into the curve of her neck. “We’re definitely going to fuck a lot of places.”

She kisses his ear and he turns his face so that his lips meet hers. “Making up for lost time.”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes sparkling. “We haven’t lost anything,” he says. “We’ll make our own time.”

For some reason, her eyes prickle with tears. She kisses him again, threads her hands through his hair. She believes him. Maybe they have a future full of flatpack furniture and charming antiques and lazy mornings in bed. Maybe they can celebrate all their cases like this.

“Let them eat cake,” she says, and he laughs again and holds her close.

[hunterthecharmer]

Unexpected - Part 2

Sorry for the delay everyone. Here's part 2! Hope you all like it :)

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

This is my inspiration for the outfit he’s wearing :)

Part 2

It’s the middle of the week, and every day has been spent coordinating with Dylan O’Brien’s team to get every piece of his schedule nailed down. He only had one assistant in the office currently which made your job a bit easier. Savannah, on the other hand was sipping her lattes with her feet kicked up in the corner of your office while you took your meetings each day as Glen’s assistant sent everything over via email or text, to not fill her day up with Zoom meetings.

“This probably means he’s a control freak.” Savannah muses, chewing on the end of her pen as she notates an email from his team. “Look, we both have our work cut out for us. Have you opened your package yet from his team?” You ask, waving your mailer in front of her with a grin. You already knew she was going to want to swap one of the items.

“Wait, what? No! What did they send?” She grins, tearing open the envelope to pull out a large autographed headshot of Glen. Some pens, a lanyard and a handwritten note from his assistant come tumbling out with it. Savannah pouts, immediately shifting her eyes to the one you’re holding. “C’mon, don’t make me beg! Let me see it!” She’s giddy as she shakes your arm, and you giggle as you dramatically remove it from its sleeve. “Trade ya?” You wink at her, before you both search the hall for some empty frames and get Jim from IT to help the two of you hang them up in your offices.

As soon as he’s finished, Savannah comes tapping on your door. “Thanks for trading. Dylan is my man! I hope he’s nice, I don’t know how I’ll feel if he’s rude..” her voice trails off, and you pat her on the shoulder. “He’ll be great. Don’t stress it! You’ll do a great job keeping him on track.” She smiles at your reassurance. “Sooo, are you going to pack your Longhorn hat?”

You gasp at her, crumpling a nearby scrap of paper and throwing it at her. “Listen, that hat is my only one that’s black, it goes with everything, and…yes, it may or may not have only been bought because of Glen. BUT, of course it’s coming. You never know what Tennessee weather will bring!” You smirk at her before flipping off the lights in your office, following Savannah down the hallway to the parking deck.

----

“Wow, it really is beautiful here.” You mutter to yourself as you climb into the shuttle taking you from the airport to the event location. The sky seemed a richer hue of blue, and the large trees shaded the vehicles the entire trip. You allowed yourself to breathe as you stepped into the large auditorium building. All the months of hard work and planning had finally paid off. Seeing it with your own eyes was a real treat that you rarely got to enjoy with this job. Hundreds of staff members were busily setting up chairs, tables and last minute details together before the talent would arrive that evening. The welcome party was going to be a blast - glow sticks, a DJ, boujee appetizers and twinkling lights. It would be the perfect way to welcome the talent and allow everyone on location to get ready for the weeks ahead.

After doing your makeup and spraying some texture spray in your hair, you take one last look in the mirror of your little cabin and smile. You felt confident in your all black outfit. Black levi jeans, an off the shoulder black long sleeve with some gold jewelry and some hoops. Your hair was curled, and the leather boots were keeping your feet warm from the winter chill outside. You plop down on the edge of your bed and take in your home away from home. Everyone had their own little log cabin, it was basically a studio set up with a queen sized bed in the middle of the room, chandelier above it and of course a bathroom and lounger with a big window. It was charming and cozy, and you couldn’t imagine how much nicer the talent’s must be if this was how lovely yours was.

One last spritz of texture spray to your hair and you were out the door, jumping on your personal golf cart to ride down to the warehouse.

“Over here! Over here!” You hear a high pitched squeal from across the gravel as you put the golf cart in park. You swivel your head to the left to find Savannah fastly approaching, one hand waving you down, the other holding her skirt from dragging across the ground. “Finally, you’re here!” She wraps an arm around you in a tight hug. You giggle as you steady your balance, hugging her back. You knew she had to be so nervous to meet the talent, because you weren’t the type to get starstruck and your own heart was hammering in your chest.

“We’ve got this! We aren’t the only ones meeting them for the first time tonight. Just remember that! I’m sure Glen will be lovely. I promise I will try to nonchalantly get Dylan to meet you tonight too. Deal?” You both pinky promise before heading inside towards the loud music.

You squint your eyes at the glowing white orbs on each high top table, not a single chair in sight other than at the bar. The DJ had many of the guests up and dancing while others socialized amongst themselves. Everyone was dressed casually, probably changing minimally after their plane rides. You and the other workers were definitely dressed up a little more, which instantly put you at ease. Feeling more put together and confident, you lead Savannah to the sign in table. Glancing around as you wait in line, you watch the other girls and guys check over their packets, taking in who their responsibility will be for the next two weeks. Reading what their pick up and drop off schedule will be like, and all the other fast facts about their assigned celebrity; allergies, preferences, etc. As soon as your packet about Dylan is in your hands, you find an empty table and start reading over it. You nonchalantly do a sweep of the room, the different colored lights illuminating everyone’s faces. Some of your favorite actors are in this room, and you couldn’t believe it. After a few moments you spot Dylan at the bar, the lavender backdrop and blue lights behind the stools accentuating his all white outfit. He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, mid conversation with another actor you didn’t recognize. You quickly glance down at your paper, making notes with your pen. You get through about three pages before Savannah appears in front of you, slamming her lanyard down on the table. “Did you introduce yourself yet?” She whispers, rummaging around in her bag for her lipgloss. “No, I’m letting him finish his conversation first. How’s Glen?” You ask, smirking at her. “He’s a dream. He literally made a beeline for me through the crowd to introduce himself! I have to bring him his schedule, apparently no one had it in their rooms when they got here so that’s awkward. Strike one on us.” She bites her bottom lip. You feel your eyes widen. “What?! That was supposed to have been done days ago! The girls from scheduling said they had it under control..oh well. I guess it’s a nice ice breaker for us to approach them. Wait, did you say Glen came up to you? How’d he know you were his handler?” Savannah raises a hand to cover her mouth before moving around the table top to grasp your forearm. “Girl! You know how they sent us head shots of the talent? Apparently they received one of us too! Isn’t that wild?” She giggles, taking in your reaction. “So, that means Dylan already knows I’m here probably. Great..” You let your voice trail off before closing your folder and grabbing your lanyard to place around your neck.

“Let me go say hello, then!” You flash Savannah a nervous smile before heading to the bar, Dylan’s eyes immediately drifting from the man he’s talking to over to you. He places a hand on his shoulder and says what you assume to be a quick goodbye before turning on his heel toward you. “You’re the lucky lady who's stuck with me, yeah?” He grins, extending a hand to you. His brown eyes are friendly, twinkling beneath the lights dancing around the room. “I’m Dylan, so nice to meet you!” His handshake is firm, and you take note of how strong his cologne is. “I promise to get you everywhere on time these next few weeks. It’s great to meet you!” You return his smile, moving closer to him as a crowd of people brush past the two of you toward the buffet, the DJ announcing to everyone that dinner has been set out. Dylan leans down to your ear so you can hear him better. “I’m so stoked to be here, did you have a hand in all this?” He shouts above the music, gesturing around him to all the decor in the warehouse, fake pink and magenta flowers are strung up through the rafters, flameless candles were dispersed throughout the room, you were proud of the vibe in here for sure. It was kind of like a club but classier. “It took a village for sure, but I’m really happy with how it turned out! Oh, here’s your schedule by the way-” You continue to babble on to him about the whole event and the planning that went into it, and start going through Dylan’s schedule with him. He listens intently to you, his focus a hundred percent on what you’re showing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Savannah pointing you out to Glen, his eyes peering at you from beneath his black Texas Longhorns ballcap before he looks away. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you tear your gaze away from him. You and Dylan exchange some more info, and decide to meet out front by the golf carts in another hour or so. You meander towards the back of the space, your stomach growling at the sight of all the warm food placed ahead of you. Before you can grab a plate, you hear Savannah call your name, “Hey, wait up!” You spin around, her arm locking with yours to pull you away from the buffet line. “Where are we going?” You whine, turning your head back towards the food. “The food is that way! I’m starving.” Savannah shoots you a sympathetic smile as she continues to drag you through the crowd until she sits you down at a round table in the corner of the room. “Unfortunately, that food’s not for us.” She frowns, before leaving you to disappear behind a door and reappear moments later with two foil covered plates, two large water bottles under her arm. “Savannah…what’s on those plates.” You wearily question, grabbing it from her. You both count to three together before ripping the foil cover off, revealing a hamburger, bag of chips and the tiniest cup of fruit you’d ever seen. “Guess they had to cut corners to save money somehow.” You pout, pushing the plate away from you as you grab the bag of Lays.

“Here we chose the best menus each night for them, thinking we too would get to enjoy them, but no. We have to eat like kids.” Savannah complains as she bites into her burger. “What, lost your appetite?” She frowns at your plate. “I don’t eat burgers. Actually, I can’t eat red meat at all.” You reply, shrugging your shoulders. You slump back into your chair, disappointed that you’re missing out on the all you can eat sushi bar the talent is currently enjoying right now.

Savannah inhales her food as the two of you chat about your schedules for tomorrow, trying to find overlaps. Your conversation is cut short at the sound of a male voice in front of you. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt but, do you ladies happen to know where the restrooms are?” You both snap your gaze upward to see Glen standing in front of your table, the only celebrity in a 300 foot distance. You take in his outfit- his cap you noticed earlier, his dark black jeans, crisp white t-shirt and grey cardigan that fits him perfectly. He’s extremely handsome in person, even more so than on screen. You open your mouth to speak, but you realize nothing is coming out of your mouth. You quickly wet your lips with your tongue, eyes deferring to Savannah, since he probably came over here to ask her. She is his handler for the weekend, after all. Savannah’s mid chew on the last piece of her burger, looking at you expectantly. “Oh, uh, they’re behind the DJ’s set up, there’s a little hallway back there with the bathrooms.” You meet his gaze again, his green eyes locked onto yours before they drop to the plate in front of you. The sides of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. “Not hungry?” He points to your untouched hamburger, his watch catching the light. You take a mental note of your stomach doing backflips over this accessory, as watches have always been kind of a thing for you. A turn on, if you will. You shake your head and laugh, admitting that you can’t eat it. “I’ll be out of commission if I eat that.” Glen’s playful expression turns to one of confusion, pointing over his shoulder to the extensive spread of food behind you. “You want to trade? I didn’t see that as an option. Where’d you find that?” Savannah giggles, waving her hands in front of her as she finally speaks. “No, no, the burgers are just for us little people. You guys get to enjoy the good stuff.” She winks at him, and you nudge her beneath the table. Not exactly the best way to put it…

Glen’s eyebrows furrow slightly, head tilting to the side. “That doesn’t seem fair. Tell you what, I’ll bring you back a plate of whatever you want if I can devour that burger on your plate.” He flashes you a grin, and you’re enthusiastically nodding before you can think twice about it. “Yes, please! I’ll literally take anything you can gr-” you begin, but Savannah cuts you off. “She loves sushi, Glen.” They exchange a smile as he points to her before wading through the crowd. You turn to your coworker, mouth open in disbelief. “Umm, is Glen Powell bringing me a plate of food right now?!” You let out a tiny squeal, hitting her on the knee. She props a hand on her cheek, “I know right? Isn’t he so nice? Where the heck is Dylan?” She responds, squeezing your shoulder. “It sucks we have to act like we don’t know them. Like, at all.” She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s over by the dessert bar, why don’t you take a quick walk by? He won’t even notice! He’s quite the social butterfly tonight.” You wink at her encouragingly, and she actually stands from her chair. “You know what, you’re right. Be right back!” She’s giddy as she weaves through the crowd, and in her wake you see Glen reappear, a plate full of sushi in tow. He sticks out his tongue, clearly proud of his selection. “Here we go, I got a little bit of everything for ya.” He presents the plate to you dramatically, flicking his wrist to emulate a waiter as he drops it on the table. “You’ve outdone yourself.” You grin, placing a hand over your heart to match his energy. “And in return…” You reach for the plate, lifting the burger to his hands. He shakes his head, instantly grabbing the burger out of its sleeve and taking a huge bite out of it. “I’m Glen, by the way.” He mumbles, his mouth full. You swallow thickly, Savannah’s reminder echoing in your head as you introduce yourself, acting as casual as possible. You lift your chopsticks and dig into your food, not having realized that Glen’s attention is on you. The two of you continue to eat in silence, hunger clearly winning here. “Guess we were hungry.” You laugh, pushing your now empty plate away from you. Glen throws his head back with a chuckle, nodding in agreement. “Guess so. It was a long travel day.”

Suddenly, you remember why he approached your table in the first place - the bathroom. “Wait, did you ever find the restrooms?” Your tone has a hint of worry in it; what were you thinking, sending him off to get you a plate of food? You were sup[posed to be serving the talent, not the other way around. You suddenly felt embarrassed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Glen’s mouth turns into a soft smile, his expression playful again. “Oh, I knew where the bathrooms were.” His words hang in the air as you process his tone, taking in his facial expression. Was he..flirting with you? There was no way. You were delusional. Before you can respond, he stacks his empty plate on top of yours and slides them back toward him, leaning over the table a bit to make sure you can hear him. “Nice doin’ business with you.” He shoots you a quick wink before he tosses the plates into the trash can and disappears into the crowd. You’re aware of the cheesy grin on your face that you can’t wipe off, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you fidget with your bracelets. Savannah soon returns, waving you toward her. “C’mon, let’s get to our carts and wait for the boys! We have an early morning tomorrow.” ANd with that, you grab both of your bags and follow her to the gravel lot outside, the exchange with Glen replaying over and over in your mind.

Dylan strides up to your golf cart right on time, his eyes glazed over. “Man, that was fun! You guys killed that. I’m dead tired though.” He raises his hand for a high five, and you happily oblige before driving him to his personal cabin. Agreeing on a wakeup time, you wait for him to get inside before driving off.

You snuggle into bed that night replaying how amazing the event space looked, relieved that Dylan was kind and, so far, not a diva. You were looking forward to getting to know him a little better and look out for him the next few weeks. And then there was Glen…you had to try and downplay tonight’s interaction. He was just being nice, his parents clearly raised him right. That’s all it was. Did he seriously wink at you? Maybe you dreamed that part. Maybe he isn’t as nice as he seems, and just a charmer. He could have a girlfriend for all you know!

“I need help.” You mutter to yourself.

You shake your head and sigh; you were here to work. You needed to be professional and short with all of the guests here. End of story. You let yourself fall asleep to the sound of the wind blowing outside your cabin window.

[msmk11]

Whatever You Say, Dear

Hermione Granger x reader

WC: 584

CW: being scared of airports; fluff

Summary: You hate airports. Thank god for your girlfriend. (I think I hate this work but oh well!)

Day 10 of mk’s mad dash

Airports are your worst nightmare. It’s not the flying part that bothers you- though that’s always a little unnerving too- but the scary security guards, the lingering fear that your luggage will get lost, and the stress of always having to be in the right place at the right time.

Your girlfriend knows this, so she’d assured you that she would take care of all the travel plans for your first ever trip together. When you two first decided to go to Australia, Hermione took charge of booking the flights, the layovers, and the hotels. You were left with the more fun tasks- researching excursions, restaurants, and the top things to do in the area where you’d be staying.

Though one burden was lifted off your shoulders, your day of travel looms before you frighteningly. The night before you leave, you are tossing and turning in bed all evening, not getting a wink of sleep. Even with Hermione’s attempted caresses and soothing words, the nerves rumbling in your stomach cannot be calmed.

You’re up and heading to the airport early, suitcases stowed in the trunk and you in the passenger seat, leg bouncing. Hermione reaches out and puts her hand on your thigh, urging you to still.

“Sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay, promise. Just turn off that pretty head of yours and let me do all the worrying okay?”

You turn and look at her and take a deep breath, “yeah, okay, okay.”

So like Hermione said, you try to turn your brain off. When she parks the car, you mechanically step out of the passenger seat and grab your luggage. You hold Hermione’s hand while you wait for the shuttle, and she holds yours in her lap on the ride over to the terminal.

When you step past the sliding glass doors at the airport, your senses are immediately overwhelmed by all the people milling about, the bright, yellow lights, and the cold stares of the workers who look like they want to be anywhere else but here.

Hermione gently urges you to a bench and then goes to drop off your luggage and print your boarding passes.

She’s quick, or at least seems so to your dazed self. Hermione grabs your hand again and pulls you along to security. Your girlfriend knows that this is the hardest part of traveling for you, so she squeezes your hand gently as you stand in line to go through security.

“Just gotta answer a couple questions and walk through a metal detector okay? You’ve done nothing wrong so they have no reason to be suspicious of you.”

You nod shakily and grip tightly onto her until a security guard harshly ushers you through the beeping metal detector.

A major sigh of relief escapes your body when nothing happens, and you quickly find another bench as soon as Hermione finishes in security.

Your girlfriend is quick to put on her shoes, and then she kneels at your feet, “here, let me, sweetheart.”

Hermione grabs your ankle gingerly and slips your foot into your gym shoe, tying the laces in a bow tightly. She does the same on the other foot and then stands, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I’m so, so proud of you sweetheart. Now we just get to relax until we board. Think you can just sit pretty for me?”

“I’ll do whatever you say, dear,” you reply, mind hazy and heart thumping from all the warm affection Hermione has offered you.

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @carlos-in-glasses @nisbanisba @heartstringsduet @carlossreaders 💝

This is from my upcoming TK's birthday fic, "The December Baby"

“TK! TK!” Jonah exclaimed, like TK was halfway down the block and not holding Jonah in his arms. “Sit with me!” He hit TK’s shoulders with both hands. “TK! Sit with me! Sit with me TK!”

“Jonah, easy,” Enzo said, reaching over and taking one of his son’s hands. “Jonah Frederick. Soft touches. And what do we say when we want something?”

“Daddy,” Jonah whined.

“Jo-nah,” Enzo said, imitating his son’s tone. “What’s our magic word? Can you show TK and Carlos your good manners?”

“We want to see them,” Carlos added. “We’re very big on manners in Texas”.

Jonah gave the biggest sigh at the utter inconvenience of having to use manners before he started stroking TK’s face. “Pwease!” Jonah exclaimed. “TK sit me with pwease!”

“I would love to sit with you, Jonah,” TK smiled as he opened the back door to the car. “And what good asking that was!”

“TK, you want help with the carseat?” Enzo asked as TK loaded Jonah into the backseat.

“I can figure it out I think” TK grunted. “Which does… ow!” He ducked out of the back seat and moved to let Enzo adjust the straps, shaking his hand with the bright red finger he pinched.  “Yeah, I should have let you do it”.

“It’s okay,” Enzo said as he buckled Jonah in. “It’s a learning curve”.

“Let me see that”. Carlos said, taking TK’s right hand and kissing his red thumb.

“Thank you baby,” TK smiled, kissing Carlos’s cheek before he joined his little brother in the backseat of the car.

“TK got owie?” Jonah asked when TK slid in next to him.

“Just a little one,” TK shook his head with a smile. “It’s okay”.

“I make it better?” Jonah asked. TK smiled and scooted close enough so Jonah could kiss his hand. “Jonah, you did it!” TK exclaimed. “Now it doesn’t hurt anymore!”

“Jonah, you keeping an eye on your brother?” Enzo asked as Carlos got in the passenger seat.

“Okay, Daddy,” Jonah nodded, taking this job seriously as he started chattering away to TK.

“Enzo, I gotta say,” Carlos said as they started to make their way out of airport parking, “Jonah talks really well. Both of my sisters have three kids each, and I don’t remember anyone speaking in sentences when they had just turned two”.

“Thank you,” Enzo said, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon glasses. “He's definitely a chatterbox. Truthfully, I can’t take too much credit. The boys’ mother, before she…” He cleared his throat. “When she was still here, right after Jonah was born, and we were shuttling him between our houses. She told me to make sure I was talking to him as much as I could; that it would help his verbal skills develop”.

“Huh”. Carlos nodded. “Was it just baby talk?”

“Not exclusively,” Enzo said as they waited to turn right. “Some of it was, but Gwyn had told me it was most important to be talking directly to him. Which, after we lost her,” he sighed, “was a lot of this shouldn’t have happened, I can’t do this, is there precedent to get delivery bikes banned from the city altogether. But it seems to have paid off,” he added, looking in the rearview mirror, where TK was nodding as Jonah told him a story. “I have him in daycare twice a week now, and whenever I pick him up, the teachers always tell me he’s coming for their job; he always wants to greet and say hi to anyone who comes in the room”.

No pressure tagging - I tag @anewkindofme @laneybishop89 @nancys-braids @kiankiwi @firstprince-history-huh @the-flaming-nightmare @eclectic-sassycoweyes and anyone else who wants to do it - open tag 🫶

[grogusmum]

IRL

Part 1: @ nickcage_numerouno

JAVI X F!PLUS SIZE!READER

SUMMARY: Set before the events of The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent. Javi and Reader are friends online, and after a year of DMing they decide to meet. (The only change is Javi and Gabriela are just friends)

WORD COUNT: 1900ish

WARNINGS: Reader has insecurities about her size and appearance, Lucas is a jerk, and that's about it in this chapter. Javi is adorable, be warned.

This is nuts, you think as you get off the plane. 

This isn't your first time either… you thought it after you agreed to fly to Palma. You thought it as you purchased the ticket. You thought it as you took the shuttle to the airport and you lost count of how many times during the almost 10-hour flight… 

You take a breath, you've always wanted to travel, go to a cool film festival, so you're here. Meeting a friend. To go to the festival together. No big deal. You've known him for more than a year… online… you swallowed. Just keep breathing. It's going to be fine.

You find your suitcase and go to find your ride.

It's an international airport, so you are a little overwhelmed.

Then you see a sign with your name. Well, not your name, really, you give in internal chuckle. It’s your handle @han_shot_first. It has a blaster drawn on it, with "pew-pew" written in comic-sans. And you can't help but laugh out loud now. You look expectantly at the face above the sign.

It wasn't him…

You'd never felt nervous or intimidated by “@niccage_numerouno” until you saw him. Because holy moly! Those honeyed curls and warm brown eyes. He sent his photo with zero hesitation. Of course, he did. Why would he… you were a little slower. You had stared at it with the cursor hovering over the send button for what seemed like a lifetime. It was taken at a good angle, of course, angles can only do so much…

Until agreeing to take this trip, you hadn't seen one another's faces. You had decided it was time for you both to exchange photos.

@ nickcage_numerouno: Are you still there? 

@ nickcage_numerouno: not the best photo of me…

Oh my gosh, he thinks I don't like it! Click send you moron, you thought and clicked send, then quickly typed-

@ han_shot_first: I just got distracted by a text. Sorry to keep you hanging

Then you waited. And waited. It said read. The ellipsis dot dot dotting. Shit

@ nickcage_numerouno: I like your shirt

You laughed. Of course he did, it's Spider-Man Noir.

@ han_shot_first: You might not believe this but it *is* a coincidence!

You walk up to the man with the sign.

"Ah… hola?"

"Hola, señora." He tapped the sign, "Han…shot-"

"Um yeah- sí," you laugh and tell him your actual name. He looks at his phone and then at you, presumably looking at the photo you sent. 

"Welcome Mallorca, Señora. The car is just this way."

Okay, intimidated again. He sent a driver. You knew he had money because of his collection and his generosity with paying for the festival tickets … but 'send a driver' money?

You take deep breaths and remind yourself of some of your favorite DMs with him. He likes you. He's seen pics of your very regular apartment. You've talked about your job. He likes you. He's never seen more than one picture. Stop. He. Likes. You.

Suddenly your car door opens, bringing you out of your thoughts. 

"Thank you, um…" you realize you had been so inside your own head you don't know the driver's name. "I am so sorry, I didn't ask you your name-"

"Mateo, señora."

"I apologize again, Mateo thank you so much"

Mateo nods with a small appreciative smile.

"This way to the boat slip"

"A boat-" 

That's when you see him, Javi, in sunglasses (you note they are ones Nick Cage wore in Wild at Heart) linen pants, an orange button-down shirt, and a vast smile.

He calls your name and jogs over.

"You are here! Really here," Javi has you by the arms and gives you a little shake, before pulling you into a hug. "Thank you for getting my girl here, Mateo!"

Your cheeks warm at 'my girl' while still getting a bear hug from Javi. You put your arms around him gingerly. 

"Hello Javi, can't believe I'm really here either."

Finally, he pulls away to drink you in, you fluster under imagined scrutiny. You stand tall, remembering your posture, hoping you will somehow be, well, smaller.

"Nice shades, by the way."

Javi laughs, shaking his head. He then leads you to his speedboat, his hand firmly around yours.

"I have so much I want to show you and talk to you about," Javi debates telling you he couldn't sleep last night because he was so excited. You have always matched him in enthusiasm, so he had thought he could tell you without sounding 12 but, maybe it was the long flight, and there’s the jet lag, but he feels like you're somehow keeping your distance. Guarded. 

To be honest, Javi has been anxiously awaiting your arrival since you agreed to come. You are just as cute as your picture- cuter. He saved the photo you sent and only took it off his lock screen this morning for fear of freaking you out.

"Maybe you want to get cleaned up and have a rest," he suggests, as he helps you into the boat. 

"Maybe," you return.

A shower and a change out of your travel clothes does the trick, you are gifted with a second wind. You also feel a little less self-conscious. Since you met Javi on the dock, other than when he was driving the boat he has found reasons to touch you, hold your hand, be close. 

He hugged you again at the door of the guest room, this time his sunglasses off. His warm eyes (oh my gosh you had gazed at them in his picture but it did them little justice) crinkled happily as he looked at you and when you finally shut the door between you, your heart was like a rabbit’s.

Javi looks at himself in the hall mirror, he looks okay, right? When Gabriela enters the hall he jumps and steps away from the mirror.

"Are you alright, Javi?"

"I just, um, you know my tumblfriend-"

"She is here, yes? Did you just get back?" 

"Sure, yeah, she's just - she is getting cleaned up after her flight, you know… maybe get in a little nap or…"

Gabriela looks at the ceiling quizzically.

"Javi, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yes… I think."

Javi looks at his dearest friend, "What if she doesn't like me IRL."

"I R L?"

"In real life," Javi leans against the wall, a cloud of worry hanging over him.

"She is going to love you!" 

Javi looks up from examining his sneakers. He wore his lucky ones, they didn't really match too well with what he was wearing but he wanted the extra boost of confidence.

You trot down the stairs and stop short in the hall at the sight of Javi and a gorgeous woman. You move more purposefully getting to the bottom of the stairs, thinking about how you must have looked practically hopping down the stairs… ugh. She is very close to him, which is fine, of course. You are just friends after all, but you just- 

Javi smiles and takes your hand again, and introduces you to his 'BFF and executive assistant extraordinaire- Gabriela.'

Gabriela.

He told you all about her, they had tried being together but ended up feeling they were better as friends.

He also told you she was beautiful and smart. You just didn't realize how beautiful, how willowy. They look amazing together. Right.

Shake it off, you tell yourself, and take a deep breath. You are not in competition with anybody.

"You don't need to lie down?" Javi asks, still holding your hand.

"Nope! Just needed to wash off the traveling dust, I guess," you extend your other hand to Gabriela, "it's so nice to put a face to the name. Javi says you're his left brain."

She takes it with a surprised laugh.

"Well, I know your face, Javi showed me your photo right away, he put-"

Javi looks at Gabriela pleadingly.

"-was so happy you were coming."

“Let me show you around,” Javi moves in quickly and takes your hand again hoping you didn't notice anything. You smile with a nod.

“Have fun!” Gabriela calls after you.

“So what are you showing me first?” 

“My collection, of course, pfft,” Javi rolls his eyes playfully, and he warms when your hand stays on his arm after giving it an excited squeeze. He tries to watch you surreptitiously as you take in the grounds, mumbling, “beautiful,” under your breath. He wants to tell you, you are too… One step at a time, Javi, he thinks to himself. He tells you about the villa and the olive groves. He leaves his family business out of it. Lucas is gone for the week. He is the only one on the compound who Javi is worried about.

He’s feeling more confident, and it just starts to feel like when you would chat for hours online, when he comes face to face with none other than Lucas. It was like just thinking of him summoned his cousin. 

And by the look on his face, he was going to be a problem.

“Lucas, I thought you were away,” Javi starts quickly trying to take hold of the conversation and keep it short. He introduces you by name, and a friend,  “we are - in a writers’ group… online. She’s just arrived, so…” 

You can tell Javi was trying to keep this interaction short, and that this is one of the people who don't know about Tumblr. Lucas is truly intimidating not just because he is handsome and fit, maybe a little like the guys who teased you in school… but also something else - he is hawkish, sharp, and dangerous looking. He says hello and you shiver a little, he smiles wide but it doesn't reach his calculating eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Lucas,” you say as you reach out to take his hand. He kisses it.

Javi rolls his eyes, and his grip tightens on your hand.

“We will be eating at Roberto’s tonight and then we'll be at a film festival all weekend, so, we’ll see you around,” Javi makes to get you as far from his cousin as soon as possible.

“Such a rush, Javi. ¿Es hora de comer tan pronto?”

Is it feeding time so soon?

You know some Spanish, but only a little. You get the gist, but from the way, Javi's face darkens, and his nostrils flare. You know something in your translation is off. If you have to make a guess, Lucas is just like one of those boys from school, you decide. Knowing you are in some way the butt of a joke your face heats with embarrassment. 

“A delight as always Lucas,” Javi grumbles and pulls you. He is still muttering as he brings you to a door with a pin pad, it’s mostly rapid Spanish, but you recognize ‘pendejo, jerk off.’

You can't help giggling-

“Aliens”

Javi smiles with a huff, but puts both of his warm hands on your arms, gently running them up and down.

“Do not listen to Lucas, he is - well, he is horrible,” Javi types in the code. “I am truly sorry for his rudeness.” 

You shrug, some residual embarrassment casting your eyes at your shoes. 

“You are beautiful, you know.” 

You look up quickly, not believing your ears. He said it like it was the simplest of observations. Like it is the most obvious thing. Maybe you misheard…

“Are you ready?” Javi smiles and opens the door, you try to focus, this is the prized collection he has been telling you about for a year- sharing photos of new acquisitions and-

“Is that the bunny from Con Air?!”

part 2

💚THANK YOU FOR READING💚REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED💚

If you care to read more of my stories, you can find my masterlist here, and if you would like to be tagged for any of my fics, you can find my handy dandy taglist form here.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (ch. 3)

damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent

(A/N): Can you tell my ADHD brain has no sense of time? I was fully like 'oh yeah it's been a week' and it's actually been 3, I am so sorry. Thank you to everyone following this series; it is complete so I swear you will get the full story! (Also shoutout to @glorified-red for body doubling w/ me and being overall amazing; I appreciate you.)

Previous chapters linked here and here.

wc: ~1050

warnings: mentions of non-graphic injury

~~

Damian’s bicep throbbed and he switched his rolling carry-on to his other hand. He’d disinfected, stitched, and wrapped the bullet graze, but that was hours ago now and he hadn’t kept any painkillers in his backpack. Even if they weren’t in his carry-on, he wouldn’t have pulled them out on the plane. As much as he’d learned about the stranger he and Jon were sitting with, he didn’t trust you enough for that. 

Jon’s carry-on bag was loud, wheels clattering against the floor and echoing in the mostly empty airport. It was a small bag and a cheap one, bought mostly for appearances and convenience. Damian’s, on the other hand, was from a safe house 90 minutes away from the airport. It was the only reason he hadn’t been stopped at security with Batman WE technology in the hidden compartment. Jon’s suit—sans the belt in Damian’s suitcase—got through security with no problems. 

He may not trust them farther than Jon could presently throw them, but Damian could at least admit that the stranger on the plane was an unexpected boon. With Jon already on edge from the solar flare and subsequent stranding and Damian himself running on not enough sleep and an even smaller social battery, having a gruff, immoveable asshole in between them would have made the flight more torturous than it was destined to be. With these delays, even more so. A childish part of Damian wanted to call Richard back and say that they did need a pick-up, actually. Some combination of pride and exhaustion stopped him. A few steps ahead, Jon’s laugh rang out, joined quickly by a laugh made familiar by only the last few hours. 

Fine so it was pride, exhaustion, and seeing Jon happy. Sue him. 

While Jon followed your—yes he knew your name, he just didn’t know you enough to use it yet—guidance through the airport, Damian watched the signs. The literal ones and the body language ones. Nothing on the plane ride had given him reason to think the stranger meant any harm, but Damian was raised with extreme paranoia on all sides of his family. Jon was his family too, though, and with his super senses compromised, Damian’s instinct would have to do. 

“Okay so since this is a shuttle, I think it’s this door.” Damian looked up at the sign you were pointing to. Zone 8, it read, Airport Shuttles. Jon shrugged.

“Looks right.”

He took the lead this time and you followed. Damian stayed behind, eyes catching on your backpack. You don’t have clothes with you, he remembered. By the looks of it, you didn’t have much with you at all. 

There was a shuttle leaving by the time the three of you reached the platform. 

“Excuse me,” you asked a woman standing nearby. Damian vaguely recognized her from the boarding line. “Are you here for the hotel shuttles?” The woman turned around, launching into a tirade.

Damian took the distraction for a chance to talk to Jon. 

“No change right?” Jon shook his head, hands rubbing up and down his arms. 

“None. I didn’t really expect any this early. Maybe tomorrow if I’m lucky? Or the day after.” 

Damian swung his backpack off of his shoulder to pull his jacket off. 

“You’re not regulating temperature properly—” 

Jon’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Your arm.” Damian cursed under his breath and pulled the jacket back on. 

“How long’s it been since you changed that?” Jon asked. 

“I’ll change it at the hotel, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not.” 

In the corner of his eye, Damian watched you extricate yourself from the tirade. 

“You’re not one to talk, currently,” he said. “It’s barely chilly out and you’re shivering.” Jon’s response was curtailed by your return. 

“Oh but the Metropolis folks aren’t built for this kind of weather, don’t you know? It’s clear skies with a chance of red cape sightings over there.” Your own jacket was still on, though unzipped. 

A snort of laughter escaped Damian before he could hold it back. Damian blamed it on the fatigue. He blamed the spark of gratification he got when you delighted in his reaction on that too. Jon rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah yeah, very funny.”

Your eyes locked onto something behind Jon and Damian tracked your gaze to the shuttle. Jon took a step back as it parked right beside him. 

“Bluiett, Archanza, Helioz!” Yelled the driver. 

Jon extended his arm, ushering you inside. 

“After you.” 

“Thanks.” 

Damian clambered on after Jon. He’d taken a seat across from you. Damian sat next to him. 

The shuttle ride was, for the most part, quiet until the first stop. 

“I don’t have any pajamas,” you lamented, head dropping back against the window behind you. “Or toiletries.” 

Damian wasn’t sure if you were expecting an answer, even if he did know what to say. Jon’s eyebrows wrinkled. Damian thought his thinking face was adorable. Jon thought it was embarrassing.

“You can borrow something of mine if you want?” Jon offered. Damian held back a smile. Jon had very little clothes-wise in his carry on—just sweatpants, an extra set of jeans, a t-shirt or two, and underwear. And a Superman suit. But still, he offered. You smiled awkwardly, eyes dipping down to where your own backpack rested on your lap. 

“Um, no I’m good. But thanks.” 

Damian’s eyes tracked your face. For the first time all evening, he found what he was looking for. You didn’t quite trust them either, not yet. You were wary of them. Not afraid, not like you were when you got on the plane, but wary. Jon and he were strangers and you knew it. 

“Even hotels as bad as these should provide some sort of soap,” Damian offered. 

For the first time all night, your hopeful smile was directed at him. 

“Yeah, I forgot about that, thanks.” The relief in your voice told him you were being genuine. Damian nodded in return, giving into the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“I think I’m taking sleep over a shower anyway,” Jon added. 

“Easy for you to say when there’s options,” you teased back at him. Damian might not have laughed the way Jon did, but he cracked a smile nonetheless.When the three of you parted in the hotel elevator—you on your own on the second floor and he and Jon together on the third—Damian might not have known everything there was to know about you, but his instincts whispered trust. Good enough for him.

[shuttle2home]

Check our all Google my business posts

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[switzerlandtransfers]

Airport door to door shuttle

Enjoy the ultimate convenience with Airport Door To Door Shuttle service. Say goodbye to the hassles of navigating public transportation or arranging multiple transfers. shuttle service provides a seamless and comfortable journey from the airport directly to your desired destination, be it a hotel, office, or home. experienced drivers and well-maintained vehicles ensure a stress-free and timely transfer, allowing you to relax and start your journey hassle-free. Whether you are arriving in a new city or returning home, door-to-door shuttle service is your reliable and efficient transportation solution.

[bigairplaneblog]

Antonov An-225: The Biggest Airplane in the World

When it comes to airline airplane models, there's one that towers above the rest—quite literally. The Antonov An-225, known affectionately as "Mriya" (which means "Dream" in Ukrainian), holds the title of the biggest airplane in the world. This massive aircraft is not just a large airplane model in the figurative sense; it's the largest in every conceivable dimension.

The Antonov An-225 was originally designed in the 1980s to transport the Buran spaceplane, the Soviet Union's answer to NASA's Space Shuttle. But its capabilities far exceeded its original mission.

With its maiden flight in December 1988, the An-225 quickly became a symbol of Soviet engineering prowess, and later, an indispensable asset in global heavy-lift cargo transportation.

So, what makes the Antonov An-225 the biggest airplane in the world? Let’s delve into the details.

A Giant Among Giants

The sheer size of the Antonov An-225 is mind-boggling. This large airplane model has a measure of 84 meters (275 feet) in length, with wingspan size of 88.4 meters (290 feet). To put that into perspective, it's longer than an American football field and has a wingspan wider than a Boeing 747. The An-225 stands at 18.1 meters (59.3 feet) tall, nearly as tall as a six-story building.

This airline airplane model is equipped with six turbofan engines, each capable of producing 51,600 pounds of thrust. These engines, combined with its enormous wings, allow the An-225 to carry a maximum takeoff weight of 640,000 kg (1,410,958 pounds). This includes the cargo it carries, which can be up to 250,000 kg (550,000 pounds). This impressive lifting capability makes it the go-to choice for transporting oversized cargo, such as wind turbine blades, military tanks, and even other aircraft.

The Unique Capabilities of the An-225

The Antonov An-225's cargo bay is so large that it could fit 50 cars. The interior is 43.32 meters (142 feet) long, 6.4 meters (21 feet) wide, and 4.4 meters (14.5 feet) high, making it spacious enough to accommodate a wide range of oversized items. Unlike many other cargo aircraft, which load through a rear cargo door, the An-225 is loaded through the nose. The aircraft's nose lifts up, allowing direct access to the cavernous interior. This feature is crucial for loading extremely large and heavy objects that cannot be easily maneuvered.

Another notable feature of this large airplane model is its 32-wheel landing gear system. This complex system allows the An-225 to land on runways that would be unsuitable for other aircraft of its size, providing flexibility in the types of airports it can access.

The An-225 also has a range of 15,400 km (9,569 miles) when carrying a smaller load, but this decreases as the payload increases. Despite this, its range and payload capacity make it ideal for long-distance heavy-lift missions, and it remains a vital tool in global logistics.

A Record-Breaking Aircraft

Throughout its operational life, the Antonov An-225 has set numerous world records. In 2001, it carried the heaviest single cargo item ever transported by air—a 189-ton generator for a power plant. In another instance, it transported a 130-ton piece of machinery from Germany to Kazakhstan, marking the largest payload ever carried by an aircraft.

The An-225 has also been used in humanitarian missions, delivering supplies to disaster-stricken areas around the world. Its ability to transport large quantities of aid quickly and efficiently has made it an invaluable resource in times of crisis.

The Legacy of the Antonov An-225

The Antonov An-225 is not just a marvel of engineering; it's a symbol of what human ingenuity can achieve. Despite being over three decades old, this airline airplane model remains unmatched in terms of size and lifting capacity. Its continued operation is a testament to the foresight of its designers and the enduring need for such a massive aircraft in today’s world.

However, the An-225's future is uncertain. The only existing model has been in and out of service due to the high costs of operation and maintenance. There's also been speculation about building a second An-225, but financial and logistical challenges have stalled those plans.

Despite these uncertainties, the Antonov An-225’s legacy is secure. It continues to capture the imagination of aviation enthusiasts and the general public alike, reminding us of the heights—both literal and figurative—that human technology can reach.

In conclusion, the Antonov An-225 is not just the biggest airplane in the world; it’s a symbol of human achievement. From its origins as a Soviet space transporter to its current role in global cargo transportation, this large airplane model has set records and exceeded expectations. Whether or not it continues to fly for years to come, the An-225 will always be remembered as a giant among giants in the world of aviation.

[oldmanffucker]

“-can’t believe you’re cutting it so close to your flight and you just assumed I’d drop everything and drive you to the flight you booked three hours ago on a whim.” Wilson shook his head, gripping the steering wheel and merging to the carpool lane.

“I know, foolish of me to think you’d drive me to the airport at a moments notice. You really showed me what assuming does by not driving me.” House smirked.

They were on the off ramp when House started patting his pockets.

“I forgot my passport.”

“No way. You’re kidding.” Wilson whipped his head toward House with wide eyes.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’. Wilson could tell he wasn’t fucking around bc House’s eyes were shut, and knuckles white around the cane between his legs.

“House! It’s 5:30, your flight boards at 6:15, and we live 15 minutes from the airport!”

“Well drive faster, and suddenly we’ll be 10 minutes from the airport.”

“You’re not going to make it, House.”

“Shut up and get back on the highway. We’ll get back in 20 minutes, it’ll take me 5 minutes to get through security because it’s a Tuesday and I’ll be there with 10 minutes to spare.”

“You can’t run!”

“Ah no, but I can limp and get the attention of the kind airport staff on the fun little carts to drive me to my gate.” House winked.

Wilson huffed, running a hand through his hair as he wove back through the airport to the highway.

“Fine. If you miss your flight I’m not driving you back home, you can call a taxi. I’m supposed to be meeting someone for dinner and I’m not going to be any later than you’ve already made me.”

“Sure, Wilson. We’ll see.” His eyes flashed mischievously. “I won’t miss my flight, but if I did I bet you’d be there to drive me home. You’re like that. You love to be needed and I’ll be the neediest cripple in a 20 mile radius, and trapped in an airport.”

“Shut up, House. Get your house key out I’m not turning off the car when we get there. And haul ass, double your dose of Vicodin after, just get back in the car before I drive away.”

They both knew he wouldn’t.

The passport was on the coffee table where house had left it, and he was back in the car fast enough that he saw the surprised lift of Wilson’s eyebrows before he schooled them back into a put upon scowl.

“You’ve got me driving like a maniac for you, House.”

“Good. You were getting a little too buttoned up for my tastes, Jimmy. Thought you might be going soft on me.”

“Shut up.”

Wilson wove through lanes of traffic, zipped down the off ramp and threw the car into park outside the first airline door at the airport.

“Good luck.” He sighed, the squint of his eye and the twitch of his fingers on the wheel betraying just how stressed he was by proxy for House.

“See ya in a couple days. And untwist your panties, Wilson, I’ll make it with plenty of time.”

He took great joy in texting Wilson 7 minutes later that he’d made it through security, and a stupidly short amount of time after that that he’d be shuttled to his gate with “plenty of time to spare” (it was 6:10)

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Three Nights in Mexico

Mexico- a beautiful, vast country that Y/N would have otherwise loved to visit if she didn’t have to be responsible for a gang of grown children while she was there.

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

4.1k Words

Warnings: Suggestive content, drug mention, alcohol use, one night stands, nudity, skinny dipping, cavity searches, vomit, waterborne disease

An: Thank you so much for sending in requests! This is the only Manager!Y/N fic I’ve written about a place I’ve actually been to! XD As a note, if you have not tried a concha I am URGING you to those things r to die for! Also, the incident described in the beginning of this fic was actually based off of a real thing that Steve-O did! Anyways, thank you for the requests and please keep them coming!

The guys were full of giggles as you sat around in those uncomfortable plastic chairs in the Mexican customs office. You started to feel that you were the only person who was taking this remotely seriously, given the fact Knoxville was capturing this whole thing on the camcorder you knew he wasn’t supposed to have there. Even Steve, who was currently receiving a full cavity search on the other side of the very thin wall, thought what was happening was comedy gold. But you really couldn’t feel too bad for him- after all, it was his decision to ask the security agent if he could lay on his back and go through the baggage X-Ray machine (you still had no idea why he let him), and he did intentionally put that condom full of cocaine in his ass as a part of that “Drug Mule” stunt he was planning for the new movie. To nobody’s surprise, the oblong shape in his colon raised a couple red flags. Your heart went out to whatever poor, latex-gloved security agent was currently feeling around in him. For a while, there was nothing but stifled snickers while everyone in the waiting area held their breath, before it was broken by a yelp from the other room and that familiar raspy voice, “Ah- dude! Aren’t you supposed’t take me out to dinner first or somethin’?” How did you even let this happen?

Your high school level understanding of Spanish wasn't helping you in the slightest as you tried to bargain with the custom’s officer, “Uh…¡Necesito ir ahora! ¡Muy urgente, señor!” Why couldn’t it be Bam or Ryan or Johnny who got pulled back there instead of the one guy in the group that actually spoke the damn language? From the other side of the room, Chris raised his hand and chuckled, trying his hand at reasoning with the buff man in the uniform you were pleading, “Hey! I mean- I could stand in for him!” Turning to shoot a ‘shut the fuck up’ glare back at him, you went back to what you were doing. “¡Ellos son actores muy famosos! Yo soy sus agente.” He didn’t budge.

It was moments like these that made you nostalgic for that time you had to bail Steve out of airport custody after that time he had the idea for an awesome stunt- trying to see how long he could keep a cigarette lit inside of a federally owned building: not very long. Sighing, you thought back to that piece of advice Jeff let you in on from his Wildboyz days of traveling abroad with these idiots. For a while you considered if you would really stoop so low as to follow his word, but considering the circumstances, you didn’t really have a choice. Blinking hard under the white fluorescent lights, you hesitantly pulled your wallet out with a sigh and, as sneakily as you could, slipped a couple five-hundred peso notes into the custom officer’s waiting hand. He looked at you, then to the other agents who all clearly saw what you did, and made a gesture to them to open the door.

Knoxville couldn’t believe it. A lady such as yourself, who was always so damn adamant about them obeying the law- did you actually just bribe a customs officer? He didn’t think you had it in you. The entire ride to your hotel in that shitty, little, not private at all shuttle bus full of all the other idiot tourists, he caught a glance here and there of you with this amused look on his face as he just imagined all the ways he was going to hold this over your head. But you didn’t notice- you had better things to worry about, such as the fact Ryan was currently fast asleep on your shoulder and didn’t show any signs of waking up any time soon, or the million questions Bam had been pressing you with since you left the airport. Even after you told him that no, just because it’s not a great idea drink the tap water in Mexico doesn’t mean he should avoid showers or brushing his teeth like the plague and yes, they do have alcohol other than beer and tequila here (including whiskey, which he was particularly concerned about), he still had more damn questions. “Hey- hey, Y/N. D’they have skate parks in Mexico?” Wordlessly nodding, you leaned your head against the cool bus window. “What about McDonald’s- d’they have that?” You squeezed your eyes shut at his insistence- it was like dealing with a four year old. Groaning, you rubbed the space between your eyes, “Yes, Bam. They have McDonald’s in Mexico.” You knew his high school education didn’t leave him with the most awareness of the world outside of the states, but you didn’t think he was that stupid. Christ- he’d been to Cabo for Viva La Bam! Letting out a sigh of relief, Bam sat back in the stiff little bus seat that probably hadn’t been cleaned in years and nodded, thinking out loud, “I could make do with that, yeah...”

That night, after everyone got unpacked, the guys decided to go out to have a few drinks, especially after a bit of animated convincing and high inference language from Steve, who went on and on about how they were gonna fuckin’ party tonight, and that last time he was in Mexico he was just swarmed with chicks who were fiending for a piece of the ole’ Steve-O. Hearing that, the guys were more than eager to jump at that opportunity, leaving you and Ryan, who was too tired to party that night, to sit back in the room. Taking a sip from the bottle in his hand, he looked up with half lidded eyes and held it out to you, “Want some?” You shrugged from where you sat on the bed as your eyes stayed fixed on whatever movie was playing on hotel cable. “Nah, m’alright.”

The night went by pretty quietly after that- for you, of course: you watched some tv and got to bed at eleven or so. It wouldn’t be until the next day where you would catch word of all the shit that went down while you were peacefully asleep. And as the early morning sun came streaming in your window picturesquely, you stirred in your bed to discover that Bam, who was fast asleep, was lying by your side, which is both a nightmare you had definitely had before and a sentence you never thought you’d say. Panicking, you peeled his arms off of you and hurriedly sat up to survey the damage, notably the fact that the room was completely empty besides the three of you- three including Ryan, who felt as if he’d spent the night with his head in the minibar and was about this close to vomiting in his shoe, still hadn’t left his chair and was slowly blinking awake. “Ryan! What the hell happened last night?” Groggily, at first, he began to recount the story he got secondhand from Bam.

Everything had been going fine until right about two am at the bar, because as we all know, the road to cultural understanding begins and ends with beer- well, tequila in Steve’s case. Three hours at the shitty little bar near the hotel, and Bam still couldn’t get a drink, which had absolutely nothing to do with his lack of language skills. They had been relying on Steve, which was getting hard considering how popular he was that night given how many shots he was buying for random strangers. Bam had to look up and yell to speak to him, due in part to both the loud music and the distance between the bar stool and on top of the bar where he was standing. “Hey-hey dude. Can you ask for some Jack Daniel’s?” Steve was more occupied with the cheering crowd he had attracted from the Payaso de Rodeo he was doing standing on the bar top, made more impressive was how well he was dancing after downing that fifth of tequila. Turning to the bartender with a grin, he held up two fingers and shouted, “¡Mas chupitos, por favor! ¡Mezcal!” There was only one word in that sentence Bam understood, and he was pretty sure the word for whisky is the same no matter what language you say it in. Johnny, who happened to be sitting next to him at the bar groaned, lamenting his own language barrier he encountered trying to chat up the hot chick next to him, and said no nobody in particular, “Not with the fuckin’ Spanish again…” as if they wernt in a country whose official language was Spanish. Throwing his hands in the air, Bam turned to him, exasperated, “That’s what I’m sayin’!”

That’s around when Bam decided to leave the bar, stumbling alone through the streets of Mexico City to get back to the room: hungry, sober, and mad about it. He found you and Ryan still awake. Ryan shot you a ‘what’s his problem?’ look as Bam threw himself onto the bed, but given your years of expereince dealing with his pissy nonsense, you could sort of read him. Angrilly grumbling to himself, he didn’t even hear you as you punched in the number for room service, “Hey, can I get a cheeseburger and a bottle of Jack Danniel’s up to room 107?”

In between ordering it and receiving the food, you had fallen asleep, completely missing the mumbling, half coherent rant Bam gave to nobody in particular, questioning why they couldn’t have filmed that desert shit in Arizona or New Mexico or some other fuckin’ place besides Mexico and lied and just said they went there, all while sounding more or less like a little kid asking his parents to bring him home from summer camp. He was ready to call it a night, which really just meant getting naked, but thank god that when there was a knock at the door, Bam at least had the decency to pull a shirt on before he went to answer it, assuming it was one of the guys getting back from the bar. The look on the delivery guy's face as he stared up at him from where he was setting the food down was priceless, made even more so by the fact that the shirt Bam grabbed was several inches shy of his crotch. All Dunn heard was the delivery guy’s panicked, stumbling footsteps as he dashed down the hallway and Bam, who was seemingly oblivious, didn’t question how it showed up or who ordered it as he brought the food in with a shrug, “Guy ran off quick.”

It was that point in the morning you decided to leave the boys and head to your own room. When you opened the door to do so, lo and behold, there was Johnny. In his underwear, laying face down in the hallway, and very not sneakily eating off of a room service tray that you knew wasn't yours. “Alright Knoxville,” As his eyes darted up to you like a guilty dog, you rubbed your temples and went into responsible adult mode, “let’s get’cha to bed…” You had to lean down and grab him under the arms to pull a little and get him to his feet, surely a funny sight especially given the fact he still had a little bit of someone else’s breakfast on his face, “Oh, you wanna go to bed with me?” Leave it to him to try and flirt with you as you were practically carrying him to his room. Given the fact he was still a little drunk, you were thankful you didn’t have to get them on set for a few hours and you hoped Johnny could just sleep it off. “Cmon, lay down...” That earned you an eyebrow raise and a crooked grin from him as he fell back against the mattress, something that you would’ve found charming if he didn’t have a very clear piss stain on the front of his boxers, “Ooh! An assertive woman…I like it!”

Still drunk, Johnny stared up at you from the bed with hearts in his eyes as his lips curled into a knowing half smirk and he shook his head, ���Y/N- I still can’t believe y’bribed a cop…” At the mention of that incident at the customs office, your face dropped, flushing pink with embarrassment as Ryan blinked in disbelief, “Wait, who bribed a cop?” While you were out in the hallways, busy hauling in the six foot one man who was laying out there all by yourself, Bam had apparently woken up and was still snickering when you whipped your head around. “Oh my god- Y/N bribed a cop!” He was still laying on the bed shirtless, tangled up in the sheets like some kind of male model. “Yeah,” Ryan sat up, taking a swig of stale whiskey from the open bottle in his hand, “an’ you slept with her.” And the misunderstandings kept coming…Now Bam’s expression of wide eyed delebeif mimicked yours as he misconstrued the idea of sharing a bed with the image of the two of you fucking. “Wow…first a felony, now you’re screwin’ Bam? Never really pegged you for the wild type, Y/N.” Sighing, you shook your head as you tried not to let Johnny’s teasing get you flustered. It’s not like you wanted to admit that you actually kinda enjoyed it when he talked to you like that. You decided just to go back to your room and try to catch a few z’s before you had to get their asses up. As you went for the door, Bam buried his face in his pillow, groaning, “Ugh…I’m gonna be sick.” You had awoken to an ugly, half remembered montage of, ‘no it didn’t happen. it couldn’t have happened! that’s your story and you’re sticking to it.’s and all you wanted to do was go back to sleep.

So you did. Unfortunately, you were rudely woken up maybe an hour later by Jeff's call on the hotel room phone and you tried to make yourself sound more awake than you were, “What’s up?” In contrast to his usual tone, he sounded surprisingly calm on the other end of the line, “Hey, just calling to check in and make sure everyone’s ready to shoot. Be on set by 9!” Making a mental note of it, you pulled yourself to your feet and started getting dressed as you shot a glance at the clock. “Got it- yeah, we’re doing alright. But, now that I think about it, I don’t know where Chris or Steve are…” Suddenly, his tone sounded distinctly panicked, “Wait what?” but before you could try and explain yourself, Jeff was going off on you, “Listen, I’m not gonna be bailing these guys outta some- some Mexican jail somewhere! I need their asses on set for that cactus jump stunt today.” Before you had the chance to argue, he hung up. How the hell were you going to manage this?

The first thing Steve realized when he woke up with the sun in his eyes was that he was surrounded by dogs, which he was stoked about before he realized the fact he was also just asleep in an alleyway, which never meant anything good happened the night before. Sitting up groggily against the brick wall behind him to try and collect himself, all the street dogs that were sniffing and licking at Steve’s face quickly turned to what he only just noticed he was laying on- a bag of dog food. The dots took a while to connect in his head but eventually he put two and two together, reaching over to tear open the cloth bag. Pulling himself to his feet, Steve grinned to himself as he watched those little fellas chow down. Meanwhile, about half a mile away, Chris was waking up as well, only in maybe less ideal circumstances than his buddy did: laying on the sands of some public beach, ass naked, with no clue as to where the hell he was or how he got there. Pretty par for the course for those two.

After an hour of driving around, you eventually corralled everyone up, as uncomfortable it is to be trapped in a moving vehicle with a completely nude man. Better you than the police, you thought. You caught bits and pieces of their conversation, gradually piecing together the story as best you could: Steve and Chris, the last people in the bar that night, got thrown- not kicked, thrown out around three or four. They decided to call it a night, but before they headed back to the hotel, Steve told Chris he was gonna stop to take a piss. Before he got the chance to zip up his pants and make his way out of the alley he stepped into, Chris was long gone, having run off with two ladies from the bar who met up with him outside and seemed very eager to catch up with him. But still, you were thankful to finally have everyone together again. Hell, with the way things were going, you might actually have everyone on set on time today! You were feeling more relaxed than you had the entire trip as you opened the door for Chris and Steve, “Alright you two. Just get ready and meet me downstairs in five-“

As you would come to find out, it wasn't the thought of sleeping with you, which in Bam’s mind was on par with fucking your babysitter, that made him feel sick. Yep, you opened the door and there he was, regurgitating the contents of his stomach and not even having the decency to close the bathroom door behind him. Steve, in one of his seemingly random moments of wisdom, knew immediately what was up, “Drinks with ice?” From where his head was in the toilet, Bam nodded. Steve held up his hand to whisper to you, “Send him out with a bucket- he’ll be fine.” before turning back to Bam, “You’ll be alright. I mean, there’s worse you could have, man! Giardia, Montezuma’s Revenge…” You weren't the only person who was amazed at his medical knowledge as Chris looked over at him with wonder in his eyes, like a kid watching a magic trick, and chuckled, “Woah. You should be a doctor or somethin’…” Now that’s something you don’t want to see- Steve as a doctor.

That night, after Bam thankfully started feeling better, you made the poor decision of leaving the guys unsupervised at the pool under the assumption that there was only so much trouble they could start within a fenced-in area, like putting a toddler in a playpen. Oh, how wrong you were. You spent the night peacefully alone in your room, happy that things were finally calming down a little. That was, however, until you received a phone call that whoever was staying in said room needed to find new accommodations because they were no longer welcome. “I’m sorry sir- this has to be a mistake!” But the guy on the other end of the line hung up on you before you could reason with him. Hurrying to your feet, you punched Jeff’s number into your phone, knowing he would without a doubt be pissed but you didn’t really have anyone else to call. Rushing to the elevator then down into the lobby, you quickly found the manager and the words seemed to tumble out of your mouth, “Oh my god- I am so sorry about all of this- I really don’t- what is going on, exactly?” Deadpan, all the guy did was point you to the pool area outside.

Running out and onto the pool deck (even though that’s the one thing people tell you not to do), the very first sight you were greeted with was this white blur standing out against the darkness of the night sky. A few seconds later you realized what it was- Steve-O, doing a gainer into the pool off of some second story balcony he climbed up on, and splashing into the water, ass naked. You couldn’t see if Bam or Chris were clothed from where they were messing around and wrestling in the pool, even less with Knoxville and Ryan, who were sitting over in the hot tub chatting up a few half naked girls, but you made some assumptions. You were fucked. Unequivocally, unilaterally fucked. And then, with impeccable timing, guess who comes screeching up behind you, practically parking the van on the sidewalk? “You. Out!” Storming past you, Jeff was a man on a mission as he threw open the gate and grabbed a very unsuspecting Bam by his hair, hoisting him up like a mama cat and giving you a clear as day view of his pasty white ass.

“What on earth made you think, ‘Oh! Let’s all get shitfaced and swim naked in the hotel pool!’“ Jeff was anxiously pacing back and forth in front of the bench that he hauled the guys onto while you, under his orders, passed out towels for them to cover themselves up with. He shook his head like a disappointed father, “Now, thanks to you, you shitheads just got your sorry asses kicked out of the one hotel that’d take you! Great fuckin’ job, guys...” You felt a little awkward standing by his side as he lectured them while the guys just sat there, staring at you guiltily as if you were the lifeguard that kicked the kids out for adult swim.

Unbeknownst to you and everyone else, Jeff and the rest of the crew were staying at a pretty fancy resort, while you and the guys got the shaft and had to stay at the creepy craphole down the road. “Wait- why couldn’t we stay here?” Chris asked as the group was busy oohing and aahing and cursing their director under their breath as they pulled up to the sparkling mass that was the hotel. “Because,” Jeff roughly shifted the car into park, “somebody has a tendency to jump out of windows.” This comment was directed towards Bam, made even more so by a little thing you referred to as the Margera Curse. Due to his reputation, all it took was one look at his ID and whatever hotel, rental car agency, or insurance provider immediately denied Bam (in particular, but the guys had experience with this to lesser degrees).

One star people at a five star resort. That’s what it felt like when the guys walked in the marble floored lobby wearing nothing but their towels. There were ladies wearing pearls and businessmen in suits- for god’s sake, the place had a damn chandelier, and there was the Jackass crew, half naked dripping chlorine all over the tile. Of course, given the fact they were celebrities, they attracted quite a great deal of attention as Warden Tremaine tried to quickly escort them through the lobby without causing too much of a commotion. Still, they couldn’t help but take it all in, waving and smiling as a few tourists snapped pictures with around-the-neck cameras, like they were some kinda landmark people could go home and say they visited. But eventually, you got to the one room all the guys were crammed into and Bam groaned when he got a look at it, “We’re sharing a room again?” Rolling his eyes, Jeff turned to his own door, “Yes. You idiots earned it.”

Later that night, you were about halfway into a vending machine concha when you got a knock on your door. See, you hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and by that time of night you were starving, so you had gone ahead and grabbed a few snacks for yourself. To your surprise, even though everyone had surely gone to sleep, standing there in front of you out in the hall was…Knoxville? “Uh, hey Y/N.” It must’ve looked kinda funny from an outsider’s perspective as you stood there, still chewing on that last bite you took while he explained, “I wanted to say sorry for all the shit the guys an’ I pulled tonight...” It was a rare moment of remorsefulness from him, which was odd considering how typical this was in terms of things you had to deal with. “It's fine- I mean, they’re not your responsibility.” In fact, they were your responsibility- you were paid to have them as your responsibility, and even you weren't all that concerned. “I’m serious. I-“ Midway through his sentence, Johnny’s stomach growled, and you realized that he was probably in a similar situation as you were. So, in an expression of goodwill, you took the pastry that was in your hands and held it out to him. Looking at you, then the half eaten concha with some speculation, then to you again, Knoxville accepted it, looking right at you as he took a bite out of the part you just ate from.

[hunterthecharmer]

Unexpected - Part 6

Thank you for being patient with me on this :) please give me any feedback or ideas/suggestions!

Since the convention has come to an end with this chapter, we will be moving on to focus on GP x reader's relationship (I am so excited!) these will feel more like fics/one shots going forward since a lot of the context has been built.

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

Need to catch up? Here is my Masterlist

“Can you believe it’s the last day? It’s been an incredible experience but I really miss my bed.” Savannah whines as she assists you in smoothing out the tablecloths. You and the rest of the staff were in the middle of setting up the large event space for the special brunch for the talent’s final day. The grounds had been freshly mowed the night before and the weather was crisp outside. 

The chefs had been working since 5am on the spread; homemade biscuits, jams, eggs of all kinds, bacon and other bacon substitutes, pancakes, belgian waffles…the list was a page and a half long. All of the guests were also attending a final acting class together, a group dinner with a special screening of some sort, with a campfire to end the day. The campfire was also for the staff as well, and there would be an open bar. 

“Do you think Glen will sit next to you tonight?” Savannah’s question brings a smile to your face. “I hope so. It’ll be my last chance to see him before the shuttles take them to the airport tomorrow.” 

You frown at the realization, you had no way to get in contact with Glen outside of here other than a direct message on instagram. He probably had a hundred messages a day, no doubt. You had his number for the brief time you were in charge of him, but that was on Savannah’s work phone, which had to be turned in by midnight tonight. Same with yours. Otherwise, you had no way to contact any of the guests after today, and the contract all of you signed before coming here was very clear on their ‘do not write down any of the talent’s personal information rule.

----

The brunch goes off without a hitch, the talent enjoying their lesson whole scarfing down the large layout of food. You and the rest of the handlers enjoyed your own breakfasts in one of the trailers, thankful that instead of your regular options of boiled eggs or yogurt parfaits it was catered from Starbucks.

The rest of the afternoon is packed with breaking down the other event spaces that aren't being used, folding up all the chairs and packing up the event signs you had brought. Lugging all the heavy items across the lawn all day had tired you out, so the second everything was packed up you took yourself directly back to your cabin to take a nap before the bonfire.

You all but slam the door behind you, slipping out of your Ugg boots while simultaneously shrugging off your Ignite crew neck and scarf. After slipping under the comforter, you plug your phone into the charger and set an alarm, giving yourself an hour to rest. You didn’t mind arriving at the event a little late if it meant you’d have some energy back.

….

Savannah’s POV

“She’s not answering my calls, are you sure she said she was coming tonight?” Dylan asks, shaking his head as he locks his phone after dialing a third time. 

“I swear she did! She’s been excited for the bonfire all day. We worked our butts off, maybe she took a nap? I know she disappeared earlier..” her voice trails off, wondering if you were okay. She stirs her drink, lowering her gaze to the flames in front of her. Glen’s eyes catch hers, the expression on his face unreadable.

 “Did you need me to grab you another smore?” Savannah asks, starting to stand from her chair. He chuckles, throwing his head back, “I’ve already had 3, are you trying to make my trainer hate me?”

She laughs along with him as she settles back into her seat. She notices his gaze sweeping around the lawn again, just as he had done too many times to count in the last hour.

Pulling her phone out of her jeans pocket she dials you again, muttering to herself that she hopes you pick up.

“Thank you.” is all you hear on the other end of the line, your friend’s voice extremely raspy. 

“Hurry up and get yourself down here! You’re missing the fire and it’s our last night.” She playfully yells into the phone before hanging up on you.

“She’ll be here soon.”

----

You rub the ball of your palm into your eyelid, squinting at the time. Apparently you had snoozed your alarm multiple times, missing the first hour or so of the event. 

You hurriedly throw the blankets off of you and flatten your hair in the mirror, deciding to throw it into a messy ponytail to conceal the frizz. Grabbing an oversized cardigan from your suitcase on the floor, you take your perfume lying in the compartment next to it and spritz some around your neck and down your arms to your wrists. 

You then step into your uggs for the second time that day and sprint out the door to your golf cart.

“She decided to grace us with her presence at last.” Dylan teases you, standing from his seat to give you a hug as you stroll up to him and Savannah. You take note of the others seated with them, Glen being one of them. You feel your heart flutter, hoping there was an empty chair available next to him.

“Sorry guys, I totally snoozed my alarm. I was exhausted after tearing everything down today! Sav, how are you still going?” you bend down in front of her to shake her shoulders and she giggles, but you can see how heavy her eyes are. 

“I definitely circled back to the Starbucks after everyone got their drinks and grabbed an extra iced coffee when no one was watching. I knew it’d be a long day.”

The group commends her, playfully clapping as she bows her head proudly. 

You turn around toward Glen and shoot him a shy smile over the fire, his green eyes shining at you. He hooks a finger and gestures for you to come over to him, so you do.

“Well hello.” He says lowly once you’re within earshot, his hands tapping his lap as you realize there isn’t an empty chair left for you. Your eyes widen and you step back from him slightly, nervously looking around at the group. Out of your peripheral you notice his expression falter slightly, but he recovers quickly. “Here, take my seat! I’ll go find another one.”

Glen jumps up, pointing at the chair before heading off towards other groups on the line.

You feel your heart sink as you sit down, eyes following after him. He didn’t really think you’d sit on his lap did he? You were technically still working, and all the staff was around. It was the last night though, so maybe it would have been fine. You were so embarrassed, you hoped it wouldn't come up again.

He returns quickly, wedging his chair between you and another guest. You feel your shoulders relax as he leans back in his seat, falling into conversation with the others. You can’t rip your gaze from his face, watching as the flames illuminate his features. You love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, his hand gestures as he talks bringing you in even more. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Savannah whispers into your ear, her sudden presence from behind startling you. She hands you a smore wrapped in a paper towel before rounding the group back to her seat.

You take a bite of the gooey treat, wiping the crumbs from the graham crackers off your lips. When you notice Glen’s eyes on you, you freeze. 

“Hi.” He silently mouths, lips turning up into a smile. You feel your expression soften at him as you mouth back to him, “Missed you.”

To this he feigns surprise, pointing to his chest before leaning toward you over the armchair.

“Ditto, pretty girl.”

Your heart melts as you lean toward him, chin propped on your hand as you both lock eyes. You felt like you were 17 again, giddily smiling at your school crush. “Did you enjoy your last day of the convention?”

Glen nods, flashing his journal at you from beneath his chair, thumbing quickly through the pages to show pages upon pages full of his handwriting. You hum proudly at him, impressed.

“Which film did they have you guys analyze at dinner?”

He fills you in on the event, what they watched and everyone’s feedback and interpretations. Apparently everyone passed the surprise quiz at the end, and he raved about the menu.

The two of you continue to talk for the next while, unaware that some of the members of your circle, including Dylan, had gotten up and moved around the lawn to switch places with other guests. The seat next to Glen was now occupied by a heavy set male, not anyone you recognized. You could smell the alcohol on him from where you sat, but you only noticed it - you were fully focused on the sandy blonde haired guy next to you. 

His southern accent rises above the multiple conversations happening around the fire in an aggravated tone. “Anyone else get cut off from the bartender tonight?”

Everyone’s attention falls on him, shaking their heads no. He huffs, “Just me, huh? I’ve only had three beers, I don’t get it. I’m fine! I’m just trying to enjoy the last night here for crying out loud. Hey, you work here right? Can’t you get me another?”

His eyes are now on you in anticipation. You peer past Glen to meet his bloodshot eyes, “Um, if he cut you off there’s nothing I can do. Sorry friend!’ You give him a sympathetic smile, glancing around for someone with a lanyard with his face on it. “What’s your name? Maybe your handler can talk to-”

“The name’s Johnny Curtis. And I’d really appreciate that, darlin’.” He drawls before downing the last of his drink from the can. 

“Be right back, gang!” you jump up from your chair and meander through the grass to the registration building. You flip through the binder behind the desk, finding the name and number of Johnny’s handler. She answers after a few rings, “Hi, this is Megan?”

“Hi! Don’t worry, I’m working this event too. I’m sitting with Johnny and it looks like the bartender cut him off, so he’s a little upset. Can you meet me at the bar?” She agrees and you head back outside.

The two of you try to reason with the bartender, but he won’t budge. “You ladies don’t understand, this guy was a little rowdy at the event a few nights ago. He’s getting real close to his limit, just take him a spiked seltzer. That’s the best I can do.” He throws his hands up before sliding a can across the tabletop to you. 

“I’m sorry, he wanted to chat with the other guests before leaving tomorrow, I didn’t think he’d try to cause a problem. He’s really sweet!” the other girl says, and you grab her arm in reassurance. “Don’t even worry about it, he’s fine. I’ll show you where we’re at!”

She follows close behind you through the lawn, Johnny’s face lighting up as soon as he sees her. “Thanks Meg! I knew you’d make it happen for me.” She grins, handing him the beverage. She chats quietly with him as you take your seat again, Glen’s warm hand squeezing yours as you do. “All good?” 

You nod at him, waving to Megan as she leaves the group.

“Now what in the world is this sorry excuse for alcohol? Did y’all really bring me back a girly drink?”

Johnny’s voice is a mix of irritability and playfulness as he runs a hand through his dark head of hair. Glen turns to face him this time, reading the label on the can. 

“Ah, Ranch Water. They are pretty good man! You oughta give it a try.” He offers, and Johnny gives him a look, eyebrow raised as he takes another long sip.

It’s silent for a moment around the fire before everyone returns to their sidebar conversations.

A few moments pass before Johnny spits his drink out near his feet, Savannah’s lip turning up in disgust. “I’m not finishing this.” he mumbles, before tossing the half full can into the flames.

Others in the circle gasp, “Dude, you aren’t supposed to do that. It’ll explode!”

In an instant, the can pops and tiny pieces of aluminum come flying out of the fire. 

A burning sensation causes a hand to fly up to your cheek, fingers landing on a hot scrap of aluminum near your cornea. You let out a shriek as pain begins to spread down to your under eye area, and you instinctively jump up out of your chair, almost tripping over your feet. 

Holding a hand over your right eye you make a beeline for the bathroom, a pair of silent footsteps following close behind you. 

Once you burst through the door, you lower your hand as you stare into the mirror. You let out a sigh of relief at your eye still being intact with no bleeding or anything. Your tear duct and cornea were extremely red and puffy, but that was about it. A dark greyish black sludge had dried onto your cheek.

Your eyes meet Savannah who is standing right next to you, her face ashen. “Are you alright? I’m gonna get him in so much trouble for that. He really could have injured you or someone else!”

You try to mask your disappointment that Glen hadn’t been the one to follow you as you take a paper towel from Savannah, drenching it in cold water before wiping at your cheek to remove the stinging mess from your face. “It could have been a lot worse.” your voice is small.

After a few moments, your face is clean again and the burning sensation has subsided even though the irritation to your cornea hasn’t. 

You turn around to face your friend, exhaling deeply. “Let’s get back out there, I want to say goodbye to everyone before turning in for the night.”

Savannah nods before pulling you in for a hug. She follows you out the door, but runs into you as you stop short - Glen is standing outside the building. 

“Are you okay?” His expression is pained as he reaches to hold your face, inspecting your eyes.

Savannah excuses herself to head back to the bonfire.

“I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.” you say, shoulders sagging a bit. You wrap an arm around his bicep, moving closer to him. He places his index finger and thumb above and below your right eye as he gives it a final look before peppering your face with kisses, careful to avoid the area. You scrunch your nose at the affection, giggling as you now grip both of his arms. He plants a final feather-like kiss to the spot just below the corner of your eye and it makes you swoon. He was being so gentle and sweet.

“All better.” You beam up at him before tugging him toward your golf cart. 

“For what it’s worth, I definitely told that guy off. What a jackass, throwing a half empty can of alcohol into the fire like that. He could’ve taken you or anyone else’s eye out!”

You laugh. “Yeah, what an idiot.”

Glen convinces you to let him drive you back to your cabin, insisting on walking back to his cabin afterward since you had to turn in the cart first thing the next morning. Always the gentleman!

As you take off, a twinge of sadness in your chest as you realize this is the last golf cart ride you’ll take together. You focus hard to take in every detail of his face, the scent of his cologne, the way his green eyes look at you. The sound of your laughs mixing together as he swerves all over the path without a care in the world. 

As soon as the cart is in park you muster up the last of your bravery where he is concerned and wrap your arms around his neck to press a kiss to his cheek. He smiles as he turns his head and kisses you softly. He runs a hand through your hair while the other rests on your collarbone. 

You lose yourself in the kiss, his lips tasting like a mixture of chocolate and alcohol. You hear multiple carts fly past but you can’t bring yourself to care - you had done your job these last two weeks and had a can explode on you tonight. Plus, this was your last moment with Glen freaking Powell. No way were you about to pull away from him right now. 

He finally pulls away, both of you breathless. “By the way,” he looks out at the others walking to their cabins in the dark, making sure you both aren’t being watched, “are you going to add me back or not?” 

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Add you back? What are you talking about?”

He grabs his phone out of his back pocket and holds it in front of your face. 

“Check it.” He grins. 

You slide your phone out of your pocket and unlock it, opening up Instagram to find a follow request from the man sitting next to you.

You tilt your head to the side, deciding to tease him. “Hmm I don’t know, do I really want to allow you access to my amazing photos?” You wink at him before pressing the blue confirm button.

“You were already following me, sorry it took me this long to add you back.” He jokes, but your breath hitches. Oh no - hopefully he doesn’t think much of it.

You let out a nervous laugh and slide off the cart, grabbing the key. 

“Can I borrow that for a sec?” He asks, pointing to your iPhone. “Sure?”

You hand it over to him, watching as he types his number into your phone.

He places it into your palm as he meets your gaze, searching your face as he steps closer to you. “Well…”

“Well..” you copy him, not wanting to say goodbye. He leans forward to press his forehead to yours, swallowing hard.

“Guess I’ll see ya around?” His tone is hopeful.

You frown slightly, “Will you?”

He hangs his head with a soft laugh. “Probably not. That’s why I gave you my number - you know, so I can?”

Lifting his chin with your finger, you smile at him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Glen Powell. I hope you get home safely tomorrow!”

He kisses your nose before slowly backing away from you down the path. “The pleasure was all mine!” He shouts, arms outstretched on either side of him. You giggle, waving to him as you watch him disappear down the path to his cabin. You shake your head in disbelief as you walk up the stairs to your front door and begin your nighttime routine. The last interaction with Glen replays like a movie in your mind as you brush your teeth, slip into your pajamas and lay your head on the pillow. You can’t wipe the smile off your face as you lie restless in the dark, setting your alarm for the next morning to take Dylan to the shuttles.

These last two weeks have been unexpected in more ways than one, but ending them with Glen Powell’s number in your phone? Now that is a plot twist you would never have seen coming.