#look it was the nearest grocery store on my walking loop I am not a whole paycheck fangirl
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ty Whole Foods staff for selecting In the End by Linkin Park for me to listen to while munching on my $1.50 baguette
#look it was the nearest grocery store on my walking loop I am not a whole paycheck fangirl#maggie’s things
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Super Jealous Part 2
Requested by Anonymous
Pairings: Kara Danvers x Reader
Tags: Fluff, Smut, Some Angst, Jealousy, Minor Injuries, Flirting
Everything Taglist: @sammy90682 @nobody13 @owloftheshadows @captain-josslett @camslightstories @worldovart @finleyfray @acertainredhead @sammm9068
Of course, the moment you left the store, there was something going on in downtown National City. Something always happened here. It was why the insurance was expensive, but the cost of living was cheap. You didn’t move here until after Myriad, so you survived the Daxamites, the Worldkillers, and Leviathan. Seeing someone destroy a building with powers of their own was as normal as receiving your mail. Nothing phased you anymore. Not even when a large boulder of concrete came crashing down in front of you. You simply sidestepped it and kept walking home with your groceries in hand. You had your headphones in and were listening to music, but you saw Supergirl arrest the offending criminals and hand them over to law enforcement. To call what happened next a coincidence would be the understatement of the century.
Supergirl approached you with her hands on her hips, a signature pose of hers you noticed, and you blushed as you removed your headphones.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and for a second, no sound came out of you. You were shocked speechless. National City’s resident superhero was talking to you, actually talking to you, and you were sure that you were having heart palpitations.
Supergirl chuckled, low and throaty, and you found the sound infinitely attractive. She was still waiting for a response, her teeth nibbling her lips as she raised her eyebrows. So, you swallowed down your dry throat and forced yourself to produce words.
“Holy shit,” you gasped.
Okay maybe not those words, but Supergirl didn’t seem to mind. She snorted and you blushed, smiling shyly as you tried again.
“I’m sorry but wow. I never thought that I would meet you in person.”
“Well, I was around and felt like I should introduce myself. You’re pretty cute.”
Oh god. Oh my god. Supergirl was actually flirting with you, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were with someone who was already so perfect that it was surreal at times, you would have thought that you died and entered your own personal heaven. All you could do was chuckle, and you rubbed your cheek.
“I really appreciate this Supergirl, I really do, but I’m already spoken for.”
She smiled, her teeth so straight and bright that it was unreal.
“Whoever has your heart is incredibly lucky,” she said.
“I’m the lucky one, honestly.”
Supergirl nodded before taking a couple of steps back, still smiling as she did so. “Have a great day,” she said before taking off into the air.
Kara was not going to believe this. Frankly, you weren’t to sure if that actually happened to you, but once you pinched yourself and felt the pain, that confirmed it. You weren’t dreaming.
***
As Kara flew away, her heartbeat lightly beneath her ribs, feeling lighter than the air she was soaring through. Even when faced with your favorite superhero, you still loved her, and witnessing that for herself had her falling even more in love with you.
But she was lying to you. The love Kara felt slowly dissipated and turned into guilt. In all the time that you were together, not once had she told you of her true identity. Kara Danvers was Supergirl. They were one in the same, and it killed her that she was only giving you half of her. At one time, she convinced herself that the reason she never told you was because she wanted to protect you. If one of her enemies ever used you against her, she would never forgive herself, but over the years, you’ve proven that you can handle yourself, and that you didn’t need protection. Kara needed to fix that. She had to tell you and she would do it today. With determination, Kara took a hard turn and flew home.
***
You walked into the apartment to see Kara already home. You saw her pacing back and force, twisting her fingers nervously
“Hey babe,” you said to her, putting the groceries on the kitchen counter. When she didn’t answer, you stopped to look at her. Her eyes were nervous, and you noticed that her hands were shaking slightly.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly. Kara took a deep breath, steadying herself, before answering.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Okay?”
“You should sit down.”
“Okay,” you said in confusion, but still sitting on the nearest barstool. Kara shook out her hands and took a shuddering breath. She was starting to scare you, and you watched her anxiously, trying to prepare yourself for what was about to happen next.
“Y/n, I’m Supergirl.”
Silence. You stared at her and she stared at you back, her eyes frantic as she searched you for any reaction. Several emotions played through you one by one. First was surprise, and then rationalization. When Kara didn’t say anything else, the next thing you felt was amusement. Maybe she was playing a prank on you to try and get back at you from earlier. So, you chuckled, shaking you head while getting back up.
“Wow, you had me going for a second there.”
Kara swallowed. “I’m being serious.”
You looked at her, losing your smile immediately when you saw that she wasn’t even laughing.
Okay? You were definitely scared now. What was she doing?
Kara realized that she was going to have to prove it. She walked onto the balcony and shot off into the air, making a loop around the building, before landing back in her previous spot. You were floored. Kara Danvers was Supergirl. Your girlfriend was Supergirl.
Your mouth hung open in shock and Kara watched you with her breath held. When you didn’t say anything for a few tense seconds, she stepped closer to you.
“Please, say something.”
“I think it was the glasses,” you blurted out after a while.
“W-what?”
“The glasses. I think it was the glasses that threw me off. Maybe it was why I never saw it before.”
Or maybe you didn’t want to see it. Kara and Supergirl had the same hair, eyes, and physique. It was practically screaming at you that they were the same person and you just never saw it.
“It’s okay, everyone is fooled by the glasses.”
You chuckled again, only this time it was devoid of any humor and you looked down, tears starting to form in your eyes as you sank back down on the barstool.
“I feel stupid.”
Kara’s breath hitched and she approached you, kneeling down by your legs to look into your eyes.
“You’re not stupid,” she whispered as she placed a warm hand on your knee.
“Yes I am. The woman that I love has been lying to me this whole time, and I let her.”
Kara frowned. She expected a reaction, just not this one. She was helpless as she watched your tears fall and for the first time, Kara wasn’t sure if she could comfort you. You were crying because of her, and her shoulders sagged as she looked away.
“I don’t get it,” you whimpered, you voice thick with sorrow. “Did you not trust me with your secret? Who would I possibly tell?”
Kara was shaking her head as you talked. “No, no, no, its not that. I kept it from you to protect you, I swear. I only did this because at first, I thought it was necessary, but after all this time, I’ve realized that you can handle things on your own. I was scared that someone would use my identity to either use you against me or harm you and now that I see what a strong, beautiful, and capable person that you are, I knew that I wouldn’t have to worry so much about you.”
That made sense and you sniffled as you wiped your eyes.
“Can I give you a hug?” Kara asked, and you nodded, already pulling her in for one. You let the warmth of her embrace quell your sadness and within minutes, you were calmer. She kissed your forehead and rubbed your back.
“I’m so sorry Y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m okay, I was just scared for a second there.”
You both grew quiet as you calmed down. The sobs quieted into sniffles and you wiped your eyes again to stop the tears and clean your cheeks.
“Anything else I should know?” you asked. “Now’s the time.”
Kara grinned, her face adorably lit up as she flashed you her signature smile. “Nope that’s it.”
You laughed. There was no way you could stay mad at her for long. You cupped her cheeks and brought her in for a soft kiss, still loving the way her lips felt against yours. Kara made everything better. It was another superpower of hers, giving you hope and love, and you loved her all the more for it. You continued kissing her, pouring all your affection into it, when a thought made you pull back and stare at her in surprise. Kara’s eyes were glazed over with wonder. She was drunk off your kisses, and for a second, she chased your mouth, still seeking them. When she saw your expression, she raised an eyebrow as some clarity came back to her beautiful blue orbs.
“What’s wrong?”
“If you’re Supergirl, then does that mean you were jealous of yourself???”
Kara frowned and looked down as she thought about it. “I guess I was.”
Her answer astonished you, and you snorted before dissolving into hard laughter.
“Oh my god, you’re such a goober,” you said between giggles and you kissed her again.
Kara Danvers, either as herself or as Supergirl, was still yours to love and cherish, and you would do just that for as long as she let you.
#supergirl fanfic#kara danvers x reader#reader insert#fluff#smut#angst#jealousy#minor injuries#flirting
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Brownies ~ Rafe Cameron
Blurb: You have a craving for brownies at 2 AM and your boyfriend Rafe helps you make them.
Word Count: 1,598
Warnings: uh swearing. I'm pretty sure that's it
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You sat on your boyfriends bed, scrolling through your phone as you tried to find a brownie recipe that caught your eye.
You were spending the night at Tanneyhill since the rest of the family had decided to take a weekend trip to the mainland. Rafe declined, deciding that there was no way in hell he could survive a weekend with his family.
So here you were.
It was midnight, Rafe had fallen asleep hours ago, but you just couldn't. Not with the craving of brownies as intense as it was.
You smiled as you found a recipe for caramel brownies that looked delicious and bookmarked the page so you could make them when it was a reasonable time.
You sighed, beginning to lay down but Rafe's voice scared you.
"You good, Y/N/N?" He mumbled, his back to you. You were about to answer when your stomach growled, causing Rafe to turn his head towards you, an amused expression on his face. "Or is someone a bit hungry?" He chuckled.
You smacked his shoulder. "Shut up. I've been thinking about brownies for the past two and a half hours at least." You replied sheepishly.
"And whats stopping you from making brownies?"
"I know damn well the only brownies Rose has in this place are from the box and I want to make them from scratch."
Rafe sat up and looked at you. "Then why don't we go get what we need to make them from scratch?" He grinned.
You shook your head. "No. We don't have to. It's late and you were sleeping and it's ridiculous to make them right now-"
Rafe placed his hand over your mouth. "It's never too late for brownies, baby." He smirked before getting up, tossing you one of his hoodies before pulling on a different one.
You grinned as you pulled on the hoodie before getting out of Rafe's bed, extremely grateful you wore slip-on shoes today as you quickly pulled them on.
You and Rafe ran downstairs before throwing open the front door, Rafe grabbing his keys as you did, and you raced to his truck, climbing in. You buckled yourself in as you waited for Rafe to finish locking the door.
Rafe opened the driver’s side door and slid in easily, buckling himself in before shoving the keys into the ignition and starting the truck.
"Buckled in, sweetheart?" He glanced over and you nodded as his hand found it's home on your thigh, the smile on your face growing. "Then let's get this show on the road."
During the ride to the nearest Wal-Mart, you grabbed the little notebook and pen Rafe kept in the glovebox and wrote down what you needed to get as the radio played softly in the background.
You looked over at Rafe with a small smile and he glanced at you.
“What?”
You shrugged. “Nothing. Just admiring you.”
You saw Rafe blush. “Well, stop. You’re distracting me and I don’t want to crash with precious cargo in the car.”
You felt your heart speed up. “Awe, Rafe, baby.” You cooed, resting your head on his arm.
Rafe shook his head with a chuckle. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s not like this is a new development.”
“I know but still. You shock me sometimes.”
“I hope it’s a good shock.” Rafe laughed as he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and easily pulled into a spot near the door.
“Of course it’s a good shock you silly billy.” You answered, leaning over to kiss his cheek before unbuckling your seat belt and hopping out.
Rafe followed your actions and easily fell into step next to you, grabbing your hand. Rafe grabbed a cart, leaning against it as he pushed it into the store and towards the grocery section.
"Alright, baby. What do we need?"
“Butter, sugar, eggs, vanilla extract, unsweetened cocoa powder, flour, salt, and baking powder. Plus, caramel cause I want to add caramel.” You listed off as you looked at the little notebook in your hand.
“Of course you do.” He chuckled and you swatted him with the notebook.
“Shut up. If there’s anything better than brownies, it’s caramel brownies.”
Rafe shook his head before you lead the way down the aisles, picking up each ingredient and placing it into the cart.
As you crossed the last item off the list Rafe began heading to the home section. You raised your eyebrows as you followed him, stopping in front of the wafflemakers before grabbing one and placing it next to the groceries.
“Why are you buying a wafflemaker?” You asked.
“Cause every time you spend the night, Y/N, you want waffles for breakfast so we go out and get waffles. Now, we can make them at home.” He grinned, looking at you.
“Correction, We can make waffles at your home since it’ll be at your house.” You pointed out.
“Good observation.” He nodded before grabbing another waffle maker and adding it to the cart. “Now, we can make waffles at both of our homes and we have matching waffle makers.”
“Rafe Cameron, I am not letting you buy me a waffle maker.” You scolded, grabbing one of the boxes to put it back.
“Then I guess we will just have to move in together in order for both of us to have waffles.” He smirked before kissing your cheek and turning around to head to self-checkout.
You blushed slightly before following, looping your arm through his and resting your head on his upper arm as you walked with him. “You’d really want to move in with me?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Who else is gonna make sure you don’t accidentally cut your finger off while cooking. Someone’s gotta make sure you stay in one piece baby.” Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
You rolled your eyes at his reasoning before walking in front of the cart as you approached the self-checkout lanes. You scanned the items and Rafe pulled out his card, paying for it as soon as the last item was in the bag. He grabbed the receipt before tossing it into a bag and grabbing one of the plastic bags.
“Thank you for taking me to Wal-Mart at a ridiculous time just to get things for brownies and thank you for paying. And thanks for buying a waffle maker cause you know how much I love waffles. You’re the best baby” You grinned as you walked ahead of him, turning around so you could face him.
“Anytime bubs. Just know that this means I get the first brownie out of the pan.” He winked.
You walked up to him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I knew there would be a catch.”
An hour later, you sat on the counter at Tanneyhill, scraping the bowl clean of batter as you waited impatiently for the brownies to bake. Rafe leaned against the island, smiling as he watched you.
***
Rafe swiped some batter earlier multiple times, hence why you got the bowl. That was apparently a rule in your house but he was positive that you were making that shit up. Who has a rule about whoever swipes batter during the baking process, doesn’t get to lick the bowl, spoons, beaters, etc?
Supposedly, your nana.
Rafe would just have to ask nana Y/L/N at the next family function.
“What?” You asked, looking at your boyfriend as you licked the spatula clean before going back to scrape some more batter out.
“You got something right here,” He leaned over and took his finger, wiping your chin before popping his finger into his mouth.
You scrunched up your nose. “Gross, Rafe. That was on my face.”
“So? I’ve kissed you when you’ve had a crying session and snot was running out of your nose.” He shrugged.
You rolled your eyes before glancing at the timer next to you.
Three more minutes.
“You know, I could get used to this.”
“Hmm?”
“This. Me and you, in our own place, making food at an unreasonable time, a cat or a dog running around. Maybe a couple of kids in the future if you want them.” You stared at Rafe which caused him to get nervous. “Only if you want them because I’m, obviously, not going to be the one carrying them for all those months and delivering them and-”
“Rafe,” You cut him off from his rambling, “Your genes are way too good to let go to waste. Of course, I would love to have kids with you in the future.” You reassured him.
He smiled. “No, sweetheart. Your genes are way better than mine.” He argued.
You got down from the counter and wrapped your arms around his neck and he slid his own around your waist. “Either way then, our kids are gonna be fucking gorgeous.”
“Damn straight.” He smirked, kissing your lips as the timer went off.
Rafe’s grip tightened on you as you attempted to pull away and you groaned. “Rafe, I am not in the mood to wait another hour and a half for brownies. Please let me go so they don’t burn.”
“Since you asked politely,” Rafe gave you one last kiss before letting you go and you immediately grabbed the oven mitts. "Actually," He took the oven mitts from your hands and slid them onto his hands, turning off the oven before opening it to pull out the pan.
"I think I can take a pan out of an oven."
"Not without burning yourself you can't."
~~~~~
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Yay, me again with a bucket of stories that I'm just gonna dump off instead of doing individual asks cause I know how everyone just loves that. TW: swearing, threatening, blood, and literal shit.
Lady comes in, has no problems for most of her time in the store and then all of a sudden we hear this big crash near the nail polish. She had squatted down to look at a lower rack and when she got up she used the upper shelf to pull herself and in the process pulled the whole shelf down. She's standing, she seems fine, we tell her to please stay there for her safety as there is now glass everywhere and it's hard to tell what is broken or not. Coworker locks the door, I get a broom to sweep her out of there, and when we come back she's standing at the counter now real impatient. We ask her if she was injured and she replies with "No, but who is gonna replace my shoes?" Coworker and I both look down and yeah, they are a rainbow shit storm. We tell her as it was an accident (though really she should not have pulled on the shelf like that cause that is just fucking stupid anyway) and that we well and truly were more concerned with her well being after being in a glass avalanche. She does not like that answer and flips, yelling at us and making rapid hand gestures as she makes her way out of the store. Filled out the incident report and marked it as "refused medical attention". Our cameras have sound, jokes on her if she tries to come after us for refusing medical attention. In total we offered it six times. As a side note; I am so sick of both the smell of nail polish and acetone I'll probably never paint my nails again.
Woman calls the store asking to speak to a manager, I am the senior employee as there isn't a manager because she quit a month ago and we've had a revolving cast so I offer to take the call. I introduce myself and ask if she can describe her problem to me. From what she describes it seems like a product defect so I tell her if she brings in the item we can better see what is wrong with it and if it is a defect we can exchange or refund her. Very important to the story. Anyway she comes in thirty mins later with a wig, I take it out of the box and I do a standard inspection. No ripped or loose wefts, no tears in the top scalp cap, all the clips and loops are right. I look at her and ask what exactly is wrong and she rips this thing out of my hands and points at the loops in the wig. Wigs come with two loop types, top and sewn. Sewn are typically for small to medium heads while top loop fits everyone pretty comfortably. She tells me it's broken and so I explain that same word for word explanation to her and her response? "Oh well I have a smaller head what do I do?" Adjust the fucking clips? Get a pack of bobby pins? Something completely rational before flying off the handle at me to tell about how I am a horrible person and deserve to be arrested for fraud. I mean, I have to lie about a lot of shit or dumb it the fuck down, sure. But I know wigs really well, get out of my store with your "Gimme the owners contact info" attitude. You can complain about the gas prices too, I commute between two locations each 20-45 mins away from my house and I just wanna know when it's my turn to complain.
D is a regular customer who has gotten used to bossing around the new girls at my home store. The other day she cornered one of them and demanded a manager for her problems, I get called cause I just am fed up with her shit at this point. Just because you are going through a nasty divorce gives you no right to mistreat anyone. She proceeds to run her mouth for about ten minutes, listing off the shit that the girls are doing wrong and how she feels so unsatisfied with her experience at ou store since we hired them. Number one, shut the fuck up they are new and learning. Number two, that's literally why you are getting a divorce cause nothing satisfies you apparently. I walk her around the whole three aisles pretending to be interested in her rant before Looney Toons-ing her into standing in front of the door. She looks at me and in the nicest customer service ass kissing voice told her to have a nice day. She left confused and not exactly sure what just happened.
I, the genius I am, cut my hand open at work. Not bad enough for stitches but bad enough I needed a bunch of bandaids. We had none. I wrap my hand in paper towels and packing tape before going to the grocery store next door to buy some and patch myself up like a human being and not a heathen. I go, come back, and as soon and I get all my stuff set down and wallet away this woman stops me and asks for help as I am clearly on a mission. I tell her one of the other girls will be with her and she literally stomps her foot and blocks my path demanding I help her. Through this entire encounter I am still bleeding, less but enough for concern, and I just open my hand and go "I need to disinfect this, some one will be with you when they can". The paper towel is red the packing tape is peeling, it looks worse then it is but I also cut my hand clean on one of the metal shelves so it sucked ass regardless. Miss stampy foot "is a nurse" and gets mad at me for choosing my own health over her hair like what even lady, get over yourself. This entire encounter I am polite as I possible can be with a bloody hand, a box of band aids, and a tube of neosporin. One of my coworkers thankfully separates us cause I was reaching a point where I was gonna lose my shit. Happy end though, one of the older women saw my hand and has been an RN for something like thirty something years, really nice lady, she patched me up after we gave her a pair of gloves. She gets a discount now for being just awsome.
I tend to work by myself some days as I can and am very intimidating as a person so people tend to not fuck with me. However on occasion I'll get people who wanna pick a fight with me just to see if I will yield to them. Never will and never have but I enjoy listening to them. Woman threatened to have me killed and I just sorta shrugged, like shit man if you do it you get a gold star. Another had her boyfriend come in the store and try to intimidate me into taking back used hair dye. Sorry, but your five-foot five boo-berry-fuck-munch couldn't scare me into giving him directions to the nearest pizza joint let alone give you back your money for something you decided you knew more about then me. Woman and her husband came in for just a fight. Straight up wanted to fight with someone and didn't care who. When I wouldn't give it to them they tried for other customers so I just quietly called the police and they were arrested for being drunk in public.
I love my coworkers, but a lot of them are afraid to clean the bathroom. I get it, this is cosmetology and cleanliness is super important but we are also a salon and have to meet the expectations of clients. I spent a fucking hour cleaning the bathroom the other day cause no one else would. We have a hand drier and the wall beneath it was yellowed, the trashcan had mold on it, toilet had stains in it from someone's after morning coffee break. It was fucking gross. By the time inwas done you couldn't go on there and breathe I used so much bleach cause fuck that. I will sacrifice my hands for a clean fucking bathroom.
#tw#trigger warning#submissions#fuck customers#cashier problems#fuck co-workers#fuck retail#fuck coworkers#submission
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Flashlight: Chapter Fourteen
Story summary: This is an AU
Two years ago, the love of your life walked out the door, breaking your heart into a million pieces. He had been unable to deal with his ptsd and you hadn’t been able to help him.Now that your best friend is marrying his friend, he’s coming back to town and you try to brace yourself for the reunion. Will you finally get closure?
Ship: Bucky Barnes X Reader
Warnings: mentions of ptsd, descriptions of ptsd, angst, heartbreak, reader wants to help but doesn’t understand ptsd.
Words: 3327
***
A/N: I am currently working against the clock to finish this story before my upcoming stint in the hospital, but my health is working against me a little. Luckily I’ve got @beanstalk007 to help me out! She’s worked hard to make this chapter readable for you all!
Feedback is greatly appreciated! And if you want to get tagged, let me know.
***
Masterlist Story Masterlist
***
After a day of back to back meetings, you were ready for the day to end. With a deep sigh you sluggishly shuffled from the office and down onto the streets, feeling dead on your feet. Your back was aching and you were silently cursing your current footwear as you walked to the nearest grocery store. This wasn’t your regular store, but it was the most convenient, since you had planned on taking the subway home today to alleviate your aching body.
Naturally, a different grocery store meant that you were left searching for everything you could possibly need and you wandered the aisles fruitlessly. It didn’t help either that you didn’t know what you wanted to have for dinner. Nothing seemed particularly appetising in your exhausted state. All you wanted was to get home and rest.
It wasn’t until you were on your third aimless loop through the small store that all your unplanned plans fell apart and a new plan quickly formed in your head, as you nearly bumped into a sulking Bucky. He stood had been standing stock still in the middle of the aisles, seemingly staring into the void, when you first saw him. You had not expected to see him here and the expression on his face stopped you instantly. The look was all too familiar, one you had seen a long time ago and it worried you.
Bucky had always been a happy and confident guy, ready to take on the world with a smile on his face. Though that side of him had been long since buried in the past. After his time in the armed services and his untimely departure from that, his behaviour had changed drastically. He had often sported the same look he had now and it was a dagger to the heart, because you were aware that he was suffering.
Despite the changes you had seen recently, thinking that he was feeling better, getting happier, the look on his face just proved you wrong. Back then, he pushed away everyone that tried to reach out to help. Although, looking back none of you had really understood what he was going through and what he needed from you. it might have been easier for him to create the distance.
“Buck? You alright?” you spoke in a soft and gentle tone, carefully placing a hand on his forearm when it appeared that he did not notice you.
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact, which only proved to you that he truly had been unaware of his surroundings. Upon seeing you, he was quick to apologise and he even tried to force a smile on his face.
“What’s going on?” You pressed when he didn’t offer any more than that. You didn’t need an answer, not really, you just wanted to keep his mind in the present. To distract him as it were.
“Nothing, sorry,” he muttered with a shake of his head, “Don’t worry.”
Him telling you not to worry caused a rather unattractive snort to pass your lips and he regarded you with a face full of confusion.
“Have you forgotten?” You began to explain, “I always worry,” you joked and he offered another weak smile, one you returned.
“I just had a meeting,” He said, hesitation clear in his voice, before he took a deep breath in, “I mean therapy, I just finished therapy,” He shuffled his feet and avoided your gaze. You remained silent and waited for him to regain his bearings, not wanting to push his buttons.
“M’Sure that can’t be easy,” you offered when he finally looked you in the eye again, he responded with a nod. You weren’t entirely sure what to say, but you knew there had to be something you could do.
The silence between the two of you stretched. Neither one seemed willing to move not did either of you know what words to speak, filling the atmosphere with awkward tension. you glanced around at the racks full of groceries, searching for something to break the ice that slowly clawed on both of your bodies when a light bulb suddenly lit, an idea forming in the the back of your mind. Back when you had just moved in together, whenever one of you had a bad day the other would cook a meal and you’d watch a movie. It wasn’t anything fancy but spending time together without any pressure from the outside world always lifted both of your spirits.
“Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll cook you dinner. You can even pick out a movie to watch,” you said with a small smile, hoping he would accept your outstretched hand.
What followed was another silence in which you could see Bucky hesitant to answer you. He shuffled his feet once again, looking anywhere but in your direction and it made you wonder if you still had any knowledge of who he was. If you could still turn the knobs and push the buttons that were once so familiar to you.
‘Only he can tell you what he needs.’
Sam’s words rang in your ears, making you realise that you had done all that you could do. You offered your help, reached out to him and made it clear that he could talk to you if something was bothering him. And now, it was all up to him if he would accept or decline.
“I promise that I will not ask you about the therapy, my offer is not about that,” you added softly, offering a genuine smile with the hope of making his decision a little easier, “I just don’t like the idea of you being alone when you’re down.”
The pain in your back was long forgotten as you watched him debate the matter inwardly, before finally agreeing. A bright smile formed on your lips as you looked at him. Perhaps your instincts weren’t all that bad after all, you thought to yourself as you began walking down the aisle with him.
When you asked him what he would like for dinner, he shyly asked if you were willing to make him your famous lasagne. Smiling, you nodded in agreement, linked your arms through his and with a new spring in your step you collected the ingredients you needed for the requested dish.
Bucky barely spoke as you collected all the things you needed, but you noticed the distant look in his eyes was slowly disappearing. This dinner wasn’t some magic solution, you knew that, but you had at least gotten him to stop his overthinking ways for a little while. You knew he’d talk eventually, and you would wait until he was ready. Which happened to be by the time that dinner was finally on the table. He managed to initiate some small talk and give out a smile or two.
You had him laughing by the time he stood up and made his way to your front door at the end of the night. You were grateful to hear the boisterous sound. You noted that his shoulders were no longer slumped in defeat and his steps were light, as if bearing no weight at all. Progress.
“Thanks for tonight,” he said with a genuine smile, that you returned happily.
“You’re very welcome,” you said and made the spontaneous decision to pull him into a hug. You tensed for a moment until you realised that he has returned the hug without hesitation. After he lightly kissed the top of your head, he pulled back and walked out of the apartment, towards the elevator.
As he moved into the elevator and out of sight, you could not help but feel a tad lighter than you had all week. Things were looking up, even if they were still far from perfect. And perhaps you could finally get your life out of the slump it has been in for the past few years.
You closed the door and made the choice to go straight to bed. Tomorrow, Bucky would be moving into his new apartment and it would be wise to rest up and get some shut-eye.
***
The following morning you were rushing out of the door, quickly getting into your car and driving the short distance to Pietro’s place, which was now Bucky’s place too.
You were late. It was well past ten by the time you had reached the street and everyone else was already busy carrying boxes up. You were feeling guilty for sleeping through your alarm and both Wanda and Sam were certain to rub it in. It took your sleep-deprived mind a few long moments of worry before you realised that they were teasing you. Apparently the really work had only started thirty minutes prior to your hasty arrival and they were still busy bringing up the first load of boxes. You chuckled and shook your head, mentally preparing yourself for the rest of the day.
Why was it that the initial feeling of haste never truly left you on the days that you overslept? You had managed to reach your destination and no problems had risen from your tardiness. So why did you feel like you had to run through the day just to catch up? You always hated being late and having to rush and you hated even more how that feeling stuck to you. It’s not like it would change anything. Finally, you grabbed one of the boxes and started moving. Standing still wasn’t going to help.
Walking into the apartment, you placed the box on top of another one and took a moment to take in the living space. You hadn’t been here since Pietro first moved in and it had certainly underwent a bit of a transformation. The then bare walls were painted a stark white and they were covered in pictures and souvenirs of his worldly destinations were displayed on the shelves. The living room was kept neat and you wondered how long Bucky would manage to keep that up before you realised that would be Pietro’s problem. It really was a beautiful, warm and cozy place.
In a corner you spotted Steve and Maria working together on assembling a dresser, making rapid progress. They were usually a team during moves. Nobody assembled furniture as quickly as they could.
Two strong, slender arms wrapped themselves around you from behind and a kiss was placed on your cheek. You chuckled and turned to give Wanda’s brother a big hug. His dark curly hair was unruly and his slight stubble finished the look. Many women would love to run their hands through that head of hair. He smiled brightly and welcomed you, thanking you for your help.
Back in high school, he had simply been the annoying brother of your friend. But over the years, he had become one of your closest friends. He had been a year ahead of the rest in school and when he graduated, college had dragged him to the other side of the country. He had gotten a scholarship based on his accomplishments in track, and after getting his degree, it was track that had him travel all over the world.
It wasn’t until earlier this year that he had finally decided to come home and Wanda had been absolutely ecstatic. They didn’t have much family left and she was happy to have him close again. Though you had only managed to see him a handful of times since then, he seemed at least as happy to be back.
You smiled brightly as he released you, congratulating him on his new roommate, before you moved further into the apartment to find Bucky. The beautiful brunette stood in the middle of his new bedroom, amidst an already big number of boxes, looking a little lost. You chuckled upon seeing it. He looked rather cute like that. The sound that escaped your lips made him look up and he seemed relieved as he greeted you.
“You okay?” You asked with a smile.
“It’s a lot of stuff,” he said incredulously, earning himself another chuckle. You realised that after two years of living out of a suitcase, all these boxes could be overwhelming. You stepped further into the room carefully avoiding all the things that already covered the floor, coming up next to him and looked around.
“Let’s just start with organising this lot, give things a place before we get anything else,” you offered and looked into the first open box you saw, seeing that it contained books.
You reached into the box and grabbed a few books, putting them on the shelves in the bookcase that Steve and Maria must’ve already finished. Bucky took a deep breath and followed your lead, helping you empty the first box. While the others continued to bring more boxes and unassembled furniture up, you and Bucky wasted no time and made quick work to arrange and place everything.
Conversation was light, nothing too deep, but you were happy to see his lighter side come out again. To see him smiling brightly and doing so often, it was good. And it appeared to you that you were not the only one sensing this change. Steve definitely moved a little easier in his presence and their back and forth teasing was enough to make everyone laugh.
To speed up the process of putting everything away in their respective places, Sam decided to help in arranging the furniture. Clint crouched down with him as they worked on assembling a closet. Both of them were good at these things, but you knew just how impatient they were. While piecing together the furniture, they cursed endlessly like drunken sailors, the ones you usually see in pirate movies, rowdy and obnoxiously loud.
You smiled and turned away from the sight of the working men, instead stacking the boxes with clothes and linen against the wall where his bed would later be placed. Your mind went over all that you had already done in the last two hours and what was still left to be done. Wrapped up in your own thoughts, you turned and tripped over his discarded tripod that was laying hazardously on the floor. Fortunately, Bucky was quick enough to catch you in his arms and you laughed, shaking your head over your own clumsiness.
“Some things certainly never change,” Bucky laughed with you while staring into your eyes with those beautiful blue orbs that held a twinkle in them.
His hands splayed on your back brought back memories and his close proximity made your heart skip a beat. You had your hand placed on his chest to steady yourself and with his own heartbeat thrumming underneath your fingers, you were caught up in the moment. He helped you stand up straight, but neither of you moved away and for a moment you thought of kissing him.
Of course, since the universe didn’t wish for that to happen apparently, a loud curse broke the tension and you both hurried towards the doorway. From where you were standing you could clearly see Clint rolling on the floor with laughter, while Sam angrily yelled at the closet they had been working on. In his haste to finish he had slammed the hammer down on his thumb instead of the nail. With everyone laughing at the scene that unfolded before them, Wanda instructed Sam to ice his thumb before announcing that lunch would be ready in a minute.
You took a deep breath and looked up at Bucky who kinked his head, as if to say he was surprised that another moment was interrupted. You could only return the sentiments before walking to the kitchen and washing your hands.
***
When you finally returned home later that day, you were absolutely exhausted. Immediately dropping down on the couch, you couldn’t even bother to remove your coat. Instead you lazily reached for the remote and turned on the tv, ready to watch some mindless show that required zero thoughts from you.
At some point you must have dozed off, because you were suddenly jerked awake by loud knocking. A little dazed, you pushed yourself up and slowly moved towards the door, opening it just a crack. On the other side stood Bucky with a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips. Slightly confused, you opened the door further and invited him inside. He made no move to step over the threshold and you stood silently at the doorway, waiting for him to speak. You were far too tired at the end of this week to take the lead here.
“I…” Bucky started nervously, “I wanted to thank you,” he looked down at his feet and you wondered what was making him uncomfortable. Following his gaze you were struck by the realisation that he wasn’t hiding his hand and suddenly you came to the conclusion that he had not done so the entire day. Your sleep deprived mind almost made a comment about it, but you luckily caught yourself in time.
“No need,” you said instead, “Happy to help.”
He nodded, looking up now and staring into your eyes. There was a storm of emotions going on in those blue eyes and you tilted your head to the side, wishing you knew what could’ve caused it. Though you weren’t given all that much time to ponder as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.
You were shocked, confused and barely responded, which caused him to pull back. Instinctively you moved after his lips, but he took a step back and looked down again, leaving you hanging. That did nothing to help with the confusion. Your lips tingled and you felt a smile spread across your face. He had kissed you. It had been short, but good. At least, for you it had been.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have,” he muttered and took another step back from you, though this time you were prepared and stopped him by grabbing the lapel of his jacket tightly in your hand.
You stepped over the threshold that separated you now and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you again. Quickly, before you lost your nerve, you kissed him back.
He quickly wrapped you in his arms and deepened the kiss. You stepped back over the threshold, pulling him gently inside of your apartment. Your hands moved from his neck to his cheek and back and breathed in his scent. His arms kept you impossibly close and he moaned into your mouth.
There was a rush of blood in your head that silenced your surroundings and you never wanted this moment to end. Your stomach was busy doing backflips and your heart was running wild inside your chest as your whole body seemed have to honed in on the moving of your lips against his. The kiss was passionate though slow, there was no rush to make it into anything more and you released just how much you had missed kissing this man.
When Bucky finally pulled back, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist, you were thoroughly out of breath. He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, and another bright smile broke out on his face, one you could only mirror.
“I’ve thought about doing this all week,” Bucky confessed, placing another peck on your lips.
A giggle passed your lips as you thought the length of time you had been thinking of kissing him. Which was much longer than a week. It was kind of embarrassing, so you opted out of telling him. Now was not the time to be painfully unsexy.
“I wanna do this right,” Bucky whispered, his nose brushing your own “Can I please take you out on a date?”
You breathed out a throaty laugh and nodded with a smile. This was not how you imagined your week ending, but you certainly weren’t objecting.
***
Chapter fifteen
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The Pumpkin King
Day 3 of Sander’s Sides Spook Month! (yes, all these titles are part of Nightmare Before Christmas songs, I’m obsessed, sue me)
Prompt: Pumpkin Carving
Fandom: Sander’s Sides
Pairing: none
Words: 3,138
Summary: Halloween is coming up and Patton wants to carve pumpkins with his friends-turned-roomies. Virgil hasn’t even looked at a pumpkin in years, and the others are about to find out why.
Tags/Warnings: Human AU, pumpkin carving, lots of angst for like the first half, mentions of cancer, minor character death but it’s just mentioned
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Ah yes, October. Virgil’s favorite month, no contest. He loved it all; the fall festivals, the decorations, haunted houses, caramel apples, black-and-orange everything, the pop-up Halloween stores that had hundreds of costumes and dozens of jump-scare props, pumpkin pies and Halloween movies.
And carving pumpkins.
That was arguably his very favorite thing about October. He loved the entire process; going to a pumpkin patch at seven in the morning, still yawning over a cup of coffee (or hot chocolate when he was a kid), scouring the field for the perfect pumpkin, holding onto it as they drove home, taking it home and planning the perfect carving, waiting for the perfect time to carve it so it didn’t rot before Halloween. Sometimes if his dad didn’t mind, he’d carve it early and just get a second one to carve so they’d have a fresh one for Halloween. His dad would always do it with him, even when he’d grown well past the years of needing an adult present as a safety precaution. It was their thing, their special activity that they shared.
It was never really a competition, not really, but they would always joke with each other that they’d completely wipe the floor with the other. They’d see who could find the best pumpkin, rubbing the other’s nose in their perfect find on the way home. They’d tease each other with vague whispers of what they were planning to carve. They’d sit back to back so neither could peek at what the other was carving, and once they’d both finished they’d spin around with their newly-made Jack-O-Lanterns like a Texas quick draw. Virgil’s dad always insisted that Virgil won, even when Virgil knew his dad was more skilled (particularly when Virgil was just a kid); he was just nice like that.
Virgil’s dad had been the one to teach Virgil about carving. Not just pulling a picture out of a book and tacking it onto the pumpkin to make a connect-the-dots outline, but to really consider what you wanted to make, to think in more three-dimensional terms and create something that could glow in the dark and give off the impression that you were looking at real art. His dad always said a true artist could make beauty out of anything. Virgil always thought his dad must be the best artist in the world, then.
Then the best artist in the world got stomach cancer. Stage 3.
His dad had been complaining of a stomach ache, and being the overly-anxious, loving son he was, Virgil insisted he see a doctor after it lasted more than a day. His dad had waved him off, saying that he probably just had a stomach bug and that he’d be fine. It wasn’t interfering with his work or his life, it was just kind of inconvenient. Virgil chose to trust his dad; he was the adult, he knew what he was doing, right?
He insisted he was fine when the stomach aches had only gotten worse.
He promised he was okay when they lasted a month.
He was barely eating, because he’d get full quickly, and it was making him lose weight. Too much weight. He looked gaunt, and it scared Virgil. He was the one who was supposed to look malnourished, not his dad. He was supposed to be the one not getting any sleep, not his dad.
But neither of them were supposed to vomit blood, so when he’d walked in on his dad doing it he’d nearly fainted. He hadn’t even hesitated to haul his dad to his feet (gently, have to be gentle, you don’t know why he’s throwing up blood and you don’t want to make it worse) and walk him to the car. Virgil had just gotten his license last week and he thanked every god and deity he could think of for that as he buckled first his dad and then himself, starting up the car. It’d been the most nerve-wracking time he’d ever been behind the wheel to date. When his hands wouldn’t stop shaking he’d gripped the steering wheel so tight his fingers were white.
Hours later, the doctor finally gave the diagnosis to Virgil and his dad in a too-white room. He’d assured them that with the right treatment, and a little luck, his dad would be just fine, and would live to see Virgil’s kids graduate.
The next few months were torture. It felt like Virgil was going from bed to school to the hospital in an endless restless loop. When it used to be next to impossible to fall asleep before 2 AM, now Virgil struggled to stay awake with his dad as they waited in a hospital on late nights. Eating endlessly, shoveling crap food into his mouth any chance he got turned into eating once a day, twice if his dad gave him The Look. His dad was always tired, almost always sick. Well, how could you not be sick when you had cancer? But despite the nausea and pain and discomfort, his dad was always smiling, always cracking jokes and making puns and trying to keep the smile on his son’s face.
He hadn’t lived to see Virgil graduate.
Virgil had never been one to trust doctors.
Near the end, Virgil had managed to get a job. Now that he didn’t have a dad to worry about, any time not spent at school or sleeping was spent working. He was never home long enough for the silence to get to him. He did his homework at work during break and between classes. He only set foot in the house to go straight to bed. He no longer replied to texts sent by friends, didn’t give his concerned teachers more than a grunt when they asked how he was doing. It was none of their business.
He graduated two months after his dad passed away, no one in the bleachers to cheer as he grabbed his diploma.
He’d had to give up the house, unable to pay the bills and mortgage on his meager salary. His boss gave him three days off to pack up and move once he’d managed to find an apartment. He packed up his room, the bathroom, the living room and kitchen, a couple things from his dad’s room; the rest was sold to pay for moving expenses. He’d ended up moving clear across the city and was no longer spending every waking moment away from home. The next few months were a blur, any time not spent working or sleeping was spent simply zoning out in front of the TV.
The first time he’d walked into the grocery store and seen the boxes full of pumpkins, he’d cried.
The next week, however, he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed to the nearest pumpkin patch. He’d walked around for nearly two hours, looking over the pumpkins as if expecting the perfect one to just jump up and shout “Here! Pick me!” He’d been zoning out when he almost walked right into a boy and his father, out looking for pumpkins. He’d apologized quickly and continued walking, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to their conversation.
“Hey, look! Over there, I found it!”
“Wow, that’s pretty big, you think you can pick it up, buddy?”
“Of course I can, dad, I’m strong!”
Virgil grabbed the nearest pumpkin, paying the old woman who was running the pumpkin patch, and left.
He’d been sitting there for hours staring at the pumpkin, willing it to tell him what to carve, but as the clock ticked the hours away and the sun set in the sky, Virgil was beginning to grow frustrated. He picked up a tool, pumpkin already gutted, and blindly started working. He let his thoughts race, not paying any mind to what he was doing, letting his hand carve through the pumpkin without a thought. When he finally comes out of his mind, he looks at the pumpkin. His dad’s smiling face stares back at him. He silently pushes his chair back and heads to bed.
The next day, the pumpkin is mysteriously smashed at the bottom of the stairs leading to Virgil’s apartment.
“And I haven’t carved one since then.” Virgil shrugs, his hands fidgeting in his lap, refusing to look up at the other three. The silence stretches on, making Virgil’s anxiety ramp up. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve just carved the damn pumpkin. He hears shifting and he can’t take it anymore. He has to know. He looks up, surprised to see not just Patton, but Roman and Logan crying as well. He blinks, mouth opening and closing but unable to force any words out.
It’s Patton who finally breaks the silence, throwing himself into Virgil’s arms and hugging him tightly. Virgil can’t make out much of what he’s saying, blubbering through his tears and rubbing his face into Virgil’s chest. Virgil awkwardly hugs him back, rubbing his back and looking at the wall so he didn’t have to see the other two crying. “It…. It’s okay, Pat, really.”
“It’s n-not okay! That- That was your d-dad and you loved him, and y-you carved pumpkins together and h-he’s gone, and I was t-trying to replace him! I’m s-so sorry!” Virgil pulled Patton back, holding him by his shoulders to look him in the eye. “Whoa, whoa. Hold on. You were not trying to replace my dad, Pat. You had no idea. Everyone carves pumpkins, it’s like, a necessity in October.” Patton’s lip quivers. Logan discreetly wipes his own tears, adjusting his glasses before speaking up.
“Perhaps, if you are up for it, carving a pumpkin can be a sort of cathartic way to both grieve your father and move on.” Virgil looks up at Logan, brows knit together. “I understand that this was an activity that you participated in with your father, and therefore it’s very special to you in that regard. You’ve built it up to this grand thing that must meet your expectations, but that is no longer possible without your father. Perhaps the point is to embrace this fact?” Virgil’s mouth quirks to the side.
“Still not following.”
Logan smiles a bit and continues. “Rather than focusing on how participating in pumpkin carving is no longer the same, and seeing it in a negative light, perhaps you should embrace this difference. Yes, it will never be the same, because he’s gone, but that doesn’t mean it can no longer be enjoyable. Perhaps by carving pumpkins with us and building new positive experiences, you can both use the activity to mourn your father and let go of the pain you’re holding close to your heart.”
Patton had stopped crying to listen to Logan, and now all three men were staring at Logan. “That was… Really smart, Logan.” Roman muttered, blinking as he realized how that probably came off. “I mean- you’re the smartest of the four of us, but that was… Emotionally smart? Oh, you know what I mean.” Patton giggled softly. Logan huffed softly, not actually offended. “Yes, well, even I can have my moments.” He looks down at Virgil, who’s still sitting on the couch. “So? Does that sound like a good idea?”
Virgil looked down at his hands, picking at his cuticles. Patton reached over and took Virgil’s hands, giving him The Look. He laughs shakily and nods. “Y-yeah. Okay. Let’s do it. Just… If I start crying and anyone says anything, I will leave.” Patton looks at him with sad eyes and Roman just nods, arms crossed uncomfortably over his chest. “Of course, we understand.”
With that, the other three move to the dining room to set up the pumpkins, setting each one on a cutting board in an effort to keep some of the mess off of the table. Patton finds the tools, setting them in the middle of the small table well within reach of each person. Virgil rests his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands and taking a few deep breaths. He hadn’t even bothered to buy a pumpkin since that time, did he really think he could just sit down and carve one without feeling…. What? He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling right now.
Something kept coming to the front of his mind, though he tried to ignore it. Would dad forgive me if I did this? It was a stupid thought; it wasn’t like his dad ever made him promise not to carve a pumpkin without him, and like he said, everyone carved pumpkins – they didn’t own the exclusive rights. Yet somehow it felt like he’d be betraying his dad. Virgil takes another deep breath, scrubbing his eyes in irritation. Come on Virgil, get over yourself.
The couch dips next to him, and Virgil looks up to see Patton giving him a soft smile, eyes full of concern. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, kiddo?” Virgil looks at his hands and nods. “Yeah, I am. Really. Logan could be right, and if he is, I should at least try, right?” Patton hugs Virgil from the side, smiling into his shoulder. “I’m proud of you. I know this can’t be easy.”
Virgil huffs in amusement. “Yeah. Self-help and growth and all that shit.”
“Language.”
Virgil really laughs at that. “Right, my bad.”
Patton stands up, holding a hand out to Virgil. Virgil takes his hand and stands up, letting Patton lead him to the table and taking the only empty spot at the table. The four chat easily as they work, and Virgil lets himself focus on what he’s working on, occasionally adding his own comment to the conversation. The others don’t bug him or pressure him to contribute more, letting him work in peace, and he’s thankful for that. It’s not that he’s having a hard time, he just really wants this to be perfect.
Patton is the first to finish, and no one is surprised to see that he carved a cat. It’s the typical silhouette, no detail, and that was perfectly fine. Simplistic, but cute; very Patton (in the best meaning, of course). Logan finishes his next, showing the others. Patton is still sitting at the table so he can talk to the other three, and he gasps loudly when he sees Logan’s pumpkin. “That’s so cool! … What is it?” Logan’s pumpkin seemed to have a bunch of circles and lines carved out of it. Logan pushed his glasses up his face to hide his smirk, but Virgil definitely saw it. “It’s binary code, wishing all who look upon it a happy Halloween.” Patton squeals, jumping up and running around the table to hug Logan. “Awww, Lo! That’s so sweet! And educational!” Logan blushes slightly and adjusts his glasses again. “Yes, well… Thank you, Patton.” Patton hums happily and sits back down. Roman is next, having carved a more detailed version of the Disney logo. Of course. The three men look at Virgil, the final person to reveal his pumpkin, and Virgil glances up briefly before going back to his pumpkin with a simple, “Not done.”
Logan shares looks with Roman and Patton, who shrug at him, and the three wait patiently. Conversation flows seamlessly as they discuss Halloween plans, how work is going, gossiping about coworkers, and everything else under the sun. The four of them had always clicked perfectly (somehow) and never had much trouble finding something to talk about. It was late into the night when Virgil finally sat back, the sound of his tools being set down making the other three go quiet. Virgil simply stares back at the pumpkin with a considering expression, and after a moment Logan scoots his chair over to better see the pumpkin.
Roman and Patton take the hint and get up, walking behind Logan and Virgil to see the pumpkin as well. As soon as Patton can see it, his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Roman is oddly quiet. Virgil can’t help but find the silence a bit unsettling, too reminiscent of the silence that had preceded their pumpkin carving. He spares a sideways glance at Logan, trying to read his expression. He looks… surprised? Awed? Virgil can’t quite tell. He gathers up the courage to tilt his head back and look at the other two. He takes in Patton’s shocked face and Roman’s blank expression and pales, turning back to the pumpkin.
“It…. It’s not that good, I know. Like I said, it’s been years. I could’ve done something simple I guess but I just… couldn’t. Sorry.” A hand rests on his shoulder, and he looks up at Patton, who’s shaking his head.
“Virge, it’s…. It’s amazing.”
Roman squats to be eye level with Virgil, looking at the anxious male before glancing back at the pumpkin. If anyone was going to be honest with him, it’d be Roman. Virgil braces himself. “It’s not just amazing. It’s perfect.” Virgil’s eyes widen, and he looks between Roman and the pumpkin. “Are we looking at the same gourd, Prince? Look at the faces-“
“I am, Virgil. This is honestly the best picture of us I’ve ever seen. Aside from a photograph, of course.” He straightens up, shaking his head with disbelief. “Your dad taught you how to do that?”
Virgil looks over the carved faces of himself and his best friends, shrugging slightly. “Yeah, mostly. He taught me the techniques. I am an artist…. He was too.” Patton’s arms wrap around his shoulders from behind and he leans back into the contact, smiling slightly. He guessed it was pretty good. His thoughts are interrupted when Patton whines sadly, sighing. “…Pat?”
“It’s gonna rot, Virge. That’s so sad!”
The four go silent as the words sink in. Virgil had never really considered how impermanent his carvings were; it hadn’t seemed like much of a loss. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t broken the Jack-O-Lantern of his dad all those years ago. Logan takes out his phone and reaches in front of Virgil’s face, startling him into leaning back. The tell-tale shutter sound of the phone’s camera is heard before Logan pockets his phone again. “There, now we shall have proof of this masterpiece even once it has decomposed.”
The four of them move to grab their pumpkins, carrying them out front and setting them along the walkway, sticking candles in them and lighting the wicks.
“Can we watch Corpse Bride?”
“That’s not really a Halloween movie, Pat.”
“Anything by Tim Burton is a Halloween movie. Change my mind.”
“….. Okay, you have a point, but did you two just hear what I heard? Did Dark and Stormy just meme?”
“Maybe so.”
A groan. “Logan, not you too!” The front door shuts, cutting off the rest of the conversation.
#sanders sides#sanders sides fanfic#sanders sides fanfiction#halloween#virgil sanders#patton sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders
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FOR A WHOLE HOST OF REASONS, airports are often bewildering, maddening places. There is much to be found in the modern-day terminal to enrage, confuse, or vex the traveler. Where to begin?
The following list was inspired by a layover I spent not long ago at Incheon International Airport (ICN), serving Seoul, Korea. Not to take away from perennial survey-toppers like Amsterdam’s Schiphol or Singapore’s Changi Airport (amenities at Changi include a movie theater, a swimming pool and a butterfly garden), but Incheon stands as the most functional, attractive, and overall flyer-friendly airport I’ve ever visited. It’s cavernous and immaculate, with a cathedral-like calm throughout. Security and immigration are a breeze; international transit is effortless. The staff at the multilingual information desks are disarmingly helpful. Amenities include free internet, free showers, luggage storage, cellphone rental desks, a post office and massage facilities. Relaxation areas, with sofas and easy chairs, are set away from the main thoroughfares. There’s a cultural center, a museum, and a full-service hotel inside the secure zone, allowing those with extended layovers to rent a room without the need to clear immigration. Or, if you’re feeling energetic, a tour desk arranges free excursions to Incheon city. If you’re headed into Seoul, the airport’s high-speed rail connection will have you downtown in under an hour. Why can’t every airport be like this?
FIFTEEN THINGS NO TERMINAL SHOULD BE WITHOUT:
1. A fast, low-cost public transportation link to downtown.
In a way, choosing a favorite airport is like choosing a favorite hospital: amenities aside, nobody really wants to be there in the first place, and the easier and faster you can get the hell out, the better. To that end, every terminal should have a public transport links similar to those across Asia and Europe. The examples of Portland, Oregon and Washington-Reagan notwithstanding, rail links in the United States aren’t nearly as convenient – when the exist at all. Or how about JFK, where for hundreds of millions dollars they finally got the AirTrain completed — an inter-terminal rail loop that connects only as far as the Queens subway. It can take 45 minutes, up and down a Rube Goldberg assembly of escalators, elevators and passageways, just to get from one terminal to another, let alone all the way to Manhattan.
2. In-transit capabilities
It’s a shame that American airports cannot, for whatever reasons, recognize the “in transit” concept. In the United States, all passengers arriving from other countries, even if they’re merely passing through on the way to a third country, are forced to clear customs and immigration, collect and re-check their luggage, and pass through security screening. It’s an enormous hassle, unheard of in most of the world. And it costs our airlines millions of annual customers. Why change planes in the US, where you’ll have to stand in three different lines, be photographed and fingerprinted, re-check your bags and face the TSA gauntlet, when instead you can transfer seamlessly in Frankfurt or Dubai? Indeed this is part of what has made carriers like Emirates, Singapore Airlines, and others so successful.
3. Complimentary wireless internet
What do we do at airports? We kill time. And there are few better and more productive ways of killing time than logging on to the Web. Send an email to your mistress, read my blog, Skype your friend in Slovenia. Many, if not most major terminals do have Wi-Fi access, but it’s often expensive and cumbersome (few things in life are more irritating than those credit card payment pages). It should be everywhere, and it should be free.
4. Convenience stores
It appears the evolution of airport design will not be complete until the terminal and shopping mall become indistinguishable. I’m okay with Starbucks and souvenir kiosks, but it’s the saturation of high-end boutiques that always confounds me. Apparently there isn’t a traveler alive who isn’t in dying need of a hundred-dollar Mont Blanc pen, a remote-control helicopter or a thousand-dollar massage chair. And what’s with all the luggage stores? Who on earth buys a suitcase after they get to the airport? What we really need are the same sorts of things we buy at CVS or the corner convenience store: basic groceries and dry goods, stationery, and personal care items. Brussels and Amsterdam are two that do this right, with in-terminal food marts and pharmacies.
5. Power ports
I didn’t realize that passengers have a right—nay, a duty—to mooch electricity from their carrier of choice, but at this point it’s a lost cause to argue. I hope your battery isn’t dying, because good luck finding an outlet that isn’t hooked up already to somebody’s iPhone or computer. Airlines should throw in the towel and build more charging stations.
6. Showers and a short-stay hotel
Another amenity that is common overseas but sorely lacking in North America. No serious international terminal should be without a place to wash up or crash for a few hours. Passengers arriving from overseas can shower and change before their next connection. Those with longer waits can grab a nap in one of those pay-by-the-hour sleeping pods.
7. Play areas for children
Truth be told, airport play areas encourage toddlers to shriek and yell even more than they already do, but at least they’re doing it in a localized area that’s easy for the rest of us to avoid. Ideally, this spot should be in a soundproofed bubble six miles from the airport, but a space at the far end of the concourse is a reasonable alternative. The Delta terminal in Boston has a pretty cool kidport, but nothing tops the “Kids’ Forest” at Amsterdam-Schiphol. I’d play there myself if nobody was watching.
8. Better dining options — i.e. fewer chain restaurants
Chick-fil-A, Burger King, Sbarro’s. Airport cuisine isn’t a whole lot different from the shopping mall food court. We need more independent restaurants serving actual food, ideally with a local bent.
The next time you’re at LaGuardia, check out the Yankee Clipper restaurant over at the Marine Air Terminal. That’s the circular building at the far southwest corner of the airport, with the art deco doors and flying fish relief along its rooftop. Yankee Clipper is a cafeteria-style place on the left-hand side of the rotunda. It’s good greasy spoon food with absolutely no corporate affiliation. The Marine Air Terminal was the launching point of the first-ever transatlantic and around-the-world flights, and the restaurant’s walls are decorated with historic photographs. You can eat in, or take your sandwich out to one of the wooden benches beneath the famous James Brooks “Flight” mural. Commissioned in 1952, Brooks’ expansive, 360-degree painting traces the history of aviation from mythical to (then) modern, Icarus to Pan Am Clipper. Its style is a less than shy nod at Socialist realism, and at the height of ’50’s McCarthyism, in a controversy not unlike that surrounding Diego Rivera’s famous mural at Rockefeller Center, it was declared propaganda and obliterated under gray paint. Not until 1977 was it restored.
9. An information kiosk
Where is the Yankee Clipper restaurant? Where is the nearest ATM? Where is the nonexistent subway link to the city? Every arrivals hall ought to have personnel who can give directions, hand out maps and make change.
10. A bookstore
Reading on planes is a natural, am I right? Why then is it so hard to find a proper bookstore at an airport? (Not all of us pre-load our reading material on a Kindle.) Not long ago, every major airport had a proper bookseller. Nowadays they are harder and harder to find, and usually what passes as a bookstore is really just a newsstand hawking a thin selection of business books, thrillers and pop-culture trash. Believe it or not, travelers’ tastes extend beyond Sudoku, Suze Orman, and the latest CEO autobiography.
11. Sufficient gate-side seating
If the plane at the gate holds 250 people, there ought to be a minimum of 250 chairs in the boarding lounge. There is something uncivilized about having to sit on the floor while waiting to board. Do we sit on the floor when waiting for a table in a restaurant, or at the doctor’s office? When Changi was built in Singapore, the gates were outfitted with no fewer than 420 chairs, matching the number on the average 747.
12. Escalator etiquette
Americans haven’t figured out how to behave on an escalator. If you’re not in a hurry, stand on the right and enjoy the ride, allowing those of us with a flight to catch to walk on the left. Instead we stand in the middle, hogging up both sides. Ditto for moving sidewalks. The point of the moving sidewalk is to expedite your passage, not to indulge your laziness. You’re not supposed to stand on it, you’re supposed to walk on it. And to take yet another page from the Europeans and Asians, what prevents us from fitting escalators and sidewalks with a light-beam trigger that shuts off the motor when nobody is on them? Ours run constantly, riders or no riders, wasting huge amounts of energy.
13. A view
Why are so many architects intent on hiding the fact that airports are actually airports? Gateside seating always faces away from the windows, and the windows themselves are sometimes intentionally opaqued or obstructed by barriers. Why? Penty of people would enjoy the opportunity to sit and watch the planes go by. You needn’t be an airplane buff to find this relaxing, or even a little exciting. As a bonus, more windows mean more natural light — always welcome over harsh fluorescents.
14. Bring back the airstairs!
Have you ever taken a good look at a jet bridge (or Jetway to use the proprietary term), that strange umbilicus connecting terminal to fuselage? One thing to notice is how ridiculously overbuilt they are. Do we really need all of that metal and cable and wire and hydraulics for what is, at heart, a simple gangway?
Of course, I am opposed to jet bridges on principle. I prefer the classic, drive-up airstairs. Some of the international stations I fly to still employ those old-timey stairs, and I always get a thrill from them. There’s something dramatic about stepping onto a plane that way: the ground-level approach along the tarmac followed by the slow ascent. The effect is like the opening credits of a film — a brief, formal introduction to the journey. By contrast, the jet bridge makes the airplane almost irrelevant; you’re merely in transit from one annoying interior space (terminal) to another (cabin).
Save your emails. This is just me being romantic. The benefits to the jet bridge are obvious — inclement weather, disabled passengers, etc. – and I realize there’s no going back.
15. Last but not least, some aesthetic flair
If an airport has one aesthetic obligation, it’s to impart a sense of place: you are here and nowhere else. On this front, Europe and Asia again set the standard. I think of Lyon and its magnificent hall by Santiago Calatrava, or Kuala Lumpur with its indoor rainforest, and a dozen places between, where terminal design is a point of expressive pride — where it makes a statement, be it quietly stylish or architecturally stupendous.
Take the magnificent Suvarnabhumi airport (pronounced “Su-wanna-poom”) in Bangkok, Thailand. Its central terminal is the most visually spectacular airport building I have ever seen. At night, as you approach by highway from the city, it looms out of the darkness like a goliath space station — a vision of glass and light and steel, its immense transoms bathed in blue spotlight. Or for sheer character, try the little airport in Timbuktu, Mali. Here you’ll find a handsome, Sudanese-style building emulating the mud-built mosques ubiquitous in that country.
With scattered exceptions (Denver, San Francisco, Washington, Vancouver), there is nothing comparable in America. To the contrary, some of our most expensive airport renovations have been terrible disappointments. JetBlue’s wildly overrated home at JFK, for example. Terminal 5 – or “T5” as the carrier likes to call it — is a $743 million, 72-acre structure that opened in 2008 to considerable promotion and fanfare. Inside, the atrium food court and rows of shops conspire to make yet another airport feel like yet another mall. The Wi-Fi is free, and so is the noise and claustrophobia at the overcrowded gates. But it’s the exterior that’s the real tragedy. Although the street-side facade is at worst cheerless, the tarmac-side is truly abominable — a wide, low-slung, industrial-brutalist expanse of concrete and gray. Once again it looks like a shopping mall. Or, to be more specific, it looks like the back of a shopping mall. All that’s missing are some pallets and dumpsters. The facility’s only visual statement is one of not caring, a presentation of architectural nothingness, absolutely empty of inspiration — precisely what an airport terminal should not be. Is this the best we can do?
It’s ironic that Eero Saarinen’s landmark TWA “Flight Center” sits directly in front of T5, itself part of the JetBlue complex. The TWA building is supposed to serve as an entryway lobby and ticketing plaza for T5, though for now it remains semi-derelict and only partly renovated. I wish they’d finish the thing so that more people could appreciate what is arguably the most architecturally significant airport terminal ever constructed. Regarded as a modernist masterpiece, the Flight Center opened in 1962 and was the first major terminal built expressly for jet airliners. Saarinen, a Finn whose other projects included the Gateway Arch in St. Louis and the terminal at Washington-Dulles, described his TWA as “all one thing.” The lobby is a fluid, unified sculpture of a space, at once futuristic and organic. It’s a kind of Gaudi inversion, a carved-out atrium reminiscent of the caves of Turkish Cappadocia, overhung by a pair of cantilevered ceilings that rise from a central spine like huge wings.
And just to the north of T5 used to be the National Airlines Sundrome, designed by I. M. Pei. It opened in 1970 and was named in honor of National’s yellow and orange sunburst logo and its popular routes between the Northeast and Florida. After National was folded into Pan Am, the terminal was taken over by TWA. Later it was used by jetBlue, then abandoned and torn down. Pei and Saarinen, a half-minute walk from each other. Our airports ain’t what they used to be.
Am I making too much of this? While terminal design and passenger friendliness are important, isn’t it the operational aspects of an airport—the state of its runways, taxiways, and logistical infrastructure—that ultimately matter most? Indeed, but here too the situation is worrying, as any American who travels globally can attest. Once again, it’s a funding issue. Our airports are failing, and nobody wants to pay for them.
“Other parts of the world are more enlightened in their aviation policies than we are,” said Greg Principato, North American president of the Airports Council International, speaking at a conference in 2012. He added that members of the U.S. Congress have a poor understanding of how the upkeep and renovation of U.S. airports needs to be funded. “They have a sense that airports are economically important,” he explained, “but don’t really understand why.” Principato warns that the declining state of its airport infrastructure puts the United States “at risk of being turned into a feeder system for the global aviation network.”
But let’s change gears for a minute, and move from what airports lack to something they have too much of. To me, the single most annoying thing about airports is how noisy they are. I’m not talking about the noise from jet engines. I’m talking about the in-terminal noise. I’m talking about the sounds of humanity on the move, with our shrieking kids, and our beeping electric carts, our laughing and our shouting and our cellphone chatter. All of it amplified by the sadistic acoustics of the typical terminal.
And what makes this a distinctly American problem is our peculiar infatuation with public address announcements. As we’ve already seen, there are plenty of good ideas that American airports can borrow from their counterparts in Europe and Asia, but perhaps none would be more appreciated than realizing that passengers need not be assailed by a continuous loop of useless and redundant PAs: security alerts, boarding calls, traffic and parking directives, promotional and welcome messages. You’ll often hear two or more announcements playing simultaneously. I’ve heard up to four of them blaring at once, rendering all of them unintelligible in a hurricane of noise.
Intensifying this bombardment are those infernal gate-side television monitors blaring CNN Airport Network. These yammering hellboxes are everywhere, and they cannot be turned off. There is no volume control, no power cord, no escape. Every gate has one, and they run twenty-four hours a day. Not even the employees know how to shut them up (believe me, I’ve asked).
All of this sonic pollution does not make passengers more attentive or keep them better informed. What it does is make an already stressful and nerve-wracking experience that much worse.
On a lighter note, am I the only one struck by the phenomenon of teenage girls carrying big fluffy pillows onto airplanes? I’m uncertain when this trend got started, but take a look around in any terminal, anywhere in the world, and you’ll see girls clutching big fluffy pillows.
What’s wrong with this? Nothing. It’s a great idea, especially now that carriers no longer dispense even tiny, non-fluffy pillows on all but the longest flights. In a window seat, putting a pillow between your body and the sidewall creates a comfy sleeping surface. I only bring it up because, on behalf of guys everywhere, I feel excluded. It’s unfair. Grown men like me can’t walk through airports with big fluffy pillows unless we’re willing to get laughed at. We’re stuck with those neck pillow things.
But this isn’t right. To hell with dignity, I say. It’s time to rise up and break the pillow barrier. Who will be first? I’m thinking we should organize a march — a line of men strutting through the concourse, pillows proudly in hand.
“We’re men, we’re strong, this is true,
Fluffy pillows aren’t just for you!
Downy soft, pastel blues,
Come on girls, let us snooze!”
Later, in the parking lot, we can high-five and toss a few of those neck braces into a bonfire.
And I smell a gold here mine for airport merchants. Instead of luggage and massage chairs, why not a pillow shop right there in the terminal? No need to lug one from home when you can pick one up gate-side for just a few bucks. You’d have a choice of foam or feather, and a selection of pillowcases to pick from. To entice the guys, cases could be emblazoned with camo patterns and beer logos.
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Marked (M)
Werewolf!Jungkook x Reader
Halloween Drabble Series
JIN (M) | YOONGI | HOSEOK | NAMJOON (M) | JIMIN | TAEHYUNG
Summary: you were in heat, Jungkook didn’t know.
A/N: This is my fic. I am re-posting onto my sideblog.
Growing up as a werewolf was hard. Growing up as a female werewolf without a pack was impossible. You had a pack that you were good friends with and asked for help and advice from, but that’s as far as it went, for now. You have yet to find a mate and enter a pack, and were currently going through heat so you had to stay indoors to avoid any…unwanted situations a.k.a. to avoid fucking random humans and/or wolves in broad daylight. You were holed up in your apartment, skin burning and your third pair of panties for the day, ruined. Walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge, you groaned, realizing that you were officially out of food and had no choice but to go to the store down the street.
You picked up your phone and dialed the Alpha of the pack you knew. Namjoon had always been willing to help you, even though you weren’t technically part of his pack. He had still always called you family.
“Y/n! Hey, how are you? I haven’t heard from you in days!” He cheerily answered, and you smiled to yourself, he always had a way of cheering you up.
“Hey Namjoon, uhm.. Well I kind of have a problem.”
“Oh? What is it? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, well mostly fine. I’m….in heat, and I just ran out of food. What do I do?” Namjoon could sense the fear in your voice as you talked, and he wanted nothing more than to come over and comfort you, but that wasn’t the best idea considering the current situation.
“Well, I’d love to help, but you know that myself or any one of the boys can’t come over right now.”
You sighed deeply, you knew this was the answer you’d get, but you couldn’t help but feel a little lost now. Namjoon must have known what you were thinking as he spoke up again.
“I know it’s tough, and I’m sorry we can’t help, but look outside and if there aren’t many humans you can walk to the store. Call any of us if something goes wrong.” You thanked him and hung up, calming yourself down before stepping outside, as Namjoon’s voice did things to you..especially when you were in heat. Once you collected yourself, you changed (again) and cautiously stepped outside to get groceries. You managed to go to the store and back to the safety of your apartment without any problems, and as soon as you stepped foot in the door, you slumped to the ground, exhausted at the effort you put out. You had caught a whiff of a nearby wolf, and your heat had kicked into overdrive. Just as you were thinking about showing up at the pack’s house uninvited to relieve yourself, your phone rings.
“Hey y/n, how are you?” the smooth voice of Jungkook poured out of your phone, and the heat under your skin doubled, “I heard you needed food, is everything okay?”
“Yea I’m okay, I got some food so I should be okay for a few days.” you tried to calm your breathing so that Jungkook wouldn’t notice, but your heat was getting worse each second that you were on the phone with him, why were you so affected by him? You talked to Jungkook for another few minutes, wrapping up the conversation after blindly agreeing to something he said, you had no idea what you had said yes to but you could only hope it wasn’t too bad. You spent the next few hours in bed and decided to take a nice long cold shower. As you stepped out of the shower and dried off, you heard a knock on the door. You pulled on an old oversized t-shirt and a fresh pair of panties before checking who was at the door. You looked through the peephole and bit back a groan, Jungkook was standing outside your door, completely oblivious to the fact that you were in heat. You looked again and almost moaned at the sight, his hair was slightly damp from the fresh rain outside, his grey eyes peeking through the fringe, his leather jacket on top of the plain white v-neck that hugged his muscular frame perfectly, then down to his ripped black jeans that showed off his thick strong thighs. You wanted nothing more than to rip the door open and pounce, but you gathered up every ounce of self restraint you had left to talk to him, through the door.
“Jungkook? What are you doing here?” you tried to level your breathing as you watched him raise an eyebrow at you.
“Are you not going to let me in?” he asked, chuckling. His deep voice affecting you so much more in person, “I’m here because I asked you to come over and you said yes. Now can you please open the door? I’m wet and cold.”
Shit
You took a deep breath in before unlocking the door slowly, hoping not to smell him until you were far enough away (like that would help). As Jungkook stepped into your apartment, you thanked all the gods that you had just gotten out of the shower, having washed away the strong scent of your heat. You let out the breath you were holding as you walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, unaware that Jungkook was following you. You breathed in again and froze, the strong musky smell of the other wolf hitting you like a freight train.
You felt your knees buckle and you grabbed the edge of the nearest counter and held on for dear life, your head swimming in lust and the scent of Jungkook. You could feel yourself drip down your thighs and a low growl ripped through your chest as you rubbed your thighs together to try to relieve the ache. Fuck it you thought as you turned around to face him, your eyes pure gold and blown wide with need. Jungkook was hit with your scent as you turned around, and he found himself thrown into his rut.
Jungkook didn’t have an ounce of restraint, especially when it came to you. He knew you were his mate, but you were completely oblivious to this. He stalked towards you, a predatory look on his face as a smirk played on his lips.
“Oh, babygirl. Is that why you didn’t want me to come in? You smell so good, I wonder if you taste even better?” You gave up on controlling your instincts, and moaned at his words. You look down to see Jungkook hard in his pants, his hand moving down upon himself through the denim. He pressed himself into you, your back digging into the counter as he placed his hands on either side of you. You could feel his length pressing into your stomach, and you rolled your hips into him, silently begging for more. Jungkook happily obliged and slid down your body, happy to find no obstructions in his way as he pushed his hand up your shirt. He looped his fingers through the band of your panties and ripped them away, watching as your essence started to drip down your thighs. He growled as your strong scent hit him, and pushed your legs apart as he dived in. The moment his tongue met your folds you threaded a hand through his soft brown locks, pulling his head closer to your aching core. You started to shamelessly grinding yourself onto his willing tongue, his moans vibrating through you as he ate you like you were his last meal. But you both needed more.
You pushed him away from you and removed your shirt, leaving you completely exposed under his predatory gaze. Jungkook stood up and licked his lips, closing his eyes at your taste.
“You taste so much better than I ever imagined, but i need you, now.” He grabbed you by the waist and picked you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he removed his jacket and shirt. He walked you over to the nearest wall, slamming you against it. Jungkook kissed you with force, and you could taste yourself on his tongue as you sucked it into your mouth. He unbuckled his pants in record speed and in the blink of an eye he was naked in front of you. You looked down and saw his thick, hard cock leaking precum and just waiting to be inside of you.
“Jungkook please, just fuck me. I need you.” Jungkook would never say no to such an offer, and he grabbed the base of his cock and pulled you down onto him. As he impaled you with his cock, he bit you harshly on the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, effectively marking you as his. You were so caught up in finally being relieved of your built up frustrations that you didn’t even notice what he did, you only felt a strange and powerful connection to him. You whimpered when he didn’t move, and Jungkook began to roughly pump into you, not slowing down once. You heard him growl and pick up speed, the lewd sounds of your tight wet heat being pounded into filling the room. You were so close to cumming, having waited so long to get relief, and Jungkook was right behind you. As you his your peak, you found yourself giving Jungkook a matching mark. Jungkook felt you marking him and came to his end, pumping into you to draw out your orgasm.
Jugnkook’s tired legs seemed to give out as he put you down and sat on the floor, pulling you close to him. You sat there for a few minutes, neither one of you speaking about what had happened. The fact that you two were now marked by each other could be talked about later, right now you just wanted to get your breath back so you could have round 2. You looked over at Jungkook and you could already see the look change in his eyes as he stared at the mark on your neck.
- Admin Rogue
#bts#bts smut#bts scenarios#marked#black girl kpop#poc kpop#poc kpop smut#jungkook#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook smut#bts jungkook smut#jungkook scenarios#bts jungkook scenarios
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The Audit
**Long story short, I found my old fic LJ/archive from 2005, and decided this absolutely needed to be posted. It’s ridiciously bad, so much so that I found it hilarious.**
Author: PiecesofScully (in 2005)
Rating: R
Timeline: Unclear
Scully set the phone down in its cradle, a look of complete confusion spreading across her face.
"Who was it?" Mulder asked, as he typed on the computer. His eyes were still glued to the screen, and his fingers pressed rapidly against the keys on the key board.
"The accounting office. They said they need to speak with you about questionable purchases with a bureau credit card."
"I'm being audited?"
"Sure sounds like it."
Mulder continued typing for a few seconds, unphased by the news of a surprise audit....until it hit him.
"Oh....shit..." he muttered under his breath. He stood quickly, grabbed his jacket, and headed towards the door.
"Mulder?"
He stopped suddenly and turned back to Scully.
"Do you want me to come along?" She asked, sitting at the desk with her reading glasses on.
He shook his head. "Nah, I've got it. You stay here, and maybe we could go grab some lunch afterwards."
Scully nodded, accepting the offer, and Mulder left the office, speed walking to the elevator.
How do I explain this one? He thought to himself as he pressed the 'up' button. Sorry, Mr. Accounting Man, Agent Scully and I were in need of a good humping and my credit card was declined, so I used the bureau's card instead.
The doors opened and he stepped inside shaking his head. As the doors closed, all was silent except for the dull clank of shifting gears and one word being muttered over and over again.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Agent Mulder, I'll start from the beginning. I'm going to need you to explain every purchase on the date of May 26th, 2000." Mulder nods, his hand quickly wiping a bead of sweat that had escaped his hairline and began a quick slide towards his nose.
The young, squirley looking accountant shuffled through his notes and pulled out the sheet of paper he'd been searching for.
"$76.56 was spent at a restaurant called La Fleur, which is located in Sterling, Maine." The accounting agent glanced at Mulder, waiting for his explanation, but the agent just stared back offering nothing of the sort. “$76.56 is a lot to spend on a dinner, especially when I have documents saying that you and Agent Scully were on vacation, not investigating a case."
Mulder cleared his throat. "Well, yeah, we were on vacation, but a case fell into our laps almost as soon as we'd arrived. We were hungry from driving all day, so we stopped at the only restaurant that was open and accepted credit cards."
"I have no record of a case file being processed on the date of May 26th."
"I have yet to finish the report, actually."
"But $76.56, Agent?"
Mulder shrugged. "The food was expensive."
The accountant nodded, then exhaled a long sigh. "I'll say."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
*One month ago*
Mulder finished the last bite of his chocolate desert, just as Scully had finished hers. The server must have been watching them closely, because just as Scully set her fork down, the bill was slipped onto the table.
Scully smiled at Mulder, a lazily wide grin. Either she was a little tipsy from those 2 glasses of wine, or those oysters were finally kicking in.
He slipped his credit card into the small leather pocket of the folder, and the waitress took it away.
"You wanna head back to our room after this?" Mulder asked, reaching across the table to take her hand in his.
Scully shook her head. "Actually there is a store across the street I wanted to browse in first. Maybe get a little something for tonight."
His eyes glowed with excitement. He'd seen the store she was referencing when they'd pulled into the restaurant’s parking area. It was a lingerie/sex-toy store. Naughty Time something or other.
"I'll go see what's keeping the waitress with the receipt." He brushed a kiss on her temple, and walked to the front counter.
"Miss?"
Their waitress turned to him, his credit card in her hand. "I'm sorry, sir, but your card has been declined."
Mulder stood there, stunned. "That's impossible. Could you run it through again?"
"Of course, sir." She slid his card through the machine again, and after a short pause and a quiet beep, she shook her head. "Declined again, sir. Perhaps you have another card you'd like to try."
Mulder pulled out his wallet and searched the card slots. License, library card, blood donor card, bureau credit card....bureau credit card.... He paused for a moment, then hurriedly handed her the bureau credit card. She took it with a large smile on her face, then passed him his receipt to sign when it was approved.
"All set, sir. Have a lovely evening."
Mulder nodded, and walked back to Scully. She stood, allowing Mulder to help her with her jacket.
"Everything ok?" She asked.
He linked his fingers with hers. "Everything is great."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ok,” the accountant said. “So, next comes the fun stuff."
Mulder's eyebrow pulled a 'Scully' and rose. The accountant shrugged, then shuffled his papers.
"The next purchase on the list was $26.25 at a grocery store, also located in Maine. Now, because you and Agent Scully had already eaten quite an expensive dinner, I was ordered by my supervisor to look into the items that were purchased in this store. Those items are,” he paused to look closer at the receipt. “...whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and a 4 pack of AA batteries."
"I know what this looks like-”
"Fraternizing is strictly prohibited, Agent Mulder."
"I realize that Agent," he glanced at the younger agent’s tag, "Smooter. But that was for the case we were working on."
"Really?" Smooter asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What was this case you two were investigating exactly?"
Mulder sat back in his chair, a cocky grin on his face. "That's classified."
"Interesting. Well, I'll tell my 'super' that, and he can take this matter to....AD Kersh is it? Yes, he can take it up with AD Kersh if you'd prefer."
"Fine, Fine!! I'll explain." Mulder rubbed his eyes, then leaned forward in his seat to get closer to the accountant. "You know we investigate the paranormal right?"
"Yes, I am aware of that."
"Well, this case falls under that category as well. You see..." Mulder licked his lips then cracked his fingers, attempting to buy some time, "We were called by a source we have in Maine. He'd said he'd been hearing some strange stories about young men that had gone missing."
"The point, Agent Mulder."
"I'm getting there. Well, these young men had happened to go missing while...camping....in the woods. We needed the batteries for our flash lights."
"The bureau's flash lights take D batteries."
Mulder nodded. "Imagine our surprise when we got to the woods and discovered that. Luckily, one of the flash lights still had enough power to aid us on our journey."
"And what about the whipped cream and chocolate syrup?"
"It was rumored that whatever was taking these men had something of a sweet tooth. So, Agent Scully and I bought those because they were cheap. We were in a hurry and didn't have time to be choosy and search for specific candy bars or whatever."
Smooter nodded rapidly, seemingly eating up every bit of Mulder's story.
"So, Agent Scully and I high tailed it into the woods with only one working flashlight, and sunday toppings."
~~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The disappointment of being at a grocery store and not a sex toy store must have been written all over his face, because Scully nuzzled his neck and whispered, "I have big plans for us tonight. Trust me."
Mulder nodded, shooting her a smile, and followed her closely through the store. His spirits lifted after seeing her grab a can of whipped cream, a bottle of chocolate syrup, and a pack of batteries. "Scully, why the batteries?"
She smiled at him deviously. "Just trust me Mulder."
That look could make any man go weak in the knees, cause his heart to skip a few beats, and claim temporary insanity. Which is what must have happened because before he knew it, he was whipping out that bureau credit card again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Okay, agent, there's one last purchase I have to question. There was a $45.15 purchase made at a Naughty Time Novelty. I am extremely curious to see how this plays into everything. Now, because the store wouldn't give out the list of what was purchased, I need to ask you what was purchased and for what reason."
Mulder chewed on his lip then sighed. "We walked out of Meijer and we were talking intensely about the case. So intensely, actually, that we both didn't realize that we'd just walked through a huge swarm of bees. Agent Scully felt something on her pant leg and swatted it off, not realizing it was a bee, and then it stung her finger. She wears this ring that she got from her mother years ago, and that was the finger that happened to get stung. It started swelling almost instantly."
"Agent Scully has an allergy to bee stings?"
"Uh...yeah...So we ran into the nearest store, which just happened to be that novely store. We explained what happened to the girl at the counter and she grabbed a large bottle of....lubricant....and poured the contents all over Scully's swollen finger. After a few tries, we got it off. Cindy, the girl at the counter, then took a mint flavored lubricant and spread it on the bee sting, insisting it would take down the swelling."
"Did it work?"
"Well, we can't say for sure. We put ice on it when we got back to the motel, so it could have been the ice that did the trick."
"But where does the $45.15 come in?"
"We had to pay for the lubricant." Smooter’s jaw dropped. "They were jumbo sized bottles."
The accountant sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mulder eagerly followed Scully to the showcase of battery operated toys. There were so many different sizes and colors, different shapes and gadgets. There was one gadget that was blue, and it had two rubber rings connected by a small battery pack.
"That's a 'for him' toy. One loop goes around the penis and the other goes around 'the boys'. It vibrates."
Cindy clearly knew her products. Mulder just stared at the blue rubber contraption. Visions of using it and it cutting off circulation and 'it' possibly falling off invaded his thoughts. “No, thanks,” he said with a shrug. “We're here for her." He pointed to Scully.
He was surprised to see the excitement spread across her face. Her eyes even had a twinkle in them.
"Um," she pointed to one of the hundreds of vibrators spread showcased along the wall, "could i see that one?"
Cindy pulled it from it’s case and handed it to Scully. "That's The Dolphin. It's a huge hit because it's so pretty."
Mulder studied the toy in Scully's hands. It was pretty. The first 1 1/2 inches were a tart blue rubber, then the next 3 inches were white pearls that traveled around the girth of the toy, and then more blue rubber. Scully passed it from hand to hand as if testing the weight, then ran her finger along the 3 inch rubber dolphin that seemed like it was about to soar off the dildo.
"What's that for?" Mulder asked, pointing to the dolphin’s beak.
"It's the clitoral stimulator," Scully answered matter of factly.
"I'd suggest that you purchase some lubricant if you do get a toy. We have flavored ones such as peppermint and strawberry. And we have others for special purposes, such as 'Like a Virgin', which tightens the vaginal muscles, and a few that make him last longer. I'd suggest the peppermint flavored lube. It's great, and a real fan favorite."
Scully smiled. "Wonderful. We'll take that and The Dolphin."
Mulder stared for a moment, as if in shock. The entire moment was so surreal, like a wet dream come true, buying sex toys and flavored lube with Scully. At the register, he eagerly passed the girl the bureau's credit card.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"That is...incredible. So after all of this, did you solve the case?"
Mulder shook his head, and sat back in his chair. "No. It remains unsolved."
They both sat in silence, Smooter amazed by the story, and Mulder amazed that he believed the story. Thank god he was new to the bureau.
"I'll write my report and submit it to my super, and I suggest you do the same.”
Mulder muttered ‘yeah’ and stood. "We done here?"
"Yes, Agent Mulder. All through."
Mulder turned and walked out of the office without another word.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mulder walked into his office to see Scully still sitting at the computer.
"Finally,” she said, standing. “I was about to go solo to lunch, you were taking so long."
"Are you done with the computer, Scully?"
"Yeah, you need it when we get back?"
"Uh, yeah. I've got a case report to write up."
"Which one?” She asked. “I thought we were all caught up..."
"I'll explain it at lunch. Let's go."
The End.
#my writing#really old fic#i wrote this 12 years ago#so here ya go#let's all laugh together at the ridiculousness of this#because i'm L I V I N G
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