#Green View City Location | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

certainlynotasimp · 1 year ago

Note

oh just a little tip, i think it would be wise if you added the spanish translations somewhere inside the fics, this could be at the end or next to the spanish sentence, since you can’t copy text from posts it’s hard to translate since you have to type everything in google translate by hand <33 anyways i loved your fic, you’re very talented and i can’t wait to see more of miguel and his beloved sunshine.

you know what might be funny? if they were on a mission and got hit with a gas that switches their personalities🤣 now that would be something i would pay to see 😂

From Your Point of View

((Miguel O’ Hara x Female! Reader))

A/N: Hello~✨ Thank you so much for the request and the critique. I have now added some translations at the bottom of the fanfics because I forgot how weird tumblr can be about copy and pasting stuff😅. Also I hope that I didn’t disappoint with this as I was kinda struggling on what to write for this one.

-Still haven’t seen the movie so be warned I may get some stuff wrong-

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Female Reader/Female Pronouns, Barely using (Y/N) ((Sunny is their nickname not their name)), bioweapons, kinda graphic injuries, Outta Character and Outta pocket behavior, and Google Translated Spanish. ((Thank you @22carolina08 for reviewing it before I posted it))

~~~~~~~~~~~

The cackle of women enjoying the fruits of their labors filled the corridor of the abandoned warehouse as they surrounded the machine they were working on. It was a tall glass sphere with some kind of purple dust floating around inside while two titanium computers stood on either side of the device.

The three women standing around it were a set of Green Goblins who jumped from different dimensions to find a universe where there wasn’t an arachnid hero to stop them from using a bomb to take control of the city.

However they didn’t expect there to be four spidermen to be observing them around the property with one little spider hiding along the walls of their lair.

“Lyla,” Miguel whispers as he observes the meeting from the top of another warehouse. “Analyze the contents of that bomb and tell me how bad it is.”

The yellow AI materializes in front of him as Miguel tries to swat her away like a fly, not wanting her to compromise his location. Lyla rolls her eyes and explains, “The dust in that little bomb they have is made from spores of this rare mushroom. It’s been reported that inhaling the spores can cause drastic changes in behavior, mood swings, and mild hallucinations. Most cases detail paitents becoming aggressive and violent.”

Jessica’s voice buzzes through the intercom as she quips, “So they are planning on driving the city into a state of panic?”

“Sounds like it.” Ben Riley gruffs in annoyance. Miguel couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he knows the Scarlet Spider was still pissed that he couldn’t go ahead and stop the goblins.

“Sounds like a party to me, mate.” Hobie cracks as he watches from the ground. “Oi, Sunny, Dear? Wanna crash their party?”

“Yes, a party of people violently hurting each other and causing mass chaos does sound like fun.” Miguel grumbles saracastially before scolding Hobie. “She can’t reply to you, Brown. Not when she’s undercover.”

Miguel can barely make out her outline with the infared of his mask lens, but he can see his little jumping spider wander among the goblins unseen.

A big advantage to have someone with his beloved’s powers. She had almost every trait of the typical spider men, but she had a unique camouflaged ability. Without the suit Miguel made her, she can lower her heart rate and rapidly chill her body temperature so she can remain undetected by infared. She can also go invisible for a few moments without the suit, but both abilities are limited due to how strenuous it was on her being.

The suit allows her to remain undetected for a much longer time and prevents her from putting too much strain on her body. The slight heat the suit emits to keep her body functioning is the only thing that Miguel can use to track her. A major drawback of her gift is that physically she’s not as strong as the others, but she can handle herself in a fight.

Of course, he’s always there to help her. Her protective predator and his gentle prey. A match made in heaven as Jess always jokes.

“(L/N).” Miguel whispers into the com as he watches his love sneak around the device. “Attach the bug I gave you to the main computer so Lyla can deactivate the bomb.”

He makes a signal to the others to tell them to be ready for the ambush. The plan was suppose to be a simple get in and out. The invisible web shooter would get the bomb deactivated while Miguel, Hobie, and Ben rush in and take out the goblins. Jess served as support in case the villains ran past them. It was suppose to be an easy mission. Until it wasn’t.

As the bomb got deactivated, a light beep from the monitor causes the Goblins to turn around and notice that someone tampered with their bomb. Before the little spider could escape, one of the Goblins throws a jack o lantern explosive at her, causing the glass vial to exploded.

Miguel’s blood ran cold as he witnesses his love engulfed in black and purple smoke, and all reason went out the window as he rushed into the contaminated warehouse to save her.

“Miguel, wait!” Jessica screams out she drives her bike in front of the other two spidermen trying to rush in.

“What gives, Drew?” Hobie snaps, concern burning in his eyes. “We gotta get in there.”

“Not without these.” She snaps back as she hands the boys four sets of gas masks. “Lyla said it’s transmitted through air. Hurry up and put these on.”

Ben grumbles and slams the mask on before running in while Hobie and Jessica share a look. “You think Sunny will be alright?” The spiked spider asks as he places the gas mask on his already covered face.

“She better be.” Jessica sighs. “I definitely don’t want to find out how Miguel will react if she wasn’t.”

With that Hobie runs in while Jessica calls for backup to help contain the spores seeping from the windows.

~~~~~~~~

“Vitals appear to be normal.” Spider-Doc mutters to the three spider people surrounding one of the hospital beds. “O’Hara and (L/N) are both looking good on blood pressure and brain activity, so I expect them to wake up anytime soon.”

Thankfully, Hobie and Ben managed to capture the green goblin trio and reinforcements came just in time to contain the spread of the bio weapon. However, both Miguel and his companion were found bloody and unconscious when they found them.

The beloved spider woman had most of the damage with several shards of glass impaled into her back and arm while gaining a severe concussion. The team figured that in the rush of the moment and his vision obscured by the cloud of dust, the goblins took Miguel by surprise and got him with three sharp projectiles while he was trying to help Sunny.

Despite the horrific scene, both of them were deemed to be alright after some surgery and the only physical damage was Sunny’s now broken arm, which should heal in about a week thanks to the signature spiderman super healing. The only worry was the psychological damage.

Both were definitively exposed to large quantities of the gas and from what Lyla had said about the mental effects of the spores, they were worried about an invisible spider and her beast of a companion tearing everything apart.

Jessica sighs as she sadly gazes at the broken and restrained bodies of her friends as Hobi places a small bear on his little friend’s bed.

“Didn’t Lyla say anything about how that antitoxin is coming along?” Peter says as he bites his nail.

Spider-Doc nods as his lens shifts to appear like he’s hopefully smiling. “Lyla has said thanks to the samples from their suits, an antitoxin will be finished in two days.”

“Two days?!” Hobie snaps up. “We are about to have two spidermen possibly going on a rampage if we piss them off. I don’t think we can wa-“

A soft groan emits from the bed beside the ranting anarchist and everyone’s attention breaks from the poor doctor and onto the small spider. Her eyes flutter open as she frowns at her surroundings.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Jessica soothes as she helps the disoriented girl sit up in her bed.

“I’m fine.” The girl said in an unusually blunt way. Her eyes now harden in an annoyed expression as she looks around at the group. “Next time, you guys should be more considerate to someone recovering from having their shit rocked.” She scolds before growling at the pain.

The sight of the sweet girl now acting so bothered towards their presence was so unsettling, but not unexpected. They were aware the sweet girl they knew was gonna be changed by the gas, but it’s still disturbing.

As they all stare at the glaring girl, a deep groan comes from the bed next to her as her attention focuses on her love. Her anger emerges as she snaps back to the spiders.

“What the fuck did y’all do to him?! Was it that asshole Ben Riley? I’m gonna kick his ass if he’s the reason my Miggy is in-“

“Cariño?” A soft mutter causes her verbal rampage to end as a pair of ruby eyes focused on her. Once she meets his eyes, an uncharacteristically soft grin comes over his face as he mumbles sweetly. “Hola, mi niña bonita, ¿cómo te sientes?””

“I’m fine.” The girl mumbles as she tries to keep her stern face while a little dusting of blush takes over. “What about you?”

Miguel chuckles at her face and gently reaches over and caresses her hand as he swoons, “Siento que puedo enfrentarme a un toro ahora que he visto tu hermoso rostro, mi amor.”

The group of spidermen looked at Miguel horrified as he looks up at them. Expecting him to snap at them or try and escape his restrains, but he doesn’t do either. He gives them a bright friendly smile as he cheers, “Oh, you guys made it out alright. I’m glad we are all still here together. Great job, everyone.”

Hobie backs up a couple of steps trying to calm his raging heart before he had a heart attack from the shock. Jessica looks at him disturbed as she silently records the duo on her phone to show her husband later. Peter calls Lyla on his gizmo as his face looses all color.

The AI emerges out of the gizmo with a cheery, “Hello~ you ringed?”

“What’s wrong with Miguel?” Peter snaps as he hears Sunny immediately yell at him about what he said about her Miggy.

“Oh I meant to warn you about that. Well the aggression is on a most case scenario kinda thing, not an every case thing. Since Miguel is more genetically altered with spider than Little Miss Sunshine, his natural aggression cancels out the one caused by the bio weapon.” The assistant explains.

Hobie laughs at this as he looks at the now confused Miguel, “So our big bad leader is as harmless as a kitten now?”

“Yep.” Lyla giggles. “And because our sunny pants there was as dangerous as a jumping spider before this, she’s now part of the majority percentaile.”

“What the fuck did you say about Migue, you twig?!” The formerly harmless girl bucks in her restraints as her protective nature causes her to want to thrash the punk star.

“Mi amor, por favor cálmate... No está tratando de ser grosero…” A now teary eyed Miguel tries to sooth his partner in a shaky calm voice.

That was when Jessica realized a mistake they made. When they restrained the pair earlier, Miguel was placed in titanium bands that crossed over his chest, arms, legs and hips. Since Sunny wasn’t considered a ‘major’ threat in comparison, she was just held down by some chains.

Because of this, the earth deafening sound of chains shattering cause all of the spiders to scream. The AI giggles as she responds,

“I forgot to mention that the chemical not only increases aggression, but also physical strength. In humans, they would just be slightly stronger than normal, but in Miss (Y/N)’s case…”

The rest couldn’t hear what else Lyla had to say as Hobie started booking it down the hall with a pissed off Sunny hot on his heels. Jessica frantically tries to undo Miguel’s restraints as he cries for his lover to come back.

Peter sighs and asks, “How much longer until the antidote is ready?”

“I can rush it for you. Should take another 3 hours hopefully.”

“Do you have any tranquilizers?” Peter asks as a now free Miguel tries to chase down his angry lover.

“No~”

~~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Hola, mi niña bonita, ¿cómo te sientes? - Hello, my pretty girl, how are you feeling?

Mi amor, por favor cálmate... No está tratando de ser grosero…- My love, please calm down...He's not trying to be rude…

Siento que puedo enfrentarme a un toro ahora que he visto tu hermoso rostro, mi amor.- I feel like I can take on a bull now that I've seen your beautiful face, my love.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

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#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #fanfic #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara

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cupid-luv · 1 year ago

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The Green Ribbon by @cupid-luv

The Green Ribbon, located in the Arts Quarter in San Myshuno has been the talk of the town. This restaurant has been opened for not too long and has been a hit for everyone of all ages. This exquisite restaurant has so many delicious meals served with the best drinks in town. All is welcome to have a night out with your friends, family or significant other for any occasion. The Modern architecture with dark toned colors and much greenery has been placed in such a beautiful city. Come on down to The Green Ribbon and enjoy a high class meal with a high class view.

Thank you to all of the CC/Mod content creators. This build would not be possible without any of you guys! P.S first time uploading a build and adding cc links. Please let me know if you're missing anything and I'm more than happy to help or redirect you to the proper cc! @harrie-cc @pierisim @felixandresims @littledica @joyceisfox @tuds @myshunosun @ophernelia

CC links:

Pierism: mcm pt1 mcm 2 mcm pt3 mcm 4 mcm pt5 david's apartments 2 david's apartment part 1 domaine du clos pt 4 winter garden colonial pt 2

Harrie: brutalist spoons 1 spoons 2 spoons 3 octave 1 octave 2 octave 3 octave 4

House of Harlix: harluxe livin rum jardane bafroom shop the look pt 1 shop the look pt 2 brownstone kichen

Felixandre: berlin grove pt 1 grove pt 2

TUDS: nctr shkr ind

Littledica: rise&grind greasy goods

Joyceisfox: simple live pt 3

Myshunosun: gale dining

Ophernelia: the simple co.

Mod Links:

oni's recipe pack

carl's dine out reloaded

origin/ea id: cupidluv1

(make sure to check off include custom content in the gallery)

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barbucomedie · 7 months ago

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Obsidian Mace from Mexico City, Mexico dated between 1325 - 1521 on display at the Templo Mayor Museum in Mexico City, Mexico

In the Aztec's view of the world, obsidian was considered a cold and nocturnal material. The deposit sites controlled by the Aztecs were found in the Basin of Mexico, whereby the product arrived at Tenochtitlan through trade as well as through the payment of tribute.

Most pieces found at the Templo Mayor were manufactured with green obsidian from the Sierra de las Navajas, a mountainous fromation located in the current state of Hidalgo; gray obsidian stones from deposit sites located in the current states of Mexico and Pueblo, ar found in lesser proportion as well as the "Meca" obsidian with red streaks, coming from various sources.

Photographs taken by myself 2024

#military history #art #archaeology #medieval #aztec empire #mexico #mexican #templo mayor museum #mexico city #barbucomedie

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sonnyaavce · 6 months ago

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CHAPTER # 0

The first meeting that was supposed to be drafted ended up being chaotic once everyone went to the watchtower. Some JL members as well some of the Dark that weren’t supposed to be around in base were quickly debriefed in the mission and found the current sight a bit amusing as they saw the small child spirit in one of the main leagues arms deep asleep and purring like a cat calmly.

Flash did indeed found it a bit cute at first but now it was just hilarious that Wonder Woman; who was known to be a fierce Amazonian, the one who hated male human contact would end up being demoted as a motherly figure by the small spectre and ‘wow’ wasn’t that a kicker, that ghost and spirits are real in the end?

Now, don’t get him wrong but Barry is a scientist by hearth and a firm non believer in anything that relates to the supernatural; aliens and mutants? sure those are scientifically proved but death people, core magic and ghost? Nuh uh… nop, that’s way too kahooted for him and a very nonsensical non scientific stuff to be mixing himself with.

So, he knows he’s starting to look a bit crazed as he stared a tad contemplative at the small baby ghost ‘tuttelagé’ he corrects himself in his head ‘he’s a dead protective spirit’ but he’s just soooo curios…..

“We now will start with the debrief with the members of Dark explaining some background first” announced Batman over the table, making Barry focus on the rest of the team surrounding him; Superman and Aquaman together with Hal and Martian MH were moving documents and folders that the Bat had made in just five minutes after the mission and ‘how the fuck did he do that! He’s the Flash and even him isn’t that efficient to pull out a document in that short amount of time!’

“First things first, the mission” intones Constantine taking a cig and lighting it of with his magic “we, the Justice League Dark received an S.O.S tip from someone who claimed that there were some unknown cult people making the homeless disappear from some of your cities” making some quick slides and pictures appear “we noticed a pattern with them tho, they only kidnapped people with shady or non-visible outline; so some cities like Star City and Metropolis only had one or two missing and the only large one was of course…. Gotham and Bluddhaven, so we decided to involve the according héroes of these cities”

Zatanna then interrupted to add “We also noticed that some of these place still reeked death, from an old ritual that we found some clues into it, we discovered some things”

“First, what they did and how they did it before disappearing was concerning” added Constantine, as he releases a spell to burn of the cig “ and the second thing we noticed was, when we finally came in contact with one of these places we discovered these….”

Zatanna moved aside as a massive green looming circle came into view “Swamp Thing together with Enchantress managed to find some more clues about the deity these cults were trying to summon and among the common ones like Hades, Kali or Anubis we found out this one belonging to an ancient god of the death like Mictlantecuhtli or Ah Puch, but we managed to narrow it down to one member that belongs to a group called The Endless”

Constantine then interrupts again, this time taking a long break as Batman grunts “now before we start explaining who these gals are we have to get understand this a’right? The Endless are a family of beings who are very prickly to bond with, but they are Death, Delirium, Desire, Despair, Destiny, Destruction and Dream and each of them is as ancient as a god, so we don’t mention these guys in the open likewise”

Zatanna then added “with this, now we had a lead on who they were trying to bring forth but also the location of the ritual they were trying to do”

“But, where does this tuttelagé fall all into this?” interrupted Green Arrow looking towards Wonder Woman with the child still sleeping in her arms “by Zatanna words, he’s a protection spirit not a death one, where does this kid spirit fall into this mess”

“We think the cultist as they were trying to summon Death itself but because Death doesn’t like to answer her phone, instead forcefully brought out one of his most closer charges” tutted Constantine answering the man.

“Death has tons of offspring scattered all around the multiverse for her to care to count but with what Z’ says it’s true about the little tick then this means someone hurt her son and his charge in a way that almost makes him fade away”

“And this is bad becauseee?” slurred stupidly Flash, Constantine exhaled annoyed at the speedster “because it means that whatever these idiots did, it hurt an offspring of Death itself, and Death isn’t as forgiving as Dream or Destiny; so if she so wants, she could end this world and be done with us because one of her children; because news ta ya Flash, Death adores her children equally”

The faces of several members of the Justice League were ashen as it dawn in, a heavy sense of dread sets in as everyone looks at the baby resting in Dianna's arms still sleeps soundly.

masterpost

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dp x dc writing prompt #justice league #baby danny #danny fenton #i did a thing #i did my best #i did this to myself #i fixed it #english isnt my first language

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freakyfrye · 4 months ago

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ᝰ. perfect stranger

requested: stolas x gn! swan reader, what if stolas never met blitzø at the ‘not divorce’ party

type: oneshot

content: no mention of pronouns (just “you”), slow burn, wholesome & vulnerable fluff, love at first sight (for Stolas maybe, up to interpretation), flustered & subtlety turned on stolas (not too much tho stolas), down to earth reader

note: for the record, I don’t hate stella (i actually like her character, villains have a soft place in my heart always), y’all idk about this—this is trash 🚮 I hate how I wrote it, imposter syndrome is heavy with this one but I don’t want to rewrite it and make you wait longer! I know I said I’ll wait until I wrote all my wips but I need this out my drafts neow!

Anyone who could be considered important, on some level but no more than she, knew that Stella Goetia just adored throwing parties once in a blood moon. In her fancy mansion, she’s the face, the main character, and she plays her role as host so well that people tend to overlook every other bad quality she has among the very few pros. Or perhaps, they would rather not have bad blood with someone of her caliber.

You, on the other hand, couldn't care less—about the parties, the fancy mansion, or Stella herself, frankly. Parties were never your first choice for outings; they were the most energy-draining events, with all the overcrowding and having to pretend to enjoy the company of ill-minded individuals.

But alas, you begrudgingly attend this one, and many others, as a representative of your family name. You're not silent in your disagreement, always voicing how they couldn't have picked a worse member for the job—if your frown, ever present since entering the oh-so-lovely and homey residency of the royal family, was anything to go by.

Doing your due diligence, you converse with a few guests as you make your way through the herd of people, keeping it curt and unseasoned. Finally, you reach the woman of the hour. Locating her wasn’t difficult; her boisterous, obnoxious laughter, reminiscent of a terribly played violin, rang through the room.

Exactly what you’d expect from her. Respectfully but quickly, you greet her, say a few false words of endearment about living a long life, and then scurry off back into the sea of snobby kiss asses. To her and anyone around her, it might look like you were scared, tucking your tail between your legs. In truth, you were trying to keep your big mouth shut in case she couldn’t keep her nasty comments to herself.

The party continues uneventfully. The music, more like a lullaby, would have lured you to sleep if you hadn’t downed a few cocktails to prevent it. The partygoers, annoying as they are, fail to read the room and approach you regardless of your many excuses to avoid meaningless conversation. They just want insight on why a (surname) is at a party alone, much less why you of all people are here.

By evening, you were running out of excuses until you grow hungry—using the lack of vegetarian options as a way to escape their gossip. Now standing beside a gigantic window, you contentedly munch on some leafy greens, finding interest in staring outside. The view is much more impressive than the building itself—isolated enough from Imp City yet overlooking it enough to make a grand statement. It is truly beautiful at night, the lights like little twinkling stars rivaling the sky.

Your head snaps in the direction of a crash, eyebrows raised in disbelief at the sight of wine dribbling down the glass of the window beside the one you stand near, shards scattered on the ground. To your surprise, or perhaps not, the vandal is Stella, who now leaves the scene in a fit of laughter, two idiots in tow beside her.

Why in hell would she do that to her own home? The thought Interest you some. She should know the potential damage that could have caused, let alone to one of her guests who could have been injured. Stella looked back, a sinister grin spreading across her face as she shot a rude remark past you towards someone. It made you realize she didn’t really care—neither about the mansion nor how it made her look.

Your lips form a tight line when you realize her comment was directed at her husband, who retorts with a low, irritated chirp. It seems this wasn’t much of a homey residence after all. Sighing, you place your drink onto the tray of a passing imp, heading over to the stained glass, each step revealing more of the prince hiding behind a column.

There wasn’t a memory with him that you could recall as you took out a handkerchief, wiping the window clean. You knew he attended all parties, cursed with the duty of family, but you never interacted with him. As you bent down, picking up the shards piece by piece, you considered whether you should approach him.

There were plenty of reasons why you didn’t want to or shouldn’t, like the vibe he was giving off as he shamelessly gulping down a bottle of absinthe. But it was your duty to greet all hosts, and even though he wasn’t mingling like his wife, he still counted. It was better to get it over with.

Hurriedly, you call over a wait staff, dropping the shards on their tray with a fleeting explanation, “Have that area swept thoroughly,” while gesturing towards it before brushing past them towards the prince. Stolas grew in size as the distance closed, standing a few feet taller than you. It would be only slightly intimidating if not for him choking on his drink after you suddenly appeared before him.

Sending him an apologetic smile, you bow, “Evening, Your Highness. Hope I didn’t frighten you.”

He managed to squeeze out, “I’m fine,” in the middle of coughing before fixing his posture and smoothing down his vest, handing the bottle to a imp beside him. “It’s quite alright. I just wasn’t expecting company…” he trails off, eyes flickering up and down, clearly confused as to who you are or why you were talking to him of all people in the room.

“I’m glad. I would hate to be the reason the prince falls ill. That would not bode well for my family,” you admit, half-jokingly, before addressing the second half of his statement. “You’re in a room full of like-minded people; surely someone besides me has come to talk with you.”

Right? Because that makes sense. He is the prince.

He blinks owlishly at you before stuttering, “Well—” He clears his throat, placing a hand on his abdomen before continuing, feigning nonchalance, “Why, of course. It’s only appropriate in this setting. I presume that’s your current agenda?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully, finally glancing up and pausing. A giant banner hangs loosely above his head that reads “NOT DIVORCED!” in bold lettering. Usually the observant type, how in the world did you miss this? “However, if I’m honest, that’s part of the reason,” you add, curiously. You didn't realize it was that kind of party. Maybe you should start paying more attention to the invitations.

“Oh?” Stolas tilts his head slightly, eyes widening. He leans in closer, his voice a mix of confusion and genuine interest, “And what, pray tell, is the other half of the reason?”

You open your mouth, ready to speak what’s on your mind. You've never been one to hide how you feel—superior or not—otherwise, it would consume you. But then you close it, pursing your lips in thought. Perhaps that would be too rude, too personal off the jump, too far outside your jurisdiction to ask him about his marriage at his “not divorced” party, which his wicked wife obviously threw just to spite him.

Damn, you wish more than anything that you could have continued the party without ever seeing that sign or witnessing Stella’s public display. You didn’t care for gossip, but you were a curious individual by nature. He’s standing there, waiting on you to say something—anything, or you’ll risk looking like a fool.

“Do you want to get out of here?” you blurt out after a pregnant pause, cursing yourself inwardly for what you were getting yourself into. Anything would be better than what had came out of your lips.

His body recoils in apparent disgust at what you dare ask him, a prince. You can’t say you blame him; you’d be creeped out if a random nobody asked that too. “Wait, what?” he replies, dumbfounded at your boldness. Was this a joke? He scans around the room, as if searching for something but finds nothing before returning his gaze to you, a faint blush dusting his face. “Could you repeat that?”

You've made your bed, might as well lie in it. Besides, you never wanted to be at this party in the first place, and it's becoming painfully dull. Ideally, you'd slip away alone after greeting him—but this could work out—satisfying your curiosity before the night is over, it could potentially end badly but who knows when you'll cross paths again. Probably at another miserable gathering, actually.

"Ditch the party with me?" You casually rephrase, keeping your head high, silently hoping you don't come off as too much of an idiot. “Or not. Either way, I’m bored stiff here, and it doesn’t look like you’re having a blast either.”

Stolas blinks a few times, processing your proposition. “You’re suggesting leaving the party together?” he repeats, confirming what you’ve just asked, though you’d already clarified it. His lips curl into a hesitant smile, betraying a hint of nervousness at the unexpected proposal.

“And where would we go?” There’s a playful gleam in his eyes, signaling his curiosity and a willingness to entertain the idea of breaking away from the formalities of the event.

You hum in thought, not having planned that far ahead, before shrugging and tilting your head with a genuine smile. "What about the garden? There seem to be a lot of plants around the palace. Someone must really care for them. I bet it’s beautiful," you suggest, recalling the impressive variety of plants, including the carnivorous ones, on the way to the ballroom.

His feathers ruffle as he lets out a low, excited squeal, his smile growing more confident as he leans down to your height. "You have an interest in plants?" he asks, almost unable to believe it, his hands clasped together. Everyone he's ever come across has called his interests boring. He never had a friend who was.

You nod, your posture relaxing after seeing his genuine reaction. "It's a bonding activity between my mother and me that started in childhood. I take it by your reaction that you handle their care?" Perhaps he could be good company after all.

His comical blush returns when he remembers that your suggestion came with a compliment. “Yes, I do. I’m surprised you noticed. Not everyone cares for botany…” He gestures toward the exit, silently saying ‘after you’ before adding, “I would be delighted to accompany you to the garden. I can show you the new species of carnivorous plant I acquired...if you’d like?”

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, you nod and reply, “I’d love that.” You head toward the door, with Stolas quickly falling into step beside you, his hands interlocking behind his back. There’s a respectable distance between you both, ensuring you don’t draw unnecessary attention as you discreetly leave together.

Stolas takes the lead after exiting the ballroom, and a comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the sound of your footsteps. You notice how he occasionally glances at you, curiosity and excitement in his eyes, as the distance between you subtly closes. You don't voice your observation, letting him assume he's being sneaky when he's not.

"You know," he begins softly, eyes now trained forward, "I never caught your name." A stifled snicker escapes you, causing him to snap his eyes towards you, filled with confusion and a tad bit of worry. "Did I say something amusing?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Shaking your head, you respond, "No, it's just... It's a silly thought to think that you might know who I am." you tease.

A flustered noise escapes him, his shoulders stiffening as his mouth drops open and then snaps shut. He stops abruptly, turning his whole body toward you as he stutters, “That’s not... well, the reason...” He struggles to find his words before speaking honestly, “I don’t have a real reason, but if I had met you before, I wouldn’t forget you.” As if he could, you were the first creature in a long while to spark his interest so effortlessly.

Sighing softly, you gesture for him to continue walking. "Actually, it's refreshing not to be noticed immediately upon entering a room," you admit with a slight smile.

Finally reaching the garden, he opens the door and holds it for you, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I understand how you might feel,” he sympathizes softly, closing the door behind him as he follows you inside. He watches with pride as your eyes widen in awe at the lush, vibrant space filled with an array of plants.

Taking your hand lightly, he guides you to a particular section of the garden where an unusual, striking plant catches your eye. “This is it,” he says, reluctantly letting go of your hand. “My newest addition. Isn’t it fascinating?”

You glance between him and the plant, chuckling in disbelief. "You’re kidding, right?" Your eyebrows shoot up at his confused expression. "Satan, I don’t know what I was expecting, but this—this wasn’t it. How in hell did you get an earth plant to thrive?"

He hums, glancing at the plant lovingly. "A bit of nurturing, a touch of magic, and voilà—a thriving earth plant."

"That simple, huh?" you ask, stepping up to touch the plant. It's soft under your touch and bends with ease—it's real. He wasn’t joking, but then again, why would he with all these other live plants around? It’s just a little hard to believe, is all. “Simple but significant.” you add, remember an affirmation your mother used to say.

Smiling, you let go of the leaf, your eyes following a path that leads deeper into the garden. You start walking, momentarily forgetting your original agenda: why throw a 'not divorce party'? Why not a normal party like normal couples do? But then again, was anything ever normal when you’re raised in the royal family?

Chances are they were arranged before they could even walk. Everyone who grew up in the scene knew that love wasn’t always part of those kinds of marriages. But you thought that wasn’t the case with those two. They hid it so well.

You become so engrossed in the scenery that you jump slightly when Stolas starts to speak, forgetting that you are in his home and not a museum. “Earlier… you said greeting me was only part of your agenda.” He raises his arms in a gesture of harmlessness noticing your jitteriness before continuing, “I’m purely curious… inviting me to escape with you wasn’t the other half, was it?”

"You’re more observant than I gave you credit for," you tease lightly. "You’re right. I still think it’s a touchy subject for you, but I can’t help myself. It’s like an itch in my brain that needs to be satisfied."

“There’s a lot you’d come to find out about me. I’m quite attentive toward things or people who interest me. Plants, my darling Octavia…” Stolas trails off, leaving his lost words hanging tensely in the air, but his gentle eyes on you have you forcing your brain to stop misinterpreting him. He shakes his head, as if to dismiss his own thoughts, "You can ask, as long as I get to ask you one in return. A fair exchange, yes?"

“Fair enough,” you agree, still hesitant and unsure of how he would take it but blurting out your question anyway. “It’s not hard to see that there’s some tension between you and your wife… almost painfully obvious.” You sigh, recalling the earlier events. “So my question is, why are you together, throwing a ‘not divorce’ party when it so clearly should be the opposite?”

There’s a long, pregnant pause between you two. Stolas stares at you, blinking as he processes your question, truly not expecting that to be what was on your mind. You were right—it was a rather personal question, one that really wasn’t any of your business. The nerve of you to be so crass as to ask him that of all questions, and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to dismiss you.

Instead, he thought of all the reasons why he should answer—someone cares, someone’s listening… the list goes on and he checks them all off. The results are in and it’s still unclear if he should, even though his heart wants him to. Eventually, he expresses himself candidly, laying himself bare for a stranger who unexpectedly stepped inside his world.

Stolas sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair as he looks down at the ground. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, grappling with the complexity of his situation.

"It's... complicated. Stella and I, we've grown apart, to say the least. Our marriage was never really based on love or mutual respect, but more on the idea of strengthening our family's influence and securing alliances."

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes haunted by a deep sadness.

"But to leave her... it's not that simple. Divorce is rare and scandalous in Goetia. It would be a massive blow to my reputation, and I'm not sure I'm ready to face that kind of backlash just yet."

He shrugs, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as exhaustion settles on his face. The facade he’s been building crumbles in the wake of vulnerability. Now you feel slightly guilty for asking, but you know you had to—not because you were nosy anymore, but partly because he needs to know that there is an alternate ending, one where he could be happy. That it was possible, you were proof.

“I understand the expectations of royals as much as you do. However, I refused to give up that part of my life to my duties. I saw how taxing it could be from the outside looking in. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn’t. I couldn’t leave that up to chance, and I believe you shouldn’t have to either. So what if the royal family judges you? They’re going to do that regardless. If they are, why not live for yourself? You don’t have much to gain from the marriage anymore. Your daughter’s nearing adulthood, right?”

Stolas numbly nods, hanging onto every word. “Then set yourself free before you drive yourself mad trying to keep up with appearances.”

Stolas is at a loss for words. No one has ever cared enough about him to offer such kind words of support. Not his father, not his wife, not even those with whom he sought intimacy. Yet here you are, a stranger, offering him hope. He feels himself choking up with emotion, but he expertly covers it with a cough and a polite smile behind his hand.

However, you can see just how much your words have affected him when you look into his glossed-over eyes. It's like looking at freshly polished rubies. You fear if you confess that the tears he hasn’t shed will flow. Heavens when did you become so soft…

His hand moves from his lips to rest over his heart, which beats so aggressively against his ribcage that he might be concerned if he weren't immortal. You are dangerous for his health, he thinks, when you tilt your head cutely, causing his heart to flutter momentarily before finding its appropriate rhythm again. His throat tightens as he tries to swallow with a dry mouth.

“That might be the kindest and most genuine advice anyone has given me… thank you,” he mutters, afraid to speak louder than a whisper for this conversation. Stolas's face grows hot as he confesses his next words, a hint of longing in his voice, “I wish I had stood up for myself then. Maybe things would have been different…”

“It’s never too late to do what’s right by you.” you reply without a beat, nodding in all seriousness.

“You’re right!” Stolas steps closer to you, moving his hand closer to yours. “It’s time to live for myself. I think I deserve that much. You’ve given me much to think about.” His hand hesitantly brushes against yours. “But I do believe it’s my turn for a question.”

You perk a brow at his change in tone, noticing it drop an octave but it doesn’t match the coy smile he sends you. “I said it before: it’s only fair after the little discomfort I caused you,” you remind him, side-eyeing him, standing rigid and unsure of the sudden change in atmosphere.

He chuckles softly, finally taking your hand in his, “The only discomfort I felt was at that stuffy party, which was soothed by your presence,” he replies, before dipping down to place a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “Can we do this again? Going out, I mean.” Rising back up but not letting go of your hand, he continues, “I enjoy your company, and your honesty is a breath of fresh air compared to everyone sugar-coating. You’re the first person I’ve met who shares my interests too. It would be a shame, on my part, to leave it at this.”

Your purse your lips, brows furrowed. Since attending this party, nothing has gone right. Instead of leaving alone, you ended up escaping with the prince, and now he wants to see you again. It wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for the subtle hints he been giving since you’ve met. Let’s not forget that he is still married.

Despite how shitty a marriage it may be, he was taken. Not that it was your intention to steal him away in the first place. This could only end badly if people were to take your sudden friendship the wrong way. Now getting out of an arranged marriage with someone else was one thing, but having a situationship with the prince of Hell was another.

How were you going to spin this? You avert your eyes from his, filled with anticipation and hope, ignoring the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, your highness.”

Stolas coaxingly coos gently, drawing your attention to your hands, which he interlocks. "Oh, please? We could have it at your place this time if it'll make you more comfortable."

"Oh fuck me," you groan, closing your eyes and rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand, missing the way Stolas bites his lip as a shiver slithers through his body. You reluctantly agree, opening your eyes, "Alright... You have to give me time to get everything up to par for a prince."

"Not need! For company like yours, I’m fine anywhere."

rules, masterlist

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webslinger-holland · 9 months ago

Text

Best Pilot in the Galaxy | Tech from The Bad Batch

Summary: During a mission, Tech has a hard time allowing his ship to be driven by someone else.

Warning: slight angst and argument

Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader Pilot

Type: Oneshot

The Marauder was sitting on a world in the Outer Rim called Cassander. It was a lush, green planet with a few major bodies of water. However, most notably, the planet was growing in population and had recently become Ord Mantell's most competitive trading rival.

The ship was nearly empty, except for a singular pilot sitting in the cockpit. She was not the rightful owner of the ship, but had been assigned this mission with the group of rouge clones that did own the ship. The squad was located somewhere in the capital city nearby, attempting to steal the package in which they had come for. The pilot waited patiently for the pickup call.

Now, the pilot had been waiting for nearly two hours for the call to come through the comms. She did everything she could think of to pass the time, which included rummaging through the squad's belongings. Though she didn't find anything of value.

The gonk droid made a noise as he waddled into the cockpit. The pilot went through the ship's log, seeing all the planets the squad had recently visited. Their last stop happened to be Ord Mantell where they were assigned this mission in particular.

"Y/n! Come in," Hunter's voice sounded desperate over the comms. She quickly jolted forward in her seat, pressing the button to relay a message back.

"Read you loud and clear," Y/n responded. She began clicking buttons on the control panel, preparing the ship for liftoff.

"We need a pick up. We've been compromised," Hunter explained. He was panting on the other end of the line, which probably meant they were running.

"What part of stealth mission is so hard to understand?"

"Just hurry. We don't have a lot of time. They're sending air support," Hunter warned her.

"Oh great," Y/n scoffed sarcastically.

"I'm sending you our coordinates," Tech interjected over the communications.

As the Marauder departed off the ground, the landing gear retracted back into the ship. The wings moved downwards as the ship was angled towards the sky. The engine roared to life; the ship began flying towards the rendezvous location.

The workers from the trading post were shooting their blasters at the criminals running away from them. They tried to keep up with them, firing relentlessly as they got away with some of their own goods.

It was Wrecker, Hunter, and Tech who were carrying the heavy cargo in the form of a shipping container. Normally, it would take four guys to carry the cargo, but since Wrecker was so strong, he was able to carry the left side without help. Behind them, Echo and Omega fired shots back at the workers. They covered them as the rest ran as fast as they could.

"Whatever is in here, it better be worth it." Wrecker grunted, dodging the blaster fire.

"As long as we get paid," Hunter responded.

The small squad continued running through the vast forest, maneuvering around trees in hopes of using its coverage to their advantage. They came into a clearing with the workers getting closer each second. All of the sudden, a cliff came into their view which caused them to halt in their place.

"Where's our ride?" Echo asked desperately. He peered around his shoulder with his gun still raised.

"There!" Omega pointed into the sky.

The Marauder rounded the corner of the mountain, coming into their line of view. It flew over to the edge of the cliff to meet them. The ramp lowered to hover right by the cliff, allowing the squad to climb aboard the vessel.

The blaster fire was beginning to hit the sides of the ship. The squad fired back, striking a few of the workers down. Once everyone was aboard, Hunter slammed the button on the side of the wall so the ramp was lifted.

"That's everyone," Hunter shouted. "Get us out of here!"

"Roger that," Y/n said.

Pulling a lever, the thrusters sent a powerful volt back which propelled the ship forward rapidly. By steering the ship, Y/n directed the ship back into the mountain range. She could hear the air support coming up behind them. She took a sharp turn to deter them.

The sharp turn caused each member of the squad to loose their footing and grab something nearby to steady themselves. Carefully, Tech quickly made his way into the cockpit. He leaned over the back of the pilot's seat, resting his hand on the panel for support. He hadn't taken the time to remove his helmet.

"That is sufficient," Tech announced to the pilot. "I'll take it from here."

"A little busy here," Y/n stated instead. She turned the wheel to the left, taking another sharp turn which made everything in the ship turn that way. And Tech ended up leaning a little into her.

"Wrecker," Tech ordered. He moved to sit in the co-pilot seat which was where Echo usually sat. "Get to the tail gun."

There were at least six smaller ships following them at this point, firing as many rounds as possible. The Marauder swayed to the left and right, expertly dodging each blast aimed at them. In the tail gun, Wrecker got into position before firing back at the ships. He managed to hit one of them, but it wasn't enough to bring the ship down.

Back in the cockpit, Tech began pressing a few buttons on the control panel. The pilot glared at him through the corner of her eye, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. She maintained her grip on the sides of the wheel.

"Transitioning controls back to co-pilot," Tech announced. He went to press the final red button, but she swatted his hand away. "What are you doing?" Tech demanded an explanation.

"I know how to fly," Y/n said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were still facing forward as she focused on the task at hand.

"I never said you didn't," Tech informed her. "I am simply stating that I am ready to transition controls back to me as I am more capable of flying this vessel than you. It is my ship after all," Tech said as a matter of factly.

Hunter rolled his eyes in the background. He knew it was pointless to argue over the comment.

"You weren't hired to be the pilot for this mission," Y/n argued back. "I can get us out of this."

With that comment, one of the blaster fires struck the right wing which caused it to catch on fire. The two of them peered out the window, spotting the trail of black smoke falling behind the hit.

"You were saying?" Tech replied. He gestured to the damage done to his ship. She rolled her eyes at him.

A few more ships began trailing behind them. They began firing more shots towards them. There was no way one ship could take the whole fleet down.

"Uh guys," Wrecker announced from the tail gun. "We've got more incoming."

Ignoring the comment, Tech quickly transitioned controls back to his wheel before the other pilot could protest. He gripped the wheel harshly, moving the wheel to take a sharp left hand turn. The ship was forced to swerve around the side of the mountain; a few of the enemy ships crashed into the sides as a result. She switched controls back to her wheel, taking a right hand turn. The ship weaved around another mountainside.

Behind the googles of his helmet, Tech squinted his eyes in slight irritation. He changed controls once again. He quickly grabbed onto the lever, pulling it backwards so the thrusters gave another jolt of energy. Now they were flying a little faster.

Nevertheless, another blaster hit managed to strike the back of the ship. The Marauder jolted forward from the force of the blast. The two pilots lurched forward in their seats. The others continued to hold onto things for support.

"You aren't doing much better," Y/n replied snakily. She reached forward to press the button once more. She turned the wheel as far as she could, which caused the ship to completely turn around. She pulled the lever for the extra push.

"What are you doing?" Tech exclaimed. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

Down in the tail gun, Wrecker began firing at the ships flying directly in front of them. With his expertise, he struck down three ships. Those ships exploded into a million pieces, fierce flames erupting around them. The Marauder flew through the fire without taking damage.

The enemy ships needed to turn around before continuing their chase. They quickly swerved their ships. Once the ships were facing the right way, the thrusters kicked in for that extra power. And the enemy continued their pursuit.

"I will only say this one more time," Tech's modulated voice spoke through his helmet. He turned to face her in his seat. His eyes looked angry behind his googles. "Relinquish controls now."

"Over my dead body," Y/n challenged him. She didn't take her eyes off him.

In the background, Hunter and Echo seemed to raise their eyebrows at the two pilots. They looked between them, half expecting one of them to cave in and go back to flying the ship. But neither of them faltered.

"Uh guys," Omega interrupted them.

Both of them directed their line of attention back towards flying the ship. With a quick maneuver, they managed to dodge the mountain they were heading straight for at the last second. A few more ships crashed into it.

"You're both going to get us all killed if you don't figure something out," Hunter shouted behind them.

Reaching forward, Y/n went to press a few more buttons, but Tech swatted her hand away this time. He went ahead and pressed his own buttons. He was punching in the coordinates for their destination.

"You are not the best pilot in the galaxy," Y/n claimed. She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. He kept putting in the coordinates.

"Hardly a measurable cause," Tech said with a roll of his eyes in annoyance.

"You haven't made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs," Y/n added. It was like she was insisting that it could be measurable.

"I have a theory that it can be done in twelve," Tech stated as a matter of factly.

"I highly doubt that," Y/n chuckled at the comment.

Suddenly, Y/n pressed the wheel forward with all of her might. The ship began to descend down at a rapid pace, shifting into a nose dive position. The ground was growing closer and closer with each second. The enemy ships following right behind them, firing non-stop.

Both Hunter and Echo were holding onto panels behind them. The force of falling forwards was pushing them back. They were unable to move.

"You have to pull up--" Tech ordered in a slight panic.

"Oh for the last time," Y/n shouted over him. "I know what I'm doing!"

At the last possible second, the wonderfully skilled pilot pulled the wheel into her chest so that the ship was pulled up. It was so close to touching the ground, but it missed it by a hair. The last two ships crashed into the ground, exploding suddenly and sending debris flying.

Now that the threat of the chase was finally over, Y/n could relax in her seat a little. The rest of the squad was completely silent, realizing that she had managed to get them out of the situation with little damage in the end. Beside her, Tech kept his eye on her since he was still angry with her.

The Marauder started to climb in altitude, shifting towards the edge of the planet's atmosphere. It finally passed through the atmosphere, flying through space. The stars throughout the galaxy sparkled as the planet grew small and smaller. It was now all behind them.

"Are the coordinates to Ord Mantell in?" Y/n wondered. Her voice was so much calmer now. Her shoulders slumped at her sides. But she refused to make eye contact.

"Yes. They are in," Tech informed her softly. His eyes softened behind his helmet. He studied her carefully, trying to figure out what she was thinking in that brain of hers. He quickly shook it off, directing his attention back towards the void of space in front of them.

Without thinking, Tech and Y/n went to reach for the lever to send them into hyperspace. Their hands grazed each other's with neither of them being any closer to the lever than the other. They both awkwardly pulled their hands away upon contact.

"I'm sorry," Y/n muttered under her breath.

He wasn't sure if she was apologizing for the situation they just came out of or the situation that just occurred with the lever. Nevertheless, she reached for the lever once again, pulling it back to send the ship into hyperspace.

Back at Ord Mantell, the Bad Batch went back to Cid's Parlor. They stood on the other side of her desk, having just delivered the cargo that she paid them to retrieve. She peered into the package, checking to make sure everything was there.

Behind the group, Y/n stood there in total silence. Her eyes were trained on the floor as she shifted in her place awkwardly. She waited for their boss to address them.

Beside her, Tech stood about an arm's length away. He glanced at her through the corner of his eye, taking note of her odd demeanor. He raised his finger and opened his mouth to say something to her, but he was rudely cut off.

"Looks like everything is here," Cid announced. She closed the cargo container. She began rummaging through her drawers, collecting the correct amount of credits to pay both parties.

Now Y/n went to take a few steps forward and made her way through the members of the squad. She stood in front of the desk. Her boss went ahead and placed a handful of credits in her hand.

"That is your cut," Cid told her. She handed the rest of the credits to Hunter. "And here is your cut. I'll call you when I have another job," Cid claimed.

There was a brief moment of silence in the room. Cid went to cross her arms over her chest. She narrowed her eyes at the company of six standing in front of her.

"You guys work well together," Cid said honestly. "You should work together more often."

In response, Y/n breathed a scoff under her breath. The boys turned their heads to look at her, slightly surprised at her reaction. She shook her head in denial.

"Yeah. Like that's ever going to happen," Y/n rolled her eyes at the notion.

Without hesitation, she spun around on the heels of her feet in order to head towards the door. She purposely bumped into Tech's shoulder a little too harshly. She left the room with the door closing behind her.

"What's wrong with her?" Cid scoffed. She looked at the rest of the squad for some form of explanation, but none of them said anything. "Fine! Be all quiet and mysterious. See if I care," Cid said.

By the time the Bad Batch left Cid's office, Y/n was nowhere to be found in the bar. They went to sit down at the bar so they could order drinks to celebrate another successful mission. They sat in complete silence, thinking about what transpired during the mission.

"Where do you think she's gone?" Echo wondered.

Though they never pulled missions together, the Bad Batch knew that the pilot worked for Cid and was stationed at Ord Mantell. They had seen her quite often over the past few months. They had grown familiar of her. And now they worried about her.

"The odds are that she returned to her flat," Tech explained. He pushed the bridge of his googles up to be more secure on his face. He kept his focus on his data pad.

"Probably," Hunter shrugged his shoulders. "But it's late. Which means it's dark out."

"Astute observation," Tech claimed sarcastically. He gave a single nod, but didn't take his eyes off his data pad.

"And she's walking back to her flat...at the edge of town...late at night," Hunter further explained.

"She will be fine," Tech stated. He knew where he was going with this. "She is always saying how she can take care of herself and doesn't need our help. Why would that change now?"

The other members remained silent. They turned their heads to take quick glances at one another. With a silent agreement, Hunter rose to his feet and went to stand by Tech. He roughly grabbed his shoulders and hoisted him out of his seat, much to his dismay.

"Go find her. Make sure she gets home safe. And apologize to her," Hunter ordered.

"I do not see why I have to be the one to apologize when I did noth--" Tech began. He was quickly cut off.

"Tech," Hunter said in a warning tone of voice. He crossed his arms over his chest, showing that he meant business.

"Fine," Tech said in defeat. "I will apologize."

With some hesitation, Tech grabbed his helmet and fitted it over his head. He began making his way towards the door of the parlor, leaving the rest of his crew behind. He walked through the deserted streets of Ord Mantell, passing a few shady people in the process.

Now Tech knew that she lived near the edge of town because she had once mentioned it during a conversation. Besides that, Tech really didn't know where to look and simply hoped he'd bump into her before she got home so he'd know she was safe. He passed by a few alleys, peeking through each one briefly.

The Marauder was parked in a hanger bay only a few blocks away from the parlor. Just as Tech passed by the hanger, he heard a familiar voice coming from his very own ship. He backtracked by taking two steps backwards. He peered into the hangar bay to glance at his ship.

Stepping into the bay, Tech tilted his head to the side in slight curiosity. The right wing of the ship began to move downwards until it lay completely horizontal. A few seconds later, Y/n began descending down the ramp with a toolbox in hand. She walked over to the wing of the ship.

Upon seeing her, Tech sharply inhaled. He felt the back of his throat close up and his shoulders tensed at his sides. He hesitantly took a few steps forward, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

Reaching upwards, Y/n placed the single toolbox onto the flat surface of the ship's wing. She proceeded to grab onto the wing before hoisting herself up onto it. She climbed to the center of the wing to assess the damage inflicted in the crossfire.

At this point, Y/n had no idea that he was also in the hanger bay with her. She opened the toolbox, rummaging through to find the right tool. The damage done to the right wing was a massive gaping hole with burnt edges from the fire. It would eventually need a panel welded to cover it up again. But for now, she focused on the internal repairs.

Thankfully, from the assessment, nothing major had been hit. A few bolts had gotten loose and a few parts needed to be replaced. She focused on that for now.

After grabbing a socket spanner, Y/n leaned down to place her arm into the gaping hole of the wing. It went so far down that her chest was practically pressed against the surface of the wing. She used the spanner to tighten some bolts.

"What...are you doing?" Tech decided to finally announce his presence. He stepped forward until he stood in the light coming from the opening of the hanger bay.

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Y/n only rolled her eyes to herself. She continued her work as she preferred to focus on repairs rather than on him. She grunted softly, making sure that first bolt was nice and tight.

"What do you want Tech?" Y/n wondered. She pulled her arm out of the hole to assess her work. She didn't even bother to glance towards him, knowing he would have sent her a look of disapproval for working on his ship.

Slowly, Tech began to lower his gaze to the floor. He contemplated his next words carefully, fighting the urge to lash out at her for meddling with his ship. He liked things to be a certain way and would have much preferred if he did the actual repairs. Now Tech didn't want to fight with her so he changed his approach.

"I analyzed that you left the parlor on your own and thought it would be better if I accompany you back home," Tech explained. She huffed at his answer.

"I've told you before," Y/n began. "I can--"

"Take care of yourself," Tech finished. He adjusted the lenses of his goggles though he still wore his helmet. He noticed how she fell silent. "Yes, I've gathered that much."

"Why are you really out here?" Y/n wondered. She went to lean down again in order to tighten more bolts.

"I...could ask you the same," Tech replied slowly. He honestly felt like this was the first civil conversation they had ever had.

"I wanted to make some repairs on your precious ship since it was apparently my fault," Y/n claimed. Her tone sounding a little harsher now. She tightened two more bolts in the process.

"That is not what I meant," Tech interjected. He took a step forward. He gazed up at her figure perched on the wing, attempting to reason with her. "I was...caught up in the moment. Shouldn't have said those things," Tech confessed quietly.

"Well, don't worry. As soon as I finish up these repairs, I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again," Y/n responded.

For some reason, Tech couldn't combat a response to her comment. He simply nodded his head understandingly. He lowered his gaze to stare down at the ground and allowed her to finish her repairs in silence. He thought for some time how he could fix this relationship since it wasn't his strong suit. Fixing things was more his style.

"Blast," Y/n's voice pulled him out of his train of thought. He glanced up at her.

The sleeve of her blue flight suit had gotten in the way of her repairs. She had rolled her sleeves up to keep the material out of her way, but the sleeves continued to fall back down to her wrists every time she placed her arm in the hole. She pulled back and rose to her feet.

Without hesitation, Y/n's hands flew to the top button of her flight suit. She began to undue the buttons in which she revealed the black tank top underneath. All the while, Tech studied her carefully as her nimble fingers worked steadily. His pupils dilated behind those goggles of his.

Upon reaching her waistline, Y/n had stopped unbuttoning and shrugged the suit off her shoulders. She tied the sleeves around her waist. She dropped to her knees to continue working without the distraction of her clothes getting in the way.

Slowly, Tech raised his hand to the side of his head and clicked the bottom to save the recording to the drive. He records everything and he was certainly glad he recorded that. He wanted to revisit the recording later for his own 'research' purposes.

"There," Y/n sighed. She sat back on her knees, wiping her dirty hands on the pants of her flight suit. "Repairs are finished."

Naturally, Y/n began to pack away the tools she used and placed them back into the box. She closed the lid of the toolbox, tossing it over the edge of the wing for it to land on the ground with a thump. She then proceeded to jump down off the wing of the ship, landing a little hard so her knees buckled slightly.

Just like she promised, Y/n had every intention of leaving the hanger bay so that they'd never have to see her again. She went to walk away, but just as she passed beside him, Tech reached out and grabbed her forearm. She halted in her steps.

Neither of them could look at each other. She felt his gloved fingers digging into her bare skin, but not hard enough that it would leave marks. She slowly turned to look at him, but he kept his head down.

"I...really came here to apologize," Tech confessed. When Tech lifted his gaze to meet her face, he saw how her eyebrows went up in slight surprise. It definitely caught her off guard.

"I see," Y/n thought about his words carefully. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other. "So all those things you said back on Cassander where just...what?"

He closed his eyes, seriously regretting everything he said. "Like I said earlier, in the moment, I was incredibly frustrated with you."

"Because I wouldn't give up the controls?" Y/n said flatly.

"No, because I recognize that my levels of dopamine are elevated when I'm around you and I distance myself from you in order to prevent that from happening,” Tech confessed before he could even stop himself.

But now, hearing what he just said, Tech quickly averted his gaze away from her. He was thankful to be wearing his helmet so she wouldn't see how bright his cheeks had gotten. He released his grip on her arm, letting it fall back down to his side.

For once, Y/n actually understood what he said. Her eyebrows rose in surprise at this sudden confession. She definitely did not expect him to blurt out his emotions that night, especially after their fight on the ship. She knew better than to tease him at a time like this.

"I-I don't understand why," Tech said rather sadly. That was the first time that he'd spoken those words out loud.

What broke her heart was the tone of defeat laced with his words. It told her that he'd been wrestling with these foreign emotions and thoughts for some time. He didn't know how to react around her and so he acted with defense. He pushed those feeling away, fighting against it.

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her hands to the sides of his helmet. She went to remove his helmet slowly, revealing his face to her for the first time today. She tossed the helmet to the side without a care in the world, but he still refused to meet her gaze.

"You are probably repulsed by me," Tech began. "From the way I treated you and the words I said to--"

But Tech wasn't able to finish that sentence. Because Y/n had taken his face in her hands and leaned upwards to press her lips against his own. He froze in his place.

His eyes were wide open in surprise. His hands were elevated on either side of him because he didn't know what to do with them. He could feel the softness of her lips still against his own. Before Tech had the chance to process what was happening, Y/n pulled away from him.

The two of them were standing so close together; the chests being pressed against one another's. Their breath mingled as their noses bumped together once or twice. He glanced down at her lips because he wanted nothing more than to taste them once more.

His hands found their way down to her hips with one hand sneaking around her lower back. He pressed that hand into her back which brought her body even closer to his. She released a small gasp.

"Apology accepted," Y/n whispered to him. She played with the edge of the plastoid armor on his chest. "And I'm sorry for the way I acted towards you."

"Why cyare?" Tech wondered. He raised his hand to the side of her face, tucking a single strand of hair behind her ear. He held his hand against her cheek.

"I should have given up the controls. You are the better pilot and it is your ship," Y/n explained with a shake of the head.

"I am not the better pilot," Tech stated firmly.

There was a moment of silence between them. "I can't make split second decisions and calculations like you do when you're flying."

"Well, I've never done the Kessel Run." Tech argued back playfully. He smiled down at her. "At least, not in twelve parsecs."

"Fourteen," Y/n corrected him. "I did it in fourteen."

"Fine. Fourteen," Tech caved in.

Slowly, Tech tilted his head to the side and began to lean down with every intention of kissing her again. But the two of them were interrupted when someone cleared their throat over by the entrance of the hanger bay. The two of them quickly pulled apart and turned to face whoever had interrupted them.

The other members of the Bad Batch stood looking at them near the entrance of the hanger. It was initially Hunter who had cleared his throat to garner their attention; he stood with his arms folded across his chest just as a disapproving father would. Beside him, Wrecker and Omega were practically squealing with each other. They couldn't contain their excitement. And Echo averted his gaze in an awkward manner.

"Care to explain yourselves?" Hunter hinted. He glanced between the two of them with a playful smirk on his face.

"I think they finally confessed that they like each other," Wrecker interrupted. His words coming out louder than anticipated. He nudged Echo who stood beside him.

"You think?" Echo glanced at him.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Omega smiled at them.

Meanwhile, Tech quickly collected his helmet off the ground and placed it over his head once again. He hoped it would cover the blush creeping up his neck to his face. He knew he wouldn't hear the end of the taunting from his brothers anytime soon.

"Well boys. It looks like we got another member on our crew," Hunter said slowly. "Welcome to the Bad Batch."

#the bad batch #the clone wars #tech bad batch #tech x reader #tech x y/n #tech x you #star wars #the marauder ship #tech oneshot #tech fluff #tech angst #tech imagine #hunter #crosshair #omega #wrecker #echo #tech

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theclairvoyage · 4 months ago

Text

Mermaid Purse - Part 1 of 3

AO3 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Marine Biologist!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: Summertime in Clearwater, Florida means no school, which means instead of teaching Marine Biology at a local university, you're bartending at The Rusty Sawfish, a bar located on the marina of Clearwater Beach. The owner's friend, who happens to be a sexy, suarthy Texan contractor, moves to town to start over and help his friend with a project, stumbling across you in the process... and you thought summer in Florida couldn't get hotter.

Warnings for Part 1: Minors DNI! adult language, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, reader is female, reader is able-bodied, unspecified age gap, allusions to smut, kissing, groping, mentions of threesomes. Please lmk if I missed anything!

WC: 9k

If Florida was good at one thing besides starring in strange headlines, it was bringing the heat.

Summer had its bags packed and was ready to leave Clearwater Beach. Not soon enough, you thought, as the humid, subtropical heat of late July in Southern Florida drenched your skin in sticky sweat. The salty breeze from the Gulf of Mexico made it bearable, as did the marine life.

You had loved animals as long as you can remember. Growing up in the Midwest, you became acclimated to the four-legged ruminates and vast birds of the region. The closest thing you had to the ocean were stinky, dirt-sand beaches tucked away near state parks and curled highways. Oh, and the occasional zoo. Then grew your zeal for the ocean and the creatures that called it home.

That is, until you moved to Florida to study marine biology at the University of Florida, when that zeal exploded into full-on wonderment.

Some of your fondest memories of university were spending innumerable mornings out on the open sea, tagging sharks, rays, and skates for research. As you learned more about these gorgeous creatures, known in the scholarly world as the elasmobranchs, a feeling of protection grew.

And as always, the more you learned about animals, the more you learned about humans. Some species of sharks have been fished to near-extinction, and over the course of your four years in undergrad, you bore witness to and swore to change that.

Now, as a Professor of Marine Biology at a new college in Clearwater devoted exclusively to the study of marine life, you do your best to imprint that mindset in your students. Though in summertime, when the students are absent, you’re a full-time bartender at a local marina. The double income in the summer is cushy, and it’s a nice change from teaching—not to mention the people watching.

That’s where you’re headed now, at 3:00 PM on a Friday—The Rusty Sawfish. The name is what drew you in, obviously, but the ease and satisfaction of the job are what keep you. The owner, Gil—another marine pun-slash-name—loves having you around, even if it’s only in the summertime. He calls you during the school year to see how life is, and if you can pick up a random shift here and there. A former Air Force pilot from Chicago, Gil spent a good chunk of his midlife in Southern Florida and opened The Rusty Sawfish after retired life bored him.

You turn onto Clearwater Memorial Causeway, a long bridge that connects mainland Florida to Clearwater Beach Island, where the bar is located. You’ve not once grown tired of the view—beautiful, blue-green waters, white sand beaches, swaying palm trees, and endless sunshine. Sometimes, you’ll catch an occasional shark dorsal fin cruising along calmer waters or a bottlenose dolphin breaching at the surface.

The Rusty Sawfish lies in Clearwater Municipal Marina, surrounded by several restaurants, hotels, other bars, and tourist spots. Like many Southern Florida beach cities, the population is a revolving door. You don’t mind it, though it’s not the same close-knit community as your hometown in Nebraska.

You park on the street and stroll up to the bar, shooing some laughing gulls from the sidewalk. The tourists here love to feed them, and they feel comfortable in human spaces. You check your watch—two minutes to spare before you’re “late”, though Gil would never call you out. He’s just happy you’re there.

The bar is one of the few out here that has large, glass garage doors that can open and enclose the place, which gives it an advantage in case of bad weather. The inside is modern, unlike many marina bars that are filled with worn wooden floors and hut-like roofs. The natural lighting inside is beautiful, no thanks to the big windows flanking the front. The long u-shaped bar has enough comfortable space for 4-5 bartenders at once, which is sometimes doubled on busy summer days.

You step in and walk directly to the back office to drop your purse and clock in. Gil, perched in his old desk chair and staring at his ancient computer in the stuffy office, looks up from the screen, readers glasses threatening to slip from the edge of his nose. You chuckle.

“Afternoon, kiddo,” he greets you, smile crinkling his tan, leathery face.

“Afternoon, Gil. How’s it been today?”

“Same shit. Big group of fishermen stopped here earlier and are still here. May need to cut ‘em off soon if they haven’t started laying off the booze,” he groans, scribbling something on his legal pad. A pencil and paper guy, Gil would still be using an old-fashioned book balance if it weren’t for you. Though he understands that electronic bookkeeping is a lifesaver, he’s skeptical of computers—and terrible at using them.

“Sounds good. Just me for a while?” You ask, setting your things in one of the desk drawers and punching in on the time clock. You can’t remember who was at the bar when you walked in.

“Georgia is here, and we got 2 more coming in for the evening. Shaping up to be a great night,” he says, returning to stare dead-faced at the computer. Stifling a chuckle, you nod and exit the office.

Georgia, the lone bartender, is quite happy to see you as she wipes off the countertop of the bar. She’s a close friend of yours—you two met here at the bar several years ago and share a love for the ocean and its creatures. She’s a fresh college graduate and a few years your junior.

“Hey! So glad you’re here!” She squeaks, giving you a quick hug. She’s always been a touchy-feely girl, unlike you—though it doesn’t bother you.

“Rough lunch shift?” You tease, checking the ice bins and refrigerators for stock. She comes up close to your ear and lowers her voice.

“Those fucking old men have been ruthless. I made Gil take care of their last couple rounds because I can’t deal with the catcalling,” she hisses. Before you can scan the bar to eye the table, she stops you.

“Don’t,” she warns, “They had a field day when you walked in. I’m shocked you didn’t notice!”

Curbing the urge to roll your eyes, you nod. “Where are they seated? Maybe we should just give Gil the entire table,” you suggest.

“Underneath the big TV. They insisted on sitting there so they could play Keno and watch baseball,” she groans.

“Ah, yes. America’s favorite pastimes,” you quip. Georgia cackles.

“I’ll stock quick. Need any of the taps changed?” you ask her, grabbing a sticky note and pen by the POS system. Bar preference is to have each new shift stock everything once they clock in, which makes the rest of the day a breeze. Georgia nods.

“I know we’re running low on Miller—that damn table has been guzzling it all day,” she gripes. You giggle.

“I’ll be back shortly,” you say, heading to the back to grab bottles, cans, and change the Miller tap. It’s quick work for you and you’re back behind the counter in ten minutes.

“You ready for a break, Georg?” You ask her, preparing your side of the bar with clean glasses and towels.

“Not yet, maybe in about an hour once Gil is done trying to fill a single spreadsheet on Excel,” she jokes, making both of you laugh. “Plus, I am not leaving you out here alone with those weirdos.”

“Is that one coming up here now?” You tilt your head toward a pudgy, middle-aged, sunburnt man with a ratty Budweiser shirt and an awful sunglasses tan approaching the bar. He’s not stumbling, but the dumb grin on his face indicates that he’s feeling pretty good. Georgia confirms with an annoyed grunt.

“Lovely ladies, can I get a refill of Miller?” He chirps, leaning against the bar countertop and propping his glass up.

“Sure. I’m gonna give you a new glass, though,” Georgia responds, taking the dirty one and putting it in the black bin for used dishes. Budweiser Man groans.

“Aw, I was tryin’ to help you, sweetie,” he says, loud voice enough to curdle cold milk. He snaps his eyes to you.

“Wow. Two gorgeous girls running the bar? I think we’re in trouble,” he jokes, punctuating his sentence with a belly laugh. The urge to rip his ratty shirt off his potbelly and embarrass him floods your system momentarily. You settle for a fake smile instead.

“Sounds like you could use some water,” you joke, still fake smiling at him. Languidly, he tries to pout at you, but the buzz makes the shift in facial expressions difficult.

“Trust me, sir—a day out in this sun, you’ll want water with each drink,” you add, getting a glass ready for him.

“Then what’s the point of the beer, hunny?” he whines. Pet names drive you mad, especially from drunk old men. Patience diminishing by the second, you inhale deeply and fill the glass with water with the soda gun.

“Just making sure our patrons are safe, sir. Want to make sure you’re able to come back,” you respond, handing him a water as Georgia hands him a full pint of Miller.

“Sure thing, gorgeous,” he says, winking at you. Gross. The number of middle-aged men that have flirted with Georgia and you from the other side of the bar is probably pretty high, but most don’t give you the creeps. Georgia waits until he’s back at the table before sneering.

“Jesus, what a fucking creep,” she seethes. “I’d love to spit in his drink.”

“Easy, Georg. Don’t lose it over Porky Pig,” you quip, followed by a boisterous laugh from her.

The night is busy, but smooth. A weekend fishing tournament at the beach brings in tons of salty, sunburnt folks. Two other bartenders, Mike and Rand, come in around 7:00 PM to help with the dinner rush. They’re college kids that double as bouncers, which would’ve been helpful earlier. The annoying table of anglers left around 5:00 PM after Gil warned them that he’d give them the boot if they didn’t start drinking water. Porky and his crew left reluctantly, though not before coming up to give you and Georgia big tips and his phone number scrawled on a receipt.

Just in case you two like to tag team, it said. Both of you suppressed a wave of nausea after reading that.

The bar closes at 2:00 AM most nights during the summer, and from 10 PM-1:30 AM, the bar is hopping. Lots of anglers and tourists flock to the bar for the big TVs and fancy drinks, many of which you helped Gil curate. Around 11:00, you finally get a chance to take a break. Feeling sluggish, you walk over to the nearby convenience store to grab a coffee—caffeine doesn’t do much for you, but it’ll give you the boost you need to reach close.

A can of double shot espresso with cream calls your name, and you’re eager to crack it open. Forgetting to look before leaving the aisle, you bump into something tall and hard. The can falls and busts open on the floor, spraying coffee everywhere. Fuck.

“Oh shit,” you say, realizing that you slammed into some guy. “I’m so sorry!” Quickly, you crouch to pick up the fallen can from the cold linoleum floor.

The voice that responds wakes you up more than any espresso could. “S’alright, miss. You alright?”

You look up from the puddle of coffee and see a good-sized, handsome-as-fuck stranger standing above you. Middle-aged; curly, brown hair with flecks of gray; tan, muscled arms; big hands; warm, calming chocolate eyes. He looks so good that you’re frozen, unable to reply. He cocks an eyebrow at you before a small grin etches his face.

“Uh, yeah—sorry. I’m in a hurry, I didn’t mean to bump into you. I should’ve paid attention,” you respond, panicked. You scan the aisle for paper towels or something to clean up the mess.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll go get an employee to clean this up,” the man assures you, his silky, Southern voice placating you. You stand slowly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. A slow burn creeps up your neck and cheeks as his gaze sweeps over you.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and you look up at him just before he turns away. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. His irises are lined with specks of amber, like gold flakes. He almost looks worried.

A few moments later, he returns with an older lady dressed in a convenience store uniform, sporting a fluffy white towel. She smiles warmly at you. Hyper focused on not looking at the handsome stranger, you smile back at her and hold your hand out.

“I’ll clean it, I made the mess. I’d want the same if someone made a mess where I worked,” you offer. Both the employee and the man laugh. She tilts her head at you as if she’s trying to recognize you.

“You work at The Rusty Sawfish, don’t you?” She asks, watching you wipe up the puddle of coffee.

“Guilty. I’m on my break right now, though I seem to have wasted it being an idiot,” you say, and the two strangers chuckle again. The man’s deep, rumbly laugh makes your stomach flip.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetie. You deserve a break! Let me finish and take a can on the house,” she says. Her kindness mirrors that of most residents here—always helping others, stranger or not.

“Oh, I couldn’t. Unless you came to the bar for a free drink. Both of you,” you add, forcing yourself to make eye contact with the handsome stranger.

The way he stares at you makes you writhe. His gaze is captivating. His eyes circle around your eyes and your lips, unmoving—like you’re the only person in the room. Time pauses as you both exchange stares. He’s the first to speak.

“I’ll be there,” he says, half-smirking at you. You forgot about the convenience store employee until she speaks again.

“Late night here for me, but I’ll stop by this weekend! Have a great night, sweetie!”

“Thank you both,” you say, grabbing a new can and waving as you walk backward toward the exit. You don’t miss the way Sexy Stranger watches you leave, but you miss the way his eyes traverse your frame when you turn around.

Shivers blitz your spine as you walk back to work, thinking of how he looked at you. He was one of the most attractive men you’d seen here, which says a lot. Southern Florida beach cities are ripe with hot men from all walks of life. His accent was Southern, but not Floridian—more mainland, like Oklahoma or Texas. Before you can think on it further, you trot back into the bar.

Thankfully, there isn’t a huge rush of patrons. Georgia, Mike, and Rand are moving around behind the bar. You hurry and step behind the u-shaped area, smoothing your hair out of your face. Georgia approaches you, grinning.

“Sorry—I made a complete fool of myself at the convenience store and spilled coffee everywhere, even ran into this sexy guy in the aisle,” You lament, redoing your now sweaty and frizzy updo. She laughs.

“Did you get his number, though?” Georgia asks. “Also, how sexy are we talking?”

You widen your eyes and whistle lowly. “Georg—I’m telling you, he was sexy as fuck. Southern type—tall, dark, and handsome. He said he was coming here.”

She claps her hands together giddily. “Hell yes. Surprised he didn’t follow you right then and there,” she adds with a wink. You roll your eyes.

“Nah, but I’m sure he’ll do that to you when he sees you,” you hypothesize. Georgia is beautiful—typical tan, blonde Florida beach babe with a killer body. She’s bubbly, too, with a personality that matches the Clearwater sunshine, and she’s smart. She shushes you, frowning.

“Um… have you seen yourself? You’re a fucking knockout. How many guys have tried to get us to do a threesome with them? That should tell you everything,” Georgia reminds you. You shrug, unsure how to answer—she’s right.

“That’s what I thought, Miss I Don’t Know I’m Beautiful. Now shut up and help me get the drinks ready for this table,” she says, giving you an air kiss on the cheek. Georg knows how to cheer you up—her sunshine personality is contagious.

Several cocktails and minutes later, you head back to the cooler to restock the bar fridges. When you return, a seat at the bar is occupied with a familiar curly-haired man peering up at the television behind the bar. He’s not facing you, thankfully—the way you froze was embarrassing enough. Coolly, you hoist the bin of alcohol on your shoulder and stride toward the bar. The fridge you need to restock doesn’t face him, so you have some time to plan a greeting while you refill the beers. Georgia pokes your side as she walks up to him, informing you that she knows it’s your sexy mystery man.

“Welcome in! Have you been here before?” She chirps, handing him a menu. He shakes his head and scans the sheets quickly before folding it up and handing it back to her.

“No, ma’am. Was advised to come here by one of the employees,” he croons. You feel his stare boring a hole in your head and decide it’s time to acknowledge him.

Standing up, you face him and hope your cheeks don’t burn bright red. He’s smiling at you, and fuck, that smile is something you won’t forget. Pearly whites on full display, crinkled but twinkling eyes, a salt and pepper beard, and tan skin complement the face staring at yours.

Speak, you idiot.

“Hi again. Glad you made it. I wondered where the coffee smell came from.” Your wit pulls a boisterous laugh from him, one that does something tingly to your insides. Georgia interrupts.

“I’ll take over the stocking while you help this gentleman,” she says, pinching your side as she walks away. The man’s eyes don’t follow her, which surprises you—they’re glued to you. Words exit your mouth before you can ruminate further.

“What can I get you? I take it you’re not a fruity cocktail kind of guy,” you tease, smirking at him. He shakes his head and chuckles.

“Correct, ma’am. Is the whiskey here all you’ve got?” He nods to the shelves behind you.

“Not quite. The owner is a whiskey aficionado and has some reserve bottles in the back that he saves for special customers,” you say, putting a hand next to your mouth as you fake whisper. The lopsided grin returns on his face, sending your pulse into overdrive.

“Would gettin’ spilled on by an employee qualify me as a special customer?” He wisecracks, arching a brow at you. You slump your shoulders in mock defeat.

“I suppose. What’s your favorite?” His jaw ticks back and forth as he ponders.

“Too hard to say. Not a picky guy. Been cravin’ some Eagle Rare,” his velvet voice replies, the soundwaves tickling the hair on your ears.

“I’ll go ask the boss. Be right back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sexy Stranger replies, watching you leave. Undiscovered by you, he’s turned to watch you walk to Gil’s office, his pulse picking up at what he sees.

He won’t lie to himself—he’s drabbled in some younger women over the years, many of whom were nothing but a one-night stand, a pretty young thing to slip inside and make him feel younger for a few hours. But you’re different. Stunning, yes. Charming, funny, and mysterious, too—like you’re looking at the world from a different dimension. He senses a force field around you, though, one he worries you won’t let him invade.

You step out of Gil’s office with a dusty bottle of Eagle Rare, aged ten years. Gil was astounded that someone requested this, and had he not been contemplating ways to destroy his computer, he’d have joined the Sexy Stranger for a glass.

As you return to the bar, you admire the man’s full head of brunette curls, and the random spots kissed with gray locks. His shoulders are brawny and expansive, pulling taut the flannel fabric between his scapulas. Atop them is a thick, ropy neck, with a jutting Adam’s apple and tan flesh you’d like to sink your teeth into. He was tall, but not overtly so—just enough to complement his muscly build.

The way he leans back in the chair and sees his surroundings exudes a calm tenacity, but the way his eyes smolder suggests a tendency to be ravenous. You wonder if that duality is something he wants to show you. Warmth surges through your veins as you fantasize about a complete stranger, wracking your core and igniting thoughts and feelings you haven’t had in a long time.

Certainly, you’d been with men since moving to Clearwater, and though the options were vast, the likelihood of something lasting was minimal. Thus, you chose to keep interactions with men somewhat superficial, an imaginary arm constantly protruding from you to forbid anything further than flirtatious banter. This attractive, swarthy man, however, had his wrist wrapped around that arm and was threatening to rip it from you—the thought frightened and excited you.

Momentarily, you ignore the rush of adrenaline as you return behind the bar and into his view. Like a magnet, he latches onto you at once, eyes burning your face and figure. Using a damp towel behind the counter, you swipe dust off the bottle and set it in front of him.

“Here you are, sir. One dusty bottle of Eagle Rare.” Sexy Stranger smiles at the bottle, wrapping a large hand around the base and examining the label.

“’S the good stuff,” he murmurs, voice dropping deeper than you thought possible. The pitch twists your insides. In an effort to subdue your racing mind and pulse, you force a smirk and start wiping off the counter.

You feel the man’s eyes snap to you, melting your resolve with a fiery intensity. Suddenly, you’re unable to continue moving the towel, and resign to meeting his eyes. Smoldering is the only way to describe the way he’s looking at you.

That familiar rush of heat wraps around the base of your throat and underneath the fabric of your now-suffocating, loose tee shirt. Instinctively, you fiddle with the collar and pull it down slightly, trying to let out some of the hot air trapped inside, unaware of the fact that you’ve exposed some skin to him. In any other situation, it would’ve been a harmless gesture, but here, it only spurs on his imagination. His pupils dilate ever so slightly at the sight of your collarbone, complemented with a silver pendant necklace.

“What’s that necklace you got there?” Sexy Stranger asks. Involuntarily, your fingers latch onto the shark charm and twiddle it back and forth. He’s still watching.

“Oh, it’s a shark. Can’t remember the last time I took this thing off—I forget about it,” you say, surprised that you can form coherent sentences right now under his hot gaze.

He makes eye contact with you and raises an eyebrow. “Why a shark?”

“The short version is that it’s my favorite animal.”

He tilts his head at you, jaw ticking again. Your eyes latch onto the strong muscles moving it back and forth, flexing underneath his temples.

“And the long version?”

You cock an eyebrow, mirroring him, and grab a short glass, placing it on a coaster in front of him. “Before I delve into that, how do you like your whiskey?”

He chuckles, deep and rumbly. “Neat, sweetheart.”

The pet name eviscerates your stomach. You gulp without meeting his gaze, aware that he’s staring at you still. You pour him a perfect glass of bourbon neat and push the coaster toward him. As you let go, he reaches for the glass, fingertips brushing the tops of your fingers.

As if you touched the metal prongs of a plug, you whip your hand back. The feeling of his skin on yours was nothing short of electric. He misreads your reaction.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, brown eyes no longer smoldering but concerned.

“Oh no, it’s not that, just wasn’t expecting it,” you stammer, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. Ironic. He lets it pass, for now.

“So—the long story?” He takes a generous sip of the amber liquid, swishing it around his mouth as he watches you. You place your palms down on the counter and smile at him.

“Long story is I’m a Professor of Marine Biology at a local university here. I’ve been studying sharks for a long time now. They are beautiful, brilliant creatures that have evolved to near perfection. I do what I can to protect them—they have been fished relentlessly.”

Sexy Stranger is in awe of you, struck by your eloquence, intelligence, and beauty. He takes another sip, never dragging his eyes from yours.

“Wow,” he says, raising both eyebrows as he sets the glass down. “Just one question.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. The two of you are getting good at this nonverbal communication.

“You consider that the long version?”

His humor catches you off guard and a goofy, boisterous laugh escapes you. For the second time now, he flashes a full smile at you. He likes that sound.

Suddenly, a phone rings nearby. He frowns and fishes a small, old iPhone from his front jeans pocket and squints at the screen. He grimaces as he stuffs it back, shifting uncomfortably in the chair to make it fit.

“Sweetheart, I need to run. Lemme settle up for the glass,” he says, the pet name stimulating your pulse again.

“Sure thing. Gil said to come back any time—the bottle is basically yours,” you say, winking at him as you print his receipt. His heartbeat does some racing of its own at the gesture. He tears his eyes from you to fish for his wallet and throw some bills on top of the receipt.

“Will do. I’ll see you around, darlin’,” Sexy Stranger says as he stands, giving you a small wink as he leaves. You watch him leave before realizing you didn’t cash him out. You grab the cash and receipt, noticing what looks like writing on the back side.

A phone number is scrawled on the back. Underneath is his name. Joel.

Your heart stops as you stare at the small white paper. When did I even give him a pen? I didn’t notice him writing. Georgia startles you with an elbow to the side.

“That was quick,” she teases. Bashful, you fold the receipt up and shove it in the pocket of your jean shorts.

“Shut up, Georg. He was just being nice. Probably wants tips for shark watching or something.”

She stares at you incredulously. “Girl… he’s so fucking into you. Everybody in this building felt that tension.”

Heat creeps up your spine once again. You check the POS system for the time and see that it’s almost 2:00 AM. Time to close and do it all again tomorrow.

“Let’s get something to eat. Wanna crash at my place?” Georgia asks. You nod, finding that you’re hungry—but something tells you it’s not food you’re craving.

Sunlight bounces off the white walls of Georgia’s apartment just before 7:00 AM. A light groan escapes you as you stretch out on the plush sectional in her living room before settling back into the burrow of blankets.

Georgia lives a quick five-minute drive from the marina, in a lofty one-bedroom apartment with an ocean view. Her family is generationally wealthy and based in Sarasota, Florida—hence the high-rise apartment and a nice Mercedes SUV. She escaped the clutches of her uptight family to explore her passion—surfing. She got a job at The Rusty Sawfish to supplement her allowance and pay for surfing gear and tournaments, something her parents refused to do. You two clicked immediately and have been friends since.

Pulling your hoodie up over your head, you check your phone quickly before deciding whether to go back to sleep. It’s still early, and you didn’t get to sleep until after 3:00 AM. Your stomach backflips when you see a message from an unknown number pop up. The nerves turn to giddiness as you remember that the number belongs to Joel, the sexy stranger you met at the convenience store last night. You messaged him when you got to Georgia’s apartment last night asking if he made it home alright, certain he wouldn’t be awake to respond. You swipe down to read the message.

Joel: Morning sweetheart. I made it home just fine. Was hoping you’d text sooner so I could ask the same. :)

Kicking your feet like a child, you contemplate a response.

You: Sorry I texted so late! I didn’t make it back to my friend’s place until close to 3.

Joel is quick to respond.

Joel: Surprised you’re up. Figured someone as pretty as you would need at least 8 hours of beauty sleep. By the way—your friend told me your name. I hope that’s OK.

Grinning at your phone, you shake your head slowly. The man is as charming over text as he is in person.

You: You flatter me. I was just going to go back to sleep given that I currently look like a hobbit—guess 8 hours is exactly what I need ;)

You: And yes, that’s okay. Sounds a lot like my friend. She’s a good wingman.

Joel: I highly doubt you look anything less than gorgeous. Get some rest. We’ll talk later today.

Pretty. Gorgeous.

The grin doesn’t leave your face as you drift back to sleep.

Later that evening, you’re behind the familiar u-shaped counter of the bar with paper-thin patience and a penchant for kicking out a rowdy group of college age anglers from the tournament.

“Look, I have a legit ID and I’m an adult, I can drink however many beers I want!” A gangly blonde trust fund-looking kid from the group whines at you. You narrow your eyes at him briefly before responding, like a snake ready to strike its prey.

“Not how it works. It’s the bar’s best practice to avoid overserving and keep this a safe place for everybody. Drink some water and we’ll revisit,” you reply, voice stern. You squeeze the towel in your hand for stress relief.

Though Florida has a dram shop law that prevents bars from being sued by an intoxicated patron that ends up drunk driving and getting hurt, Gil has always mandated a no overserving policy. Spending all day out in the ocean and then drinking heavily is a dangerous combo. The older patrons have no qualms about it, but the younger, rowdier crowds differ. Blonde kid sticks his index finger on the counter and leans in close to you, bloodshot eyes fixated on yours.

“I want your manager,” he spits, breath reeking of booze. Still somewhat level-headed, you stare directly in his eyes.

“You got it,” you respond, emotionless. Gil’s not one for overserving, and he’s not one for rude patrons harassing his bartenders. This dumb kid has a lesson coming.

Stone faced, you drop your towel and tell Georgia you’ll be right back before cruising to Gil’s office. The door is wide open, and to your surprise, Joel’s sitting in the chair next to Gil, the two of them chuckling and conversing. Your heart falters momentarily before you remember why you came back here. You knock lightly on the open door and both men look up at you.

Gil frowns immediately. He’s seen that look before.

“Not a good sign when my best employee has that look on her face. Where is he?” Gil asks, standing and removing his readers. Feeling Joel’s eyes burning holes in you, you do your best to ignore them right now.

“Up front. Blonde kid with the frat group. Pissed off that I won’t pour him a 5th vodka red bull. I told him about our policy, and he asked for the manager,” you recite, tight-lipped. Gil nods, squeezing your shoulder lightly as he walks past you to the bar.

Thankful that Gil is handling it, you close your eyes and exhale heavily before remembering you’re not alone. Your eyes open quickly to find Joel staring at you. His eyes look concerned, though there’s that damned lopsided smile on his face.

“Guy’s got some balls on him,” he jokes, standing and taking a step closer to you. Your pulse quickens. Laughing, you roll your eyes and wave him off.

“Everybody does when they’re drunk.”

Joel rakes a hand through his stubble and nods, studying your face.

“I reckon I wasn’t totally honest with you last night,” he says, face falling slightly. Raising an eyebrow, you try to quiet the thousand thoughts that rush through your mind—is he going to say that he’s married? Fresh out of prison? Gay? Well… the last one is unlikely. He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he continues.

“I’ve known Gil for a long, long time. S’why I knew there’d be Eagle Rare here,” he says.

Relief rushes through you. “Jesus, Joel. I thought you were gonna tell me you were married.”

A hearty laugh escapes him as he shakes his head fervently, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Hell no. Haven’t been married since I was in my early 20s, which was about a million years ago.”

You wipe your brow exaggeratedly, signaling your relief. Joel chuckles again.

“So, what brings you to Clearwater, then? Or have you always been here?”

“No, no. I’m from Texas. Been here several times but moved here last month. I’m a contractor and Gil and I have worked on some projects together. He wants my help f’another one.”

It all makes sense—the flannel shirt, the muscles, the demeanor, the accent. A question pops up in your mind.

“Does he know you gave me your number last night?” You ask him, tilting your head inquisitively.

“Yes, ma’am. We’re good friends. He’s protective of you, but I made it clear t’him that I ain’t tryin’ any funny business with you,” he admits, smoldering eyes affixed to yours. His expression and tone gives you the impression that he’s telling the truth, like lying to you would be worse than anything.

“Are you saying… you don’t often give your number to bartenders that spill coffee all over you?” You chide, flashing a smile at him. His pupils dilate imperceptibly.

“No, ma’am. Don’t make that kinda thing a habit,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. Your breath catches in your throat at his proximity. He’s within arm’s reach, and the magnetic field between the two of you is sending your internal compass off the rails. He opens his mouth to say something, but Gil interrupts the moment, oblivious to the two of you.

“He’s taken care of. Thanks for dealing with him,” he sing-songs, saying your name warmly.

Still staring at Joel, you reply to Gil. “Appreciate it, Gil. I’ll return to my post.”

Joel laughs quietly, eyes twinkling at you. You smile coyly at him before leaving the office, needing to cool off before you explode internally. The sexual tension between the two of you is almost too much to handle.

Before you can check if he’s following you, Georgia flags you down behind the bar. A devilish smile plays on her tan, freckled face.

“So… he’s back,” she teases, waggling her eyebrows. “You taking him home tonight or what?”

Jaw dropping in mock shock, you tilt your head at her.

“Are you suggesting that I sleep with him? Georg—I don’t know him!”

She guffaws. “Gil knows him very well, though. Isn’t that enough to tell you he’s safe? I bet they watch boring carpenter shows together and spend all their money on fancy old man bourbon.”

Good point. Joel seems safe—for now. But you’ve been out of the game far too long to half-ass a night with a man like him. He seems… experienced. And the glint in his eyes when he sees you is enough to make your heart jump out of your chest.

“I don’t know. I’m interested. I’ll keep an open mind. Sounds like he’s in Clearwater for good… plenty of old beach babes to take him on,” you joke, winking at her. She punches your arm.

“He doesn’t even look at anybody but you, dipshit. If you say something like that one more time, I’m gonna tell him,” she threatens half-jokingly, pointing a polished finger in your face.

“Fine. We’ll see where it ends up,” you surrender, checking the fridges for a routine restock.

The remainder of Saturday night at The Rusty Sawfish is busy, but not overwhelmingly so.

Georgia, Mike, Rand, and you man the bar, which had no empty chairs the entire evening. Business was booming from the fishing tournament, and even Gil stepped out of the office to pour some drinks.

Joel made himself comfortable at the end of the bar. Gil dumped stacks of blueprints in front of him, and he got busy reviewing them while nursing glasses of neat bourbon. You couldn’t count the number of times you two exchanged glances and shy smiles, and he couldn’t count the number of times he caught himself staring at you. He was entranced by the way you moved at the bar—commanding the flow of customers, making drinks at lightning speed, being friendly with the customers, and looking damn good while you do it.

Closing time rolls around yet again, and he’s still scanning blueprints, sketching on pages here and there with his carpenter’s pencil. Every so often, he’d tuck it behind one of his ears, mussing some of his curls in the process. You found yourself studying his mannerisms, trying to get to know him without speaking. He’d tick his jaw back and forth as he read, and the corner of his lips would twitch each time he marked the page with his pencil, salt and pepper mustache hairs grooving along with them.

You learn from the way he holds the page out three feet in front of him to read small text, brow furrowing as he deciphers the letters, that he’s stubborn and not ready to buy reader’s glasses. You catch yourself giggling at it, making damn sure he doesn’t see.

You learn that he was likely a former athlete by the way his hips sway when he walks to the bathroom, his gait controlled yet energetic and limber, the denim of his very-worn jeans hugging his strong legs. The jeans indicate that he’s not much of a shopper and is loyal to what makes him feel comfortable, like a pair of faded, almost-torn bootcut Wranglers molded to his frame and creased leather cowboy boots.

You learn that his body is still in wonderful shape as he folds his arms behind his head and arches his back to stretch his aching body, revealing a sliver of soft-looking skin above the denim waistband and a trail of dark hair leading from his belly button down beneath.

You learn that he enjoys hearing your laugh with each time he tries to prod it out of you with a silly joke or a wisecrack about one of the customers. Given the manner and frequency with which his eyes travel up and down your frame, he also likes your body—from the subtle shelf of your breasts underneath your tank top, to the shape of your ass in your frayed jean shorts, to your smooth legs. But he likes your face, too—evident by the way his amber eyes travel over your features, landing frequently at your eyes and lips.

Now, you can tell Georgia she’s right—that he fancies you, more so than any other woman that glanced at him twice during the night. And boy, there were plenty.

Most of all, though—you learn how much you want him. If not obvious by the butterflies bouncing off the walls of your abdomen and chest as he speaks to you, it is clear when you take a bathroom break of your own and find dampness in your panties. Your nerves are in overdrive at the possibility of finding out what his hands feel like on your skin, what his lips feel like meshed with yours, what his strong frame feels like flush against yours.

Needing cool relief, you soak a paper towel in cold water and place it on the back of your neck, shivering at the stray droplets that roll down your spine. You stare at yourself in the mirror and start to realize that maybe Georgia is right about you, that you are beautiful and worthy of feeling that way.

You exit the bathroom to find that it’s now past 2:00 AM, and customers have left—all but Joel. He’s standing now, elbows leaning against the counter. He notices the air pressure change from the bathroom door opening and turns to stare at you as you approach him, eyes sweeping up and down your figure once again.

“Sir, we’re closed. Have you paid your tab?” You ask, half-smiling at him. He laughs as he fishes his wallet out of his jeans pocket.

“Gettin’ there, sweetheart,” he says, grunting as it finally comes out of its enclosure. The wallet is about as worn as the jeans, faded and bent at the corners. He hands you several twenty-dollar bills, a few too many for his sixty-dollar tab.

“I’ll get your change,” you say, muscle memory taking over. He puts a hand up.

“No, keep it. You deserve it,” he murmurs, tucking the wallet back in his pocket and gathering the blueprints for Gil.

“Joel, it’s too much for what little work I did tonight,” you protest. He looks at you, eyes smoldering once again.

“No, darlin’—you did a lot more than you think.” The tone suggests he’d been imagining you the same way you did him, sending a zing of shivers up your spine. You know your cheeks are reddening, but you ignore it as you balance the drawer for the evening. Joel trots back to Gil’s office to return the papers, resurfacing after a few minutes.

Georgia, Mike, and Rand have finished cleaning and their closing duties. They stop by the register to check in on you.

“Hey—there’s a party at Mike’s neighbor’s house. You in?” Georgia asks, knowing full well you’re not going to agree. You can tell she’s trying not to smirk.

“No, thanks. I’m exhausted,” you reply, dividing up the tips. “Here you go, tips for tonight. Great job.”

“Well, you better come to the one next week—you can’t use this excuse again,” Mike teases you, elbowing you lightly.

“I’ll be there, just not feeling it tonight. Thanks, guys,” you say warmly, hugging Georgia as they prepare to leave.

“Oh, we rode together—are you good taking an Uber? I was going to ride with these guys,” she asks, loud enough for Joel to hear.

“I can walk to my car. It’s only a few minutes.”

Joel interrupts. “I’ll take ya. I’m sure y’feel safe out here, but it’s late and dark.”

Georgia takes this as her cue to leave. “See you tomorrow, love!” You wave as the three exit, leaving Joel, you, and the magnetic sexual tension between you.

“You sure about this? Really, it’s not that bad of a trek,” you ask him, not wanting to be a bother. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“I’d feel better f’you let me make sure you’re safe, and y’just said y’were tired,” he says lowly, voice dropping in decibels to match the now-quiet atmosphere of the bar.

“If it helps you sleep at night, sure,” you joke, winking at him. A yawn interrupts your comedic routine, to which Joel raises his eyebrows.

“How ‘bout I just drive you home, sweetheart?” He suggests. A wave of fatigue hits you as you finish yawning, and you surrender.

“Good idea. Let me get my stuff.”

You emerge from the office after retrieving your purse and saying goodbye to Gil, who has resumed trying to figure out Excel. Joel watches you approach him, rubbing his beard distractedly.

You lead him out of the bar, the nervous energy between you making your legs feel restless. Joel places a hand on your lower back as you push the doors open. Once outside, you expect him to move it, but he doesn’t. It stays warm and firm on your back as you two walk down the marina to the street parking area.

The sound of the waves crashing into the shore placates your nerves a bit. You peer at them as you walk, bewitched by the rays of moonlight dancing on the subtle peaks.

“S’a beautiful night,” Joel murmurs, closer to your ear than you realized. You jump a bit, and he chuckles quietly, rubbing his hand softly on your lower back.

“Sorry, didn’t mean t’scare ya,” he apologizes. The cool beach breeze blows by, and goosebumps grow on your bare skin. You rub your arms instinctively. A few moments later, Joel places his flannel over your shoulders, squeezing the tops lightly before letting go. The warm gesture makes those butterflies in your stomach ricochet like pinballs.

“Thanks. It’s cooler than normal this evening,” you say, watching your feet as you continue walking. The scent of his shirt engulfs your senses, slowing your pace momentarily. It’s an alluring mix of earthy and musky, like sandalwood, pine, and sweet bourbon.

“This is me,” Joel says, stopping next to an older, beatdown Chevy truck. He opens the passenger door for you.

“Didn’t realize you were such a gentleman, Joel,” you tease him. He shuts the door lightly, smirking and shaking his head at you through the window. You glance at your surroundings.

His truck is spotless, save for some stains on the floor. There’s a cup of carpenter’s pencils in one of the cupholders, which makes you smile. The radio is ancient, with a small, thin screen for the time and big black buttons, which are a bit dusty. The only button that’s clean is the power button/volume knob duo. Not much of a music guy, you think.

The driver’s door squeaks open, and Joel plops down on the seat with a grunt. He shoves the key in the ignition and turns it over a few times before the engine roars on.

“Where to?” he asks, cranking the truck into reverse and pulling out of the spot. You direct him to your apartment, which is 10 minutes from the marina.

The ride to your place is quiet, but not awkwardly so. Joel turned on the music and kept the volume low, asking you questions here and there about Clearwater and you.

“Your family here?”

“Nope. I’m from the Midwest. They’re all in Nebraska and Iowa.” He whistles lowly.

“Bit of a drive. Why Florida? Lemme guess—the ocean?”

“That’s part of it,” you reply, staring out the window, watching the palm trees flash by.

“Take it y’also wanted to get away from your family,” he says, tone rhetorical. You snort and turn to face him. He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other perched on the back of your seat. There’s a half-smirk on his moonlight-painted face.

“Am I that obvious?” Your tone is half-incredulous, half-rhetorical. He chuckles in place of responding.

Soon, you arrive at your apartment complex. Joel opens your door and follows you to the building. Hesitant, you stop just before entering and turn to him. The tension is thick, like a hazy cloud between the two of you.

“Do you want to come inside?”

He clenches his jaw, staring at you before replying.

“Sure. Y’gonna take advantage of me?” The witty remark catches you off guard. You burst out laughing and the contagious, melodic sound makes him laugh.

“Only if you want me to,” you reply, holding your keys up to the pad and opening the door. You swear you hear him growl behind you, but he doesn’t reply.

Luckily, you’re on the first floor. You don’t think you could stomach walking up the stairs in your daisy dukes with Joel behind you.

Once inside your place, you open the fridge and grab two bottles of beer as Joel surveys the apartment. You place one on his bare forearm, the sudden chill startling him. He swipes the bottle from your hand as you giggle, giving you a threatening look.

“Want to sit outside? I have a little futon out there,” you offer, realizing you still have his flannel on. The sleeves are a little long, touching the base of your knuckles. He nods. You grab a blanket from the couch and lead him to the sliding glass door in the kitchen.

Your patio is small, but it’s your favorite spot, overlooking the beach. The apartment building is on a small hill, which is great for days when the sea level rises. The waves are still crashing quietly onto the shore, bathed in silky moonlight.

You sit first, crossing your legs underneath the warm blanket. It’s chilly without it. Joel sits next to you with what you now know is his trademark old man grunt, denim-clad leg touching your knee. He takes a swig and brings the base of the bottle to eye level to study the label.

“Sorry—no bourbon,” you lament jokingly, taking a swig of your own. He smirks and takes another sip.

“Didn’t strike you as the type, anyway.”

“Is it the lack of facial hair?” Joel spits out his beer laughing.

“Jesus, you’re somethin’ else,” he coughs, wiping his mouth and beard with the back of his hand.

“In Joel speak, I think that’s a compliment, yes?”

He laughs again, staring at you as you watch the ocean. His hand moves to rest on your kneecap, thumb circling the soft skin lightly. Your heartbeat picks up twofold.

“Gil was right about you,” he murmurs. Confused, you look at him, surprised to see a wanton expression on his face.

“What about me?”

He scoots closer. Your hands squeeze the beer bottle nervously.

“Don’t remember exactly what he said,” he croons, face getting closer to yours, “somethin’ about you bein’ a special person.”

The sexual tension between the two of you has reached a new level of heavy, sucking the air out of your lungs and igniting your core. Joel grabs your beer from your hand, setting it and his down on the concrete floor of the patio. He stares into your eyes, looking for hesitation as he leans closer to you.

Clearly, he finds none, because his lips are on yours, light and soft. The hand that was on your knee is on the back of your neck, thumb pressed against your cheek. His other hand grips your hip and pulls you closer to him. You take the opportunity to climb on his lap, pulling a surprised yet satisfied grunt from him.

His lips move slowly, gently against yours. Rough, warm hands caress the tops of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their path. He tastes smooth, like the Eagle Rare he sipped on this evening, a rich contrast from the rough scratch of his mustache and beard against your face. You comb fingers through his thick curls, tugging lightly at the base of his head. Another satisfied grunt travels from his throat to your mouth.

The passion overheats you, and like he’s reading your mind, he pushes his shirt off your shoulders, mouth still latched to yours. His hands slip under your tank top and caress your abdomen, fingertips dancing along the underside of your breast. He groans again when he realizes you don’t have a bra on. You tilt your head back and his lips caress your neck, nipping softly at your pulse. The soft moan that leaves your lips spurs him on, and his teeth move higher, tugging on the flesh of your earlobe.

He reaches for the hem of your tank top and slowly lifts the fabric over your head. His eyes burn holes in your skin, pupils dilated so much so that his eyes look black. He reaches up and palms both of your breasts, kneading the flesh and rolling your nipples between his fingertips as he admires your body.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he breathes before sucking a nipple into his mouth. You wrap your arms around his strong neck and tug his curls back to envelope his mouth with yours. He lifts you from his lap effortlessly and stands, murmuring something about going back inside into your mouth.

Still kissing you, he carries you to your bedroom and tosses you on the bed before caging you in his arms, continuing what you started on the patio as the sound of the ocean and the cicadas fill the background.

Taglist: @burntheedges, @tuquoquebrute, @syd-djarin, @danaispunk, @anoverwhelmingdin

Read Part 2 here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #mermaid purse

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greeneyes5656 · 1 year ago

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Green View City: A Sustainable Haven for Modern Living

Introduction

In a world where environmental consciousness is increasingly becoming a priority, it's heartening to see real estate developers stepping up to create sustainable, eco-friendly communities. Green View City, a project launched by "Green City Developers" Private Limited, is a shining example of this forward-thinking approach. This visionary development is aimed at providing excellent environmentally friendly residential and commercial facilities to its inhabitants. Located on the main GT road in Sarai Alamgir, Green View City offers more than just a place to live – it provides a haven for those who value the environment, security, privacy, and peace of mind.

Location and Accessibility

One of the standout features of Green View City is its strategic location. Situated on the main GT road in Sarai Alamgir, this development offers easy access to the residents, making daily commuting a breeze. Whether you're heading to work, school, or simply exploring the surrounding vicinity, you'll find the convenience of this location unparalleled.

With the bustling city of Sarai Alamgir nearby, Green View City offers the perfect balance between urban living and a peaceful oasis. The development's proximity to this urban center ensures that all essential amenities are within easy reach, while its serene surroundings provide a respite from the city's hustle and bustle.

The Scale and Ambition

Green View City encompasses an initial area of approximately 5,000 kanals, demonstrating the developer's dedication to creating a significant and meaningful community. However, the project's ultimate size will be determined by market response, ensuring that it remains a sustainable and viable development in the long run. This approach aligns with the developers' commitment to responsible urban planning and development.

Eco-Friendly Living

At the heart of Green View City's vision is a commitment to environmental sustainability. Here's how the development achieves its green objectives:

Green Spaces

The city is thoughtfully designed to incorporate lush green spaces, parks, and gardens. Residents can enjoy the beauty of nature within the community.

Energy-Efficient Infrastructure

Green View City employs modern technology and design principles to reduce energy consumption and promote sustainable living.

Waste Management

Proper waste management systems are in place to minimize the environmental impact and maintain a clean and green environment.

Renewable Energy Sources

The developers are exploring options for harnessing renewable energy sources to power the community.

Water Conservation

Rainwater harvesting and efficient water usage systems are integrated into the development to minimize water waste.

Gated Community for Security and Privacy

Security and privacy are top priorities at Green View City. The gated community concept ensures that residents can enjoy a secure and peaceful living environment. Key features include:

24/7 Security

A professional security team is on hand to monitor the premises and ensure residents' safety.

Surveillance Systems

State-of-the-art surveillance systems are installed to enhance security measures.

Controlled Access

The community entrance is restricted to authorized personnel only, creating an additional layer of security.

Privacy

The layout of Green View City promotes a sense of privacy for all residents, creating a serene atmosphere.

Amenities and Facilities

Green View City goes above and beyond in offering residents a wide range of amenities and facilities, ensuring a comfortable and convenient lifestyle:

Educational Institutions

Nearby schools and colleges make it an ideal place for families with children.

Healthcare Facilities

Hospitals and clinics are easily accessible, providing peace of mind during medical emergencies.

Commercial Area

A commercial hub within the development offers shopping and dining options, reducing the need for long commutes.

Recreational Spaces

Parks, jogging tracks, and sports facilities provide opportunities for recreation and fitness.

Community Centers

Meeting spaces and event venues are available for social gatherings and community events.

Conclusion

Green View City, a project by Green City Developers Private Limited, is a visionary development that showcases the future of urban planning and sustainable living. Its prime location, commitment to eco-friendly practices, focus on security and privacy, and comprehensive amenities make it an attractive option for those seeking a balanced, modern lifestyle.

As a gated community, Green View City is designed to provide its inhabitants with more than just a place to live; it offers a sense of belonging and a commitment to a greener, more sustainable future. The extension of the project will be determined by market response, ensuring that it remains a vibrant, thriving community that fulfills the needs and aspirations of its residents. This development is a testament to the positive impact that responsible, eco-conscious urban planning can have on our future.

#Green View City #Green City Kharian #Green City Location #Housing Society

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hometoursandotherstuff · 10 months ago

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Aw, maaaannn, another one of my dream houses is back on the market, but this time, instead of the $3.5M price tag it had in 2018, it's now listed for $9.75M + $1,967mo. common charge. The 1910 building is located in the East Village, a desirable trendy part of New York City. It's a large duplex with 5bds, 4.5ba.

The entrance is thru an iron gate and a forest green door.

The property consists of a penthouse with a cottage on the roof.

In the living room is a lovely fireplace and a mezzanine on the 2nd level opens the space, giving it some architectural interest.

The home was renovated and has a renewed staircase, yet retains an original niche. A ceiling-high glass block window lets in light.

Open concept dining room lined with windows for lots of natural light.

The open space ends with the kitchen.

Love the vintage look flooring. The kitchen island is unique- it looks like a mid-century modern sideboard.

The mezzanine is basically just a walkway, but it has a wall of shelving and enough room for a chair or two.

There's also a nook for a small desk or writing table.

The primary bedroom is a nice size, gets good natural light, and has a small nook for a chair, plus a lovely fireplace. It also has a view of the patio. And, it's located in the rooftop cottage.

Very nicely remodeled vintage style bath.

Hallway with a built-in closet and a bedroom used as a TV room.

This bedroom is designed the same as the primary, but on a smaller scale.

Lively turquoise subway tile bath and bedroom #3.

And, another lovely tiled bath with bedroom #4.

The rooftop cottage and brick patio looks like a beautiful home you'd find on the ground.

It's like the best of both worlds, living in the city and the country.

There're even trees, lawn & gardens.

View of the city.

#NYC property #penthouse NYC #houses #house tours #home tour

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allophonicmess · 11 months ago

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Sweetest Taste

Masterlist

15th Doctor x Reader (One Shot)

Part of the Doctor and Sun universe but can be read as a stand-alone

SMUT ( fem oral reciving & P in V)

4.3K

Tags: Fluff, Smut, body worship, consent, unprotected sex, established relationship

June offered the perfect time to visit London's Kensington Park for a stroll. Living in the bustling, vibrant city, you came to love it over the years. The park gates acted like a separator between the cold, busy and unpersonal streets and the lush green gardens that offered a sense of connectedness for the visitors, allowing them to escape from the pressure of the city and simply decompress and be.

You pulled at your clothes, making sure that you looked your best. It wasn't your first meeting; it was far from it. Yet, this day marked your first proper meeting with him in this new body, and it made you both excited and nervous, just like the previous times you two saw each other again with new eyes. Literally.

You felt a grin spread over your lips as you passed the black gates that separated the greenery from the greyish street. Passing the café, you stood momentarily, eyes wandering over the small, chapel-like building, the calm scene, and artistically set up plans in the middle of the grass. To your left, the view opened into the display of dark-orange cranesbills, lavender and other flowers. The ensemble reminded you of the sunset, rich in colour and contrast. Behind it, a line of angular ponds, lined with waterplants and accompanied by beautifully crafted benches, created the scene of the Italian Gardens.

This was the place you had decided to meet. You stayed on the reddish pavement, following one of the main routes through the park. The white oldtimer turned ice cream vendor stood in its usual place, attracting a small crowd of eager customers. They had formed a line, waiting patiently for their turn to receive their sweet treat.

"Should have clarified the time we meet", you mainly mumbled to yourself. You had told him when and where to meet you but in a more broad sense. Yet daytime also played a key role. You looked around for a moment. Perhaps a walk would be good to pass the time. You could follow the Long Water, take a look at one of the many statues and then come back a little later to see if he arrived at your set location. Or you could start searching for the big, blue police telephone box. It shouldn't be hard to find unless he fixed the chameleon circuit. Perhaps this new Doctor got tired of the Tardis' look, but you doubt it.

"Figured you'd be here around noon. Love to spend your-"He continued, but you interrupted him, finishing the sentence alongside him.

"Well, good on me to have thought of that" he spoke, the playful tone of his new voice made your grin before you consciously processed it. It was as if your body was drawn to him, able to recognise it anywhere, regardless of sound, tone or pitch. Always recognising, always drawn to it.

You turned around with a soft gasp, and there he stood. A big, inviting smile stretched over his face, adorned by a thin, trimmed moustache. His eyes held a twinkle that you couldn't quite explain. Youthful joy and pure ecstasy were the best words you could find. There were two ice cones, one in each hand. 99 Flake, you noticed. Vanilla soft ice with a chocolate flake, Simple yet classy.

"-lunch break in the park." You chuckled, approaching him and taking the cool dessert with a soft "Thank you".

"Bring some ice cream, you said. And here we are!" he cheered with a joyous laugh. You nodded, letting your eyes wander over his new look. He had changed; he put on some actual clothes. You didn't mind his 50/50 Bi-generation look, but it was… impractical for travelling.

He noticed your wandering eyes and decided to play into it. The Doctor stepped back, giving you a little swirl that made his orange leather coat swish. He had dressed up nicely. The outfit was new, certainly different from what he used to wear, yet it suited him so very well.

It reflected him, the healed and refreshed mindset expressed in daybreak's bright and daring colours. He wore light, striped sneakers, contrasting with the dark blue trousers. 'He really put some thought into this,' you thought, noticing the repetition of colours on his top. The zipper of his striped jumper was opened halfway, revealing the view of the necklace set he wore. An orange gem on one chain and an odd-looking golden shape on the other. They rested over a soft patch of dark chest hair that you took immediate interest in.

"You like it?" He asked with a flirty wink, stepping closer again and taking your free hand.

"Yeah, very stylish. It's new. Different, but I think it looks great. Especially the jewellery." You admired, feeling the cool metal of his ringers against your hand as you squeezed it to emphasise your comment.

"Thanks, darling." He chuckled softly, eyes moving from your face to the hand which held your now semi-melted ice cream that threatened to spill over your fingers.

"You want to lick that away before you get your hands dirty." He nodded towards it.

You quickly breathe a soft 'oh', turning the cone in your hand to clean it up. The sweet and creamy liquid made you hum in delight. You noticed that the Doctor was about to be in the same predicament as you. The molten cream snailing over the wafer.

"Same with yours. Don't want to make a mess." You joked, looking him in the eye. But he stayed serious, keeping eye contact for longer than you would find appropriate for the situation.

Then, there was a shift in the air around you. The soft reunion of lovers turning into something else…

His eyes focused on you as he licked away a streak of melted ice cream that dared to run down the cone. Those dark eyes watching you intently, clearly aware of the sexual allusion the action carried.

He grinned cheekily at your loss of words, clearly aware of what he was doing to you. But he wanted to take his sweet time with you. He enjoyed teasing you before, always did, but now it had a different tone to it. He felt a rush, watching you struggle; your attraction to him was undeniable.

Oh goodness, that stare was stirring something in you.

You released a breath, eyes following his pink tongue slide along the brown wafer with perfect pressure. He took his sweet time, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

"Uh…" You started, gasped really, at a loss of words. Regeneration was a gamble, and you won.

"My plan?" You asked, shifting in your seat to get a better look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Do you want to sit down?" He asked softly, sweetly, with an innocent look. He waited for your approving nod, then placed his arm around your waist to lead you to one of the benches that lined the fountains.

You tried to calm down and get your pulse back to normal. You had seen him just yesterday. The other version of him, still him though. But this new factette of him thrilled you, willing to play along in his little game. It only would make winning the price sweeter and much more satisfying.

The two of you sat down on a bench. The wood under you had been warmed in the sun, making for a cosy spot. The Doctor moved in closely, placing one arm over the backrest. His hand rested on your shoulder and arm, stroking over it in a slow, calming motion.

"You chose a lovely spot", He commented, watching the place and people around him. He slid a little closer, making your thighs touch. He looked into the distance, where the Long Water widened into a river.

"So what's your plan?" He turned back to you, taking a lazy lick of his treat. He was almost finished.

"I was wondering how you want to proceed now. Do you want to keep your routine? Work, here on Earth? Travel?" He squeezed your shoulder, waiting patiently for your response. His head was turned back, the light shifting in his short, dark hair. The colour bordering between black and a lush midnight blue.

"I liked the routine. Me staying here, taking care of Earth while you are off. You taking me on dates when you find the time." You shrugged.

"Oh yeah? I'm glad to hear it." He pulled you in for another kiss. It was less passionate but undoubtedly made you feel his love. The Doctor petted your face quietly, watching you with warm admiration.

He sighed, something shifting behind his eyes. "I should have made more time for you." He whispered with some sense of grief behind it. "You deserve so much more than what I offered you." He moved even closer, and the arm around you pulled you into him. His hand moved towards your face.

He held your face gently, fingers curled and ringed knuckles resisting against your pulse as his thumb glided over your cheek.

"That will change now. You will be my priority." His eyes moved between your eyes and your lips, silently asking for permission to kiss you. You granted it, leaning forward to meet him in a soft, shy kiss. It was new, different to the feeling and rhythm you were used to. But you adapted, just like so many times prior. You found a new rhythm with him, lips moving in a sweet dance.

The two of you only let go to catch a breath of air, grinning shyly at each other like smitten teenagers. "You liked that?" He whispered with a breathy chuckle. Your actions, visible acceptance of this new version of him, took away the feeling of nervousness.

"Yeah, very much." You replied with a smile, just as relieved as him. Change was a constant in your lives. Things and people; everything was constantly changing. Yet you remained.

"I'll admit: I'm a fan of this." You vaguely motioned towards him, his face and body. "It suits you." Your own smile widened as he seemed to light up. The complement boosted his already strong confidence and charm. He radiated a warmth that you just wanted to bask in.

You didn't mind the silence. It felt easy and natural. But you were giddy, high on his smile and the joy you felt. So your brain went into overdrive, leading to making a silly confession.

"You know what I couldn't stop thinking about?" You asked, unable to hold back a childish giggle, already overly excited to reveal it.

"What?" He asked, watching you intently.

"Those thighs." You giggled, placing a hand on his left leg for emphasis. The woolly material of his trousers was rather rough against your fingers. But you felt his warmth seeping through the pant leg.

"Is that so?" He grinned. First, it was innocent, playing to your joke. But then it turned hungry before shifting into a stern expression.

And there it was again, that tension around you.

"You know what I kept thinking about?" He asked, his thumb tracing your lip.

You only managed to let out a breath of air. Yet he took it as a response to reveal it to you.

"I kept thinking about how sweet you will taste on this new tongue."

Oh, you were done for.

Your eyes met his. A spark was ignited the moment you saw the lust and longing reflected in his intense stare.

"Take me. Now."

What ensued was a mad rush for the Tardis. He grabbed your hand and practically dragged you off to the location of the well-known police call box. He had parked it just outside the other park gates. There, resting in the shade of tall plane trees, right next to old and out-of-use red telephone boxes. You would have laughed at it and appreciated the joke if it hadn't been for the delicious ache between your legs and the heat that flushed your body.

The Doctor practically ripped open the Tardis door, letting you in before him. He stepped in quickly and slammed the door shut the moment you were both inside. And not even a second later, you found yourself pressed against said door. Pillowy lips caressed yours as soft hums escaped between them, and strong hands grasped at your sides. All you could see and feel was him.

You threw your arms around his neck, gently scratching his neck and toying with the collar of his leather coat. That evoked a hiss from him; his tone made pain and pleasure mix.

"Need more of you." He hissed, placing his hands under your ass and pulling you up. You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles behind him to create stability. Thank the universe for Timelords' strength. He didn't carry you very far, though, slowly setting you down on the edge of the Tardis console. The surface was slightly sloped, but the new design allowed for free space between the control elements. You believe it might even have been made like this on purpose. Naughty machine.

This new position allowed you to be on eye level with the Doctor, if not, being a little taller than him. He noticed it, too, breaking away from you and grinning at you with marvel. You placed your hands on his jaw, feeling the skin there, the shaved hair over his sharp cheekbones. You pulled him in for another kiss, this time leading him in it. You held him there momentarily before your hands smoothed over his neck, along his ears and back down to the coat collar. A tuck signified him to shrug it off, and he obliged. The garment fell to the floor with a soft swoosh, leaving him in his jumper and pants.

You broke the kiss slowly, pressing your forehead to his as your hands wandered over his shoulders and back, feeling the strong yet lean muscle underneath the woolly material. He did the same, tugging at your jacket and shirt in the hope of finally being able to touch your skin. You let the coat slip from your arms, lifting them immediately to let him pull off your shirt. It left you in only your bra, sitting on the white metal console.

"You look like a goddess", He sighed, going for your neck and the soft spot behind your ear. The kisses there turned into playful nibbles as he carefully held the skin between his teeth to suck at it. It made you gasp, a shower running down your spine. You pulled the Doctor into an even closer embrace, hands holding him firmly.

He hummed against your skin, hands massaging the skin of your waste. His lips moved lower, over your clevis, down to the spot on your breast bone just above where your breasts connected to the skin. He licked down a stripe, only halting when he was stopped by your bra. It made him look up.

"Will you allow me to find out?" He looked you deep in the eye, waiting for your consent. His fingers were tracing along the hem of your jeans, eager to have you be rid of them. You nodded, holding onto his shoulders.

"I need you to use your words, darling." He kissed your jaw for emphasis; his right hand had moved up to the small of your back, tracing the spot where your spine connected.

"Yes, please." You managed to answer, already pushing yourself up on his shoulders to make it easier to free yourself of your pants. He grinned, making quick work of the zipper and button. He freed the jeans and underwear from under you with a swift pull. His hands explored the now-exposed skin of your thighs before pulling off your shoes to take off your pants for good.

He sighed at the view in front of him. Lips skimming over your thighs as he slowly and gracefully got to his knees. His hands traced over your back and down to your hips, squeezing them. The Doctor looked like he was about to pray, eyes focused up at you in admiration, soft breaths excepting through his slightly opened lips. He pulled you forward by your hips, making you lean forward and stabilise yourself with one hand on his shoulder and one on the console.

"My good girl." He whispered into the soft skin of your thigh, the moustache deliciously ticking you. His hands were on your knees, keeping your legs spread for him.

"Let me have some of that sweet taste." He mumbled before he oh so slowly licked over your core. You gasped, feeling his hot breath on you and heavenly pleasure against your clit. He kept his eyes focused on you, licking in slow motions before taking your pleasure bud in his mouth and gently sucking on it. The sensation was otherworldly, making you throw your head back. Years of experience had made him so good at making you gasp and scream, and the regeneration into a woman had evidently benefited his understanding of female pleasure.

He kept at it, lapping at you like his life depended on it. At some point, one of his hands had moved from your knees to your thigh, massaging it gently in the rhythm of his licks. You weren't going to last long if he kept going like this.

You moaned softly, trying to gather the energy and will to make him move. While this was great, you needed to feel him inside you.

A hand was placed on his head, making him stop to look at you.

"Too much?" He asked; the wet shine of your juices on his moustache made you even hotter.

"No, it's great, but I need you to feel you." You explained weakly, "I need to feel you inside me." You slid slightly lower on the console to get down on shaky legs, hoping they could hold you up.

But he was faster, swiftly getting back on his feet to carry you like he did before. The dark wool was rubbing against your core deliciously with each step as he carried you over the ramp towards the bedroom.

The Doctor placed you on the edge of the bed with just as much care and admiration as he had picked you up with. He was crouched before you, smiling softly in anticipation. You grinned, smoothing your hands over his neck and over the cool metal of his jewellery. The zipper of his jumper was only halfway open, so you took the little metal handle to open it fully, allowing you access to the gentle splatter of chest hair. Your hands moved over his torso, but you had to stop as the material offered no more room before the seams would give away.

"You are overdressed", You stated, making him chuckle. He readily lifted your arms to help get rid of his clothes. Fingers snuck under the waistband of his pants, grabbing onto not only the jumper and the light undershirt as well.

"Much better", you mumbled, placing your hands on his chest to explore it. He was fitter than you expected. Muscles stretched and flexed under your hands, and he brought his arms back down to hold your shoulders, pushing the straps of your bra down. He moved awkwardly from one foot to the other to shrug off his trainers.

That left him in his socks and pants. Still, too much, you decided and started fumbling with the button of his trousers.

"You got what you wanted. Let me see those legs again." You joked, making him laugh as he freed himself of the last of his clothing. He leaned over you, kissing you softly as he worked on the hooks of your bra. It hadn't been long since the two of you had had sex. But not with this body; it excited you to feel him again.

You slid back on the bed, allowing him to kneel and hover over you. The bra had been taken care of and thrown on the pile of clothing on the floor at the foot of the bed. You were getting ready to lay on the bed, having moved the duvet and additional pillows aside, but the Doctor stopped you.

"Can we try something?" He asked, still leaning over you, hands caressing your neck and the back of your shoulders as you turned towards him.

"Yeah, sure." You answered, interested in what he had in mind.

He kissed you again, gently holding your lower lip between his teeth before letting it go to focus on you.

"I want you on top." He stated simply. Kissing along your neck, fingers tracing your sides. "I want to watch you take what you need." He spoke against your chest in between soft kisses. "Is that alright?"

He asked, and you never knew that asking you for your consent to try something new would be so hot.

"Yes," You hissed. He had taken one of your nipples in his mouth, gently sucking on it and holding the other breast in his hand. His thumb was moving over the other in soft circles.

"Lovely." He commented, giving your chest one last kiss before leaning away from you to arrange the pillows to make himself comfortable. A few were placed against the headboard, allowing him to lie in a half-sitting position. The Doctor nodded to you, signalling that he was ready.

"C'mon then. Let me feel you." He beckoned you, hissing in pleasure when you moved over to him, lowering yourself over his lap. His cock was half erect, so you pumped it a few times, letting the tip grace over your folds.

"You are so good", He whispered, eyes closed in pleasure. He reached for your body, hands exploring your back. "So good to me." He mumbled, already drunk on you.

You positioned him, slowly lowering yourself into his lap and moaning in pleasure just as he did. You took a few breaths, stabilising yourself on his shoulders. He felt different but filled you oh so deliciously.

"I'm gonna move now." You announced, making him nod. His hands had found their place on your hips, pulling your torso a little forward. He looked up as you filled his vision. You looked ethereal; the dimmed light of the Tardis was behind you, creating a halo around you.

"My goddess, my sweet sweet girl." He groaned, pushing his hips into yours to reach deeper.

He held you, slowly pulling your chest into him. You were both catching your breaths, lying in a loving embrace.

You were both getting close.

He held you as you rode him, feeling blissful to see the expression of pleasure on your face. You felt your core tighten. His gentle fingers and thrusts move you closer to the edge.

"Go on," He said, moving onto his elbows to kiss along your neck. "Take what you need. I want to see you come."

His encouragement drove you closer; you fasten your paste while he uses his hands on your hips to push himself more deeply with each thrust. You were becoming hazy, so close to that sweet release. He noticed it, too, finding the soft spot behind your ear and sucking on it gently.

That threw you over the edge, coming with a gasp. You could feel your cervix pulsating, squeezing him inside you.

"That's it." He chuckled softly, but it quickly turned into a moan as he, too, came. The sight of your orgasm, the fact that his words and actions had helped you reach that sweet spot. It gave him the last push to tip over the edge and cum.

"I love you so much", He mumbled against your ear, fingers skimming over your back and holding you close.

You hummed, "I Love you, too. Till the end of time," You turned your head away from its position against his neck to kiss him softly.

You stayed that way for a moment longer, petting each other gently and sharing kisses. With a soft groan, you let his cook slip out. You managed to shift onto the side, leaning next to him. You were spent, happy to feel the soft comfort of the bed underneath you.

The Doctor sat up to reach for the duvet at the foot of the bed, placing it over the two of you. He had lifted his arm to let you move on his chest, just like you always did.

No words were spoken as you moved to place your head on his chest, your free hand gently laying next to it. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, arm wrapped around you and fingers smoothing over your arm in a slow back and forth.

He sighed, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of you next to him. He wouldn't mind staying like this for the rest of his life and the ones following it.

You shifted a little to look at him, your eyes meeting, smiling softly at each other.

"What do you want to do now?" You asked softly, drawing patterns into his skin.

He hummed, thinking for a moment.

"The club? You go partying?" You asked, chucking at the absurd idea. He had never been to a club, not that you knew about. But with each regeneration came new quirks.

"I wouldn't mind a nap." He joked, smile widening as he saw you laugh. He squeezed your shoulder softly before leaning back.

"How about a nap. And then we go to the club?" He offered.

"Yeah, I feel like we should go to a club. Maybe something exciting will happen." He winked, leaning forward to kiss you again before settling into the pillows and closing his eyes.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #dw specials #reader insert #dw #fifteenth doctor #15th doctor x reader #15th doctor #15th!Doctor x reader #smut #fluff #timelord!reader #timelord #doctor who fanfiction

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meiluu · 1 year ago

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Fight Our Battles

Peter Parker/ Female!Reader cw: Violence, reader gets hurt, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff. lower-case intended, not edited can be viewed as any spider-man, but i personally imagined ps4/ps5 peter

what had started out as a regular saturday, with you and peter swinging through new york like any typical patrol around the city turned into something much more than either of you were ready for.

green goblin had escaped from the raft and was causing mayhem within the city, fires and ominous clouds of smoke and ash begin to engulf the city. and here you and peter are trying to get people to safety as well as deal with the goblin.

"Go after him! I've got the civilians!" peter whips his head to your direction, about to argue and say that you both need to stick together. shaking your head "I've got this go! I trust you spider-man!" your tone is final and peter reluctantly leaves you to pursue the goblin.

watching his retreating figure you focus your mind onto what's in front of you. webbing up unstable buildings, pulling people from fiery cars and rubble. stopping for moment to catch your breath you realize that this area is finally okay enough for you to leave it as first responders finally make it to the scene. using your in-suit tracker you quickly find peters location and hastily begin swinging your way there.

getting to peter your eyes immediately catch onto his much more battered form, there are cuts across his chest and through his emblem. but he seems to have the upper hand- having cornered goblin into a abandoned area of construction. quickly shooting a web you swing in, landing a harsh kick to the goblins face.

an enraged roar leaves him as his mask is flung off-wobbling on his glider. Then you see two webs sticking to either side of the goblin, and just as you see those webs you see peter slingshotting himself feet first into the goblins chest. the concrete behind him cracks and the goblin tumbles to the ground, his glider crumbling along with him.

with the goblins figure staying slumped upon the ground both your and peters shoulders slump in relief and exhaustion. then the sound of police sirens filter into the air as dozens of cop cars pull up, ready to detain the menace. "I have some of the anti-serum for him, its not permanent but maybe it'll help with keeping him in custody." peter voice is tired, as he makes his way over to you as you both scan each other for any lethal injuries. nodding you head you watch as peter begins to head towards a vial that was resting upon the ground. you suspected it had gotten flung out of his hand while he fought with the goblin.

then your senses begin screaming at you, BEHIND YOU!

you barely make out peters terrified scream of your name before the disgusting crazed green eyes of the goblin look up at you from the ground with one of his miniature bombs in his hand. then its dark.

the familiar sound of air whooshing past your ears along with searing hot pain across your abdomen is what wakes you from your sleep. "pete?" your words are moaned out in pain and confusion. "yeah its me- just hang on we are almost to the hospital. just stay awake for me please." your heart clenches at how desperate peter's voice is, you can do nothing but nod and bury your head further into his chest- hoping that the pain would go away if you did.

peters feet thump heavily into the ground when he finally lands in front of one of the hospitals in new york that was getting not as flooded with survivors from the attacks. and your heart clenches again at peter voice shouting out for help, "i need a doctor, please!"

there voices start to fade out, you catch how peter voice is a near roar as someone tries pulling off your mask. and it sounds like that person is then shoved away by what you assumed was dozens of nurses, he tells them to leave on your mask- but it sounded more like a command. the softness of a bed greets your back, peter having set you onto a gurney. nurses are putting an iv as the quickly roll you further into the hospital- eyes lids growing heavy you succumb to the sleep, hoping that when you awake the pain will be gone.

peter's pov.

if not for the mask every one within the waiting room would see my tears flowing feely down my face.

god how did i not realize the goblin wasn't knocked out, why didn't i web him up- how could i be so careless!?

and now you were in the operating room, were i hoped with all of being that you would be saved. looking down to my hands that lay limp to my sides i see- your blood smeared into the red of my suit. biting my lip to snuff out the sob that threatens to escape me. why wasn't it him who got hurt? why was it always someone else taking the blows for him?

i don't know how long i just stood there staring down the hallway that lead towards the operating room with you in it. but eventually the doctor how had pushed away that asshole who tried taking off your mask earlier- and had quickly let me know that he would be operating on you- made his way towards me.

quickly walking towards him, his face isn't sad or drafted instead a hopefully expression takes up his face. "she's ok, no major internal injuries surprisingly, but she has a bunch of stitches and will need to stay here for-" i don't let him finish before i'm tugging him into hug, "thank you, i don't- i, just thank you so much."

a soft laugh leaves the doctor, "with what you two do for this city everyday, there's no need for thanks. i should be thank you both for all the good you've done for this city and its people." stepping back from the hug a chuckle leaves me, "i guess we're at an impasse doc... but um- where is she?" he quickly gives me her room number, then i'm running there.

getting to your room, i see you. sleeping peacefully with your mask still covering your face, walking closer towards the bed i sit down in one of the spare chairs within the room. grasping your hand into mine my body finally begins to lighten as all of the accumulated stress begins to pour off of me. and with the comforting sound of your steady breathing i let myself drift off.

reader pov.

its been a few weeks since the goblins attack upon new york, his final one- with him succumbing to his wounds after setting off that miniature bomb. most of my stitches have been taken out and there only remains a very small scar from that day. and with the city repairing itself me and pete have taken a bit of a break from spider-maning... mainly because i needed to recover and peter hasn't want to leave my side. which i'm not complaining about but i can see how much that day hurt peter, though with each day that passes i see that darkness lighten.

and today i continue with that goal of lessening that darkness, having slept in with peter cuddled in your shared bed. gently i brush my fingers through his soft brown locks, "good morning pete." he buries his head deeper into my chest, you can feel him smile against your skin. "i think we are well past morning." an ouch leaves him with my pinch against the skin of his shoulder. "so technical." my tone teasing, a soft kiss is place against the side of my neck as peter raises his head to meet my gaze. beautiful hazel eyes that hold nothing but adoration within them. "good morning." sleep still hold onto his voice making it a bit huskier than normal, his plush lips are planting a sweet kiss against mine.

eyes instinctively shutting at the all to familiar sensation of butterflies within my stomach as my heart relishes in our shared affection. pulling away i bring my hand to his face, caressing his skin.

"i love you, so much peter." a radiant smile blooms across his face, "I love you too." looking into his gaze i'm pleased to find that some of that darkness has nearly disappeared. "you doin' okay pete?" he raises his eyebrow at my question, then lowers when he realizes what i'm asking about. "yeah.. i just- i nearly lost you. and i don't know what i would do if i lost you."

"i know i cant promise you but i will try with everything i have to never let that happen again." peters warm and muscled arms wrap around my torso pulling us chest to chest, with no space between us. "and i'll do the same for you, i never want you to feel what i felt that day."

and with those words peter buries himself further into our embrace, where we both lay relishing in each others presence. warmed by our bodies and the rays of the sun shining through our bedroom curtains, as we stay encased in our plush comforter.

a breath of relief leaves me, brain becoming flooded with peters comforting scent as my heavy heart lightens at our declarations to one another. together we would fight to make sure that both of us came home, make sure that we would have the rest of our live together and not apart.

(omg i just went into a crazed writing spree for like 2 hours, i wrote this at 4am-5am so sorry if there are parts that don't make sense. Hope you enjoyed this :D )

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enterpris · 3 months ago

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Caught in Orbit, Chapter 1

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: Cursed energy has many expressions- inherited techniques, reversals and maximums.

Occasionally, cursed energy of a sorcerer will react with another sorcerer’s cursed energy, or perhaps their soul. In these cases, a bond is formed that can tie families together, increase power, or spark love.

When your soulmate is discovered, you have to decide what the bond will mean

Warnings: cannon typical fighting, moderate injury, reader is a jujutsu sorcerer, soulmate au

Length: 3.9k

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

It’ll be a Grade one curse- easy in, easy out.

You page through the assignment folder, as country roads pass in Ijitchi’s rear window, driving you to the remote town that’s housing the spirit. Beyond the estimated grade of the spirit, the notes in the folder are sparse and messy, with few details about the two incidents that have occurred so far. Near the back of the file there’s a graph depicting the level of cursed energy in the building over time though, and that catches your eye.

“So there’s been activity here for months? Why are they just sending a sorcerer now?”

“There’s been low level activity, yes, but a teller was killed last week. Cursed energy spiked, and there was another death yesterday.” He looks at you through the rear view mirror. “Since then, the levels of cursed energy have remained level, so we have reason to suspect there will be more casualties if this spirit is left unchecked.”

You hum assent and put the file down. “It’s better to exorcize it now, before things get any worse.”

It doesn’t appear that anything connects the two victims outside of the location of the attacks, it’s likely just an amalgamation of poor feelings over the years that finally coalesced.

“Any further incidents may cause this branch to close down- there’s been posts made online connecting the two deaths, and we want to minimize fear for the people who live in the town. An incident of any higher magnitude would be a disaster for a small town.”

You nod and stare out the window, the vast green fields and craggy mountains would be quaint and idyllic in another circumstance. This far outside of the city there’s not much traffic, and you should arrive soon. As it is, you can’t help from evaluating yourself, cataloging your physical state and diverting your focus into mentally preparing. While you didn’t have enough time to fully rest and recharge after your last mission, sleep doesn’t often come easy anymore, the hot meal and couple hours of sleep had provided a much needed boost.

The rest of the ride is quiet, Ijitchi pulls up to the bank and you hop out. He rolls down the driver’s window and gives you a once over.

“I’ll be waiting just down the street. Text when you’re finished here I’ll come pick you up. Good luck.”

A terse nod is the only response you give, already attuning yourself to the waves of cursed energy radiating from the building. He nods back and peels away. A few moments later, a veil drops over you, casting the small bank in shadow.

Through the focus you’ve cultivated for the mission, you can’t help but be intrigued- you’ve never encountered a curse attached to a commercial building like this, and something pretty significant must have happened to infuse this place with enough negative energy to spawn a Grade 1 curse. The case notes didn’t include grisly details of a natural disaster or crime, though. After scanning the outside of the building and quickly stretching out your shoulders, still stiff from the ride, you step towards the entrance. The curse likely already knows you’ve arrived, the energy rolling off the building feels particularly strong. The front door opens without any fuss, and the stench of cursed energy is like a fetid tide within the building. The death of the two tellers hangs in the air as you walk through the small entrance hall.

It’s silent in the lobby save your soft steps across the laminate and the underlying buzz of electricity running to the tellers’ computers. Between the veil and the electric lights being turned off, the interior feels dingy and a little claustrophobic. Nothing really looks amiss, but there are cursed energy residuals drawn across the room like a web, no hint as to where the body of the curse might be. You leap over the low divider to get to the area for bank employees. If two tellers were the casualties, it’s possible that the curse is lurking somewhere clients don’t have access to, or the attacks happened outside of normal business hours. You can’t recall whether any times were posted in the notes.

Before you explore the back, you scan the lobby once more. You can imagine the small branch bustling on the weekend, business owners and families coming to make deposits or pull out money for a day trip. You brush your fingers over the black screen wistfully. Maybe in another life you would have helped customers in a bank.

Or perhaps you would have gone on to college. When you enrolled in Jujutsu Tech as a high school student, you hadn’t thought much about your future, but you could have studied any number of subjects.

Something shifts unnaturally somewhere down the hall and your hackles rise, the distinct feeling of eyes on you. You spin to the back and allow your cursed energy to flow freely through your body- ready to be released.

Keeping your attention high, you creep towards the back of the building. The noise repeats itself, and you can hear more clearly now- a rhythmic clatter, not quite the scutter of an insect, but something similar, that's coming from the back rooms. The pattern of noise stops and starts again.

Measured steps bring you closer to the belly of the bank, here there are low tables in a wide back room, with private rooms that branch away to speak privately with a banker. The furniture seems to be undisturbed, wherever you look there’s perfect order, still no indication of how the bank tellers were murdered. But the curse is making just enough noise to let you know it's lurking somewhere. It’s got some degree of intelligence, then, to taunt a sorcerer. You tilt your head, trying to determine where the noise is coming from.

You scan the floors, then the walls, steadily working your way back through the hallways to an area that’s only accessed by employees. There’s no more decorations here, only shadows cast by the meager light let through the veil, yellow-gray and sickly like a bruise. But the rustling noise has gotten progressively louder. As you approach the curse’s lair, the noise begins to sound louder and more distinct. You had to have walked through nearly the whole building now, save the vaults. Hopefully that’s not where the curse has taken up its roost.

The vault is huge and silver, set into the wall of the building itself. The cursed spirit has got to be in here, and you’re ready for the fight. With a deep breath, you increase the output of cursed energy in your arms, letting the strength ground you, then turn the handle of the vault door. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears that are trying to listen for any drop of sound, any discernible shift.

But the door is firmly locked, the handle shifts only a fraction of a degree. You process where else the curse could be- your initial sweep had been fairly thorough, could the curse be small enough to slip into one of the crevasses you’d left unturned?

Cautiously turning, you step back down the hallway you’d come from. Something in the air changes in that instant, and you step to the right, pivoting back to the vault entrance. The cursed spirit materializes out of the wall, pursing a grossly oversized pair of lips and greedily grabbing with stumpy appendages.

You intensify the cursed energy running through your arms, waiting for the cursed spirit to dart in and try to grab you, but it maintains its distance, instead spitting a noxious ball in your direction, but you pivot out of the way. You sprint towards the spirit, ready to swing, but it darts down one of the hallways, bringing you back towards the front of the building.

The employee-only areas blur past until the curse turns back towards you in the open room right before the lobby. It puckers its lips again and spits a second glob of steaming cursed energy at your body. You dodge again, then rush the curse.

But something feels wrong. After the second attack, the spirit makes no move to shoot again, or try to evade as your steps bring you closer to its disgusting body. While you analyze the curse’s behavior, its bulbous eyes flick towards the ceiling of the room.

The curse must have hidden a projectile there before you brought it into the open. Your eyes snap to the roof of the building, but instead of a projectile you find the sinuous legs and writhing body of a second curse. Its long appendages twitch and undulate in a sickly wave that you now realize was the noise you heard earlier. You can’t even see how many arms there are. A wave of cursed energy stronger than the first curse rolls off of it now. Icy fear cuts through the adrenaline pumping through your body. The second curse is strong too, and clearly working with the first somehow. You’ll have to scramble for your life.

You have to make a split second decision, choose which curse to focus on first. If you can exorcize the spitting curse quickly then pivot to the second curse, you’ll probably have the best chance of coming out on top. The second spirit hasn’t moved from its roost above the fight yet, you have no idea what its abilities are or whether you’d be able to beat it first.

Clambering backward to avoid being caught directly under the second curse, you’re nearly backed against the wall. The furniture in this room is all low and sleek, nothing to use as a shield or small enough to use as an extra weapon. The booths and computers in the lobby may give you more to work with, but between you and the hallway there is the spitting curse.

The second curse stretches its legs towards you, and it descends from the ceiling. Fuck.

Without any more time to form a plan, you run towards the spitting curse and pass it on your way to the front of the building. The narrow hallways won’t give you any tactical advantage, and would make it easy for the two curses to gang up on you.

You look over your shoulder and see the first curse hurl a projectile, and you desperately push your body to the right.

Not fast enough.

The mass of cursed energy collides with your left shoulder, and your vision whites out for a moment. Warm blood seeps from the wound and soaks your shirt, now you’ll be vulnerable and slower than before. You grit your teeth and scowl at the mass of hateful energy.

The second curse opens its mouth, grotesquely stretching the muscles until it could swallow you in a single gulp. Its twitching legs begin to move in sequence, crawling down the side of the wall in a trembling mess.

The first curse floats along ahead of the second, and it looks like it could shoot another projectile at any moment. You duck and huff a few deep breaths from the outside of the lobby divider. Then, you infuse your arm with cursed energy and punch the spitting curse with the strength you’ve saved for this mission.

The force of the hit wracks your body, and pain screams from your left shoulder. The spitting curse gets knocked to the ground coughing, but isn’t exorcized yet. You breathe through the piercing waves resonating from your shoulder and pull out a short knife to finish the job.

Cursed energy flows again through your arm and into the blade, but the second curse flings its knobbly body down from the wall. Its sinewy legs tangle around you, and the small cutting edge can’t pierce deep enough to really do any damage. The legs sweep you towards the main body of the spirit, and you see the first curse rise back up from the corner of your eye. You shove at the countless appendages and slash where you can, fighting against the nebulous legs to reach a longer weapon. Once it’s in hand, you allow the built-up cursed energy to infuse the cells of your body with all of the strength and speed you can afford to spare.

The boost (and the longer knife) allow you to hack through the second curse’s legs, and come face to face with the spitting curse. It puckers its lips once more and you hold your position a moment longer, then duck under the following projectile. Before the beast can make another, you stab the longer knife directly through its head.

You’re pretty sure that finished it, but there’s no time to double check, as the second curse has recovered from the limbs you took from it, and ambles back towards you. Dodging its legs again, you leap towards the entry room of the bank. A quick spin puts you facing the curse once more.

The legs skitter and twinge against each other, and there’s another noise too, a low drone coming out of the curse’s mouth. Whatever its muttering, you’re not interested in finding out. Now that it’s a fair fight, you’re feeling more confident about your odds of walking away from this bank.

You raise your left arm to throw one of the knives as the curse, but the joint can’t extend all the way. Swearing, you switch the larger blade to your other hand and try to gauge what this curse’s MO is. So far, it’s mostly kept out of the way, using the legs to pull you towards its body.

Now, those legs scuttle faster, it darts in towards you. You brandish the weapon and take a few quick steps back, but the curse keeps coming. You shove one of the doors open with your bad shoulder and turn to see if the curse will follow you outside. You’ve barely got time to pant in a few deep breaths.

It catches the door nearly as it closes, pushing out and gnashing its horrible teeth. You can’t pass up the opening though- as the spirit maneuvers through the door, you dash forward, infuse your arm with cursed energy and fight through the legs, then sink the knife into one of the bottom of its body.

The curse lets out a terrible wail and thrashes through the doorway, entangling you as it rampages out of the building. The smaller knife is still in your other hand, and you funnel cursed energy into it and slice shallowly into the nearest leg. The curse howls again and the legs holding you loosen but don’t release completely.

You writhe and kick your legs against the curse until you can wiggle your arm free, then drop to deadweight. Your heart is beating fast as the curse drags you in towards the body. You can hear the muttering clearly now, kodoku, over and over.

You allow the curse to drag you closer, no more than an arm's breadth away, then you pour every last ounce of cursed energy into the knife and bring it sharply down, impaling the spirit directly in its skull.

The curse collapses, a moaning pile of open wounds before disintegrating into the tiled floor. Its stink pollutes the greenery and bright day. You pant and the adrenaline that had kept you afloat leaches out of your body. The world blurs in front of your eyes, and you’re sucked back into your body- exhausted, bleeding heavily, and abruptly feeling every bit of your injury.

You lean against your knees, putting weight on your good shoulder. The energy you had expended to exorcize the first spirit held the pain at bay for a time, but the blood in your shirt is cooling, and you’ve run your body ragged by finishing the fight.

It was technically a win, desperately fought and barely won. You may be barely standing, but that curse is exorcized.

Staggering to the larger commercial entrance, you unwind the jacket and grasp the material near your bad shoulder. The blood has soaked through the thicker material, and you can feel a pulse of pain each time your heart beats.

You pat down the pockets of your pants, not sure where your phone is. After locating it, you try to pull up your messages to alert Ijitchi. Your vision blurs again and you groan in frustration. This injury is clearly bad, and if you can’t contact Ijitchi, you’ll pass out soon. If that happens, who knows how long it will take for him to return and pick you up.

After a few moments, you pour all of your focus into just calling him. With a shaking hand, you slowly click through the menu and hear the phone ring.

He answers, and you could cry from relief.

“Kodoku.”

It was a traditional magic, where small bugs or creatures fought to the death in an enclosed space. The fluids of the final survivor could be used to poison an individual. The spitting curse- it must have spit that liquid in its projectiles. You’re nearly delirious thinking about it.

“What?”

“Things didn’t go well.”

“I’m on the way. What’s wrong?”

He sounds concerned. You must sound worse than you thought.

“More than one, I was hit.”

Before you can provide any more details, you see the unassuming black sedan pull back up the driveway. He drives over the grass to get closer to you, then hops out.

You hobble towards the back of the car while he takes in your state.

“It looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood. Is it a cursed wound? We should be able to make it back to Shoko within an hour if I speed…” he trails off, likely calculating the distance back to school on different routes.

“Not cursed, just nasty. I’ve got pressure on it now, but I’ll probably ruin these seats.” You pant the words out, not totally sure that they’re true. The pain is radiating from your shoulder, it could be a cursed wound, but that wouldn’t get you back to campus any faster.

In what feels like a blink, you’re back at Tokyo Jujutsu, Ijitchi supporting your weight on the walk down to Shoko’s medical bay. He helps to set you down on the low operating table and says something. It’s probably important, but the sound is drowned out by the pain singing in your veins. Absently you wonder if you’re going to pass out from blood loss. The hit was worse than you thought.

Shoko technically had a medical degree, but because of her Curse Technique, most of her knowledge and skills were intrinsic. You’re not sure if getting her doctorate degree even helped her or if it was just part of the school’s cover.

She’s standing in front of you, speaking lowly with Ijitchi. She pulls a pair of scissors from somewhere. The metal is cold where it touches the skin of your stomach, and Shoko shears the remains of your shirt away. She’s wearing gloves now. You’re not sure when she put them on.

“Oh,” you hear her voice floating above you.

Her voice blends with Ijitchi’s as they continue their conversation, the indistinguishable words blending with the hum of the air conditioner to lull you halfway to sleep.

Since finishing school you had only been injured badly enough to need Shoko’s healing once or twice. The smell of antiseptic and the morgue closeby are enough motivation to avoid hurt at all costs. It’s cold in the medical bay.

Sharp pain pulls you out of your thoughts as Shoko prods the wound, muttering about the internal damage. Her gloved hands circle the hole in your shoulder and you feel the eerie trickle of Reverse Cursed Energy seep into your body. Feeling another sorcerer’s technique never felt right, but something feels particularly wrong right now. She sits you up and you slump against her. She’s warm.

More muttering and your head feels a bit clearer. It's a strange sensation, to feel your body rebuild itself in real time. Shoko's hands are warm through the gloves and your stomach drops as the skin and muscle knit back together.

Noise echoes down the steps to the medical center. Footsteps, you realize after a moment. Everything still sounds distorted and dreamlike.

“Hey Shoko” a voice calls, drawing out the last vowel of her name. “I wanted to know-” the voice chokes off.

You feel her turn away from you and the sensation of her healing stops. The loss of support makes your head loll back, and you feel distinctly separate from the rest of your body. It’s not til Shoko shifts again that you remember that someone else is in the medical area.

Your vision swims when you turn to see Gojo standing in the doorway of the stairwell, looking aghast at you.

“Ah, on second thought, maybe I should come back later.”

“It’s fine, we’re almost-” Gojo cuts Shoko off.

“Nope, really, I’ll be back later! Not important!” His voice disappears as he zips back up the stairs where he came from.

You furrow your brow.

Even in your addled state, you know that Gojo is the most powerful sorcerer on the planet, he should hardly be squeamish, surely a little shoulder injury isn’t enough to send him running for the hills. The thought grounds you a bit, and you think vaguely that it should already be halfway healed anyway. You crane your neck to look at the wound behind you and your chin brushes the bare skin of your shoulder.

With all the movement and almost passing out, you’d kind of forgotten that you’re not fully dressed. The wound has partially closed, but there’s still blood drying on skin around, dripping down your back.

But he’d only seen your back, nothing scandalous, and surely he’s seen a woman in her bra before.

Shoko returns the pressure to your shoulder blade and you let your mind drift as the current of her cursed energy infuses you. Who knows what’s going on in Gojo’s mind. You’re lucky really, that he didn’t stay. Healing isn’t a pretty process and you aren’t interested in having an audience as your shoulder knits itself back together. Shoko’s reverse curse technique feels more like a strong current of energy now, the sense of wrongness has passed.

More time slips by, and then she gently lays you back down on the table. Shoko's voice is soft above you, and you pick out a few words, “more hours,” and “rest.”

Perhaps it's easier when you're using your own cursed energy to heal yourself, but the few times you've been revived by Shoko, you're left more drained than when you were injured. It’s as if the flesh itself has mended, but the weight of the injury has been transferred to your head. You don’t particularly want to remember the last time you required her services now though.

The details of the attack are dreamily-muddled now, like maybe it happened to someone else. When you try to recall any detail, it flees from your mind and dissipates into the background.

Exhaustion drags you under, and your thoughts are silenced.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #jjk reader insert #soulmate au #CiO #my writing

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