#heating contractor long island

[bestplumberlongisland]

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[punkshort]

Welcome to Shortie's Joel Miller masterlist! Below is a mix of pre and post outbreak stories, most are 18+. Thank you for reading❤️

The Way We Were [complete]: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. When the outbreak happens, you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Look What We've Become [complete - sequel to TWWW]: You are tasked with taking a young girl back to her family while trying to salvage your relationship with Joel after certain events cause the biggest strain either of you have ever had to face.

I'll Be Home for Christmas [on-going]: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.

Somewhere to Run [complete]: You move to a small town in the middle of Texas to escape your past and start over. You don't expect to fall for the town's handsome sheriff.

I Know Who You Are [complete]: A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

Roommates [complete]: Your roommate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, things get... complicated.

Swept Away [complete]: Detached, closed off, and hardened by failed relationships (romantic and otherwise), hotel mogul Joel Miller is looking to expand his empire to an exclusive tropical island off the coast of Fiji. The problem is, he's not the only one looking to stake his claim in the tropics. The owner of the island, a family man first and foremost, invites all the bidders to the island for a month long retreat to help him decide which mogul will be crowned the winner. And to make himself look more appealing, Joel hires you to accompany him as his significant other. But it's strictly business... right?

Evergreen [in progress]: Two unlikely strangers meet and bond over a shared trauma. But what happens when the lines unexpectedly blur and they're both overcome with guilt? Will they allow themselves to love again, or will they choose to drown in their grief?

I hate when you're right: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him to leave Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Have a Good Night: Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

Night Shift: It was a relatively quiet night in the emergency room until a handsome contractor gets admitted and adds some excitement to your life.

Hard to Handle: One year after Joel cheats on you and gets someone else pregnant, you run into him for the first time.

Five Senses: You catch Joel sneaking off to do something in the middle of the night and curiosity gets the best of you.

A Deeper Purpose: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

-> Love at First Sight: Joel helps you through your delivery.

-> A Deeper Meaning: Now that your daughter is born, Joel is itching for another but you are still feeling a little discouraged with the way your body looks. He quickly puts an end to those feelings.

Come Fly with Me: You and Joel have fun in the cockpit.

Something Unexpected: It's been ten years since you lived in Texas, and of course the first week back, you run into a familiar face from your past.

First Impressions: When your heater breaks in the dead of winter, you get more than you bargained for when Joel Miller arrives to fix it.

Flinched: The day after Sarah died, he flinched.

[theclairvoyage]

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!

[tgmsunmontue]

You need to learn how to fall 6/10

Hangster (and IceMav) - Bradley is too tall to be a naval aviator and instead becomes a sky diver, specialising in spin recovery. He is a civilian contractor to the military to teach pilots how to survive parachute spins from ejections. A more in-depth version of this post.

PROLOGUE 2003-2006 2007-2010 2011-2015 2016+

>>Bradley

>>Jake

~30 months Later…

                “Dr Bradshaw!”

                “Ah. Lieutenant Seresin.”

                “You remember me.”

                “You name and rank are on your uniform.”

                “Think you still remember me.”

                “You’re very sure of that.”

                “I like to be memorable.”

                “Hmm. I’m sure you do. Can I help you?”

                “Just wanted to see if you’d be interested in that drink.”

                “We’re in Corpus Christi. This isn’t my home. I believe I told you to look me up if you were ever in North Island.”

                “So you do remember me. And this is my home base, so halfway there right?”

                Bradley sighs, it feels like a bad idea for so many different reasons, but he could do one drink. It’s not like he has any other plans for the evening before returning to the base accommodations he’s been put up in for this training stint and even if it does end up a one-night stand he’s kind of horny enough that he’d go for it right now. He hasn’t had sex in a few months, which isn’t actually a problem, he’s not

                “Sure, okay. We can go for a drink. As long as it’s not on base.”

                “Deal.”

                One drink turns into dinner, turns into another drink and then coffee. They end up talking for a couple of hours, before they realize it’s after ten and they both have early starts. He hadn’t expected to enjoy Jake’s company quite this much, his sense of humor biting, but intelligent conversation, engaged and invested conversationalist. He’s pleasantly surprised. Jake, and he is Jake now, walks him to his car, parked in the far end of the lot under the shade of a tree in the hopes it’ll keep in cooler in the Texas heat.

                “Thanks for agreeing to have that drink with me…”

                Bradley pulls a slightly depreciating face, knows he’s maybe acted a little like a jerk.

                “Thanks for inviting me. Again. I enjoyed myself.”

                The kiss is soft, dry and gentle, nothing more than a brush of lips and he’s too stunned to do anything more about it, to chase his lips for a deeper taste. Instead Jake tips an imaginary hat at him and walks away and he wonders what the hell just happened. That’s not the way he thought their evening would end.

…             …             …

                The next day his phone vibrates with a new message and it’s not from a number he recognizes.

>>When I’m in North Island I’m looking you up.

                Huh.

                He’s not sure if that’s a threat or a promise.

                He carefully saves Jake’s contact details in his phone.

…             …             …

                Despite their conversation over dinner he hadn’t really put two and two together and realized that Jake was in Corpus Christi to also be an instructor. He should have thought about it, realized when Jake was talking about instructing he was referring to right then and now. Their paths cross on multiple occasions but Jake doesn’t ask him out again. He’s nothing but professional, courteous and friendly. His eyes and lips seem flirty, but Bradley’s pretty sure he’s projecting now, completely imagining it. Neither of them mention the message, and he finds himself staring at it simply to remind himself that he didn’t imagine receiving it.

                Maybe he thought Bradley was interesting or attractive, but since their dinner, since they’re working together, there’s nothing actually there. Despite the text message he’d received, which he’d carefully saved into his contacts, Jake hasn’t asked Bradley out again, and he’s not sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved. He’s only there for two weeks, the training short and intensive, he’ll be back in nine months to cover other things, reiterate what he’s already covered (and in five months for a new intake of students). By then they will have had more experience, better understanding of what he’s trying to teach them. He does the rounds of goodbyes before heading for the airstrip and the plane he’s catching back to North Island.

                “It’s been nice working with you. Thank you for making your expertise available,” Jake says, shaking his hand and Bradley nods and smiles, the formality of Jake’s tone not matching the intensity of his gaze. It’s a sharp contrast to the more antagonistic man he met a couple of years ago, contrasting further with the charming and flirty guy he ended up having dinner with and he wonders which one is truly Jake Seresin.

…             …             …

                Days later, working on a research paper and he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. He really needs to fucking jump out a plane, confused and frustrated for no reason he can pin down and he wants the clarity that falling through the air gives him. He redoes all his pack jobs. Unrolls and checks, realizes he’s maybe a little distracted and asks Mav to check them for him as well, before he does it again, his mind finally settling into the familiar rhythm. He convinces Ice to take him up for a jump, specifically a hop and pop, wants to spend as much time floating down as possible, Mav on pick up within the drop zone.

                It’s a textbook landing, he times the flares out perfectly, the velocity of approach slowing and he still prepares for impact but there’s almost none, jumping down a step would have been worse and he almost bounces up simply with the amount he’s bent his legs. He pulls in the toggles, tugging on the lines to stop them from gusting and begins pulling it all in.

                “Nice, you look almost blasé about the whole thing.”

                “Yeah, it was nice and smooth.”

                “You look like you belong up there… something one of your instructors said to us once, about you being a natural. You do look like you born to it.”

                “It’s my safe space, which I know seems weird to you, but it’s just….”

                “Everything comes into pinpoint focus and you can’t imagine being anywhere else,” Mav provides and Bradley catches his eye and nods.

                “Yeah. Also it’s where I feel the most alive. Nothing else matters.”

                “Hmm…” Mav agrees, and he slaps Bradley on the shoulder, helps him unclip and roll. “You know that’s how I feel about flying. Seeing you just… step back onto earth, reminded me of how I feel about when I step out of a plane.”

                “Like you immediately want to get back up there?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Well, I have you to thank, you know. I know this probably isn’t what you imagined for me. I know you always wanted to keep me safe. But when I decided on this, I thought I’d have to fight you on it, that I’d have to fight both of you. Instead you both just… supported me. I know that can’t have always been easy.”

                “Loving you, supporting you? Easiest thing we’ve ever done in our lives. Trust me. Stopping ourselves from protecting you, wrapping you in bubble wrap and stopping you from making mistakes… that’s been the hardest, especially when it was in direct conflict with the first. You’re happy. Do you know how happy that makes me?”

                “Really happy?” Bradley jokes, although he knows it’s going to miss the mark, the expression on Mav’s face far too serious. Apparently they’re having this heart-to-heart, out here in the middle of tussocky almost desert.

                “I mean, it does but also… I could die tomorrow and would feel content that I had done the best job I could. That we could. We knew we would never replace your dad, never wanted to. But we’ve always wanted to be there for you.”

                He doesn’t say anything, just grabs for him and hugs tight. Mav doesn’t mention his dad very often, and Bradley’s pretty sure there’s shit there he’s likely never dealt with, is aware that Mav has nightmares but has never asked about them and realizes in that moment that he might in fact have nightmares about Bradley himself. Fuck. He hugs him tight again.

                “You’ve done a great job Mav, you and Ice have both done a great job.”

                “Well, you know Ice. He can’t be anything but excellent at everything he does.”

                Bradley laughs, and the moment eases from the somberness back to their usual banter but he gives Ice an extra tight hug when they pick him up from the hangar and he just laughs at the quirked eyebrow he gets in response.

…             …             …

>>You have any idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself?

                Bradley stares down at the message. It’s from the contact number he has marked for Jake Seresin but there’s just the other message he never responded to and now this. He’s on the other side of the country, hell, he went on a fucking date two nights ago… and now he’s staring at his phone and wondering what the fuck is going on. First off he needs to make sure this is actually Jake.

>>Jake?

>>Yep. Thought I better show you that I can be professional before I started talking about how I love watching you walk. Your legs are fucking gorgeous, want to get my hands all over them.

                He swallows, skin feeling tight and hot from a single fucking message and okay, he hadn’t been reading things wrong, Jake clearly just felt like he needed to prove something. He

>>I’d let you.

>>Got to get myself to North Island first. I want to date you.

                Oh. He hadn’t been expecting that. Hadn’t expected Jake Seresin to challenge him, to be this persistent, to still want… well, him. It’s been nearly three years since he met him at Top Gun, about two weeks since he saw him in Corpus Christi… He’d sort of thought Jake would pass him by, had been okay with that.

                Before.

                Hadn’t ever seriously thought he’d be in this position. This guy has either being playing a long game, or he’s definitely more interested in Bradley than Bradley ever though.

                So.

                Now?

                He doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to let him pass him by at the very least. Not without at least trying.

                The sound of laughter has him looking up, Mav giggling because he’s just provoked Ice enough into rapping him across the knuckles while cooking dinner. Fuck. He realizes then that for Jake his tiny little family could be a deal breaker. Ice the recently promoted COMPACFLT, Mav a captain, both of them pretty legendary and intimidating apparently. Never to him of course, but to someone else in the service… he doesn’t know. Jake could take one look at his family and just… turn around and walk away. Jake’s waited this long though, but it feels weird now, having Jake not know this part of his background when he already knows so much else.

                He wants to tell him, in person, so he can read his reaction. He’ll be seeing him in five months. If he’s serious about dating then they’re always going to have periods of time apart…

>>You have anything again long-distance dating?

>>Just the inability to touch. You letting up on the whole North Island thing?

>>Yeah. Think I am.

PART 7

[leggerefiore]

Dreaming Reality

cw: Darkrai Cyrus, pokemkn hybrid au, slightly possessive Cyrus (very subtle)

pairing: Cyrus/Reader

Newmoon Island was desolate. Mostly rocky with only a small area of greenery that held a grotto inside it. You found it difficult at times to call it home. There were no pokemon that lived on the island, excluding a specific one. The nearest store required a long boat ride back to the main land. Then you needed to fret over what to bring with you. It was always messy.

Your home had become something more… functional than the tent you had originally pitched on it. The pain of hiring contractors to build out here remained fresh on your mind, especially with local rumours making it harder. Though, they absolutely did not have to worry about the nightmare being doing anything to them. He was too busy hiding in said grotto from earlier to avoid all of them. Fascinatingly, that was the first time you saw him express any form of jealousy, too, as he had wanted you to hide with him in the shade of the trees.

The next time came when you decided that more supplies were needed to live somewhat comfortably again. Heading out to meet the boat after scheduling for a pickup, you had watched the Darkrai's face shift from the area of the small cabin that he had claimed. “You are leaving again?” Cyrus's voice was strange, hypnotic – It was something impossibly calming and deep. You feared that if you listened too long, you would fall into slumber while doing something. He walked towards you, eerie shadows seemingly swirling as he moved.

“I'm running low on some bathroom essentials,” you mumbled, trying to fight the odd stupor that had begun to claim your mind. How much you had slept since coming to this island would likely concern any doctor, but such was the fate of being Darkrai's lover, you supposed. At least the dreams you had were often pleasant and comforting. Any nightmares ended quickly, and you found yourself being comforted by Cyrus when they happened.

“Do you truly need them?” his voice sounder like it was coming from everywhere as he grasped your hand and brought it to his lips, “Just stay here… I don't want to give you back to them right now…” You wanted to argue back, but the familiarity of his words sent shivers down your spine. The room around you seemed to suddenly fade to a complete void as you felt alone and terrified. Confusion rushed through your mind. Had you not been awake? Where was this?

You did not dare move.

Arms softly came around you from the darkness behind to gently embrace you.

“Beloved…” you could feel the heat of his breath on your ear, “Awaken.”

You shot awake in your bed, taken aback from the sheer lack of light in the room.

“Cyrus…” you whined, turning to see the man in bed beside you, “… Can't you just cuddle me here instead of messing with my dreams? You made me think I was out of toilet paper.”

He stared at you before clicking his tongue. “… I find it easier to express myself there… I apologise,” the blue-haired man sounded genuine. A hand came to grasp yours. He was being affectionate, something unfortunately uncommon. “Your mind is a comforting place for me to be…” he mumbled while leaning you back down against the sheets, “It's easy for me to lose myself there… Perhaps you hold a perfect world inside your mind…”

You suddenly grabbed his hand tighter than he held your own. It truly had become harder to distinguish reality from dreams. Only one thing was glaringly obvious, and it was Cyrus. No matter the place you were, he was always present in some form. Quite different from his initial reaction to you moving onto his island and deciding to keep him company. “That's almost sweet of you to say, Cy,” you told him sweetly, “… But I do need to be awake for things, too. How am I supposed to eat like that?”

“Do not be foolish,” his voice was strong as he spoke, “I allow you more than enough conscious periods to tend to your human needs. I don't want you to perish.” You sighed. The offence was clear on his face at the thought that he would allow harm to befall you from his actions. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you then pulled away to stretch and get up from bed.

“Well, I'm going to the mainland for a while, for real this time,” you told him, “… I'll be back, you know. I live here and love to see my cute Cy working away on his projects in his little area.” The Darkrai almost looked more upset by those words than he did by your previous ones.

“I am not cute.”

“Oh, but you haven't seen your focused face. When you figure something out, you smile a little.”

The dark-type felt mortified endlessly by how you viewed him. It definitely bought you time to get away, though.

[ariadne-mouse]

I know you'll probably have some fun stories to tell with 14 and 19 for the fic writer asks!

Hallooo!

14. where do you get your inspiration?

All over! I get some atmospheric inspiration from places I've been (there is an IRL doohm rock reference from mercaleb, as you know), tidbits and themes from life experiences I want to explore from various angles, themes from canon that leave room for more exploration, idle daydreams, whatever other media I'm watching and go "hmmm what if I put a blorbo in that situation". Sometimes it's escapism and sometimes it's reflection and sometimes it's both. Other creators inspire me (like you!) with beautiful writing and art that makes a thriving fandom ecosystem. I've written snippets for art and drawn art for others' writing, circle of life, etc. I love great art prompts from followers when I'm doing doodles (thank you to everyone who has ever sent one!). Sometimes my inspiration for any creation is just "hehe wouldn't it be SO stupid if I just-" and then I do. Highly recommend.

19. the most interesting topic you've researched for a fic

It's gotta be everything volcanically related for Volcaleb. All the materials I watched and read for that were interesting, whether or not they made a reference in the fic. I watched videos of scientists who simulated lava flows with their own materials melted in a massive drum & poured down concrete slopes. Lots of folks hiking around active lava flows in a variety of heat gear, taking samples. Drone footage over active fantastical eruptions. Stumbled on a really unfortunate series of AI images of "people eating lava" (do not recommend). Timelapse footage of slow-moving pahoehoe which has this fascinating chrome color to the cooling surface in some lights. There was one 20min Youtube video about contractors in Hawaii talking about how it was dangerous to move construction equipment in some areas of the islands because you could unexpectedly have a big hollow chamber somewhere under you at any time and the weight of the machinery could collapse the whole thing. I watched the whole thing and used none of it lol. I learned about long-term land use recommendations as official documents in areas where geological variables are at play - this actually did get a mention! Anyway, volcanoes and lava are cool (heh).

[olet-lucernam]

A Hollow Promise [28] chapter vi, part v

{_[on AO3]_}

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture, explicit sexual content

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summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

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chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.

recommended listening : you, greta isaac

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tag list: @femmealec @mischief2sarawr

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[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

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48 weeks and 4 days out

The air was hot and humid, saturated with the smell of acid, bricking her into a wall of heat.

In the fresh dark, golden eldritch light glittering on her skin as the portal closed behind her, Astrid flipped her other phone out of her pocket- still dressed in the sleek-tailored trousers, pink satin heels, and black blazer with a narrow, dagger-plunge neckline that she had worn all day in Monaco. It had been edging into pre-dawn, as she left the Mediterranean coast; in Madripoor, the night was just beginning.

She checked the time on her screen, waiting for it to catch up to the local time zone.

She had a few new messages- one from Dr Wu’s ream, confirming the intended date for the scheduled surgery, another from Ophelia-

The clock updated.

Fashionably late.

Her client was probably beginning to sweat.

Tucking her phone away, Astrid pulled her hair up into a brisk, curling ponytail, walking towards the fire escape at the edge of the roof, the tide of noise from the streets rising to greet her.

Vivid and cluttered and treacherous, Lowtown was teeming with trebled activity as soon as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Its unpaved narrow streets trammelled through a jungle of industrial steel beams and graffiti-splashed brick, thick bundles of electrical cables swooping overhead between the buildings and elevated walkways like trawl nets; structures staggered and crowded in and away from the water’s edge as though climbing over each other, jockeying for the highly priced commodity of square footage on the densely populated island.

The district was noise and neon lights, a grease trap and a den of iniquity.

Within it, the Brass Monkey Saloon was a strange oasis. The blue-backlit feature wall of carved primate skulls was a little gauche, and the cocktail menu was slightly bizarre even for Astrid’s well-travelled palate, but the fugu sashimi with ponzu and serrano chilli was to die for- quite literally, if the bartender was careless with the knife.

The bar was a place of business, primarily, a venue for deals to be conducted under a strict code of etiquette, enforced by the imminent threat of violence. And a contractor like Alethia was considered a selling point, a draw for customers- allowed to skip the line at the door.

The bass hummed through her bones as she was admitted by the bouncer, winding her way through the press of bodies in embroidered silks, cropped leathers, and street-fashion cotton. The dress code was somewhere between dystopia, music video, and runway in Milan- meaning that her blazer suit strangely blended into the bedlam, smudged out amongst the black and greys and blues.

Sliding up the glass-topped bar, Astrid caught the eye of a particularly humourless bartender.

“Benjamin.”

He looked up, pausing in sliding glasses away beneath the bar, and approached unhurriedly.

“Alethia.” He answered expressionlessly. “The usual?”

“Please.”

With the slightest nod, he turned away to prepare her eponymic drink.

Most of the drinks at the Brass Monkey were little more than a mouthful- premium liquors served up in a double shot glass with a dash of garnish.

The Alethia was an exception.

Hip and elbow leaning against the bar, facing out to scan the densely-packed room, Astrid glanced back over her shoulder to watch Benjamin work. The cocktail was a take on a Kir Royale; in a tilted flute glass, Benjamin tippled a chilled, sparkling rosé, mulled using a seventeenth-century French recipe that proclaimed itself wine of the gods, infused with powdered sugar, yellow apples, lemon, and orange blossom water. Benjamin added a shot of a liqueur made of summer berries, vanilla, and rose, a heavy dash of sharp lemon juice, and a sprinkle of dried rose petals and edible gold.

Astrid’s mouth curved faintly as the drink was set in front of her, incongruously and shamelessly pretty, sweet and feminine with a sour edge.

She parted her fingers around the stem of the glass, gently pulling it towards her by the base.

“Thank you. My client?”

Unblinking, Benjamin lifted his head in the direction of one of the booths tucked against the wall.

Straightening, Astrid turned to look, the fall of her ponytail sweeping against the back of her blazer like the scrape of a butterknife.

She bit down on her lower lip, to stop herself from laughing.

Dr Abigail Brand had dressed the part- dark studded leathers and a lace bralette, the silver glint of the hardware picking up and reflecting the acid green streaks threaded into her braids, eye makeup smoked out with an expert shimmer of emerald glitter- but her posture was that of a rabbit frozen amongst a pack of wolves, stiff and shoulders gathered in, eyes darting towards anyone who walked a little too close to her table.

Gripped in her hand- raised a little too high to be natural, obviously on display- she was nursing a glass of the same pretty pink cocktail bearing Astrid’s alias.

“Stars above,” Astrid murmured to herself, the slight pressure in her chest halfway between outright laughter and pity.

“Only reason she hasn’t been eaten alive is because she’s one of yours,” Benjamin commented.

“Mm.” Astrid inclined her head back, in implied gratitude.

She lifted her apéritif to her lips, awareness opening up.

There were a few familiar faces amongst the froth of bodies, as well as fresh blood. She swiftly recognised a certain Cajun thief who had given her trouble in the past, flipping a pack of cards low at his waist with the deftness of a magician, scanning the floor as though searching for a mark; not far from her, two women lounged against the edge of the bar, talking- one with white hair cropped short against brown skin, the other taller and curvier with a spill of iron-oxide hair.

Her eyes snagged on a shadow slouched against the wall several seats away.

Broad and bulky and closed in, arms folded across their barrel chest with blatant hostility, they were concealed amongst the dye of blue light, and constant slow-churning motion of the patrons.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Can I order a plate of the fugu sashimi to the table, Ben?” Astrid spoke over her shoulder. “I have a feeling that this is going to be a long one.”

He paused, inscrutable. “Sure.”

Nudging herself off the bar with a flick of her hips, Astrid wound her way through the crowds, shoulders twisting as she slid between turned backs and jutting elbows, pivoting on the balls of her heels, until she came to a halt at the edge of Abigail’s table.

She waited until her nervous sideways glance began to flicker upwards- stuttering towards her face, but afraid to make eye contact, in case she was mistaken.

Head cocked, lips parted in the insinuation of a smile, Astrid spoke.

“Now what is a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Abigail’s chin snapped up.

“Alethia.”

Her expression and tone were translucent- relief mingled with apprehension, and a dash of visible reconsideration of every decision that had led up to this point.

Unimpeded by the dim half-light, Astrid looked directly into her, pulling her open.

What she caught, in the flickering fire of Abigail’s synapses, was- not what she expected.

But it did stain colour into a few of the blanks.

She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth.

Without a word, Astrid slid fluidly into the seat opposite her, relaxing into the cushions, her aching muscles easing into rest.

“You came,” Abigail said tightly. She was fidgeting with the stem of her glass anxiously, dried petals and gold leaf swilled against its sides in the wash.

Astrid arched a brow.

“Should I not have?”

“No,” Abigail said sharply, clenched and perturbed, a hint of a steel-honed conviction in the reflexive panic, “I mean yes. Yes, you should have come.”

“Mm.” Astrid lifted her glass, the rim pressing against her lower lip, all caprice and acceptance. “Alright.”

Abigail glared at her uncertainly. “Alright?”

“Mm-hm.”

Blinking at Astrid’s slow, languorous hum of affirmation into her drink, Abigail shifted in her seat. “Uh. Okay.”

Astrid watched her, swallowing a mouthful of liqueur-spiked rosé, while Abigail cast about for something to say- or, rather, a way to phrase whatever she had contacted her for.

“How are you?” Astrid prompted, folding her arms atop the table.

Abigail looked nonplussed by the question.

“Um. Good.” She decided after a moment.

Astrid flicked her eyes up, and across their surroundings briefly- the pleasant small talk incongruous to the bar.

Abigail seemed to catch the meaning in her gesture, cringing to herself at the awkwardness.

“I, uh- I got out of SHIELD, a few months ago,” she explained.

“Oh, that is good,” Astrid said sincerely.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Abigail swallowed thickly. “I, um- I mean it. Thanks. You, uhm- you knew, didn’t you?”

Astrid arched her brows.

“Knew what?”

Abigail’s lips pressed together, smudging her plum lipstick.

“About- me.”

Hesitating, her hand gestured vaguely against the surface of the table, palm up and fingers flaring.

It mimicked flame.

“Oh, that.” Astrid tipped her head nonchalantly, laughing softly. “Of course. Mutant, not mutate, right?”

Abigail sucked in a breath, gaze fixed at Astrid’s clavicle.

“You didn’t tell SHIELD.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

Abigail’s expression flickered with the first, fragile threads of consternation, looking away.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I tracked you down?”

“Mn, no. I have a fair idea as to how.”

“Right.” Her jaw was set, chin lifting, frustration and discomfort beginning to lend her confidence. “I’m guessing you already know why I’m here, then.”

“Actually, no- well, yes, but it is broad enough a why that it barely counts.”

The outer corners of Abigail’s eyes creased slightly as she glanced up, setting her eyeshadow glittering.

“What, you’re not gonna claim the credit for getting it right?”

“I’m always right,” Astrid pointed out, lifting her shoulder. “If I kept pointing it out, I would come off like men who are so very insistent about how nice they are.”

A snort startled out of Abigail, a hand immediately whipping up to cover her mouth.

Astrid grinned, picking up her glass.

“It’s good to see you, Dr Brand- I’m glad you’re well.” She allowed herself to say. “So. Why don’t you tell me why you bought us here?”

Abigail sobered. The zips on her leather jacket clinked with the motion of her shoulders drawing back, throat moving.

“So, um. My contract ended with SHIELD, and afterwards- I decided to take a break from work. It was a few months after you- after APOLLO was finished, and I, uh, I actually ended up going back to-”

“Ah, I’m sorry- I should have been more specific,” Astrid interrupted gently, setting her flute down, teeth crunching into the dried petals, crisp on her tongue, “I know why you’re here. I was asking,” she met Abigail’s startled black eyes steadily, “why- you bought us here.”

Abigail’s mouth moved soundless for a moment.

“Wha- I don’t unders-”

“I can infer that Dr Brand is an envoy, of a sort,” Astrid continued, talking past Abigail, gazing directly into the aperture of her pupils and through, “and your point of contact, to me. But wonder if it was necessary to drag her into the lion’s den. Even with her shadow in the corner. Madripoor may know him, but they have no indication that he is here for her.”

For a moment, Abigail sat locked in place under Astrid’s stare, doe-eyed and blank.

Then, her entire posture shifted.

Knees crossing under the table, she leaned back. With a flick of a deeper glance, Astrid perceived her pulse throb down from its brisk, nervous clip to a comfortable resting thrum. The wound-taut stiffness dropped from her like snapped marionette strings, leaving her slouching into the booth, fingers lacing over her abdomen. Her eyes became knowing, the smile politely curious, her entire manner avuncular and professorial; Astrid could see the pattern in the spark-shower of her synapses shift, the electrical impulses changing.

Something other than Abigail Brand was stepping towards the surface of her skin, taking up the reins, from where it had been seated as a voyeur for the past several minutes.

Abigail Brand herself melted back with a rush of relief, willingly giving up the pilot’s controls.

“My goodness, but you are good,” Abigail’s mouth mused, grinning softly.

Telepaths, Astrid thought, restraining herself from rolling her eyes. Because they could read others, they thought they were entirely opaque.

“I assume that you were aware of my reputation.” she pointed out coolly. “It makes hiding behind the metaphorical curtain seem- a little pointless, no?”

“Well, I had to be sure. I’m sure you understand.” Abigail’s shoulders shrugged, gaze calm and clear as a cloudless night. “It’s why I wanted to see you for myself.”

Astrid couldn’t begrudge that. She lifted a shoulder in acquiescence.

“What were you hoping to find?”

“Ah. Well. When Abigail told me about you- about who you are, and what it is you could do- I could only hope that you would be precisely what she described.” She took a pause. “Interesting that you are upset. That I appeared careless with Abgail’s safety. It certainly speaks volumes of your character, Miss Alethia.”

“Are you terribly concerned with my character?” Astrid asked dryly.

“As a matter of fact.” The smiling eyes turned solemn, beneath the maintained tension that kept the edges pleasantly upturned. “It is of great concern to me.”

The press against the surface of her thoughts was light, experimental, expert- like the skim of fingertips on opaque glass.

Her mana lashed out, driving the expectant, exploratory force back.

There was no flinch in Abigail’s features at the rebuff, only a distant surprise.

Astrid twitched her head to one side, as though flicking off the residue.

Abigail’s spine straightened slightly, its occupant readjusting.

“When did you work it out?” The question came from the telepath with downturned eyes and a light mien. It was he bearing of someone finding enjoyment in an intellectual challenge, and deciding to ignore what had just happened.

Wise choice. “That Dr Brand was not alone in her head?”

The telepath used Abigail’s vocal cords to hum in affirmation.

“As soon as I looked in her eyes,” Astrid said simply. Like recognises like, she mused.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“You’re not my first,” she replied with a bland smile, lifting her glass to her mouth, her right eyebrow arching with the curve of the left side of her mouth.

Witches and warlocks and interdimensional demons had all tried to crack her skull and pry it open to peer into her brain, at one point or another. Her defence mechanisms were instinctive, and effective, and only restrained if she wanted to invite them inside- like Loki.

“You can invite them to sit down, by the way,” she added, elbow resting on the back of the booth, finger toying with a stray blonde curl. “Although- we might need a larger booth if all four of themintend to join us.”

The smile on Abigail’s face twitched wider.

A moment later, one of the bar staff delivered Astrid’s sashimi platter to the table- raw fugu arranged in fine slices on the dark ceramic- and she felt three people exit the club.

The fourth moved in the corner of her vision, towards their booth, as Astrid popped a bite-sized fillet into her mouth.

“Ah, Logan,” Abigail’s voice called, so staged that Astrid almost rolled her eyes, “there you are.”

Astrid looked up obligingly.

The once-shadow stood close against the edge of the table, backlit in dim smoke-blue, looming over them with a blatant standoffishness, limbs held as though cut from granite- or else constantly primed to wind back into a right uppercut. His build was stocky, tall and broad, square-faced, corded with a type of muscle that was just slightly underfed- in a way that made Astrid think of rescued fighting dogs- and wearing stone-washed jeans, a weathered leather jacket, and a deep scowl, brows heavy beneath a shoved-back mane of dark hair.

While Madripoor was no stranger to soldiers of fortune and pit-fighters and hired guns, this one had a different air about him- something slightly incompatible with the city, but so unconcerned with it that he was accepted anyway.

“Logan, this is Alethia,” Abigail announced, somewhat unnecessarily. “Alethia, Logan.”

“Hey,” Logan grunted.

“Hi. Pleasure,” Astrid replied, sensing that laconic answers would endear her to the man known to the island as Wolverine. “Sashimi?”

He flicked his chin up. “I’m good. They still only serve that mini-cocktail crap here?”

“The Alethias are a reasonable size,” the telepath had Abigail interject, lifting the glass and twirling it by the stem. “And rather pretty, I must say.”

“They have a few craft bottles behind the bar, on request,” Astrid informed Logan lightly. “I can order you one.”

He glared at her for a moment, as though attempting to determine what the catch was.

Astrid kept her gaze clear and open.

“Sure,” he said eventually.

Astrid glanced towards the bar, catching the eye of a bartender and lifting two fingers in the universal gesture of requesting service.

Abigail slid aside in the booth seat to make room for Logan. He dropped into the cushions with an almost deliberate inelegance, sizing up Astrid from underneath his eyebrows.

She let him.

“You still haven’t given me your name,” she directed at the telepath instead, curling her hand under the line of her jaw, eyes remaining on the bar.

Abigail made a soft noise.

“Oh, yes. Forgive me.”

Through Abigail, the telepath smiled warmly, steepling her fingers across the table.

“My name is Professor Charles Xavier. I run a school for remarkable youngsters, in Westchester, New York. And I have a proposition for you, Miss Alethia, that I do believe may be of mutual benefit to us both.”

Astrid glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, lashes low, tone light.

“Mutual and beneficial,” she echoed consideringly. “That is an interesting combination, Professor Xavier.”

Abigail- Charles Xavier- smiled brightly.

“I most certainly hope so.”

Astrid exhaled an answering laugh, turning to him.

Logan was still watching her with an expression that threatened to pin her by her throat, if she bared her teeth first- but she simply glanced at him with dancing eyes, before turning her gaze back at Abigail and the telepath looking through her eyes.

“Alright, Professor,” she said, taking up her glass, “I’m listening.”

-

Another addition was made to the list.

Storage boxes.

-

47 weeks and 1 day out

It was an uncharacteristically lazy morning.

The linens were crisp and freshly laundered, the air conditioning thrumming into the penthouse, filtering the humid air to a comfortable temperature. Monsoon season had passed, and sunlight streamed through the drapes from clear skies, its glare from over the city spires softened enough through the gossamer drapes that she could slip back into sleep if she chose, like dipping into a warm bath.

It was a brief stillness, amongst the organised, frantic entropy that dominated her waking hours- and Astrid was struggling to regain the useful panic and need to move, to keep going.

You need the rest, Astra, Loki murmured against the curve of her neck. His mouth was pressed so flush to her skin that the words were more vibration than sound, dissipating and melting through her flesh, dissolving into utter primal want in her bloodstream, like gold dust. Now stay here and be sweet for me. It has been too long since I enjoyed you like this.

Biting her lip, Astrid resisted the urge to arch into the illusion of him- tauntingly bare-skinned from the waist upwards, the comfortable contours of his arms and marble-cool expanse of his chest and stomach encasing her, pressing against her warmth, a knee sliding lazily against her bare calf.

She was thoroughly upset at him for trapping her so effectively.

She could feel Loki’s smugness as he sank into her, languorous and satisfied. A palm smoothed under her camisole, and up the curve of her waist indulgently.

Astrid gave a muffled, bitten-off noise of protest and delight, barely stopping herself from flexing back against him.

Loki knew exactly what he was doing.

They had talked for a short while after Astrid had woken that morning, and she had just been about to rise, mix herself a caffeine hit, and review her progress, when Loki had unfurled the illusion of his weight against her- slotting a leg between hers and burying his face in her hair, projecting affection and pleasure as though there was nowhere else that he would rather be- and rendering her completely useless.

Astrid huffed into the plush of her pillow, still lying prone against the mattress.

“As though I wouldn’t do anything for you,” she mumbled ruefully.

Loki took his victory with relative grace, only smirking against her nape.

He still wasn’t entirely relaxed. She could feel it. The underlying tension was corded through him in a low thrum of anxiety, like a plucked wire, like the current of a storm in the air.

Astrid felt its echo strumming in her chest, a low roar of things that she didn’t want to think about, reverberating louder.

And moment by moment, it seemed to creep closer, nearer, blurring into her vision, like the sight-lights of a train, screaming on its tracks.

It lingered, as a sour taste in her mouth.

With a flex of her scarred shoulder blades, Astrid eased herself up onto her elbows.

Loki barely loosened his embrace enough to let her move. His mouth and the tip of his nose grazed down her back as she pushed upwards, lifting his head to her, quietly watchful.

The muscles in her abdomen and flanks stretched, the sharp-edged pull a welcome distraction from the sickness gathering underneath, clouding her thoughts.

Loki reacted before she felt him think of the motion.

Rearing onto his knees, he snaked a strong arm across her abdomen, dragging her up against the bend of his body, holding himself up off the bed on the opposite elbow.

The air was forced from Astrid’s lungs in a sharp gasp, heat pooling in her gut with a reflexive lurch, pinned in place up against him.

You seem distracted, darling, Loki said delicately, a dark and deliberate contrast to his possessive grip upon her, fingers fanning across the curve of her waist. Where are you, my heart?

Head bowed, weight forced upon her forearms, bridged underneath him and pulse hammering into a canter, Astrid swallowed down the shock, regrouping.

“That’s- Loki, that’s not what I- ah!”

She let up a yelp as Loki sank phantom teeth into her shoulder. A sharp wrench of want ripped through her, setting her chest heaving.

There you go again, darling.

Using the arm that was locked around her waist, Loki dragged her a few effortless, powerful inches down the mattress- bending her underneath him, until she was settled on her knees, stable even without his grip holding her up.

You’ve been distant of late, sweet thing. Preoccupied. One of Astrid’s hands reflexively reached for his, glazing over the back of Loki’s hand, tracing the sculpted ridges of tendons and veins and knuckles, thrown into relief as his long fingers flexed against the dip of her waist. Always swift to leave, to return to work.

Arousal speared through her stomach, at being so cavalierly manhandled. Astrid could almost feel part of her brain shorting out, switching off; the illusion of Loki was damningly firm against her, all lean strength and long, defined marmoreal lines, echoing reality to the finest detail. Her train of thought stalled at the flex and flutter of muscle and sinew, the controlled crush of his weight bearing down on her, and how he fit her against him.

Astrid half-wanted to grapple loose and twist over in his arms, and paint his skin with heat.

The other half of her wanted to willingly give up the fragile threads of control that were still taut in her grasp, and let him do whatever he wanted.

Here we are, at our leisure, and yet your mind is working away. Loki mused, ominously unhurried as the steady tightening of a knot. Away from me. Have I been neglecting you so?

She choked out a soft scoff of denial. “I d- it’s not that-”

No? Perhaps not, yet I have to wonder if it had not crossed your mind. Loki’s voice in her mind was like blood and sugar, heady as strong wine. That I have been remiss in showing my appreciation.

Astrid pressed back, as his palm spread possessively against her lower ribs. His handspan was broad enough that the pad of his thumb brushed distractingly close to the underside of her breast, taunting.

She bit down on her lip hard, neat-pared nails scraping at the rumpled bedsheets.

Ah, see? Loki teased. I have neglected you. My poor darling. I was thoughtless. You have been working so very hard, relentless, tireless, without due reward from your prince-

“You are my reward,” Astrid gasped out before she could think.

His lips curved at the shell of her ear, darkly delighted, the mark of a perfectly executed victory.

Astrid could feel the net closing upon her, caught.

Aha. Right as ever, dove.

Loki nudged a knee between hers, and pried her legs open.

Her thoughts instantly turned molten, her spine slackening.

I am your reward. Loki purred. He began mouthing his way across the open span of her back, tracing the violent edges of her scars, lingering on the ridge of her vertebrae, a tease of fingertips beginning to gather the hem of her camisole, lifting it up across her body. Now take it. Like it’s your right.

Her breath was punched out of her.

“Fuck, Loki, you can’t just say-”

His hand smoothed beneath the waistband of her soft jersey shorts, stroking her hipbone.

“Uhn-”

Say it again, he rasped, say my name again.

Her sigh shuddered on her tongue.

“Loki.”

That’s it. Again.

“Loki, please-”

Again.

“Loki-”

His hand moved to palm her thigh, long fingers gently pressing into the firm-soft flesh, parting her legs further.

Yes. Just like that, Loki murmured. Like you mean it. Like you need this. Show me that you are here, with me.

“I-” Astrid forced herself to focus, ignoring the flick of his tongue on her skin with sheer brute willpower. “Hn- it’s not- over yet. Not even close, I thi- th-this is jumping the gun a- a little, don’t you think-? If this is meant to be- a r-reward-”

Oh, believe me, Loki answered heatedly, the hand on her ribs sliding back up until his fingers rippled over the jut of her hipbone, sending Astrid shivering, stuttering against a breathy exhale. You have earned this much, at least. I will save the very best for when I can work you over with more than just my magic- but neither do I intend to deprive you now.

“I am not- deprived-”

Loki tucked a firm, searching kiss against the pulse on her throat. His fingertips barely grazed the crease of her inner thigh, teasing at the rush of arousal short-circuiting her synapses.

Stop thinking. His breaths were at the curve of her jaw, his lashes brushing her temple as he inhaled against her skin, his loose hair skimming her face. Astrid breathed in, drawing in lungfuls of his scent, of wild boreal forests, the clean bite of frost, the warm musk of leather, and fresh-ground ink. Relax, and close your eyes, and let me ignite the stars behind them. Say you’ll do that for me, Astra. Say yes. Tell me yes.

She heard the note of pleading in his voice, beneath the thick cadence of command, and Astrid’s will snapped clean in half.

“Yes.”

Loki let out a close-mouthed groan against her, before snapping out a command, every inch the proud, uncompromising, imperious prince he had been raised to be.

Eyes closed, beloved. His hand rose to her lips, caressing their edges. And let me hear you.

Quick as a viper, he gripped her hips, and flipped her over.

Astrid gave a yelp as her back hit the mattress, her head thudding into the pillow, pulling her hair almost completely loose from its ties.

She huffed, within the dark behind her eyelids.

“You are enjoying this a little too much, prince,” she barely managed to accuse him, against the caress of his fingers at the bone of her ankle, swirling against it.

Yes I am, Loki agreed amiably, lifting her leg with a crook of his finger at her heel, kissing her calf.

Astrid heard the lie instantly.

She threw her elbow over her eyes.

“Tak guna,” she muttered in Malay.

Chuckling knowingly, Loki surged in and bit the inside of her thigh.

Astrid jack-knifed with a shriek of surprise- before dissolving into laughter. Pure joy brewed up and bubbled out of her, like a cloudburst in sunshine, bright and clean and refreshing.

She could feel Loki’s answering grin, and the soft thrum of his laughter as he kissed the inside of her knee sweetly.

There she is, he breathed, the velvet of his tone softening just slightly, tenderness edging in and twining around her like ivy. My darling. My Astra.

“Your Astra,” Astrid breathed out in a vow, reaching for him. “Yours.”

Her fingers threaded through the waves of his bed-mussed hair, soft and wildened under her touch.

There was a sudden intimacy in the gesture. Even through the red-tinted shutter of her eyelids, and the cold fact that he wasn’t really there, it made him feel close and undressed and open, and hers.

“I love you.”

Loki paused abruptly.

It occurred to Astrid that this was the first time that she had said it, in naked, unambiguous terms, that couldn’t be misunderstood or misinterpreted through a veil of references or implication.

Loki reaction bled through their mental link, with a sympathetic corkscrew in her stomach.

First came a heartbreaking hesitation- a reflexive flash of doubt and plunge of agitation, acidic and uncertain and almost panicked, like a starving stomach presented with a banquet- before hardening and sharpening and rapidly breaking apart into a storm of fierce, raw, deliberate affection.

The mattress dipped as he levered back up the bed, slipping loose from her hands, before dipping down to smudge a kiss against her cheekbone, just under her left eye.

Astrid sighed, tipping her face into him. Her hand shifted up to find the ridge of his forearm, where he was propped up above her, stroking along honed muscle and the curve of bone.

Although she had sincerely never felt deprived, Astrid could admit that she wanted this.

Two deft fingers scraped the inside seam of her shorts.

The friction of soft jersey against her damp, expectant flesh set Astrid’s hips snapping up reflexively, muscles pulling taut.

“Mn-!”

Loki exhaled his satisfaction against her, his breath dusting her lashes like frost, before his lips grazed upwards to the corner of her eye.

Let me hear you, he reminded her, darkly, setting a shock of pleasure through her bloodstream.

His fingers curved against her again, pulling a bitten-off cry from Astrid that pitched higher towards its tail, becoming strangled in her throat as her head pressed back.

The pads of his digits barely scraped against her, swirling in a tight droplet shape, testing and gathering the dense slickness that was clinging to the gusset of her shorts, heavy and rich. Astrid’s grip upon Loki’s arm tightened, nails dragging into his skin for purchase, heels dragging against the sheets as she drew her body open to him.

Loki lowered his head to slide his tongue languidly along the line of her clavicle. From behind closed eyelids, Astrid blindly reached for the artifice of his shoulder, anchoring herself against him; her palm slid along to the curve of the nape of his neck, carding her fingers through the soft, cool satin of his hair, scraping pared nails against his scalp and lilting her body up against his perfect mouth.

It elicited a faintly agonised noise from Loki, ghosting across and cooling the saliva on her skin. Loki’s form dragged a few desperate inches against her, his spell wavering and sparking under a rush of uncontrolled mana, rippling through Astrid as its conduit.

Almost in retaliation, he dipped his touch deeper, and began setting a rhythm in earnest.

She was lost in under four strokes, pulled under like a riptide, raw nature hijacking her brain.

Her hips began mindlessly rolling and hitching with every clever, experimental, painstakingly measured grind of Loki’s fingers, dragging against her flesh, the motion forcing soft whimpers from low in her throat. Loki’s mounting desire and gratification at her every twitch and vocalisation echoed though her, ricocheting into itself and creating a feedback loop that began blanking her thoughts out, involuntary little sounds pulled from her as though he was drawing music from an instrument, nerves set singing like violin strings.

“Loki,” she heard herself gasp out, using her hands on him as leverage to pull herself up into him, the stimulation simultaneously too much and not enough, balanced on the knife edge of agony and hunger, “Loki, fuck, so good to me, you’re so good to me-”

I haven’t even started yet, beloved, Loki murmured against the upper swell of her breast, the words heavy with promise.

Astrid felt his arm turn under her grip, and heard his fingers snap crisply.

Magic deluged the air, sizzling on her tongue as it surged through her like a lightning rod, a split second before her wrists slammed against the mattress, held in place by an unseen pressure.

She could feel Loki rising to kneel between her legs, parting his knees wide to force hers apart, cool air brushing hot flesh.

Mm, there we are. Loki gentled for a brief moment, fingertips brushing indicatively over the delicate veins of her inner wrist. Comfortable?

“Yes,” Astrid answered, quick and strangled, a little startled- but not entirely surprised- by the heat that pooled in her at Loki restraining her with his magic, cuffing her in place.

And he caught it, seeping through their connection, easing into a smirk.

Oh, I can see that. Look at you, Loki mused, each syllable dripping with lust, like an offering at a sacred alter, tied up and wet and willing for me. Fit for a god. Fit for worship.

One finger crooked beneath the hem of her camisole, lifting it from her body, dragging the cotton upwards, air cooling the glimmer of sweat that was beginning to form on her skin. His other hand slipped beneath the hem of her shorts, brushing teasingly against her sex, making Astrid flinch into him with a short cry.

Loki’s exhale was almost a snarl of conquest.

Bolstered by the sound, and with a sudden surge of boldness, Astrid lifted one leg and wrapped it around his hip, knee crooked and her heel pressing at the small of his back.

“Did you think about me?” She asked breathily, tipping her chin up, supplicant and wanting. “Like- like this?”

The vibrato of Loki’s airless groan settled behind her sternum.

I have.

Astrid shivered.

“Tell me.”

With a twist of his wrist, Loki seized a handful of her camisole in his grip, hulling the fabric up over her head- the magic around her wrists loosening just enough for him to slide the straps underneath them and hurl it aside. In the same motion, fluid as silk, he pulled her calf loose from his waist, bent down, and took the waistband of her shorts between his teeth.

Humming in the back of her throat, Astrid lifted her hips obligingly. Loki swiftly dragged her damp shorts loose from her, trailing a smudge of slick against her inner thigh.

You want to hear how much I want you? Loki growled, velvet and deadly.

Astrid exhaled, carefully.

“Well- yes- but more of the how. I- like to aim to please.”

Loki chuckled sinisterly, and snapped the swatch of jersey from over her ankle.

Are deciding on how to greet your prince, once you have me in the flesh?

“I should plan ahead,” Astrid breathed, “for a- grand welcome.”

And if I tell you that I have thought of this, since that morning on the Helicarrier?

His touch trailed up the centre of her abdomen, skimming the underside of her breasts. Smoothly deliberate, his fingers spread, applying the slightest pressure to the curve if her ribs, to hold her in place under him. Loki’s illusion remained at an infuriating, controlled distance, leaving Astrid only able to guess and verbally test at any physical effect she might be having on him, feeling her way in the dark.

That I had thought of breaking the lock, wrenching the door open, and fucking you while you wear nothing but those delicious thigh-high socks?

Astrid’s thighs clenched infinitesimally, a zoetrope-flicker of the scenario projecting into her mind, directly from his: of Loki sinking into her, one large hand grasping the underside of her thigh, gripping smooth skin and grazing soft clinging wool as he forced her open, mounting her, driving into her as her spine arched up, lips parted-

“Mn. If that’s what you want, alderliefest,” she managed to reply almost casually, swallowing the whisky-burn of his words, fingers clenching against nothing, “I- had thought about whether I could short out the cameras for long enough to ride you in that cell-”

The moan that spilled from Loki was quiet, but utterly obscene.

Astra-

“- especially after you quoted that line from E.E Cummings,” Astrid pressed ruthlessly, confessions spilling from her in a rush, “you said those words, and I thought about it- wondered whether that would prove that I was here for you, not them, if I- if I took you while you were in full armour, fingernails in the seams of your leathers, tongue at your throat-”

- Norns-

“- or maybe on my knees, if you wanted- I wanted reclaim you from them- bring you back, overwrite it all- ah!”

Astrid shouted, kicking out wildly as Loki plunged his tongue into her cunt.

He brushed past her oversensitive clitoris, instead pressing close to her entrance, flattening a broad, slow sweep against her heat and dragging through the syrup of her wetness. It still set her straining against her unseen cuffs and cursing out, every nerve turning to incandescent wire.

“Fuck, Loki, f-fuck, stars, that- ahn! Your mouth, please, fuck, please, please-”

I thought of you gasping my name like this, Loki mouthed against her, vehemently, humming vibrations into her throbbing flesh, leaving her whimpering, open-mouthed, begging me, and the heat of you, slick and gripping me, pliant and willingly mine-

His tongue dipped inside of her, brief and probing, the tip of his straight nose nudging the underside of her clit. Astrid cried out, long and plaintive.

“Loki-!”

I thought of my hand wrapped around your neck, as I took you from behind, he almost snarled, like the sound of grinding ice, carnal and visceral. Seizing her leg to drag it over his shoulder, Loki let her heel press into his back as his tongue curled into her, again, again, again, until her back pulled into a desperate, straining arch like the pull of a loaded bow.

One sculpted arm looped over her stomach, effortlessly holding her to the mattress with sheer iron force, the silk of his hair sweeping against her inner thighs.

Or your knees hitched around my waist, moaning like a whore for your prince, taking me until I am almost deep enough for you to taste in the back of your throat- hands pinned above you, just like this, or clawing at me as though you might die if you don’t have me- in my lap, with your back against my chest, hands in my hair, driving us both to completion, taking what you want from me like a queen upon her rightful throne-

Astrid thrashed her head against the sheets, Loki’s voice tapping into something primal she hadn’t known existed in her, striking deep, hooking into her gut. Her body moved mindlessly to chase the pleasure he offered, thoughts melting, her own voice cracking as Loki’s thumb edged into to nudge her folds wider.

“Fuck, Loki, yes, like that, just like that, right the-ere-”

His tongue swirled against her indulgently, humming with satisfaction. It set her head spinning, white beginning to bloom in the darkness covering her vision.

Tell me how you want me, Astra, Loki demanded, lifting away just enough that his slick-glazed lips brushed her clitoris. Astrid almost sobbed, twisting and bucking as she fought away, yet closer, her frontal lobe disconnected and her body given over to sensation, all reflex and reaction. Tell me what you like. Tell me what should I give my perfect girl to make her scream, what does she want of me, I’ll do all the work if she likes, all the fucking, just tell me how you want me-

“Everything, any way you want,” Astrid moaned out, turning her cheek against the pillow, twisting against him, chasing the perfect angle, hips stuttering and shifting restlessly, her ankles locking at the small of his back in a half-conscious attempt to tangle the two of them together and fight for leverage, sparks chasing through her limbs, hot and sharp as a livewire, “stars, whatever you want, Loki, you can have all of it, just- uhn! Want you to want it, want you to lose yourself in me, want you to cum for me-”

Loki’s lips sealed around her clit, and Astrid shrieked in bliss.

It was like a spark exposed to pure oxygen, the first crack before an avalanche, the swell before a tsunami. It gathered into her nerves, violently, as Loki tongued her in earnest, his tongue grinding against the delicate tightly clustered bed of nerves, humming low and lascivious.

Head thrown back, Astrid slurred half-coherent praises- back bowed and lifted, hips flicking up into the sweet friction, wrists straining against the pressure holding her down for him.

“Beautiful, faen, Loki, you’d look beautiful coming inside me, exquisite, divine, every inch of you, Loki, only you, yours, break me, Loki, Loki, Loki-”

Loki let out a whining groan, curving in and bearing down on her, flicking his tongue against her with lethal precision.

Her orgasm came crashing down like the roaring rush of a spring storm, spilling through her blood, seething through her.

Astrid could hear herself gasping for breath, short, vehemently feminine sounds forcing their way through her clenched-open jaw. Loki’s grip turned bruising, caging her in place.

When she came to- eyes still closed, rising from the fall with stardust shimmering behind her lids, pleasantly senseless with pure dopamine- she could feel the facsimile of Loki’s hand soothing down her side, in long, languid, honeyed strokes of his palm, his nose nuzzling at her temple tenderly, trembling almost infinitesimally above her.

Her lips twitched, in delighted disbelief, when she realised that he had gotten off from that alone.

Back with me, pretty girl? Loki murmured sweetly, just slightly out of breath, kissing the curve of her jaw.

“Mn.”

How do you feel?

“Hmn.” Astrid shifted, testing her limbs with a sigh. “Spectacular. Definitely, ah- un-deprived.”

With an airy chuckle, Loki kissed her cheek, chastely.

Good.

Ignoring the pleasant, protesting ache in her arms, Astrid reached up- finding her wrists released, the magic dissolved- and twined them around Loki’s shoulders, pulling him down flush against her.

He came willingly, melting into her warmth like wax. She tipped her head aside as Loki tucked his face against the curve of her neck, settling his weight against her with a contented sigh and shuffling of angles, seeking the most comfortable fit. Thrumming a soft laugh, Astrid relaxed, luxuriating in the swathes of cool, bare skin that greeted her. The pads of her fingers traced over and massaged into his shoulder blades, running through his hair, until she felt a hedonistic moan purr through his chest.

Astrid was drifting somewhere in the gentle liminal haze between sleep and waking, when he spoke again.

This won’t be forever, Loki whispered, his thumb running along the curve of her hipbone, I promise. His hold on her tightened slightly. My eternity.

Teeth slicing against her lower lip, Astrid smiled, bittersweet.

She was unspeakably grateful, that he had misinterpreted her.

To her luck, it seemed that Loki believed it was the distance that was plaguing her psyche- and not the fears that the distance had begun to dredge, from somewhere dark and uncertain inside her heart, stirring up silt, scraping at her insides.

But Loki’s words rang of an ancient vow, of something that he must have said to her before.

The familiarity of it slotted into and turned against the void in her memories, like a key in a neglect-stiffened lock- not enough to unlatch the time-frozen pins and barrels and gears, but enough to tell her that it fit.

Astrid tightened the circle of her arms, burying her mouth against his crown. Her legs slid between his, sliding up his calves, grounding herself in the verisimilitude of him.

Loki was not there, but somewhere lightyears away, he could feel this.

And Astrid had chosen selfishness and pain and hurling herself onto the dagger of his affection, and she was nothing if not faithful.

No matter what lay ahead, no matter the unknowns that could drop the floor from underneath her, she had already made her choice. It was too late; she loved him.

“Can I be greedy?” She asked tentatively.

Always. Loki slid his arms around her, snug between her back and the cushion of the mattress. Tell me.

Astrid exhaled carefully.

“When it’s over,” she said, breathing in his leather and ink and evergreen, “let me hold you like this again.”

Loki huffed a fond, incredulous sound.

As often as you like. As though you need even ask.

She curved herself around him, denying the pressure building behind her eyes.

“Then I can wait,” she said softly.

I can earn you, Astrid didn’t say.

-

43 weeks and 2 days out

It wasn’t HYDRA who found her first.

It was as she was leaving an appointment one night- her messenger bag satisfyingly weighted with several files, as payment for services rendered, along with a fresh commissions list- when Astrid recognised that she was being watched.

She didn’t react. The dockside warehouse was one of Ophelia’s less glamorous, and more legitimate operations- located on the docks of Hǎidào Bay, on the cusp of the deep waters of the harbour. Within the shifting labyrinths of shipping containers and omnipresent grime of corruption, it had been easy for Astrid to dress herself in black and casual confidence, and render her presence unnoticed as she came to meet with Ophelia for their usual exchange.

It was equally easy to slip through one of the narrow corridors between the shipping containers, step into the Mirror Dimension, and open up a portal to another continent, escaping within seconds.

The air in Odesa was pleasantly temperate, the sun bright and the breeze cold, the skies clear as glass in the cool March weather. Ornamental trees were beginning to come into bud and bloom; by April, their fragrance would be almost sugary, like a confection made by layering something chiffon-delicate upon itself, until it became saccharine.

“I’ll give you all that I own

You’ve got me standing in line

Out in the cold-”

Singing quietly to herself, burning enough mana into her surroundings to incinerate any magical trace that had been placed upon her, Astrid bought tea and a pastry from a nearby stand, and settled on the edge of the fountain outside of the opera house. The curving Italian baroque façade was radiant in the high daylight, the sloping lawns accented by the thundering, frothing roar of the fountain jets at her back, and the susurration of conversation and rustling leaves and sharp, lilting cries of seabirds.

Setting her tea beside her, Astrid pulled the files from her messenger bag, opened each cover, and checked the contents.

“Bend me, shape me

Any way you want me

‘Long as you love me

It’s alright-”

Ophelia had been a little nonplussed by Astrid’s recent request, despite her established preference for currencies other than cash- but had dutifully provided it without fail, to her exact specifications. Each file contained a rental contract for an industrial warehouse or disused commercial space, listed with an address and lease term, signed and paid for under a shell corporation. The locations were scattered across the globe, in highly populated cities and municipalities, all carefully selected by Astrid.

She glanced over each set of papers, noting her approval with a sip of tea. Beside her, the waters of the fountain basin rippled like ocean shallows, catching spangles of blinding light in a fae shimmer, dazzling her briefly.

“Everybody tells me I’m wrong

To want you so badly

But there’s a force that’s driving me on

I’ll follow it gladly-”

She would have to get the warehouses outfitted and set up before November, at the latest- and make them fit for purpose, to emergency-house thousands of people.

Taking a bite of her pastry, still humming, heel tapping to the beat, Astrid began mentally compiling a list of favours that she could call in. She would prefer not ask something of Tony yet, with their cooperation still so tentative, built upon a house of cards fewer than those they had hidden up their sleeves- especially when she couldn’t give him the truth about why she needed these safehouses.

But Professor Xavier- or Charles, as he had insisted upon- might be amenable. And she had a few contacts that might be able to point her in the direction of people willing to do the construction work, possibly even some that Ophelia could recommend-

Astrid swallowed the mouthful of sweet pastry.

Someone was watching her. Again.

Slipping the pastry back into its paper bag, licking the film of butter and pastry flakes from her thumb, Astrid turned the page unseeingly, focusing out.

“So let them laugh, I don’t care

‘Cause I’ve got nothing to hide

All that I want

Is you by my side-”

It was the same person as Madripoor- not a camera, not an astral form, only one of them, moving towards her-

Astrid willed herself to remain composed, the nape of her neck prickling, assessing her options. Straightening her shoulders, she flicked her hair out of her eyes placidly; she would prefer not to make a scene, if possible- not while she was pulling pieces into position in the chessboard-

She recognised them.

She recognised them.

Astrid stilled. Panic stabbed through her, shock wiping her expression blank, music stoppered in her throat.

Shit.

She hadn’t expected this.

She hadn’t planned for it, or even vaguely speculated on the possibility. Her nerves fizzled and swooped with adrenaline- this could be catastrophic, a disaster to everything they were doing- she could run, but that would solve nothing- she had to kill this risk before it reached Loki-

Their shadow crossed her, slipping across the papers on her lap and her crossed legs, sunlight just barely catching on the toe of her boot.

Heart in her mouth, Astrid looked up.

Standing before her, dressed in white tennis shoes, bootcut jeans and a collared cable-knit sweater, was Frigga of Asgard.

-

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𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓, unfurling the crush of indigo from the starlit field. off-shore winds perfumed by the salty tang of the pacific mingled with the ancient aromatics growing abundant on the island. lowing from nublar's verdant heart sang to the fading scatter of stars. the sauropods – a herd of the long-bodied apatosaurus and their towering cousins – beckoned the sun still slumbering before the horizon. an ancient tune that was not only heard but felt, deep in the hollow chambers of bone. few humans were conscious enough at this hour to bask in the primordial choir; but there was one who was already prepared to fight the coming day by the giants began their tune.

      the sky was still drenched purple when boba fett traded the sleepy inside of his houseboat for brisk open atmosphere of a jeep. he kept his abode docked on the northern face of the island, mt. sibo and a broad swath of jungle between his privacy and the rest of the park. it’d been one of his father’s favorite spots. so much so, that jango built a stilted bungalow nearby after boba inherited his childhood home.

      distance came at a price, one fett gladly paid every morning when he swung himself and his antiquated thermos behind the wheel of his unmarked jeep. the long winded drive to the opposite end of the island was more than a mere commute, it served as the contractor’s initial round across his territory. checking in on the health of his charges and spot any troubles that populated the landscape overnight.

      no radio accompanied fett on his winding journey through the jungle. he listened to the soundtrack of the island while soaking up the deceptive simplicity of his surroundings. there was endless wonder in driving by a contemporary traveler’s palm and pitanga on either side of a squat cycad, seventy-three million years out of place. little anomalies like that, impossible anywhere beyond ingen’s property line, were the poster child of nublar’s idiosyncratic ecology.

      time was at an impasse. while mankind might be pressured by schedules and dates, its passage went unmarked in the wilderness made for their enjoyment. nature’s commandments were confined to the world beyond the sea. here, archosaurs roamed the soil that once buried them. their avian descendants, once the primary fauna of the five deaths, cohabitated with their de-extinct kin. primeval laws that governed the boundaries of life and death need not apply.

      tight webs of canopy cracked open as boba’s jeep jostled over the treeline and into the rolling hills of the valley. axels squeaked as he tipped and dove the off-road slopes. tires kicked up dew-coated grass, scenting the air with a crisp, watery sweetness. the lid of the sun spilled further into the heavens, washing away the residual midnight with the colors of tropical milkweed.

      the unmarked jeep’s brakes ambled to a halt on the summit of a hillock. it fed into a gradual slope that flattened into an emerald savannah. boba hung out the side of his vehicle, an arm looped around the open-air frame. dark eyes squinted into the sunrise, rays of orange bathing him in the first pinpricks of daytime heat.

      at the bottom of the slope, lumbering towards the sparkling waters of a manmade lake, were the singers of the crepuscular opera. giant grey bodies, individualized by markings of navy and flushed mauve, pressed towards the sparkling waters. apatosaurus bellows were deep bodied gurgles like peaceful thunder. the brachiosaurus were more enigmatic with their terrestrial whalesong.

      boba spotted a brachi subadult sprinting towards the shore. on her rotunda legs, it was more of a majestic waddle, but for a beast her size it was enough to send shockwaves through the mantle. she splashed wholeheartedly into the lake, sending curtains of freshwater flailing to the sides. a pride of parasaurolophus balked, scampering away to avoid the aftermath of her joy. the subadult reared back on her haunches and sang to them, no doubt teasing her much smaller neighbors.

      nearly every population that frequented the lake this hour was accounted for except one. the itch of murphy’s law crawled up boba’s chest, but his concerns were quickly put to rest. fett heard their drumming before he saw them. gallimimus, their gracile legs a blur, poured through the natural alley parallel to his perch. he counted them off in batches. exact numbers were impossible, but his instincts were never wrong when it came to how many of the ornithomimids there should be. during the last stormy season, the population took a hit. lightning strikes claimed three juveniles in the ensuing panic. heavy rains loosened the soil, leaving a sad tale of broken legs and necks for seven of the fragile beasts. with the herd in recovery, boba’s already scrupulous paranoia twice as attentive.

      a mischievous honk drew his attention away from the watering hole to a pack of bipeds several meters from his jeep. a small group of juvenile gallimimus broke off from herd to romp the grasslands without adult fussing. they were on their way back to rejoin their elders, but one had taken an interest in fett's jeep. she was bold in her proximity, keeping the side of her face locked on his position as she plucked at a rear tire with her beak.

      fett recognized her. what the ingen white coats called her, he had yet to learn. disposition was moniker enough. she wasn't as skittish as her sisters despite growing at a slower rate. he'd call her pluckiness a napoleon complex, but there was an unmistakable sweetness to her nosy larks. she was the first to spot humans approaching and the last to be shooed away. each morning, she spied on fett from the safety of her flock. it seemed today she decided to take advantage of the distance between her curiosity and the pernickety adults.

      ❝ hey! ❞ the man barked. the gallimimus bleated, taking several steps back. she kept a giant eye on fett as she circled around, stopping several feet in front of him. her head twitched like a birds as she considered him, as if daring the lone primate to challenge her again.

      ❝ you pop it and i’ll use your hide to patch it. ❞ the herbivorous theropod continued to angle her narrow face, opening and closing her beak with soft clicks.

      she wasn’t impressed.

      with a thin lipped smirk, boba maintained eye contact as he reached for the horn. she squeaked, startled by the shrill sound, and sped towards her siblings. she paused midway to glance back at him before disappearing into her crowd.

      the remainder of his patrol was mercifully routine. the park’s biomes were in good health, temperaments lackadaisical as dawn sipped its way through the sky. a group of styracosaurus foraged beside the service road. clods of dirt hung from the front of their nasal horns as they scrapped the topsoil for earthen delights beneath. further down was nublar’s largest river. in less than a handful of hours, the waterway would fill with the clap of paddles fighting the current as human voices chattered excitedly. for now it was a trickling melody, soft but keen enough to be heard over the rumble of his jeep’s torque. invisible fencing made the river’s carnivorous residents excellent neighbors.

      lush banks were deceptively empty. the large piscivores, having caught their morning meals in the half-light, had retreated to shady undergrowth where they committed to the difficult task of lazing in the sun.

      a baryonyx lounged on the edge of her perimeter. forearms tucked against her chest, the spinosaurid had her long narrow snout, so reminiscent of her crocodile contemporaries, thrown back to exposing her scaly neck to solar rays. her sealed lids didn’t flinch as the jeep wrangler puttered across her trajectory. the simian and his fossil guzzling steed were unremarkable to such a content creature.

      main street was still rousing from its late night festivities when boba arrived at the backstage lot. fresh coffee grinds, industrial cleaners, and warming grills filtered over the high walls that separated guests from the park’s inner workings. a pungent concoction that sunk to the back of the throat and need to be scoured away by a slug of piping caffeine.

      thick rubber soles worn by countless hours on the move only just touched asphalt when fett heard his name from across the empty lot. he replaced the drained cap of his thermos with a reluctant twist as poe dameron half-jogged from a sidedoor.

      ❝ can’t imagine what business you have with me, dameron. ❞

      poe was undeterred by the deadpan greeting, ❝ good morning to you too. so, ❞ the experience manager clapped his hands together, ❝ i need a favor. ❞

      ❝ i’m busy. ❞

      ❝ aren’t we all, ❞ poe’s eyes dropped to the thermos. his expression puckered into pity, ❝ fett, what are you gonna let that thing go. look at it, it’s older than you and me. combined. don’t you have a collection of company tumblers like the rest of us? ❞

      ❝ i give them back. this works just fine. ❞

      ❝ fett, c’mon, you’re drinking lockjaw. how ‘bout i give you one of mine? you know, for helping me out. or i’ll do you one better: i’ll get you that new one they just got in at jurassic traders. looks like something spat out of an army surplus. real camp, straight from the ‘90s. right up your alley. ❞

      silence permeated. dameron sucked in his lips, waiting for at least something snide to breach the straight line of boba’s expression. nothing forthcoming, dameron mouthed a deferring okay and continued on.

      ❝ anyway, dillon, my, uh, new favorite trainee that i’m so glad claire gave to me, was supposed to help rey this morning. he, well, couldn’t make it. ❞ dameron ran his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted. ❝ kid took a sino to the family jewels yesterday and hasn’t been without an ice pack since. ❞

      ❝ and? your girl can handle younglings. ❞

      ❝ well, yeah, ❞ dameron agreed, twirling a hand, ❝ but the wannabe littlefoot has been going through this temper tantrum phase. one parasaur keeps yacking up breakfast. the aforementioned ceratops will not stop trying to punt people. and yesterday, little johnny got bucked into next sunday. his mom, not thrilled. lawyers were mentioned. i’d really, really, really like to avoid that today. ❞

      boba didn’t even blink.

      ❝ want me to beg? i’ll beg. in fact, i’ll get on my knees. make a whole damn scene. till everyone in the office has their nose to the windows. you want that, fett? some drama to go with your instant tetanus? ❞

      poe started to descend, not breaking eye contact with the other man.

      ❝ dameron. ❞ boba warned. poe immediately sprung back and clapped his colleague on the back.

      ❝ good man! ❞ the manager abruptly sped back to the door he emerged from, shouting over his shoulder, ❝ just keep an eye out for jewels. we’re running low on ice packs. ❞

      ❝ jewels? ❞ dark brows furrowed, fearing the answer.

      ❝ gonad the destroyer. ❞

      he wished he was surprised. ❝ you named her jewels. ❞

      poe threw up a hapless shrug as he disappeared beyond the door.

      the nursery that supplied the petting zoo with its attractions looked no different from the ones for bipedal children. white walls painted with colorful flowers and butterflies. puzzle piece floor mats in primary colors covered most of the floor. scattered plush of various sizes; some recognizable like a sorcerer mickey mouse whose blue wizard hat had seen better days. what betrayed the room’s intended toddlers were the kong brand dog toys made for the highest possible domesticated bite force and the safety measures tested to withstand 1360 kilos of prehistoric muscle.

      as fett expected, rey was at the heart of the romp of tiny titans. he could see her clearly through the window of the security door, hear her too despite the thick plating. she had a way with the prehistoric few could hope to replicate. even boba, who grew up alongside ingen’s creations, struggled to breach the gap of eons with the same charismatic ease. if owen grady had half a mind to let the girl near his raptors, fett suffered no doubt she’d have them mewling like kittens in a matter of hours.

      ❝ hive’s queenright, ❞ the quip came on the heels of the entry hissing shut. boba placed his thermos on the flat top of a half wall, out of reach of any stray tails or crests. his arrival wasn’t deemed worthy of interrupting playtime. the younglings crashed around their specialized barrack, fawning over their caretaker instead. only a single sinoceratops spared him more than a cursory glance.

      the ceratopsid was on the runt side. her footpads much too big in comparison to the rest of her growing bulk. proportions that made her gallop as graceful as a ragdoll. she bleated in boba’s direction and tripped over herself to face him. performing an imbalanced shiko, she lifted up a floppy foot and slapped it down in a warrior stance. the youngling lowered her head, kicked the royal blue foam several times, and charged — her trajectory, full speed into boba’s pelvic region.

      fett reacted quickly. one hand grabbed her nasal horn, the other secured her crest. gently, the man guided her momentum in a circle around him. with a temperamental honk, the sino came to a pouty halt.

                                        ❝ jewels. ❞

                  the ceratopsid retorted with a snort.

jurassic world starter for @graysistance

[careysmith1]

Best Windows and Siding Contractors for Style and Functionality

Partnering with the best windows and siding contractors is essential for enhancing your home's aesthetic appeal and functionality. Long Island Windows and Siding has built a stellar reputation for delivering exceptional craftsmanship and superior materials, making us the go-to choice for homeowners seeking quality and style in every project.

Elevate Your Home’s Curb Appeal

Choosing the best windows and siding contractors is not just about improving functionality but also about creating a lasting impression. With a wide range of designs, materials, and finishes, Long Island Windows and Siding ensures that your home reflects your personal style. Whether you prefer sleek vinyl siding or energy-efficient windows, our solutions are tailored to match your aesthetic preferences.

Durable Solutions for Long-Term Benefits

A home’s exterior needs to withstand Long Island’s varying climate conditions. From harsh winters to humid summers, durability is key. That’s where the best windows and siding contractors like Long Island Windows and Siding come in. Our siding materials, including vinyl and fiber cement, offer weather resistance and longevity, ensuring your home is protected for years to come.

Energy Efficiency Matters

One of the most significant benefits of choosing Long Island Windows and Siding is the emphasis on energy-efficient solutions. Our windows are designed to minimize heat loss and reduce energy consumption, leading to lower utility bills and a smaller environmental footprint. As the best windows and siding contractors, we prioritize creating a comfortable and sustainable living space.

Customized Services to Meet Your Needs

At Long Island Windows and Siding, we understand that every home is unique. That’s why we offer personalized consultations to help you choose the right siding and window options. Our experienced team takes the time to understand your requirements and deliver solutions that align with your budget and vision.

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Extensive Experience: With years of expertise, we’ve perfected the art of windows and siding installation.

Premium Materials: We source high-quality materials to ensure durability and aesthetic appeal.

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Conclusion

Investing in your home’s exterior is one of the best ways to increase its value and functionality. By choosing the best windows and siding contractors, like Long Island Windows and Siding, you’re not just upgrading your home’s appearance; you’re ensuring long-term comfort and satisfaction.

Let Long Island Windows and Siding transform your home with style, functionality, and unmatched quality. Contact us today to schedule your consultation and experience the difference.

[lighthousenewsnetwork]

In a stunning turn of events that has left political analysts scrambling for their game controllers, world leaders have unanimously agreed to settle all international disputes through high-stakes Mario Kart tournaments. The groundbreaking accord, now dubbed the "Mushroom Kingdom Treaty," was signed yesterday at the United Nations headquarters, where the General Assembly hall has been hastily converted into a state-of-the-art gaming arena. The idea reportedly emerged during a casual gaming session at the latest G20 summit, where Russian President Vladimir Putin and U.S. President Joe Biden found themselves bonding over a shared hatred of blue shells. "It was a beautiful moment," said an anonymous aide. "One minute they were hurling insults, the next they were hurling red shells. That's when we knew we were onto something big." Under the new global framework, nations will battle it out in meticulously organized Mario Kart tournaments, with the winners dictating terms on everything from trade agreements to border disputes. The UN Security Council has been replaced by a panel of elite gamers tasked with ensuring fair play and mediating accusations of "screen-cheating." World leaders have wasted no time in staking their claims on favored characters. North Korea's Kim Jong-un has unsurprisingly called dibs on Bowser, while France's Emmanuel Macron insists on racing as Princess Peach, citing the need for "elegance in diplomacy." Meanwhile, in a nod to their famous neutrality, Swiss officials have committed to only playing as Shy Guy. The military-industrial complex has been sent into a tailspin, with defense contractors frantically pivoting to meet the new global demands. Lockheed Martin has already unveiled plans for an ergonomic gaming chair capable of withstanding even the most heated Mario Kart sessions. Not to be outdone, Raytheon is developing a "Tactical Console Cooling System" to prevent overheating during particularly intense matches. Economic reverberations have been felt worldwide as nations redirect their defense budgets towards improving their gaming infrastructure. The U.S. has announced a trillion-dollar investment in a coast-to-coast 5G network, dubbed "Operation Lightning Lap." Meanwhile, China has begun construction on a top-secret facility rumored to be capable of housing ten thousand round-the-clock Mario Kart training stations. Esports athletes, once relegated to the fringes of society, now find themselves elevated to positions of immense diplomatic importance. "I never thought my ability to dodge banana peels would be considered a matter of national security," said xXNoScope420Xx, a 16-year-old who has been tapped as the U.S. Secretary of Karting Affairs. The first major conflict to be resolved under the new system was the long-standing dispute between China and Taiwan. After a nail-biting battle on Yoshi's Island that came down to the final lap, Taiwan emerged victorious, securing its independence and a year's supply of mushroom power-ups. However, the transition hasn't been without its hiccups. Accusations of screen-peeking and controller unplugging have led to several minor diplomatic incidents. The UN has had to establish a strict "No Oddjob" rule to prevent unfair advantages, a reference that has been lost on most world leaders born after 1990. Citizens worldwide are being encouraged to trade in their weapons for game consoles at local recycling centers. "The fate of the world now rests in the hands of those who can master the perfect drift," said UN Secretary-General António Guterres, who was seen furiously practicing Rainbow Road in his office. As nations scramble to build their Mario Kart prowess, one thing is clear: the world will never be the same. Gone are the days of nuclear tensions and military standoffs. Now, the greatest threat to global stability is a well-timed blue shell. In these uncertain times, the UN reminds citizens that practicing their karting skills is not just a pastime, but a patriotic duty.

So pick up those controllers, and remember: world peace now depends on your ability to navigate Bowser's Castle without falling into lava. The world watches with bated breath as this new era of banana-peel diplomacy unfolds. One can only hope that in our quest for peace, we don't all slip up. #Humor #MarioKart #Satire #VideoGames #WorldPeace

[bestplumberlongisland]

Stay Cool and Comfortable with Expert Air Conditioning Services on Long Island

When the heat hits Long Island, you need a reliable HVAC contractor to keep your home cool and comfortable. At All Shore Plumbing & Heating, Inc., we specialize in split unit installation, air conditioner repair, and comprehensive heating services, ensuring you have a comfortable indoor environment all year round.

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Are you looking to enhance your cooling system? Our expert technicians offer top-notch Split Unit Installation Long Island. Split units provide efficient, quiet, and consistent cooling for individual rooms or specific areas in your home. Trust us to install your system smoothly, optimizing your comfort and energy efficiency.

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Are you experiencing issues with your air conditioner? Don't sweat it! Our team specializes in Long Island Air Conditioner Repair, addressing everything from minor fixes to major system repairs. We diagnose problems quickly and provide effective solutions, ensuring your AC unit runs smoothly and efficiently throughout the months.

Heating Contracting

As the trusted Heating Contractor Long Island, we offer comprehensive heating solutions to keep you warm during the colder seasons. Whether you need routine maintenance, repairs, or a new heating system installation, our experienced team is here to ensure your home remains comfortable and warm.

HVAC Service

At All Shore Plumbing & Heating, Inc., we provide extensive HVAC services on Long Island, covering all your heating and cooling needs. From installations and repairs to regular maintenance, our skilled technicians are equipped to handle any HVAC challenge, ensuring optimal performance and long life of your systems.

Heating Pump Repair Long Island

When your heating pump isn't working as it should, it can lead to discomfort and higher energy bills. Our heating pump repair services on Long Island are designed to restore your system's efficiency and success. We quickly identify issues and implement lasting repairs, helping you maintain a comfortable home environment.

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[themenwithtools]

Finding the Best Replacement Window Installers Near Me in Staten Island: A Guide to Upgrading with Double Doors Exterior

When it comes to home improvement, replacing old windows and doors is a smart investment that not only enhances the beauty of your home but also improves energy efficiency and security. Homeowners in Staten Island are increasingly seeking reliable and experienced replacement window installers near me to ensure they get the best products and services for their homes. In this blog, we’ll explore how to find the best replacement windows Staten Island offers and why choosing professional installers for your double doors exterior Staten Island project is crucial.

Why You Need Replacement Windows

Windows play an essential role in your home’s overall structure. They allow natural light to enter, provide ventilation, and contribute to the aesthetic appeal of your home. However, over time, windows can become worn, less efficient, and more prone to damage. This is why finding professional replacement window installers near me is critical to ensuring your home remains in top shape.

Replacing old windows can lead to numerous benefits:

Energy Efficiency: Modern windows are designed with energy-saving features such as double or triple glazing and advanced insulation materials. These features can significantly reduce energy loss, keeping your home warmer in winter and cooler in summer, which can ultimately lower your utility bills.

Increased Home Value: Installing new windows enhances the curb appeal of your home and increases its resale value. Potential buyers are more likely to be attracted to a property with updated, energy-efficient windows.

Noise Reduction: Living in a busy area like Staten Island can come with its fair share of noise. High-quality replacement windows can help minimize outside noise, providing a quieter and more peaceful living environment.

Improved Security: Old windows are often easier for intruders to breach. By installing modern replacement windows with advanced locking mechanisms, you can enhance the security of your home and keep your family safe.

How to Choose the Best Replacement Windows in Staten Island

Selecting the best replacement windows Staten Island has to offer involves considering various factors such as energy efficiency, durability, design, and cost. Here are some tips for choosing the right windows for your home:

Energy Star Ratings: Look for windows with high Energy Star ratings, as they are certified to be energy efficient. These windows can save you money on heating and cooling costs over time.

Window Frame Material: Replacement windows come in a variety of materials, including vinyl, wood, aluminum, and fiberglass. Each material has its pros and cons. For example, vinyl windows are cost-effective and low maintenance, while wood windows offer a classic look but require more upkeep.

Glass Options: The type of glass you choose will impact the performance of your windows. Double or triple-pane glass with Low-E coatings can significantly improve insulation and reduce heat transfer.

Professional Installation: The quality of the installation is just as important as the quality of the windows. Hiring professional replacement window installers near me ensures that your windows are installed correctly, providing long-term performance and protection against drafts, leaks, and damage.

Enhancing Your Home with Double Exterior Doors

In addition to replacement windows, upgrading your home’s entryway with double doors exterior Staten Island can make a bold statement while offering functional benefits. Double doors provide a grand and welcoming appearance, making them an excellent choice for homeowners who want to enhance their home’s curb appeal.

Here are a few reasons why double exterior doors are a popular choice:

Aesthetic Appeal: Double doors can transform the look of your home’s exterior, adding elegance and sophistication. With various styles and finishes available, you can customize your doors to match your home’s architecture.

Improved Access: Double doors offer wider access to your home, which can be particularly useful for moving furniture or large items in and out. This feature is especially valuable for homes with large entryways or patios.

Increased Natural Light: Many double exterior doors feature glass panels, allowing more natural light to enter your home. This creates a brighter, more welcoming atmosphere inside your home.

Energy Efficiency: Like replacement windows, modern double exterior doors are designed with energy efficiency in mind. They come with insulated cores and weatherproof seals, helping to keep your home comfortable and energy bills in check.

Finding the Right Installers

Whether you’re looking to install replacement windows or upgrade to double doors exterior Staten Island, working with experienced professionals is essential for ensuring a successful project. Professional installers have the expertise to handle any challenges that may arise during installation, ensuring that your new windows and doors are properly sealed and secure.

When searching for replacement window installers near me, be sure to read reviews, ask for recommendations, and verify that the company is licensed and insured. A reputable installer will provide you with a detailed estimate and timeline, helping you to plan your project effectively.

Conclusion

Investing in new windows and exterior doors is a wise decision for homeowners in Staten Island. By choosing the best replacement windows Staten Island has to offer and upgrading your home with stylish double doors exterior Staten Island, you can enhance the look, comfort, and energy efficiency of your home. To get the most out of your investment, always hire professional replacement window installers near me who can ensure a high-quality installation that stands the test of time.

[roadseal0]

Function of Drainage Contractors in Sustainable Concrete Construction

Sustainability has emerged as a key component of ethical growth in contemporary construction. When it pertains to concrete assignments, drainage contractors’ responsibilities go above conventional functioning to include ecological responsibility and long-term viability. Let’s have a look at how drainage contractors in Melbourne use their skills and methods to promote sustainable concrete building.

Developing Effective Drainage Systems

Drainage contractors play an important role in promoting sustainable commercial concrete construction by creating effective drainage solutions. These mechanisms are more than a means to regulate water circulation; they are precisely designed to reduce the negative environmental impact. Contractors assist in preventing deterioration, minimizing flooding hazards, and conserving ecological systems by deliberately channelling stormwater out of concrete structures and into specified drainage basins.

Effective drainage layout takes into account aspects like porous surfaces, which let precipitation penetrate the soil instead of overloading drainage networks. This strategy supports the replenishment of groundwater and preserves the region’s inherent hydrologic equilibrium, hence enhancing overall ecological sustainability.

Incorporating Environmentally Friendly Products and Processes

Another critical part of sustainable concrete building is the supplies and methods used by drainage contractors. Today, there is an increasing focus on employing environmentally friendly components to design drainage structures. These might involve recycled aggregates, porous stones, and bio-retention mechanisms, which improve the water’s quality by purifying contaminants before they enter natural water bodies.

Furthermore, contractors are increasingly using construction procedures that reduce energy as well as waste usage. Every stage, from effective mining procedures to ethical construction waste management, is performed with the goal of long-term sustainability in focus. These methods not only minimize the ecological impact but also help to improve the project’s general eco-friendliness.

Combating the Urban Heat Island effect

Roadseal Drainage contractors in Melbourne perform a crucial part in minimizing the impact of urban heat islands in metropolitan areas where concrete rules the landscape. Sustainable infrastructure elements, like green roofing, rain gardens, and vegetated swales, can assist in cooling the atmosphere while enhancing the air’s purity.

These environmentally friendly options soak heat, minimize the need for electricity to provide cooling, and make urban areas more comfortable for residents. Drainage contractors work collaboratively with architects, designers, and city planners to effortlessly incorporate these aspects into concrete initiatives therefore promoting urban sustainability.

Supporting Water Efficiency and Control

Drainage contractors additionally tackle another key feature of environmentally friendly concrete construction: water saving. Modern drainage networks not only effectively control stormwater, but they also encourage water conservation through novel approaches like rainwater collection and wastewater treatment.

Rainwater harvesting techniques gather and preserve rainwater for non-potable applications like irrigation, minimizing dependence on municipal water sources. Similarly, wastewater collection techniques purify wastewater from faucets and showers for reuse, lowering the usage of freshwater and the strain on sewage treatment plants.

Ensure Longevity and Upkeep

Sustainability in concrete structures is more than simply the initial layout and supplies; it also includes lasting strength and low upkeep. Drainage contractors focus on longevity by using durable supplies and employing superior building methods that endure the test of time.

Ongoing servicing plans are also devised to ensure that drainage systems perform efficiently during their service life. Regular upkeep not only increases the system’s lifespan but also avoids the requirement for expensive upgrades and repairs, which improves the project’s long-term financial characteristics.

Incorporating Green Infrastructure Systems

Integrating environmentally friendly infrastructure systems is a fundamental method used by drainage contractors in ecologically conscious concrete buildings. These systems replicate ecological processes to regulate rainwater runoff while improving environmental results successfully. Vegetated swales, wetlands, and recirculating lakes are examples of stormwater extraction, filtering, and slowing structures, which reduces the load on traditional drainage systems and prevents Contaminants from Reaching Natural Water Bodies.

Sustainable construction not only enhances the water’s quality by lowering erosion and nitrogen runoff, but it also increases biodiversity and wildlife habitat in towns and suburbs. Drainage contractors may help to create durable and environmentally friendly building landscapes by adding these characteristics into concrete developments.

Accepting Low-Impact Construction Approaches

Drainage contractors increasingly utilize Low-Impact Development (LID) strategies to reduce the detrimental effects of concrete construction. Permeable surface roadways, rooftop cultivation, and rain forests are examples of LID methods that focus on handling stormwater at its source. These strategies minimize impermeable layers, enabling rainwater to sink into the ground instead of overloading drainage networks organically.

LID approaches aid in the mitigation of flooding in cities, deterioration, and river pollution by decreasing stormwater runoff amount and increasing the quality of water. They additionally help to save reservoirs and strengthen communities’ resilience to the consequences of climate change, like greater frequency and heavy downpour occurrences.

Implementing Sustainable Drainage Systems (SuDS)

Sustainable Drainage Systems (SuDS) are another area where drainage contractors play a crucial role in sustainable concrete construction. SuDS are designed to manage surface water runoff in a way that mimics natural drainage processes, using techniques like infiltration, filtration, and attenuation. These systems reduce flood risk, improve water quality, and create attractive green spaces within urban developments.

Drainage contractors work closely with engineers and environmental specialists to design and implement SuDS tailored to the specific needs of each project. By incorporating SuDS into concrete construction, contractors enhance the overall sustainability of the built environment while meeting regulatory requirements and community expectations for environmental stewardship.

 Expanding Innovation and Technological Advances

Drainage management has changed in response to technological breakthroughs and creativity that promote ecological, commercial concrete construction methods. Contractors are increasingly employing electronic instruments, like Geographic Information Systems (GIS), to model the drainage systems precisely and analyze water circulation dynamics in actual time.

Novel components and building processes are additionally utilized to increase the effectiveness and long-term reliability of drainage networks. Porous concrete and improved filtering medium, for example, improve water absorption and eliminate pollutants, hence supporting sustainable water conservation methods.

Conclusion

Drainage contractors are critical to meeting environmental goals in contemporary concrete building endeavours. Through creative thinking, sustainable procedures, and a dedication to responsible ecological conservation, these experts help to develop a durable framework that fulfils current demands without jeopardizing future generations’ capacity to satisfy their own. 

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Eco-Friendly Paving Options for the Modern Homeowner

In an age where sustainability is more than just a buzzword, modern homeowners are increasingly looking for eco-friendly solutions that align with their green values. Whether redesigning your garden path or upgrading your driveway, choosing the suitable paving material can significantly impact you. Not only can you reduce your environmental footprint, but you can also create a stunning outdoor space that complements your home.

So, let’s explore eco-friendly Paving adelaide options perfect for the modern homeowner—and yes, we’ll sprinkle a bit of creativity along the way! For more information Visit nearby paving contractors Adelaide.

Why Go Green with Paving?

Let’s face it—traditional paving options aren’t always the most environmentally friendly. Materials like concrete and asphalt often have a hefty carbon footprint and contribute to the urban heat island effect. But here's the good news: eco-friendly paving alternatives are sustainable and aesthetically pleasing.

Permeable Pavers

One of the most popular choices for eco-friendly paving is permeable pavers. These ingenious blocks allow water to pass through them, reducing runoff and promoting groundwater recharge. In Adelaide, where water conservation is crucial, permeable pavers are an intelligent solution.

Benefits of Permeable Pavers:

Water Conservation: Promotes groundwater recharge and reduces runoff.

Erosion Control: Helps prevent soil erosion in your garden or driveway.

Aesthetic Versatility: Available in a wide range of materials and styles.

Recycled Concrete

Why let old concrete go to waste when it can be repurposed into something beautiful? Recycled concrete is a fantastic option for those who want a durable, cost-effective, and environmentally friendly paving solution. By crushing and reusing old concrete slabs, we reduce the need for new materials, reducing CO2 emissions. The rugged texture and natural colour variations of recycled concrete give it a unique charm, perfect for those aiming for a rustic or industrial aesthetic. When considering paving Adelaide properties, recycled concrete should be on your radar for its sustainability and visual appeal.

Advantages of Recycled Concrete:

Environmental Impact: Reduces the need for new raw materials.

Cost-Effective: Often cheaper than new concrete.

Unique Appearance: Adds character with its varied textures and colours.

Natural Stone

For those who crave a more natural look, stone paving is a timeless option that doesn’t compromise sustainability. Materials like sandstone, limestone, and granite are durable and blend seamlessly with the surrounding landscape. While natural stone does require quarrying, selecting locally sourced materials can reduce transportation emissions. Moreover, stone is long-lasting, which means fewer replacements and a lower environmental impact over time. If you want your paving Adelaide project to stand out while staying eco-conscious, natural stone is a stunning choice.

Perks of Natural Stone:

Longevity: Extremely durable and long-lasting.

Natural Aesthetics: Offers a seamless blend with the environment.

Local Sourcing: Reduce your carbon footprint by choosing a locally quarried stone.

Grass Pavers

Why settle for just pavement when you can have greenery, too? Grass pavers combine traditional pavers' structural support with grass's lush beauty. These honeycomb-like grids are filled with soil and grass, providing a stable surface while allowing grass to grow through the gaps. Grass pavers are excellent for driveways, parking areas, and garden paths. They help reduce heat absorption, support water infiltration, and create a unique, natural look. If you’re planning a paving Adelaide project, grass pavers offer the perfect blend of functionality and greenery.

Highlights of Grass Pavers:

Heat Reduction: Less heat absorption compared to traditional paving.

Green Aesthetics: Blends hardscaping with natural greenery.

Water Management: Promotes water infiltration and reduces runoff.

Conclusion

Choosing eco-friendly paving options is more than just a trend—it’s a responsible and stylish way to enhance your home’s exterior. Whether you opt for permeable pavers, recycled concrete, natural stone, or grass pavers, these sustainable solutions will help you create a beautiful, functional, and environmentally friendly space. As you embark on your next paving Adelaide project, remember that going green doesn’t mean sacrificing style—it means paving the way to a better, more sustainable future.

Source From: Eco-Friendly Paving Options for the Modern Homeowner

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Which Affordable Materials to Select for Paver Driveway Installation Long Island

For big projects like paver driveway installation in Long Island, aspects like raw material cost and selected technique then go a long way in determining the budget. Fortunately, for regular cars and small trucks, affordable materials can be easily selected and procured which are then used to do a quick job on the driveway. These materials are durable and last like new even after rough driving. They can withstand the shock of falling trees and storm-related damage, making them suitable for the rains and winters of Long Island.

Paving a Driveway Using Affordable and Durable Materials 

Concrete Flooring with Brick Foundation

This is a durable and long-lasting option for driveways. The combination of a brick skeleton with a concrete coating can withstand heavy loads and harsh weather conditions. The earthy foundation provides excellent drainage and prevents settling. 

It can withstand the heavy weight of vehicles even when they are carrying bulky goods. Concrete floors are low maintenance and resistant to cracks. Having such resistant paving can add to the property value of your building.

Asphalt Paving 

This is exactly the material from which most roads and highways in the world are built! Asphalt drive paving services in Suffolk county are a flexible option for driveways. It can withstand freezing temperatures and heavy loads. The material is also resistant to cracking and can be easily repaired.

Not only is it long-lasting, but it also strikes as an environmentally friendly solution. Asphalt paving does not affect the ecosystem of the region at all! To increase the foundation and structure of this project, many people choose the combined Asphalt and concrete driveway paving Suffolk County solution.

Clay Brick Paved Driveway

Clay brick paved driveways offer a timeless and classic appearance, and this sets it apart from the generic-looking concrete and aspire creations. They can increase your property's curb appeal and value which is a big concern for property owners these days. 

Brick pavers are resistant to fading and can withstand high temperatures. They provide a unique texture and visual interest. Clay brick paving is also permeable and eco-friendly because it lets nature replenish the groundwater and does not change the pH of the surrounding soil. They come in various colors and patterns.

Bluestone Paving

This is resistant to slipping and provides traction. Bluestone is a durable material, which means it can withstand heavy foot and vehicle traffic. This makes it a popular choice for a commercial paving contractor in Suffolk County who will love to choose it under your guidance.

It's heat resistant and can handle extreme temperature fluctuations. It is resistant to cracks and has an internal elasticity that allows it to absorb shock. Bluestone paving develops a beautiful patina over time. It's a natural and premium material.

In Closing…

The selection of affordable raw materials can turn out to give an expensive finish if the right techniques are used. You can have a conversation with your office designer or engineer about which materials will look the most integrated with the rest of the building, especially the garage area. These days designers even suggest mixing and matching a few different materials to create a more dynamic look.

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Affordable Siding Contractors in Long Island: Quality Without Compromise

Choosing the right siding contractor is essential when considering exterior home improvements. Quality siding enhances curb appeal, increases energy efficiency, and protects your home from the elements. For homeowners, selecting affordable yet high-quality siding contractors in Long Island can be a challenge. With many options available, it’s essential to find professionals who provide quality materials and expert installation at an affordable price. Long Island Windows and Siding combines affordability with top-tier service, ensuring your home’s exterior remains durable and visually appealing.

Why Choose Quality Siding for Your Home?

Siding is the first layer of defense for your home against weather, pests, and temperature fluctuations. Here’s why investing in quality siding is essential:

Energy Efficiency: Quality siding helps insulate your home, reducing heating and cooling costs. Well-insulated siding options can help you maintain a comfortable indoor temperature, regardless of the season.

Increased Home Value: Attractive siding boosts curb appeal, which can add value if you’re considering selling your home in the future.

Low Maintenance: Durable siding options like vinyl or fiber cement require minimal upkeep, making them cost-effective over time.

Weather Resistance: Quality siding withstands harsh weather conditions, including Long Island’s winter storms and summer heat.

Choosing siding contractors in Long Island who understand these benefits ensures you’ll receive top-notch installation and materials tailored to your home’s needs.

Key Benefits of Choosing Long Island Windows and Siding

Long Island Windows and Siding offers unparalleled service with decades of experience in providing affordable, quality siding solutions. Here’s why we stand out as one of the top siding contractors in Long Island:

1. Extensive Experience

With over 50 years in the industry, we’ve built a reputation for reliability and excellence. Our experience means we know what works best for Long Island’s unique climate and customer preferences.

2. Competitive Pricing

While we prioritize quality, we also understand the need for affordability. We work with clients to provide siding options that meet their budget without compromising durability or aesthetic appeal. We believe that high-quality siding shouldn’t break the bank.

3. Quality Materials

Long Island Windows and Siding partners with trusted manufacturers to offer materials that last. Our selection includes vinyl, fiber cement, and wood siding, each with unique benefits tailored to suit different architectural styles and homeowner preferences.

4. Expert Installation

Proper installation is essential for siding to perform optimally. Our skilled team ensures that each panel is perfectly aligned and secured, so you don’t have to worry about future issues like warping, moisture infiltration, or heat loss.

5. Environmentally Friendly Options

We offer sustainable siding solutions that reduce environmental impact and help homeowners conserve energy. Our team can guide you in choosing materials that are both eco-friendly and energy-efficient.

Affordable Siding Options for Long Island Homes

We offer several siding options to meet the diverse needs and preferences of Long Island homeowners. Here’s a look at some of the popular choices:

1. Vinyl Siding

Vinyl siding is a low-maintenance, budget-friendly option that comes in various colors and textures. It’s resistant to moisture, rot, and pests, making it a practical choice for Long Island’s climate. Additionally, vinyl is lightweight and easy to install, helping reduce labor costs.

2. Fiber Cement Siding

Fiber cement siding is highly durable, fire-resistant, and weatherproof. It mimics the look of wood, stone, or brick, adding a premium feel to your home without the high cost. Although slightly more expensive than vinyl, its longevity and minimal maintenance needs make it a worthwhile investment.

3. Wood Siding

For homeowners looking for a traditional, rustic look, wood siding is a great choice. Cedar and redwood are commonly used due to their natural beauty and durability. While wood requires more maintenance, our team offers sealing and protective coatings to enhance its lifespan.

4. Engineered Wood Siding

This option combines the look of natural wood with the strength of composite materials. It’s less expensive than real wood, resists moisture and pests, and requires minimal maintenance.

How to Choose the Right Siding Contractor

Selecting the right siding contractor is crucial to ensuring a successful project. Here are some tips:

1. Check Experience and Credentials

Look for contractors with established experience in your area. Long Island Windows and Siding has been serving Long Island residents for decades, giving us a deep understanding of local needs.

2. Request a Portfolio of Work

Ask potential contractors to provide a portfolio of previous projects. Reviewing their work can help you determine if their style and quality align with your expectations.

3. Compare Estimates

While affordability is essential, don’t choose a contractor based solely on price. Instead, compare estimates, looking for transparency about materials, labor, and additional fees. Our team provides comprehensive quotes that outline each aspect of the project, ensuring you know what to expect.

4. Verify Licenses and Insurance

Working with licensed and insured contractors protects you from liability. Long Island Windows and Siding holds all necessary licenses, and our team is fully insured for your peace of mind.

5. Read Reviews and Testimonials

Online reviews can offer insight into a contractor’s reliability, quality, and customer service. With a longstanding reputation for excellence, Long Island Windows and Siding boasts numerous positive reviews from satisfied customers.

Frequently Asked Questions

1. What is the most affordable siding option for Long Island homes?

Vinyl siding is typically the most budget-friendly choice due to its low cost and minimal maintenance requirements, making it ideal for Long Island’s weather.

2. How often should I replace siding?

Siding usually lasts 20-40 years, depending on material quality and maintenance. Consult a professional to assess if your siding needs replacement.

3. Does Long Island Windows and Siding offer eco-friendly options?

Yes, we provide energy-efficient and sustainable siding materials, including options that help reduce your environmental impact and energy costs.

4. Can I install new siding over old siding?

In some cases, new siding can be installed over existing siding. However, it’s best to consult a professional to ensure this option won’t compromise insulation or durability.

Other Services Offered

In addition to siding, we specialize in:

Window Replacement: As the Best Window Replacement Contractor in New York, we offer high-quality window installations that improve energy efficiency and enhance home aesthetics.

Door Replacement: Our team is also recognized as the Best Door Replacement Contractor in New York, providing secure, stylish, and energy-efficient door solutions for homes across Long Island.

Conclusion

Choosing the right siding contractor in Long Island doesn’t have to be overwhelming. With Long Island Windows and Siding, you receive high-quality products, affordable pricing, and an experienced team dedicated to delivering results that stand the test of time. We make it our mission to bring you quality without compromise. Contact us today to start transforming your home’s exterior with reliable and attractive siding solutions.