#Double Ended Threaded Bar

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

❤️FIXDEX produce hardware such as wedge anchorthrough bolt, threaded rod...

[mukeshmus]

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[vincentbriggs]

I did some metallic buttonhole samples a few years ago and have wanted to put them on a garment ever since, and am finally getting around to it!

These ones are made of little strips of metallic leather stitched down with fairly widely spaced buttonhole stitches, using doubled metallic thread. I'm using one thread for each side of the buttonhole, so it doesn't get the chance to wear out where the needle eye rubs against it, and doing a bar tack at each end as usual. Under that there's a cut and overcast hole (just like I did in my buttonhole tutorial) and I'll piece the lining in around them.

[squichymochi]

So here is another something I wrote. I’ll probably be writing more now, but updates will be slow because I usually work 50 hours a week. However, as Hazbin is still on my mind 👉🏻👈🏻, here ya go.

Warning: this contains swearing, some cuddles, and nothing too out of the ordinary for the show.

Husk x Reader (Husk is transformed into a tiny kitten)

Word Count: 1.033

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I love writing it. As I mentioned before, English is not my first language. Thank you ❤️

Wiping down the bar in Husk's absence, you found a peculiar solace in the repetitive motion. Across from you, Angel Dust lounged, a Bloody Mary in one hand and his phone in the other.

"You alright there, hun?" you asked, concern threading your voice. Husk usually manned the bar, doubling as a makeshift therapist for the Hotels weary souls.

Angel glanced up, his frown dissolving into a practiced smile. Raising a hand, you stopped him, "No need to pretend, Angel. Is it Val again?"

He deflated, a heavy sigh escaping him. "Yeah, it is," he admitted.

Before you could offer a stronger drink, a loud bang echoed through the hotel entrance, startling both of you. "What?!" you exclaimed, instinctively summoning a pair of knives into your hands. But Charlie's voice soon echoed through the hall, and your tension eased.

"I am soooooo sorry!" Charlie's voice was a mix of panic and remorse. You and Angel rushed to the front, finding Charlie in tears, while Vaggie was clutching something in her arms.

"What in the heavens happened?" you asked, approaching with concern. Peering closer, you were stunned to see a kitten with fur patterns strikingly similar to Husk's. At the sound of your voice, the kitten looked up, meowing softly.

You froze, a mix of shock, amusement, and rising panic washing over you. Angel, unable to contain himself, chuckled, "Is this our dear grumbly Husk looking all cute?"

The kitten hissed, swiping at Angel's fingers, clearly unamused. In your mind, you could almost hear Husk's voice, *Piss off, you asshole*.

"What happened, Charlie?" you asked, a deep weariness in your voice as you massaged your temples. Charlie ran up to you clasping your hands into hers. She started explaining, sobs still tumbling out of her. They tried to solve a bigger problem and ended up within a turf war gone wrong and a dust bomb that hit Husk. As she spoke, Vaggie cradled the tiny kitten version of Husk, concern etched on her face.

"We'll find a solution, I promise," Charlie declared, determination in her voice, despite her tear-stained eyes.

Later this evening Husk, in his kitten form, had taken up residence atop the bar, his tail flicking irritably. "I really hope we find a way to change you back soon," you sighed, leaning against the counter. "I miss your hugs, you big grump." He responded with a hiss, but sauntered over to nuzzle against your face. As you stroked his soft fur, his eyes fluttered closed contentedly.

"Ugh, what a shitty day!" Angel Dust collapsed onto a stool in front of you, his face etched with exhaustion. "Hard day at work?" you asked, continuing to pet Husk.

"You could say that," Angel Dust replied, tears brimming in his eyes. "I just wish I didn't have to do this shit or do all of them…I don’t know.", he laughed hysterically. Husk, sensing his friend's distress, moved to comfort him, purring as he leaned against Angel's face.

Angel picked up the kitten, placing him on his lap. A smile found its way to your lips – even in this unusual form, Husk was there for his friends.

As days passed, you awoke one morning to find Husk, still in kitten form, growling atop the bar counter. Alastor's voice filled the air with static. "Look at you, now my pet for real," he taunted, reaching out to pet him. But Husk growled and swiped at Alastor's hand, drawing blood.

"Take care whose hand you're biting, dear friend," Alastor warned, his voice tinged with static-laden threat and his demonic form slowly appearing. 

"Alastor," you interjected sharply. In an instant, his demeanor shifted back to his usual smiling self. "Oh dear, could you prepare my usual?" he requested, his smile never wavering.

"Of course," you replied, shooting Husk a stern look. Husk hopped off the counter, still growling under his breath and sauntering to his usual spot on the sofa.

That evening, as you all engaged in group activities with Vaggie as Charlie was still trying to desperately find an antidote (mind you it’s been over a week). Husk stubbornly remained on the table. Vaggie tried to shoo him away, but his 'I don’t give a shit' glare won out, and everyone left him be. 

During Sir Pentious's dramatic storytelling, Husk probably was fed up with the snakes story and began pushing a glass off the table. "NO," Vaggie's voice was filled with murderous intent, but the glass went flying regardless.

Sighing heavily and apologising profusely for your grumpy boyfriend you scooped Husk into your lap, petting him until he began to purr and nestle into you. "I like petting you, you know," you teased. He responded with a playful nip at your hand.

Suddenly, with a snap of Alastor's fingers, Husk was back to his usual self, sitting awkwardly in your lap staring into your eyes. "You could have changed me back this whole time?!" Husk turned his head to look at the radio demon and bristled, ready to explode. You hugged him tighter, trying to calm him down, which wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

Alastor's reply, "Oh, where would be the fun in that?" only fueled Husk's anger further.

"Babe," you whispered, and Husk finally realized he was still in your lap, his cheeks turning slightly red. "I'm just so happy to have you back," you murmured, hugging him while trying to calm all of them the fuck down.

Your moment was interrupted by a loud bang. Charlie burst in, triumphantly holding a vial. "I got it!" she exclaimed. Upon seeing Husk back in his original form, she let out a bewildered, "What the fuck!?"

As the evening wound down, Husk whispered in your ear, "I hope you'll still want to pet me later in our room, babe," his purr sending a blush across your face and heat straight to your core.

"Kinky," Angel teased, wiggling his fingers. You buried your face in Husk's fur, overwhelmed but relieved. You could feel your boyfriend’s low chuckle and his arms wrapping tightly around your form. Despite the chaos, you were grateful to have Husk back, knowing it was only the beginning of solving the hotel's larger problems.

Thanks for reading ☺️

[17020]

☆ INVISIBLE STRING.

Chifuyu Matsuno, Takashi Mitsuya, and Ken "Draken" Ryuguji as lyrics from Taylor Swift's "Invisible String." Chifuyu owns a pet store and Draken owns a repair shop.

"ALL ALONG THERE WAS SOME INVISIBLE STRING TYING YOU TO ME"

Perhaps the stack of romance novels he had on his bedroom had finally gotten to him, but CHIFUYU MATSUNO was a firm believer of soulmates. He saw them everywhere: in his manga, in the streets, even in the canaries, puppies, and kittens from his pet store. Chifuyu was certain that, just like in literature, he was to get a soulmate of his own. He was the star of his own novel: The Red String of Fate. He was so engrossed in it, in fact, that he swore he had seen a faint, red string carefully wrapped around his pinky. Chifuyu Matsuno yearned for the day in which he would meet 'the one'. Thus, he was blown away one afternoon as you stepped foot into his pet store, with a red string tied onto your pinky, and a naughty Peke J in your arms, bringing what seemed like a 'lost cat' back where it belonged.

"ONE SINGLE THREAD OF GOLD TIED ME TO YOU"

Because TAKASHI MITSUYA believed that, if he could describe the love of a soulmate with a color, he would say golden. All day, non-stop, his little sisters would gush about soulmates, giddily exclaiming how they are one hundred percent real. He would usually chuckle at his sisters' excitement, usually brushing it off as naiveness. He did not believe much in soulmates until he found himself arriving early to school to use the sewing machine to fix his uniform's lettering, only to find you, using his golden thread to sew letters onto what seemed like a uniform. A thread of gold, tying together two delinquents from opposite gangs. You became his muse, his reason to pursue design. It was no surprise that Takashi Mitsuya created a collection based on this secret love, filled with delicate, golden accents, as well as rough, shredded fabric, to symbolize the double lives of him and his soulmate. He titled the collection "The Thread of Gold."

"A STRING THAT PULLED ME OUT OF ALL THE WRONG ARMS RIGHT INTO THAT DIVE BAR"

A hazy, dreamlike encounter. It seemed to have been fate that tied you and DRAKEN together in a place where time slows down. A dive bar, located near Draken's repair shop, was the place in which you ended up, tired from your friends' constant set ups and blind dates as they 'helped' you find a partner. It was time for fate to step in, tugging on your string and pulling you from any dates and making you sit next to a handsome, blond man with a dragon tattoo on his temple at some random, unknown bar in the middle of Tokyo. Ordering the same drinks led to small talk, which led to him confessing that he was there to avoid his friends, as they tried setting him up with women after a breakup with his best friend's sister. Being stuck in the same situation, Draken had a thought pop up on his mind, and even though he was desperately trying to push it away, the sweet liquor had already gotten to him. "Do you think we're soulmates? 'Cause I think so". The dive bar ended up as the place where many dates took place, as it held the memories of being pulled together by the string of fate.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Something cnc?

"Stop," his breath is labored, his ears are drooped low along his back, his fluffy white tail quivers as he speaks. And his hole is winking at him, pretty and pink, tight because no one else has used him yet, and absolutely dripping with his arousal. Tomura can barely keep the growl in his throat as he smells him. He was surprised this venue would let him book a prey for this kind of play, more surprised when they told him that they had one rabbit who would do it, but that he was not one of their 'premiere' options. Tomura doesn't mind the stark purple burns all over his skin. He's unique looking, he smells good, and he's a hybrid. He would have paid double for a night with him if the venue knew what they were doing. 

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that whores don't get to say 'no'?" He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he tries to keep his control. He doesn't wonder what is says about him anymore, that he prefers prey as his partners, or that he likes to pretend to be a monster when he's in bed with them. But finding ones who are actually into that kind of play has been difficult. Both of his preferences independently are taboo. Together, well, if he weren't already a criminal hiding his business from the world, it would just take one partner to let slip what he asks them to do for him, to wind up on a million watch lists if not in jail. Tomura threads the rabbit's ears between his fingers and has to take a slow breath to keep himself calm as he feels how soft his fur is, how warm his skin beneath is, how delicate against his palm. He might be salivating. His body still doesn't know if he's going to be having sex or a good meal right now. He pulls on his ears a little to make him arch his back, pushing out his chest, making his nipples peek out from behind the scrap of a bra that the venue put him in. His other hand goes there, pinching and playing with the little rosebud pink nipples, pierced through with little silver barbells. 

The rabbit whimpers, and Tomura smells blood as he starts to cry behind his blindfold. He was told that his tear ducts were damaged, told that his eyes water blood. It only makes him even hungrier, and he can't help it when he growls this time. It earns him a real sob even as the air around them goes even thicker with the tantalizing scent of smoky caramel. "Please, please, don't make me." 

"You should be thanking me, little bunny." He purrs, stroking along the length of the rabbit's ears, letting himself shift closer to him. The staff handcuffed him to the headboard for him, made him kneel with a spreader bar between his thighs, his cock locked up in a cage. He's so much smaller than him as he presses his chest along his back, looking over his head and down at the rabbit's body. His cage is keeping him soft, but he's dripping there too. He could ask for a safe word. He can use them, if he uses the right one and Tomura doesn't stop, security is supposed to come to escort him out. But he doesn't think they will. Not when the mistress that runs this place said that he was a drain, costing as much to house as he brought in because of his 'unique' looks. That if he liked him enough, she would be willing to part with him for the right price. Tomura hopes that this rabbit doesn't know that the people who are supposed to be protecting him think he's a burden. He hopes that the fact that he's so aroused means that he was excited for this kind of play and wasn't just doing it to make sure he didn't end up out on the streets or a fresh corpse on the black market. "If you do well enough for me, I may decide to take you home instead of taking a bite out of you."

He skims his nose along the back of the rabbit's neck, his own ears pitching forward as he listens for his pulse closely before and after he speaks. It was a little faster before, but it spikes at the threat, spikes as a little tang of fear goes into the air, and Tomura watches him catch his bottom lip between his teeth, the softest of whimpers in his throat. He hopes that the prey doesn't think that it's a real threat. He hopes that he feels safe. "D-Don't hurt me, please, sir, please, I'll do anything." 

"'Anything'? That's a dangerous thing to offer a wolf. I could have you on your knees and push my cock into your cute little throat. I could break your jaw open so you could stay right there on my knot." 

The rabbit cries harder, but Tomura sees his legs open a little more. It won't relieve the pressure at his cock, but that movement tells him that he's desperate for relief because that pressure is growing. "No! Please, please, I don't want to be broken." 

He strokes his ears again, reaching for his belt and enjoying how the pretty little prey jumps before there are louder sobs wrenching his chest as he shakes. "Alright, little rabbit. I'm going to give you my belt, and then I'm going to unchain you from the bed and let you up. If you can get to the door before I pin you, or if you can get the leather around my throat and pull it tight enough to stop me, I'll let you go without hurting you." He leans in close again, breathing in the scent of his arousal and fear, tasting it as his tongue laves over the gland on the side of his neck just to hear him gasp. "But when I catch you, I'm going to hold you down and mount you until I have your hole twitching around my knot. You can kick and scream and fight as much as you want, but I won't break you as long as you remember to use your special words if something does hurt. And if you're very good and manage to hold out until I'm finished with you, I'll even unlock your cage and let you cum with your cute cock too. Now that doesn't sound so bad, does it?" He doesn't get an answer immediately, and he scents a bit of confusion coming from the rabbit. He gives another little tug on his ears. "Does it?" 

"...No, sir..." 

"Good bun." He unties the blindfold and holds it in front of the rabbit's face with three fingers, waiting and watching his hands. After another second, the rabbit opens three fingers against the headboard. Tomura reaches for the little keyring hanging on the bedpost and finds the one that looks like it's for the spreader bar. He unlocks it, and when he looks up to do the handcuffs, he finds the rabbit looking back at him over his shoulder. There are bloody tears on his cheeks, but it's his bright, bright blue eyes that take Tomura's breath away. He leans in close, before the other can look away, reaching to undo the cuffs as he licks away a track of the blood from his cheek. Fuck, fuck, Tomura has had farmed meat that doesn't taste as sweet as he does. He really might see if this rabbit is happy here or if he would rather be a live-in if he exceeds his expectations. "There." He lets the chains fall against the headboard and watches the man curl his legs in close, looking at him like he's sure this must be a trick. "It's alright, stand up." He offers his hand as he helps him off of the edge of the bed, the rabbit still shaking from fear or excitement, or both. Then he hands him his belt. "You just have to make it to the door, little bun." 

There's a pregnant pause as the rabbit stands there, and all of Tomura's instincts start to surge under his skin in anticipation. His senses all sharpen as he seems to be able to hear every pulse of blood pumping through the rabbit's veins. 

It's the twitch of his nose that gives him away, and before he's even reached the foot of the king-sized bed, Tomura has his hands around his waist, claws pricking his skin as the rabbit lets out an anguished, terrified cry as he lifts him easily from the ground and throws him back onto the bed, on his back this time. He thrashes under his grasp, 

"No!" His feet try to kick out at him, but he forces his legs open around his hips as one hand goes down to undo his button and fly, his arousal aching between his legs. "Stop! Let go of me!" His belt buckle hits him in the ear as the rabbit tries to use it as a bludgeon and Tomura snarls at him, just to smell him go sharp with fear as he takes out his cock. "No, no, no!" But he doesn't use his safe word, so Tomura doesn't stop, letting his satisfaction surge through him as he lines himself up with his soaked hole. 

He starts to push in at the same moment as the rabbit hooks the belt around his neck, threading the tail through the loop, and pulling it until the leather is biting into his skin. Like he's on a leash. Tomura brings both hands to his hips and pulls the rabbit's body onto his cock, as rough and fast as he can, the pressure of the belt on his throat the only thing that keeps him from moaning as loudly as the rabbit does as he sinks all the way inside of his tight, perfect heat. 

[infiniteeight8]

I love the way you smell

ironstrange 😇

I couldn’t resist doing this as an A/B/O fic. I do love that trope, and scent is such a big part of it. 😀

This is not connected to my other A/B/O drabbles. It’s also not relevant which of them is the alpha and which is the omega in this particular scene. You may imagine them as you choose! 😀

-

Tony circulates through the crowd at the alpha/omega mixer more or less on autopilot. There isn’t a lot of turnover at high security mixers like this one; most of the people here know each other already. They keep coming because someone finds their match just barely often enough to give the rest of them hope. They’d all have better luck at a more publicly available event, but Tony had tried that once since becoming Iron Man and ended up needing the armor to get out again. 

Celebrity does have its downsides.

Finishing his drink, Tony is considering heading back to the bar when someone behind him says, “Excuse me.”

Turning, Tony smiles. “Stephen! Fancy seeing you here. Wizard Academy doesn’t run their own mixers?”

“Tony!” Stephen looks startled, for all that he was the one to address Tony first. “They do, but I thought I should branch out.” He pauses and then says, “I didn’t actually realize it was you until you turned around.”

“Then why—” Tony breaks off as realization dawns. They’ve only really interacted in professional settings until now, which means they were both politely wearing scent blockers. But tonight…

Stephen nods. “I caught your scent,” he says.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up a notch. “Would you like to double check?” he asks, gesturing at his throat. 

“Please.”

Tony lifts his chin in invitation and Stephen steps in close, leaning down until he can trail his nose delicately up the line of Tony’s throat toward his jaw. Tony shivers at the prickle of sensation and inhales deeply, catching a hint of Stephen’s scent as he does. It’s smokey, a little like incense, and Tony enjoys the thread of it, though he knows it’s only the top notes.

When Stephen pulls back his eyes are dark and his lips parted, like he’s still trying to pull in Tony’s scent. Silently, he tilts his head in invitation.

Up close, Stephen’s smokey scent takes on tones of honey and something else, something sharper. Tony finds his eyes closing as he breathes it in. No one has ever smelled this good. He doesn’t want to retreat, doesn’t want to return to polite conversation. He wants to taste.

“Tony,” Stephen murmurs, his voice a low rumble.

“I love the way you smell,” Tony says softly.

“The feeling is mutual.” Stephen’s hands come to rest on Tony’s hips. “Perhaps we could take this somewhere more private?”

That’s enough motivation for Tony to pull away enough to meet Stephen’s gaze. He’s smiling, eyes bright. It hits Tony all of a sudden, what all of this means: He’s found his mate. 

“Your place or mine?” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows, and Stephen laughs.

[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 8

Benadryl

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~ 13.2K words (I made y'all wait, but you get all of this and two spicy scenes)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / fingering, car sex, dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f receiving), comeshot, come eating / language / mentions of past drug use / hostage extraction / canon-consistent violence / Minors DNI

A/N: I know nothing about fixing cars. I know nothing about helicopters. I know that these two love each other. Special guest appearance this chapter by Ben Miller. Benny fans, your boy is a menace and he's wonderful.

Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your lovely comments, for recommending this story, and for screaming with me about these two.

chapter moodboard if you're interested

Divider by @cafekitsune!

MONDAY

AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN HONDURAS.

“MOOSE,” Santiago barks at where Audrey’s bent double over the hood of a Land Rover as he slams their truck door. 

She doesn’t bother to drop what she’s doing, perimeter alarms two miles down the hill had already alerted her to their arrival.

One of them thwaks her on the ass and she knows it's Santi.

Frankie doesn’t do it like that.

“Whatcha got, what’s going on here?” He peers down at wires and tubes. 

“Auxiliary belt’s fucked, where’s my…”

“Catfish get over here, she’s talkin’ your shit, I’ve got no idea.” Pope calls over his shoulder, not realizing that “Frankie” and not the name of some obscure tool is actually the intended end of her sentence. “This thing armored?” He kicks a tire.

“Yep.”

A massive palm spreads over her back, the shadow of his body a cooling balm.

She looks up now.

“Hi,” Frankie smiles.

“Hi,” she grins over her shoulder, craning her neck back for a kiss, and Frankie briefly slips her his tongue because he’s never been able to resist a girl who’s good with her hands. 

“Serpentine belt?” He asks when she breaks away.

‘Yeah, it’s cracked to shit. Gonna swap the tensioner too. Let me get the breaker bar?”

“Like a different fucking language,” Pope quips as he opens the driver’s side door and slips inside.

And Frankie’s torn between letting her continue and wanting desperately to take over the job, lest a speck of grease mar her lovely skin. She’s clearly capable of doing this herself, but chivalry wins out and he grabs the long metal rod from the toolbox on the ground.

“Top or bottom?” Meaning which tensioner.

“Bottom, it’s got too much play in it,” she answers, pressing on the bearing to show him.

“Oh shit yeah, that’s loose.”

“God, get a room,” Santi quips from where he’s reclining in the driver’s seat, brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes against the sun.

“Why don’t you do something useful like unload the truck?” Frankie calls as he slots the breaker bar into place. “Hold on let me get a picture of how it’s sitting,” and he reaches in his back pocket as she slides her left arm in front of his face. She’s drawn the belt’s path on the inside of her forearm in pen to help with re-threading the new strip of rubber.

Frankie’s cock twitches.

She knows what she’s doing. 

She always does.

She would have done this without him.

And she lets him in anyway.

He applies pressure to the bar, forcing the tensioner away from the belt and Audrey reaches over him to slip the old rubber strap from the pulleys, her chest grazing his arm as she does.

God if Santiago wasn’t fucking here right now flits across his mind. 

If this isn’t all of his teenage fantasies come to life…

She has the belt off in seconds and disappears as he hits the inside of the breaker bar with his palm to unlatch it. Audrey returns with a wrench, new belt slung diagonally across her torso.

“Crack that nut off for me, baby?” She doesn’t need to tell him, but she enjoys needling Pope, who scoffs from his leather cradle.

Fish’s broad shoulders briefly strain under the cotton of his t-shirt as he gets it loose, winding it off the bolt with deft fingers. He slots the nut into his back pocket out of habit and the mechanism comes away in his hands. 

“Don’t need that, it came with one,” and Audrey dives in with the new tensioner, lining the lugs of the new part up before screwing the new nut part-way on. She slips the new belt off of where she’s wearing it and Frankie helps her line it up, pausing occasionally to check her arm for the positioning, landing a kiss on her shoulder here, dragging his nose up her tricep there. 

Once they have the belt back in place, Frankie tightens the nut on the new tensioner and they both step back.

“Oi,” Frankie pounds on the headlight to get Santiago’s attention. 

“Start her up?” Audrey rests one hand on her hip and shields her eyes with the other.

Santi gropes around for the keys before starting the truck and Audrey and Frankie let it run for a second before stepping forward to inspect their work. 

“Yeah, looks good.” 

“Sounds better than it did,” Audrey adds. 

Fish raises his voice to be heard over the engine, “shut her off, Pope.”

Frankie fiddles around, checking the tightness on all of the bolts within his reach before they work together to replace the fanbelt shroud and reconnect the air filter pipes.

“Where in the hell did you learn to do that?” Fish rubs the heels of his palms together when it’s through, squinting against the sun.

Audrey slams the hood closed. “Friend with a Messerschmitt has a thing for old cars too.” 

Frankie’s gotta meet this guy.

But right now he has a more–pressing–problem and he excuses himself with a “gotta hit the head.” He figures cool water on the back of his neck will unwind him enough that he can face them again.

_____

Hours later the three of them are hunched over the dining table, staring daggers at a site plan that’s dotted with an array of plastic army figurines.

There’s a poker chip in the center. A four-year-old hostage that needs extracting. The daughter of a diplomat being held for political leverage.

None of them are happy about it.

But they’re also among the handful of people in the world who can get her out alive. 

Each of them feels that obligation acutely.

“We need another man,” Audrey crosses her arms over her chest.

“The compound is just too big. Too many fucking people,” Santi scratches at his beard. “If we need Fish in the bird ready to run, that’s already too sparse. And if we need you up here,” he points to tight concentric circles on the plan that signify high ground, “keeping the path to the bird clear, I can get in quietly, no problem, but I can’t get out with a hostage in tow.”

“What if I go with you?” Frankie pipes up, “it takes less than 90 seconds to get this in the air,” he points at a toy helicopter with an index finger.

“90 seconds could be too long. And god forbid something happens to you in there and you can’t fly that bird,” she taps inside the building. “Then we have two sets of dead weight and a hornet’s nest on high alert. I wouldn’t be able to get there in time to fly everyone  out.”

Pope twirls a pen between his fingers and Frankie places and replaces the helicopter at different points around the map before returning it to its original position at the private airstrip.

“That’s the only spot that works. Anywhere else draws attention and/or goes against the intel on their route,” he concludes, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and middle fingers. 

“How do we know that’s not drawing attention anyway?” Santi bites the inside of his cheek as he gestures at the helicopter.

“There’s been a nature documentary crew in and out of that airstrip for weeks. The bird Davis’ guys lined up is  the same make and model with all the same markings,” Frankie answers. “It’s just bulletproof.”

Santi turns to Audrey, “can he get someone else out here?” Meaning their boss.

“Getting someone out here isn’t the problem, getting someone out here that I trust is. Everyone I knew in there is long gone.”

“You still got any friends?” Santi’s brow knits.

“Not ones who do this kind of shit anymore.”

“Pope,” Frankie pipes up after a beat. “Ben?”

“Yeah,” Santiago lights up, “yeah, you think he’d be up for it?”

Frankie shrugs, “worth a shot. Benny’s down for anything.”

“Ben is…Miller?” Her brain reaches back and spits out what she can remember of the Lorea briefing and bits of the stories they’ve told about a “Benny.”

“Yeah.” They both look at her expectantly. 

They need the final party’s buy-in.

“Tell me more.”

“He’s solid. Ready to do whatever it takes to get a job done,” Santi starts.

“A bit brash at times, maybe,” Frankie tempers Pope’s enthusiasm. “A little wild when he drinks, a little hot under the collar,” he scratches at this beard. “But not in the way that disobeys orders.”

“He runs clean during a mission, Aud. Doesn’t like an operation that doesn’t go to plan. Doesn’t leave messes. Puts his own life on the line when it matters.” Santi says firmly. “Might be a bit of an adjustment period though.” 

“Might be.” Francisco apparently agrees.

“In what way.” She stares them both down.

“He, uh…might have a little bit of a hard time taking your orders at first.” Santi runs a hand through his hair.

“He’ll push you a bit,” Frankie again scratches at his chin. “Not because he wants to run it.”

“Just because he doesn’t know you,” Santi finishes, arms crossed, hip resting against the edge of the table. “But he’ll fall in line.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“He uh,” Santi takes his eyes over her form, “might come on a bit strong,” Santi says.

“He’s gonna want to fuck you, Aud.” Frankie translates.

“That I can handle. All of this I can handle. Do you trust him?” Her green gaze slides between the two men.

“I do.” Pope answers with conviction. 

Frankie responds, “with my life.”

She stares hard at Frankie before drumming her fingers on the table. “Okay. I’d like not to lose time and waste the intel on this. Davis can have a screen run on him tonight if he’s game. Can he get on a plane tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask,” Frankie sits up and reaches for his phone. 

It dings in response thirty seconds later. 

“He’s in.”

And she immediately slips her cell phone out of her back pocket, stepping into the other room to make arrangements with Davis. 

_____

“Nothing more to do tonight. We’re gonna take this thing out on a test run,” Frankie tips the brim of his cap up far enough to swipe curls off of his forehead as he makes his way through the kitchen.

“It’s 9pm, it’s dark,” and no sooner is it out of Santiago’s mouth than he catches Frankie’s drift.

“Mind your business, Pope.”

“Roger,” Santi turns back to his beer and the baseball game he’s watching on his phone. “If you aren’t back by midnight I’m calling in a BOLO for two idiots fucking in the back seat of a Land Rover.”

“I was actually in the mood to do it on the hood,” Audrey quips as she appears at the foot of the stairs.

“Fine, just don’t leave come stains that I have to look at when I’m driving it tomorrow.”

“No promises,” Audrey winks and Pope scoffs.

Frankie slaps him on the shoulder on his way out the door.

“Lucky fuckin’ bastard,” Pope murmurs under his breath and takes a swig of beer.

_____

Half an hour later, Frankie has her naked in the sea, legs wrapped around his waist, lips at her throat before the brim of his cap knocks her in the chin.

“Francisco, what is the deal with this thing, you shower with it on?” She reaches to spin it around backwards.

“Just my favorite hat,” he returns to sucking on her collarbone, tongue accepting the bitter burn of salt water so long as it’s laced with the taste of her skin.

“What is Standard Heating Oil?”

“No clue. Found it in the dollar bin at Goodwill one day.”

“Fascinating.” He has no tie to this hat save for the fact that it’s his and it goes everywhere with him.

“Used to get made fun of as a kid. For having curly hair,” he tucks his chin into the juncture of her shoulder.

The brush of his beard tickles her skin as he continues.

“Just always preferred to cover it up, I guess.”

Audrey takes the hat off and slips it backwards onto her own head. 

Her fingers wind in his curls.

And she holds him without prying.

“Used to get made fun of a lot as a kid. My hair. My nose. Wasn’t really into sports either.”

“You’ve just named some of the things I like most about you,” Audrey kisses at his jaw. “What were you into, Frankie?” She whispers.

“Liked to read, I suppose,” he muses.

And she hums, nuzzling her face into Frankie’s shoulder. “I like that about you too.”

He’s warm and open like this as they listen to the soft lap of waves against the shore. She holds him as if it could seep into her bones.

After a moment Frankie whispers, “I, um. I used to—not—be good at handling all of this. My past and my present.”

And she pulls back a fraction to gaze softly into dark eyes.

“I used to use.”

And her hand in his hair strokes gently over the nape of his neck as un-shed tears set brown eyes swimming.

“Coke. I just kind of fell off the wagon,” he nods like he needs her to agree that this doesn’t change him. 

Audrey holds his face in her palms, thumbs gently skimming over the apples of his cheeks.

“Got hit with a license suspension a few years ago. Then Pope came through with the Lorea job and that—that didn’t—” he trails off.

“Ended up getting the license back but—”

Frankie stares over her right shoulder out into the horizon.

“Everything else fell ap—”

And Audrey presses her lips to his because she doesn’t know what more to do than allow her body to speak where the prospect of words seems trite in comparison. She presses her lips to his cheek and wraps her arms tight to his neck until he returns her hold, tighter than before.

“I haven’t, though,” he murmurs against her skin, nodding his head again.

“In two years. I haven’t used.”

And she knows what lives in the spaces between those words.

I haven’t used since you.

And it terrifies her.

I can’t save you.

I can’t fix you.

I can’t be that for you, Frankie.

And yet.

She is. 

He’s quiet for a long while in her arms. Body slowly giving up its tension to the water before he murmurs, “you float, baby.”

And her brow furrows in the moonlight.

“I sink. In the ocean,” he muses as he pulls back to look at her. “You’re like a life vest.”

And Audrey chances a joke, looking down at her full chest and muttering, “well…”

Frankie’s tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip. “Nuh uh this too,” his hands slip down to grip hard at her ass.

And whatever that was before has passed.

Audrey welcomes it with a laugh and a kiss at his jaw. 

“I missed you,” he whispers and again fits his chin into the curve of her shoulder.

“Oh, Francisco,” she sighs and presses her nose to his wet hair, inhaling the salted smell of him.

“I know it’s only been three weeks,” he starts to apologize. 

For his attachment.

“I missed you too,” she preempts and arches into him, gripping his neck tighter.

“Can I tell you something?” Frankie pulls back, whispering against her chin.

“Of course,” is her answer, but she stiffens ever so slightly.

Because he’s said it far too intimately.

And mercifully more than three words tumble out of his mouth.

“I saw you fixing that truck today,” he noses at her jaw to whisper against her lips. “I could have fucked you right there on the hood.”

“Oh yeah?” Audrey whispers with the beginnings of a smirk playing on her lips.

“I was so fucking hard.” 

“Is that why you ran away?” She laughs. “You know Pope was half asleep.”

“Yeah, but you’re loud, baby,” he lets out a sly murmur. “Would have been a hell of a wakeup call.”

“Ah, and you’re quiet as a church mouse.”

Frankiee grins with guilty teeth in his bottom lip. 

“Could have taken me with you,” she presses her lips to his, opening just a fraction to allow his tongue into her mouth, “to wherever you absconded to.”

“The lady deserves better.”

“Mm, like the hood of a car?”

“Done.”

She lets him go and starts racing towards the shore.

Frankie follows after her, catching her around the waist and hoisting her onto the hood of the Rover, massive hand hooked around the nape of her neck with a grin splitting his face.

Audrey reaches for him, hand wrapping around the girth of his half-hard cock, working him as his forehead briefly thumps against hers. 

“Oh, fuckk—,” Frankie hisses. “Baby. Baby, baby, baby—” he rumbles through the lowest registers of his voice as the fingers of one hand trail up the back of her calf. Frankie’s palm settles on one knee before he roughly pushes her thighs open wider. 

“Look at me,” he whispers.

Audrey slants her gaze down at him as he stares back from under hazy half-closed lids.

Frankie slips his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking the salt from them as her jaw drops open, brows knitted with want. His fingers slip between her folds in time with his tongue between her teeth to deliver the taste of salt to her the moment his fingers slip inside.

“Wet already? Ohh baby,” Frankie purrs into her mouth. “My pretty, dirty baby,” he pants, hips thrusting his cock into her fist now.

She moans into his mouth and arches, pressing her breasts against his chest before she freezes.

“Frankie, get in the car.”

“I want you right here,” he skates his nose up her neck.

“Frankie, there’s a truck coming, get the fuck inside.”

And no sooner does she say it than his ears catch the distant whine of a diesel engine winding up the coastal highway.

“Oh, fuck,” he chuckles, corseting her waist in his generous hands and picking her up off the hood, making sure she has her feet before grabbing the pile of their clothes from off the hood. 

They dive into the backseat of the truck, Audrey first and Frankie close behind such that they end up a tangle of limbs, leather squeaking under wet skin. 

Frankie drapes himself over her, a wet curl falling into his eyes as he peeks up out of the window, tracking the truck’s path.

“Fifty meters,” he reports before mumbling “fuck, I’m sorry baby,” as Audrey shifts under him where knees and elbows fell at painful angles.

“‘S okay, how are we doing?” She glances up at the thick column of his neck above her.

“Ten meters,” Frankie counts it down, “five,” he ducks down out of view momentarily before tracking the truck the other way. 

“I think we’re clear, baby.” 

And the moonlight streaming through the sunroof catches in her eyes, turning them a shade of seafoam. 

Illuminating something that he can’t quite unpack right now through the haze of lust.

Frankie fits his mouth to hers again, suddenly possessed with the need to feel. His palm slides down to cup one breast, pinching her nipple before spreading wide over her ribcage. 

He runs greedy fingertips over her skin as he moves, kissing at her stomach and biting at her inner thigh.

She props herself up on her elbows and takes his cap from her head, tossing it onto the driver’s seat before raking a hand through her curls and reaching for his cheek.

He turns his face to kiss her palm.

And Frankie almost lets something slip on a sigh.

“I—”

“Need you,” he swallows hard. “I need you, Aud,” Frankie’s voice is a cracked whisper when he pauses to look up at her. 

“Have me, Frankie.”

And he again kisses her palm before sucking her thumb into his mouth, crawling back up her body. His right hand snakes down to pump his cock, the other fitting into the crease of her thigh. 

“Are you—?” He murmurs against her lips.

“Frankie—” she chokes on a desperate breath and he thrusts inside of her such that they both cry out, Audrey’s nails sinking into his tricep, Frankie’s mouth open, teeth catching at her jawline. 

“Oh God,” he rests his forehead against hers as she tangles her fingers in his wet curls, tipping her face to suck on his bottom lip.

“Frankie, move,” she urges and he does, slowly at first. Long, deep strokes before he sits up, hands settling on her hips as his speed builds. 

He’s not slow about chasing his own release. 

One knee on the floorboards, the other foot hiked up on the seat with her leg over his hip, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, yanking her against him to meet his every thrust. Audrey braces one hand against the door, and the other on the back of the seat.

Frankie’s a man in a trance. 

Breath hissing through clenched teeth, gaze fixed on where he sinks inside of her. A curl falls loose across a forehead growing damp with sweat. 

Audrey arches in his hold, “you feel so good Frankie.”

“You’re so tight, baby.” 

When he reaches up to grip one shoulder he pulls her ass clear off the seat.

But even in this one-track haze Frankie is quick to protect her, arm looping around the small of her back, and the other coming to the crown of her head, guarding it against the roof as he twists to sit on the seat with her on top of him. 

He pauses a moment with wide, panicked eyes, as though he’s surprised even himself. 

“Smooth, Morales,” she grabs his face between her hands and slips her tongue into his mouth. “Very. Fucking. Smooth.”

And she’s in control now. 

Audrey leans back to brace her hands on his thighs, rolling her hips, allowing them both to feel every inch of each other. Frankie’s head falls back into the space between the headrests, hands roaming her skin, squeezing at her breasts, fingers fitting into the spaces between her ribs, thumbs running down over her abs before settling below her navel, feeling how his cock fills her from the outside. 

“Oh shit,” Frankie’s head snaps back, lip curled as he watches in lurid fascination. Audrey indulges him for a moment before she shifts forward, one hand on the seat, the other on his chin. 

“Look at me.”

And he angles big brown eyes up at her before she kisses him with an open mouth. 

Frankie licks warm and wet down her neck, sucking at the salt of her skin mixed with seawater. He buries his nose between her breasts as he meets her hips halfway, palms skating over her back, one hand tangling in the curls at the base of her neck.

It’s too much when she meets his gaze again.

The way that lust has blown her green eyes dark. The way that plush lips hang open and wet from his tongue. The humid heat of bodies and the smack of flesh.

The way she looks at him with something he can’t name.

And Frankie can’t hold back anymore. He’s rough with her now. Building with frantic speed that has her bracing one palm against sunroof glass with her head thrown back, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing around the truck.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” she keens.

“Yeah?”

He knows.

One hand moves to cup the base of her skull and roughly pulls her face back to his. 

“You like that?” Frankie presses his forehead to hers, grabbing her hard by the hips, and thrusts up hard into her cunt.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

“Yeahh you do,” he smirks, tipping his face to kiss her. “I know what my girl likes.”

He holds her hips, fully inside of her, the head of his cock pressed deep, guiding her back and forth to grind against him. Putting pressure on her clit. 

“Frankie, Frankie, Fr—ohh,” she breathes.

She can feel him smile against her mouth. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

She moans and tries to roll her hips but Frankie’s fingers dig in. 

“My pace, baby.”

And she groans in frustration.

“No, none of that,” he chuckles darkly, one hand sliding along the crease of her hip to rub circles against her clit.

Audrey digs the nails of one hand into the seat and wraps the other hand around the back of Frankie’s neck.

His tongue slips back into her mouth and he rolls his hips without pulling out, just barely teasing at that spot deep inside of her that makes her fall apart. 

“Jesus, Frankie,” she throws her head back. He watches her chest heave. The way the curves of her breasts catch the moonlight shining through the sunroof. He latches his mouth to one, tongue laving over sensitive skin.

The hand on the back of his neck grips hard at his hair and Frankie slips the flat of his teeth over her nipple before she tugs, bringing his mouth back to hers.

Frankie’s arm wraps around the small of her back as his thumb and his hips speed up, growling now. She reaches down, skating her hand over where his rests. Her fingers replace his thumb on her clit and Frankie squeezes the globes of her ass.

“Frankie, I don’t think…”

“Turn around,” he commands.

And she arches an eyebrow, slowly climbing off of him, both moaning at the loss of contact. Frankie urges her around, a palm skating between her shoulder blades, pressing her forward to lean against the back of the passenger’s seat. She languidly drapes her arms over either side of the headrest. 

Frankie shifts on the seat and slowly sinks inside of her again.

“Ohh fuck,” she sighs, forehead thumping against leather. 

Frankie spreads his thighs wider.

“Sit, baby,” but he doesn’t allow her time to react before yanking her down onto his lap, fully sheathed inside of her. He moves slowly at first testing this new angle before leaning forward, dropping kisses down her spine.

“That better?”

And she hums a laugh, glancing back over her shoulder. Frankie’s eyes flick up to her and he grins, nipping at her skin. 

He hooks a hand over her shoulder as he fucks her with the other on her waist, building in pace until his hips lift off the seat with every thrust as she bucks her hips back against him. Audrey reaches between her legs to rub her clit and Frankie growls.

“Yeah, baby.”

And the angle is perfect now and Audrey starts to cry out from the depths of her chest. “Frankie, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, that’s—OH.” She braces her free hand on the back of the seat and Frankie feels his balls tighten when she pushes back against him as pleasure sears through her.  

Frankie slows his thrusts, moaning as her walls milk his cock.

Audrey finally exhales on a ragged cry and Frankie wraps an arm around her waist to pull her against his skin as hips pick up speed, chasing his own release. 

She arches in his hold, head falling back against his shoulder. Frankie hips snap hard with a shout as his cock pulses, his body shuddering with it. 

Nose smashing against her cheekbone. 

Teeth softly nipping at her jaw.

Audrey reaches up to cup his cheek, lips pressing softly to the corner of his mouth. Frankie kisses her properly, slow and wet as palms rub across her stomach, up her ribs and over her breasts as his tongue slips into her mouth.

The windows of the Rover have gone foggy with heat.

He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her to him, softening cock still inside of her, chest heaving as she moans softly through ragged breaths, still tingling.

Frankie kisses at her cheek and up to her temple before whispering, “was that…?”

“So good.” She shifts and Frankie holds her tighter, head thumping against hers.

“Don’t. Don’t leave me yet,” he pants.

“Frankie,” she scratches lovingly at his scalp. “Baby. I really have to pee.”

And he laughs a self-satisfied laugh against her hairline.

“Okay,” he shifts her, pulling out of her heat with a moan. “Wait,” he holds her with an iron arm around her waist, swiping a hand through the fog on the window, checking that it’s clear before he cracks the door. 

He shifts her onto the seat as he steps out first.

“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can…”

He holds both hands out to her, corseting her waist, intending to half lift her down onto the beach. “You’re gonna fall, Bambi Legs.”

And she can’t help the hearty laugh that it pulls from her.

True to form, her legs falter the moment her feet hit the sand, but Frankie holds her to his chest, staring down at her through warm brown eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear with a wink. 

Frankie kisses her on the forehead and spins her around towards a small outcropping of rocks. “Go on, Bambi,” he swats her on the ass.

“Can I have my underwear at least?”

“No,” Frankie screws up his face and scoffs, reaching into the tangle of clothes in the backseat to fish out her thong. He has it crushed to his nose when he turns around.

“Perv,” she quips with a grin, swatting him on the arm with them after he hands them over.

She returns to find Frankie leaning against a tire, back door open, barefoot and clad in his jeans and cap, one of her cigarettes dangling between his lips. 

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t smoke there,” she quips as she molds her body against his, slipping her hands into his back pockets. Frankie lights the cigarette and blows the first puff out of the corner of his mouth before holding it to her lips. She inhales before Frankie follows suit.

Audrey pulls away from him, reaching for her sports bra and linen pants. Frankie presses his chest to her back after she pulls them both on, reaching for his t-shirt.

“Leave it,” she spins around and Frankie pops the cigarette between her lips as she runs her hand over his bare stomach.

“Yes, ma’am.” Frankie smiles before his eyes fall on the backseat. 

“We gotta clean this.”

Audrey slips around him, cigarette dangling from her lips, and pops the trunk open, rummaging around for a moment before tossing a packet of Clorox wipes in his direction.

Frankie cleans the seats as she starts the truck and rolls the windows down.

They drive back to the safehouse along the coastal road in companionable silence, wind whipping around the cabin, carrying wisps of cigarette smoke on salted breeze. 

Audrey drives with one hand, fingers of the other laced with Frankie’s.

_____

TUESDAY

When Santiago slips into the driver’s seat the next day for their early morning recon run, the first thing he does is briefly peer over the top of his sunglasses.

“Goddard, I can see your ass-print on the hood.”

“How do you know that’s not Morales,” she quips from the backseat.

“Morales has no ass.”

“Well, you said no come stains.” She pops her gum in the backseat as she loads another magazine into her rifle. “Nothing about ass prints.”  

Frankie pulls the brim of his cap down against Pope’s searing stare and bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk.

“Unbelievable,” Santi starts the ignition. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably good at fixing that belt.” Frankie quips, banging one palm on the dashboard as they pull out of the drive.

“Fuck you, Fish.”

“She did that already.”

Audrey cackles from the backseat.

_____

Six hours later, Benny shows up on the doorstep of their safehouse.

Audrey greets him in leggings and a worn green t-shirt. 

“Well hell-o,” Benny peers down at her over the frames of his aviators.

“Miller?”

“Yup, yeah. Ben Miller,” he holds out his hand. 

“Audrey Goddard,” she offers a sturdy shake. “Come in, come in. The boys are just through in the back here,” she gestures through to the backyard.

Fish and Pope are locked in a sparring match, Frankie’s arm around Pope’s throat, wooden knife pulled out, ready to jab between Santi’s ribs before Pope taps him twice on the arm.

“Boys?’ Audrey calls.

Both of their heads turn in her direction and immediately they erupt in camaraderie. 

Hugs and claps on the back, big smiles all around. 

Audrey slips back inside, allowing them a moment to catch up.

After they’ve said their hellos Benny nods towards the house, “so uh, who’s that? She come with the place?”

“Moose? Nah. She’s running this thing.” Santi grins. 

“Like the coordinator?”

“No, like the Mission Commander, Benny.” Frankie scoffs. 

“No shit,” Benny perches his hands on his hips.

“Well. She technically outranks you,” Santi whacks Benny’s chest with the back of his hand. “Don’t overstep.”

And overstep is the first thing that Benny does.

“So you’re the Mission Commander?” Benny barks when she returns.

“Yes,” Audrey sets a fresh pitcher of water on the patio table.

“What’s your background?”

“I’ll have Davis email you my full roster,” she slips dark shades over her eyes against the sharp afternoon sun.

“Can’t tell me yourself?”

“We don’t have that much time.”

“What branch?”

“Never served under a branch.”

“So you never served.”

“I’ve been serving for almost 25 years, Miller.”

“Benny, did you not get—” Santi starts.

“I did. Didn’t read it.” Benny’s eyes are still locked on hers from behind mirrored aviators. “Alright,” he nods toward the lawn. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Frankie lets out a low whistle. “You’re about to be humbled, Benjamin.”

“Maybe,” he calls, not believing it for a second. “You’re tiny, though,” he says to Audrey, who slips off her shades and tosses them to Frankie.

Audrey’s no waif, but Benny is nine inches taller and has fifty pounds on her. 

And Benny fights guys bigger than he is down at the gym all the time. And wins. 

There’s no way in his mind that she can best him. 

“Take those off, pretty boy,” she points at his shades.

“‘S fine.”

“Alrigh,” she toes at the dirt, “not on me if they break.”

“Alright, keep it clean you two. No punches, no kicks, nothing permanent,” Santi calls. “Aud, you got knives on you?”

She reaches into her boots and pulls two out to hand over.

“Benny?”

“Nah, I just got off a plane, man.”

“Alright, set it up.”

 Benny jumps a few times before holding his fists up to his cheeks in a guard.

Audrey drops her right foot back and crouches.

And Santi gives the cue.

Immediately Benny closes the distance between the two of them, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll. She’s quick to react, twisting to hook the inside of her elbow around the back of her knee, pulling tight such that the crease of her hip and the top of her thigh apply pressure on Benny’s neck, choking off his carotid artery.

He has no choice but to tap out, aviators hanging awkwardly off of the end of his nose.

“Okay,” he finally hands them off to Santi, raking his hair out of his eyes, “two out of three.”

Santi gives the signal again and Benny goes for her knees this time, immediately dropping her to the ground. They tussle for a moment before Audrey locks Benny in a triangle choke that he can’t find his way out of.

He taps out against her collarbone.

“Okay, three tries,” Benny grunts, blue shirt starting to darken with sweat.

“Benny, that’s—” Fish tries to intervene.

“It’s fine, Frankie,” Audrey’s chest is heaving as she holds up a hand in his direction. “Let him have it.”

They get back into position and when Santi gives the signal Benny is immediately behind her, trapping her neck in a chokehold between his arms, huge palm applying pressure to the back of her skull.

Frankie twitches but Santi holds out a hand.

Audrey jumps with her legs in the air, using their weight to swing Benny forward, turning as she lands and slipping her head from between his arms. Benny braces himself on his palms and immediately constricts, balling himself in an effort to cut off her ability to hook any of his limbs. In a flash she leans on his back, wrapping an arm over one shoulder and the other under the opposite armpit, prying one elbow away from his torso with a jab of her knee. Her leg hooks it and kicks back, taking Benny’s arm with it to its full span. She locks the top of her foot over her calf with his outstretched limb between her legs and spreads her knees, the pressure from her hips bending Benny’s arm the wrong way until he frantically slaps at a patch of dirt.

She instantly unfolds from him and rolls away into the grass.

“Alright,” he pants, holding out a fist, still face-down on his stomach. “You win.”

Audrey taps it with her own knuckles, fighting for breath. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Benny swallows hard through his panting, “Yeah I’m good.”

He sits up and stretches his arm for good measure.

“Can we be done here?” Frankie asks, unsure that his heart can handle seeing her in danger, and positive that his dick is going to act up seeing her get herself out of it. “It’s fuckin’ hot.”

They take turns with showers between the safehouse’s two bathrooms, until Frankie slips in with Audrey.

“Thoughts?” He asks quietly, wetting his hair under the spray.

“He made good choices out there,” she hands him the bottle of shampoo. “Smart in a fight.”

“Yeah, Benny fights down at the local gym. Kind of a small-town celebrity.” He sneaks a kiss at the nape of her neck as he scrubs at his scalp before rinsing. “I didn’t know you could do that, though.” 

“Getting too old for much hand-to-hand these days,” she winks over her shoulder at him as he grabs the conditioner bottle from her, raking cream through her curls before slicking the excess through his own hair.

“He got you good back here,” Frankie delicately runs thick fingers over the bruises blossoming on the wings of her hip bones from when Benny took her knees out from under her. 

Frankie wraps his arms around her waist, holding her to his chest a moment.

“Don’t like seeing you like that.”

“This is what we do, Frankie,” she soothes a palm over his forearm.

“Yeah.”

And he gently turns her head to slip his tongue into her mouth, enjoying this moment to themselves.

Frankie warmed by the water. 

Audrey warmed by Frankie.

_____

They rejoin the boys in the kitchen where Santi has started on steaks and Benny has thrown in to whip up roasted vegetables. 

Frankie cracks open beers and passes them around.

Afternoon flows into evening. Beer flows into liquor. 

Camaraderie abounds.

Somewhere around 10pm, when Audrey excuses herself to the restroom, the whiskey in Benny’s veins springs a question loose.

“Alright, boys,” his voice is low. “Which one of you is hittin’ that because if you’re not, I’m gonna.”

“That’s pretty bold of you to assume she’d have you, Benny,” Pope reaches for his glass.

“It’s that white boy confidence,” Frankie quips from where he’s leaned back in his chair and Santi snorts, nearly spitting out his drink.

“I mean—” and Benny makes a show of running his hand through his hair. “But seriously, is she single?”

“She’s not gonna fuck you, Benny.” Santi grins.

“Alright, okay. I see you, Pope,” Benny smacks the back of his hand against Santi’s arm.

“I think I have to turn in, boys,” Audrey sighs when she returns, reaching for her glass without sitting and tossing back the last of her gin. “We’ll run it through top to bottom tomorrow and get you geared up,” she nods at Benny. “I have Davis’ guys refreshing the intel. Provided everything still checks out, we’ll execute on Thursday as originally planned.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny nods. Bourbon eyes starting to fall heavy on the sway of her hips. 

She places her glass in the sink before moving to gently grab Frankie’s chin one hand, thumb and middle fingers fitting in the bare patches in his beard, and bends to give him a quick, chaste kiss.

He hooks an arm around her waist when she moves away, hauling her against him again, “I’ll be there in a sec,” he assures her before craning his head up for her lips again.

“No rush,” she soothes a hand over the span of his chest, “I might be back down for water, but you boys enjoy. G’night.”

When she’s upstairs and out of earshot, Benny erupts in hushed tones.

“CATFISH, YOU DOG.”

Frankie grins and blushes in that order.

“Damn,” Benny muses to himself as he takes another sip of whiskey. “I would not have guessed.”

“Ah c’mon you should know better, Benny.” Santi jabs a thumb in Frankie’s direction. “Big Dick Morales, remember?”

“BIG. DICK. MORALES.” And Benny holds his hand up for a high-five that Frankie rolls his eyes at, crossing his arms against his chest instead. “Damn.”

“Bastard finally found his glass slipper,” Santi quips.

“Jesus Christ, Pope,” an agitated Frankie rubs at his eyes. “Okay can we—” Frankie winds his hand forward through the air, wanting desperately to move away from this line of conversation. 

Benny leans in across the table, finger pointed at the ceiling in reference to the woman upstairs, “the whole thing? Fuuuck.”

“Dude, you can hear the two of them like three rooms over,” Santi snarks.

“Oh well you gotta enlighten us, Catfish,” Benny spreads his arms and leans back in his chair.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit, Benjamin.” Frankie quips, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey.

“Ah, c’mon, Fish. You know me and this one are painfully single.” Benny smacks Pope on the arm again. Like literally, my balls ache.”

“That’s not a real thing,” Frankie shakes his head.

“It is!”

“Then get acquainted with your hand, Benny, I dunno what to tell you.”

“She is smokin’ hot, Catfish. Can I at least get some material here…”

Frankie shakes his head and starts, “I’d suggest you try www dot p-o-r…”

And there’s a snort from the stairwell

Audrey in black sleep shorts and a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, metal waterbottle in hand.

And she watches the tips of Benny’s ears start to burn.

Even Santiago sits up a bit straighter.

Frankie covers the smirk on his face with the heel of his palm.

Because he knows Audrey’s about to put Benny back in line for the second time today.

“Don’t let me stop you, boys,” she pads over to the sink on bare feet to fill her bottle.

Fraught silence hangs in the air until Benny pipes up.

“We uh, we were just asking Big Dick Morales over here to tell us his secret.” Bourbon has made Benny’s tongue loose. “Seems like you could have anyone and yet you chose this guy. Must know something we don’t.”

Audrey has a measured tolerance for many things. 

Slandering her lover is not one of them. 

“Benny,” she places her water bottle on the table. “Benjamin?” And she drapes her arm across Benny’s shoulders in a move that sends him rigid in his chair from the slouch he was in.

“You really want to know his secret?”

Benny swallows hard. 

“He’s sweet. He’s smart. He’s funny. There’s no peacocking with him. It’s that easy, Benny.”

Benny snorts like he doesn't believe her. 

Sober Ben Miller would never steal a friend’s girl. Drunk Ben Miller is a 6’3” blue-eyed, dirty dishwater blonde who’s never been told ‘no.’

And Audrey needs to disavow him of whatever little fantasy he has that distracts him from the task at hand and makes him think she’ll end up in his bed after the celebratory round of drinks when this is all through.

She cranes low to whisper near Benny’s ear, eyes glinting where they’re locked on Frankie’s mischievous, half-lidded ones. “Okay, here’s a secret, Benny. You ever found that spot that’s so deep it makes your lady see stars? Not the one up front, any idiot can find that. It’s way back in there, tucked away because it’s the most precious place you’ll ever go. That one spot that sets her whole body reeling for minutes afterward. You ever found that?”

And she waits until Benny answers, “no.”

“No? Santi, you ever done that?” She doesn’t move, and doesn’t break Frankie’s stare as she asks it.

“Once or twice,” it’s the truth, but Santiago smirks because he knows what she’s doing and agrees that it needs done. “It’s been years though.”

“Wild. Frankie hits that every. time.”

She claps him on the back, “you should try it, Benny. Good communication is key, but you’ll get there.”

And she hooks a finger into the cap of her water bottle and heads for the stairs.

Frankie throws them a salute with two fingers and follows right behind her.

“Was that too harsh?” She whispers when Frankie turns the lock on the bedroom door, brown eyes wide.

“Baby,” he grabs her around the waist, peppering her face with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his scruff. “That was so. fucking. sexy.” He trails his nose down her neck, licking and sucking at her skin.

“I only told the truth, Francisco,” she throws her arms around his neck.

And Frankie presses her to him, palm accidentally catching on her bruises and she winces.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes with lips on her neck.

“‘S okay,” a kiss, “get in bed, Frankie.”

Frankie hums, tongue licking behind her teeth. 

And she crawls under the duvet, settling on her side as Frankie quietly strips down to his boxer briefs, placing his cap on the nightstand.

Frankie hums as his lips find her ear and his hand cups her breast, making her arch back against him with a moan.

“Shhh baby,” Frankie soothes. “Not sure how thin these walls are.”

“Pope doesn’t give a shit.”

“Benny might. Wouldn’t want to scare the kid.”

“That’s a grown man, Francisco,” she whispers as she twists in his hold, hand cupping his jaw. “And I don’t really care what Benny hears,” her fingers slip down his stomach, nails catching on the trail of hair leading under his waistband.

She smirks against his lips, “how did that conversation even start?”

“Mhmm,” Frankie squeezes her thigh and pulls her closer to him, nose skimming her cheek. “Benny wanted to know if you’re single.”

“Am I not?”

“No. You’re mine.”

And he moves before Audrey can process Frankie having laid their situation that bare in front of her. He rolls and pulls her with him to lie on his chest, hand cradling her skull as his lips find hers.

But he senses her hesitation.

“Do—do you want to fuck Benny?” His eyes are suddenly soft. Unsure of himself.

“No, Frankie, I don’t want to fuck Benny.” She adjusts to straddle his hips and sits up, raking her hair out of her eyes.

“Then wh—”

“Shhh, Frankie, please,” she soothes both hands over the slight swell of his belly. “Tonight, I’m yours,” she cranes down to kiss him, “and for the rest of this trip, I’m yours.”

But it all sounds so temporary.

And he wants so desperately to push back. To ask what happens in the after. 

What happens when she goes home? Does she lay in bed alone, sleeping like a baby, or is her bed warmed by someone else? 

Does she wish for his company when she goes to the movies, does she need someone to hold her shopping bags at the mall, who packs her groceries in her fridge, or does she do it all alone?

Does she make herself come and wish it was him?

Is he some secret she keeps stashed away?

Is there another?

Does she think of him at all?

“But—”

“Francisco. Leave it.” Her gaze is granite. “Please. Please let us just have this. Right here. Right now.”

And the thing in her eyes is back again. The thing he can’t quite name.

But there’s want there too.

And it’s only the whiskey with a side of beer that allows him to acquiesce.

“Okay,” he whispers, kissing her deeply before sitting up, palms skating up the panes of her back before flipping her over, parting her legs with his shoulders.

And he means okay out of desperation. The visceral need to prove his worth to a woman that could slip through his fingers and into another man’s bed on a whim.

There would be a taker downstairs.

And okay he’s going to do his best.

Okay, he’ll pour want—need—through his fingertips.

Okay.

He’ll crack granite.

And Frankie has all the right moves. The skillful flick of his tongue, the hollowing of his cheeks, and the pump of his fingers.

But Audrey’s brain won’t let her come.

“Baby,” he looks up from between her thighs, rubbing a palm down her stomach, “where are you?”

She takes a deep breath as he rakes his hair off of his forehead and runs his tongue over a bottom lip wet with her slick.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby.” She props herself up on her elbows and Frankie gently lets her legs fall open to climb up her body, the tip of his nose brushing hers.

“What’s wrong, gatita?” He whispers.

And that word feels a world away from where they are now.

“Think I’m just distracted, Frankie.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, that’s okay, baby,” he tucks a stray curl behind her ear before shifting around to lay next to her. He settles on his side, pulling the duvet up enough to take the tent in his boxer briefs out of the equation.

She stares into the middle distance while Frankie sits with her in the silence. 

Palm still rubbing her stomach under her t-shirt.

Trying to soothe himself with her skin.

He’s losing her.

She settles down next to him, his hand settling on her ribcage, thumb rubbing soft circles into her skin.

Big green eyes settling on brown ones that are doing their best to hide panic.

When she reaches for his cheek his lids flutter closed, her cold hand a balm to his burn.

Audrey maps the contours of his face with reverent fingers. Palm curving over the roundness of his cheeks. Nails catching on his beard. Thumb tracing echoes of the joy that accumulates in the corners of tired eyes. 

She runs her index finger lightly over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

She presses a kiss to his lips.

And he offers a soft smile when he opens his eyes again.

“Frankie,” she whispers, running her thumb feather-light over his bottom lip, “do you remember what I told you. That second night?”

“You told me a lot of things that second night,” he runs his fingertips down her spine.

“But what I always come back to is—”

“You’re beautiful.”

They both whisper it at the same time.

The corner of Frankie’s lips quirk in a gentle smile that dimples one cheek.

“You’re beautiful Frankie,” she kisses his chin. “I need you to know. You’re beautiful.”

And it soothes him in the moment. Enough that his eyes start to slip closed, pulled at first by the weight in his chest. The need to shut out this reality. 

She turns in his arms to press her back to his chest and he pulls her in to him, tucking his nose against her neck.

Settling into each other like they do every night they share a borrowed bed.

And Frankie slips off, warm breath skating over her skin.

But Audrey’s heart still pounds in her ears.

_____

They shift around each other in the night.

Frankie’s legs tangling with hers.

Her fist clenching in the cotton of his shirt.

His palm cupping her warm breast. Staying there.

Audrey’s tongue slipping into his mouth.

Frankie pulling at her waist urging her on top of him.

“Baby, I need you—” he swallows hard. Unable, through the haze of sleep, to stave off the seep of apprehension into his viscera. 

Desperation.

It bleeds into the haze of his dreams and back out into reality when her weight blankets him.

He skates his nose up the side of her neck, hot puffs of breath dampening her skin before he nips at her ear, “now. Right now baby.”

Take this feeling from me.

Let me prove that you’re mine.

She sits up from where she straddles his hips, pulling her t-shirt off as Frankie rights himself to lave his tongue over one tight nipple.

Audrey wraps her arms around his neck and his hands settle over her shoulder blades before he lays her backwards, kissing a path down her form as her fingers tangle in his hair.

He feasts until her body goes taught with pleasure, every throb of her walls around his fingers a beat of reassurance to his buzzing mind.

She keens his name when she breathes again.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” he hurriedly tugs his boxer briefs down, pumping his thick, weeping cock.

He rubs the head of his cock through her folds before sinking in slowly, mouth dropping open a fraction with each inch that he gives her. 

Audrey’s back arches off the bed, hand flying to cover her mouth.

Frankie weights her form with his, kissing at her knuckles, begging for the moans trapped behind them.

She allows it.

Allows Frankie’s tongue into the wet of her mouth, still tasting of her.

Allows him to sit up and bring both of her legs together, holding her ankles with one massive hand as she reaches back to grip the edge of the bed. He guides one to each shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of her thighs. 

Knocking against something sacred.

And she’s trying. 

Trying not to scream for him.

Not to let slip how she needs him.

Here. Like this.

All ways. Always.

But Frankie settles one palm low on her stomach and applies pressure with the heel of it. Feeling the bulge of his cock as he fucks into her. 

A bit more pressure and the crown of his cock catches her g-spot. Over and over.

Sending sparks across her vision.

And Audrey loses it.

Composure.

Sanity.

The scream choked in the back of her throat.

The tenuous hold she had on the tide of pleasure that breaks over her now, causing frantic hands to reach for his wrist and nails to sink into his thigh.

Walls throbbing around his cock.

She’s probably woken the whole house.

Good.

Frankie’s jaw clenches through the pulsing of her cunt, thumb slipping through the slick he pulls from her core to wind against her clit.

He can’t keep the moans in now.

And so he gives them to her.

Leaning forward with one leg still over his shoulder to bite at her bottom lip.

“You’ve got one more in you,” he inhales through his teeth, “don’t you, baby? One more, come on baby.”

“Frankie,” she sobs, swallowing hard, “you know better,” she grips at the sweaty roots of his hair. “You know better than that, baby.”

And he growls from somewhere deep in his chest, sitting up enough to let her leg down.

But he lets it down across his body, slipping his cock from her heat and flipping her over onto her stomach with the momentum of it.

Audrey immediately braces herself on her forearms as Frankie thrusts back inside of her, the weight of his body falling against her not a moment after.

“I do know better,” he mashes his nose to her temple. “I know my baby likes it like this, doesn’t she?”

And it’s so sordid. The speed with which Frankie’s hips move now, skin slapping against hers. The way his tongue licks a stripe over her ear. The wet squelch of his cock through her slick.

The grunts he can’t help when he’s this close. 

Audrey grins with teeth in her bottom lip from under a cascade of black curls.

“I can feel it, you know,” Frankie purrs, beard scraping against her cheek before his nose follows suit. “Feel when I’m in that spot.” He sucks on her neck before sliding the flat of his teeth against her skin.

She lets out a sultry hum.

“Like it was made for me. So fucking tight around my cock.”

And all she can do is moan in response because he’s slowed his pace. There’s the slightest circle to his hips with every thrust.

Grinding deep—hard—as if to prove his point.

He’s doing it spectacularly.

“Jesus, Frankie,” she moans, head dropping into the space between her forearms. 

She’s warm gold in his hands, pliable and glistening. Bending with his attention. Made malleable with his want.

Something precious.

He props himself up with one arm and runs a reverent palm down her spine before fitting fingers to the curve of her waist and slipping under her hips.

She keens the moment he starts toying with her clit.

“Harder, Frankie,” she gasps with the breath that he hasn’t stolen from her ribcage.

He moans, a deep, cracked thing as he buries his face between her shoulder blades.

The snap of his hips jostles her against the mattress, slowly at first before Frankie’s rational brain shuts off.

He slips his fingers from her, reaching for her thigh and pulling it up towards her waist, fitting his knee behind it.

Hips grinding her clit against the bed.

His pace builds until his moans drown out her fractured sobs of pleasure, teeth scraping at her shoulder, her body blanketed by the breadth of his form. 

She slips one hand down to work her clit. “Frankie, yes, yes, ye—”

“C’mon, baby. Yeahhh—”

“Oh fuck. Frankie. Frankie, Frankie, Fr—” Her body bows, back colliding with his chest the moment he moves to kiss her with a open, uncoordinated mouth as her walls clench hard around him.

“‘M gonna fucking come,” he hisses in her ear. “Gonna come. Gonna—fucking—cover you with it.”

And she keens between the aftershocks and Frankie’s promise, burying her face in the tangle of sheets.

“You—yeahh—you want that? Want my come? Fuck, baby—” he chokes out.

And it takes everything he has to pull out of the grip of her cunt at the last minute, wrapping his fist around his heavy length, pumping his cock twice before thick ropes of come streak across her spine.

Frankie roars, rushing to slam his cock back inside of her, still throbbing with his release, body twitching and trembling with pleasure before he stills.

Audrey’s soft moans call him back to her. 

Fragile, wrecked things, tangled with heaving breath.

Frankie pulls out with a groan from them both as Audrey protests the loss of his heat at her back.

Until the hot wet of Frankie’s tongue slides over her skin.

He cleans her of his come with a greedy mouth, lips sucking up her spine as he does.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

Finally he returns his full weight to her, one hand splaying against her jaw and bringing her face back towards his.

He tastes of himself. 

Bitter salt and insatiable lips.

Audrey’s face drops back into the sheets when he lets her go, arching up against him with the need to feel his solid weight.

His warmth.

Frankie gently gathers her hair in one hand, peppering her neck and back with kisses before he rests his chin into the curve of one shoulder.

She’s molten now.

“W’s that okay?” He whispers.

And she’s incapable of doing anything more than letting out a throaty, satisfied hum and pressing a kiss to the scruff of his cheek.

Frankie musters enough strength to pull her with him back up to the head of the bed, tucking her against his chest, palm soothing over her back as she nuzzles her nose against his neck.

Audrey’s hazy, murmured, “you’re beautiful,” is the last thing either of them hear before sleep takes them again.

_____

THURSDAY

“Boys, we have a slight wrinkle. They’ve got three more jeeps out here than they did yesterday,” Audrey reports as she stares through a pair of binoculars from where she’s parked a mile away from the compound.

“Benny and I could slash those tires before heading in,” Santiago’s voice crackles over comms.

“Too risky and you wouldn’t have time. They’re on the opposite side of the compound from your entry point.”

“Problem is, more trucks means more men,” Benny chimes in.

“It also means unfamiliar faces. Might actually make it easier to slip in,” Frankie muses.

“I have a distraction in my back pocket, but report back when you’re in position,” Audrey radios.

“I bet you do.”

Frankie growls, “she means an RPG, Benny.”

They suffer through fifteen minutes of silence before Santi reports back. “You were right, Fish.”

“Let us walk right in,” Benny murmurs.

“Consensus seems to be they’re prepping to move the hostage in about an hour. We’ll ingratiate ourselves until then.”

“This’ll be easier than we thought, boys.”

Frankie hisses, Audrey shushes, and Santi shoots him a pointed stare.

“Don’t fuckin’ say that Benjamin.” Fish growls.

“It’s not done yet,” Audrey murmurs.

Ten minutes later, Benny asks, “Moose, did those Jeeps look armored?”

“Unfortunately for you, no.”

“Okay, we have a slight hiccup,” Benny’s voice is low. “Their planned extraction route has changed. They’re heading in the opposite direction from the airstrip.”

“Great,” Frankie mutters.

“So, my way,” Audrey chimes in.

“The planned route runs right past you, Moose,” Santiago adds.

“We could still take the risk. Break at the last minute?” Benny suggests.

“Too dangerous if those Jeeps aren’t armored. Aud can start knocking them off but they’ve got more men than we accounted for and we dunno how many vehicles they’re going to mobilize,” Fish scratches at his chin and reaches for a map.

“Moose, that Rover have a turbo on it?”

“It’s got two, Benny. But we still can’t make that run to the safehouse. The jungle’s too dense and they’ll be too hot on our tail the minute they get wise. We have to get the hostage into the chopper and Frankie’s gotta make the final run.”

And it’s like she and Frankie have the same idea at the same time.

“So, this is risky—” Fish starts.

“The beach.” Audrey says.

“Think that would give you enough space?”

“If you can be there the minute we break through.”

“I can.”

Audrey’s quiet for a moment, running through contingencies. “Okay boys, we’re gonna do a live handoff.”

“You’re not gonna stop, Aud?” Santi asks, voice jumping half an octave.

“I don’t think we’ll have time. Think you and Benny can handle that switch?”

“You hop in the bird and I can hand her up,” Benny mumbles to Santi.

“Yeah,” Pope nods with bright eyes. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“We’re good if you both are,” Benny reports.

“Frankie, you good?” Audrey asks.

“I’m good. Give me a five minute warning before hostage extraction, I’ll get this up and hold the area.”

“Okay. Santi and Benny, you come straight to me. No sense in taking men out if they’re headed this direction anyway, it’ll just tip them off. But that means you boys are gonna have to floor it. Give me as much lead time as you can.”

“Done.” Benny answers.

“I’ll drive. You get in the back with the girl,” Pope nods.

“Yeah.”

“Anyone have any questions?” Audrey asks.

She gets three ‘no’s.’

“Everyone clear on their role?”

She gets three ‘yes’s.’

“If anyone has any doubts, speak up now. If not, everyone confirm, individually, that this plan is a go.”

Without hesitation, everyone answers ‘confirmed.’

“Alright boys. Benny and Pope, are you both in position to start the clock?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m officially marking five minutes until extraction. Frankie, get her up.”

“Roger.”

Ninety seconds later Frankie confirms he’s in the air and has cleared the airstrip.

“Benny and Pope, you’re cleared to move in accordance with the timeframe.”

They’re out and in the back of the Jeep in another seven minutes. An unknown man slips into the passenger seat thinking he’ll hitch a ride with the boys, and Benny covers the girl’s eyes and ears with two massive hands as Pope fires a silenced shot at the man’s temple before he floors the truck.

They catch up to Audrey in another two minutes.

“They’re sixty seconds behind us,” Benny blurts out as he opens the door, immediately grabbing the girl out of the backseat. “Sorry about this, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he picks her up and hurriedly transfers her into the Rover, sliding in behind her and slamming the door.

She’s quiet and pliant, but there’s panic in her eyes. 

“Santi, there’s two minutes on that,” Audrey simultaneously tosses a live charge to Santi who slaps it onto the Jeep, right over the gas tank, before he slips into the passenger seat, slamming his door as Audrey hits the accelerator.

“Frankie, we’re on the move. ETA to the beach is seven minutes.” Santiago reports.

Audrey catches the little girl’s wide brown eyes in the mirror.

“Hey Diana,” she says with far more calm in her voice than she has any right to have. “I’m Moose. This is Pope,” she gestures to Santi who turns around and offers the girl a winning smile, “and that’s Ben next to you.”

“I know all of this is a lot. But we’re here to get you home.” Santi assures her.

“You ever been on a helicopter, Diana?” Audrey asks again and the boys pick up on where she’s going with it.

“One time,” the girl answers in a soft voice.

“That’s awesome!” Benny chimes in. “Did you like it?”

She nods.

“Well, there’s a helicopter coming around just for you that’s going to fly you to your parents.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna help get you inside, but we’re gonna need you to be really brave, okay?” Santi says. “The guy flying the helicopter is called Catfish, he’s my best friend. And I’m going to be with you the whole time.”

She nods, eyes still wide with fear.

“We’re gonna have to move pretty fast once we get down to the beach okay?” Benny says as they hear the charge Santi set go off in the background.

“We’re gonna crawl out through there,” Pope points at the sunroof.

And she starts shaking her head ‘no.’

“Hey, Diana?”

This from Audrey.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

“Really?”

“I really do!”

She brightens a bit at that.

“I know you can do this. And these boys are going to keep you safe, that’s what they do best. Keep people safe. And then in less than an hour, you’ll be with your parents.” She meets the girl’s eyes in the mirror again. “I promise.”

“You pinky swear?”

Audrey laughs and reaches one gloved hand behind her.

“I pinky swear.”

And she feels a small tug at her hand.

Benny holds his pinky out and Diana wraps her small finger around it before doing the same with Santi.

“Frankie, beach in one,” Audrey reports.

“Roger,” he returns over coms and thirty seconds later they hear the thump of rotor blades. “They’re about two minutes behind you.”

“That’s your ride, Diana,” Santi flips the switch to open the sunroof as he crouches on the passenger seat.

“Diana?” Audrey asks.

“Yeah?”

“Keep your eyes shut real tight for me until Pope tells you to open them again, okay?”

And the little girl shuts her eyes and covers her ears as Audrey wrenches the wheel to the right and hits sand.

“Frankie, I’m going to aim for 60 mph, or I’ll run out of beach too quickly,” she reports.

“Roger.”

And Audrey lines the Rover up on firm sand as the thump of rotor blades grows louder. Wind and sand whip around the cabin as Santiago climbs out of the sunroof.

When Frankie gets the bird close enough, the downdraft from the rotor blades keeps sand in the cabin to a minimum, but creates a wake around the Rover.

Audrey’s only able to see about a hundred feet in front of her at any given time.

“Frankie, my vis is shit, callout if we’re gonna hit anything.”

“You’re clear for at least two miles if you hold it straight. Rock outcrop that would take some maneuvering just short of mile three.”

Two minutes. They have two minutes.

Santiago grips the roof rack in a crouch until Fish brings the helicopter skids within two feet of the truck. 

He easily launches himself onto the skids, Frankie expertly accounting for the impact. 

The bird doesn’t even rock.

Audrey chances a glance up at the chopper.

This is gonna work.

She gestures for Benny to get into position. 

He urges Diana onto the front seat, and mercifully she doesn’t put up a fight.

Benny climbs onto the center console, but the moment he sticks his head out of the sunroof, bullets start flying.

Santiago instantly reacts, laying down suppressive fire as Benny hoists himself up, hooking one foot under a bar of the roof rack, knee on sunroof glass to straddle the open space before he reaches down into the cabin, hoisting Diana up off of her seat with a hand under each arm, his back to the gunfire, shielding her.

Immediately she clings to his neck.

It’s a small blessing when bullets pause.

They don’t want to hit the girl, and Audrey mutters “thank fuck,” under her breath.

Benny assesses their angle and makes eye contact with Santiago who lays his rifle down. 

“Close the sunroof!” Benny yells over rotor blades and wind, and immediately Audrey reaches up to comply, giving Benny more space for solid footing.

It takes less than three seconds for the motor to slide glass closed, but Audrey swears it takes at least a year off of her life.

Benny’s dialed in and readjusts in an instant, standing to his full height.

Frankie and Audrey hold the vehicles dead even with each other, hurtling across the beach at highway speed.

Benny doesn’t hesitate, putting one foot on the skid of the chopper before gently loosening Diana’s hold on him. Santi puts a foot on the skid next to Benny’s and gets well within arms reach. 

Benny still holds Diana close to his body, Pope instead reaching for her.

“On three!” Benny yells, blonde hair whipping around his face.

“ONE.”

Santiago places his hands under Benny’s, making sure he has a firm grip on the girl.

“TWO.”

Benny holds her out just a little farther.

They lock eyes and both nod.

“THREE.”

Benny’s hands drop away and Santiago pulls her in tight to his chest, falling backward into the helicopter as Benny takes his foot off the skid.

“FISH, WE’RE CLEAR GET OUTTA HERE,” Benny crouches down on the roof, screaming into comms as Audrey flips the switch to open the sunroof again.

Benny drops back into the Rover as Frankie pulls hard to the right, peeling out over the ocean and out of range of the bullets that have once again started flying.

Benny reaches through the cabin to grab his rifle off of the back seat and immediately starts firing out of the sunroof as Audrey slows down enough to turn around without rolling the Rover, bringing the truck to a stop.

There’s half a mile between them and the rocks.

Thirty seconds.

She scrambles into the back seat and reaches into the trunk before slowly poking her head up in front of Benny.

Audrey shuffles to the right for clearance, stands on the back seat, and slings a metal tube up over her shoulder.

Half a second later she launches off an RPG.

Anything that remains when the smoke clears is easy work.

Benny takes out three men and Audrey picks off the tires of the one Jeep that made it through.

Everything finally falls silent, save for the muted sounds of the ocean and the crackling of fire—dulled by their ringing ears. 

Audrey reaches for the transmit button on her comms.

“Beach is clear.”

She glances back at where Benny is standing on the passenger seat behind her.

Audrey reaches out a hand.

And Benny shakes it with a laugh.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Benjamin.”

“Roger that, Moose. Roger. That.”

_____

Benny tries to hail Pope and Fish over comms periodically on their way back to their safehouse, but between the distance and the terrain, he doesn’t get anything back.

He tries calling and texting, but nothing gets through.

“They’ll have ditched the bird, and it’s probably four hours by car,” Audrey muses as she pulls into the safehouse drive.

“So maybe 6:30? 7?”

“Probably about that.”

“‘Kay.”

But the pauses between their words are thick with worry despite everything still going according to plan. 

They both shower and change into comfortable clothes, Audrey calling in a status report and cleanup while Benny makes hotdogs for their late lunch. 

They fall into conversation that’s far more comfortable now.

He pours Audrey a gin and soda around 5 pm when he can tell she’s still on edge. 

He fixes one for himself too and suggests they sit on the front porch.

6:30 pm comes and goes and Audrey parks herself on the hood of the Rover to light up a smoke.

Benny sits down next to her, propping sandaled feet up on the bullbar.

“Want one?” She angles her packet of Parliaments in his direction.

“Nah,” he politely shakes his head. “Don’t smoke. But you’re good, I don’t mind.”

And she huffs a laugh because Benny’s the one who followed her over here.

He tells her fight night stories to pass the time as she chain smokes, hoping to distract her enough to soothe her buzzing nerves. 

And his.

Audrey pulls a sweatshirt on to guard against the chill.

When 7:30 rolls around, Benny slips a cigarette out of the box and asks if she can give him a light.

Audrey smirks and acquiesces. 

At 8:15pm, Audrey’s phone lights up, notifying her that something has tripped the perimeter alarm.

She quickly unlocks it and holds it up between her and Benny as she presses play on the video.

It’s a car they don’t expect, and in the fading light, it’s too dark to make out who’s inside. 

Benny calmly slides off the hood and opens the Rover, tossing Audrey a rifle and grabbing a pistol for himself before quietly shutting the door. They move in silence to meet behind the truck, staring through the cabin out through the front windscreen, waiting for the car to appear.

It slips calmly into the drive as they both hold guns at the ready. 

Santiago steps out first with a smile on his face. The moment Frankie appears from behind the driver’s seat, Audrey drops her rifle and takes off running.

“Audrey,” Frankie sighs as she collides with his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He wraps one arm around her back and cups the base of her skull, pressing her tight to him.

“The FUCK took you so long?” Benny booms as he lays his pistol on the hood.

“Stopped for coffee,” Santiago quips, giving Benny a hug and a pat on the back. “Nah, their security detail had car trouble, so we swapped them out so they could move. Frankie fixed this piece of shit up, but it took some time.”

“Gave Benny and I some time to bond,” Audrey moves to give Santi a quick hug now as Benny wraps Frankie in his arms and thumps him on the back.

“That was some real Fast and Furious shit, boys!” Benny whoops.

“Yeah it was,” Frankie returns to Audrey’s side, arm draped around her shoulders.

A smile of pride playing on his mouth.

“Y’all hungry? We’ve got hot dogs,” Benny throws a thumb over his shoulder at the house.

“Fucking starving.” Frankie laughs.

_____

Mirth and liquor flow freely for the rest of the night.

“Okay, so wait, wait. Y’all gave me shit, but Benny doesn’t have a callsign—” Audrey points at the man in question..

“Benny’s callsign is ‘Benny’,” Santi swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“Sorry, what?”

“Well,” Frankie braces both hands on his thighs with a grin. “This one—this one ti—” but he can’t get it out without dissolving into a fit of laughter. “Benny is ‘Benny’—like Benadryl.”

“Yeah, walk me through that,” she rakes a hand through her curls.

“He got stung by a bee one day, took two Benadryl and slept through an entire training exercise.” Santi is grinning so hard that his face hurts.

“Benadryl can do that, yeah.”

“No. Babe,” Frankie laughs, resting a hand on her shoulder, “he slept through the training exercise WHILE he was out in the field.”

Benny is blushing now.

“He would come to enough to get into a helo, but then he’d fall asleep. Strapped into the seat,” Santiago gestures at his chest through howls of laughter.

“He got out of the bird, got into position on the ground with his rifle like he was about to line up a shot and fell the fuck asleep again,” Frankie wheezes, bracing his hand on Santi’s shoulder as he folds forward in his chair.

And she can’t help but laugh at the sight of Frankie having lost all composure.

“Fucking blanks flying everywhere,” Pope makes a cutting motion with his hand, “my man is OUT COLD.”

“There are pictures,” Frankie wipes at his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Benny grumbles, but there’s a smile hiding just behind his lips. “I assume you know about these two idiots.” This to Audrey.

“I do, yeah,” she smiles as she takes a sip of gin.

“You gotta tell me how you got Moose now.”

“Oh,” Santiago reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants for his phone, finding the picture before sliding it over to Benny. “She saved our asses by nailing that shot.”

“Oh, cool.”

Benny isn’t quite impressed.

“Through night vision from a mile away, Benny.” Frankie adds.

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline now and he holds Santiago’s phone closer to his face.

“Damn, Moose. That’s sick,” he slides the phone back to Santi, “thought it was because of your tattoo.”

“YOU’VE SEEN IT?” Santiago screams.

Benny holds his hands up in front of his chest, “she had a tank top on earlier, I didn’t know it was some kind of secret.”

“It’s not, Benny. Santi just thinks it is,” she winks as one hand idly winds in Frankie’s curls.

“Unbelievable,” Santiago shakes his head.

“I like you, Moose.” Benny holds his glass up in her direction.

She taps the side of hers to his, “I like you too, Benny.”

“You do excellent work,” he swallows a sip, “clean, precise, efficient. Think on your feet. Hell of a shot. You wind this one up,” he points to Santi, “and this one is in love with you,” he gestures towards Frankie. 

And Audrey hides it in the moment, pulling her hand away from Frankie’s hair under the guise of reaching for her glass.

The truth is.

Benny’s just said the last thing she wants to hear.

next

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas

If I've missed you, please let me know, and if you'd like to be added, I'm happy to add you!

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here at Ohforficsake.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

GOODFIX & FIXDEX GROUP will attend The FASTENEX Fair 2023

[powderblueblood]

From your prompt list, for Eddie Munson, If it strikes anything in ya. 🖤🖤

" A woman falls in love with you and you think that's a curse?"

200 CIGARETTES SENTENCE PROMPTS! tripped and fell into hai verse sowwy!!!!!!!!!!!!!

eddie reacts in a way you think should be memorialized in history books, a full pantomime of his flailing hands, his rings catching the low light of the bar, his grimacing face with his tongue sticking out.

"blegh!" and, a lightning quick recovery to point at you directly in your face, "exactly. cursed."

you swirl your straw in your cranberry and whiskey which doesn't taste very much like either. you're helping drunk sam to prop up the bar at the hideout before the new year's rush starts; eddie had begged you to come keep him company, come keep him anchored because apparently shit gets weird here when the veil between this year and the next thins.

"you'll be a terrific anchor. all you have to do is sit there with that sour look on your face--exactly! that one!--and remind me that i'm not having a good time, no matter how many decrepit drunks tell me i am."

anyway, this is confusing. you knit your brow. "but why?"

"expectations!" eddie barks, fwipping a bar towel from his shoulder and grabbing a glass out of the drip tray to dry. "someone falls in love with me, right, and then i've got to like... keep them entertained. keep finding reasons to--..."

he trails off, mouth screwing up a little bit. hold on. hold on. there's something there. you try and reach for the thread before he tugs it out of your grasp. unraveling eddie munson's become an unlikely hobby as of late. he's like a ball of yarn someone let get tangled in a dump, so you keep finding all sorts of weird rocks and sticks and trash and ephemera every time you ask him a real question.

"hold on. what do you mean?"

"what do i mean what?"

"keep them entertained."

he sighs. really stepped in it now, because you're not a just drop it kinda girl, just like he's not a just drop it kinda guy. you two haven't read into that. might be worth cracking out the reading glasses, i don't know.

"i don't know!" eddie shrugs, "i'm-- you get someone to love you, and then you want them to keep doing it, right, so you need to like... it's a lot of pressure!"

"no. shut up," you wave your hand in his direction, "are you seriously trying to say that you think falling in love is a curse because you think you've got to perform a certain way to keep people interested? like no one--" you snort a little, tone going to the mocking zone, "--could ever love you for you?"

he puts his hands on his hips, partaking in your laughter a little too. but it's strained. "i don't need to take this from someone who hid a brain the size of a planetary moon behind a can of aquanet for the better part of her high school career so some haircuts would give her the eye, okay? you know aaaaall about performing."

eddie knows he has you nailed so you throw your straw at him. fucker.

"those come out of my paycheck, jackass."

"sorry for bankrupting you," you say, not done. "but eddie. c'mon."

"i'll come on anything you want me to."

"seriously."

"seriously, i will."

"no-- like, you can't possibly expect me to believe you think you're unlovable." you press your forearms into the bartop (ew, sticky) like level with me here.

eddie flings his bar towel around his neck, tugging at either end hard. "i'unno."

"unlikable, sure, you're the most irritating person i've ever met but--"

"--but i don't have the best track record for getting people to stick around." he lifts his shoulders, like it's nothing, like whatever. he's even smiling. pleading, in a way. drop it, for once.

no. anger bursts under your sternum like a tiny firework.

"so?"

eddie double takes, something like fear or frustration flashing in his dark eyes. they're only made darker by the shitty backlight of the bar. makes him look older, which makes you feel weirder. "so?"

"so none of that was on you." you say. like it's nothing. sipping your drink. "none of that was your fault."

eddie's eyes drop from yours. he stares at the sticky bartop.

"and you're never pretending. at least, i've never seen you pretend."

there is no act of anti-god, no dastardly intervention that will let you stop yourself from speaking. this is what you get for sitting around the hideout at six in the evening on new year's eve.

"you've always been horribly yourself to me and i still... can't stand you." a beat. because you're waiting for eddie to look back up under the glower of his brow. his mouth is kind of a snarl, kind of a smile. "so don't treat it like a curse when it isn't, asshole. don't jump ahead in the story."

don't jump ahead. he says it all the time, talking about dnd, talking about some dumb anecdote, talking about music. don't jump ahead in the story.

he looks at you like, you remembered, and pulls a bottle of no-name brand tequila and two shot glasses from behind him.

you shrug at him like, you're around, and have to get up and do a walking lap of the bar after that shot. disgusting!

[gattnk]

Rector Cassidy and Rector Kubral will do what they must. They'll soldier on to the end.

I'm currently working on the redesigns for the Golden School staff; normally I would've started with Arkan and Temptel, but believe it or not Cassidy and Kubral were my first redesigns for this project! Yes, they precede even Raf and Sulfus in my sketchbook. I like to start with villains first when designing casts, since they tend to give me more wiggle room to be creative: this way I get to set the bar for the rest of the project, and I can make my heroes just as visually interesting. Here's my usual notes on the process:

The first step was understanding the characters and their motivations. Once I had their personalities and roles established, I could work on their appearance. I decided Kubral would embody brutality, and Cassidy, fear.

The themes stem from their origins: war is forever linked to brutality and fear as both causes and effects, so it makes sense that two generals personify them, since they too are both products and promulgators of war.

Kubral was easy enough to figure out. Heavy-looking square shapes, towering height accentuated by even taller horns, meaty claws that could snap you like a twig... As a whole, Kubral was based on gothic grotesques. I was also particularly inspired by Goliath from Disney's Gargoyles (his wings folding behind him like a cape is peak character design I tell you). All in all I simplified his original design to his most iconic features, with the addition of a forked beard as a symbol of power and authority.

Cassidy's design had to be much more subtle: fear is a thing that creeps on you, it catches you off-guard and overpowers you. My use of lean curves with sudden sharp angles is meant to represent just that. I included an eye motif to evoke an ever-present state of vigilance and paranoia; the eyes are also a callback to prophetic descriptions of angels, since I was very inspired by medieval stained glass at the time. This is the closest thing to a religious reference you'll get from me here!

I established early on in my creative process that, as angels and devils age, they gain new physical traits. Cassidy's carved halo and double pair of wings are a sign of her age and power. In Kubral's case, there's his tail and enlarged horns, wings and claws.

Cassidy's colors are derived from Raf's: blue, gold and white, sans the touch of red. The only "red" in Cassidy's color scheme is her faded ginger hair (no matter how much time passes, the enemy is still in her head). Her gloves and dark blue shirt underneath her white jacket symbolize her veiled intentions, and her shoes, the same shade as her shirt, represent the dark path she threads.

Kubral's hues are all shades of red (except for his hair, same principle as Cassidy's). This includes his eyes; you could say he "sees red" all the time. He's a straightforward character, so he doesn't conceal his old medals, his general rank proudly displayed on his chest. Still, Kubral is not just brawns, his cruelty motivates his more scheming side. He keeps an ace on his sleeve, or more accurately, his pocket: the tip of his tail is always hidden on his right side, so he may strike his enemies on their left with it.

Phew! If you think I overthink my character designs sometimes, you should see my scene notes regarding architecture lol. Still, I'm proud of my process with these two! For now they've only briefly appeared in my rewrite fic, but they'll get their moment to shine soon enough. Their plans will be certainly different from Season 2, so there's that to look forward to!

I'll Fly With You (rewrite fic) Art masterpost

[rebornologist]

I’m nominating Basil for the nation’s boyfriend this year because...

He's perfect and unproblematic and wonderful. He is who I mean when I say "not all men". The bar is no longer subterranean with him. The old Japanese dialect is not an ick for you. Please just give my thoughts the time of day.

He absolutely adores watching historical dramas with you, and will spend free days cuddling under soft blankets on the couch with entertainment from the cheesiest soap-opera trope-ridden shows. The only annoying thing about watching these shows with him is that he’s a straightforward and solution-driven man. He always goes off mumbling about how things would not have spiraled out of control in the show if people communicated and weren’t like, evil and weird about it. That gives you fodder to rant to him about how the shows are stupid and that you have no idea why the two of y’all are so hooked on them. The two of you do have a ton of inside jokes as a result.

“So.. [y/n], what sayest thou is.. the Japanese they speak in this show is not the modern dialect?” You nearly spit out your tea as you fought back the bout of laughter at his realization, and soon you were guffawing at the top of your lungs, feet kicking into the air as you doubled over into his lap in happy hysterics.

Speaking of being in his lap, I think he smells like barley tea and rice flour and warm, freshly washed and sun-dried cotton. There are some evenings where he's finishing paperwork and he would allow you to take a nap in his lap as he shuffles through the files and forms. He smells so good y’all please throw your arms around him, pull him close, and get the biggest hit of pure warmth and comfort. I would sleep like a baby in his presence fr.

He would be the perfect boyfie because he’s a professional errand runner. Studying into the AM or working overtime? Schedule permitting, he’s on his way with a soft warm hug, a blanket, a sweet treat, and your favourite snacks.

He makes a mean matcha or hojicha latte, and makes them pretty regularly for you as your daily dose of caffeine (unless you don’t do caffeine, in that case.. he would simply learn how to perfect your morning drink of choice).

Basil loves quality time, but y’all absolutely cannot have it all because he’s so busy and overworked. He handles it like a champ, surprisingly, and complains very little (if at all) about work, but you do notice that he falls asleep nearly instantly when he comes back to you after being away.

There is nothing in the world more comforting than laying his head in your lap or on your chest and wrapping his arms around you, snuggling close and feeling your fingers threading through his flaxen locks, smoothing them out, fiddling with split ends, and massaging his scalp. You’re always the first one to nag him (playfully) about his bangs getting long again and asking him what he intends to do with his hair now that it’s gotten to that length.

He’s the one I’d totally pin as more traditionally romantic, like, writing love letters and leaving them by your pillow, with your morning tea/coffee, slipping it into your work bag before he leaves for another excruciating span of time, and of course, sending them your way while he’s away.

If you want an offline bf, he is the one, babes. He cannot wrap his head around social media, and upon thinking about it, begins to ponder the negative psychological effects of observing the self and being constantly pressured to present the self and one’s brand online. He's not against other people being online and having social media, but he's the kind of guy that texts like a boomer and doesn't know what a meme is. He will absolutely like and comment on your instagram posts (or allow you to like and comment on your own posts from his device) if asked.

He didn’t know what memes were until Iemitsu started sending them in their correspondence (and Iemitsu sends the most outdated memes from like 2000 that nobody thought they would ever see again in their lifetime). Now the closest thing to a meme you’re getting from Basil is a photo of some samurai painting from the history museum and a follow-up text message, “me when I’m away from my wife/husband/spouse because I am fighting for honor and glory in the war” like HELP???!! WHO IS THIS?!?!

However, he loves photography. There’s something very valuable to him about immortalizing a moment through photos, but he isn’t a “the camera eats before we eat” kind of guy, he’s the guy that likes to take pictures of waterfalls and cool native plants and rare birds to commemorate his adventures. It's the best way to keep a piece of a space while leaving no trace.

He keeps a journal and shares some of the entries with you during your quality time together. He likes to save fallen leaves or flowers from different regions that he comes across, being mindful to press them dry and make sure that he isn’t moving plant pathogens around in his nostalgia notebook.

Basil is really good with his hands and is fairly skilled at dexterity-based crafts such as weaving, calligraphy, and he absolutely excels at origami. He would never tell you this, (because he has his fair share of secrecy due to the nature of his work, and the weight of his human heart, of course) but he folds up some of his failed poems to you in the complex origami that he gives you. He knows that you would never unfold his work, so in a way, he gets to deliver the half-baked expressions of his feelings about you without the vulnerability and potential embarrassment of how impossible it is to put into words (as eloquently as he would like, anyway).

ok thank u for reading my 900 word Basilicum/You pitch. Basil for The Nation's Bf 2024 ♡ ♡ Basil for National BF Day 2024 that is my message good night xx

lil nsfw hc utc.

Service top Basilicum I’m sorry y’all he’s such a giver and so so so so sweet and patient and attentive about it please help us lord I absolutely love the concept of him hovering over his love as he rocks his hips slowly into them, reveling in every soft mewl and gasp and whimper that escapes them as they squirm and wrap their legs around his waist.

His heart might actually burst when you catch the stray strands of his long bangs slipping into his face and tuck them behind his ear, holding his face lovingly as you gaze up at him. Man, you love it so much when he comes home.

[exorcisticlute-archive]

Closed thread || @mages-pandoras-box

It's been a couple of months since the last extermination between hell and heaven. Things got too complicated between the elders and Lucifer that the once a year extermination had ended for a short term. It didn't fit to well with Lute as she occasionally snuck down into hell to satisfy herself and do killing behind Sera's back.

Flying down to hell on a afternoon she decided to travel over to the lust ring. Still having access to other rings she took advantage. Arriving into lust she kept her mask on as she walked down the alleys and stumbled onto a night club. "I could use a fucking drink" The lieutenant muttered to herself walking past security while flipping them off.

Walking inside the club the colorful lights would hit her showing glimpse of her body. She still wore her uniform only without her leggings or her neck coverage. Leaving her with her grey dress with knee length boots and her elbow high gloves. Taking off her mask her short grey hair was more noticeable as she approached the bar. Hopping on a stool as she crossed her legs. "I'll take a tall sunrise tequila... make it double"

[knickynoo]

McFly July Day 13: Campfire

Lone Pine timeline

Marty scooted closer to the fire, reveling in the warmth it provided in the chilly night air. He was bone tired from the day’s activities, and the thought of crawling into his sleeping bag sounded amazing. But he resisted, knowing full well that while his body was thoroughly exhausted, his brain hadn’t quite gotten the memo yet. It was still swirling with thought, pulling his attention in ten different directions at once.

The last time he’d sat by a campfire and slept outside, he’d been in 1885, his entire future hinged on one big decision and a fragile plan.  

Now he was home—or, at least, he was back—having spent a full day hiking and fighting to set up his expensive tent and collecting wood for the fire Dad and Dave built.

When his mom first casually mentioned the “annual McFly family camping trip,” he’d thought she was making a joke. He’d been camping a handful of times, but never with his family.

Never with his family.

Except these people were his family, and Mom hadn’t been joking. They’d all, minus him, reminisced about past trips on the drive to the campsite, unknowingly providing him with small pieces to add to the slowly growing mental puzzle of this timeline’s version of him. Of the life he did but didn’t live.

Last year, they’d had a race to see who could assemble a tent the fastest: parents versus kids. Mom and Dad had won.

Two years prior, it’d stormed so fiercely that they had to leave the first night and stay at a nearby motel.

Marty had learned that during their 1978 trip, he’d somehow managed to lose his balance during their hike and end up in the river—twice.

“You were like a little drowned rat,” Mom had said through a laugh. “Remember that, Marty?”

No, he didn’t. But he’d returned her laugh, along with the dozens of others shared during the car trip.

It all sounded nice, the stories they swapped. It sounded like the kind of stuff he’d longed for as a kid.

His quiet ruminations were interrupted as Linda dropped into the folding chair beside him. Even after a day spent out in nature, she still looked put-together, as if prepared for the possibility that she might have to hurry off to meet a date at any moment.

Linda bumped him with her shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’ve been weird today.”

A chuckle worked it’s way from Marty’s throat at the blunt, but accurate, statement. He met his sister’s eyes, seeing the mixture of teasing and concern.

“Just today?” he asked with a smile.

“Weirder, I should’ve said,” Linda clarified. “What, are you too cool for these trips now?”

“No. I’m having fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Linda.” Marty held his hands out toward the dancing flames and focused on the heat and the crackling logs. He felt her gaze on him still—observing him as if he was some riddle to be solved. Some unknown specimen that needed dissecting.

Just as her staring approached unbearable, it stopped, releasing the tension that had been building in Marty’s chest. Linda reached into a bag beside her chair and pulled out a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and some chocolate bars.

“Wanna make some double-decker s’mores?” She offered a wooden skewer to Marty.

Marty’s breath caught at her words—at the memory that they brought to the surface. Not from this timeline but from the old one. From his timeline. A memory of him, Linda, and Dave making double-decker s’mores over the stove on a rainy autumn night after their parents had gone to sleep. Of setting the marshmallows on fire and melting chocolate dripping onto the countertops and graham cracker crumbs scattered across the floor. Scrambling to clean it all up and leave no evidence of their late-night sugar fix.

Had that night happened the same way here? Or had it come about some other way, maybe even during one of their camping trips?

He supposed maybe it didn’t matter how, just that it did. That he’d found one of those rare connecting threads—woven through both timelines and providing him with a brief feeling of being anchored.

Giving him hope that, over time, maybe both his memories and this place would feel like home.

Marty took the skewer, then got to work helping Linda tear open all the packaging. He thought of the stories he’d heard of past trips, how he’d had nothing to contribute or look back on fondly along with his family. Maybe he’d never gain any memories, though he hoped he would, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to make some new ones of his own.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

the scene where ghost thought könig had fucked someone else fucking killed me that's the funniest shit I've ever read!!! I could fully relate to sneak hardly being able to contain their laughter! I would have failed, honestly. Oh my god imagine if ghost gets them alone some time later and tries to get them to talk about how they feel about this incident... how they're coping with knowing könig's fucking someone else.... I'm dying

It goes a lil something like this…

You’d needed air. It was hell sitting there in the musty bar fighting off sweat with all the thoughts that swirled in your mind. You were still yet to encounter König since his antics in the gym, and all the while, you’d been dealing with the pitying gazes of your team. It was like being the last puppy at the pound, their big sad eyes staring over at you like they needed to unroot your deep seeded pain.

If only they knew what lay beneath the surface, you thought. Not the damp bed of anguish they assumed, but the loose thread of a lie that would unravel to reveal what you’d really gotten up to with your weekend.

You shuddered and stepped away from the table, almost tripping up on Soap just to get past him. They asked where you were going and you barely had time to say ‘toilet’ before you bypassed the door completely and headed out into the cold. You needed to clear things up, needed to sort your head out.

“Hey!”

Your eyes bulged as you’d noticed Ghost’s thundering steps and heard his growl - there was no mistaking him. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying desperately to compose yourself, before opening them and turning to face him. As if the whispering breeze wasn’t enough, the look in his eyes only doubled your body’s inclination to shiver. You wrapped your arms around yourself in protection.

“I’m ok, Ghost, really.”

“You’re not,” he said, jaw holding firm. “I know you’re not.”

“Well you know, as fine as can be,” you said vaguely, trying to get him off your back.

He snorted at that and shook his head. He wasn’t one for bullshitting, but unfortunately for him, you couldn’t afford to serve up much else. Not if you enjoyed where your head was placed - fixed on top of your neck.

“I had to tell Soap what happened and he told Gaz…”

“Of course you did,” you sighed.

Typical.

There were truly no secrets when something like this happened. Especially not when dealing with your scary guard dog Lieutenant. Normally it was useful but in this case? Not so much.

“They all want to kill him,” he said, voice deadly low. “Might end up having a little issue with his parachute on the next air drop.”

You shuddered at the thought.

“That’s maybe a little extreme, no?” You choked.

“Sneaky…no one messes with the 141. He pulls anything like that again and he’ll never be taking that shirt off again, won’t be fuckin’ able to when he’s paralysed,” he said, dark chuckle sounding from low in his throat.

Suddenly what was funny and rather convenient to you earlier, had immediately lost its charm. You had to find König quick. Perhaps risk a quick text…

[ciginatree]

Distraction- Chris Motionless x Ricky Olson

Request by @abiomens

Content Warning: Anal sex, anal fingering, descriptive smut, mild angst,

Word Count: 1.3k

Ricky hangs his head in his hands with a heavy groan, long inky hair spilling over his shoulders. His laptop lays open in front of him on the dining room table, a half completed word document filling the screen. The cursor blinks steadily in an unwavering beat, reappearing on the screen like a ticking headache. Chris leans over the kitchen bar counter, elbows resting on the speckled granite. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks, tipping his glass of water to his lips. Ricky rakes his fingers over his forehead and down his cheeks, slumping down in his chair.

“I’ve hit a dead end. I’ve been stuck on this story for days and I just…can’t think of anything,” he says, frustrated and upset. Chris sets the cup down, ice rattling as a frosted droplet runs down the inside of the glass. He curves around the counter and slowly makes his way behind Ricky’s chair. 

“You need a break, sweetheart,” he says lowly. His sturdy hands knead into the knotted meat of Ricky’s shoulders, fingers prodding at the junction of his neck. “You need to take a step back and relax or you’re gonna burn out.”

Ricky groans and leans back into his boyfriend’s touch, head tipping back into the chair. His eyes droop and he exhales heavily through his nose. He hates taking breaks. When he does he switches to another project, something productive. It’s hard for him to just…relax.

“Tell you what: let’s go upstairs. I think I can help shut off your brain for a bit,” Chris smirks, squeezing Ricky’s shoulders twice. He grabs his hand, yanking him out of the kitchen chair, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. Chris shuts the door with a soft click, turning the knob to dampen the sound. Ricky sits on the edge of the bed, body tense and distracted. Chris views him with a soft smile, traveling to stand between his lover’s legs. He threads his fingers through Ricky’s hair, weaving the dark locks across his scalp with a sigh. Ricky closes his eyes and leans into the touch, the smallest of frowns gracing his lips.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let me take care of you,” Chris whispers. He doubles down to capture Ricky’s lips in a sweet kiss, guiding his lips with gentle caresses. Slowly, Chris lowers them both onto the plush mattress, topping Ricky’s small body beneath his. He works his lips over Ricky’s jaw and down his neck, leaving a trail of nibbles and licks. Ricky gasps and tilts his head, closing his eyes and surrendering himself to his lover. 

“Chris…” He trails off as Chris’s hands slip up the front of his shirt, warmth emanating from his hands into his chest. Chris’s fingers brush over his nipples at the same time he nips at his collarbone and he gasps, exhaling into a moan that breaks free from his throat unbridled. One of Ricky’s hands laces into Chris’s hair, tugging at the roots as his boyfriend leans back up to a sitting position on the bed, bringing Ricky with him. 

He bunches the hem of the smaller man’s shirt in his hands, lifting it up over his head, and discarding it on the floor. He then removes his own shirt, tossing it as well. He reunites their lips with passion, groaning at the new contact of chest on chest. As they moan and lick into each other’s mouths, Chris reaches between them to slip the button of Ricky’s pants free. He starts to pull them down, but stops at the awkward angle created by their proximity. Ricky takes the hint and steps off the bed, shimmying down his dark jeans and boxers. Chris takes the time to free himself from his pants as well before returning to the bed and his half-hard boyfriend. He can see the shadows of stress and distraction still etched onto his face. He’ll fix that in time.

Chris looks along Ricky’s body; a body he never gets tired of. His hand reaches to trail his middle finger along the fluorescent blue vein carving up Ricky’s pelvis and lower stomach. He savors the way he shudders, breath fluttering, as he does so. Finally, Chris wraps his hand around the smaller’s dick, fingers flexing against the velvety skin. He starts with a slow, teasing tug, and keeps a concentrated, languid pace as he snakes a hand around his body to grope Ricky’s ass. His pace builds and he presses a finger against his hole, feeling Ricky tense and relax as he massages the tight muscle. Ricky groans and drops his head onto Chris’s shoulder when he feels him press through his opening. His finger works in and out in time with his thrusts, working Ricky open.

“Please, Chris, fuck me,” he whimpers into his boyfriend’s shoulder, drool leaving a wet spot on his skin. “I’m ready, I swear, just please fuck me.”

“Okay, baby, I’ll fuck you.” Chris kisses his forehead while slipping his finger out and stopping his strokes. It earns another whimper from Ricky, but Chris ignores it as he opens the side dresser drawer to remove the bottle of lube. “Hands and knees.” Rustling of sheets accompanies the pop of a cap, and Chris squirts the viscous liquid onto his fingers. He cups his fingers tightly beneath the liquid to keep it from spilling as he lowers it to Ricky’s ass. He gasps and twitches when the cold substance presses into him, two fingers accompanying to work it in and out.

Chris wipes the remnants along his aching dick, finally lining up to Ricky’s hole. “Deep breath, baby,” he whispers and Ricky complies; sucking in a breath as he pushes in, but stops halfway. Ricky whimpers and grips the sheets; the feeling familiar, yet overwhelming. Chris smooths a hand over Ricky’s back, rubbing and massaging as he adjusts. He lowers down onto shaky forearms, nodding weakly against the pillow. At the confirmation, Chris sheathes himself the rest of the way inside, pausing once more as both of their breaths are suspended. “Breathe, baby,” Chris rattles airily. Ricky gasps and groans, wiggling his hips back to relieve some pressure. Butterflies slam together in his stomach, clenching along Chris’s length. 

“Move,” he pants. “You can move.” Chris slowly drags out and rolls his hips forward just as slow, the pressure and movement heavily affecting them both. Ricky lets out a sultry moan, face drawn tight in ecstasy as Chris sets a mind numbingly slow pace. 

“Fuck, baby,” Chris whispers under his breath. Ricky’s long hair is fluffed in an angelic halo on the mattress beneath his head; the mattress that he groans and whimpers into as Chris thrusts into him. He’s big, pressing his way into places he didn’t know he could reach, and gaining depth with each continued thrust. 

“Chris…” he moans, voice muffled by the sheets beneath him. His hands clutch at the bed for some form of grounding, desperate for release. 

“I’ve got you, baby, relax,” Chris coos. He leans down over the small body of his boyfriend to stroke his dick again, the smaller squirming and whimpering loudly at the contact. Chris angles his hips up to slam down into Ricky’s sweet spot and he cums instantly, clenching around Chris as he cries out. Ricky’s eyes flutter and roll in catharsis; shuddering and cumming all over the sheets with his mouth dropped open. Chris cums a moment later, hips stuttering forward as he releases into Ricky’s ass. The only thing keeping him from collapsing is his arm on the mattress holding him up. Slowly, he pulls himself out and flops down next to Ricky, pulling his limp body into his arms.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Chris whispers. The only response is a small nod, eyes still closed. “Good.” He kisses him softly before leaning his head back against the pillow, pulling the covers over them both. 

“Thank you, Chris,” Ricky mumbles before snuggling closer and falling asleep in his lover’s arms.

Tags: @abiomens @rumoured-whispers @exitwoundsx @joyofbebbanburg

Dividers by @saradika-graphics