#Threaded Bar And Nuts

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[san8ny]

STILL GOT IT !

?: While you continue reign over your niche internet kingdom, Ellie finds herself consumed with thoughts of you, you and you! So much so, her fans are staring to notice. Joining your livestream, which she’s been trying to abstain from, you quickly remind her on why you’re so addictive in the first place! / E.W / 18+

!: too lazy to write all warnings but pretty tame when it comes to smut. s

Her heart initially falls to her ass when she sees the plethora of comments underneath her latest video, usual adornment of little heart emojis which now turned into discussions of twitter threads. How had a clipping of her rubbing herself inside a public bathroom stall, the usual shtick before she clocks into a boring 9-5– garner this much negativity? What changed?

“Eh, you don’t seem as passionate after the collab tbhhh”

“lost her touch lmfao”

“does this mean we get another video with you and—

She shuts the laptop closed, unable to further stomach her unsatisfied audience with thoughts running rampant in her mind.

Lost..her touch?

Surely these comments were satirical and just baiting her for another video with you, right? I mean, it’s not like she hasn’t gotten hate comments before, though rare for a small homemade creator like herself, but that was besides the point!

it irked her.

Since when has Ellie ever needed anyone for a platform she grew and built, huh? So what if you had given her the best fucking of her life? Genuinely, what about it? It’s not like she goes to sleep with you on her mind, just to awaken the next morning with her pajama bottoms absolutely drenched because she had the most delicious wet dream about you! That’d be crazy..

She rubs her temples a bit to soothe the pounding of her head, she needed a quick fix to this issue and fast! Opening the device back up, she seeks answers.

⌕ [“How do I get horny again without looking at the hot girl who had sex with me’s page?”]

Holding her breath, she types into the search bar. They do say google holds all the answers.

aaaand..nothing.

God, maybe she was dealing with an original experience? 8 Billion people and all useless.

What if you’ve ruined her to the brink of no-return? She can’t even orgasm anymore on her page without watching you, which makes the climaxes lackluster. She can never go back after you’ve given her a taste of the real thing.

That night, she props her laptop up with you pulled up on the screen. You’re wearing a pretty lingerie set, too pretty of one Ellie thinks. It’s the little fancy-pancy one’s you had in your closet that night you graciously let her stay over. Post-nut delirium, but Ellie could still see you liked lace alot, it being the main choice of material inhabiting your wardrobe.

Hot.

Her eyes scower the screen as donations roll in and as per usual, you thank the viewers with a pristine smile, like you didn’t turn Ellie back into a fuckin’ virgin.

She hasn’t been on one of your streams in a while actually, too caught up with work but now, she really remembers why she use to.

You were a guilty pleasure. Addictive, and Ellie didn’t even have a knack for sweets; you just always managed to pollute her head with the most vile of scenarios she could envision recreating with you and fuck, did she hate herself for it— hated herself for becoming so obsessed with someone who only saw her as a collaborater, a co-worker.

She couldn’t complain however, not with the way you manage to talk everyone through it in your streams in a low shaky voice, and especially, not with the way you capture everyones attention with your movements.

and, like a moth to a flame, Ellie finds herself, unaware, cupping her breasts..kneading the flesh like soft dough through her bleach-stained band tee, relapsing back into a place she thought she wouldn’t want to return to; she can’t help the moans that steadily escape her when you let one of your own out, and God, Ellie might really be the worst person because she hasn’t had this good of a masturbation sesh in forever. It’s been feeling so cold and robotic lately with her trying to appease her few followers, but we know how that turned out.

“Ellie’s in the stream?” You whimper out, reading the explosive chat when you slap the silicone toy messily against your puffy clit, swollen under it’s hood but sitting so pretty like an pearl would on its’s oyster, glistening in both your own liquids. “Hi Els..” Your whiney voice calls her out.

Oh God.

Ellie’s eyes roll back abit when she sees your crinkled eyes, lip pulled in between teeth and your flushed cheeks. She practically punches the ‘Co-Host’ request button with her camera off so only her pathetic pants of your name are heard, “H-hi doll..” She hisses out softly, “You l-look so pretty r’now, ah!..’m sorry haven’t been o-on your—mmh!— streams..”

You giggle at this, and the viewer count doubles in amount. Somehow, the stream becomes what seems like a steamy facetime call between two creators, with the rest of the viewers witnessing and prying in on the salacious moment, “‘s okay..just w-wanna hear your noises, Ellie.” It’s like you knew she couldn’t speak to you without a hand busying itself down there..

The girl groans, dropping her camera inbetween her legs to the echoing sounds of squelching and heaven. Though you couldn’t see her in the dark, 2:30 AM lighting of her bedroom she lounges in, you could feel it. She doesn’t even remember the last time she’d secrete this much arousal without the assistance of lube.

“A-ah, me baby? Gosh, ‘jus wanna watch you f’ a sec. Hear me well?”

You nod, eyebrows furrowing and your eyes growing more heavy when you prop your legs up on the gaming chair, displaying your drenched pelvic area— all so messy and for everyone to see. Mainly the broad on the other end of the stream..

You squeal when you curl your fingers into a specifically spongy spot, lips parting and your head thrown back a bit— you’d long ditched the dildo for something a bit more efficient, something to really capture the moment between you. Strands of hair stick to your forehead when an orgasm arises, and you seem a bit upset for cumming too quickly, not when Ellie has just got here!

Prolonging it a bit, you heave and retreat from your digits, rubbing your thighs imaptiently with your sighs stuttering, all while the other girl slaps at her cunt from what you can hear. Painslut

Ellie looks up back at you when she, herself, feels a tight coil in her stomach beginning to loosen, “B-boutta’ cum, dollface. Cmon..put them back on ‘er. Need my girl to do it with me.”

You nod ever so slightly to her voice, though you cannot see her, the raspiness of her voice takes you to a whole other level, “Ellie..” you cry out when your fingers make contact, it seems to be hitting you harder than usual, hypersensitivity of edging yourself all stream. Is it so wrong her green-eyed gaze trains on you intently while you whine and bitch for her?

The muscles in her abdomen tighten when she particularly notices a dumbed out look on you, saliva seeping past your glossy lips and dribbling to the lacy outfit you had on, rubbing her clit as fast as she can, she eggs you on, “Ah! Ah! J-just there w’you..wanna do it ‘wif you.”

Ellie gasps when your legs twitch uncontrollably, and on-cue, as promised, she meets the point with you— biting her knuckle when she spasms through the waves of orgasmic pleasure.

A few moments go past when Ellie picks her phone camera up to see you’d already went past your donation threshold. She can hear your hiccups, hair all messed up and covering your face— sweet baby..

She quickly ends the live-stream for you, a co-host accessible option you’d enabled incase you couldn’t end it from your own screen.

just to run to her bathroom to clean herself up before heading to your place.

Was she invited? No. Was she likely pushing a boundary? Yes, but, was she going to start a ‘no-aftecare’ streak in her entirety of 23 years? Fuck no.

Whether you liked it or not, she was on her way.

@san8ny: “alr she still got it ig”

[theteasetwrites]

Pay Attention

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: a bit... suggestive, sexual innuendos if you squint, implied dom Daryl ❧ Word Count: 2.3k

❧ Summary: While Daryl works on his bike, you can't help but pay a little too much attention. Not to his bike, though.

❧ A/N: Hiiii I know this oneshot came out of nowhere, but... yeah. Also thank you to @ivuravix, @okaycocoal, @devnmon, and @weretheones for brainstorming (aka drooling over Norman in that new video of him getting his bike) with me!

As he loosened the sprocket nut, cranking the breaker bar with a strained grunt muffled through tight lips, you watched with a languid gaze, only once in a while mustering a hum or two whenever a gruff voice of velvety sandpaper threatened to tear you from your stupor.

But the words were no more than ambiance, a vague collection of obscure sounds that only provided the score to a dizzying display of skilled, smooth movements, the sight of which you had the distinct fortune of beholding. 

With the clatter of metal hitting the concrete, you blinked and felt your senses return to you for a moment, so those indistinguishable sounds turned into words on his breathy, gravelly voice. 

“Now we got the transmission cover off…” He took a breath as he tugged the faded red rag from the back pocket of his old torn-up jeans, in which you had made various stitchings to patch up the holes with new fabrics. Sitting cross-legged, you tilted your head with a barely noticeable little smile on your lips. He wiped the sweat from his brow, raising his right arm until you could see the faded ink of the tattoo on his inner bicep, exposed by the black sleeveless button-up shirt he wore, with the little loose threads from where he’d cut it still dangling from the torn fabric. 

Now your eyes were glued to that spot, where the taut, lean muscles under his tanned, sweat-shined skin flexed and twitched with each movement as he attempted to wipe the grease from his hands. That poor rag had seen so much―grease, sweat, blood, dirt… You’d tried to get him to use something a little less worn, but he always came back to that old rag. He was stubborn about those kinds of things, or maybe it wasn’t so much stubbornness as sentimentality. It was one of the things you loved about him.

Kneeling as he shook his hair from his face, a few sweaty strands still sticking, he huffed another deep breath. Thank God he was so intently focused on his bike, lest he notice your lack of… attention. Well, you were paying attention, but not to the bike. 

When you said you wanted to help him replace the chain on his motorcycle, you did not anticipate he would give you a step-by-step tutorial on the matter. But that was just him, your Daryl―he had a few things he was particularly interested in, and one of them was mechanics. He’d always be the first to volunteer to prepare the cars for the runs, and he was good at it. It came naturally to him, you always knew that. He once told you that he liked to put things back together again, to fit parts together like puzzle pieces. It only made sense that he would build his own bike, and fix it himself. After all, it was hard to find a professional mechanic these days. 

You didn’t mind. Though you had to admit that you weren’t terribly engrossed, you found it quite endearing, his passion as he narrated each movement of his hands, each part of the bike, each tool he used so skillfully. He was always so good with his hands, those deft, yet thick and heavy, fingers. You knew those fingers quite well, quite intimately… 

If only he’d stop fiddling with that hunk of metal and start putting those strong, nimble hands to better use.

“See this nut here?” 

He gestured to a metal protrusion nestled amongst the gears near the back wheel. Though you lacked the knowledge of what a nut was in this context, you nodded with a small, “Mhm.”

“That’s the axle nut. Gotta loosen it, then unscrew this bolt.” He did the actions slowly, careful not to move too quick lest you lose track of him, but it was of no consequence, anyway, because all you could look at were the flexing tendons in his hands, and the bulging squiggles of veins that protruded beneath grease-stained skin. Those little rivers led up into his forearm, where defined muscles tightened and twitched as he clenched his jaw, a few grunts slipping between his tightened lips. He turned the wrench on the axle nut, loosening it with each movement. 

When he’d unscrewed the bolt, he relieved the tension by pushing the back wheel forward, loosening the chain until he could get a grip on the master link that kept the old linking metal pieces together. 

Now admiring the glistening sweat that gave shine to the chest that was exposed by the buttons undone near the neck of his shirt, you did not notice his eyes on you, watching you with a furrowed brow as he spoke.

“Can ya hand me those pliers, hon?”

His voice seemed to shake you awake with almost a startle. In a slight haze, you only blinked at him, your lips quivering without your own awareness, your mind drawing a blank as his sudden attention had hit a reset button on the back of your head. Rebooting, you took a few moments to catch up to speed, but even then, you had become lost in a gaze of ocean blue. 

“What?”

Daryl lifted his chin to nod towards somewhere close behind you, though even your own surroundings were a mystery to you. 

“Can ya gimme those pliers, right behind ya.”

“Oh.” 

You turned swiftly, as if taking your eyes off him for a moment would free you from your stupor. It did not. 

But at least you could locate the tool―nestled atop the other gadgets and gizmos scattered inside the toolbox behind you. 

“These?” You held the red handled tool out for him to see. 

He looked up from the chain that he fiddled with in his grease-stained fingers. “Yeah, that’s it.” He took the pliers to remove the master link from the chain, finally freeing it from the bike. “A’right,” he huffed with a slight satisfaction in his voice. “Now you see this thing ‘ere?”

Leaning forward, you focused your sight on where he was pointing—the long metal rod near the drum brake. “Mhm.”

“We’re gonna take that apart next.”

With the brake assembly dismantled, you watched as he removed the back wheel from the bike, carrying it to his workbench while you dutifully followed, entranced by his confident sway. There weren’t many things Daryl was secure about, but when it came to mechanics, he was assured of himself. In fact, he may have gotten a little cocky, having noticed that each time he instructed you on a new step, you responded either with an absent-minded hum or a dazed stare at his biceps. 

After he replaced the sprocket, much to your confusion with each procedure he explained, he replaced the wheel on the bike, this time adding on the new chain. 

And as he tightened the chain, he cranked the wrench on the locking nut, securing it into place. Again, his arms flexed with mesmerizing strength, the intrigue of which was only matched by the muscles bulging in his neck, the low grunts and redness that pooled in his cheek. It was all too familiar, the way his body moved and the way his muscles contorted in the strain of the activity. 

Though you desperately wanted to squeeze your thighs together, just to momentarily relieve a bit of tension between them, you could only sit still as you watched him, now totally unable to hear a word of what he was saying, despite your admiration for his passion.

But the longer you seemed to be in a distracted state of stupor, your mouth nearly hanging open enough to start drooling, the more he caught onto your lack of attention for the bike, and your excessive attention for him.

“Now… Don’t wanna screw this too tight, it’ll wear out faster, then I’d have to change this chain again. But ya want it just tight enough, and not too loose.”

If you’d been able to concentrate at all on what he said, you might’ve blushed.

But all you could do was watch his fingers work, nimble movements reminding you of how those calloused fingers would tickle your skin in your intimate moments, how he knew just how to touch you and make you shiver until that shiver became a deep, penetrating chill of pleasure. 

He’d always had that effect on you, even in the most innocuous moments. How could this man affect you like this, send a shiver down your spine, without even touching you? Not only that, but he was working on his bike, trying to educate you, and yet, you were still thinking about his filthy, grease-stained hands leaving prints all over your body.

And when he cleared his throat, you were back again, only with no clue what Daryl had just said. All you knew was he seemed to know what he was talking about, based on the assuredness in his voice. 

In a slight panic that you’d missed something important, you replied—“Mm… That’s nice, sweetie.”

His eyebrow arched in slight amusement, your words and the dreamy lull in your voice having confirmed his suspicion—you weren’t paying attention at all. 

Now he looked you in the eye, keeping your gaze with his intense stare, only weakened by a glint of playfulness, with a sparkle of mischief. There was an upward lift to one side of his mouth as he spoke, a smirk so charming that you found your breath getting caught in your chest.

“You payin’ attention?” he asked, though not with any kind of disappointment. 

Back straightening, you nodded as you hummed. “Mhm.”

The man narrowed his eyes at you, studying you with amused suspicion. “What’d I jus’ say?”

You sank a little, your posture weakening as you cleared your throat, buying time to keep you from admitting that you were less interested in the mechanics of his bike, and more interested in the mechanics of his arms.

“Well, uh… You were talking about…”

There was a shakiness to your voice as you lowered your head, focusing on your fingers which fiddled with each other in your lap. With your eyes averted, and your brain being ramped suddenly into third gear, you hadn’t noticed that Daryl scooted closer across the cold concrete, his own focus having separated from his beloved motorcycle completely.

“Hey,” he said, and from the mere vibration of his voice, traveling through the small space of air that existed now between you, you knew to look up at him, as if he had commanded it. And to you, he did.

When you looked up, he broke into a bigger smile, with a flash of faded white from the bottom edges of his teeth, the same ones that had left faint marks on your neck many times before. 

It was your innocence that amused him, made him huff a small laugh under his breath. You matched his laugh with your own nervous one, though you knew not why he made you so anxious, after so long of being his. Well, maybe he just had that effect on you, and maybe he always would. 

You knew he always would.

“You ain’t payin’ attention, are ya?”

Now, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of his stained, greasy hand, raising to grasp at your chin. His touch was soft, yet deliberate. He knew. Daryl was always observant, after all. Besides, you’d unintentionally made it rather obvious. 

When you failed to answer him, he narrowed his gaze again, just enough so he could hone in on your lips. They quivered now, just like they always did for him. He liked it—how your body reacted to his touch. It was always so predictable, so safe. Everything about you was, and he knew you so well now, that he had no problem making sure you answered him.

“Are ya, sweetheart?”

The very quiet, nearly undetectable whimper that slipped subconsciously from your lips could’ve gone unnoticed if he weren’t so attentive to your every action, but he was, and he heard it. How easily you crumbled for him, and how perfect your mouth looked—split open and plump, wet and aching. 

“No… I…” His fingers rubbed the curve of your jaw as he held your chin with more pressure, as if to punish you with the most affectionate touch. “Sorry.”

But the word went without reply as his grip pulled you forward. No movement on his part other than that pull, bringing you to him, your lips softly connecting as a sigh got caught between wet flesh, your mouth was forced open just enough by his tongue. 

The kiss was ended much too abruptly for your liking, though he punctuated it with small bursts of pecks upon your still quivering lips. On his own lips, a cocky smirk, taunting you. Rarely did Daryl tease you quite like this, though he could never pass up the opportunity. 

“S’all right.” He was still close enough for the vibration of his gruff voice to tickle you. “Long as you just sit there lookin’ all pretty for me.”

Just like that, you melted again, your head only propped up by his hand still caressing your chin. 

“Okay.” The word came out in a dreamy giggle, of which you may have been embarrassed if he hadn’t broken out into his own little snicker. 

It took him a few drawn out moments to peel himself from you, intent on finishing replacing the chain before his recruiting trip tomorrow, but eventually, reluctantly, he removed his hand, your chin now blotched with his oily fingerprints. 

Another huff of laughter escaped from his smirking lips, to which you tilted your head in confusion. 

Loosely, he gestured to his own chin. “Ya got a lil somethin’.”

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Masterlist

[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.

[harmonictechnicality]

This has got to be a mistake. There is no way on this spherical floating rock of fucked-uppery that this is the right hotel room.

Rose petals. Champagne bottles in a glass bucket. A silver tray of chocolate covered strawberries. A goddamn hot tub in the center of the room??

Mistake. Total mistake. The highest of errors.

See, Eddie is just tagging along with Steve on his monthly trips to visit Henderson at his big-brained university. And since Eddie has earned himself an appalling (yet valid) reputation of being flaky as dandruff, Steve was in charge of all the travel arrangements. Gas, schedule, hotel room.

This isn’t a hotel room. This a fucking honeymoon suite.

“The concierge said this was the only room left.” Steve tells him, plopping his duffel bag onto the heart-shaped bed. Which… fuck, really? Those exist outside of soft-core pornos?

“Sure. Okay.” Eddie spots candles on the balcony. Their balcony. Holy… “But why is all of this romantic shit here? Cause I’m sure as hell not paying for any of it.”

Eddie is barely paying for anything to begin with. He bought the snacks at the first gas station stop and has conveniently forgotten to pitch in ever since.

Steve shrugs. “It just… comes with the room, apparently.”

Eddie really wishes Steve had not put emphasis on that specific word. Knowing his hyperactive imagination, he won’t be able to un-hear that phrase for the entire duration of their trip. Awesome.

See, none of this would’ve been a problem two months ago. Up until then, Eddie never thought about inflicting red-rope marks around Steve’s wrists or how salivating it must sound to have his own name leaving Steve’s mouth while it’s stuffed with silk. No. Before two months ago, Eddie had Very Normal thoughts about Steve Harrington.

But since that day - the day Steve insisted on helping Eddie reapply his new eyebrow piercing, Eddie’s normal thoughts have been fucking poisonedwith vulgarity. 

It was everything whipped into one moment. The close proximity, the chemical-high off the sanitation wipes, the wetness of Steve’s fingers on him, the slight pinch of the metal threading through Eddie’s skin. 

As soon as Steve inserted the thin barbell, Eddie audibly gasped, swore quietly, had to play it off like the insertion hurt or whatever - just so Steve wouldn’t freak the fuck out. It proved to be an ineffective attempt at coolness, obviously Steve knew what he was doing. Has been an absolute tease about it ever since too. Flirty comments with Eddie when no one is around or making subtle touches whenever Eddie is close enough to get away with that sort of thing.

And look, Eddie would happily encourage all of that. He’d get Steve out of that stupid little polo and kiss every muscle on his torso if he thought that’s what Steve really wanted. There’s just no damn way that they are into the same stuff, physically.

Steve is probably nuts about fluffy-pink sex. All wispy touches and muffled moans under the covers. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit. Eddie wants bruising kisses and sensual demands. He wants to dissect all the vanilla parts of Steve and replace them with black magic and velvet.

That. That is why this room, these things, that person, is making this all of this very dangerous for Eddie.

“You okay, man?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Liar.

“You’ve been staring at the desk lamp for like, five minutes.”

“Just speculating as to where the interior designer may have found a dark red lightbulb.” Which, yeah. Why is it red? Is red the horniest color? Eddie bets if Steve is lying beneath red lighting, it’ll look like his whole body is flushed, overheated from whatever Eddie is doing to him.

Fuck. This is bad. This is so very bad.

And yet, Steve is so unfazed. So casual. He’s eating the gummies off the snack bar like they’re not shaped like dicks. He’s turning on the stereo as if it’s not only looping through steamy saxophone solos. Why is none of this affecting him like it’s affecting Eddie? Is passion and desire so deeply woven into his Harrington DNA that this stuff is just a typical Tuesday for him? Ugh, Eddie is making his own head spin. 

“So…” Eddie sways side to side. “None of this is weird to you?”

“What do you mean?”

What does he mean? What fucking gives? “Uh - there’s a bowl of flavored rubbers sitting next to your hand, dude. How are you so chill about this?”

Steve clinks his nail over the condom bowl. “It’s just stuff. No biggie.”

“Just stuff? It’s like a romance novel threw up in this place.”

“Yeah, but..” Steve counters, sounds irritated. “It’s only romantic if you’re with someone and wanna… get it on.”

Eddie scoffs. “Get it on? What - suddenly, you can’t just say fuck?”

“You’re so annoying.” Steve rolls his eyes, tosses another dick gummy into his mouth. “These are all just things. It’s all about your mindset.”

“I disagree.” Eddie states. “I think anyone with an active libido would wanna fuck all over this sex-trap.”

“Booby-trap.”

“Nice one.” Eddie gives Steve a high-five. Unironically.

“Still…” Steve turns the volume dial down on the stereo. “I think you’re wrong.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s arms fold into his chest, taking a step towards Eddie. “Then prove your point. Convince me otherwise.”

Eddie should back down. He should wrap a leash around all of his sick thoughts and chain them up somewhere far away. He should not say what he’s about to say. He shouldn’t.

“How about we make a bet?” Big yikes. Wrong move.

“What kind of bet, Munson?”

“I bet you twenty bucks that I can change your mind. If we can use up all of these so-called ‘regular items,’ without you feeling a twinge of romance, then you win.”

Steve doesn’t respond, so Eddie keeps talking. Can’t shut up anymore.

“But if you so much as blush during any of it, then I win.”

Steve opens his mouth, shuts it. He raises an eyebrow and tries again. “When you say regular items, that excludes the condom bowl, right?” 

“What ever do you mean?” Eddie gives a sneaky grin, no restraining his dirty plan now. “You’re not interested in making balloon animals this evening?”

Steve huffs, plops down into a nearby chair. “So weird.”

“Do we have a deal or not, Harrington?” 

This is so dumb. Eddie can tell just how dumb it is by the puzzled expression on Steve’s face. But here he is, making bets like he’s still in fucking high school, trying to swindle beefy jocks out of their cushy-privileged allowance money.

However, it appears that Steve is just as dumb as Eddie is.

“Make it forty bucks.” Steve offers a hand out to him. 

Eddie accepts it, gives the firmest handshake. “You're on.”

So much for this being a normal evening.

*the rest is on ao3 :) here's the link*

[fellpurpose]

"you know me too well, lord leo!" dozen more and a half, but really, who was counting?  ' bewitching oblivion ' was a decent start, but why anyone would choose to go with ' magitranscience ' was beyond him. "CELESTIAL CASCADE, SOARING SYMPHONY OF SPARKS! or even ASTRAL ASSAULT, CELESTIAL CHAOS UNLEASHED to name a few. but alas...some people know nothing of naming."

he takes slow strides to keep a respectful pace with his lord, relishing in the familiarity of leo's company. rarely did he get to accompany the prince anywhere that wasn't a war council or battlefield back in nohr — and fleeting were the moments he got to see leo as anything but unburdened.

it's a nice change, though the sentimentality goes unspoken. knowing his liege however, he wouldn't be surprised if the man picked up on it from the get-go.

odin perks up at the mention of the unasked question, meeting leo's gaze with a look of awe. heh. nothing ever got past him. "noted, milord!" a large grin follows suit. "though dare i say, we'll have much to teach them in return. would you not agree?"

a sly look — all-knowing at that, hinting at past occurrences that feel like lifetimes ago. " fódlan has yet witness the splendor of our triumphant feats, unrivaled in their magnificence! unless, of course..." his voice trails off as the thought occurs to him, "you've embarked upon legendary quests of your own accord in the meantime." and hard as he tries, there is no masking the disappointment.

Does the Product Safety Commission Know You Have These?

[dadsbongos]

chapter 1 - two of hearts

2.2K words

warnings - bi reader (just because i felt like it)

masterlist / next chapter

Eddie squints, fingers tightening around the plastic bag of devil’s lettuce in his palm, “You came here for what?”

Mike sighs, a hand threading through his tangled hair as he reaches out for the weed, Eddie yanking the bag back before he can snatch it. Laying his hands flat on the wooden picnic table, Mike looks up tentatively at Eddie, as if approaching a wild animal, “So.”

“Uh oh?”

“Just listen - so, the deal is that my girlfriend, Jane- “ Mike reaches up and gestures between the both of them, “You remember her, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods surely, stuffing the bag of contraband into his black, metal lunchbox, “Nice girl.”

“Well, she’s got this strict dad, right?”

“Hopper?” Eddie hums, “He seems nuts.”

“He is, he’s got this rule that Jane can’t date unless her sister does,” and this is when the shoe drops - Eddie’s eyes widen, “Which is where you come in,” he watches Eddie’s expression carefully, “I wanna hire you to take out my girlfriend’s sister.”

Eddie’s response is trapped in his throat, then his head shakes - before he can even think straight, he’s waving his hand in refusal, “No. Her? No! You could not pay me to take her out.”

You’re a renowned tempestuous young woman - or as he hears muttered between his peers, a “heinous bitch”.

“What if I actually pay you?”

Eddie tilts his head, knuckles rapping against the wood bench, “Well how much?”

“Thirty per date. Upfront.”

He knows Mike can afford that with his comfortable family in their lofty, two-story house.

So Eddie punches up.

“Forty,” and he internally rejoices when one of Mike’s hands outstretches to shake his - but instead of relenting this excitement, he asks, “What kind of stuff does she like?”

Mike blanks. That airheaded stare people get in their eyes when they have no clue what you’re saying but try to appear as though they do. Mike gets that look a lot.

“You don’t know?” Eddie’s brows raise, he grins and blows air through puckered lips, “You’re a terrible brother-in-law, Michael.”

“She’s the older one! It’s her job to get to know me.”

“Bad excuse.”

“Whatever,” Mike rolls his eyes and pushes himself up from the table, swinging a leg over the bench, “Thanks,” before he can wander too far, he pauses, “Actually, there’s this club - The Sunset - she goes Wednesdays and Saturdays.”

“And tomorrow is Saturday,” Eddie blurts.

Mike hums, over-exaggerated and nothing except sarcastic, “Tomorrow is Saturday - so have fun at The Sunset, Munson!”

The Sunset is a popular spot just outside Hawkins - particularly favored by women in outfits from Molly Ringwald’s closet and kind hearts from a Miss USA interviewer’s daydream. Definitely not the first place people would search for Eddie “the freak” Munson if he were a wanted criminal.

But forty bucks is forty bucks.

So Eddie “the freak” Munson drags a hand over his face and groans, loud and tired, “Sounds like a date.”

From the outside, The Sunrise is an average bar. Few and far windows, plain paint with a red neon sign plastered across the top half of the building. Another neon sign, royal purple, animates itself to spell ‘OPEN’ glass tube letter by glass tube letter.

Based on the inside, Eddie can tell that men typically don’t visit these parts. If he were to speak plainly, he thinks men - specifically, the men that visit bars - are usually insufferable. It’s in the rose pink, rose painting-speckled, peachy-lit hallway that he comes to completely realize this. Even with the same cheesy checkerboard tiled floors, The Sunset with all its shifting lamps and bulbs that paint its women in oranges, pinks, purples, and blues - is far more aesthetically pleasing than The Hideout. But The Hideout has always been safer for metalheads.

And judging by the beloved Stacey Q’s Two of Hearts that he can hear all the way from the hallway, this place is not so tender to his particular breed of outcast. It’s more loving to your brand - the brand that dances with Barb Holland and Robin Buckley under princess pink lights. He decides to linger by the bar’s white counter that, aside from a couple of copper rings, is nearly sparkling clean.

When your throat suddenly cinches and your skin beats a little hotter between soft dresses and softer skin in the crowd, you lean into Barb and raise your voice for her to hear, “I need water!”

“Get me one too?”

Robin perks up and despite your suspicion of her not knowing what you’re talking about, pitches in, “Me too!”

And despite the rolling of your eyes, you nod and meander to the bar.

As you wait, a voice crawls over the back of your neck, “Woah, fancy seeing you here.”

It's one you recognize damn near instantly, not that you’d ever let him know that. So when three bottles of water are in your hands and the bartender is paid, you quirk a brow at the Eddie Munson, “Do I know you?”

“Eddie,” he sticks out a hand, smile glittering like cartoon pearls in the dim lights, “Eddie Munson.”

You don’t take his hand - part by choice and part by how full your own are - but you do say your name back, “What’re you doing here of all places?”

His hand falls against the counter when you make no move to shake it, “Oh, you know, just heard this was the spot to be.”

Taking a peek at the thin Slayer shirt sagging off his sinewy arms, you turn him around by the jean-vest shoulder and trace the DIO patch in the center of his back. He almost jumps at the feather trace that sparks through his spine. It’s bizarre. Spinning him back around, you grin - snarky and critical and all disbelieving, “Yeah, this sure is your spot.”

Through shifting crowds and bumping elbows and shoulders, you still manage to catch how Barb and Robin stare at you so bewildered and wide-eyed. You pay Eddie no mind - you don’t even look back. So Eddie resigns himself to a sigh before leaning across the counter to a woman with inky black coils and ‘NIA’ printed across the top corner of her uniform top.

“Is there a phone I can use?”

She jerks her head to a bubblegum phone on the wall, “Press ‘1’ before dialing.”

Eddie forgets to press ‘1’ and so calling his woodland princess friend takes two tries.

“Cunningham residence - Chrissy speaking.”

“Chris! It’s Eddie, I need a favor,” his back straightens, and he leans against the black sparkly wall, “Is there a party you know about that the general population doesn’t yet?”

He can hear the gears in her head click as she hums, “Stacey Bennett is planning something for this weekend, why?”

“I need something to bring Hopper’s daughter to,” and slams the phone onto the candy pink hook.

Diana Ross’ I’m Coming Out falls down over the floor and the lighting shifts a little more blue and purple. His back sinks into the wall and that’s how he realizes it's foam - that’s also how he comes back to how utterly wrecked a foam wall would be in The Hideout. The lobby and outside hallways would be stained, too.

He finds your eyes through the crowd and can’t yet determine what his fascination with the dark lights reflecting off your skin means. He shoots you a wink. You shout into Robin’s ear before squishing through the people - a plastic water bottle crinkled in your fist.

With narrowed eyes, you ask, “You stalking me?”

“No, but there’s a party at Stacey Bennett’s this weekend,” he leans closer so the both of you can hear each other, “I’d just about die to take you.”

“What’s your sudden obsession, Munson?” you eye him from head to toe warily.

With folded arms, he shrugs, “You just look drop-dead gorgeous tonight.”

“Only tonight?”

“Yeah, usually you look hideous.”

You giggle at that and he likes to imagine the good sum his guardian angel just rolled for that to happen. Nudging Eddie in the ribs, you squeeze the plastic bottle closer to your chest, “This really isn’t your scene, Eddie. You might wanna scram.”

“I will,” he untucks his arms just to put up his hands as if they’re tied at the wrist, “but you should definitely come to the party with me.”

Mimicking a slice against his bound hands, you nod, “You can take me, if you agree to drive Robin and Barb too.”

The rush of success almost makes him hop and heel-click right in front of you, “Gladly.”

By the time you return to Diana Ross’ now fading song, Barb leans into you as Eddie did - but this feels less exciting than when Eddie did it, “What was that about?”

Cyndi Lauper’s I’ll Kiss You consumes the dance floor and Robin snickers in that cute way to make you question why people don’t flock to her as they do to Chrissy Cunningham. She punches you on the arm, “Looked like true love or something.”

“No talking about boys at The Sunrise,” you’re surprised they even let Eddie’s ass in, “But we’re going to a party this weekend, so plan something nice to wear.”

Mr. Kennedy is an English teacher from a John Hughes movie and as much as you appreciate his grounded teaching style with students - he also has bizarre ideas for final exams.

“You’ll be making a yearbook with the partner I’ve written on this slip of paper - your yearbook will have to show how your relationship has changed from now until the end of the year and how you’ve gotten to know your partner.”

A slip of folded paper is dropped on your desk with a scitter and you peel the folds apart to see a chicken scratched Eddie Munson. You raise a hand as the boy jingles over with his chain loop and dented lunchbox. Mr. Kennedy pauses mid-stroll down the aisle of desks on your left and sighs.

“Yes, Ms. Opinion on Everything?”

At that, you deflate, body wilting entirely, “I don’t have an opinion on everything.”

“Yes?”

Eddie never really noticed how Mr. Kennedy would speak to people besides himself, but when he sees you try and perk up despite his annoyance - it’s like his eleventh-grade hallucigenia-induced ego death all over again.

“Is there a page limit for the yearbook?”

Mr. Kennedy nods curtly, in the blunt way that usually got people to giggle until it was aimed at them, “Maximum six pages - full offense, I don’t feel like reading a hundred essays.”

That’s when you turn to face Eddie, brows raised and arms folded across the desk, “Dickhead, am I right?”

“Precisely what I was thinking.”

You were the one to pitch a section structure. Hobbies and interests. Favorite things. Academics and extracurriculars. And the future. Eddie could hardly say what exactly he liked about your plan but he knew it was good - something about the categorized neatness. The way he could peek at how your brain would operate.

“Wow,” he leans on one hand while you’re already jotting ideas for your yearbook, “you’re so smart and you don’t have a boyfriend yet?”

Automatically, as if he’d flipped a simple light switch, you’re groaning and drenched in sarcastic giddy, “Noooo, nobody’s even asked me out yet.”

“Now, I find that hard to believe,” he should be writing what he knows about you - Robin and Barb and the colors pink, blue, and purple - but he’s too busy trying to have you admit he’s something akin to a date.

“Well, you better get to believing it because there’s nobody in my court,” just as you’re pulling back and he’s decided to get at least some work done, you sigh, “Well…”

Eddie shoots straight, bats his eyelashes and leans forward, “‘Well’? Pray tell.”

Shaking your head, there’s a small smile on your lips - something Eddie has to search for, “Some super suave sucker asked me to Stacey Bennett’s party.”

He bats your arm like you’re lifelong friends, “That’s exciting!”

As if he isn’t talking himself up.

“Mhm,” you finally put down your pencil, both hands souped in your lap as you look into Eddie’s baby cow eyes. You find them bizarrely cute. That makes you sick, “But I’m really unsure because even though we’ve technically known each other for years, he’s only just now expressing interest,” he presses his mouth thinly and it's a crime to hide those plump lips, “It’s weird.”

“I dunno,” he drums his fingertips against the desk, “The sucker seems like a nice guy.”

But his tummy twists in knots because he knows you absolutely have a reason to be suspicious. All the same, though, you shrug and he watches a couple bricks fall out of your wall.

“Yeah… maybe.”

You two return to your yearbooks after that. Walls a little shakier than before as you jot down things you know Eddie is ostracized for and adding small oddities you’ve noticed. Metal, D&D, chains and a black bandana, pushy nature, and a strangely comforting aura. Eddie clicks his pen a few dozen times before putting down a bulleted list that looks nothing like your categorized paper.

Robin, Barb, the colors pink, blue, and purple; and a good intuition.

He wishes he had more - but he’s never claimed to be the most observant guy in the room. Briefly, he considers asking Mike if that’s something you look for in a partner.

[peemanne]

rgg game osts ranked Yeah.................

LONG ASS POST AHEAD!!!!!! BAH!!!!!!!!!!!

for context awhile back a yakuza discord server i'm in had a music discussion thread open up and we were invited to make simple little tier lists for the game osts to start it off. it was supposed to be just the tier list but i eventually spiraled into a whole ramble. whoops. so i might as well just paste it here with a few additions so the rest of you can see it yippee!!!!!!!!!!!!

will be providing my reasonings and then my highlight tracks. i'm gonna provide convenient youtube links to all the songs mentioned so if you wanna check one of them out feel free to just click the hyperlink

and yes this is ordered in tiers. the personal highlights aren't though

>Yakuza 5 is my personal top 1 OST overall, but it's seriously close. I can't tell you enough how much of a nut I am for this series and its music. Yakuza 5's ost is, in my eyes, the most consistently hard-hitting amongst all of RGG's catalogue. The street fight themes are all amazing, the boss fight themes hit hard and pump you the hell up, and this also has the one of the best B-sides out of all of them, with stuff like Baka Mitai (fun fact, Saejima's is actually considered the original version, Kiryu's "Taxi Driver Edition" actually uses a different key to fit Kuroda's voice), the songs from Haruka's section, and even the jazzy bar themes. 5 hits that perfect balance of quantity and quality, and also happens to fill like half of my workout playlist.

Personal Highlights:

The place where I used to be

Daigo's western theme

Victory Road

and of course The Battle for the Dream

>I am such a sucker for Yakuza 4's music direction. As Tehsnakerer said in his Yakuza 4 video, this is the first truly GREAT soundtrack, and I'd have to agree. The jazzier style of music on showcase here fits this series- and this entry ESPECIALLY- like a glove. This is such a quality collection of sounds. Featuring the best panic themes, the best chase themes, and some iconic street battle themes. 4's direction makes it stand out even more amongst RGG's catalogue, and I couldn't be happier about it. Also, this game gave us Machine Gun Kiss and Pure Love in Kamurocho, which are two of my favorite karaoke tracks in the whole series.

Please bring back Pure Love in Kamurocho for a modern title, RGG. I'm begging you.

Personal Highlights:

Solitude

Receive and Bite You

Infinite Handcuffs

yeah yeah fine For Faith

Why couldn't they use this for the actual cover instead of the weird one we have now like come on this looks so much better

>Is anyone gonna disagree with me when I say Lost Judgment is easily the best out of the more techno-focused soundtracks? They handle it perfectly here, with tracks that grab you by the throat like K.O.G. and Dig In Your Heels, utilizing the electric sound with effortless grace, while still having enough variety throughout to keep it from getting stale. I also found the B-sides here surprisingly strong alongside the main game, with the school stories giving us a nice variety of music to work with. The boxing ones and Toward To The Skyline are what I'd highlight in that selection.

Personal Highlights:

In the Groove

Unwavering Belief / Dig in Your Heels

Final Destination

1811

>Gaiden oh my gah......... Despite the shorter game, I seriously dig the tracks on display here. It's so consistently amazing, and does a great job of servicing both the legacy of Kiryu, and giving us some Good Shit™️ for the newer faces. This is also when I really came to appreciate the cutscene tracks: Wounded Beast is such a kickass track that you'd be forgiven for thinking it plays in an actual fight, and Psycho's Prelude is an amazing hype-up track for an even more amazing boss theme. Also worth mentioning there's like a gajillion coliseum tracks in this one. Have no idea why but y'know I appreciate it. It's cool.

Personal Highlights:

Psycho's Anthem

Deadly Struggle / Fleeting Dream (HAKANAKI YUME)

Bring It On (best street fight track to date i'm not taking notes at this time)

Un altro appassionato

>0 has One-Eyed Assassin so it automatically goes here. The rest of the tracks are decent too ig 🙄 There are a few sort of those "eh whatever cool skip it" tracks in here which hold it back a teeny bit in my eyes, but this is still a really solid collection overall, and also gets props for being Kiwami's soundtrack if it was good. I'm kidding of course but 0 handles it pretty well for the most part. I find 0 is at its best music-wise when they either go all-in with the techno, or shy away from it almost entirely.

Personal Highlights:

Make You Free

Both Receive You remixes (The Subtype and ~Tech Trance Arrange~)

Interplanetary Spark

Reign

>Yakuza 6 has Lots of Lights so it automati I think 6 does a really good job at telling a story through its music. You have tragedy being painted in Fist Law and DESTINY, you have sheer anger and brutality being portrayed in Body and Soul, and you can even find it in the street themes with the feeling of "I am completely done with all of this bullshit" in KAMURO again. I also wanna say this has some of ZENTA's best work, which I really really REALLY appreciate.

Personal Highlights:

Lots of Lights

DESTINY

Bloodstained Philosophy (coolest name for a track i can't lie)

Theory of Beauty

>Judgment immediately does a great job of differentiating itself from the Yakuzas, and it's apparent as soon as you get into the street fight tutorial. The OST does a great job of painting Yagami and the overall bleaker picture of the game. Where some battle themes in the main series feel like a victory lap, JE instead sometimes has you feel like you're on the backfoot. Lambda, Hyenas Wheezing, and Rake Your Inside are all tracks that make you feel like an underdog, and give you that strength to power through what seems like impossible odds. It also has Flower of Chivalry so it aut

Personal Highlights:

Encounter ~ Keihin Alliance

Hyena's Wheezing

Penumbra

Destination

>Like a Dragon (/7) is another heavily techno leaning OST. If you asked me about it a few months ago, I probably would have put this higher. But now with IW out, I've started to see more of 7's OST's flaws. There are few tracks that are either weirdly low-energy, or feel a little generic and mesh together with the rest of the soundtrack, or at worst, both. But 7 still has quite the number of solid tracks, and those that stand out REALLY stand out. Shoutout to one of the most unique long battle tracks in Enter the Tiger.

Personal Highlights:

Brutality

Receive You The Hyperactive

REIWA LABYRINTH

ism

>Yakuza 3 acts as a sort of bridge between the rough, almost grunge-like sound of the PS2 era and the cleaner compositions of later entries. And I think it does both of those styles pretty well! It also starts to experiment with electric sound a little more, while still keeping the heavy guitars 1+2 are known for. The best are obviously composed of the tracks that do both. They even keep the unintelligible English lyrics in some tracks, what's not to love?

Personal Highlights:

Lyricism Without Tears

Clay Doll On The Cradle

Fly

D2A BABY YEAH BEST THEME EVER MADE D2A D2A D2A D2A

(2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

>Atmosphere is a large part of the PS2 era of Yakuza games' identity, and the music is a pretty large part of that. Yakuza 2 has an aggressive, grungy sound that pairs perfectly with the brutality of the game. You'll find some of the most of the most rough sounding songs in RGG's catalogue in here, and it's just so good in a way that isn't really replicated in the more modern entries. Also one of the tracks (Block Head Boy) samples Wu-Tang for some reason and I find that very funny.

Personal Highlights:

Evil Itself

North Menace

Hit & Kill

Outlaw's Lullaby (I still think the Kiwami 2 remix is the better of the two but this one's still SO good please listen to it if you haven't already)

whatcho beautiful ass staring at kaito my king >Kaito Files has like 6 tracks. They're all pretty good tracks, but that's like 6 tracks. Come on. Anyways, it's basically just more LJ music, so uhhhh yeah peak

Personal Highlights (plural would be like all of them)

Blood-Drunk Master Theme

>Kiwami 2. Yeah this one falls into the same trap as 7 does, but with less of those "This is the greatest thing to grace my ears" tracks. It still has some of them, though. The best remixes here are the ones that touch up and make completely sure that what the original has is intact: Lullaby of Outlaws and A Scattered, Eternal Moment are both fantastic in that regard. This also has a decent chunk of completely new tracks, presumably because they couldn't get certain composers back. You have stuff like the amazing triple-part track that plays in the Kamurocho Hills segment, Rebellious Phase which is decent, and the randomly amazing Break Off. Still a crime Evil Itself was snubbed like that smh.

Personal Highlights:

Lullaby of Outlaws

A Scattered, Eternal Moment

Kamuro Hills

Update with Gunfire

(1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

>Unfortunately, like with most aspects, Yakuza 2 does everything the first game did better. Still though, some quality tracks here. Yakuza 1 doesn't have too much to work with, but it still does utilize its few track slots well. From long-standing iconic tracks like Receive You, to Funk Goes On, and even the off B-side tracks like Singin' Bass, there really isn't a miss in here, just moreso a lack of super standout tracks. There's still quite a few to love despite that, of course.

Personal Highlights

son of a gun

Turning Point

Receive You The Prototype

Funk Goes On

>kiwami 1 ost snorkkkkkk mimimimimimimim snorkkkkkk mimim Alright I'm exaggerating, but I still think it's pretty weak in comparison to the rest. There's a lot of tracks that just feel kinda butchered to me? And it's not like the new tracks are particularly standout or anything. The tracks that do work are genuinely really good: Ideal For Violence is uhhhh perfect, Get Over It is a really strong long battle theme, Pray Me ~Revive~ is on par, if not arguably better than the original, and For Whose Sake Kiwami matches the sorrow of the original pretty well. But then you have stuff like Funk Goes On 極 which feels weirdly weak, Receive You the madtype which feels sorely outclassed by like, every single other Majima Receive You, and what would be arguably the strongest track, Receive You Reborn, doesn't even show up outside of Japanese versions. Kiwami isn't all bad, hell, there are some really good standouts here, but it just can't really compare to the rest in my eyes.

Personal Highlights:

Ideal For Violence

Get Over It

Amusing Octagon

Everlasting Spirit

>Infinite Wealth sits in haven't listened enough of solely because I haven't finished the game and thus haven't touched any track past Kooky (UPDATE: now any track past Impregnable Triangle. I'm planning to do the finale by this weekend). By any other metric this would have shot UP. I ADORE this OST. The cutscene tracks, the generic battle themes, the boss themes, the B-sides, they're all so excellent. This inadvertently made 7's OST worse for me because of how much better it handles the techno.

Personal Highlights:

Brutality ~Rebuild~

Impregnable Triangle (Fun fact: this track uses the time signature of 3/4, which is a waltz. I'll let you fill in the blanks for what that means for the theming.)

Kooky

Slugfest (Yamaniacs stay winning what can i say)

ok so uhhh apparently i hit the character limit lmao. didn't even know this site had one. uhhhhhh will continute in a reblog it's just kurohyou and ishin anyways

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

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

[wordspin-shares]

Word Search Tag Game

I was tagged forever ago by @darthnell. Thank you so much for the tag!

Rules: Something along the lines of "find the four assigned words in your WIP(s), post the relevant snippet, and assign new words to those you tag."

My words are growl, weave, bone and leaf.

From my TVD fanfic From the Sidelines:

"He feels you're a threat to him," Claire said. Cicero growled softly.

From the latest draft of my LotR fanfic Edged in Silver:

As the open tent-flaps were drawn closed when the grand pavilion filled with people, Idrin took her place on the bench beside her brothers and watched serving-maids weave their way between the long trestle tables, bearing trays of meat pies, eels fried in lemongrass, salads of rocket and leaf-chicory and pine-nuts, fresh bread-buns, spiced wine and ale.

Again from From the Sidelines:

Claire moved toward the bar, watching. His words made her intrigue give way to a frown. What bone did he have to pick with Ric?

From my Grishaverse fanfic Thread of Twilight:

She clasped her hands together to stop them from moving. A cluster of fallen leaves by her feet slid towards the base of the nearest tree.

Tagging: @thecharmedburrowspn-files @arrthurpendragon @darknightfrombeyond @bibaybe @bisexualterror @bi-ologistofthehills @bluebell-winter @themaradwrites @mabonetsamhain @asirensrage @ginger-grimm @foxesandmagic @anqelwiithhxrns @come-along-pond @bobfloydsbabe, and anyone else who wants to join in the fun!

Your words are blue, knife, wait and dress.

[cpfastner33]

SS Threaded Bars

In Cp Fastner, Ahmedabad. there are many suppliers and manufacturers of SS threaded bars. Some popular options include:SS Threaded Bars ,Stainless Metal Fasteners, Stainless Steel Hex Nuts .

[shortiecos]

Cosplay convention checklist

(posting on here is weirdly intimidating lmao) So as might be obvious by my username, I'm a cosplayer. And as a cosplayer, I love going to cons.

Slight problem. I am super forgetful, any time I travel anywhere I'll always forget something. Including when I go to conventions. So I made this super handy-dandy checklist! It includes stuff you need on the con floor, things for at the hotel, food options, etc

Convention name:

First of all:

Tickets

ID/Passport

Medication (if you use any)

Cosplay checklist (fill in anything you need for your cosplay) Name character: 

For on the con floor:

Water

Snacks* + breath mint or chewing gum

Comfortable shoes (to change into if your feet hurt)

Mini- First aid**

Deodorant

Emergency cosplay fix kit***

Phone

Powerbank

Wallet + cash  (depending on the con many vendors might not take card)

Hotel:

Pyjama

Clean underwear

Set ‘normal’ cloths

Soap/Showergel (maybe shampoo+conditioner if you need to wash your hair)

Make-up remover or wet wipes

Towel and washcloth (Hotels usually got these, but I prefer my own)

Deodorant

Toothpaste and toothbrush

Hairbrush 

Chargercord phone

Food options:

You can buy food at the con, tho keep in mind this might be expensive. Alternativly you can go to a fastfood place nearby.

Or, check if the hotel (or whatever place you’re staying) has a kettle, fridge, and/or microwave, and plan food accordingly.

Options include:

Ramen noodles  Those instant food packages hikers use Any instant food tbh. Instant oatmeal (more of a breakfast option), soup, etc Those premade salads Microwave meals --------------------------------------------------------

*Snack options:

Fruit

Granola bars (there are so many options)

Fruit pouches

String cheese

Nuts

(Rice) crackers

Dont forget to pack a filling lucnh as well!

**First aid kit

Bandaids

Blister bandaids

Painkillers

Alcohol wipes

Cleansing handgel (cons are GROSS sometimes (most of the time actually))

*** Cosplay repair kit

Needle and thread

Safety pins

Extra buttons

Tape

Mini-gluegun

[gillianthecat]

Way sobbing alone in his car is breaking my heart. Nut is so expressive.

I'm glad we got these two scenes—his half confession to Babe at the bar, and his golden-hued memories of their relationship—because I feel like understand Way better. If that was how he and Babe interacted all those years, I can see why he thought they were on the friend-to-lovers track. We know Babe flirts with him, easy as breathing. He put his amulet around Way's neck when Way asked for it! I'm still curious about the details of why he was too scared to confess, but emotionally it makes more sense now.

What I still don't understand is what he was doing with his magic manipulation powers. Maybe I'm swayed by Nut's beauty, but it feels out of character for everything else we've seen from him, which is to quietly pine. And why would he enchant Babe into remaining single instead of into falling in love with him? Did that seem like a bridge too far, like it would be ethical to block other relationships but not to do a love spell?

And on a technical level, it didn't even work! Babe fell in love anyway. I was getting annoyed that the show had dropped the thread on this entirely, so I was relieved (on a narrative structure level) when Way made a tentative, aborted motion to enchant him again, in their last conversation. And on a character level, I was relieved that he was so hesitant about it. Perhaps it was something he did only rarely, when he felt most desperate.

Will we get answers to any of these questions?nWho knows.

Speaking of not getting answers, the show still hasn't given us any insight into what Charlie and Jeff are up to. We no longer even have the scenes of them talking, or the moments Charlie's mask slips; both of them seem fully committed to their roles. If I hadn't seen the early episodes I would think it a straightforward love story.

It's an interesting approach to storytelling, revealing the secret early on and then falling so completely into the point of view of the characters being fooled that the secret isn't even hinted at. It could work really well if handled correctly. Fingers crossed that they manage it.

Presumably his duplicity and manipulation will get revealed eventually, but when? And will it be a good reason?

Charlie is a blank slate of a character right now, given that we don't know which parts of what we see of him are real, or indeed if any of it is. This could work, in terms of storytelling, if in the second half they flay him open and we get to see what makes him tick. Please give that to us, Pit Babe.

(I don't watch the preview at the end of the episodes, so perhaps I would already know some of these answers if I did.)

[clownfishie]

finally decided to look into whether or not my favorite flavor of clif bar (caramel toffee and sea salt!!) was actually discontinued or I just never see anymore.... well, it is discontinued, and apparently so are a lot of others. Found a whole reddit thread of people listing their favorites that are no longer made— most of the coffee flavors, some of the filled ones, even the like seemingly staple nuts and berries one? Why are there only like chocolate and peanut options now?? Ended up on clif's website under FAQ, and they have this *really* brand loyal inspiring message:

the hell good does this do me. Feels so condescending 😭