#dart shirts australia

[catfern]

outback.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: trucker!abby x afab!reader

music: her - unloved

word count: 1.7k

summary: the night shift at a remote petrol station sounded like easy double pay. but nights get lonely. you've gotta find something to keep yourself entertained.

warnings: porn with a smidgen of plot, fingering, some perverted staring, tiny tiny implied age gap, australia. this is rlly just porn

fern says ⎯ THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE AUSSIES IN THE AUDIENCE MAKE SOME NOISE!!!!!! this truly is self indulgent cause i miss flirting with hot women who call me darl.

you brought this on yourself, really.

the pale blue of the bug zapper fought a contrast with the dying fluorescents, painting half the aisles in an eery, twilight movie shade. the heat of a high december night was creeping, clinging to your shitty polyester uniform as you camp out in front of the only standing fan.

you had begged for a job, pleaded for it really, in the wickedness of this economic climate. you had run, tail between your legs, from your local chain grocery at the sight of the price of an avocado, and thrown yourself at the feet of the next passing employer. like a squire to the knights of old.

you just hadn’t expected it would be this job.

the gatekeeper of one of the last vestiges of civilisation. the night shift at a deserted highway petrol station.

the flickering floodlights by the pumps fighting an uphill battle to keep the creeping night at bay, you can do nothing but stare, eyes adjusting, ‘unadjusting’, readjusting to the dark over and over again. you’d had a total of two customers since you took over from the day shift crew. one just threw a gatorade your way in exchange for the bathroom key.

the high beam headlights of an oncoming truck shake you from your fading thoughts, baking you into the linoleum tile as you squint, blind. asshole.

you’d been warned about truckers, briefly. handsy rednecks, your manager had called them in passing while giving you a tour of the storage room. desperate old fucks who crawl like dogs to anything with a hole.

you watch with an almost bated breath as the peeling yellow cabin of the long-haul truck pulls into park, your eyes following its jaunty movement through the glass of the front windows. you’re starting to think maybe you should have brought an illegal switchblade to work. if you had one.

you avert your gaze quick, grabbing at something from the magazine rack in desperate hopes to appear disinterested, unapproachable. 15 Ways to Homeschool Your Kids. sure, that works.

the bell above the door chimes, you spy the scuffed leather boots crossing the plastic tiling with heavy footfall. 

“y’got a lounge?”

standing at the counter, you have to admit, she’s not what you pictured when you saw the truck. not that what you see is at all worth of complaint.

a thin sheen of sweat clings to her, echoes of the heat of the road. her skin is flushed, the contour of her muscle sitting, almost man-made, in a thin, cotton singlet. her hair is tied tight, her features, sharp, discerning, eyeing you down. you try not to stare, too obviously, at the soft outline of her nipple piercings beneath her shirt.

“hm?” you’re distracted.

“a lounge, darl. trucker lounge?” she repeats slowly with a bite of a smirk, looking at you like you were only a little bit stupid. your stomach drops with the honey of the nickname.

your eyes dart around the small space of the shop. you barely had space for the 3 aisles and the dingy bathroom. you clear your throat, trying to shake the feeling of fascination, “oh — uh, nah.”

she scoffs, a wicked, small laugh, before retreating to browse the snack section.

you watch her, when you think she isn’t looking. small, caught glimpses in your feigned disinterest. she’s been on the road long, a tension in the broadness of her shoulders obvious as she readjusts her posture, eyeing the chips. you try bury whatever rears its head in your stomach when you hear her groan as she squats to better see the canned fruit. a roughness in her voice, lead with age and smoke.

you drop your reading material and smile, tight lipped, polite, as she approaches the counter. a cold meat pie and a ginger beer.

"and uh — pack'a rothmans, thanks, love.”

you nod, turning to wrestle with the rusting cigarette cage behind the counter, when you hear her chuckle, breathy and deep as she talks,

“y’look a little young to have kids.”

spinning back so quick you make yourself dizzy, you swipe the shitty magazine off the counter, discarded and unimportant, “nah, i… i was just bored.”

she rakes her eyes over you, slow, and you can’t help but feel the pull, magnetic, a knot in your stomach as she studies you. you feel caught in a trap, under her gaze. looking up at her, her looming presence is becoming all too real.

you slide the pack of cigarettes over the counter, trapped meeting her eye. a smile, something sly, plays on her lips as she thanks you, moving to catch a breeze of the fan.

an uncomfortable beat of silence passes between you. well, it’s uncomfortable for you. no longer able to hide behind disinterest behind glossy paper, you instead wrestle with yourself to seem at least neutrally interested, not utterly obsessed. you wring your hands behind the shelter of the till.

the woman shakes a cigarette free from the pack, holding it between the skin of her lips. “you smoke?” she’s looking at you, through the corner of her eye.

no, never.

“uh, yeah.”

you follow her out the shop, tied to her artificial shadow in the fluorescents. something is crawling in the night, when you step outside. a cicada silence echoes across the gathering dirt and dust.

she offers you the cig she had been holding, you take it gingerly, holding it in your mouth as she holds her lighter up. she brings her hand to cup the flame, to keep the absent breeze from destroying it. you feel, just slightly, the brush of her calloused palms against the low of your cheek, and you pray that the navy hue of the bug zapper is enough to hide the heat on your skin.

smoke fills your lungs, foreign and quick, an itch inside you that feels impossible. you cough and splutter to the chorus of her raspy laughter.

“you haven’t smoked a day in your life.” she says with a lopsided smile, plucking the cigarette from your hand and bringing it to her lips, taking a long, constrastly confident draw.

you shake your head in between wheezes, “is that what everyone is always going on about?”

“you’ll get used to it, here,” 

she hands it back to you, you feel obliged to take it. to try again, as she so quietly commands. your second go is met with an only slightly irritating tickle in your throat.

“that’s it, good girl,” something that seems so unsure rolls off her like syrup, something you had never known you were so desperate for. her hand finds the small of your back, her fingers dancing circles in something akin to comfort, to praise.

you look up to find her eyes already on you, tracing the contours of your neck in icy blue form.

the smell of artificial pine and day-old dust clings to her, swallows you whole as you fall victim to her touch, light-headed and weak at the knees as her breath fills your lungs.

she’s nothing if not vocal, desperation falling from her lips in tortured moans as she presses herself into the crook below your jaw, drawing your soft skin beneath her teeth, softly licking the littered aftermath, a trail down your chest.

she’s quick to undress you, pulling impatiently at the scratchy fabric of your worn company polo shirt. she’s not phased by any forgotten need for privacy, for decency. she’s only here in passing, after all.

“oh, sweetheart,”

the lace of your bra is a temptation not lost on her, a delight she so happily indulges in after days on the road. in some perverted part of her mind, you wore it for her. maybe, in some cosmic, fated way, you did.

her hands snake down your body, helping themselves to the lux of your curves as her lips press, all-consuming, against yours. her fingers lightly spreading your legs, a mean chuckle souring the kiss.

she’s not at all easy, or kind, the way she pulls you open, watches you fall apart in the brutality of her control. she touches you like she aims to destroy you, her fingers working relentlessly to the pull of your walls, unheard to your pleas to — please, slow down.

“that’s it, darling. come on,” it’s sharp, delirious and oh so pleased to hear you, a whisper tickling the dip of your chest, watching you through the blonde of her eyelashes as you throw your head back, your body rocking to the rhythm she sets.

“p-please, fuck, jesus, fuck!” if she was any meaner, she would have laughed. but god, she’s distracted. driven mad by her own dripping need.

“you wanna come, baby? yeah, yeah?” she’s slowing down, and you chase her question with a desperate, shakey nod. “yeah, you do. come here.”

she takes your hand in hers, delicate, kind, a wicked contrast. under the guidance of her touch, you grip the stiff denim of her jeans, tender, unsure, until she leads you to the heat between her legs and you nearly melt. her hand goes to fiddle with her belt, her eyes finding yours, bleary, in the haze.

“think you can help me out, sweetheart?” she nods along with you, and you’re unsure if she’s copying you, or you are her.

“yeah — i can, please, please,” you whine, your hips still rutting a lazy pace against the now stagnant force inside you. your hand pulls, impatiently, at the waistband of her cotton boxers, pulling them down to sit unceremoniously at her hips.

“fuck, good girl,” she seethes at the languid circles you draw on her clit, gentle and paced, as you chase your own euphoria on her fingers, “come on,” a whisper, hot on your neck, “i’ll go faster if you do, darlin’.”

you pick up in a daze, so compliant to the whim of her demand, so desperate to feel her calloused fingers trace the tide against your centre. rushing that feeling, wretched to have her tear you apart.

her fingers rock against you without care, wrenching every ragged moan from the cut of your throat as her speed picks up, “that’s it, fuck, you feel so good, sweetness. keep — keep going.” hoarse whispers against your chest as she presses sloppy, undone kisses to the ghosts of your ribcage.

you watch, above the broadness of her shoulder, as a peak of the sun paints the horizon a muddy pink, your moans a soundtrack to the emptiness of the desert as you practically bounce on the stranger’s fingers, loud for your own release.

yeah, you lost your job.

⎯ kofi

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

[f0point5]

Give us some max/emilia post Australia end cuteness. Emilia misses one race and it’s Australia. Max dnfs. Ect ect

Or have a text chain of Emilia being a pure menace texting max all the innuendos and funny commentary during a press conference.

This is too adorable. I went with the first one because I’m a glutton for punishment lol. I hope you enjoy it 🫶🫶🫶

I’m only up when you’re not down

You don’t actually speak to Max after his DNF. Huddled into the small living room of your suite in Niseko with the rest of your friends to watch the Grand Prix, you’d felt sick the second Carlos had passed Max.

“Fuck, fuck,” you’d slammed your hand on the table so hard that your coffee spilled. You didn’t even take your eyes off the screen. “Shit,”

You watched him crawl towards the pits, smoke billowing from the car. Get out, Max, get out. You all sat in silence until he was out of the car.

When the cameras showed an irate Max talking to an engineer in the garage, all Stan said was, “he’s going to be so pissed,”

He was. You’d tried to call him but it had gone straight to voicemail, a telltale sign that he just needed to stew in the rage for a while. You’d sent him a message telling him to call when he could but he hadn’t. You’d watched the rest of the race just to catch glimpses of him in the garage, hiding his disappointment so well.

Later, he’d texted he’d managed to get an earlier runway slot since he wasn’t attending a debrief and that he’d be in Japan by late afternoon, so you skipped out on dinner to meet him at the small airport in Hokkaido.

Max and Rupert disembark from the jet still talking, and you can see even from twenty metres away the day he’s had. There’s a tension in his jaw, he jogs down the steps of the plane, pushing a hand through his hair, which is getting a little bit too long. He’s moving a bit too quick and a bit too stiff for your comfort.

After nearly two weeks away from him, this is the last state you want to see him in, but you can’t ignore the sheer contentment that washes over you at seeing him at all. You’re pathetic and you know it, too clingy and too giddy, and part of you hopes that in ten years you’ll lose this feeling. Most of you knows you never will, because it’s always been there. You haven’t always called it what it was, but you always felt it. And he did, too.

You can tell by the way his shoulders sag when he comes into the building and spots you immediately, a small smile on his lips as you hurry towards him.

“Hey,” it’s whispered, an exhale, the wind knocked out of you as your body collides with his and you wind your arms around his neck. He’s warm and he smells like the t-shirt you’ve been sleeping in since the last time you saw him. You feel your feet leave the ground for a second and you don’t even know if that’s real.

His gentle, “hi,” is said into the skin of your neck, and it feels like a jolt of adrenaline fed straight to your jugular.

“You were on fire today,” you say, fingers tickling at newly cut hair at the back of his neck.

Max’s body shakes with a laugh as you pull away from him, but in an unusual twist, he knots his fingers with yours before you can move.

“I was hoping this was the day you decided to skip watching. Sorry you wasted your day,”

You squeeze his hand to get his hand to stop his eyes darting everywhere. “I didn’t waste my day, Max. Watching you isn’t a waste, ever,”

You know he’s thinking it’s a platitude, that he didn’t win so he might as well have been at home and you might as well have been skiing. You want to argue, make him hear you. He won’t believe you, and by rights he shouldn’t. So you let it go, because you have no choice.

“Yeah, that was an incredible lap I did there,” Max husks out a chuckle and looks away from you. He’s joking, but he isn’t. He’s let it go, because he has no choice.

“Well, I for one am more excited about the annual Suzuka revenge arc. It’s incredibly sexy, and now,” you say as you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw, your free hand slipping under his jacket so there’s one less layer between you, “I can do something about that,”

Max only hums in response, his fingers tightening around yours.

“Not to kill the mood, guys, but I am, you know, here,” Rupert says.

You’re embarrassed to admit you’re not actually sure when he collected his rucksack from the baggage trolley and came to stand beside Max.

Max laughs, a telltale blush spreading to his ears, while you let go of him and open your arms to Rupert.

“I could never forget you, Rupert,” you say as you hug him, “I just like an audience,”

“Oh my God,” Max groans, laughing harder. He throws his head back, and his face scrunches up. He’s looking more like himself by the second, and you figure you must be, too.

You start to meander towards the exit, following your bags out to the stupidly large SUV with the driver waiting to load your luggage. Rupert wastes no time climbing into the car, while you and Max linger by the boot of the car. This is the last moment you’ll have alone before you get in the car with Rupert, and then Max is swarmed by friends he hasn’t seen in months the second you get back.

“Oh,” you slide a hand into your pocket while Max watches you in confusion. “Here,”

You pull out his Cartier cuff and hold it out to him. He holds out his wrist and you put it back on for him, preparing for him to make some comment about how it didn’t bring him luck this time, and how superstition is stupid.

“No more skipping races,” is what he actually says, and you look up at him to find him pouting. The pout is cute but unserious. His eyes, however, make it seem like he’s asking. “Crazy shit happens when you’re not there,”

He’s right. This is the first race you’ve missed since Singapore last year

You give him a coy smirk. “Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

“No.” He says simply.

You’re surprised when he kisses you. He rarely does when you’re not alone, unless it’s a quick peck at parc fermé. This is a kiss that has him pulling you almost as close to him as you want to be, a kiss that feels a bit like getting back whatever part of you he took with him when he left.

When he lets go of you, he takes a second to look at you before leaning down to press one more kiss to your swollen lips.

“I missed you.” He says, no pout, all promise.

It will never not be embarrassing that three words from this nerd with one hobby and abysmal taste in t-shirts has you weak at in the knees.

“I missed you too, Maxy,” you say, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead.

You both take one more deep breath before heading around the side of the car, where Max opens the door for you with the hand that isn’t holding yours.

“Real shame that race got cancelled, huh?” You say as you climb in, meeting Max’s gaze with a wink.

“Oh yeah,” Max agrees as he slides in behind you. “Really sad.”

[beautification-tales]

The Flight part 1

An Outbreak Story

Holly had always wondered what it felt like to be on a yacht. The white, billowing sails stretched taut against the blue sky, the sea breeze carrying the salty scent of the ocean. As she stepped onto the luxurious vessel, her eyes darted around, taking in the gleaming teak deck, the shiny fiberglass hull, and the well-appointed cabins. She couldn't help but marvel at the sheer extravagance that surrounded her.

She walked confidently on the deck ready to sunbathe her bright blue bikini hugging her curves. As she stretched out on one of the plush loungers, she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, and she closed her eyes, letting the peaceful sounds of the ocean lull her into a state of relaxation. She felt a tap on her shoulder and opened her eyes. Standing before her was the yacht's owner, a handsome, middle-aged man dressed casually in khaki shorts and a polo shirt.

"Hey baby." he asked with a warm smile. "You are looking magnificent as always." Holly smiled as she arched her back looking up at him. “Babe, what did I say about wearing khaki shorts? You’re a millionaire and this is your ship. Now take them off sailor.” He chuckled and started to unbutton his shorts. She watched as they fell to the deck revealing his tan, muscular legs. He climbed onto the lounger next to her and propped himself up on one elbow.

“Did you hear the news about the outbreak?” The man asked in a woman’s voice. “Huh? What outbreak?” Holly shook her head as the man became fuzzy. She closed her eyes and opened them again. A black haired flight attendant was standing in front of her in the galley. She pulled her phone out and showed the story to Holly. Holly sighed as she realized she was no longer in her fantasy but back on her shift on the international flight. Holly held Lucy’s phone and read the article. Holly nervously bit her nails and wiped her uniform off as she read. “It says it’s airborne already.” Holly groaned. “I can’t do another Covid!” She handed the phone back to good friend Lucy.

“Yeah! But it’s like a weird disease. Some people get really sick but others….” Lucy trailed off not knowing how to explain it. “Others.. what Lucy?” Holly asked, her voice tense. “Well they change but it’s like hard to believe what I was reading.” Lucy said nervously, looking around the galley. Holly nodded, feeling a chill run down her spine. They both knew they had to focus on their jobs, but the news was hard to ignore. Holly bit her nails again before asking. “You think it might have reached Australia yet?” Holly asked as they had just left the country on their way to L.A.

Lucy shrugged, looking worried. They both knew it was only a matter of time before they found out. In the meantime, they had to go back to their duties. Holly attended to the first class passengers as she eyed the middle aged man reading from his paper. “Sir?” she said politely, trying to catch his attention. The man looked up from his screen, his blue eyes meeting hers. He smiled warmly.

“Umm, is there anything I can get you, sir? Another drink? A snack perhaps?" Holly asked, trying to catch his attention. The man shook his head, his smile never wavering. "No, thank you, Holly. I'm just catching up on some work here. You know how it is." He chuckled, and she couldn't help but smile back. "Of course, sir. I'm here if you need anything."

Holly brought the cart back to the galley as she found Lucy sitting reading from her phone. Holly wanting to distract Lucy brought up a new subject. “Hey did you see the guy in L6?” She asked, motioning to the business class section of the plane. Lucy nodded, looking up from her phone. “Yeah that’s Brent Book he owns that new tech company. Heard he was a real playboy back in the day. Not bad for his age though, huh? I wonder what he does on these flights...." Holly grinned, imagining the possibilities.

“I bet he still flies commercial because he has a thing for flight attendants.” Holly winked, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. She glanced over at the man in question, wondering what it would be like to be with someone like that. Holly was a sweet competent flight attendant but desired the life Lucy and many of her colleagues had. Holly was a bit average looking and her friends like Lucy got all the attention. Lucy was always glued to her phone because she had over 100 k followers on TikTok. Lucy would brag and show off the hundreds of DM’s she received as Holly read them with envy. Rich businessman and eligible bachelors would take her on amazing dates as Holly spent nights alone in her hotel.

“Oh yeah?” Lucy said as she got up from her bucket seat. “Let’s see if I can get his number.” Lucy adjusted her stockings and breasts as she walked into business class pretending to check on passengers. Lucy reached Brent’s seat and leaned down with a seductive look. Holly looked on with jealousy as Brent laughed and talked with Lucy.

A bell went off and it was a passenger in economy in . “Just great.” Hollly grumbled as she put on her fake smile and went to help them. As she reached the passenger she saw he was shivering and sweating at the same time. His face was pale as he rubbed his shoulders. “How can I help you?” Holly asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “Yes, I’m feeling really cold all of a sudden. Can I get a blanket?” The man asked, his voice barely a whisper. Holly nodded and went to get him a blanket from the galley. As she returned the man coughed in his hand as Holly leaned over to hand him the blanket. The man sneezed violently as fluid hit Holly’s face. “Are you ok sir? Are you feeling sick?” Holly asked, her face now inches from his. “No, so sorry about that. I am just feeling cold. Thank you for the blanket.”

Holly and Lucy exchanged stories when they met in the back again. “So he said he doesn’t go on TikTok but he has one for his company.” Lucy explained. Holly nodded, a little disappointed. Holly continued to wipe her face. “You are so lucky Lucy. You got to flirt with an almost billionaire while I was in the bathroom rinsing snot off my face. Ew I can still feel it. I think some got into my eyes.” She said, rubbing her face with a tissue.

“Yuck…. What if he’s infected?” Lucy whispered, her eyes wide with fear. “ Don’t you fucking go there Lucy!” Holly snapped, her tone harsher than she intended. They both looked at each other, Lucy heard a notification ping from her phone. “Oh my God! His company is following me now! Look!” She showed Holly her phone, Brent Book's company was now following her on TikTok. Holly couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. “Aaagh fuck your TikTok Lucy!” She yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. “Ok? Rude!” Lucy snapped back, crossing her arms. Holly went to her bucket seat as Lucy did the same. Holly began biting her nails as she read about the outbreak on her phone.

The captain's voice came over the intercom, announcing that the flight was halfway over The Pacific Ocean on target for L.A. Holly glanced at the clock, her heart racing. She couldn't shake the thought of the sick man from her mind. Lucy seemed to be oblivious to her friend's distress, busily engrossed in her phone, seeing if any celebrities slid into her DM’s. Holly felt sleepy as she felt her eyes closing.

It was two hours later that Holly woke up in a sweat. She felt her throat was dry and she was shivering uncontrollably. She glanced around and saw that Lucy was fast asleep, oblivious to her friend's distress. Holly struggled to sit up, her head throbbing with pain. As she grabbed a bottle she guzzled it all in seconds. It was then she heard a ping from business class. She forced herself to stand, her legs wobbly, and walked unsteadily to the curtain. Holly felt a bit woozy and heavy. She approached Brent who was deep in his phone. “Can I help you sir?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah Lucy, I was looking at your TikTok and…” Brent finally looked up and adjusted his glasses. “I’m so sorry you’re not Lucy.” He said, his face flushed.

“No, I can get her for you.” Holly said, her voice barely audible. She felt dizzy and her vision was starting to blur. Brent looked at her strangely. He sat up and said. “No, that’s ok but what’s your name?” Holly forced a smile. “Holly sir.” Brent gave a confused look. “Really? I could have sworn there was another flight attendant named Holly on this flight. I haven’t met you. Are you an influencer like Lucy?” Holly felt confused as he noticed Brent looked a bit uncomfortable as his hands were in his lap.

“Umm are you ok Mr. Book?” Holly asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and it seemed to intensify the more she stared. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and she could see his face get red at her question. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine and please call me Brent.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it came out a little strained.

Holly quickly glanced down at Brent’s hands and could see that he was covering a bulge. She could feel her face heat up and her heart start to race. She knew what was causing that bulge, and it made her even more nervous. "Of course, Brent. Is there anything I can get you?” she asked, trying not to stare at his pants. “Not right now but I have a feeling I might need assistance later.” He winked at her, making her blush even deeper. She quickly looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

Holly walked quickly to the galley. Lucy was still dozing away. Holly rushed into the bathroom and almost squealed at what she saw. The woman in the reflection was completely different. She was looking at this stunning blonde woman in her uniform. The hair was a bit disheveled but her body was slightly bigger. She looked down and fully realized how her bust was more pronounced. She reached and cupped her right breast, feeling the weight of it. "Oh momma like," she thought with a sly smile. She noticed her nail bitten fingernails were gone replaced by red nails that matched her red lips.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She remembered Brent’s reaction at seeing her. She smiled “So this is what it’s like being hot!” she thought to herself. As she continued to explore her new curves, she noticed something else. There was a strange tingling sensation between her legs. She had never experienced anything like it before. She couldn't help but wonder what it was and if it had anything to do with what was happening to her.

Holly left the galley with a bottle of water in her hand. She made it to Brent’s seat and took the cap off the bottle. “Hey, I thought you could use some water. Oh no! I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy!” Holly had dropped a few drops onto the crotch of Brent. He jumped a little in his seat but smiled at Holly. “It’s ok… not a big deal really. It’s not that much…” he said, trying to be polite. “No this is my fault! Let me help you clean up.” She quickly ran and got a towel as she began dabbing at Brent’s stain. “It’s ok.. I think it should …ungh.” Brent groaned as Holly knelt in the aisle and began rubbing at his crotch. Brent’s eyes widened as he looked at Holly’s sensual focused face. “Don’t worry Mr. Book. I’ll have you cleaned up in no time.” Her words were dripping with confidence. Holly laid the towel down as she continued to rub at Brent’s crotch.

She looked up at him and smiled, "Like I said. It was my fault so I need to take care of it.” Brent’s became red as he realized what was actually happening. He looked down her cleavage and licked his lips. “Oh no. I think it may have reached your boxers. Let me help you.” Holly said as she leaned over even more to get a closer look. She unbuckled his pants as Brent attempted to stop her. “Shhh, let me do my job.” She whispered, seductively. As she pulled down his boxers, Brent gasped, revealing his throbbing arousal. Holly looked up at him with a wicked grin.

She grasped his member as he shivered. He covered his mouth not wanting to wake the other passengers. Holly continued to stroke him, her grip firm and confident. She leaned closer and whispered, "I know just how to take care of this." Brent's heart raced as she increased her speed. Brent grabbed onto the sides of his seat as the pleasure was immense. “Ungh fuck!” He cried as he could feel himself close to release.

As she continued, Brent felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. He tried to hold back, but it was no use. Holly could feel him twitching and knew what was coming soon. Brent erupted as almost a river of cum shot out of his cock. He completely relaxed as Holly took the towel and cleaned him. She pulled up his boxers and buckled his belt. “There we go. I’m so glad I could assist you. Remember to buckle your safety belt when the Captain turns on the light.” Brent in complete shock of what just happened nodded and smiled. He felt so relaxed that he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Holly wanted more. She had felt something unleashed in her. She was sexy, she was powerful and she was still horny.

-To Be Continued-

[fruitcoops]

So I was just watching Matty Healy’s “celebrity school run” interview from BCC Radio One, and my mind jumped right to imagining Sirius with a couple awestruck hockey kids in the back of his truck, navigating questions as he drives them around (maybe to hockey practice instead of school??)! Congrats on finishing finals!! <3

Fic O'Ween Day 9: Sugar Rush! Cap credit to @lumosinlove and fest credit to @noots-fic-fests <3 Cutie patootie start to the weekend!

“Ask him!”

“I don’t wanna ask. You do it.”

“Everything alright back there?”

A small boy in a blue shirt dropped an elbow into the side of his, equally small yet significantly blonder, companion. “How does the internet work?” the blond boy blurted.

In the front seat, Sirius Black frowned at the road. “Quoi?”

“I told you it was a dumb question!” a redheaded little girl whispered across the seat.

“The internet,” the blond boy repeated, twisting the pocket of his cargo shorts into a nub in his fist. “How’s it work?”

“Uh…”

“My mom said the government tells you on your first adult birthday,” the dark-haired boy informed him as he leaned forward onto the console. “So you’ve gotta know, ‘cause you’re totally an adult.”

“Your mother is right, Ethan,” Sirius agreed. His eyes darted to the small camera stuck on the car’s dashboard. “That’s—yes, you’ll have to wait until you’re eighteen to find out. I can’t tell you. It would be illegal.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “But you’re Canadian, so American laws don’t apply to you.”

“It’s international.” Suburban homes rolled past outside, surrounded by fresh spring foliage. “The UN decided on that rule.”

“Aw, man.”

“Are you really getting married?” the redheaded girl piped up.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Summer.”

“But when?”

“Summer,” Sirius repeated with a laugh.

“What day?” She poked her head between the front seats as well, bumping shoulders with Ethan. “Can we come?”

“Definitely not. Both of you, sit back, you’re going to get hurt.” Sirius glanced into the rearview mirror as he turned onto another narrow street. “Look at Jacob. He’s doing it right.”

Jacob preened, shooting each of his companions a Cheshire grin. “Lydia said you’re getting married to your boyfriend. Is that true?”

“Fiance, but yes.” Sirius reached back to shoo Lydia and Ethan back into their seats, one hand on the wheel. “Why do you know so much about my wedding? Aren’t you supposed to ask me hockey questions?”

“We have time. School doesn’t start for an hour.” Lydia folded her hands in her lap and squinted to look out at the road. “Also, my sister plays hockey and she was telling me that her team was telling her that you're gonna be the first married hockey player ever.”

“That’s…that’s not true.”

“Of course it is.”

“There are so many married hockey players!” Sirius laughed.

“Oh yeah?” Jacob challenged. “Who?”

“James Potter, Pascal Dumais, Sergei Ivanov, Adam Fox, Mika Zibanejad, Brad Marchand—I think most NHL players are married, actually.”

“Is the Earth actually round, or is the government lying?” Ethan asked, picking at the back of Sirius’ seat.

Sirius pressed his lips together for a moment. “Ah,” he began, coughing through a laugh. “Nope, it’s definitely round. People have known that for a long time.”

“My uncle says the government lies a lot.”

“Well, my uncle works for the government,” Jacob scoffed.

“Well—”

“Why is the Earth round?” Lydia butted in. “I think you’re lying. If it was round, everything in Australia would be upside down.”

“Oh god,” Sirius muttered. “Okay, new rule: no flat Earth discussions in the car.”

“Cause you’re lying?”

“Cause Galileo is spinning in his grave.”

“Isn’t that the bird from the movie with the girl and the volcano and the lizard and Russell Crowe and that one lady?”

Jacob gasped and turned to her. “My mom loves Russell Crowe! Y’know, Mr. Sirius Black, you kinda look like Russell Crowe.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He kinda does,” Ethan admitted.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh—”

“Okay,” Sirius announced as he paused at a stoplight with a thousand-yard stare. “We’re not doing any ‘nuh-uh’s until you are safely at school. Do you act like this when your parents are driving?”

All three children stared at him from the backseat. For a singular second, their fidgeting paused. “Like what?” Lydia asked, clearly bewildered. “The lady with the camera told us to ask you questions.”

Sirius seemed to process that for a beat. His fingertips drummed on the steering wheel while they waited for the light to change. “I’m starting to realize I don’t spend enough time with kids to know how you’re supposed to act.”

“Isn’t your brother a million years younger than you?”

“Six years.”

Lydia gave him a skeptical look over her glasses. “I’m only eight, so that’s basically forever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“How come clouds have different shapes?” Ethan asked. “Is it because birds fly through them and turn them all thin after they’re fluffy?”

“No, the wind does that.”

“Why?”

“It’s the wind, it doesn’t have reasons.”

“How do you know.”

“Because I’m an adult. Hey, look, a pigeon.”

All three children lunged toward the window, straining at their seatbelts and booster seats. Sirius glanced at the dashcam with a small, pleased smile and made a smooth left turn onto Main Street. “Where is it?” Jacob asked eagerly. “Was it big? What color was it? I don’t see it.”

“Oh, I think it was in the parking lot back there,” Sirius said casually. “Keep an eye out, see if there are more.”

“I’m never allowed to ask adults this many questions,” Lydia gushed, swinging her feet above the floor of the car. “Do you pay taxes?”

“Yes.”

“How do they work?”

“Good question. I have no idea.”

Ethan, apparently tired of pigeon-spotting, sat up straight and began peeling a sticker off the side of his booster. “Do you speak French?”

“Ouais.”

“Can you say something in French?”

“Ouais,” Sirius repeated with a grin.

“Please?”

“I just did.”

“Way,” Ethan mimicked. “Ha! That sounds like a duck. Wah-wah-wah-wah—”

“Yellow punch buggy.”

A flurry of movement and stifled ‘ow’s followed on swift wings; Sirius winced, but didn’t seem particularly regretful. “So,” he tried again. “What do you guys like to do at school?”

“Have lunch.”

“Read.”

“Recess.”

He nodded with a light laugh. “You know what, that’s fair.”

Jacob cocked his head to the side. “Did you like school?”

“I loved school.”

“What was your favorite subject?”

“Math.” A simultaneous false gag from three different mouths made him jump slightly, glancing over his shoulder. “Jesus—”

“I hate math,” Lydia declared. “We started multiplication and it makes my head hurt.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Ethan’s nose wrinkled. “I like math, but it’s definitely not my favorite. Hey, do you have tattoos?”

“No.”

“Can we see them?”

Sirius’ brow knit. “I just told you I don’t have any.”

“You’re a hockey player, you gotta have tattoos. Thomas Walker has them, Cole Reyes has them, James Potter has them…”

“James doesn’t have tattoos,” Sirius snorted. “Where are you getting your information?”

“My brother. He knows everything.”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven.”

Sirius nodded slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. “A wise age.”

“How many teeth are you missing?”

“None, dude,” Jacob interrupted. “Didn’t you see earlier? He has perfect teeth. Hey, Mr. Sirius Black, did you have braces?”

“No.”

“Your teeth just grew like that?”

“Mhmm.”

“I just lost a tooth last week.”

Sirius stopped at the corner, looking over his shoulder at them. “Oh, really? Your first?”

“Nah, my fifth,” Jacob answered, as jaded as a third-grader could get. “It’s boring now. I got a quarter for it, though. My sister wanted to tie it to a doorknob, but my dad didn’t let her.”

Lydia nodded solemnly. “My cousin lost her first tooth when a piñata hit her.”

“I lost mine while I was eating a tuna sandwich,” Ethan added. “Then it was a blood sandwich. It was crazy.”

“Gross,” Lydia said with great approval.

Apparently satisfied with the direction the conversation had gone, the car remained near-silent for almost fifteen seconds. They headed past several gas stations (and their pigeon-filled parking lots) before stopping once again at a red light.

Ethan let out a loud gasp. “Tim Hortons!”

Sirius turned as if on instinct, craning his neck, before he seemed to realize the danger of the situation. Lydia slapped at the back of the driver’s seat with an excited hand, bouncing in her booster. “We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta go.”

To his credit, Sirius spared a half-second to consider it. “Absolutely not.”

To his demise, Sirius spared a half-second to consider it. They fell on him like miniature wolves to a downed caribou.

“Please,” Ethan begged. “Please, please, their hot cocoa is so good, you don’t understand.”

“I’m Canadian, I understand better than you do.”

“Then we have to go!”

“There is no world where I get three kids on a Tim Horton’s sugar rush before school.” He shook his head and began turning off Main Street. “Not in this lifetime. Your teachers would hunt me for sport.”

“You’re Canadian! You’re—you’re Queb—” Ethan made a frustrated noise and turned to Jacob. “What’s the word for Quebec people?”

“…Canadians…?”

“Quebecois,” Sirius informed him. His eyes widened slightly. “Wow, is that the first question you’ve asked that I can actually answer?”

“You’re Quebecois,” Ethan continued, stumbling over each syllable. He made it there in the end, but not before everyone else in the car made a pained face. “That means you have to take us to Tim Horton’s.”

“No.”

Lydia’s eyes were fever-bright in the backseat, as if she had knocked back a handful of jellybeans and Red Bull. “Timmy’s, Timmy’s, Timmy’s…”

“Please, no.”

Jacob and Ethan brightened immediately, because of course they did. Sirius watched the road in mournful disbelief, like he was driving into his personal hell with no exit ramp in sight. “TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S—”

“I’ve never having children.”

“TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S, TIMMY’S—”

The shouting came to an abrupt halt. Sirius parked the car under the shade of a large oak tree and waited for several seconds, until all three kids started to exchange wary looks. The silence dragged on. Polyester and cotton rustled.

Sirius rested his elbow on the console and turned to the backseat, one eyebrow raised. “Are we done?”

“Are you gonna turn this car around?” Jacob whispered in quiet horror.

“Non. I have a deal for you, though.” Instant curiosity overcame their concern. Sirius held three fingers up. “One: don’t kick the back of my seat. Two: don’t yell in my car, it’s very distracting. Three: Count five pigeons by the time we get to school. I will ask your parents if I can bring you Timbits—”

Gasps of delight filled the car.

“—if you promise to do all three of those things.”

Jacob tucked his hands under his legs, all but vibrating with anticipation. “Can you get cinnamon ones?”

“Can you find five pigeons?”

“Of course I can,” he whispered.

Sirius nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do you make a million bajillion dollars?” Lydia asked.

“Non. But I do have money for Timbits for nice kids who ask cool questions.”

Ethan’s mouth fell open. “We’re nice kids who ask cool questions!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius gave a teasing hum. “I don’t know. Think you can prove it in the next five minutes?”

“What kind of dog do you have?” Lydia asked without hesitation.

“Oh, that is a good question.” The car rumbled to life, and they pulled onto the road without issue. “I don’t know. She’s black, and she has pointy ears.”

“How long do you want to play hockey?”

“Oof. A while. Maybe ten more years? We’ll see.”

Ethan finished peeling the sticker off his booster seat and reached over Lydia to stick it on Jacob’s. “Is being an adult fun?”

“Yes.”

“Is it hard?”

“Yes.”

“If you could get in a time machine and be eight again, would you do it?”

“No.”

Jacob frowned. “How come?”

“Because I like being able to make my own dinner, I would miss my friends, and I wouldn’t be able to get Tim Horton’s whenever I want to.”

Lydia started to kick the back of his seat in boredom, but quickly tucked her foot behind her other leg. “If you were eight and went to our school, do you think we would be friends?”

Sirius smiled, moving slowly past a wire fence. “Sure.”

“Can you say more French stuff?”

“Comme quoi?”

“Um—can you say ‘hello’?”

“Bonjour.”

Jacob chewed on his lower lip. “Can you say…this school is super cool?”

“Cette école est très cool.”

“Is ‘cool’ the same in both?”

“Ouais.”

“Okay, stop, stop, you gotta do English now,” Ethan said hurriedly, waving his hands. “I don’t speak French.”

“That’s okay, you can learn,” Sirius laughed. They rolled to a stop in a mostly-empty section of the parking lot; he waved to someone outside, and the children quickly followed suit. He propped his arm on the console again and raised his eyebrows. “I think your parents are ready to have you back. Any last questions?”

“Do you like books?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What kind of Timbits do you like?’

“Have you been playing hockey since before we were born?”

“How does electricity work?”

“Do you kiss your boyfriend? Oh, yeah, how do cars work?”

“How come the sky changes colors but the ocean doesn’t?”

Sirius didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, blue, all of them, yes, I think it’s something with electrons and metal? Yes, engines and combustion, and because the sky and the ocean are made of different things.”

“Okay,” Jacob said with a decisive nod. “Cool! Thanks!”

“Thank you, this was lots of fun.” Sirius unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car, then came around and opened the backseat door for them. They spilled out in a pile, each meeting his gentle fist-bump with incredible enthusiasm that only grew when he feigned injury at the strength of their hands. Their booster seats came free with little finagling. “Alright, go see your parents. I can carry these.”

“Wait!” Lydia yelped, turning on her heel halfway through a step. “What about the Timbits?”

“Nobody kicked my seat or yelled,” Sirius mused, gathering the boosters in his arms. “Pigeons?”

“Two on the sidewalk, one in the parking lot, and two at the Gas ‘n Sip,” Jacob announced.

“Then they’ll be here when you get out of school,” he promised. They shook on it, tiny hands dwarfed by his palm, before they were off at a sprint once more. “Be safe! Don’t trip on the concrete!”

[trills-n-clicks]

Capt. Medic Ila "Bruise" Woods

Mainly going by Bruise, but Ila by close friends, she's the Medic of TF Arach, and Captain Medic to other medics in the field.

NONE OF THIS INFORMATION IS OF ACTUAL PEOPLE, SOME DETAILS ARE TAKEN FROM MYSELF BUT IT IS NOT BASED ON ME!!!

TF Arach Masterlist

DOB: October 6th, 1990. [33 years old]

Relationships: ↓

Merils Woods- Husband <alive> {She took his last name}

Janiel "Jani" Woods- Daughter <alive>

Bucky Woods- Son <dead> {miscarriage :'(}

June Morial - Mother <alive>

Simon Morial- Father <dead>

Jack ////////-Uncle (Father's side) <alive>

//////// Bensick- Uncle (Mother's side) <alive>

Alice /////////- Aunt (Mother's side) <alive>

Lucy Morial- Sister <alive>

Quinn Potis- Sister <alive> {used to be married, partner died}

Evelyn "Vely" Morial- Sister <alive>

Ben Bensick- Cousin <alive>

Harold Morial- Cousin <alive>

Lilian ////////- Goddaughter <alive>

Physical details: ↓

Head: Blonde, ear length, relatively curly (2C-3A) hair. One green(left) and one with cataracts(right), round and medium-set eyes. Snub-like nose with a visible upturn. She has thick lips with a thicker upper lip and a circular, slightly chubby face shape.

Body: Ectomorph but slightly thicker, Kite(?) shape. Large bust small hips, she's got tig ol' bitties tho 😫(I'm a sucker for women like that)

Marks (scars, birthmarks, tattoos, missing limbs, etc.): Her abdomen has a tattoo all around it with flower designs. She has no birthmarks. She's got some scarring from a poison dart on her back from trying to escape a captor(it looks like a dark fluid spreading on her back), one from her hairline to her eye from stray shrapnel, resulted in cataracts and ~25% blindness in that eye. And frostbite scars across hands and calves from an incident..(ooh~~). Her missing limbs include her left pinky and ring fingers, and her right leg (mid-thigh and lower gone) from torture while held captive. She also has a tongue piercing.

Other (height & weight stuff, skintone, nationality, etc.): Her skintone is tan, lots of freckles cover her skin. She lives in Australia but has an origin in Las Almas, her parents and other family live there, she moved to Australia. She is 5'11" (1.79m) and weighs 188lbs (85.2 kg). She tends to wear 2000s type clothes, sports bras, torn or worn cargo pants, colourful jackets, etc, and she loves her crown-like jewelry, makes her feel pretty.

Personality details: ↓

She's an open Bisexual to friends but not family, she's on the romantic or sexual spectrum as polyamorous(her and her husband are ready to add a plus-1). She is a Demi-girl and struggles with gender dysphoria very occasionally. She finds nature-like colors like forest green or mushroom brown quite pretty but will not admit that if there's a cool psychedelic neon yellow shirt, she will try it on. Outside people describe her as loud, rude and annoying. People she knows well however, describe her as still loud, but just reserved and distant, quoting something I imagine one of them saying: "she's rude when you first meet her but she warms up quickly as soon as you know her name". She is an ambivert, she uses social interaction to avoid her mental health but sometimes shuts down and can't even leave her room (Arach has a hitch that something's wrong but hasn't caught on fully yet). She's got no sensory issues that are prominent. And She does have mental disorders, including PTSD (ofc), Speration anxiety and rhotacism (she has difficulties in pronouncing the letter r).

And Military info!: ↓

She joined in 2009 at 19 years old, and was transferred to be in the SNS 3 years after joining. She has skills in basic, and advanced medical aid including field operations, Undercover missions, close range combat and some long range, and hostage rescue. But she has difficulties in keeping her emotions in check when in the field, along with using drugs (like morphine or adrenaline bc of being poisoned in the past).

Basic picture using gacha (I use it to visualize what they will look like with color)

Pls don't mind the leg next to her arm 😭 I had to get rid of it somehow

And I will insert a photo I drew below (it will not have color)

I will add the picture as soon as I draw her.

I'm sorry if it's too long, read if you want but you really don't have to, she will be basically described in the fic.

[teddy06]

The Dagger Squad as things my dad actually did while being in the Navy

(In no particular order)

Rooster: Break into a closed zoo during a sixteen hour stop over in Australia because he and his friends had no where else to be and they wanted to see kangaroos but the zoo wouldn’t open before they left

Phoenix: Ate a live dragonfly to prove a point to a group of recruits he was training, then denied it any time a recruit that hadn’t been in the group asked if it were true, like “where do these rumors even start”

Coyote and Hangman: won too many free pitchers of beer during a competitive darts competition at a bar in the Philippines, to the point where the restaurant ran out of pitchers, they had to start giving away beer to random people, and were forcibly separated and put into new teams

Fanboy: stuck the end of a broom to the back of his helmet, put on a red shirt and painted his face to go to a Halloween party thing with his squad as Marvin the Martian, and ended up being the only person with a real costume

Fritz: Was out too late with a group of friends in San Diego and had like forty minutes to get back to his ship before curfew, but the taxi they called could only fit so many people so he opted to run back, ended up on a random trail going in the wrong direction and almost got caught by boarder patrol trying to get back into the country because he’d gone to far and ended up in Mexico

Yale: peeled an orange so that the peel was all one long piece, ate the orange and then spent several hours crazy gluing the peel back together because he was bored

Bob: was the only person to think to bring a change of clothes in his carry on whilst leaving for a deployment, and when commercial planes ended up getting their luggage mixed up and lost was the only person in his squad to have clean clothes for two weeks

Omaha: was approached multiplie times in multiple different countries by civilians speaking the native language because they had assumed he’d been from there

Payback: got into the officers line at dinner, filled a soup bowl with shrimp and a soup bowl with cocktail sauce and then went and sat with a group of recruits and kept telling them they needed to go up and get some shrimp just to fuck with them

Harvard: meticulously collected sand from ever beach his squad landed on a in little Tabasco bottles only to give up and throw them away because he decided that it was too much work and that he didn’t like Tabasco enough to keep finishing bottles of it

Halo: got so drunk at a bar in the Philippines that he started doing karaoke to a song in Tagalog; he does not speak Tagalog nor has he ever done karaoke since

[rainbowbobatea]

Chapter 1

“You’re always with me in my head, never out of my mind.” — Unknown

[The Jackman Base, North-West Colorado]

"You're a dead man, Hugh Jackman."

Howie growls, his breath hot against Hugh's ear as he presses the gun into Hugh's mouth. The cold metal of the gun barrel slides between Hugh's teeth, flooding his mouth with the acrid taste of iron and gunpowder.

Death has a flavor, and this is it.

Hugh winces, holding back a gag as he tongues the barrel into his cheek. His words come out muffled, but defiant.

"And you're a short man, Howie D."

A kick to the shin. Worth it. Hugh's eyes water, but he doesn't flinch. Across the dim warehouse, the echoes of his empire being dismantled reach his ears—barrels rolling, guns clattering. The Backstreet Boys strip the place bare, just like they've stripped him. His golden pendant, his tailored suit, his dignity—all gone.

Howie yanks the gun from Hugh's mouth, pressing it to his forehead.

"¡Cállate el carajo! One more word and I'll—"

"What? Throw a Napoleon-sized fit?"

Howie's finger twitches on the trigger. Hugh braces for the bang, but it doesn't come.

"Yo, Howie!" AJ's voice bounces off the dank walls. "Quit playin' and help with these loads!"

Brian, hefting a crate, chimes in. "Yeah, man. Hugh's goons could show any minute."

Howie doesn't budge, eyes locked on Hugh. "No. Someone's gotta watch this pendejo."

"He's tied up tight," Brian counters.

"Ten years," Howie snarls, pressing the gun harder against Hugh's skin. "Ten years since we last saw each other face to face. Your organs'll fetch a pretty penny."

Hugh shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "What's the going rate? Two million aussies? Three million aussies?"

"This ain't Australia, jackass."

"True," Hugh smirks, eyeing Howie's disheveled appearance. "And here's another fun fact—your shirt's on backwards, mate."

Howie's face contorts in confusion. "What—"

Bam! Hugh's forehead collides with Howie's nose, a sickening crunch echoing through the warehouse. In a flash, Hugh wiggles out of his restraints and snatches the gun, his bound hands fumbling but determined. He fires wildly, the shots ricocheting off metal and concrete.

Chaos erupts. The Backstreet Boys scatter like startled pigeons, ducking behind crates and machinery.

"Shit!" AJ yells, diving for cover. "He's loose!"

Kevin, crouched behind a barrel, glares at Howie. "Great. Because Howie decided he wanted to make a speech like a pastor instead of helping us, Hugh's escaping."

Amidst the mayhem, Hugh spots a glint of gold—his mafia necklace, worth millions, sitting on top of his clothes. With a grunt, he lunges forward, snatching all his stuff before scrambling towards the exit.

Brian emerges from behind a forklift, gun drawn. "Don't let him—"

Too late. Hugh, finally free of his bonds, sprints across the warehouse floor. His eyes dart around, spotting a row of cars. Without hesitation, he smashes the window of a sleek Chevy, hotwiring it with practiced ease.

The engine roars to life as Nick emerges from the warehouse, face pale. "Oh, come on! That was my Chevy!"

Aaron, runs out behind him, a grin splitting his face. "Yay, he didn't steal mine!"

Nick whirls on his brother, blue eyes blazing. "Shut up, Aaron! This isn't funny!"

The Backstreet Boys scramble to their vehicles, tires screeching as they peel out of the lot. Brian, gripping the steering wheel of his SUV, shouts over the engine's roar, "We can't let him get away! If he warns his crew, we're toast!"

As Hugh tears down the Colorado highway, his mind races faster than the stolen Chevy. How the hell did his rival gang find him here, of all places? He had hundreds of territories across America and Australia, a vast empire built on extortion, smuggling, and countless other crimes.

Yet somehow, after so many years, they'd bumped into each other this very morning.

"Bloody hell," Hugh mutters, swerving around a slow-moving minivan. He’s half naked while speeding down a packed highway.

What a way to start the day.

He'd promised Ava and Oscar he'd get them McDonald's breakfast. Despite having maids to whip up gourmet meals, his little kids still craved those greasy hash browns and loved the cheap plastic toys.

But first, daddy had business to do.

He'd only meant to check on some orders, but instead, found himself in this mess when he bumped into the Backstreet Boys outside the hidden warehouse.

Ah, shit.

In his rearview mirror, Hugh spots the convoy of cars in hot pursuit. He floors it, the speedometer climbing past 100 mph. In Brian's SUV, Kevin suddenly turns green.

"Pull over!" he gags, hand over his mouth.

Brian glances at him, alarmed. "What? We can't stop now!"

But it's too late. Kevin leans out the window, retching violently. The contents of his stomach splatter across the side of the car.

"Oh, come on!" AJ yells from the backseat. "That's nasty, man!"

Up ahead, traffic grinds to a halt. Hugh curses, abandoning the Chevy and taking off on foot. A couple of cars honk and women whistle as he runs through the sea of cars, half naked. His bare chest and abs get assaulted by the cool, autumn breeze.

“Ah, shit.” He shivers, trying to wiggle into his suit and tie again.

Suddenly, while getting dressed, fhe expensive pendant slips from his grasp, clattering far away from him into the pavement. But before he can retrieve it, a woman nearby bends down, scooping it up. Her face lightens up; she looks at the object in awe.

Oh no.

No, no.

Hugh's hand flies to his concealed weapon, ready to eliminate this unexpected complication. But as the woman looks up, looking around, he freezes.

She's... beautiful.

Stunning, really. Her brown eyes, contrast to the light pink sweater she's wearing, looks wide and curious. They blink, locking into his for a millisecond.

For a moment, Hugh forgets how to breathe…

The black woman looks around and shrugs, oblivious to the danger, and continues walking. Hugh watches her go, gun still in his pocket, unfired.

He never hesitates to kill.

So why now?

Transfixed, Hugh observes as she strolls away, hips swaying hypnotically beneath her skin tight jeans. She's humming softly—he strains to catch the melody. "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid, he realizes with a start.

Hugh stands rooted to the spot, amazed by her kindness... and, if he's honest, by how magnificently curvy she is.

Hugh feels his cheeks flush, his pulse quickens, and he tears his gaze away. He's seen a lot of things—brutal beatings, cold-blooded murders, you name it. But this woman's simple act of charity has him rattled. She seems so…kind.

Innocent.

His hand trembles as he lowers his gun, his eyes glued to her retreating figure. Usually, he'd have no qualms about taking what he wanted, but something holds him back. Perhaps it's those full, kissable lips, curved in a smile that reaches her big brown doe eyes.

Get a grip, man.

Hugh shakes his head, berating himself for his hesitation. He's a mafia boss, for crying out loud! A powerful, feared figure in the criminal underworld. Yet here he is, tongue-tied and flushed, like a lovesick teenager over a woman he barley knew for 10 minutes.

With a forceful exhale, he strides after her, his eyes scanning her curves appreciatively.

As she walks, the hem of her sweater rides up, granting Hugh a glimpse of smooth, chocolate-colored skin. He imagines what lies beneath—lacy lingerie, perhaps, hugging her voluptuous curves?

The thought sends a rush of warmth through him, and he curses under his breath.

"Focus," he mutters to himself.

He debates whether to confront her, demand the mafia chain back. Or maybe he could be a bit more... persuasive. A nudge here, a whispered threat there—he's an expert at getting what he wants.

Yet, despite his usual assertiveness, he finds himself tongue-tied, unable to disturb this woman's serenity. What would she think of him if he did? The disappointed look on her face, the fear in her eyes…

He can't bear the thought.

So he lingers at a distance, his eyes never leaving her. With each step, he notices more about her—the way her hair falls in cute curls, the graceful sway of her hips, the confident bounce in her step.

His heart skips a beat every time she glances over her shoulder, as if sensing his gaze…

---

Meanwhile, back at the traffic jam, the Backstreet Boys bicker in their stalled vehicles.

"This is all your fault, Howie!" Nick shouts from his car window.

Howie, nursing his bruised nose, fires back, "My fault? If you hadn't insisted on taking that shortcut—"

"Oh, don't start with that again," Brian interjects. "Your 'shortcuts' always end up taking twice as long!" His eyes widen worry as he sighs. "Leighanne is gonna kill me if I don't get back in time for our date night."

"Yo, but if Hugh rallies his crew, then he'll kill you too," AJ shakes, his voice tinged with worry. "So either way, you're dead tonight man."

"Ah, shit."

Kevin, his usual reserved demeanor giving way to concern, adds, "We need to find him, now."

"Yeah," Aaron pipes up, "and we gotta get back Nick's poor car back!"

Nick whirls on his brother. "Nobody asked you, Aaron! Why are you even here?"

As the arguing intensifies, Kevin stumbles out of Brian's SUV, still looking queasy. "Guys, can we please just... not? I think I left my stomach about three miles back."

"Damn, speaking of stomach's—mine is growling," AJ groans, patting his shirt.

Brian nods in agreement. "Yeah, man. All this chasing and arguing's worked up an appetite."

"Let's grab some grub," Nick suggests, already pulling out his phone. "I know a great steakhouse nearby."

He dials Outback Steakhouse, tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel as he waits for someone to pick up. The others watch expectantly, their mouths already watering at the thought of juicy steaks and loaded baked potatoes.

Finally, Nick's face lights up. "Hello? Yes, I'd like to make a reservation for—" His expression quickly falls. "What do you mean no more room? It's the middle of the afternoon!" He listens for a moment, his frown deepening. "Fine. Thanks."

Nick angrily jabs the end call button and hurls his phone onto the dashboard.

"Shut the fuck up...bitch!" he yells at the device, startling the others.

"Whoa," Howie says, eyebrows raised. "What's got you so worked up?"

Nick runs a hand through his blond hair, frustration evident in his voice. "They're fully booked. Can you believe it? On a Tuesday afternoon!"

"Now what?" Aaron asks, peering out the window. "I'm starving!"

Just then, Brian spots a quaint little establishment tucked between two larger buildings. The sign above the door reads "Belle's Books & Brews" in elegant, curling script.

"Hey, how about that place?" he suggests, pointing it out to the others. "Might as well go in, right?"

The group exchanges glances, considering the option. It's not their usual type of hangout, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"I don't know, man," AJ hesitates, looking down at his tattoo-covered arms and ripped jeans. "Should we change? We look like a mob gang."

There's a moment of silence as they all take in each other's appearances—leather jackets, dark sunglasses, and an overall air of intimidation.

Brian snorts, breaking the tension. "Well... we are one."

"True B-Rok," Kevin concedes with a shrug.

With that settled, they try finding a space to park their vehicles and make their way towards Le Festin, drawing curious glances from passbyers.

Meanwhile, back at the Carey-Cobain household, chaos was unfolding that morning too…

In the living room, twins Roc and Roe engage in a heated tug-of-war over a shirt.

"It's mine!" Roc insists, his small hands gripping the fabric tightly.

Roe yanks back, her pigtails bouncing with the effort. "No way! Mom bought it for me!"

Their squabble provides a discordant backdrop to Ariana's high-pitched vocalizing. She prances around the house, hitting impossibly high notes as she warms up her voice.

"I'm like a bird, I'll only fly awaaaaaay!" Ariana trills, twirling dramatically.

Sophia, bleary-eyed and clutching a steaming mug of coffee, shoots her sister a withering glare. "For the love of God, Ari, it's too early for this. Shut up!"

Ariana pauses mid-note, pouting. "You're just jealous of my angelic voice, Soph."

"More like demonic," Soph mutters, taking a long sip of her coffee.

In the kitchen, Mariah bustles about in her silk robe and fuzzy slippers. The aroma of bacon and pancakes wafts through the air as she flips flapjacks with one hand while stirring a pot of grits with the other. She sighs, secretly glaring at her husband, Kirt, for sleeping through all of the chaos.

"Frances, honey," Mariah calls out, "can you go wake up Shar? Breakfast is almost ready."

Frances nods, padding down the hallway to Shar's room. She raps gently on the door. "Shar? You up?"

"Uh, yeah…" Shar is already awake, but the noise is enough to make anyone want to stay tucked away in the comfort of their room. She creeks the door open, flinching as Ari’s voice fills the air.

“Oooo yeahhhh!”

"Tell mama that I’m gonna take a walk," Shar tells Frances, carefully sneaking out as she puts on her airpods. She quickly dons a sweater and heads out, shitting the door and breathing in a big gulp of air.

“Ugh, I needed this.”

The crisp air tingles her skin, sending goosebumps down her arms, as she hits play on her phone, 'Rock Your Body' blasting into her ears. It's one of her favorite tunes, and she can't help but bounce along to the beat.

Autumn is Shar's favorite season. To her, summer is unbearably hot, spring damp and buggy, and winter just too darn cold. But autumn? It's perfect.

The breeze is just right, the leaves paint the town with color, and who can resist a pumpkin spice latte? Plus, she gets to wrap herself in cozy sweaters.

What more could a girl ask for?

As she strolls, kicking the occasional crunching leaf, she feels a sense of peace in the quiet town. It's so safe here that if you left your wallet on a park bench, someone would likely return it before you even realized it was missing. No crimes, no robberies, none of that stuff…

Screech!

Pop! Pop!

She pauses mid-step, her eyes snapping open at the sound of commotion. Did she just…hear gunshots? Shar's heart skips a beat, but she quickly shakes off the notion.

Nah. Nothing bad ever happens in their quiet Colorado town.

Besides, her mind is on something else entirely as she continues her walk—the glint of something shiny on the pavement. She bends down to pick it up, her eyes widening at the sight of a gold necklace with a weird symbol.

"Wow," she breathes, "this is gorgeous."

Shar turns it over in her hands, the pendant sparkling in the sunlight. It looks expensive, maybe even custom-made. She smiles, taking it as a lucky sign.

Maybe today will be a great day after all!

As she walks, continuing to listen as her playlist switches to disney songs, a chill runs through her. For some very odd reason, she can't shake the weird feeling that someone is following her.

She stops and turns, her eyes scanning the area.

But there's no one there.

“Huh.” Shar sucks in a breath, her eyes scanning the area. Slowly, she continues on her way again, her heart still hammering in her chest. As she nears home, she realizes how worked up she is, and can't help but laugh at herself.

"Girl, you've been listening to too many crime podcasts," she shakes her head.

With a final glance over her shoulder, Shar heads back inside, ready to change and face the day. Unaware of the man just outside her bedroom window, hiding underneath the shadows of the tree…

—

Okay, enough ogling around:

Hugh has to get that pedant back before someone mistakes her for being a part of the mafia too.

But, how?

The pretty girl he'd been watching disappeared into her house, and what's he gonna do now—knock on the door and pretend he's a delivery man? A pizza guy?

Hell nah, that wouldn't work with his fancy suit 'n tie. He needs to be strategic, come up with a plan…

But all of those thoughts fly out the window the moment he walks by her open bedroom window because, honestly? Who can think about anything when this beauty is in front of him, giggling, trying on cute outfits, fixing up her hair…for him?

No, nonsense.

This woman hasn't even met him, but yet—the thought of this her getting ready for him, trying to look pretty for him, turned him on…

So. Badly.

Hugh swallows. He continues to secretly stare at the woman, until the peaceful afternoon turns chaotic—the bedroom door bursts open, and a tiny toddler goes flying inside. She's got wild, uncontrollable curls, big brown eyes, and a mischievous grin.

"Goya on the loose!" a voice shouts from inside the house.

Hugh watches, amused, as the little girl zigzags through the room, her laughter ringing out. He pictures how this woman would play with his kids—Ava and Oscar—and smiles at the thought.

She’d probably make a great mom…

As abruptly as the chaos began, it settles. The woman reappears, back in the bedroom... and his breath catches as she starts to undress. Her movements are leisurely, deliberate, almost as if she's performing for him…only him.

No one else but him.

“Fuck…” His gaze rakes over her luscious curves as she peels off her clothes, piece by piece, and honestly? He can't help but leans closer to the window, eyes devouring her. She teases him without even knowing it, running her hands seductively over her body.

Then, to his surprise, she picks up a small pink toy and lays on the bed, legs spread wide as she—

Oh.

Hugh's eyes widen as his cock twitches in his pants. He can almost hear her soft moans above the whirring of the fan, imagine the sultry look on her face as she loses herself in pleasure. One day, she's going to look like that as he touches her body…

Her hips…

Breasts…

Smooth, soft skin…

Ring, ring!

“Huh?!” Hugh flinches. The sudden shrill of his iPhone startles him, and he curses under his breath. He freezes as Shar's head snaps up, her eyes scanning the room. She hasn't seen him, has she?

He hopes not.

Hugh quickly ducks behind a tree, pressing the phone to his ear as his beating heart begins to calm down. “Hey, Ryan."

"Hey! Good morning—"

"Cut to the chase."

"Woah, woah, woah. Sheesh," Ryan says. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Cranky 'cause you still haven't gotten laid yet?"

Hugh groans. "Just cut to the chase, mate."

"Listen, heard one of our warehouses got busted by another group. Everything okay over there?" Ryan asks, his voice laced with concern.

Hugh's mind is still half on the woman in front of him, but he manages to respond, "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Just—"

Ryan launches into a nonstop tirade as Hugh's gaze darts back to the window. Shar is still there, her eyes closed, her body arching slightly.

He bites back a groan, torn between the call and the tempting vision before him. Finally, Ryan winds down, leaving Hugh to fumble for a response.

"Uh, yeah. No, that sounds good. We'll figure it out. Thanks, mate," Hugh stammers, his attention still very much on Shar.

As Ryan's voice fades, the woman's movements slow. She settles back onto the bed, a smile of satisfaction on her face, her chest gently rising and falling. Hugh knows he should leave, but he's transfixed by the sight of her, post-orgasmic glow and all. It’s so fucking beautiful, more prettier than the sunset before night. He's captivated by the way she runs her hands over her body, fingers lingering on her soft curves...

Suddenly, she hops off the bed and heads into her washroom, shutting the door shut. He blinks, taken aback by her sudden disappearance.

Now's your chance. Your chance to get it back.

With a final, lingering look, he hoists himself into Shar's bedroom through the open window. His eyes scan the room, taking in the cozy space filled with fairy lights, books, and pop funkos.He spots the pendant on the bed and reaches for it when two text message pops up on her phone.

Ding! Ding!

Usually, he minds his business—never caring to snoop around other people’s stuff unless it benefited him with money or power.

But, today?

He can’t help but wanna know more about her, this mysterious woman that he saw today. Any information about her excited him, so it wasn’t surprising when he found himself absentmindedly reaching for her phone, eager to see who had access to her. He prayed, hoping he wouldn’t see any male names in the notifications.

And thankfully, he didn’t.

'Mish: Gyal! You too down bad!"

'Lizzie: Ready to start your shift at Le Festin?’

Shar. Shar…Shar, Shar. Shar. Hm…

Such a pretty name.

But it's going to sound even prettier once she's on top of him, grinding against him, making him moan out his name as he reaches ecstasy in bed—

Shar…

Shar.

A soft sound startles him from his reverie. He freezes, his eyes widening as he realizes someone has entered the room.

Oh, crickey.

It's the little girl from earlier, "Goya." Her big brown eyes regard him curiously, and he offers a cautious wave. She seems unfazed by his presence, simply waving back before toddling off, her chubby legs carrying her away.

"O-oh, okay. Well, then…bye, I guess."

Hugh exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He's faced off against dangerous criminals, stared down the barrel of a gun, and yet this little girl had him on edge.

For goodness sake...

Eager to head out, he grabs the pendant (and the toy Shar was using) and pockets both items. He hops back out the window. As he walks away, he glances back at the bathroom door where she was probably showering, soaping up that body, just for him.

Getting all ready, just for him.

"I'll see you soon…Shar," he murmurs to himself, kicking a few leaves. “At the cafe. I can't wait for you to get to know me better…”

He takes one last look at the house before walking off, taking out the toy from his pocket, pressing it against his lips. Her scent still lingers. Hugh smiles.

“…I think we’ll get along just fine.”

{A busy afternoon at Le Festin}

An hour into her shift and already?

Things are a disaster. Ugh.

The bustling café feels more like a battlefield to Shar, who's doing her best to keep up with the onslaught of orders. Every time she thinks she's making progress, another customer steps up to the counter, their order more complicated than the last. She feels like a stretched out wad of gum as she runs around, trying to serve orders:

"I'll have a pumpkin-spiced Matcha latte, with soy milk and an extra shot of vanilla, please."

"Do you have avocado toast? But can you add tomatoes and make sure they're ripe, not too squishy, but also not too firm..."

"Two slices of banana bread, warmed up, and a chocolate croissant, but I want the flaky kind, none of that soft crap."

Shar feels like she's drowning, and the cherry on top of this stressful sundae is her phone blowing up with texts from her Mama Mariah, asking if she's eaten, reminding her to drink enough water, and texts from her sisters to bring back muffins, pretty please?

As if on cue, Lizzie approaches with a harried expression, saying, "Shar, honey, I need you to handle Table 12. They've been waiting a while, and they're getting antsy."

Shar bites back a groan. "Sure thing."

With a deep breath, she steels herself and makes her way towards the group of men, trying to keep her smile from looking too strained.

"Hi! Welcome to Le Festin. Wanna know what's new on the menu today?"

The men, deep in an argument, don't notice her presence until she's almost at their table. It's only when AJ, mid-gesture, catches sight of her that the arguing stops abruptly, like a record scratch.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart," AJ drawls, flashing a heart-stopping grin. His lighthearted tone immediately changes the atmosphere, and Shar feels a flutter in her stomach.

"Are you on the menu?" He winks, and Shar feels her cheeks heat up. She can't help but laugh, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Uh…not today, I guess." Shar rolls her eyes, playing with her pen.

While AJ's charm works its magic, Howie sits frozen in his seat, his face a brilliant shade of red. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is an unintelligible mumble. His eyes, wide and awestruck, dart everywhere but at Shar, as if looking directly at her might cause him to spontaneously combust.

Damn. That woman is gorgeous.

Kevin, still looking slightly green around the gills, clears his throat. "Excuse me, miss," he says, his voice strained. "Where's the restroom? I'm not feeling too hot."

Shar nods sympathetically, pointing towards the back of the café. "Of course! The restrooms are just past bookshelves—"

"Thank you!"

As Kevin rushes off, Nick leans in, trying his best to appear casual.

"Hey, quick question," he says, his voice lowered conspiratorially. "You haven't seen any car with a broken window around here lately, have you…?"

Shar blinks, caught off guard by the odd question.

"Uh…like a robbed one? No, can't say I have," she replies, her brow furrowing. "Though, now that you mention it, I did hear some weird noises earlier. Like…gun shots?"

At her innocent response, the playful atmosphere at the table evaporates. The men exchange worried glances, their easy banter replaced by an awkward silence. Shar, oblivious to the sudden tension, continues to smile brightly as she jots down their orders.

"Alright, so anyways—I'll be back with your order in no time!"

Shar rushes back to the kitchen, heart sinking as she realizes how long the line has gotten while she was away. The cacophony of impatient customers, clinking cups, and whirring machines fills the air, creating a symphony of chaos.

More chaotic than her home this morning.

Shar's head spins as she tries to juggle it all. She grabs a tray piled high with steaming mugs of coffee, her hands shaking slightly under the weight. As she turns to deliver the drinks, her foot catches on a loose floorboard and—

"Oh!"

Time seems to slow as Shar feels herself falling…

Falling…

Falling.

The tray tilts, hot liquid sloshing dangerously close to the edges of the mugs. She closes her eyes, bracing for impact, the mess, the hard floor…

But the crash never comes.

Instead, Shar feels strong arms wrap around her, steadying her just inches from the ground. The tray miraculously rights itself, not a drop spilled. Shar opens her eyes, ready to thank her savior, only to find herself staring into the face of a man she's never seen before.

…Oh?

“You okay?” He says, his hands resting on her waist.

Shar opens her mouth, no words coming out as she stares. He's tall, impeccably dressed in a sharp suit that screams 'important business,' and devastatingly handsome.

And yet…cute, like a puppy?

Two round brown eyes that focus on her. Shar's breath catches in her throat as she takes in his chiseled jawline and the hands still wrapped around her.

"I... uh..." she stammers, suddenly very aware of how close they are. "T-thanks."

The man smiles, a crooked grin that makes Shar's heart do a little flip. His arms move up to her arms, helping her balance the tray.

The other hand? It lingers on her waist, ever-so-slightly caressing it…

"No problem at all," he says, his Australian voice deep and smooth. "Though, I think your shirt might need some attention."

Shar looks down to see coffee stains spreading across her once-pristine white blouse. She groans, mortified.

"Hey, it's okay," the man assures her, his voice calm. He brushes a hair lock from her face. "I'll handle this. Go grab a clean shirt in the back."

“But I—“

His finger silences her, before he gently tilts her chin up at him. “Go on. I got this, alright.”

“Oh…okay.”

Boy, is this guy really touchy. Blushing, Shar nods gratefully and hesitantly turns to leave, disappearing into the back. A disgruntled voice pipes up from the growing line of customers.

"Hey! What about my order? I've been waiting forever!"

Hugh watches Shar close the back door before whirring around, his easy smile replaced by a look that could freeze lava. He locks eyes with the complaining customer, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yell at her again," he says quietly, "and I'll rip out your fucking vocal cords from your throat.”

…..

Silence.

The customer's face drains of color. He stammers a quick apology and retreats to the back of the line, suddenly very interested in the menu board.

Meanwhile, Shar returns, freshly changed and still a bit flustered. She finds Hugh calmly wiping drops of coffee from the floor.

"Thank you so much," she says, smiling shyly. "I don't know what I would have done without you. Oh, I'm Shar by the way."

The man grins, his boyish smile making her heart do another flip. "Hugh," he replies. "And it's my pleasure. Always happy to help a pretty girl out.”

Shar laughs, feeling her cheeks heat up again. "Thank you" she rubs her neck shyly. "But seriously, how have I never seen you here before? Are you new?"

Hugh’s heart skips a beat. His mind works overtime to come up with something—anything, besides a “Yeah, I work as a mafia boss in this part of town.”

"Actually, I've been working at this cafe for a while. Maybe you were too busy on your phone to notice."

Shar gasps in mock offense, but can't help giggling. "I'm a bad girl," she admits. "Always checking my phone during shifts."

Hugh swallows hard, his eyes darkening for a moment at her words

Bad girl? Oh…you're dirty, yes you are.

The moment is broken by a crash from across the café. Shar flinches, quickly remembering her duties. "Oh no, I still have to serve that big group of guys," she groans.

"I can help," Hugh offers immediately, already reaching for a tray.

"You sure?"

"Yes. You go deal with the line while I serve this for you. Deal?"

A burst of relief floods her aching bones. She smiles, grateful for his help. "Deal."

Before Shar can protest anymore, Hugh strides towards the table where the group of men sit. As he approaches, his confident stride falters. His eyes widen in recognition, and the tray in his hands begins to shake ever so slightly.

Oh. Shit.

He screwed up.

The reaction from the table is instantaneous. All five men jump to their feet, chairs scraping loudly against the floor. Howie, his earlier shyness forgotten, lunges forward and grabs Hugh by the collar.

"You!" Howie snarls, his face contorted with rage. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Hugh's heart races as he stares into the furious faces of the Backstreet Boys. The cafe's ambient chatter fades away, leaving only the sound of his own rapid breathing. He tries to maintain his composure, but his hands tremble slightly as he holds the tray.

He hopes Shar isn't around to overhear…

Howie's grip on Hugh's collar tightens, his knuckles turning white. "I asked you a question," he hisses through clenched teeth. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

"…Serving you food?"

"Oh, cut the crap."

The other members of the group fan out, effectively blocking any escape routes. AJ's earlier charm has vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. Nick's hand hovers near his waist, ready to draw a concealed weapon if necessary. Brian and Kevin exchange worried glances, their eyes darting between Hugh and the oblivious cafe patrons.

Boy, it would be so easy to get rid of them with the trigger of his hidden gun—but there’s no way he would do it in front of Shar…not when he just gained her trust.

Hugh opens his mouth to respond, but before he can utter a word, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

"Stop!"

Shar rushed over, her heart beating out of her chest. "What are you doing? I won't let you get angry at my co-worker!"

All heads turn to look at her, and for a moment, the entire cafe seems to hold its breath. Howie's grip on Hugh's collar loosens as he takes in Shar's presence. Her eyes are wide with concern, her chest heaving slightly from her sprint across the cafe.

Even in her regular cafe uniform, she's breathtakingly beautiful.

Howie's throat goes dry. "I... uh..."

Shar places her hands on her round hips, her expression a mix of determination and disappointment. "I don't know what's going on here, but this is unacceptable behavior. I'm going to have to ask you all to leave."

The Backstreet Boys exchange bewildered looks. They're not used to being ordered around, especially not by a petite barista.

"But-" Nick starts to protest, but Shar cuts him off with a stern look.

"No buts. Out. Now."

Reluctantly, the group begins to file out of the cafe. They all grumble, mad at Howie for ruining their brunch as the door closes behind them. The cafe erupts into hushed whispers.

Shar turns to Hugh, her eyes full of concern. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry about that."

Hugh straightens his collar, trying to regain his composure. "I'm fine, thanks to you," he says with a grateful smile. "You were amazing."

Shar blushes at the compliment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, it was nothing. I just couldn't stand by and watch those random customers treat you like that."

Random customers.

Ah, it's so cute how Shar has no idea that she just yelled at a group of dangerous mafia leaders. She’s so innocent. So very clueless.

Hugh's smile widens. The way she defended him made him wanna award her, so reaches into his pocket, pulling out the golden necklace. "Speaking of not standing by... I believe this belongs to you."

Shar's eyes widen in surprise. "My necklace! But how did you...?"

Hugh's mind races, quickly formulating a lie. "I saw you drop it on my way to work this morning. I was going to give it to you earlier, but things got a bit... hectic."

Shar beams, holding up the pendant to catch the light. "It's beautiful! I can't believe you found it. Thank you so much."

Hugh’s fingers brush her skin as he puts the necklace around her neck. His mind flashes with thoughts: one day, her neck will be decorated with other necklaces. No not just jewelry, but hickeys. His love bites. He'd suck on her smooth, chocolate skin as he thrusts into her and she’d be all his. His, his, his—

Bzzz, bzzz.

Her phone rings, shattering the moment. She giggles, her cheeks flushing as she fumbles to answer it.

"Sorry, I should take this," she says, stepping away slightly.

“Ah, alright.” Disappointment weighs him down as Hugh watches as Shar talk on the phone, her face lighting up with each word. He strains to hear, curiosity getting the better of him.

It's a man's voice on the other end, deep and warm.

His blood boils almost immediately.

Please, he thinks desperately, let it be a brother, a cousin, an uncle... anyone but a b-

Shar ends the call and turns back to Hugh, her expression sheepish. "Sorry about that," she says, tucking her phone away. "It was my boyfriend."

Hugh's heart plummets, the word echoing in his mind. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. He struggles to keep his expression neutral, even as he feels his world crumbling around him.

"Oh," he manages to choke out, his voice strained. "That's... nice."

"Well…more like a new guy I’m starting to see. He said he won't be able to make it on time for our date tonight…"

Shar starts to drone on, talking about what she'll have to do now that her boyfriend can't come to her date. But, oh…honestly?

Even if ber boyfriend able to go, Hugh was going to make sure it never happened.

"Don't worry, Shar," Hugh thinks, staring down at the curvy, petite black woman with newfound fondness.

"I'll make sure that this is the last day you're ever disappointed…it’s time to get rid of some trash.”

[blubushie]

also! 8, 23 and 28 for jesse i am quite invested :]

8: Do they collect anything? If so, what and why?

Allow me to give you an excerpt from the fic itself, sourced from chapter 9.

“That like a knickknacks box?” she asks, recalling the one she has in her room. It’s full of miscellaneous little things—lighters she’s swiped from her teammates, a pair of pocketknives and a screwdriver she’d been given by Liem, a few buttons and a Scout emblem patch that she’d never gotten around to sewing on her shirt because Jeremy doesn’t wear one so why should she? There’s a tooth or two she pulled out of her bat, a molar that flips open to reveal an empty little compartment inside, a splinter of bone she’d shoved in her pocket after a match, a few shiny coins that Yata had brought her in exchange for potato chips, some pretty feathers she’s found over the years, and in a tiny three-inch specimen jar is the bullet Suki had removed from her after Italy. But her most prized possession is the photo of her father, nothing more than her as a swaddled baby cradled in his arms. You can’t even see his face in the photograph—Ma had cut it out years ago, before she’d thrown the picture frame against the wall in a drunken rage and Jesse had fished the photograph from the shards of glass. “‘Cause I got one of those too,” she adds. “Keep it under my bed.”

Besides those, she also saves her movie ticket stubs, especially when they're the product of dates with Mundy. She writes little notes on the back about how the dates go and what all they did.

Additionally, though Jesse doesn't collect rocks, sometimes Mundy goes full corvid and sees a pretty rock and gives it to her so eventually she has a box full of multi-coloured pebbles.

23: How do they want to die?

It depends on when you ask her. Where we currently are in the fic, she wants to go out doing something really cool that she'll be remembered for. That changes as time (and life) goes on.

28: Are they a #gamer?

I strictly adhere to period-accuracy in this fic (except in Australia because extremely technologically advanced) so no, she's not a gamer in the video game sense. That said she loves bowling (even though her aim is terrible) and air hockey (her aim is much better with this). Something both she and Mundy are great at is ping pong and if they're at an arcade, you can definitely find them in the back either with Jesse watching Mundy absolutely obliterate some poor bastard in a game of darts or with Jesse and Mundy both playing ping pong together, and they play fast. It's almost violent watching them.

She's also really good at pinball machines, though!

[autumntouched]

https://at.tumblr.com/angelbabyange/glen-in-australia-looking-like-this-is-absolutely/999xnl4tldzc very much giving honeymoon jake 😮‍💨 both phoenix (and myself) going absolutely feral

😮‍💨🥵😮‍💨 this pic breaks me and yessss this is Jake’s honeymoon look and driving Phoenix and all of us absolutely feral. But two can play that game...

I hope you’re looking for smut, but if not, please stop here because it’s about to get 18+, NSFW. Sorry. Probably not my best work, but I couldn't move on without getting this out of my head and I'm already behind on answering your asks

Aphrodisiac

A light hand brushes her hair from her face, and Jake places a tender kiss on her forehead before leaving the bed. Natasha cracks her eyes open to watch his naked shadow in the pre-dawn dimness. She smiles into her pillow when she notices that he’s already hard. He pulls on linen shorts and the slate shirt that transforms his eyes into hypnotic green orbs. The short sleeve button down is new, and when he wore it to dinner last night she’d lost the thread of their conversation multiple times while appreciating how it looked on him and anticipating how he’d look when she pulled it off. Noticing her drifting gaze, Jake kept preening so obviously that the waiter thought to mention their meal and dessert were aphrodisiacs. That shirt is a fucking aphrodisiac. 

The shirt stays unbuttoned. Hair disheveled from sleep and several almost feral rounds of sex still tingling along her synapses, he grabs his book and steps quietly to the rotating glass doors of their villa. It may be their honeymoon, but Jake is apparently keeping Navy hours. The ocean breeze wafts through the floor to ceiling windows, fluttering the bed’s gauzy canopy. It wakes Natasha a little more.

The floorboards of their secluded, private deck thump hollowly under his feet before he settles onto the infinity pool-side chaise.

Natasha tries to drift back to sleep but thinking of Jake lounging partially dressed feet away floods her with heady arousal and propels her in the opposite direction. She sweeps off the covers and stands into the kiss of the early morning’s warmth. Her white, silk tank and shorts cling to her curves.

She brushes her teeth before following him out to the deck barefoot. Jake’s waiting for her, his book The 48 Laws of Power, lying unopened on the side table. The gaze that passes slowly down her body is all burning desire, hotter than the still rising sun. Wordlessly he opens his legs to her. Natasha slinks over to lower herself between his thighs, her back to his chest and legs stretched along the line of his. She wraps the ends of his shirt around her.

His hardening dick presses eagerly into her lower back, but for now Jake’s content to run his nose along her neck while he plays with the ends of her hair. Natasha closes her eyes and falls into a contented half sleep, lulled by his encompassing heat and the sound of the waves and the birds’ sunrise chorus among the tropical trees. She’s not sure how long she’s drifting in the cradle of his body before his hand makes its way from her hair to palm her breast.

Through the thin fabric, he teases her nipple into an aching peak that darts straight to her core. His chin moves to her shoulder so he can watch every little effect he’s having on her while he caresses and kneads her chest. “I wanted to spend all night touching your tits as soon as I saw you in this,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t think I was going to be able to fall asleep.” 

Natasha’s breath hitches at the friction of silk on skin as he rolls her nipples between his fingers, the double stimulation arching her back off his abdomen. Almost involuntarily, her thighs butterfly open. She curls her fingers into the hem of his shirt and bites her lip to restrain the desperate noises trying to escape her throat.

“This making you wet for me?” he murmurs, lips turned toward her ear.

The edges of her vision are already blurring. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” she gasps.

In answer, Jake squeezes her breast and dances his fingers up her inner thigh to the loose hem of her shorts. Her hips jerk to urge him on, and his dick twitches with his own arousal. His breathing gets lower and heavier as he skims the crease of her leg while his other hand pushes its way up her shirt. She presses her back into him when his firm grip closes over her bare chest. 

“Jake,” she whines, taking the forearm of the hand up her shorts and urging him toward her throbbing, heavy core. She can feel his chest rising and falling faster beneath her. He’s denying himself to make her beg, and she’s not above it this early in the morning. “Touch me, please.”

Nor is she in the mood to be patient. She drops his arm and maneuvers two of her fingers into herself, moaning loudly at her own touch.

“Fuck, Nat,” Jake swears. He’s leaking through the linen shorts now. She can feel the dampening spot on her back. Or maybe it’s the sweat pooling there from the growing heat around and within her. She leans her head into his shoulder, panting frantically in tandem with her strokes. He lifts the waistband of her bottoms so he can watch her milk the slickness of her core. “I didn’t realize you needed it so bad.”

“You,” she manages incoherently before gasping when the pads of his fingers land on and circle her clit, matching the pace of her own fingers. Her brain goes staticy with pleasure and need. 

Jake sucks the place where her neck meets her shoulder, and the breath evaporates out of her chest. “I got you, babe. Let me take care of you.”

He tugs at her waistband until she lifts her hips then legs so he can slide off her shorts. They drop to the deck, followed by his shirt. Natasha leans into the pillow of his bare torso and reaches up to draw him into a messy, hungry kiss. But Natasha can’t keep track of his lips, or anything for that matter, once his fingers take over. Like flame to fuel, driving inside her and over her clit, they ignite trillions of infernos across every atom of her being. 

She writhes in his arms, her hips heedlessly chasing combustion on his fingers even as she cries out from the pain laced pleasure of seeking it. Her vision goes dark, bursting with neon lights of ecstasy, although she can no longer tell whether her eyes are open or closed. Only Jake’s arm across her chest seems to keep her from exploding apart. 

Her orgasm erupts over her, her whole body lifting and shuddering with her release.

Natasha lays limply in Jake’s arms, struggling to catch her breath. The air sticks to her dewy skin, and she has to squint against the new daylight. Gently, Jake rubs her core to soothe the overstimulated nerves while he presses tender kisses to her neck, jaw, and cheek. At first all she can hear is the blood rushing through her ears. 

“Babe?” he says, shifting restlessly beneath her on the chaise. 

“Hmm?” she asks blissfully. 

He kisses a spot behind her ear, and she can feel the heat in his cheeks. He groans. “I, uh, need to get up.”

It feels like she’s moving her body against gravity to sit forward and turn to look at him. Jake’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth, his face set in a grimace. Natasha grins and rests a hand on his chest. “I think it’s my turn to help you out.” 

His pupils flood his eyes at the offer, but he ducks his head. “You don’t have to. I was a little rough.” 

She is sore, but he gave her exactly what her body wanted from him. And it’s their honeymoon. Who needs to walk when they have a deck, pool, and the whole day ahead of them right here?

“Come on, cowboy, take me away with you.” 

Jake hesitates then sweeps her up and carries her inside where he lays her across the bed and fucks her slow and deep until she loses the feeling in her face. She can tell from the veins in his arms and grit of his teeth that he’s trying to hold out for her. 

Natasha runs a hand down his torso. Every muscle quivers in the wake of her touch, and he cries out as he nearly comes with the clench of his abs. “Don’t do that,” he pleads raggedly, eyes squeezed shut as he holds himself still.

“Jake?” He still can’t look at her. “Jake,” she says more firmly. “Look at me.” His eyes flutter open, unfocused and dark. The handsome planes of his face are stretched taut. “I want to feel you come.” 

Whether it’s her words or the slight tilt of her hips, he moans and his dick throbs twice against her walls before he spills himself inside her. Natasha savors every pulse that coats her core with his hot come, the tingling sensations they send up her abdomen to her breasts. But most of all, she loves when his weight folds over her so that every line and point of their bodies blend into one.

He rests his face in the crook of her neck while she strokes the back of his hair. “Can I wear your shirt today?” 

“Yeah, babe,” he says, exhaling a hot laugh onto her skin. “But I can’t promise how long it’ll stay on.” 

Natasha laughs. “Seems only fair.” 

The shirt, along with the rest of what she’s wearing, almost comes off as soon as he sees her pull it on with her sunhat, black string bikini, and espadrilles. Jake won’t admit it, and heaven help whoever looks at her the wrong way or crosses a boundary, but he’s the kind of guy who likes when other men look at her but know she’s his. So their afternoon at the poolside bar with her in his shirt drives him absolutely wild and leaves them both too wiped to consider anything other than room service for dinner. Which she doesn’t mind because she gets to enjoy it from the comfort of her husband's lap.

[norizzsainz]

🌶️ NFY : GRAND PRIX WINS AND EXPOSÉS

[ carlos sainz x singer!fem!reader ]

[ summary ] carlos' and y/n's breakup comes as a surprise to many of their friends. no one ever thought the couple would ever break up, but alas, y/n was always ready to do whatever was best for the love of her life — even if it meant breaking up with him.

previous | masterlist | next

━━━━━━━ MARCH 24, 2024 : MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA

“i’d just like to point out and say that i didn't have a say in attending this party tonight.”

you grumbled under your breath as everyone took their seats in the private lounge of the club.

“i didn't either.” oscar muttered from behind you, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. “can't even make a damn decision in my hometown, jeez.”

“osc, baby, hush.” lando was buzzing with excitement already, giggling as he looked at his teammate. “for you, i shall play the best house music there is.”

oscar blinked softly, looking over at his girlfriend, lily, who gave him a sheepish smile of encouragement. “yeah, that's what i was fearing.” he quipped, his voice barely audible.

the entire group turned towards the entrance when the other partygoers hooted and cheered, joining along as the ferrari boys made their entrance.

your gaze landed on carlos, hating how he still never failed to take your breath away even when he wore a simple shirt and jeans. gods, he was a beautiful man.

“earth to y/n.” you snapped out of your daze when max called out to you, a knowing smirk on his face. “you there?”

“oh, shut up.” you muttered in embarrassment, trying to direct your attention to something else.

but alas, the universe had different plans.

even when everyone was crowding to congratulate carlos on his win, he seemed to forget everything as soon as his eyes landed on you.

he quickly excused himself, his entire surroundings fading into black as he quickly made his way towards you.

“hey.” carlos greeted you softly as he stood in front of you, barely sparing a glance to anyone else. “you came.”

“you didn't really give me a choice.” you shrugged nonchalantly, though you were feeling very chalant. “congratulations on the win, by the way, smooth operator.”

carlos' smile brightened as he heard the teasing nickname, relieved to see you were feeling somewhat comfortable in his presence unlike the other times.

he hoped things would work in his favor tonight.

as the party was teeming in full blast, carlos did his best to give you your space, but he couldn't help but be drawn towards you throughout the night.

it was always him scooting closer to you, looking like he was going to talk to you before he moved away, chickening out at the last second.

even max and yuki, who were drunk off their asses, noticed carlos' pattern, wondering what he was up to.

unable to watch the pathetic scene any longer, charles shoved carlos in your direction, giving him a look that clearly said, ‘get on with it already, you coward.’

“uh, hi again.”

carlos wasn't sure why he was a nervous mess. he was usually very confident and charming, but now as he stood before you, he was nothing but a muddle of nerves.

“carlos.” you greeted him, raising your voice slightly so he could hear you over the club music. “hi again.”

“y/n.” he spoke up, reaching out to hold your arm as if he were afraid you’d walk away from him. for the second time. “look, about what you said the last time we spoke...”

you immediately shook your head, not wanting to go down that lane. “carlos, we don’t have to talk about it. i just want to forget about it all and—”

carlos’ grip on your arm tightened, stopping you from speaking. “amor. you are doing that conflict resolution thing again. don’t do that. all i wanted to say was that i’m gonna keep my promise and i will—”

before carlos could continue any further, everyone’s attention darted to lando as he let out an unidentifiable sound, some hybrid mix between a laugh and a scream.

“oh, my fucking goodness!” lando laughed in disbelief as he stared at his phone, his eyes widening in shock as the realization settled in. “carlitos! what the fuck?!”

kika and kelly stood behind him, reading the contents of his phone over his shoulders. their eyes widened in sync, lips parting in surprise.

“guys. sky sports gossip posted.” kika stated, causing everyone to reach for their phones. “you have to check it out.”

you looked from lando to carlos, wondering what your ex-boyfriend had done to land up on the sky sports gossip page and get such a reaction from the others.

your jaw was pretty much on the floor as soon as you finished reading the article and the comments it had received, your eyes widening in surprise. you skimmed through the apology post, your heart skipping several beats as you realized that carlos was the one who was behind everything.

everyone was just as shocked by the revelations, even the drunken pair, max and yuki, sobering up after seeing the articles and the aftermath of it all.

“carlos…” you couldn’t even find the words as carlos just smiled at you softly, tilting his head as if to say, ‘i told you so’. “you are absolutely insane, you know that?”

“insane is a bit too harsh, no?” he chuckled in amusement, his eyes crinkling as his smile widened.

“i promised, didn't i, carina? that i’d make it right. and i hope i did.”

TAGLIST : @d3kstar , @khaylin27 , @sailing-with-100-ships , @lorenakaspersen , @be-your-coffee-pot , @shakespereansonnet , @sltwins , @laneyspaulding19 , @fangirl125reader , @lewisvinga , @c-losur3 , @yeetskeetstreet , @sam-is-lost , @imsiriuslyreal , @ilove-tswizzle , @bernelflo , @mycenterfold , @justkalcpxia , @multi-fandom-fan221b , @jinimon-tr , @neivivenaj , @jointhehunt67 , @fangirl-dot-com , @brune77e , @brekkers-whore , @honethatty12 , @bokutos-babyowl , @shineforever19 , @spideybv28 , @princessria127 , @ari-nicole , @yl90 , @sp1rl , @evie-119 , @minkyungseokie , @tinyhrry , @barcelonaloverf1life , @goldenharrysworld , @jsprien213 , @justaf1girl

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[45ninentynine]

Vintage 80s Shirt Black White Zebra Striped Button Up Retro Rockabilly Size M 12

💙Insane funky retro rockabilly striped button up, giving kath day knight vibes 

💙True vintage, made in australia, from the 80s

💙Collared neckline, short sleeves with shoulder pads, 

💙Back pleat dart detail

💙Polyester fabric, lightweight sheer chiffon fabric 

Size M suits AUS/UK 12, US 8, but check measurents as it may fit other sizesGreat Condition for its age, light pen mark on the sleeve, can't be seen when worn 

Armpit to Armpit-57 CM

Length-81 CM

Model is a size 12 5'9

[spidasports-blog]

Some seriously cool dart shirts in production 🎯🎯🎯🦍

[promocorner2013]

Stay on top of your game with custom dart shirts to inspire and prompt your team. Promocorner is here to help you design and power up your team spirit on your next event.

[gumnut-logic]

Dear Mr Tracy (Part 4, Bit 3)

Sweetapple | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 - Bit 1, Bit 2, Bit 3

@flyboytracy​​​​​, @amistrio​​​​​ and @onereyofstarlight​​​​​​  you asked for it, so you get to suffer more :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight​ for all the plotwork and character building we did today, and to @gaviiadastra​ for the readthrough tonight ::hugs the both of you:: And, of course, to the wonderful Thunderfam who continue to cheer me on in this endeavour ::hugs you all tight::

This is the last bit of Part Four. This fic is now longer than the first fic in this series and still has a way to go...I just gotta find that way. Virgil is being difficult and stubborn. Scott is exasperated. Alex is a stunned mullet. I have a great group in my head at the moment. Gordon is determined to lighten everything up by being a smart ass :D

There is a reason why I go by the name ‘Nutty’ ::headdesk::

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this bit and I will continue to wrangle these brats for the next part.

-o-o-o-

Alex was transfixed.

Dressed in the neatest pair of slacks, shoes and shirt he could find in his closet, he stood on the runway watching as the massive Thunderbird Two landed gracefully in front of them.

He hadn’t even been working at Tracy Industries a year yet, and here he was being offered the ride of a lifetime.

Erica was going to be so pissed.

“Have you flown much, Mr Sweetapple?” Mr Jeff Tracy’s eyes were curious.

“Uh, no Mr Tracy. A little. Went to Australia once, there and back. And, of course, from Auckland to here. Been much more of where my car can reach kind of guy.”

Thunderbird Two’s VTOL folded up under her undercarriage and Alex marvelled at the design, listing off the mechanics that would be required to make that work. How to stop pinching fuel lines and heat dissipation at the top of the challenge list.

Mr Jeff Tracy was eyeing him, he could feel it.

And Alex realised that the Thunderbirds were likely top secret technology and here he was, attempting to disassemble them with his brain.

A hatch lowered from under the Thunderbird’s nose and Virgil Tracy stepped off.

Both Mr Tracys moved and Alex and Tia were startled into motion.

He wondered if Tia had ever flown in a Thunderbird.

They met Virgil halfway. The IR operative eyed his father, but a glare was thrown at Mr Scott Tracy and something was said without words. Alex had no idea what, but he had the strong impression that Virgil wasn’t happy with Mr Tracy at all.

He did, however approach his father. “You okay, Dad? How’s your leg?”

“Perfectly fine, Virgil.” It was said with tolerance. “We have guests.”

Virgil’s eyes darted to Alex and Tia, and Alex was struck with the exhaustion etched into the man’s face. The contrast with his appearance the last time Alex had seen him months before was stark.

“Are you okay?” It burst forth without thought and Alex bit his lip.

Dark eyes frowned at him and the shoulders under the famous uniform straightened a little. “Congratulations on the test, Alex.”

“Um, thank you.” It wasn’t his place, he knew that, but Virgil quite frankly looked like shit.

Beside Alex, Mr Tracy straightened and stepped towards his brother. “Virgil, a minute?”

That prompted the return of the glare and, while Mr Tracy held out an arm and led Virgil off a ways.

“I think it would be prudent if we boarded.” Mr Jeff Tracy was eyeing both of his sons as Virgil started gesticulating at his brother.

Mr Tracy’s expression was calm beneath that storm.

Alex tried to remember what International Rescue had been doing over the last week or so. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying as much attention as he would have usually as he had been buried in the preparations for the test. He could think of at least three incidents involving Thunderbird Two which likely meant Virgil had been out during those times.

Fireman Fred had a habit of recording the news reports and breaking down the strategies used in the rescues. His favourite Thunderbird was definitely Thunderbird Two.

Which was looming up and over Alex this very moment.

She was so big!

And green. But the green wasn’t out of place, it was just the colour she was meant to be.

Mr Jeff Tracy led them onto the platform lift that Virgil had leapt off earlier and his cane tapped heavily on the metal decking. They all turned around waiting for the two brothers standing in the middle of the landing field.

Virgil was still gesticulating but Mr Tracy cut it all off with a sharp word. His body language screamed ‘enough’ and flicking one hand to the side he turned and strode purposefully towards them.

Virgil glared after him, but his shoulders suddenly slumped as if in defeat and he soon followed his brother.

Something was obviously up. But neither brother said a thing as they joined Alex, Tia and their father on the platform.

Virgil poked at a control on one arm and Alex stumbled just a little as the hatch began to retract into the giant plane.

The inside of the Thunderbird was also green. Alex’s heart was beating hard inside his ribcage, not believing this was actually happening.

“Hey, Alex!” Gordon Tracy was shaking his hand. “Great to see you again. This is my brother Alan.” He gestured to the blond young man dressed in a hoodie and jeans beside him.

Alan waved. “Kia ora, Alex.”

Alex found his manners. “Kia ora, Alan.”

Gordon was grinning. “And this is Kayo.”

Kayo, a petite woman with long dark hair pulled back rather tight, held out a hand and Alex found himself taking it and shaking it in greeting. Something in the woman’s eyes pierced his skull and read the how-to-operate instructions on his soul.

Gordon snorted. “Don’t worry, we don’t let her kill our engineers.”

Alex frowned at the aquanaut and Gordon shrugged.

“Kayo is our head of security. She probably knows the colour of your underwear today.”

“Gordon!” The name came from several exasperated directions.

But Kayo’s lips curled into a small and mysterious smile and didn’t deny a thing.

Alex quite calmly put her on his mental list of people he should never piss off.

“Alex, you can sit with me while Dad and Scott ‘decide’ who gets to ride shotgun.”

“I know who is going to be riding in the module if he doesn’t stop talking in the near future.” Mr Tracy strode past, all blue jeans, blue shirt and tense shoulders.

Alex found himself next to Gordon behind the co-pilot’s seat with an excellent view of the pilot seating himself and readying the Thunderbird for flight.

The two Mr Tracys did indeed have a short discussion on who rode in the co-pilot’s seat, but it was more of a you, no, you discussion. In the end, Mr Jeff Tracy directed his eldest son to sit and took a seat himself beside Kayo.

Who was still casually eyeing Alex.

He had lab lasers that were less intense.

Tia ended up beside Alan and once they were all strapped in, the roar of the Thunderbird around them grew in intensity before lifting them smoothly off the ground.

-o-o-o-

Next

[blu-joons]

You Have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

Chan:

You were confused when you saw Chan’s name pop up on your phone, convinced that he was supposed to be in the middle of a meeting for the group. Regardless, you picked up, hearing him sigh as soon as you did.

Your heart pounded with worry as you heard him clear his throat, “I’ve been outside for half an hour now waiting for you at the restaurant, did you not remember I took a half day?”

Your eyes darted up to look at the clock on the wall, and then the date on the calendar, quickly realising what today was.

“Chan,” you whispered, letting go of a shaky breath. “I completely forgot, if you just wait ten minutes, I’ll be able to get there and we can still eat together, do we still have the reservation?”

“No, don’t worry yourself, I’ll grab takeout, I’d prefer to eat at home with you anyway,” he tried to comfort you, “just get some bits sorted at home and I’ll be there soon.”

“I promise that I’ll find a way to make this up to you Chan, I’m so sorry.”

Minho:

He couldn’t help but let go of a sigh as he read through the essay, you’d been writing that you’d left out on your desk. He knew there were times when you struggled, but the mistakes that you made certainly caught his attention.

He was so concentrated, that he failed to notice you walking back up into your room. “I know what you’re looking for, you don’t need to tell me that there’s mistakes in there.”

His head shook, encouraging you to take a seat beside him. He knew that you wanted it to be perfect, so that was what he was going to do to help.

“Just don’t panic,” he quickly assured you, “the essay itself is really good, but I know you’ll hate me if I don’t tell you that there are a couple of things that could do with improving.”

“I’d rather you tell me,” you responded, as hard as it was for you to hear. “You’re right, I do want this to be perfect, so as much as it sucks, I guess I’m going to have to listen to you.”

“I’m helping you, just remember that when you want to punch me over this.”

Changbin:

Any time when there was silence at the studio, it confused you. The boys were usually so loud, that when the room was peaceful, you never quite knew what to do, silently wishing for someone to make some noise again.

Changbin quickly caught onto how uncomfortable the new atmosphere made you. “Talk to me if you want a bit of noise Y/N.”

As soon as he spoke, you began to talk to him about anything that came to mind, just so that the room was completely silent anymore.

“Why don’t we talk about what we can get up to once I finish work for the day?” He suggested as soon as he noticed that you were running out of things to say. “Shall we try the Thai place?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking around at the rest of the boys who were all lost in their phones, “it feels weird to see them all being so quiet, I’m not used to it.”

“Make the most of it, once the phones go down, the noise will go up.”

Hyunjin:

To begin with, Hyunjin tried to ignore it, but the sound of your pen tapping against the paper as you thought eventually became too much, causing him to eventually snap at you and make you jump at his voice.

Instantly, he felt bad, noticing you trying to write a list of things to pack. “I’m sorry, the noise was just getting a little bit irritating to listen to you.”

Your head nodded, trying to refrain yourself from being any more disturbing than you were for Hyunjin as he tried to concentrate.

“Let me help,” he spoke up again, coming to your side. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you; I know that you’re trying to think. Why don’t we go through the things that you need together?”

“I know there’s a few things I’ve forgotten,” you sighed, sliding your list across for him to have a look at. “But nothing is coming to mind for what else I might need for the trip.”

“I reckon a good start might be to at least write down your toothbrush jagi.”

Han:

His heart sunk when he watched you tear yet another piece of paper out of your notepad, he already knew exactly why you’d thrown it away, just like you did with most of the things that you scribbled in the pad of paper.

Jisung walked straight across to you as you did so. “Why don’t you let me help you if you’re worried about getting it wrong? You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”

You didn’t respond, but Jisung knew that deep down you were desperate for his help to try and get your letter spot on.

“Just take it slowly,” he encouraged, helping you with every word, stopping you before you made a mistake. “If you’re not sure, just ask me, I’m here to help you after all Y/N.”

“These are simple errors,” you frowned, “I should be able to spot these the first time without looking back over it and realising mistake after mistake that I’m making,” you groaned loudly.

“We all make mistakes sometimes, let’s just try and fix them instead.”

Felix:

Another groan came from you as the two of you continued to wait at the airport to check in and get on your flight to Australia. Felix could quickly tell you were getting agitated as you bounced up and down on your toes.

His eyes stared across at you, “there shouldn’t be that much longer to wait, just don’t get yourself stressed or anything jagi.”

Your eyes rolled, with each passing second, your impatient grew as you desperately wanted to get moving again.

“We can’t jump the queue,” Felix pointed out to you as you groaned yet again. “Just think, the longer that we queue now, the less time we’ll have to queue once we’re in the departure lounge.”

“Queuing sucks,” you sighed, resting against his shoulder. “I just want to get moving again, I’m fed up with being made to stand still, why are they all taking so long to get a move on?”

“They’re working as fast as they can, I promise we’ll get moving soon.”

Seungmin:

Your mind was absent as the two of you walked side by side, Seungmin knew that you were pretty distant beside him, but the grip that he had on your hand was enough for him to know that you were still beside him.

However, as an elderly couple came from the opposite direction, Seungmin had to pull you last minute to get out of the way as you failed to notice them. “What are you doing? You could have hurt them.”

It was only once you’d passed the couple, did you realise they were there. Glancing back to look at them stare back at you.

“Don’t panic, they’re alright,” Seungmin assured you, noticing that the incident had shook you up. “You just weren’t concentrating, that’s all, but no one got hurt, did they?”

“But they could have done,” you whispered, resting your free hand against your forehead. “If you hadn’t have pulled me out of the way I could have been responsible for hurting them.”

“But you didn’t hurt them, just concentrate a little more next time.”

I.N:

As soon as you got to the checkout, you handed the new shirt that you wanted to purchase across to the cashier. You reached into your pocket, unable to feel your purse, peering into your handbag to see that your purse wasn’t there either.

Your eyes darted back to Jeongin behind you, “I’ve left my purse at the dorm again, I’m just going to have to hand the shirt back, I can’t pay for it now.”

Before you even finished speaking, Jeongin stepped forwards and covered the cost, saving you from any further embarrassment.

“Sometimes I think I should glue your wallet to you,” he teased, “we all forget things from time to time, there’s no need to get upset with yourself, you’ve still got your shirt.”

“I’ll pay you back,” you quickly informed him, but his head shook. “If you hadn’t had been there, do you have any idea how embarrassing that could have been for me Jeongin.”

“But I was there, so you don’t need to worry about what if.”

---

Masterlist

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 5: Breaking In The Newbies

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: After a rough and emotional night, Frankie makes a decision on Jack’s offer. Before they can get to that though, the morning debrief with Champ brings back a familiar face and Jack has you and Frankie teach the junior agents a lesson during combat training.

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon typical violence, guns, swearing, discussions about safewords.

A/N: Alright, a lot of stuff needed to happen here and we’re going to have a little action and see Frankie show off a bit. It was important to me that the discussion of safe words and Jack checking again for consent happened in a chapter separate from the actual smut. For me, it further emphasizes that Jack doesn’t want Frankie to feel pressured to accept or do anything he doesn’t want to because it’s “in the moment”. Consent is sexy, friends.

I have to give my love and thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the beta reads, the fantastic constructive criticism and encouragement!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 4: Company | AO3 | Art

The morning sun stirred Frankie. Even with his eyes still closed, he could tell the room was alight, but the warmth that surrounded him had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the body next to him. He opened his eyes and realized he was definitely not in Whiskey’s guest bedroom. Instead, he was very much curled into Whiskey’s lightly rising chest. Frankie blushed, very unused to being the little spoon, and moreover, not used to someone’s morning wood poking at him. Whiskey was gently roused from sleep by Frankie’s small movements. He lifted his arm from around Frankie’s waist and stretched.

“G’morning Flyboy. You were having nightmares, so I brought you in here.

“Oh, sorry for waking you up and… thank you.” Frankie felt guilt sting at his throat.

Whiskey grunted and rolled out of bed to go shower.

“Nothing to worry about, partner. I’m no stranger to those kinds of nightmares.”

Frankie was grateful Whiskey understood and made no effort to pry. With a grunt of his own, Frankie got up from the bed and made his way to the kitchen, intent on trying to get coffee going while Whiskey showered.

Whiskey finished his shower and stepped out to dry off, then wrapped his towel around his waist. He was drawn to the kitchen by the smell of coffee, Frankie’s initiative quirking the corners of his mouth into a small smile. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as Frankie poured their coffee, handing Whiskey’s to him black. Jack hummed his approval, a sound which he noted made Frankie preen a bit.

“Good boy.” Jack gestured to the coffee with a small wink as the air seemed to be pushed from Frankie’s lungs. “Now, as much as I enjoy the view of you in just my shorts, let's get you into something you can wear at the office.”

Frankie was rooted to the spot, Jack’s “good boy” ringing in his ears and sending a wave of warmth throughout his entire body. Jack didn’t comment, just let his smirk speak for itself as he took his coffee back to his room and opened the doors to his closet. His fingers tabbed at a few of the hanging suits as he looked back to see that Frankie had finally uprooted himself and joined him.

“We’re similar in build, so you ought to be able to pull off one of my suits…”

Frankie winced.

“Right, well then, let’s go with something a touch more casual.

Jack grabbed a pair of jeans, a blue button down, white t-shirt, belt, and socks, handing each article of clothing over to Frankie as he moved around his closet.

“There, that should do you. Comfortable, but still presentable for Statesman.”

Jack gave him a smile only to notice Frankie shifting his weight.

“Thanks,” came Frankie’s reply as he turned to get dressed. He didn’t mind going without boxers, but the sudden realization that he needed more clothes of his own hit Frankie as he dressed in the clothes Jack had given him.

“Hey Jack?”

Whiskey hummed in acknowledgement as he finished getting dressed himself: jeans, suspenders, white button down shirt, and a navy wool blazer.

“I was thinking about your offer last night, and… I’d like that.”

Whiskey turned to look at Frankie, giving him a once over, distantly thinking about how good Frankie looked in his clothes, and a mischievous smile lit up Whiskey’s face.

“I’m looking forward to it, Flyboy. We’ll discuss things a bit more at the end of the day in my office. It’s about as close to neutral territory as we’re gonna get for that conversation. For today though, I want you to be a good boy and stick to me like a shadow. We’re meeting with Champ first thing. Then, we’re gonna have some fun.”

Frankie nodded, rocking back on his heels for a moment, then fell in step with Whiskey as they headed out, both of them grabbing their respective hats as they went. The ride in Whiskey’s Bronco was quiet, and soon enough they were riding the elevator up to their floor in the Statesman tower.

You were seated at the conference table facing the double doors with Pope to your right.

“You sleep alright, Pope? Hope Ginger didn’t keep you too late.”

“She’s something, that’s for sure, Hawk, but she did let me go, eventually.”

He gave you a good natured laugh that slowly lost its shine.

“You hear from Fish, Hawk? Ginger told me where she put him up and I went to check on him last night, but he never answered.”

Worry bloomed in your chest, not that it had really gone away after seeing Frankie leave yesterday. You figured if he wanted or needed to talk, he would have reached out to you. Honestly, you had hoped he would have checked in with Pope at some point since he probably felt more comfortable with him. Just then, the conference double doors opened, giving way as Jack strode in, greeting you with a smile and tilt of his head. Relief eased the tension in your chest and shoulders when Frankie followed closely behind Jack. Your eyes darted over to Whiskey, fixing him with a questioning gaze as you realized the clothes Frankie was wearing belonged to Jack.

“Fish!” Pope practically jumped out of his chair, rushing over to Frankie with a duffle bag in tow. “I was worried about you, hermano. I went to the hotel, but you didn’t answer.”

To Frankie’s credit, his face didn’t betray much, but both you and Pope knew that Frankie didn’t have any other clothes aside from what he had left with.

“Uh, yeah, must’ve just missed you.”

You could tell Pope was filing the information away for later. Your eyes wandered to Jack’s again and you raised an eyebrow. At least you now had an idea why he had cancelled on you last night.

“Here, Fish. I figured you’d want your go bag.”

“Gracias, hermano.”

They clasped arms, then took their seats. Frankie grabbed the orange tinted glasses he had left the day before and put them on, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose. His gaze fell to yours and he gave you a small smile, but before you could say anything, Champ’s holo image flickered to life.

“Catfish! You’re looking mighty fine! Much better than yesterday.”

“Yes sir, thanks.”

Champ nodded. He’d been worried about how the man would fare, especially considering the news yesterday.

“Right, down to the business at hand. It does appear that a new cartel is making their play at center stage, picking up where Poppy left off. They’re not following Poppy’s business model, though. From what we understand, the group is headed by four individuals: Isabella Gómez, Duke Hernández, Steven Weisel and Emily Weisel. They’ve taken to calling themselves La Linda Rosa, likely after the Red Agent flowers. Up until now, they’ve been your run of the mill cartel, but it’s our belief that the Weisels have been instrumental in their production and processing of Agent Red. Recently, the Weisels purchased land in Colombia, and from our drone coverage, they may have set up processing plants there. We don’t know why the sudden shift to Agent Red, though. The plants themselves go for $500k per plant, and they take time to mature. We don’t think the Weisels are responsible for acquiring the plants, so that leaves either Isabella or Duke.”

Frankie’s attention drifted from Champ to the pictures on the screen and swore.

“Fuck. Pope, you know who that is, right? I thought they were in Australia?”

Pope did a double take, recognizing his old informant’s brother. The Statesman stared at the two men, waiting for them to elaborate. Frankie sighed and settled into his seat a bit more, knee bouncing anxiously.

“Four years ago, Pope came to me and the rest of our old team to take out Gabriel Martín Lorea and make out with the money he had stockpiled. Pope’s CI, Yovanna, and her brother, Duke, both worked for Lorea. In exchange for helping us, Pope got the brother out of jail and we dropped them off in Peru with papers to Australia and $3M. Looks like Duke wasn’t satisfied with life in Australia.”

Ginger frowned and pulled up Duke’s known associates, Yovanna’s picture following the others on screen.

“Yovanna appears to still be living in Australia, but it’s possible Duke grabbed the money and ran.”

Frankie closed his eyes, lifting his cap and carding his fingers through his hair before placing the hat back on his head and sighing.

“What’s the plan? Sounds like the plants and processing facilities need to be taken out, and then there’s the compound, too.”

Pope nodded, then sighed as well. This was bringing back memories for the both of them.

“We’ll also need to be wary of the local agencies. They’ll be on the lookout for anyone suspicious, especially if it’s anything like how it was with Lorea.”

Champ nodded and tilted his head to Ginger.

“We’re doing our own recon and then we’ll break out teams. Pope, Catfish, we’d like you to at least help with intel, and given your experience in taking down Lorea, if you’re up for it, I’d like you both on the compound assault team.”

You saw Pope and Frankie share a look, Frankie’s jaw clenched and then he nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Great, not to worry boys, Statesman has the best resources, stateside or otherwise. For now, I’m sure we can keep you plenty busy. Whiskey, don’t forget, today is your day for combat training with the new recruits. Bourbon, Cranberry needs you to test equipment in the lab later today.”

“Pope, could you actually stick around again for a bit? I’ve got some more intel I want to run through with you.” Ginger chimed in, and you were surprised he didn’t grimace at the idea of being locked in a room for hours again.

With that, the meeting was over, Champ’s holo image disappeared and they took their glasses off. Jack stood up and Frankie was quick to follow him, much to your intrigue. You stood up as well. You were eager to watch Jack have his way with the new agents. It was always fun. Whiskey seemed to know you would be following and beckoned for you to enter his office first, followed by Frankie, and Jack closed the door behind him.

“Go ahead and set your bag down wherever you’d like, Flyboy.”

Frankie dropped his bag in a corner then promptly started to rifle through it, pulling his shoes out and quickly swapping his dress shoes for them. He let out a sigh of relief as he rolled up on the balls of his feet and rocked back on his heels. He hated dress shoes.

You took a short minute to admire Frankie in the blue button down while he rolled up his sleeves. Jack’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and he tugged you into him.

“Missed you, darlin’.”

Smiling, you took his face in your hands and tugged him down for a kiss.

“Missed you too, Jack.”

You murmured against his lips, and you resolved not to ask about last night. Whatever happened, Frankie must have reached out to Jack, not you or Santi, and you’d leave it at that. Jack hummed contentedly for a moment before he pulled back and winked at you.

“Are you coming to watch us break in the newbies, darlin’? I was thinking you and Flyboy could do the first demo.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but there was a playfulness in them as well.

“Us?” You questioned Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“First demo?” Came Frankie’s question as he whirled around to face you and Whiskey.

Jack’s smile broadened and he started out of his office and towards the elevator, expecting you and Frankie to follow.

“What are we demoing, Whiskey?”Frankie asked, more pointedly this time.

“Well, our newbies are scheduled to learn about disarms and what happens when the enemy goes for their gun. I thought it’d be good to have them start out seeing Bourbon disarm you.”

Frankie huffed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the elevator wall. You smiled as you leaned against the wall opposite Frankie.

“It’ll be just like old times, Fish.”

He groaned and shook his head.

“Why have me do the demo though? I’m not a Statesman agent.”

Before you could respond to reassure Frankie, Jack chimed in, eyeing him with nothing short of gleeful mischief. Jack enjoyed breaking the new agents in almost a little too much sometimes, but it was good for them, and he was good at it.

“No, you’re not, you’re ex-Delta Force, Frankie. These agents have had plenty of training, but they don’t have your experience, Flyboy. They’re gonna learn the difference today.”

Jack shared a similar philosophy with you when it came to combat training and sparring. You had been a terror in hand-to-hand, still were, you were proud to say. You knew there was often a size disadvantage, but you had learned to use your opponent’s momentum against them, and more importantly, you didn’t follow convention. In sparring matches, most people fought like they were sparring, which was fine for beginning, but there was a big difference between practicing and being in an actual fight. You never advocated for an all out brawl, but you refused to follow the typical learned pattern that people naturally gravitated towards. Tom had been predictable and a sore loser. Will was predictable but sweet. Benny, well, there was a reason he was semi-pro, which left Santi and Frankie. Santiago was fun, and you had lost your fair share of matches to both him and Benny. Frankie had a spark in his eyes when he sparred, but no matter how hard you had tried to get him to let go, he refused. It had nothing to do with anything silly like you being a woman, more to do with the fact that Frankie never seemed to just let himself go in that way. You had only seen him let go a bit twice, both times in the field and well worn down by the day.

The elevator dinging startled you out of your reverie, and you followed right behind Jack towards the training room. Frankie assumed they would be entering a gym of sorts, but he was sorely mistaken, and he realized the ‘floor’ they were on must have been composed of several. The ‘room’ was really more of a training complex housed in the unassuming tower. To the right, a group of 20 people stood, waiting. He gave them a cursory glance, and then his eyes were pulled to the range. He’d definitely have to visit to let off some stress. He followed as you and Whiskey led the way to the group of agents and hung back slightly as the group stood to attention.

“Well, look at this promising group of newbies, Bourbon. D’you think they’re up for today’s lesson?”

You let the smirk on your lips turn into a full crooked smile, you had more than a small idea as to what Jack was going to do. Looking over your shoulder, you caught Frankie’s eye and nodded for him to join you.

“I don’t know, Whiskey, simple concept, but we’ll see what their execution is like. My money is on our guy.”

The agents before you bristled, full of young pride that was well-earned. Whiskey’s hand clasped over Frankie’s shoulder as he introduced him to the new agents.

“Y’all are in for a treat. Our friend, Catfish, here, has generously volunteered to help train you on close quarters combat and disarms. Bourbon will demo the defense first. Catfish,” Whiskey took a pistol from the long table off to the side and handed it to Frankie. “Your objective is simple: shoot a blank at Bourbon.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his eyes sought yours to make sure you were comfortable. An answering smile was good enough for him, and he checked the pistol, confirming there were no live rounds, before looking back up at you. The two of you easily slid into a ready position, and Jack gestured for the new agents to give you some room.

“Halcón, when you go for the takedown, ten cuidado con mi espalda. Ya no soy joven.” [be careful with my back. I’m not young anymore.]

It only mildly annoyed you that he already knew you were going to go for the takedown, after priding yourself on your spontaneity earlier, but you pushed that out of your mind as you both stood a few steps apart. There would be a split second when Frankie pulled his pistol and took a readying step. That would be where you would have an opening and make your move. A tense handful of seconds that seemed to stretch on filled the air. Jack watched the new agents, the tension between you and Frankie seemed to embed itself in the junior agents’ lungs as they all waited with bated breath.

Nothing telegraphed Frankie’s quick movements as he drew his pistol, but on instinct, your body was moving. He saw your left hand fly out to redirect his momentum and push his gun hand away, quickly shifting to plant his weight, keeping you from landing the takedown this early. The training you and Frankie had received taught you to be efficient and end things quickly. That was easier said when you had spent years training together. The junior agents seemed to still be holding their breath while you traded blows. Your moment of opportunity came, and you took it. Frankie seemed to understand what was happening but his balance was off. You stepped into him, your hip bumping his as your hand came to grip over the top of his pistol. The next thing everyone knew, you were both on the ground, the gun skittering harmlessly away, and Frankie’s arm in an arm bar. He grunted and quickly tapped at your leg to surrender, and you let him go. The class was quiet until Whiskey broke the silence as you helped Frankie to his feet.

“I hope you lot were paying attention to Catfish here, he did a great job demonstrating what to do when facing a difficult opponent like Bourbon. For this exercise, the rest of you will attempt to take a shot at Catfish and he will disarm you by whatever means he deems necessary.”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, knowing Whiskey was being intentional with his wording.The laugh died quickly, however, at the words of one of the junior agents.

“How was that a good example? He lost, he was disarmed. We should be practicing against someone better, who would last longer.”

At your side, you saw Frankie stand up straighter, his feet moving shoulder width apart as his hands clasped behind his back and he fixed the younger agent with a steely gaze. Even as his breathing remained calm, it was obvious the words had gotten to him. Whiskey’s good natured grin turned into a smug smirk.

“Davis,” Whiskey began, calling the man out by his last name and emphasizing he hadn’t earned a Statesman moniker. “Since you’re so eager, by all means, approach Catfish when you’re ready and show us how your Statesman training fares.”

Frankie kept his gaze leveled at the cocky junior agent, noticing in his periphery that you had moved away to give them plenty of room. Davis moved to be a few steps in front of him. Frankie continued to hold the stare as he questioned Whiskey.

“Are you sure about this, Whiskey?”

Whiskey nodded, Frankie’s gaze flickering over to him for the briefest of seconds, then he brought his hands to a loose ready position at his sides. Davis drew his pistol, but Frankie grabbed the barrel with his left hand, stepped forward and hooked his right foot behind Davis’ lead leg and pushed on the agent’s chest with his right hand. Davis went down, but found himself suspended by Frankie’s hold on his shirt. The class was filled with littered gasps and snickers. The ‘fight’ was over before it had really begun. Frankie helped right the agent and stepped aside to let him retrieve his firearm.

“Attaboy, Catfish! Davis, looks like you’ve got some work to do. Here’s another lesson, agents: Statesman agents aren’t your only competition out there. We’ve got some fancy gear and trainin’ here, but there’s a world of intelligence agents and mercs out there. Catfish served with Bourbon, and that should tell you all you need to know.” He paused a moment to let the information sink in as Davis returned to the line to lick his wounds. Then Whiskey called the next agent.

Frankie breathed in, then out through his nose, and got ready. As they went, the junior agents in waiting began to pick up on a few of his techniques, and he had to adjust, but time spent practicing and training at Benny’s gym had prepared him well for this.

You watched as Jack’s eyes danced while he followed Frankie’s movements. The circumstances earlier had prevented him from truly appreciating how efficient and capable the quiet man was. The last of the junior agents had made their attempt and consequently failed. Frankie’s breath was coming more unevenly now, and rightly so. What he had gone through would be exhausting for anyone.

“Well done, everyone, a round of applause to Catfish for taking the time to demonstrate y’all have a lot to learn before getting approved for field work. Now go on and line up at the range and get warmed up. We’ll be running sims next.”

The junior agents dispersed to the range towards the back of the room. Frankie let out a breath and rolled his shoulders to let out some of the tension he had been carrying, then started heading for the range, eager to let off some more steam.

“Where do you think you’re going, partner?”

Frankie frowned, his eyes darting between you and Whiskey in confusion.

“I thought we were going to go shoot?”

Jack smiled then winked at Frankie.

“They’re warming up, you still have one more person to disarm, Flyboy.”

Frankie’s fingers twitched, and you could see that the exercise earlier had worn at his usual restraint.

“No lasso.”

Whiskey handed you his lasso, then unloaded his revolvers and passed you the ammo. He holstered his revolvers again and stepped into position in front of Frankie. You watched as a new kind of energy seemed to crackle between them, and some of the junior agents seemed to sense it, stopping to watch as well.

Whiskey was fast, but training at the boxing gym had helped Frankie with his speed. As Whiskey drew his revolver, Frankie sprung forward. He didn’t bother to grab the gun. Instead, he brought his fist down on the barrel, sending it skittering away. Whiskey’s fist connected with Frankie’s side, and you heard, rather than saw, Frankie’s reservations fall away with a snarl. He took hold of the inside of Jack’s blazer, grabbing the grip of the other revolver holstered there and made to pull it out and take the ‘shot’. Jack’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Frankie to go on the offensive, but he found he was impressed. He liked a challenge. Before Frankie could draw the revolver from the holster, Jack grabbed his wrists and wrenched them down, then back up quickly to break Frankie’s hold, and then Jack threw them both to the ground. Both men recovered quickly, but in the chaos, the revolver had fallen to the ground and Frankie scrambled for it. Just as his fingertips touched cold metal, Whiskey’s whip flicked the revolver further away, and they closed the distance to grapple with each other again.

Your match with Frankie had been a well practiced dance, and this was too, in its own right. However, where yours had been fluid, Whiskey and Frankie were bordering on feral. For a moment, it appeared that Frankie had gotten the upper hand. Whiskey staggered backwards, about to fall, but as he went, he flicked his whip, the corded length wrapping around Frankie’s throat. He tugged, sending them both to the ground. Frankie grunted and struggled against the snare he was in. Whiskey wasted no time in scrambling up and pinning Frankie, his knee to the pilot’s back. Frankie continued to struggle until Whiskey leaned down so that only the other man could hear.

“Easy now, Tiger, save your strength for tonight. You did good.”

Frankie relaxed under Jack’s weight and nodded. Whiskey got off of him with a grunt and unwound the corded length of the whip from Frankie’s neck, then pressed a button on the handle to recall it. He helped Frankie up and dusted him off a bit.

A few of the junior agents were still watching in awe. It was rare to see a senior agent like you or Whiskey truly need to put some effort in, and to see it twice in one day was something else entirely. You walked over to the two men and put your hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“You did great, Fish, nice to see you let loose for once.”

He scoffed good naturedly and swooped to pick his hat up from off the ground.

“You guys had quite the audience while you were at it, too.” Your smile was barely contained as you raised an eyebrow at Jack.

This time it was Whiskey’s turn to scoff.

“Well, I hope they’ve been practicing. They’ll be running the sim after Frankie does.”

Whiskey patted Frankie on his shoulder then gestured for him to follow. He led him to an enclosed area that occupied the majority of the left side of the training complex. A small structure that looked like a house sat inside the enclosure, and you knew it was furnished to match whatever simulation scenario had been determined. Whiskey stopped at a table just outside of the enclosure and gestured to the rifle, combat knife, folder, and headset.

“Alright, Flyboy, I know you’ve done this sort of exercise before. Your brief is on the table there. Good luck.”

You and Whiskey walked a bit further along the enclosure to two screens. One cycled through a variety of camera angles while the other would connect to the headset once Frankie turned it on.

“You’re really having Frankie run the simulation?”

Whiskey nodded, “I didn’t have him help with the demo just to teach those newbies a lesson, darlin’. He’s been through hell, and I figured getting him to work through some of that in sparring and the sim would help. That, and, well… you can’t blame me for bein’ curious, Bourbon. Last time I got to see what he could do, we were a bit busy trying not to get shot.”

You can’t help but to chuckle and shake your head, your attention going back to Frankie as he geared up.

“Frankie turns into a different person on missions sometimes, used to scare the hell out of people on base who saw it. No one ever suspected it because he was always the quiet one, but he’s just as competitive as the rest of the guys on the team. He was just always scary good at keeping a level head and focusing on the mission. You’ll see.”

Frankie put on the kit provided for him then flipped through the brief before lowering the headset and advancing. The brief had been fairly simple: infiltrate the compound, rescue the target, and escort the target to the exfil location. They even provided a decent description of the target. The virtual course populated guards patrolling the 3 entrances. He opted for the path of least resistance with only 2 guards posted.

From the screen, you and Jack could see Frankie take a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing even as he crept towards the two guards. You knew it was because he was willing himself to let go, to let his instincts and muscle memory take over. He was lightning fast as his knife came out and he landed brutal and precise fatal blows to the targets on the screen. In a normal situation, he would hide the bodies but the miracle of technology meant he didn’t have to. It was beautiful in a devastating way to watch Frankie move with such confidence, stealth, and precision. He peered around a hallway, noting the sudden influx of guards and catching a glimpse of red at the end of the hall. The brief had indicated the target would be in red, and it made sense that there would be more guards to ensure the target didn’t run off. He counted five hostiles in the hallway.

Five guards, five bullets.

Once he had downed the hostiles, Frankie stepped through the hallway, catching a glimpse of the target and swore at how cliché the scenario was. The brief had just said the target had last been seen wearing red.

“¡Me están jodiendo! ¿En serio? ¿Una mujer en un vestido rojo?” [They’re fucking with me. Really? A woman in a red dress?]

You could both hear Frankie through the mic link in his headset, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It quickly died as you and Whiskey tensed. The woman in red was a decoy, one that statistically caught the majority of users by surprise.

“Ma’am, are you-” She moved just barely and he saw the glint of where a gun was holstered. Frankie didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he fired a shot to her chest and grumbled to himself before moving on. Normally, it wouldn’t have taken him that long to figure it out.

Whiskey whistled, thoroughly impressed. It wasn’t long after that Frankie found the real target and reached the ‘exfil location’.

“Damn, sweetheart, you sure picked a good one.”

He winked at you, and you grinned back as Frankie pulled off the headset and his kit, then walked over to you.

“Alright, agents! Catfish successfully completed the sim in 15 minutes, that’s your time to beat!”

A chorus of groans echoed in the training room. Whiskey ignored them and clapped Frankie on his shoulder.

“You did good, Flyboy, really set the bar high. Most people get caught up by the decoy.”

Frankie’s chest puffed out a little at the praise, but he was soon shaking his head. Before he could deflect the compliment, Whiskey squeezed his shoulder.

“Feeling hungry, Flyboy? Figured the three of us could grab a quick lunch before Cran steals Bourbon here away from us.”

“Yeah, I’m starving. Didn’t expect you to keep me busy like that.”

Vermouth entered the training room, and you waved him down.

“Hey, Vermouth! Watch the junior agents for us. Whiskey’s just got them running the sim. We’re going to go grab lunch!”

Without waiting for Vermouth’s answer, you grabbed Whiskey and Frankie’s hands, dragging them out of the training room and to the elevator.

“There’s a deli not far from the office we can walk to, and it’s late enough that we should miss the rush.”

Walking arm in arm with both of your boys, you could think of very few things better than right now. You didn’t care that you were in the middle of downtown New York. All that mattered was Whiskey on your right, and Frankie on your left.

Frankie did his best to relax and not let his anxiety and internal struggles get the best of him. Whiskey’s words echoed in his mind: “When it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it.” That was a lot easier said than done, but he was working on it.

You were right, the timing made it so that you had missed the lunch rush. You all ordered your food, Whiskey stepping in to pay with a look that silenced both you and Frankie, then you all went to sit down.

Whiskey practically sprawled in his chair, his legs encroaching your space under the table and Frankie’s space next to him. Frankie sat somewhat stiffly but the more he ate, the more he seemed to relax. You nudge his foot with yours playfully to grab his attention.

“How’s your back? Mr. Ya-no-soy-joven.”

The three of you laughed, and Frankie shook his head with a wide grin on his face.

“I’m not! Gotta leave that shit for the young guys who think they’re invincible.”

“Young guys like Davis?” You shot back, smug on Frankie’s behalf.

“Cocky kid had it coming.”

There was no anger in Frankie’s eyes, only the slightest lilt of mirth in his voice as his gaze met yours, then Whiskey’s. Whiskey leaned forward and barked a laugh while patting Frankie on the back.

“He sure did. The lot of them were in need of a reality check. That’s why Champ specifically likes to have me or Bourbon take at least one pass at our junior agents. After all those hours spent training, they tend to forget that there are much bigger fish out there.”

Conversation flowed easily between them for the rest of their lunch. It reminded Frankie of the prior morning, when they were enjoying breakfast and everything just felt right. It felt as if all of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and this time, this time, it didn’t feel fleeting.

Walking to the office was much more comfortable than the walk to the deli had been. You noticed that Frankie was far less stiff under your touch on his arm, even leaning into you occasionally. You parted ways in the elevator. You were heading to the lab to play guinea pig for Cranberry, and your boys were headed upstairs to Whiskey’s office. Frankie seemed hesitant to let you go, and you did your best not to spook him, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Given everything that had happened, things needed to be almost wholly in Frankie’s court, at least until he was more comfortable around you. You had certainly noticed, however, how easily Frankie and Whiskey seemed to allow each other into their respective spaces. The elevator doors closed behind you as you strode down the hall. You were glad that they were comfortable together, though. It had definitely been a concern of yours, considering their respective pasts, but you also thought that there was the potential for them to relate and understand each other better than most.

The rest of the day passed by slowly, and as directed, Frankie remained Jack’s shadow. Jack did his best to keep from laughing when 5pm rolled around and Frankie began to subconsciously bounce his knee. He was scrolling on his phone, lower lip pulled between his teeth and brow furrowed as he tried to focus on whatever was on the screen.

You knocked on Jack’s open office door, raising an eyebrow when you saw Frankie startle at the sound. He wasn’t usually this jumpy. Jack’s gaze met yours, and you could see the amusement and mischief that bubbled in his eyes.

“Hey there, darlin’, you getting ready to head out for the night?”

“Just about, wanted to come see my boys before I do.”

Frankie’s knee stopped bouncing at your words, his phone falling into his lap as he looked up at you. You motion for him to scoot over a bit as you sit down on the couch next to him and rest your chin on your hand.

“We’re still on for dinner tomorrow, right?”

You posed the question to the room in general, even though the three of you knew that it was really directed towards Frankie.

“Uh yeah, I’m-I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow,” Frankie says after clearing his throat and gives you both a shy smile. Leaning over, you take his large hand in your own and give it a squeeze.

“Great!” Standing up from the couch, you smooth your clothes, give Frankie a kiss on his cheek, and then kiss Jack. “I’ll find us a place, and we’ll figure it out more tomorrow. Night, Frankie. Night, Jack.”

A minute later, you’re gone, and suddenly there’s nothing keeping Frankie’s mind off of the time, which is painfully close to 6pm, when Jack said he’d be done with work. The moment the clock turned that final, eternal minute, Frankie sat up straight, attentive, and alert as his eyes watched Whiskey.

Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching, then relocated next to Frankie on the couch.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything tonight, Flyboy. If you feel like you’re not up for it, we’ll just grab dinner and head home.”

Frankie shook his head and took a steadying breath.

“No, I want this. I-I could really use it, Jack.”

Whiskey nodded, eyes wandering over Frankie as he adjusted on the couch.

“Alright, I use the green, yellow, red system. You need me to stop for whatever reason, call red, and that’s it, no questions, no hard feelings or fuss. I’ll get you cleaned up and help you come down. Sound good?”

Frankie nodded, his tongue suddenly thick and his mouth dry in anticipation. Jack tutted.

“I need you to use your words, Flyboy.”

Frankie swallowed, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“I understand, s-sounds good.”

“Good. Now…” Jack pulled a small pad of stationary paper and a pen from the side table. “I want you to write out what you’re ok with and any hard or soft limits you have.”

Frankie nodded, then took the pen and paper and began writing.

[click for better quality]

A blush took hold of Frankie as he handed it back.

“It’s what I can come up with off the top of my head, for tonight at least. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up though.”

Jack’s eyes were dark as he perused the list, looking up from the paper to Frankie, he stood up with a smile.

“C’mon Flyboy… we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

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