#screaming over the new snippet of dangerous

[the---hermit]

✨hermes✨ and jay season 2 is everything i have been wishing for since the new saga was announced

[epicthemusicalstuff]

My Thoughts On The Vengeance Saga!

I’m Not Sorry For Loving You: I feel we pretty much had the full song before hand? So it’s not too much new? But the vocals were so pretty!! Definitely the most grounded song in the saga!

Dangerous: First of all- the little Full Speed Ahead? With the 600 men bit? That had me so emotional already- the fact that there was no response when he said ‘with one goal in mind’ and there was a silence where they normally would have said ‘make it back alive to our homeland’. THEN HERMES IS BACK! WITH THE WINIONS???? AND THEY HAVE THE BAG AGAIN FOR HIM??? I went crazy over that- did they get Aeolus’ help? Did the winions go rogue and since they liked Odysseus they trapped it themselves??? Anyways. RUTHLESSNESS MENTION.

Charybdis: I love the overall vibe of this song! Again- very much like the snippets we heard- but that doesn���t make it less awesome! (I will also say I loved durning the animatic when he started getting all blurred with his speed). HE SAW ITHACA AND IT WAS SO TOUCHING THEN HE DIDNT GET TO GET THERE YET!!!

Get In The Water: I LOVE THE OPENING INSTRUMENTAL PART. CHILLS. I was screaming- I still am screaming as I relisten to it! POLITES, EURYLOCHUS, AND ANYICLEA JUMPSCARE! One of the songs that I feel so much better about listening to this morning, with just the music and none of the chaos of last night or the stream.

Six Hundred Strike: Okay- lots of thoughts on this one folks- the Six Hundred Men being chanted part? Amazing- does that count as when I said the vocals of his crew would be back? HE WILL GET BACK TO HIS SON. AND HE WILL GET BACK TO HIS WIFE. He avenged his comrades!!!!

Speaking from a position of just listening to the song instead of the provided visuals- I visualize something different happening. Like in terms of the wind bag, I like the idea it is used to blow away the layers of Poseidons water shell- to leave just him in the middle. And then the 600 Strike bit- perhaps the ghosts of all his crew appear and each get their own strike at Poseidon, with Odysseus dealing the last one before Poseidon starts singing again?

YOU IDIOT got me. THE ODYSSEUS’ WENT ABSOLUTELY FERAL? STABBING POSEIDON??? LIKE WHAT? I WAS SCREAMING- the raw vocals were amazing too-

NEXT TO MY WIFE

[deusvervewrites]

Snippet Game:

Polymerization

Midoriya fuses with Uraraka for the first time

Ochaco takes his hand.

A faint tugging spreads instantly across her entire body, followed just as quickly by another strange, though not unpleasant sensation. Later on, she will decide that it feels like melting.

Then their stomach snaps into place, a wave of mild vertigo causing them to stagger.

Wait. Them?

Yes, them. Because they aren’t her anymore. She’s gone. She really should’ve been paying more attention but it’s fine because he already knows what this is and they can remember it because they were there even if she wasn’t. That’s so weird, suddenly having new memories.

“Oh, wow…” they say, taking a moment to look themselves over. He’s never done this before with anyone except their mom, so it’s a little strange finally doing it with a peer.

But only a moment. As curious as they are about what they look like, there’s still a giant robot towering over them.

They grin, feeling her ferocity rush to the surface in the heat of competition. Sure, it’s massive, but their Quirk is stronger than ever now, and they’re itching to see what it can really do. Not to mention that this thing was enough of a danger to Ochaco that they had to fuse; taking this thing down before it can hurt anyone is now a priority.

Their feet leave the ground, rising up into the air until they reach head level with the robot. The familiar nausea roils in their gut, but not as bad as it usually is. Their hands flex in anticipation as their instincts scream at them to use their Quirk. Who are they to disagree?

[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 8

Benadryl

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

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

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

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

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

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

chapter moodboard if you're interested

Divider by @cafekitsune!

MONDAY

AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION IN HONDURAS.

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

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

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

Frankie doesn’t do it like that.

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

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

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

“Yep.”

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

She looks up now.

“Hi,” Frankie smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

“Top or bottom?” Meaning which tensioner.

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

“Oh shit yeah, that’s loose.”

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

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

Frankie’s cock twitches.

She knows what she’s doing. 

She always does.

She would have done this without him.

And she lets him in anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, looks good.” 

“Sounds better than it did,” Audrey adds. 

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

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

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

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

Frankie’s gotta meet this guy.

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

_____

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

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

None of them are happy about it.

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

Each of them feels that obligation acutely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” They both look at her expectantly. 

They need the final party’s buy-in.

“Tell me more.”

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

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

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

“Might be.” Francisco apparently agrees.

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

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

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

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

“Anything else I should know?”

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

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

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

“I do.” Pope answers with conviction. 

Frankie responds, “with my life.”

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

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

It dings in response thirty seconds later. 

“He’s in.”

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

_____

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

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

“Mind your business, Pope.”

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

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

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

“No promises,” Audrey winks and Pope scoffs.

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

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

_____

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

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

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

“What is Standard Heating Oil?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her fingers wind in his curls.

And she holds him without prying.

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

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

“Liked to read, I suppose,” he muses.

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

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

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

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

“I used to use.”

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

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

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

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

“Ended up getting the license back but—”

Frankie stares over her right shoulder out into the horizon.

“Everything else fell ap—”

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

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

“In two years. I haven’t used.”

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

I haven’t used since you.

And it terrifies her.

I can’t save you.

I can’t fix you.

I can’t be that for you, Frankie.

And yet.

She is. 

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

And her brow furrows in the moonlight.

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

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

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

And whatever that was before has passed.

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

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

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

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

For his attachment.

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

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

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

Because he’s said it far too intimately.

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

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

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

“I was so fucking hard.” 

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

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

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

Frankiee grins with guilty teeth in his bottom lip. 

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

“The lady deserves better.”

“Mm, like the hood of a car?”

“Done.”

She lets him go and starts racing towards the shore.

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

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

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

“Look at me,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

“Frankie, get in the car.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think we’re clear, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He turns his face to kiss her palm.

And Frankie almost lets something slip on a sigh.

“I—”

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

“Have me, Frankie.”

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not slow about chasing his own release. 

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

Frankie’s a man in a trance. 

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

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

“You’re so tight, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

And she’s in control now. 

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

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

“Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” she keens.

“Yeah?”

He knows.

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

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

“Fuck,” she whispers.

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

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

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

She can feel him smile against her mouth. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

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

“My pace, baby.”

And she groans in frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frankie, I don’t think…”

“Turn around,” he commands.

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

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

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

Frankie spreads his thighs wider.

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

“That better?”

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

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

“Yeah, baby.”

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

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

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

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

Nose smashing against her cheekbone. 

Teeth softly nipping at her jaw.

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

The windows of the Rover have gone foggy with heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can…”

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

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

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

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

“Can I have my underwear at least?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We gotta clean this.”

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

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

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

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

_____

TUESDAY

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

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

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

“Morales has no ass.”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Fish.”

“She did that already.”

Audrey cackles from the backseat.

_____

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

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

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

“Miller?”

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

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

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

“Boys?’ Audrey calls.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like the coordinator?”

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

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

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

And overstep is the first thing that Benny does.

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

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

“What’s your background?”

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

“Can’t tell me yourself?”

“We don’t have that much time.”

“What branch?”

“Never served under a branch.”

“So you never served.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S fine.”

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

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

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

“Benny?”

“Nah, I just got off a plane, man.”

“Alright, set it up.”

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

Audrey drops her right foot back and crouches.

And Santi gives the cue.

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

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

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

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

He taps out against her collarbone.

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

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

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

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

Frankie twitches but Santi holds out a hand.

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

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

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

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

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

He sits up and stretches his arm for good measure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t like seeing you like that.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

Frankie warmed by the water. 

Audrey warmed by Frankie.

_____

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

Frankie cracks open beers and passes them around.

Afternoon flows into evening. Beer flows into liquor. 

Camaraderie abounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CATFISH, YOU DOG.”

Frankie grins and blushes in that order.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is!”

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

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

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

And there’s a snort from the stairwell

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

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

Even Santiago sits up a bit straighter.

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

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

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

Fraught silence hangs in the air until Benny pipes up.

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

Audrey has a measured tolerance for many things. 

Slandering her lover is not one of them. 

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

“You really want to know his secret?”

Benny swallows hard. 

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

Benny snorts like he doesn't believe her. 

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

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

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

And she waits until Benny answers, “no.”

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

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

“Wild. Frankie hits that every. time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frankie hums, tongue licking behind her teeth. 

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

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

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

“Pope doesn’t give a shit.”

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

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

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

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

“Am I not?”

“No. You’re mine.”

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

But he senses her hesitation.

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

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

“Then wh—”

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

But it all sounds so temporary.

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

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

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

Does she make herself come and wish it was him?

Is he some secret she keeps stashed away?

Is there another?

Does she think of him at all?

“But—”

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

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

But there’s want there too.

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

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

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

There would be a taker downstairs.

And okay he’s going to do his best.

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

Okay.

He’ll crack granite.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, gatita?” He whispers.

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

“Think I’m just distracted, Frankie.”

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

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

Palm still rubbing her stomach under her t-shirt.

Trying to soothe himself with her skin.

He’s losing her.

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

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

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

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

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

She presses a kiss to his lips.

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

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

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

“But what I always come back to is—”

“You’re beautiful.”

They both whisper it at the same time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Audrey’s heart still pounds in her ears.

_____

They shift around each other in the night.

Frankie’s legs tangling with hers.

Her fist clenching in the cotton of his shirt.

His palm cupping her warm breast. Staying there.

Audrey’s tongue slipping into his mouth.

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

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

Desperation.

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

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

Take this feeling from me.

Let me prove that you’re mine.

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

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

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

She keens his name when she breathes again.

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

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

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

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

She allows it.

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

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

Knocking against something sacred.

And she’s trying. 

Trying not to scream for him.

Not to let slip how she needs him.

Here. Like this.

All ways. Always.

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

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

Sending sparks across her vision.

And Audrey loses it.

Composure.

Sanity.

The scream choked in the back of her throat.

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

Walls throbbing around his cock.

She’s probably woken the whole house.

Good.

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

He can’t keep the moans in now.

And so he gives them to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lets out a sultry hum.

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

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

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

He’s doing it spectacularly.

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

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

Something precious.

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

She keens the moment he starts toying with her clit.

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

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

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

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

Hips grinding her clit against the bed.

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

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

“C’mon, baby. Yeahhh—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Audrey’s soft moans call him back to her. 

Fragile, wrecked things, tangled with heaving breath.

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

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

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

“Fuck,” she whispers.

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

He tastes of himself. 

Bitter salt and insatiable lips.

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

His warmth.

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

She’s molten now.

“W’s that okay?” He whispers.

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

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

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

_____

THURSDAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I bet you do.”

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

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

“Let us walk right in,” Benny murmurs.

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

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

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

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

“It’s not done yet,” Audrey murmurs.

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

“Unfortunately for you, no.”

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

“Great,” Frankie mutters.

“So, my way,” Audrey chimes in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, this is risky—” Fish starts.

“The beach.” Audrey says.

“Think that would give you enough space?”

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

“I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frankie, you good?” Audrey asks.

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

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

“Done.” Benny answers.

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

“Yeah.”

“Anyone have any questions?” Audrey asks.

She gets three ‘no’s.’

“Everyone clear on their role?”

She gets three ‘yes’s.’

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

Without hesitation, everyone answers ‘confirmed.’

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

“Yes.”

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

“Roger.”

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

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

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

They catch up to Audrey in another two minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods.

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

“Okay.”

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

She nods, eyes still wide with fear.

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

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

And she starts shaking her head ‘no.’

“Hey, Diana?”

This from Audrey.

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

“Really?”

“I really do!”

She brightens a bit at that.

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

“You pinky swear?”

Audrey laughs and reaches one gloved hand behind her.

“I pinky swear.”

And she feels a small tug at her hand.

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

“Frankie, beach in one,” Audrey reports.

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

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

“Diana?” Audrey asks.

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“Roger.”

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

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

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

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

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

Two minutes. They have two minutes.

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

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

The bird doesn’t even rock.

Audrey chances a glance up at the chopper.

This is gonna work.

She gestures for Benny to get into position. 

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

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

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

Immediately she clings to his neck.

It’s a small blessing when bullets pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ONE.”

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

“TWO.”

Benny holds her out just a little farther.

They lock eyes and both nod.

“THREE.”

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

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

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

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

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

Thirty seconds.

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

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

Half a second later she launches off an RPG.

Anything that remains when the smoke clears is easy work.

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

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

Audrey reaches for the transmit button on her comms.

“Beach is clear.”

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

Audrey reaches out a hand.

And Benny shakes it with a laugh.

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

“Roger that, Moose. Roger. That.”

_____

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

He tries calling and texting, but nothing gets through.

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

“So maybe 6:30? 7?”

“Probably about that.”

“‘Kay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And his.

Audrey pulls a sweatshirt on to guard against the chill.

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

Audrey smirks and acquiesces. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A smile of pride playing on his mouth.

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

“Fucking starving.” Frankie laughs.

_____

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

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

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

“Sorry, what?”

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

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

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

“Benadryl can do that, yeah.”

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

Benny is blushing now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, cool.”

Benny isn’t quite impressed.

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

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

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

���YOU’VE SEEN IT?” Santiago screams.

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

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

“Unbelievable,” Santiago shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

The truth is.

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

next

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

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[kettlefire]

DP x DC Snippet

Part 2

You cannot rest here

The words cycled through Jason's mind as he laid still in his bed. Pouring pure focus into his hearing, looking for one thing, anything that was out of place.

He couldn't find it, even as he pulled himself from his bed and glanced around his darken room. The only light avaliable was the moonlight peaking through his blinds.

This was his safe house. One even his family didn't quite know about. It was fresh and new. He hadn't used it after an encounter.

There should be no reason anyone was here.

But they were. He wasn't sure how he knew, and why that phrase was reverberating in his mind, but it was correct.

The air of his room felt wrong.

Something wasn't right. Even if he couldn't catch sight of what it was, he knew he wasn't alone. Arming himself, he quietly padded from the bedroom.

Eyes sweeping the areas around him for signs that weren't there. Someone, or something, was in here with him. Hidden from his sight, but not from him.

He's eyes finally landed on the object he found just a few nights prior. An intricate looking thermos, with vibrate green detailing.

The lid had been sealed tight, and a small button rested on the side of it. He'd been tempted to press the button on plenty of occasions, but something always stopped him.

He sweeped the room one last time before stopping by his coffee table. The cold metal resting heavy in his hands.

Jason's initial plan was to take the thermos to the batcave. Have Bruce check it over, and see if there was any insight on what was going on inside.

Now he wasn't so sure. Between the heavy feeling of being watched and in danger, he was certain this thermos had something to do with it.

Push it

He'd been hesitant, he had no clue what this device was. It could very easily be the thing cause his anxieties.

Except he was certain it wasn't. Not with the feeling that was radiating off the metal. Unlike every aspect of his apartment, the corners that screamed danger as he had walked through it.

This thermos screamed urgency. Almost hysteria for him to do something. Anything.

Maybe that's why he found his finger pressing down the small metal button. Hoping against all odds he was making the right choice.

The blinding light that filled his living room, left him doubtful in those moments.

[pedgito]

clawing at the walls for the tiniest little snippet of rich bfd joel 🙏🏼

preview at some pics for the fic header, you know...for the vibes and all

Joel is in his 40s here & Reader is early 20s

There is a belief in you, fully realized, that something is up here.

"Mr. Miller," You lick your lips hesitantly, squaring yourself up against the counter, standing straight, trying not to seem like you were teetering near a dangerous edge of delirium, wondering if you we're imagining all of this, "can I ask you something?"

There's a severe lack of distance between you two, knees knocking against each other's gently from where you both stand, eyes searching out cautiously even though you know there's nothing to worry about. You were alone, something that has happened far too many times over the past few months. Lingering moments of wandering gazes, eyes connection from across the room even if Joel was surrounded by people, partying with friends while you're tucked away in the corner while Sarah talks to you about the boys at school that you can't be bothered to give the time of day.

Because of Joel. Because your mind is so tainted by the idea of him.

His palm is flattened out against the counter, adorned with a couple golden rings that clack against the marble, gold chains to match that sat perfectly against his chest, framing the small patch of hair that peeked out over his unbuttoned shirt, silk-pressed and adorned in a silly design that somehow always managed to work perfectly with whatever Joel paired it with.

"Course," He assures you, "You need somethin'? 'Cause you know if things aren't alright at home you're welcome to stay with us."

Joel reaches out to touch your cheek, the warmth of his skin melding with your own as your breath catches in your throat.

Touch wasn't new, but it never got old. Like a brand against your skin that screamed out for more. You look down briefly, mouth opening slightly to say something, but quickly resigns back to it's previous position, lips pursed under a soft scowl.

"I can take care of you," Joel reminds, like you could ever fucking forget it, adoration written all over your features—and the outfits you wore that he bought, the dainty gold chain that he'd leant to you as a gift when you pointed out how much you liked it—he'd bought it for himself but there was no resistance in offering over it over to you, bright smile stretching across your face in the moment that Joel felt a sickening addiction to, "—if that's what you need, sweetheart."

and that's all you get bitches

[save-the-villainous-cat]

A homoerotic snippet in which the hero and villain are forced into close proximity? Thanks!

“If you move one more muscle. I’ll scream,” the hero said. It had been a long day. Getting his ass kicked by some new villain, getting the call for the special mission, getting stuck in a vent with the villain — it had been a long, disappointing day he wanted to forget.

He was close to losing his temper which was an occurrence in a millennia. He always managed to keep his cool but today, for some reason, he wasn’t necessarily keen on sticking to any sort of moral code.

“Oh, come on. This is very fun unless you’re claustrophobic.”

The hero sighed, hating how his enemy was touching every inch of him, except for his back. He couldn’t move. But the villain could, he just chose not to.

Like some medieval torture method. The suspense was aggravating the hero the most, the position wasn’t even that bad.

“I could get used to this.” The villain’s breath tickled the hero’s neck and for a second, the hero thought the world had stopped spinning.

“Cut it off, will you?” His voice was softer now and a certain melancholy took over his mind, replacing the raw and distasteful anger. He didn’t know what drew him to the villain so frequently. Didn’t know why he had called him, asked for help. Didn’t know why he needed to see him.

Or maybe he did, he was just too afraid to name it.

“You’re no fun,” the villain said, his finger boring into the hero’s side. It made him flinch embarrassingly. “Little puppy. Always coming when he’s called. Always doing what he’s told. You’re no fun.”

Aghast, the hero stared at him with from the side big eyes, hoping he couldn’t see the soft blush on his face.

“We can’t all try to dominate the world, can’t we?”

“You think that’s what I am trying to do?” the villain said, no, whispered, his lips dangerously close to the hero’s collarbone.

“I think you want to destroy as much as you can,” the hero said. He thought the villain would finally release him, not too thrilled to have this conversation. But the villain didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

“Destroying things in the process is collateral damage. Just wanna live without getting bothered. I’m willing to fight for that.” The hero laughed at that humourlessly, mouth splitting into a grin.

“Poor villain. Too popular for his own good.”

“Listen, pretty boy.” The villain grabbed a handful of the hair on the back of the hero’s scalp and pressed him forward, cheek into the cold metal of the vent with such a force that for a second, the hero couldn’t breathe. “I’ve worked for where I’m at and I am not ashamed of the blood on my hands. You may think you can live with it, too. But we both know that you are haunted by the ones you kill. Of the both of us, I am free.”

“Y’wanna ask me to join you?” the hero asked, panting as the villain pressed him into the plain surface.

“Wanna ask you to reevaluate your words. At this point, I am the only one who can help you. Quite literally. So be a bit nicer to your saviour or I’ll start to bite.”

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

A snippet from the new chapter 23 of tbbw I'm writing. Just like Elijah and Kol, Rebekah's getting her own character-focused chapter...

Hvítreikland, South of Vínland.  988 A.D.

Rebekah stared up at her father’s rack of weapons, gaze fixed on the beautifully forged blade hanging on the topmost slot. It shined brilliantly in the sunlight, beams flooding in through the open shutters of the longhouse and glinting dangerously under their glare. Rebekah clutched the worn, woollen sheep-doll her mother had weaved for her when she was but a babe tighter, holding it close to her chest with one arm as her brow scrunched up adorably in thought.

“What do you think Lami?” she said in a hushed whisper to the little sheep. Her eyes narrowed on the blade. “I think we can reach it.”

She couldn’t. She barely reached up to Lijah’s knees and Finny practically towered over her - he was taller than the trees! But the little sheep was but a bundle of haphazardly sewn cloth and wool, so could not tell her this.

With a nod of determination, Rebekah placed Lami on the floor, tilting his head to the open doors. “You keep look-out, in case papa comes back.”

The little sheep slumped forward, falling flat on its face.

Rebekah didn’t notice, turning back to the weapons rack with a huff, eying it like it was some great enemy. Then she raced off to find her father’s stool, which he sat on while he polished his sword in the late evenings. It was too big for her to pick up but she grabbed the wooden legs with her little hands and heaved it towards her, beginning the long process of dragging it over to the weapons stand. All the while, Lami continued his faithful watch of the floor.

It took a while but Rebekah was a stubborn girl, just like her brothers, and she would not be bested by a hunk of stupid wood. Eventually — with great effort and several huffs and puffs on her part — she managed to get the stool beside the weapons rack. Then, hands on hips as she admired her work, she climbed up onto the stool and stood on her tippy toes, reaching as high as she could. Her fingers were still too far away, a fair gap between them and the blade. She huffed, falling back onto her heels.

She really wanted the blade. Mother said she couldn’t play with swords yet, not like Nik, Lijah and Finny could. It was too dangerous and she was too small. But she wasn’t small! She was nearly as tall as Kol! And this blade wasn’t a sword, just a knife - her father’s favourite. It was exactly the right size for her! Maybe if she practised with it alone, grew as skilled as her brothers, mother would finally allow it…

Glaring at the blade for daring to be higher than her, Rebekah tried again, standing on her tiptoes and reaching as high as she could. Her attempt failing, she leaned forward, raising one foot to climb onto the rack, her fingers just grazing the edge of the blade—

Beneath her, the rack wobbled, offset by her weight. She ignored it, sticking her tongue out as she reached further, climbing higher-

“Rebekah, STOP!”

Rebekah whipped her head towards the door, frowning when she saw Niklaus running towards her, expression panicked. The distraction cost her, balance wavering as the entire rack shuddered, over encumbered by her weight. Eyes wide, she screamed as it began to tip forwards, in real danger of being crushed and impaled by a dozen gleaming weapons-

Suddenly, Niklaus was there, his arms wrapping around her middle, yanking her out of the way and curling protectively around her. Behind them, the rack crashed to the floor with a loud clatter, upheaving dust in its wake and smashing the stool Rebekah had been standing on on the way down.

When the dust settled, Rebekah warily pulled away from her brother, just as he uncurled from around her to eye the mound of metal, still in a state of shock from what he’d nearly witnessed. 

“LAMI!” she cried out when she spotted her beloved sheep-doll under all the destruction, rushing forward to free him from under the heavy weapons. As soon as she yanked him out, she clutched him desperately to her chest, swaying as she hugged him with all her might. Then she noticed the gleaming blade on the floor, glinting dangerously in the sunlight. She gasped in excitement, holding onto Lami with one hand as she leaned down to pick up the knife with the other.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Niklaus asked, snapping out of his shock. Her brother rushed forward, reaching to snatch it from her hand. “You can’t have that, Rebekah!”

She dodged out of her brother’s reach, glaring at him angrily.

“I can!” she declared, lifting her chin imperiously. “I want to learn how to play with swords, like you. But mother said no, so I’m going to show her I can do it.” Niklaus gaped, opening his mouth several times, trying to formulate an argument. “But that’s father’s favourite knife!”

Rebekah pouted. “I like it.”

“So you thought you’d just take it?” he accused, his tone suddenly turning furious. The look on his face made his sister finally cower. “Rebekah, you could have gotten hurt! And when father finds this mess-”

Niklaus glanced at the toppled rack of weapons and broken stool, abruptly cutting himself off. He swallowed. It wasn’t anger in his eyes now — it was pure, unfiltered fear.

Rebekah followed his gaze, looking at the mess she’d made. She suddenly felt incredibly small, reality crashing down on her. Father would be angry, she knew. He was scary when he was angry — he screamed and he roared and sometimes his touches hurt. She thought, if she just took the knife, father had so many other weapons he wouldn’t notice one was gone but that was before the entire rack tumbled to the floor, destroying whatever order her father kept them in. Rebekah felt tears well in her eyes, so very lost on what to do.

Nik would know.

Nik would fix it.

“What do we do?” she whispered, hugging Lami tighter.

Before her brother could answer, a distant voice from outside silenced them both, their father’s voice travelling to their ears as he laughed at something another man had said. Nik paled, all the colour completely draining from his face.

[asnowfern]

Heavy Is The Head That Wears The Crown

Summary: Why hide when we can play? Haven’t we had such lovely games before? All of space and eon at your fingertips. All you need to do is pluck. ~~~ It was supposed to be gone when Nesta made the bargain with the Cauldron: her stolen powers for the knowledge to save her sister and nephew. Unfortunately, nobody told the Trove.

Rating: E, NSFW WC: 11.4k Read on AO3 Play the accompanying card game here!

Written for my dear @azriels-shadows for the @acotargiftexchange !🎁

Thank you for being such an amazing giftee!💖 You mentioned that your favourite type of fic is canon-compliant or canon-divergent with fun new problems and a dash of physical danger. Trust me when I say, I literally took that and ran for the finish line.

I honestly had such a blast writing this and I hope you enjoy it too!

A huge thank you to @reverie-tales, @wilde-knight, @damedechance for being so encouraging and amazing! Also, another huge thank you to @thelovelymadone for giving me the idea of bringing back the mercenary from ACOTAR. You guys are the best!💕💕💕

Snippet under the cut!

Stones crunched under her feet. Snow swirled at their feet as lightning cracked in the distance. They stood at the pass, the line Nesta drew on the ground was long gone with her depleted energy. The view opened up to the vast Illyrian mountains. It would have been breathtaking under any other circumstances.

The arms that would often lovingly hold Nesta trapped her in a crushing grip. The endless ache and exhaustion in her bones shifted and screamed in protest. 

“He can’t obey you, Nesta Archeron.” Her blood ran cold at the raspy voice, “he’s mine now.” 

The aged Made queen was still talking but Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off her mate. The organ in her chest twisted painfully at the glazed expression clouding vibrant hazel, every nerve in her body acutely aware of the unrelenting pressure of strong muscles on her comparatively petite frame. 

She desperately searched those familiar eyes for any signs of the male that she knew had to be fighting back. Every bit just as desperate as she was. Despair rose in her with every shallow breath as her bones threatened to give way.

“Cassian”

The name fell out in an agonised plea. With a growl, Cassian knocked her roughly to the ground, pinning her limbs down to close a rough hand around her throat. 

“Good bye, Nesta.”

Fingers tightened painfully around her neck and crushed her windpipe, filling the air with nothing but choked gasps. 

Nesta’s eyes snapped wide open, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Walls closed in on her as she felt the same arm slung over her waist kept  her trapped in the muscled chest from her dreams. She pushed the arm roughly off her and scrambled to her feet. Her world spun, panic rising to suffocate her. Her feet stumbled backward. Anything to build distance between her and-

She froze as her brain finally caught up. 

What was she doing? This was Cassian: her mate who would rather kill himself before he allowed himself to hurt her. 

As if on cue, Cassian stirred. His voice was hoarse from sleep when he asked, “Nesta?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and brought forth her mind stilling techniques, letting the ingrained practices attempt to soothe the jungle beats of her heart. A nightmare, she reasoned with herself, nothing but a nightmare.

A slight creak of the bed, a rustle of wings.

“Nesta?” 

When Nesta opened her eyes once more, it was to a furrowed brow and clear hazel that shone with concern. The knot eased in her chest to allow a clear flow of oxygen. 

“I’m alright,” she replied shakily, “Just a nightmare.”

She resisted the urge to shudder and recoil from the gentle hand reaching out for her. But Cassian’s hand still paused midair before dropping back to his side. “Again?” 

She jerked her head before turning away to avert his perceptive gaze. She inhaled in deeply, holding her breath for three long beats before exhaling. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you later.” 

“You can read your smutty books in bed.” He commented, the edges of his lips tugged upwards lazily, “I’ll sleep just fine.”

The knee jerk response to reject the offer died at her lips at the worry in his eyes, a palpable tension set in his jaw. She nodded and let him lead her back to bed with the lightest touch on her waist. 

Hours of unresolved pining culminating into one highly fulfilling smut session later, Nesta slid back fully under the covers. Outside the windows, the tiniest glimmer of light played at the horizon. Her eyes shuttered and she heaved a soft sigh. 

A comforting warmth enveloped her back and a familiar weight wound around her waist, encasing her world in sandalwood and snowpine. “Sleep” a low rumble from right next to her said enticingly.

“We need to wake up soon.” She reminded him even as her arms reached out to press the strong arm tightly against her.

“You’re exhausted,” he soothed, sniffing her neck deeply, “Training can wait an extra hour.”

A small smile played on Nesta’s lips as she let the reassuring scent pull her down under and surrendered to blissful sleep. 

The skies were bright the next time blue-grey eyes opened to the world, the sun way too high in the sky. She palmed the cool sheets next to her and let loose a breath.

It had definitely been more than an hour. 

Nesta hurriedly put on her leathers and was half a minute from leaving the house when the main door swung open, eclipsing the doorway with the silhouette of tall muscled frame and large wings.

Cassian cocked a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He surveyed her carefully as he strode in, stopping just a step away. “Feeling better?” 

She did feel better but she retorted back anyway, “You should have woken me up for training.” 

“You needed the rest.” He insisted, “Besides…” 

He bridged the gap between them. Close enough for Nesta to see the droplet of perspiration roll down the side of his face and down the length of his neck. The apple of his throat bobbed.

One of his arms teasingly slid up, from her fingertips to her upper arm, before drawing a small knife from the many pockets of his leather, “If you wanted private lessons.” 

A familiar tension coiled and tightened in Nesta. Between her night terrors, the training, Cassian’s responsibilities in Illyria and the preparation for the mating ceremony which was less than a week away, their time together was far and few between - nothing more than quick stolen couplings.  

The dilation of his pupils pushed molten hazel that she loved deeply to the rim, his nostrils flaring slightly. With a smooth motion, he pushed her flushed against the wall, his thigh wedged hard between her legs. A delicious friction with every minuscule movement. The small knife was now held horizontally to her neck in an almost tender display. The thrill coursed through her bloodstream, directly to her core. 

His breath was hot against the arched ear, “I will be more than happy to demonstrate.”

[celestialseawitch-ff]

Tom Riddle AU -- snippet

Tom couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He grabbed his cloak and apparated out of the rundown flat. He arrived in Hogsmeade under the cloak of night. The lights of Hogwarts were still lit. It wasn’t yet curfew. 

Tom raised his hood over his head. He made his way to the edge of the forest, where he knew the entrance to the secret passage lay hidden. He cast the password and slipped through the tree. Spiral stone steps led him down the tree and beneath the earth. 

He lit his wand and strode through the passageway. It was dank and crumbling. Clearly, no other students had found it in some time. Then he reached the collapsed ceiling and realised his mistake. The passageway was blocked.

Tom cursed under his breath. He waved his wand and muttered a few spells. The stone bent under his power. The stone groaned as it shifted into a jagged and dangerous looking archway. Tom passed through the passage and continued onwards. 

Eventually, he reached another set of steps that led him up into the castle. A large painting popped open and Tom entered Hogwarts.

The warmth of the castle’s magic greeted him like an old friend. It took him back to the years he had spent as a professor’s assistant here. It had been an enlightening experience for him to be able to live in his home without the pressures and eyes of his Slytherin peers.

Tom took a moment to breathe in the familiar magic. Another twinge of pain cut through him. He hissed in annoyance. Time to get rid of this problem once and for all. 

He hurried through the nearly empty halls, following the thread of magic towards the origin of his problems. He side-stepped into a classroom and waited for the magic to grow closer. He heard the clicking of boots against stone and small sniffles. He peered through the sliver of light to see a girl walking through the hallway alone. She was cradling her hand to her chest.

The pain. She was injured.

Tom’s annoyance tripled. Was she too stupid to go to the Hospital Wing? He bit back a growl and waited for her to pass by the classroom. The second she was past, Tom silently sprung from his hiding place. He wrapped a hand around her mouth to smother her scream of surprise as his other hand clamped down on the wrist of her injured hand. He smoothly drew her back into the dark classroom and closed the door behind him.

He wordlessly and wandlessly cast a notice-me-not on the door as well as a silencio. The girl's scream into his hand was muffled.

“Quiet,” he snapped and raised her hand for inspection. 

There was a scar on her hand. I must respect my superiors. A blood quill. Tom’s lip curled.

“Don’t scream,” he hissed and released his hand from her mouth.

The girl spun around, wand out and pointed at his throat. He still held her wrist tightly in his hand. Tom looked down and met the eyes of the girl he knew was a descendent of his in this reality, at the very least. The moment he took her in, he knew she was his daughter.

She had his dark eyes and equally dark curls. They had the same mouth and chin. She looked so much like him. More importantly, she looked like her. The stubborn tilt of her chin and the fire in her eyes. A Gryffindor through and through.

“Let go of me,” she hissed at him.

“Where did you get this scar?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think you’ll find,” he responded as he took a step closer, “it is.”

Her eyes flickered and then widened. “It’s you. The new person in the magic.”

He raised a dark eyebrow at her. “You can differentiate the persons in the family magic? I’d say it’s impressive, but the only other person is a ragged mess.”

“It hurts,” she confessed softly.

“Yes,” he drawled, “I imagine it does.” He nodded to the nearest desk. “Now sit so I can heal your hand.”

Her eyes narrowed. He released her wrist and she cautiously took a seat. He pulled out the chair beside hers and held out his hand. She eyed him warily.

“Who are you?”

“Someone annoyed by this constant pain in my magic because you refuse to go see a healer. Now, give me your hand.”

Her lips twisted. Finally, she gave him her hand. She was entirely too trusting. If he were her father – which he was not – he’d have scolded her firmly for that. But she did not belong to him. Not really.

Tom pulled a pouch from his pocket and summoned a collection of healing supplies from within. She gasped lightly.

“Is that an undetectable extension charm?”

“It is.”

“They’re illegal.”

His dark eyes flickered up to meet hers. “Only if you get caught.”

She pursed her lips, amused but trying to look like she was disapproving. Her mother used to do the same thing. The thought cut through Tom’s chest. He returned to the task at hand. He wasn’t going to stay here. He wasn’t going to get involved. He was already breaking every rule in the book by interacting with her at all.

“Does Minerva know about this?”

“Professor McGonagall?” Her shoulders relaxed at the mention of the older witch. 

Tom looked up. “Well?”

She shook her head. “She’s at St. Mungo’s. Umbridge cast four stunners to her chest.”

“What?” Tom hissed, voice filled with ice.

Her eyes widened. She swallowed visibly. “Umbridge is in charge now.”

“She did this?” He raised her half healed hand.

She nodded.

Tom made a noise of disgust. “This world is a mess.”

“Who are you?” she asked again.

He didn’t respond as he gently wrapped her hand. 

“I’m Hermione.”

Hermione. Shakespeare. God, he was so predictable. Such a beautiful name. A powerful character. A queen. 

“I didn’t ask,” Tom seethed, furious with himself for being so weak. He never should have come here. He never should have given in like this. The sight of her face and the feel of her soft, warm magic would haunt him until the day he died.

[daffi-990]

WIP Wednesday 📝

Tagged by @jamespearce9-1-1 & @thewolvesof1998

All the love for my last snippet from my Fantasy AU got the writing beans going and I got 2K written for it today ☺️.

A lot of you were so curious what happened to Bobby, so here is a snippet that explains things a bit. It’s set before the prev snippet I shared. I wrote this on the notes app of my phone and it’s a rough first draft so hopefully it reads well and makes sense. I really really wanted to share the whole 2K I wrote today because this girl loves validation, but I restrained myself so enjoy this long snippet instead xx

A pained groan from their right has Eddie shooting up quickly and moving towards-

“Bobby!” Buck is scrambling to his feet, feeling a bit like a newborn baby deer on wobbly legs as he closes the distance between them. He falls to his knees besides Eddie, who is helping Bobby sit up against a large rock. The arrow sticking out of Bobby’s side is surrounded by a sea of red that has spread across Bobby’s shirt. Eddie rips the fabric of the shirt open to reveal the entry wound, the smell of blood flooding Buck’s nose causing bile to rise in his throat that he quickly swallows back down.

“Shit.” Eddie hisses as he inspects the wound carefully.

Bobby winces in pain. “Eddie, you need to go.” His voice comes out strained, breaths sounding heavy with exertion and Buck is fucking terrified. He can’t lose Bobby. He can’t he can’t he can’t.

Eddie stills his hands, lifting his head to meet Bobby’s eyes. “Bobby- ”

“More are coming and you can’t fight them off alone.”

���I can fight.” Buck says with determination. Bobby made sure Buck was skilled in combat, and now Buck understands why. The soldiers hunting them aren’t going to stop if they best him. No, they’ll go for the killing blow. They’re battle hungry and fighting for a cause that they truly believe in, and that’s what makes them so dangerous, not the weapons or magic they’re wielding, though that certainly doesn’t help. Buck won’t deny that he’s scared, but he will not stand back and do nothing. “Bobby, I can fight. Let me protect you.” He pleads, blinking away the tears that have been building in his eyes. They trickle down his face, feeling warm and heavy with with grief.

Bobby smiles sadly at him, Eddie getting to his feet and stepping back to give them some space. “I know you can, Buck.” His hand lands on Buck’s neck, thumb a comforting weight on the hinge of his jaw. “But there’s fifteen more armed soldiers coming and the two of you can’t fight that many, not with so much at risk.” He looks pointedly at Buck now and Buck wants to scream and yell at whatever deity dealt him these cards. He closes his eyes against the fresh onslaught of tears. “You need to go. Eddie will protect you and keep you safe.”

Buck shakes his head vehemently. “No, no I’m not leaving you.” He won’t leave Bobby here to die alone, he’ll die with him if it comes down to it. Bobby saved Buck all those years ago, has been saving him every day of his life just by existing and loving him, now it’s Buck’s turn to return the favour. He opens his eyes and meets Bobby’s with a new sense of determination. He is not leaving him.

Bobby looks over Buck’s shoulder and gives a small nod of his head before strong arms are wrapping around Buck and pulling him away.

“No! I’m not leaving you!” Buck fights against Eddie’s arms, thrashing and kicking out, desperately trying to get back to Bobby. He is not leaving him. “Bobby! Don’t do this! Dad!”

“May Elrus guide your soul, Robert Nash.” Eddie says, Buck feeling the vibrations from his voice along his back before Eddie tightens his arms around Buck and then the ground beneath his feet is gone, air whipping around them as they shoot into the sky.

Buck yells, clutching onto Eddie’s arms, stomach swooping like he’s on the drop of a rollercoaster. A strong gust of wind blows and sends them soaring through the air, the shape of Bobby growing smaller and smaller until Buck can no longer see him through the haze of tears freely falling from his eyes.

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @callmenewbie @spotsandsocks @wikiangela @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon @malewifediaz @lover-of-mine @theotherbuckley @loserdiaz @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @ladydorian05 @spagheddiediaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @athenagranted @rainbow-nerdss @weewootruck @steadfastsaturnsrings @captain-hen @monsterrae1 @try-set-me-on-fire @the-likesofus @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday: Blackmail au

PREV:

(Having retrieved Mar, and removed Krew from the playing field entirely, Jak and Daxter are now trying to settle into whatever life looks like now. Not everything is so easy to leave behind.)

Jak had been away from the sea for too long.

Haven had robbed him of more than his innocence, it ate away at his memories until Sandover seemed like a half forgotten dream. Haven may have had its own coastline, but it was far beyond The Wall.

Jak had forgotten how swiftly weather changed on the ocean.

At first, he'd been intrigued by the sudden clouds blocking the moon. He'd sat up from the rug -- the bed was too soft, too big; it was a luxury he was sure he hadn't earned -- to watch the black tendrils snuff out the moonlight and wondered if clouds would lower the heat the following day. At first, the sound of the rain was pleasant. He didn't mind rain, even the cold rain in Haven. Even if he'd never had a roof over his head during storms in Haven, the mere sound of the rain was a reminder that he was alive, and free. In the prison, the walls were insulated so civilians couldn't hear prisoners scream.

In the prison, Jak had never been able to hear the rain.

For a while, he hovered between sleep and consciousness, until the hammering of the raindrops against the window blurred into a dull shushing sound. His mind drifted aimlessly, in and out of coherent thought. At some point, thought became memory, and memory, dream. He was in the Water Slums again, holding that bright piece of gold. Funny how, after everything, it was the Lurkers who had protected the pieces of the golden seal all these years. Was that why Praxis had enslaved them? Had they been allies of- well, his ancestors?

The flimsy dock beneath his feet trembled with the roar of troop transport craft. Thunderous cracks and booms as Krimzon Guards dropped by the dozens to fill the slums. This was no mere patrol this time. Someone had seen him. Someone had betrayed him. Called in the Guard in hopes of- of what? Leniency? A reward? There were so many. Praxis wasn't playing this time. Maybe that's why Errol wasn't there.

Jak knew in his heart why there were so many Guards.

This was an extermination. Praxis finally understood how dangerous the monster he'd created was. And now he was making sure Jak didn't escape again.

Would they dissect him after he was dead to find out how he could transform? If he died while in his dark form, would he transform back or stay a monstrous corpse?

CRACK

Jak's eyes snapped open as a flash lit the room, blinding him temporarily. He acted on instinct, rolling under a gap he'd barely registered in his peripheral vision to take cover from the incoming gunfire. Another rumble filled the room as he desperately tried to take stock of his surroundings.

Not the slums. Indoors.

Daxter?

No. Where was Daxter?!

Slowly, his brain fed him more information.

Someone snoring over his head.

A soft texture beneath his fingers -- woven fiber of some kind.

The sound of rain.

The nightmare or memory reluctantly released its grip on his mind as Jak began to make sense of where he was.

This was Spargus. Not Haven.

He was here with Daxter and Sig and Mar.

He still had the seal fragment.

He had locked the door.

He had locked the door.

Hadn't he?

Jak rolled out from under the bed. After taking a moment to confirm that it was indeed Daxter snoring atop the mattress, he hurried to the door.

Locked.

He sighed and began to walk away, before turning around and testing the door.

Couldn't be too careful.

And maybe checking the lock three more times was excessive. But having a door at all was so new to Jak, let alone one he was allowed to lock from the inside! How could he be blamed for not being used to it yet?

Lightning streaked past the window in an ugly purple-blue bolt, so close Jak could feel the static crackling across his skin. It reminded him of-

Don't think about it. Don't.

It was the color of-

No No No No No-

The image of The Chair flashed through his mind, and Jak felt ill.

No No No No No-!

He felt exposed, here in sight of the window. Vulnerable. Without stopping to think, Jak dropped to his belly and shimmied beneath the bed again. The blanket hung down off the side, obscuring him from sight -- and obscuring the lightning from his view.. It was as good a place to sleep as any, he supposed. Quiet, sheltered, like the alcove in the temple. Jak covered his ears to block out the thunder and counted backwards from fifty.

He was asleep before thirty.

Damas was out of bed with the first crack of thunder.

In a way, he was amazed that his body still knew what to do after nearly three years of forcing himself to go back to sleep. Who was to say if Mar was even still afraid of thunder?

A high-pitched whine from the nursery pulled his body into action before he had even finished the thought. At the very least, Mar and Jak's puppy wasn't enjoying the weather.

When he opened the door, Damas found Mar sitting up in bed with his arms wrapped tightly around the puppy. They were still- so still! Just listening. Mar turned his head slightly and noticed his father. He put a finger to his lips.

"Quiet, Daddy. Are the bad guys close?" he signed.

Alarmed, Damas stepped into the room and looked around.

"What bad guys?" he signed back, scanning every nook and cranny.

Thunder rumbled, more distant now, and Mar pointed at the ceiling.

"There! That's the big boom gun, right?"

His relief that his son was referring to thunder was eclipsed by the dull, terrible understanding that Mar had become accustomed to the sound of gunfire and having to stay quiet. Damas sat down on tbe bed beside his son and stroked his head.

"Everything is alright," he murmured. "It's only thunder, dear one. No one can hurt you here. Daddy's here. Daddy's got you."

Mar crawled up into his arms and nervously chewed on his thumb.

"But what if they get Jakky?"

"Jak is safe, the storm can't get him either," Damas tried to assure the toddler, but his reasoning fell on unconvinced ears.

"Can you check? Just check, okay?"

With a soft grunt of exertion, Damas got up and tapped lightly on the door separating his sons' rooms. "Jak?" he called softly, "Can Mar come in?"

He could just open the door, he knew. Jak only locked the door that led to the corridor. He insisted on being able to get to Mar in an emergency as quickly as possible. But this wasn't an emergency, and Damas didn't want to risk damaging the little bit of trust Jak was beginning to have in him by barging in uninvited. He tapped at the door again, but there was no answer.

"Jak is sleeping, Mar," Damas told his younger son. "Let's let him sleep, alright?"

"No!!" Mar shook his head rapidly. "Jakky always comes when I'm scared! He didn't come in!"

Despite himself, Damas felt a hint of Mar's trepidation creeping into his mind. It was true that Jak was always the first one in the room when Mar had a nightmare. He had expected to already find Jak in the room once he'd heard the dog whine. Hoping he wasn't making a mistake, Damas eased the door open, just a crack.

"Jak?" he whispered.

There was no answer. Save for Daxter, sprawled out on the pillow, the bed was empty.

Damas pushed the door open, frowning. The other door was still closed, and Jak wouldn't have left without Daxter or his brother. Irrational worries about losing his firstborn a second time propelled him into the room, looking for him.

It was a pretty bare room. Rug, window with a bench beneath it, desk, and bed. Jak hadn't given it any personal touches yet. Damas knelt to examine the blanket Jak had left crumpled on the rug where he must have been sleeping again. Lightning flickered at the window, providing the briefest moment of extra illumination. The edge of the blanket stretched toward the bed.

Damas shifted to peer under the edge of the frame on a hunch, and his heart clenched.

Jak lay huddled in a fetal position, hands clamped tightly over his ears. His breathing was soft and even, and his face was peaceful, but Damas knew it wasn't sweet dreams that had driven Jak under there.

As thunder grumbled, only just beginning to retreat into the distance, Jak huddled tighter, reacting to the sound in his sleep.

Oh.

Damas of Spargus was not a man given to fits of tears. To be the king of the Wastelanders often meant hiding his emotions beneath the surface where others could not guess them at a glance. Even so, for a moment the pitiful shape beneath the bed blurred as Damas found himself wondering what kinds of experiences might drive a youth as brash as Jak to hide from thunder.

They were not pleasant thoughts.

"Oh, oh little heart," he whispered thickly. With one hand he fumbled for the blanket and awkwardly pushed it beneath the bed, covering Jak as best he could from his angle.

"There, now. It's- It's going to be alright. You'll see one day. I will never let them take you again, I promise."

He knew Jak couldn’t hear him. He knew the words were more for himself than for his son. But what of it? He was not made of stone. His heart ached when his children suffered, just like any other parent worth their water.

Heavily, Damas turned to stand and found himself face to face with Mar. The little boy stood there, sniffling, with his Lurker doll clutched tightly in his arms. A worried pout decorated his round face as he edged forward.

"Where's Jak?" he asked.

Damas wiped his eyes quickly. "He's....um...camping."

He lifted the edge of the blanket hanging off the bed.

"See? Every- everything is alright. Why don't you go back to bed, sweetheart?"

Mar gave this all of two seconds of thought. Then he squirmed beneath the bed to snuggle up to his brother. Jak relaxed minutely, as if he knew Mar was there.

"You watch out for the bad guys, okay Daddy?" Mar signed anxiously. "Don't let them get us."

Damas winced. "No, Mar, I won't let anyone get you. I'll just. I'll sit here in the door until the storm passes, alright?"

He was still there when Jak woke at dawn.

It was warm when Jak woke. Not in the way he would've expected from the desert, but a close, sweaty heat. With a soft groan, he forced open eyes sticky with sleep. Mar lay there, curls plastered to his round cheeks with drool as he cuddled closer. Well, that explained the heat. The kid was like a walking vent of yellow eco. Jak started to sit up, only to crack his head against solid wood.

"Ow!"

Jak fell back on the floor clutching his forehead.

"Rotsucker-!"

The bed. He was under the rottin' bed!

Jak groaned and dragged his fingers down his face. Right. The storm. He'd had...what, a nightmare? A flashback, maybe? At least he was still too low on dark eco to transform. The thought of Damas seeing that shape so close to Mar scared him more than any flashback.

It took some doing to slip out from under the bed without waking either Mar or Chopper. As Jak maneuvered backwards around the pair, he found himself unexpectedly grateful that they'd all had such drastic changes to their diet recently. In Haven, where the dog ate whatever he could find, it was not uncommon for everyone to be awoken with truly foul canine flatulence. And that was on top of how Jak usually smelled after working twenty hour "shifts" without rest!

Jak eased out from under the bed, rubbing his bruised forehead ruefully. His blanket was still tangled around his legs, albeit half pinned under Mar. Gingerly, Jak unwrapped himself and tossed the excess back under the bed with his brother. Then he paused. Granted, he hadn't been in the best state of mind the night before, but...hadn't he left the blanket in the middle of the room?

Movement caught the corner of Jak's eye, and he turned quickly to find Mar's door open. He'd expected that, given the child's presence. But he hadn't expected Damas to be seated in the open doorway, half asleep. He had a blanket around his shoulders and his hair tied up in a scarf, and only the knife hilt his hand rested on betrayed his true nature.

Gradually, Damas became aware of Jak looking at him. He slumped against the doorframe and yawned.

"Oh good. Th' storm's over."

Jak cocked his head and frowned.

"What...what are you doing?"

Letting out another jaw-cracking yawn, Damas let go of the knife at his belt and sleepily scratched his cheek.

"Ah. Mar was scared last night. Flashbacks. I promised I'd stand guard so you three could sleep."

He blinked slowly for a few moments, then inhaled.

"Oh. Right. I owe you an apology, Jak."

Slightly suspicious, Jak narrowed his eyes as he stood up to look for his boots.

"Uh...why?"

"I entered your room without permission," answered Damas, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. He gestured with one hand to the edge of Jak's turquoise blanket. "Mar didn't see you when he looked into your room. I called in, but you were asleep by then."

Damas had been in his room.

That meant he'd seen him sleeping under the bed.

Jak couldn't pin down a specific feeling about that, but he didn't like it.

"Why did you come in?"

He sounded a little hostile. He couldn't help it.

"To prove to myself that you were still here. Still safe."

Damas shrugged wearily. He gave a muted groan and rubbed a crick in his neck.

"In the dead hours, even children's fears are contagious."

"Did you touch my stuff?" Jak peered at his foot locker as if trying to gauge whether it had been tampered with.

"I gave you your blanket," Damas acknowledged. "Then I told your brother to let you sleep, and set up post in the door here. It's been-"

He squinted at the window with bleary eyes.

"Three? Four hours, maybe?"

With a loud groan, Damas grabbed the door frame and hauled himself upright. Jak wondered at the amount of clicking and popping sounds that seemed to be coming from him. Was that all his spine?! Damas rubbed his face and stretched.

"Thank the Precursors it's Fifthday. No meetings until noon, barring incidents." With a sleepy wave, he began to shuffle back into Mar's room.

“If you need anything, get Sig. I'm going back to bed.”

All was quiet for a moment, with Jak staring in bemusement at the now empty doorway. In the back of his sleep-addled brain, he wondered if this is what it felt like to be Mar when Jak hovered.

[satashiiwrites]

Snippet Sunday

Working on the Hanai verse a bit today (not Family, Familia, Ohana… unfortunately) so have a snippet sunday. Tagging with no pressure/obligation: @tiny-reader @tkwritesdumbassassins @outtoshatter @monsterrae1 @missanniewhimsy @whimsyswastry @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else who wants to play along.

Title: A Final Vow, part of the Hanai Series

Fandom: SWAT, 911, minor Hawaii 5-0

Pairings: Daniel ‘Hondo’ Harrelson/David ‘Deacon’ Kay, prior David ‘Deacon’ Kay/Annie Kay.  Minor Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Steve McGarrett/Daniel Williams

Summary: On her deathbed, Annie extracts a promise from Hondo to take care of her husband. 

Tags/warnings: Character death (we’re fridging Annie at the start for plot reasons), medical inaccuracies, grief/mourning, explicit sexual content, exploring sexuality later in life, relationship with theoretical power imbalances (they’re on the same team…but it’s really not a relationship problem in this fic). Other tags to be added as appropriate. 

Annie’s cancer returns in October. It’s right before Halloween, and the Kay household is decorated to win awards; the entire team and extended friends and family are present when over a bowl of punch playfully labeled vampire’s blood, Annie drops the crystal goblet she’s holding and it shatters at her feet as she temporarily looses the ability to grip with her left hand. 

Hondo watches Deacon shatter in front of him, in slow motion, when the doctor informs him that Annie has had a mini-stroke. The devastation in his friend’s eyes scares Hondo. He’s seen Deacon exhausted, shot, blown up, and raw from beatings, but he’s never seen Deacon look like this. 

“A stroke?” Deacon asks, his voice hoarse like he’s been screaming for hours. 

“Yes,” the doctor confirms, biting her lower lip. The female neurosurgeon is younger than Hondo or Deacon, but the ER doctor had been ebullient about consulting her, saying that he’d trust Dr. Rice with his own family. “There’s more.”

“More?”

“Your wife previously was diagnosed with meningiomas?”

Deacon nods silently, unable to speak. Instinctively, Hondo crowds into Deacon’s space, pressing against him from shoulder to hip. He can feel the faint tremor in Deacon’s body as he holds himself rigidly up, bracing for whatever the doctor’s about to say. 

“She had surgery before—to release pressure on her brain,” Hondo offers, prompting the doctor, whose frown deepens. 

“Yes. Well, that operation was necessary at the time, but it may have delayed her symptom development until now.”

“And that’s bad?” Hondo asks, wrapping one arm around Deacon, who sways dangerously on his feet but shakes his head when Hondo tries to guide him to a chair. 

“It’s allowed the tumor to get big and invade other parts of the brain.”

“Other parts?” Deacon repeats faintly. He’s only still standing because Hondo’s taking his weight. 

Dr. Rice gestures to the computer where she’s pulled up Annie’s scans. “The tumor starts here, close to the base of the brain, where it joins the brain stem and then spreads outward. It’s…uh, actually somewhat surprising that she’s not had issues before now.”

“You said her shunt was helping?”

“It’s relieving pressure. The tumor has invaded the natural drainage system that surrounds the brain. Without that, she’d already have likely passed away.”

Deacon physically flinches. “She’d be dead?”

“Yes. Her shunt has bought her time, but the tumor is invading other parts of the brain now. It’s unresectable.”

“It’s what?” Hondo asks for clarification, hoping that word doesn’t mean what he thinks it does. 

To the doctor’s credit, she’s gentle as she breaks the news. “It means we can’t do surgery to fix this. The tumor has spread too far. She’d die in the operating room.”

The noise Deacon makes in his throat like a dying animal will haunt Hondo to his dying day. He never wants to hear Deacon make that noise again. Breathing in quickly through his nose, Deacon shudders against Hondo, who has wrapped his arm firmly around Deacon and pulled his friend into his body. Despite being taller, Deacon tucks into Hondo, appearing much smaller. 

Deacon’s not crying, but his eyes are bloodshot before he ducks his head into Hondo’s neck and clings to him. 

“Surely there are other options?” Hondo scrambles for ideas while holding onto Deacon. He’s not a doctor or a nurse, but there have to be options. 

Dr. Rice is apologetic. “There may be options to delay progression, but at best, we’re talking weeks to maybe months.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Deacon manages to say. Then they’re standing outside Annie’s ER room, waiting for her to be admitted, with the nurses doing something to make Annie more comfortable. Why she’s being admitted, Hondo isn’t sure since she’s mostly regained movement in her hand, but the doctors want to watch her for a while in case something else happens.

Hondo has the distinct impression that if something else happens, it’ll be days, not weeks or months, for Annie. He’s already mentally gone through everyone he knows to see whether they might be able to help and has come up gallingly empty. 

Annie doesn’t deserve this—and neither does Deacon or their kids. 

“How do I tell her?” Deacon asks him, his voice thick with heartbreak, but his dark eyes are dry as they beg Hondo for salvation. Deacon has seemingly aged ten years in ten minutes; his proud shoulders slumped under a load heavier than a mountain. Hondo wants to take the burden from him, wrap himself protectively around his friend and second. 

If he could take this pain from Deacon, he would in a heartbeat. 

Deacon inhales with a hitch, swallowing down the pain. “How am I going to tell the kids?”

Hondo gives into his instincts and slips his arm back around Deacon’s waist. Deacon comes willingly into his arms, accepting the hug and clinging to him, fingers twisting in Hondo’s t-shirt like anchors. 

Deacon’s been there for him, and Hondo will be here for Deacon. They’ve got each other's backs. It’s an unspoken promise between the two of them from two weeks after Hondo got promoted and Hicks tried to talk Deacon into throwing him under the bus. 

They’re partners, a team. You hurt one of them; you hurt them both. 

“You tell them that their mom is very sick. And you need to spend as much time with her as possible and make as many memories as you can. Take it a day at a time.”

Deacon’s eyes are locked on his, hanging on every word, and he nods, trusting Hondo. “A day at a time.”

“Yeah. And I, uh, we—the team, we’ve got your back. Anything you need, we’ve got you.”

“You’ve got my back,” Deacon repeats, eyes sliding closed, and he sighs, slumping into Hondo for a brief moment. Hondo’s arms contract automatically, tightening the hug. It’s what Deacon needs; seconds later, he straightens and steps out of Hondo’s arms, reluctantly giving him space. “Can you wait out here? While I talk with Annie?”

“Sure. Anything you need, Deac.”

After the nurses leave, Hondo catches the door before it completely closes, leaving it open a crack. He listens as Deacon haltingly tells Annie that her cancer is back and how she breaks down and cries, confessing that she’s been having headaches and has been so tired with four kids. Deacon shushes her protestations, saying it’s not her fault, that she’s a good wife and mother. 

Annie’s so brave. Hondo has always admired that about her. She’s never been afraid of calling him out when he’s not treated Deacon right, made the wrong decision, and put Deacon at more risk than necessary. 

He’s wished at times that he could find a woman just like her. 

Deacon’s voice is low, murmuring something that Hondo can’t pick up, but it seems to be exactly what Annie needs to hear. Deciding he’s heard enough, Hondo makes for the waiting room. He’s got a few phone calls to make, childcare to arrange, and start looking into a home nurse for Annie. Deacon’s exactly where he needs to be—at Annie’s side. Hondo can shoulder the rest of the load. 

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Something Special | p. 2

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x gn!pilot!reader

Part One Masterlist

Summary: You wanted to hate Rooster for everything he'd done. But you still wanted him to come home. To you.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: Angst. Allusion toward death. Fluff

A/n: Sorry for the wait on this, life's been a lot. I hope this fixes some of the hurt from the first part lol. I'd love to know your thoughts, thanks for reading! <3

--

You muffled your angry screams into your pillow, fingers gripping the case to have something to keep you grounded. After all these months of guessing, hoping, that you were important to Rooster, he dropped “I love you” before leaving, perhaps for the last time. You threw the pillow against the wall, collapsing on your bed as your fists balled tighter.

Part of you wanted to hate him, to chew him out for what he said to you. It wanted to push him again and again until he was stumbling back, away. Until he couldn’t hurt you anymore. He could fly toward death as much as he wanted then. And you weren’t sure how long you sat with that hatred, minutes slipping past like weightless seconds.

It wasn’t until the other part of you began to appear that you came back, and you realized that you hadn’t said it back. You hadn’t told him that you loved him too. That made your legs move, make your body pace back and forth along the room. It brought on the first hiccup of tears, your hands grabbing your crumpled pillow and holding it to your chest, trying to calm yourself. See, you wouldn’t be crying if you just hated him and didn’t care about him. But you did.

Shoving your tear-stained pillow over your head or playing music loud enough to hurt your ears couldn’t block out your frantic thoughts, or the noise of people excitedly running past your door. Everyone seemed to be trying to get updates on the mission, hurried gasps echoing through the halls when they caught a snippet. Everyone except for you.

It had started in your stomach, the prodding and fluttering that threatened to make you nauseous. The feeling spread outward, down your legs and up your throat until you were almost choking on it. It left your fingers twitching, picking at your nails, and teeth chewing on your cheek. You had told Rooster good luck, and you meant it. Truly, despite everything that’d happened.

And he’d need it if it really was as dangerous as it seemed.

Your chest didn’t rise like it should have, as if a weight refused to leave you. Inhales and exhales felt shallow, never enough. Not when you thought of Rooster up there fearing for his life, his heart pounding through his body.

Moving your hand to your chest, feeling your own irritated heartbeat, you thought back to flattening your fingers across his shirt weeks ago, searching for that pulse in the dark. You’d gotten news one night that your dad was sick, back in the hospital, and it didn’t look good. With watery vision and an emptiness trying to swallow you whole, you heaved yourself out of bed and went to the only place you could.

Rooster had opened the door within seconds of your knocking, probably hearing the sound of your sniffling on the other side. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you in and holding you as if nothing else mattered in that moment. 

In between your staccatoed breaths, he rubbed a hand down your back and murmured, “It’s okay, baby. Wanna talk about it?”

Your throat still felt tight, your crying still racking through your body. So you shook your head and mentally remembered to apologize for soaking his shirt later. But he just walked you to his bed and laid with you, whispering reassurance against your forehead. And your palm found the space above his heart, letting its beating lull you to a calm only he brought.

Your fingers clenched against your own shirt now, an ache inside still existed from his words – from the secrets he’d kept from you. Yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to wish pain back on him. After all, you’d gone in there yelling at him because you didn’t want to see him hurt. 

Frustration bubbled up to a soft groan in the back of your mouth. You just wanted things to go back to normal, to quiet moments between the two of you and the way he made you laugh so easily. Like that terrible joke he always told people… why a pilot’s least favorite movie is The Little Mermaid.

“Because it’s an Ariel assault,” you whispered, shaking your head as a hint of a smile ghosted your face. 

As you wiped your eyes, attempting to rid your body and mind of the last of its tears, you caught snippets of raised voices passing down the hallway. With more strength than you thought you had in that moment, you crossed the room and crept the door open. You found several people making their way toward the front of the base. 

A pilot you didn’t recognize told you, “They’re on their way back. C’mon.”

In a bit of a daze, you followed. Your feet moved faster as worry ate its way through you, whispering into your ear. What if it had gone all wrong? What if Rooster wasn’t with them? What if he hated you after all that’s happened?

Nearing the entrance, you pushed through the crowd of people. You barely felt the warmth of the sun along your body, your hand coming up to block its brightness. The air buzzed as you saw glimpses of Phoenix’s dark hair, her face tired but happy. Bob stood near, wide smile and bright eyes under his glasses, but sweat drenched him. A question of whether that was a sign things had gone wrong ate at the back of your mind.

Hangman appeared next to them, clasping Maverick on the back. They cheered along with the group of pilots joining them, but where was…?

A breath knocked from your lungs when that laugh rang out, that voice that breezed along your skin. Then you saw him, that stupid mustache that you loved and those warm eyes as they connected with yours from afar. You couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face, especially not once he squeezed around people, fighting through as he made his way toward you.

A giggle escaped your mouth as you did the same, not stopping until he stood in front of you. Where he belonged, with his arms around you and pulling you in close. Where you belonged.

“I’m sorry,” he told you, words spoken against your cheek. You clutched onto the back of him, not caring what this all meant for you two or what anyone might think. He was here. He was alive, and so were you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” you said, pressing into him. “I’m sorry too.”

He pulled back, shaking his head, and you already missed the feeling of him. “No, I was an idiot, and I should’ve told you. Was just scared… like you said.” He kissed your forehead, letting himself breathe against you. “You’re all I thought about up there.”

By that point, your smile had grown so wide your cheeks began to ache. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Knew I had to make it back.” His body rocked side to side with yours, oblivious to anything happening outside the two of you.

You gave him one last squeeze before leaning back, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “Well, for what it’s worth,” you said, unable to draw your eyes away from his, “I love you too.”

--

@reidslovely

[fairyniceyeah]

trick or treat! 🎃

Hey there!

Thank you for appearing in my inbox!!!

For you I got a snippet of an abandoned fic that I won’t continue writing but I do like enough to share! I hope you enjoy :)

“Can we return to practice, please?”, a voice cut through the air, sharper than any of them would use on a first attempt of such a proposition. “We don’t have all day.” Laughter suddenly got quiet as they all turned to Woozi who was glowering at BooSeokSoon, his arms crossed over his chest.  Seungcheol felt dread pooling in his stomach. “We can”, Hoshi replied, looking annoyed, “when the ten minute break is over. We still have three minutes left. So let us have fun.” “Don’t waste your energy then. I, for one, don’t want to stay longer today because you are exhausted and fucking up the moves later on”, Woozi replied, his voice biting.  The members were obviously taken aback by the anger radiating from their producer. Sure, Woozi seldomly was one who would join these little skits but normally he just stood to the side trying to look composed while a smile tried to break through. Seungcheol was frozen to the spot, not sure what was happening. The same sentiment didn’t seem to stop Hoshi who mumbled, very obviously loud enough to be clearly heard: “Jeez, who rained on your parade? We’re just having fun.” It was also very obviously the wrong thing to say. Woozi’s face went red in anger and he took a step closer to Hoshi, gritting his teeth. “Have fun when we are not practicing for an important comeback then. Don’t you care for this?” One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. The two best friends were usually jokingly fighting but to have this actually escalated was scary.  “How dare you say that? Just because you would rather lock yourself in the studio and pretend that as producer you are the most important member in the group, I actually care for the wellbeing of the group and the members. Being a hardass and cold, strict vocal leader will get you nowhere”, Hoshi yelled back, his voice ringing louder with each word.  “You think I don’t care?”, Woozi yelled back, “huh? Is that what you think I am? Who I am? An arrogant, selfish, cold person? Huh? Do you truly think of me that way? News flash: I do care a lot, Soonyoung-ssi. I want us to do well. Which means we cannot fool around and use up energy we don’t have while we are preparing a comeback for our Caratdeul!” “Enough”, Jeonghan snapped, getting between the two. The others were still as frozen as Seungcheol was, watching the exchange with wide, frightened eyes. “Stop this nonsense!” “Stay out of this, hyung”, Woozi screamed, pushing past him to stand directly in front of Hoshi. “Huh? Is this what you really think who I am? An asshole? Somebody who doesn’t care for the team? Just the producer not worthy of being a member?”, he asked, his voice dangerously low. Seungcheol begged to all Gods and Goddesses he knew and didn’t know that Hoshi would choose not to answer in the heat of the moment.  “If you are acting like this? Yeah”, Hoshi spat out.  They all held their breaths, expecting Woozi to explode in a fit of anger and yelling.  But Woozi took a few stumbling steps back, his knees buckling and then he fell onto the ground, his hands hiding his face. And then the first sob rang out. 

Lots of love,

🧚🏻‍♀️

[kettlefire]

Another random continuation snippet based on the post.

~•~•~•~

If he was asked, Tony would say this whole situation felt like a fever dream.

One moment he was working on blueprints, the next he's working to calm down a melting little girl.

It wasn't long before her melting seemed to slow, and hiccups became more spaced out. The number she gave him to call was a disconnected line.

"Trust me, he got the call."

In any other situation, he wouldn't trust her.

But he has very little experience with kids, let alone with them melting.

Not to mention the sudden bounce back she had was astonishing. The moment the green liquid seemed to slow and harden into a more gel like substance, her panicked breathing slowed to almost nothing.

Ectoplasm. Ghosts. Clone. Destabilizing.

All words used only garnered more questions. Tony was sure about one thing. There was no way in hell he was going to let her die.

It took everything in him not to point his repulsors at the green portal that opened behind her. The same green as the ectoplasm.

It took a whole lot more effort not the react to what stepped through.

The being towered over everyone in the room. Black gravity-defying hair, blood red eyes, and fangs. Actually real fangs.

To make matters worse, he was blue.

"Ellie!"

Funny enough that was when Tony learned her name. The way she light up was all the scientist needed to know.

This was her dad. This strange creature that glowed. That stared at him like he could see his soul. That lit up every survival instinct Tony had.

Thing was, this man wasn't the most terrifying thing in the room.

From behind him, just before the portal closed, another one walked through.

He looked just like Ellie. Black hair, blue eyes. They could very well be twins. If Ellie hadn't mentioned being a clone, Tony would have thought they were.

This child, almost the smallest in the room if you didn't account for the melting one, had goosebumps running all across his skin. His hair standing on it's ends.

Even as he spoked to them, told him everything he gathered, and all that he knows. Even as he hid his fear, pushed past the overwhelming atmosphere.

Even as the kid, Danny, acted like a child.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was dangerous. Not dangerous like the vampiric one. Not dangerous like an every day criminal, or new metahuman.

Dangerous in the way of world domination.

This kid was deathly strong, he screamed it even as he fussed over Ellie like a hen mother. Even as his eyes lit-up once he realized he was in the same room as Tony Stark.

Tony never got his answer. He's left baffled and filled with questions as they disappeared into a new portal.

Two things were for certain.

Tony was rewatching the camera footage later, possibly showing it to Bruce. To try and decipher the mess that found itself into his lab.

Second thing?

Tony prays to whatever being there may be out there that he never crosses path with any of them ever again.

~•~°~•~°~•~

Tags~

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