Lorea is nowhere in sight. With one gunshot, they lost the element of surprise. The team spreads out, sweeping the remaining rooms and disarming any guards; demobilize, duct tape, zip tie, move out of sight.
Moments later, Redfly’s voice comes through the ear sets. “Everyone to the office, now.”
Amara and Frankie exchange a glance before heading to the North Wing Office. This place was massive, containing 14 rooms in total.
Entering the office, they find the rest of the team, minus Pope, already there. What they came for is nowhere in sight, the money. The only signs it was here are empty bags. Amara feels a tightness in her gut, she looks at the empty bags.
“The ‘baby’ nearly takes her out” — honestly, SAME ‼️ i’m so here for it, but sir we’re in the middle of a mission in the rainforest and you’re about to be injured, my anxiety is already dialed up. by all means, let’s add emotional tension to the mix. what a chapter!!
thank you
High steaks here! With some mushy moments woven in.
An exclusive mini fic for @clydesducktape Moon In May (week 3) posted on week 4 (life you know)
Prompts used this week: heat, wolfsbane, curse
⚠️ warnings: missing person, impending danger, a traumtic childhood alluded to but not expanded upon, intense overwhelming sexual feelings, masterbation but not heavily detailed or described.
Time passes with ease on the long drive to Louisiana. Along the way, Izara shares what she knows about Priestess-Wolf hybrids, also known as I'ah - Sa’s in Coptic. According to Lore, they were one of the most respected and powerful members of their tribe, with roots in Ancient Nubia. Because they were rare, most packs didn’t have one.
The sun disappears behind gray clouds as the next song plays on the radio. It was quiet out here, peaceful.
The road is surrounded by a grassy landscape on both sides, mountains loom in the distance. It’s a humid summer day, a layer of sweat sticks to your skin, even with the AC on in the car.
Your eyes drift from the window to your boyfriend as he drives. You smile as he belts out the lyrics from the song, you loved the sound of his voice.
Benny reaches out and places a hand on your thigh. “You know, we’re about to pass that pool. I could use a swim.” He said.
“I could too. But Isn’t that closed?”
When the mischievous grin builds on his lips, you already know what he’s going to say.
“We can handle a gate. It’s not even that high.” His eyes meet yours. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, no one to stop us.”
You shake your head no and lay your hand over his with a squeeze. “Not sure I want to be arrested for trespassing today.”
Benny chuckles and points out a spot coming up obscured by trees.
“Come on. Let’s be rebels. We could park right there, no one would see the car. Then sneak in. It will be easy. Trust me.” He flashes that charming smile, you give in.
“Okay, fine, but we can’t stay too long.”
…
If anyone was good at sneaking into a place, it was Benny. He got you both in there easy, as promised.
Your nervousness never fully goes away, but once you get into the pool, you feel thankful. Sweet relief washing over you, and cooling down your skin.
Pools were a treat in hot weather, but a pool in the middle of nature surrounded by carved stone, that made you feel like royalty. As you relax in the water, you feel Benny swim up behind you and kiss your shoulder.
An exclusive fic for @clydesducktape Moon In May (week 3) posted on week 4 (life you know)
Prompts used this week: heat, wolfsbane, curse
⚠️ warnings: missing person, impending danger, a traumtic childhood alluded to but not expanded upon, intense overwhelming sexual feelings, masterbation but not heavily detailed or described. It’s super brief, like blink and you miss it.
Time passes with ease on the long drive to Louisiana. Along the way, Izara shares what she knows about Priestess-Wolf hybrids, also known as I'ah - Sa’s in Coptic.
According to Lore, they were one of the most respected and powerful members of their tribe, with roots in Ancient Nubia. Because they were rare, most packs didn’t have one.
In history, as with all things, there were some examples of their power gone bad. However, for the most part, the spirit and soul of the Priestess-Wolf was good, and they were able to fight darker forces and inclinations.
The Priestess-Wolf gene is passed down from the maternal line. It’s believed, to keep some balance, nature only made them half-breeds. This detail is debatable, as no proof exists to prove this right or wrong. I'ah - Sa’s were private by nature and didn’t advertise their gifts.
I'ah - Sa’s gain access to the magic at age 13. An elder or guide is needed as the magic can be too powerful or hard to control for the child. The first transformation into wolf form happens during the year they hit puberty, so the age varies.
Both processes happen organically, unless there’s interference by magical means, or a curse placed on the line. Unlike common Weres, they can turn at will without repercussions. For normal werewolves, a non-full moon turn can come with exhaustion, slower healing time, or aches and pains that linger for days.
Any news and stories of the Priestess-Wolf died down over the 18th centaury, they were believed extinct after this. Due to territory battles and others wanting such strength, it’s believed I'ah - Sa’s were extinguished by neighboring packs. If any existed after, they did so in secret.
Izara believed them to be extinct herself until she visited some distant family in Louisiana 30 years back. During that trip, she met her now dear friend Zola Eshe; a historian, genealogist, high priestess and I'ah - Sa. Zola was the only one Izara (and to a greater extent the Millers and the Pack) knew, until Ajani walked into that bar.
…
It was night now and time to eat some dinner. Izara’s taken this trip a number of times, she enjoyed driving and didn’t mind the travel. Over all her trips, she accumulated a list of favorite rest stops, places to eat, and to sleep if they wanted to rest for the night. It’s one of these places they stop at for dinner. It’s a perfect Spring night and the bench they choose is near a beautiful Cypress tree.
Izara takes a bite of food, “I think this is going to be life changing for you.”
Ajani smiles. She was hungry, and excited, but there was something else. Though Will was over 4 hours away now she couldn’t shake his scent. She always had a very sensitive nose but after spending a couple of days around the Millers, everything felt heightened, stronger.
Sometimes it felt like Will was right there. Hovering over her, smelling her, touching her. And when she let her mind linger a little too long, she’d picture Bennys eyes on her and the deepness of his voice. Ajani’s desire for Will is overwhelming, being drawn to Benny too was the last thing she needed.
Trying her best to calm what was happening inside of her, Ajani shifts her attention to the small pouch around her neck, hidden by her shirt.
Before they hit the road, the two women stopped at Ajani’s hotel and grabbed a few things. Most importantly she wanted this pouch. This special mix was made to calm her pheromones and hide her scent. Not just for herself, but from what she understood, if she was going into heat, other Weres would pick up on this, even if she was just a suppressed Halfbreed.
If she could, Ajani wanted to avoid attracting extra attention. The bit of wolfsbane inside was irritating her, and she knew Izara didn’t love it, but it was a necessary ingredient.
Izara breaks the silence with a question, “Have you considered the possibility your parents didn’t give you and Andre up by choice?”
The question pulls Ajani right out of her own head.
“Not really. It was a closed adoption, so, we don’t know anything. Just that they gave up when Andre was 2, I was 1,” Ajani sets the fork down and frowns, “I just never understood what could make parents give up two little kids?”
“I don’t know honey, but there could be a valid reason.”
“We were in so many homes until the last one. I know we weren’t well behaved after a while but…” she shakes her head, “…we were hurt, angry kids you know? The Bennets are okay people, they tried but it wasn’t a good fit. They didn’t understand us…and when Andre first turned, I was with him. It was horrible. We had to hide it from them because we didn’t want to go back in the system.” Ajani shrugs and slouches back against the seat. She didn’t like talking about any of this. Like Andre, Ajani shoved all this deep down inside.
Izara, ever observant, picks up on this and doesn’t push any further. “We don’t have to talk about that now. But you should know, Zola is the real deal. Unlocking your true form may take going deep into you past. You’ll have to face this.”
“I have that feeling.” Ajani sits back up. “I know I have to do it.”
“Good, come on, let’s get out of here. Would you like to hit the road, keep going? Or rest for the night?” Izara asked. She puts money down for the bill. “There’s a place I like, about an hour out. I’m friends with the owner. We’d have to leave early in the morning.“ She wrinkles her nose. "I can get a break from that wolfbane too.”
Ajani chuckles, “sorry. yeah, lets rest.”
Izara takes her phone out and searches her contacts. “Honestly, I’d prefer being annoyed over playing bodyguard to horny Weres. But you need to take care of this,” she points to Ajani, “It’s going to be a real problem as we look for your brother.”
Feeling embarrassed, Ajani drops her gaze to the ground and walks away from the table, “I’ll wait for you by the car.”
Ajani is only waiting about two minutes when Izara returns, she stands on the passenger side and offers Ajani the keys. “I don’t let anyone except a select few drive my baby, consider this my blessing.”
Ajani takes them, then unlocks the car, “your blessing?”
Izara laughs and moves to the trunk; she searches for something then tosses a button up shirt at Izara. “This is what you’ve been smelling. And yes, it’s his.” She climbs into the passenger seat, wearing an amused grin.
Ajani rubs the cotton of the shirt between her fingertips and brings it to her nose. Her reaction is instant, it feels like Will is holding her, his breath against her skin.
She closes her eyes and whispers to herself, “Get it together. You’re driving.”
Ajani places the shirt in the backseat then enters the car. Closing the door behind her, she straps in and starts the car.
Izara turns to Ajani. “He’s been mate-less for a long time…not for lack of options he just never wanted to settle. We weren’t sure at this point if he should keep waiting or pick someone. Whenever we presented Will with an option, he rejects it.”
She continues, “he’s always reminding us how Jon and I met. Jon already had kids, a mate, but she wasn’t his forever mate. We found each other after. We thought Will wouldn’t find his person, then you walked into the bar,“ Izara’s eyes are warm, “A wolf always knows their mate. Suppressed wolf or not, you know it too.” Izara breaks eye contact and turns the AC on.
Ajani almost forgot how hot her skin is, until the cool air provides instant relief. She observes Izara for a moment, then brings her eyes to the road. The silence in the car soon fills with music from Izara’s Bluetooth.
…
The quaint hotel is one of the cutest places Ajani has ever seen. It’s tucked away in a quiet part of town and looks like something from a movie. The owner had two rooms open, giving them one each. After a nightcap in the small but charming bar area, they said goodnight and headed to their rooms.
Ajani’s thankful to have her own room. She needs a cold shower and to take the edge off. Part of her feels ashamed bringing the shirt with her, but there was no way she was leaving in the car, not when it smelled of him.
The shower doesn’t help matters any, at first the cold water feels good against her skin. It’s a fleeting relief, the heat returns with more intensity. Dragging herself to the bed, she lays down flat. Rolling onto her side, she grabs Wills shirt and brings it to her nose.
Closing her eyes, Ajani visualizes Will. The scene from the living room replays in her mind. This time there is no one else, just her and Will. As she inhales his scent deeply, her body awakens further. Before she realizes it, she slides her hand inside of the loosely closed robe.
Keeping the shirt close, and with the aid of her vivid imagination, a euphoric wave washes ever her. Her body goes still. For the first time in two days, her body temperature finally decreases. Rolling to her side, she snuggles the shirt. A second later, her phone buzzes on the nearby table.
Ajani grabs the phone and smiles at the message.
Will: It’s Will. I got your number from Quinn. I hope that’s okay.
Ajani: More than okay. This is a nice surprise.
Will: Is it too late to call?
Ajani: No, not at all. Please do.
Almost at the same time she presses send, Will calls.
“Hi.” She whispers into the phone speaker with a smile.
His voice is low and breathy, “I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish you were lying next to me.”
Ajani pulls the shirt close again, while holding the phone with her other hand. “I wish I was too.”
…
The Next day, evening time
Zola is everything Ajani imagined and more. As the first full day with her winds down, Ajani feels her mind expanded, her spirit lifted, her heart lighter. Izara sticks around, while giving them plenty of space. Being here feels like an unrealized dream of Ajani’s younger self.
As Izara predicted, it takes Zola no time to figure out the source of Ajani’s block. Watching the majestic women in ritual felt like a privilege.
With the guidance of her ancestors, Zola was able to connect to Ajani’s ancestral line. A curse was the sole cause her block. Her people were at war with another group, a group who wanted their power and kidnapped her mother to have it for themselves.
Protecting his family, Ajani’s father killed the Alpha and slaughtered half the pack to get his wife back. Once it was done, her mother and father went into hiding. During that time, they had Andre, and Ajani. Their happiness was shattered when enemy wolves found them. They were captured. Instilling the help of a witch, the enemy pack initiated the curse.
POV switch - Will - That night
Post pack meeting, Will went for a run. Benny joined him.
After looping around their usual route three times, the brothers take a break and have some water. Will takes a few sips, then pours the rest over his head.
He’s squeezing the bottle so tight it bends under his weight. The run barely provides any relief. He growls under his breath and paces in place. Will can feel his brother watching him.
“I’m fine.” He barked.
Benny crosses his arm, cementing in place, ” no you’re not bro. You’ve been in a shitty mood since yesterday and you went a little hard back there.“
Will clenches his jaw as he looks at his brother, "You surprised? We’re dealing with assholes again. You should be pissed too!”
Benny drops his arms and gets in Wills face. "You know how I feel about that.” He says through clenched teeth, “I’m talking about her. You’re in a fucking rut man!”
Will growls and shoves the bottle back in his backpack. Too irritated to speak, he takes off running again. Benny curses and follows him.
When Benny catches up, he run alongside him, “Take the edge off man, you have plenty of - “
Will raises his voice, stopping in place, “ I don’t want them!”
Benny takes a step back, “fine don’t bite my fucking head off man.”
Will breaks eye contact and curls over, resting his hands on his knees. He tries to breath out the frustration and anger.
This wasn’t new, he’s had plenty of ruts in his 38 years, especially being unpartnered. It was easy before; he’d pick an Omega and enjoy himself.
Picking an Omega was a very quick solution to his problem, but Will was trying to resist. The only woman he wanted was 9 hours away now. He’s seen examples of how bad a rut can get, how dangerous. He hopes he can handle the wait.
Getting himself together, Will takes a deep breath then stands tall. He places a hand on Benny’s shoulder. “I’m sorry man.”
“It’s cool,” Benny grins then playfully shoves his brother, “besides, if you pick someone in there, maybe I can have Ajani for myself.”
Will’s expression instantly turns serious, his eyes dark, a growl rumbling in his chest. Benny laughs. “Whoa, I’m messing with you man! You’ve made it very clear she’s yours.”
Benny starts jogging backwards, “come on, let’s go back. I gotta make sure you don’t go insane before your girl gets back.”
Will shakes his head, chuckles, then follows his brother back to the bar.
I haven’t done any writing ages. Got married, had a baby, fell off the face of the Earth. This blog used to be essentially Billy Hargrove fics and head canons and maybe I’ll get back to that, but I have been pretty interested in writing Triple Frontier stuff lately. If that’s something people would be into, I will throw up an old prompt list and see what is requested? Sound good?
The Reader’s Guide to Avoiding Redfly (and how to have a good time doing it)
“It’s gonna be awful snug with four of us in the front,” William said, trying his level best to make room on the seat, “Unless one of you gents wants to take the back?”
“I’ll go,” you said, “I’ve always wanted to ride in the back of a pickup.”
“Well, it’s nice to have goals,” Tom smirked, and your smile was practically beatific in response. Fucking superiority-complex lech. “Want some company back there?”
“Sure she does,” Frankie said, passing you both with an armful of coats. “Vamos, chica.”
Summary: Your friend Dina is dating Benny Miller, and drags you along to one of his fights before a night at a bar. His friends meet you there - Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis, who is too busy trying it on with you to think about his wife; Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, who is a god made flesh; and Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, who agrees to help keep you out of Redfly’s clutches. But Frankie is not without his own charm…
Relationships: Frankie Morales x reader, side Santiago Garcia x Original Female Character, side Benny Miller x Original Female Character
Rating: Explicit from here on in, folks!
Author’s note: I am still finding my way with writing smut - and this is barely smut, but still would love feedback! Redfly is still the worst (even though he’s in this chapter less ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) and I am still obsessed with Frankie Morales. This fic is not canon-compliant, in as much as I see it taking place years before the events of the movie.
Warnings: 18+ for frequent language, she/her pronouns, extensive use of the C-word (the naughty one), smut, fingering, very mild praise kink
“What was that?” Dina’s face was nothing short of gleeful. The three of you were crammed into a toilet cubicle, taking turns while you talked. Sandy looked up at you from the toilet, eyes likewise round with expectation.
“What was what?” you replied, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The pair snorted in tandem, Sandy reaching for the toilet paper.
“And you!” Dina turned, and gripped Sandy’s cheek like a child’s, “You beautiful bitch, you wish you were sitting on Santiago’s lap!”
Your friend grinned, shaking Dina off good-naturedly and standing to fix her dress. She shrugged. “The night’s young, Dee.”
Dina laughed, shrugging out of her faux-fur coat and pulling her pants down to sit. “This is cute as fuck, we’ll be going on triple dates in no time.”
——————————————————-
Before you knew it you were standing outside in the blistering fucking cold again, waiting for Benny and William to emerge.
The three guys were standing together chatting when you came out, laughing it up over what you assumed was stories from the glory days. Sandy and you circled Dina, grooming her like a pair of handmaidens, making sure her hair looked good and her outfit popped just so.
The crowd was petering out, the flood of people from the arena slowly reducing down to a trickle, when a booming voice sounded from within:
“Now was that a fight, or was that a fucking fight?”
Benny emerged into the fluorescent orange light of the parking lot, and made straight for the squealing Dina, who locked her arms around his neck. His hands went to her thighs, hoisting her up and wrapping her legs around her waist. Turning, he sandwiched her against the wall, and busied himself with kissing her senseless. Judging by some of the moans she was letting out, they were also squeezing in about 50% of their foreplay for later.
You didn’t quite know where to look. You settled on kicking a piece of gravel on the ground, before:
“Yeah.”
The voice was right in your ear, and you jumped. Frankie stepped up beside you, shoulder knocking against yours, and repeated: “Yeah.”
You looked him up and down, in what you hoped was a casual manner, at the arms crossed over his chest, at the muscle standing out on his forearms.
“Yeah what?”
“If you need me to do that too, I’d be OK with that.” he rubbed a hand under his chin, and shrugged. “I’m just trying to anticipate your needs.”
You bit your lip, trying to stifle a smile and ignore the way a blush suddenly roared up your neck. “My needs?”
He nodded, eyeing you as if talking about your needs in the parking lot of a shitty arena was the most natural thing in the world. From the look on his face, he was clearly giving it a lot of thought.
An ear-splitting whistle pierced the air and everyone turned to the source; Santiago, removing his fingers from his mouth. “Benny!” he shouted. ”Put the lady down. Come on, we gotta buy you some drinks for that fight.“
Benny and William were the only ones legal to drive. Benny led the way to his car still carrying Dina, with Santiago and Sandy in tow, while William slid behind the wheel of a battered old pickup that it turned out belonged to Frankie.
“It’s gonna be awful snug with four of us in the front,” William said, trying his level best to make room on the seat, “Unless one of you gents wants to take the back?”
“I’ll go,” you said, “I’ve always wanted to ride in the back of a pickup.”
“Well, it’s nice to have goals,” Tom smirked, and your smile was practically beatific in response. Fucking superiority-complex lech. “Want some company back there?”
“Sure she does,” Frankie said, passing you both with an armful of coats. “Vamos, chica.”
You couldn’t resist dropping Tom a wink. His answering smile was queasy, but he swung himself into the front seat without a word. By your count he was four drinks under, so it was only a matter of time.
Frankie swung easily up into the truck bed, before reaching a hand down to you, and you scrambled up to join him.
Any loose debris was kicked roughly away, before Frankie laid the first coat down. He gestured magnanimously, and you sat on the coat with your back against the cab. With a flourish, he laid the other coat over you before joining you on the floor. It was a huge oilcloth raincoat, lined with fleece for warmth, and offered decent protection from the cold wind. He reached up and banged a fist on the window above you, and the pickup rattled to life before pulling out.
“Won’t you be cold?” you asked. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits, and shook his head.
“I’ll survive,” he said. “It’s only ten minutes.”
You pfft!-ed at him, before lifting the coat. With minimal eye-rolling, he shifted sideways, and allowed you to drape part of the coat across him. You wriggled closer, keen to leech every bit of warmth you could from him. In an attempt to conserve heat, your hands were tucked against your waist, under your jacket.
Not a moment too soon, you felt his hand settle on your leg, and you spread your knees ever so slightly to accommodate. His touch was like a flame that licked gently to your core, making you crave him everywhere. Your heart went from idle to racing on a dime.
Fuck. You were far too sober to do what you were about to do, but you needed to do something about this situation. If nothing else, it would be a story to tell.
“Frankie,” you said, struggling to keep your voice level. “Can the guys see us?”
He threw a glance back over his shoulder. The window to the cab was a good half a foot above your heads. “No,” he said, a note of reluctance in his voice, and your hand clamped down on his before he could remove it. In the alternating light of passing streetlamps, it was hard to gauge his reaction.
You nodded, and ran your fingers gently over his hand. “Good.”
You turned to look up at him. Your heart rate accelerated, to the point that it was practically vibrating. Now or never.
“You mentioned my needs?”
In the alternating light you caught glimpses of his face, eyes burning into yours. His grip twitched, tightening convulsively on your thigh, and you took a breath at the want that surged through you. You dropped your gaze, looking down at the coat that covered the both of you.
“I think,” you cleared your throat, ignoring the heat that had started to creep up your jaw, “I need you to do a little more than just touch my leg.”
You released his hand, and waited. His grip didn’t alter, didn’t increase or decrease, and you thought the warmth and weight of his hand on your leg would drive you insane if he didn’t do someth-
“Only a little more?” He asked, voice low, and after being on a knife edge for an hour the pitch of his voice shot straight to your cunt. His hand inched down, and stopped at the hem of your skirt.
You hooked your fingers under the material, pulled it up ever so slightly, and spread your legs wider under the coat. The way your knees were spread increased the gap where the freezing wind could get in, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that there was a hand on your thigh, branding you, and you ached for it to move.
“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, and swivelled your face up to his. The light had improved - you were now rolling down a main road that was well-lit - and it was enough to see the hunger in his face, the tight lines of his jaw.
Frankie’s mouth worked, and he looked away. Looking out at the road receding behind you. After the longest five seconds of your life, his hand began to move again, alternating between delicate strokes up the inside of your thigh and firm squeezing as his warm hand spanned the width of your leg.
It was very hard to breathe. As in the arena, your focus narrowed to a pinpoint, to where his skin met yours. Your cunt was throbbing almost painfully, and you knew if his fingers were to brush against your panties they would come away soaked. You were transfixed by his profile, by the curve of his nose and the errant locks of hair that curled from under his cap. He swallowed, throat working, and your jaw ached with the desire to kiss him there.
"You should’ve said earlier,” Frankie said, still not looking at you, speaking out to the road behind, “I’d have had my hand up your skirt back at the arena.”
His tone was light, almost indifferent, and your head spun. His hand had started to edge down towards where your thighs met, but the hem of your skirt restricted him again. You began to shift, ready to hike your skirt up further, but he was faster than you.
Briskly, matter-of-factly, he pulled your skirt up all the way towards your hips, before replacing his hand on your thigh and beginning his slow crawl again. If the coat blew away, you would be sitting in the bed of his pickup with your legs fully bare and your panties exposed to the world. He still didn’t look at you, and the casual way he spoke was starting to rub against your senses almost as much as the caresses were. You felt like a toy he was playing with.
And you loved it.
“I might have started off like this,” he said, and his fingers suddenly drew in a swift, straight line towards your cunt. You sucked in a breath, unable to help the way your hips canted up to meet his hand, only to whimper just a little as he stopped short of touching you where you needed him to, where the ache was worst. He paused, and you were about to grab his hand and put it where you wanted it, when he shook his head.
“Actually, this is wrong,” he said, and withdrew his hand completely. Your stomach had time to plummet and your mouth opened to complain, just as he turned and gripped your thigh in his other hand. “It was more like this.”
His face was now inches away, eyes fixed on your lips as you inhaled a shaky breath. After the casual way he’d been speaking to you, almost ignoring you, this was like being pinned under a spotlight. His eyes ran up and down your face, and the naked desire in his eyes sent an ache straight to your cunt. This angle really was so much better. Under the coat, his elbow rested slightly on your knee, the weight spreading your legs wide.
“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself back there?” he asked, and dragged his fingers further up your thigh, “Do you know how sexy you looked sitting on my lap?”
Your head spun at the sensation, realising that he was nearly there, nearly touching you right where you wanted -
“Frankie, please,” you breathed, head falling back against the cab. “I need-”
“I know what you need,” he said, and finally, finally, stroked his fingers against your cunt.
His touch was lighter than a feather, and the pressure was completely disproportionate to the moan you let out. Frankie gaped and leaned closer, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he felt the wetness soaking your panties.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, mouth ghosting over yours, almost half a kiss, “Did I do that to you?”
Under the coat, unseen, he changed position and your head - thunked! - back against the cab as the heel of his hand pressed up against the curve of your cunt, grinding perfectly against your clit. Pleasure skittered all the way down to your toes.
A sliding sound above you - the cab window opening - and you heard William’s voice:
“Everything OK back there?”
“Yeah man,” Frankie called, eyes not leaving yours. As the pressure increased against your clit, his fingers started to stroke over the very obvious wet patch in your panties, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We’re good.”
Slowly, teasingly, his fingers hooked your panties to the side, and circled the wetness that had gathered there. You felt weak. Drained. Completely at his mercy, unable to process anything above a simple thought - unable to process anything other than your internal monologue of please please please please please. He maintained eye contact, watching every expression on your face with a fascination that bordered on awe. You could see it in his eyes - those eyes! your mind sang, about to implode with bliss - that he was feeling it too. That sense of untethering.
You thought you’d known desperation, but it was nothing to how you felt now. The pressure against your clit was sublime, but all you could think of was the way his big, thick fingers would feel as they stretched-
“Do you need me to stop?”
Fuck off, William. “Don’t stop!” you yelled, voice kicking up a pitch on ‘stop’ as Frankie slid a finger inside you. Your cunt tightened at the sensation, and he grunted. He leaned close against you, nose pressing against yours, close enough that his breath became your breath.
The window closed above you, but William and Tom may as well have been on Mars. Your whole world right now was you, Frankie, and the way his finger - his fingers were pushing up inside you, moving at a measured, steady pace that alternated with the pressure on your clit until you were writhing beneath him.
“God, you look so fucking hot right now,” he breathed. “What do you want, sweetheart? You want more?”
With what felt like all your strength, you pushed your hips up to meet his hand, forcing Frankie’s fingers deeper inside you. “Yeah… yeah,” you panted. “Please, Frankie. More.”
“More? Good girl.” Your cunt clenched around him at the praise, and he inserted a third finger, pressing against your front wall from the inside as his hand ground against your clit.
“Yeah, like that,” you said, and squeezed your eyes shut at the wave of pleasure that washed over you. “Fuck, just like that.”
“So fucking hot,” he muttered. “Are you going to come for me? Are you going to come on my hand?”
You nodded, fully blissed out. Your hips started to tilt up and down in time to his movements, deepening the angle of his strokes, and you flicked your tongue out to wet your lips. Your abdomen went tight, and you shuddered as your cunt contracted around his fingers.
“I’m close, I’m so fucking close-”
“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” He shifted to the right slightly, his fingers surging deeper, and you jerked upwards. The pressure against your clit increased, and you saw stars.
“Fuck, I’m -” you choked out, and opened your mouth as your orgasm ripped through you. Before you made a single sound, Frankie’s other hand clamped down over your mouth, keeping you silent as you writhed beneath him. You moaned into his palm, cunt pulsing around his fingers, and your eyes rolled back in your head as you ascended to a higher level of consciousness. All you knew was pleasure, and Frankie’s hands on you.
Gradually, you came back to reality, sliding down from your peak. It was hard to even open your eyes. Frankie was breathing hard, and he took his hand from your mouth. You felt completely boneless, unable to even whimper when he removed his fingers too, leaving you empty. His fingers were covered in your juices and you watched, dazed, as he lifted his hand to his lips and started to lick them clean. He worked methodically, getting every last drop from one finger before moving on to the next. His eyes half-closed in satisfaction, and your heartbeat stuttered.
Without even thinking, you reached up and grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling his mouth down to yours. His lips were soft, and he moaned as your tongue flicked out to taste his. There was a tangy, salty taste there that you knew was your own, and you pulled him even closer. You felt a drop of moisture bead against your lip, and you broke away to chase it, lapping at his moustache and sucking gently at his lips before dipping back into the kiss. Your combined taste was heavenly. He moaned again, breathing “Fuck,” against your lips as his hand came up to the side of your neck, holding you like a lifeline.
After a minute that felt like a second, Frankie broke off, breathing heavily. He ripped his cap off, ran a hand through his hair, and laid his forehead against yours. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, and pulled back.
“Sorry,” he said. “We’re nearly at the bar. I can’t go in like this.”
The -?
Fuck.
Frankie moved out from under the coat and turned his face toward the sky. His hair was sticking up in every direction after being trapped under the cap, making him look exactly how you felt. Taking a deep breath, he started patting out a little rhythm on his thighs. A sizable bulge at his zipper told you exactly what he meant when he said ‘like this’.
The cold was a good idea. You pulled your skirt down enough for decency before throwing the coat off yourself, and lifted up on your haunches to readjust properly. The wind caressed your warm cheeks, cooling you down.
You peeked through the cab window. William and Tom were deep in conversation, oblivious to what had just happened right behind them. You hunkered down just a little, awkwardly, and reached under your skirt to shimmy your panties down. With some maneuvering and staggering, you managed to peel them off completely, sighing as the cool breeze brushed against your cunt.
Frankie glanced over at you, then groaned and covered his eyes.
“What?” you asked. “Do you know how uncomfortable it is to walk around with wet panties?”
“Please stop,” He held his arm out in supplication, and your face reddened at the pleading look he gave you.
At your expression, Frankie groaned again. Quickly, roughly, he leaned over and grabbed you, pulling you down so you were kneeling beside him. With one hand, he took your arm by the wrist, and pressed your palm against his zipper. His jeans were still bulging, and you realised the cold hadn’t helped one bit.
“Because I am hard as a fucking rock right now,” he hissed, and the wild look on his face coupled with the firmness under your hand made your mouth go dry. “I wanna throw you to the floor of this fucking truck and fuck you until you can’t walk. But, we have to go to the bar. And I have to sit there and look at you - knowing you’re commando underneath - and keep it together.”
You were technically still coming down from your orgasm, but it didn’t stop desire from hitting you like a punch in the stomach. His fingers had felt amazing, but judging by what you could feel of him through the rough denim they were clearly more of an appetiser. The pickup was starting to slow. Raising back onto your haunches again, you looked through the cab window to see the bar coming up ahead. You squeezed him gently, absentmindedly, and he let out a strangled moan. You ignored the way his moan made your cunt throb, ignored the sudden mental image of being held down while he buried his cock inside you -
“OK then, we’re going to help each other,” you said. You lowered yourself back to sitting beside him.
“You’re going to help me out by looking after my panties,” you said, holding them up. He glared at them for a second, before grabbing them and stuffing them into his pocket. He picked his cap back up
“And how are you going to help me?” he asked, fitting it back on his head. His voice was gruff, almost annoyed, but he was watching you like you were prey.
“Well,” you smiled. “I won’t be wearing underwear for the rest of the night. How does that sound?”
Frankie looked down at you for a long minute, brown eyes nearly black in the streetlights. His gaze raked up and down your whole body, and the look he gave you made your breath catch. You got the feeling that his self-control was hanging on by the thinnest thread. The pickup turned into the bar parking lot, and he swayed toward you with the turn.
He moved like lightning. Before you could blink, he was leaning over you again, and again, his hand was up your skirt. Even though your faces were only inches away, you could see the question in his eyes and you nodded, heart suddenly racing. His fingers dipped into your cunt, gently, gathering up your come. He barely penetrated you but you shuddered at the gentle sensation of his fingers, feeling yourself get even wetter. He watched your face, studied every expression you made and how you shivered under his touch. He looked as though he’d found something he’d been looking for for a very long time.
As the pickup slowed, Frankie sat back and stuck his fingers in his mouth again. Tasting you again. He looked at you with a strange light in his eyes, as if he were daring you to stop him. Instead, all you could think about was how he would look with that gorgeous mouth nestled between your thighs, how those dark eyes would look staring up at you from that angle. He licked each finger clean, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, and that pang of want ran through you again. As the pickup engine shut off he dropped his hand back to his lap, sighed, and nodded.
“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.
“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”
A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.
Summary: Your friend Dina is dating Benny Miller, and drags you along to one of his fights before a night at a bar. His friends meet you there - Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis, who is too busy trying it on with you to think about his wife; Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, who is a god made flesh; and Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, who agrees to help keep you out of Redfly’s clutches. But Frankie is not without his own charm…
Relationships:Frankie Morales x reader, side Santiago Garcia x Original Female Character, side Benny Miller x Original Female Character
Rating: First chapter is Mature, but it will be getting Explicit after that…
Author’s note: I saw Triple Frontier last week for the first time and it has occupied my every waking thought since then. This is my first ‘x reader’ fic, so feedback is appreciated. Benny is my darling boy and I want to write him a loving af relationship even if it’s in the bg of this fic. I also don’t mean to step on toes but Redfly is the worst man and deserved to die a lot earlier than he did in the film. I am also obviously obsessed with Frankie Morales. Sorry if the formatting is fucked, this is the first fic I’ve posted directly to Tumblr in many’a.
Warnings: 18+ for frequent language, she/her pronouns, future smut but this chapter is just teasing.
“The fight ends at 9pm, so we’ll be good to get to the bar by 9.30,” Dina said, leaning to within a hair’s breadth of the bathroom mirror. Your arms twitched, hands opening and closing as you watched the safety pin come even closer to her eyeball.
“Dina, do you have to- the fight?”
“Yes, I need to separate my eyelashes, and yes, the fight.” She said, tongue peeping out between her lips. “Benny is fighting and he’s going to come with us to the bar afterwards.”
Your heart sank, just a little. Benny was a great guy, and you were happy for Dina, but it was always harder to get into bars when Benny ‘Brick Shithouse’ Miller rocked up with facial wounds and an ego after inevitably winning the fight.
Apparently their post-fight sex was insane.
“So it’s you, me, and Benny?” you asked flatly, and she rolled her eyes in a way that made your hands clench into fists, with a vivid mental image of the pin sinking into her eyeball. She ignored you, of course, and started on the bottom lid.
“No, you prick,” she said, teasing each lash apart. She paused, and winked at you through the mirror “Ha. Prick! Get it? Sandy, Amy and Kelly are joining us - and Benny is bringing his friends.”
“William and Tom?” You were trying so hard not to be a downer, you really were, but you’d met William and Tom before and it was not a great experience. William - Benny’s brother - was aesthetically pleasing, and a lovely guy, but way too earnest about the purity of combat, while Tom was… a douche. A douche who clearly enjoyed his nights away from the wife a little too much. “Great.”
“Not just Will and Tom,” she chided, finally putting down the pin and fluttering her eyelashes at her reflection. “A few of his old squad guys are coming too.”
“OK then,” you said, and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Dina called.
“To get another drink.”
Based on the MMA prelude, you decided to rethink your outfit to something a bit less… showy, and had poured yourself into a skintight skirt with a shirt that helped accentuate your decolletage just right. So right, in fact, that you’d forgone a sensible coat in favour of a leather jacket that didn’t even close properly. The clothes did little to shield you from the cold, which explained why you had chugged nearly half a bottle of Smirnoff in the cab over.
—————–
Dina looked every inch the fighter’s girlfriend, she really did. You didn’t even know she owned a faux-fur coat. Her meticulously-separated eyelashes were currently fluttered together, shielding her eyes from her cigarette smoke.
Not that it helped. Your buzz was fading fast with every second you stood out in the freezing cold parking lot.
Sandy hadn’t bothered to change her outfit - “Fuck it, it can’t be any dirtier than the bar.” - and was leaning against the arena wall wearing a mini dress that practically showed what she had eaten for breakfast. The woman had legs up to her neck, and more than one man had slowed his passage into the arena to get a good look. Sandy, with legs that long since she was fifteen, and a face that had been beautiful her whole life, flipped each one off with a casual laziness you could never hope to emulate.
The three of you were standing outside the arena waiting for Tom and the others to arrive. The crowd was known to get rowdy, and Benny had been very firm with Dina about going in with his friends. William was already inside with Benny, prepping him for the fight.
It was so cold you were nearly tempted to ask Dina for a pull of her cigarette, just to feel some warm air, when -
“Dee!”
Your face locked into a grimace, and you looked down to kick a loose pebble from under your shoe, trying to regain control of your facial muscles by the time Tom got close.
“Tommy!” Dina yelled. “You’re late, what the hell?”
“Don’t blame me,” Tom said, “Blame these assholes.”
Two sets of denim-wrapped legs stepped into your view, and you huffed out a little sigh before looking up. Tom was standing in front of you, with his friend on his right.
His friend. Who was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He smiled at you, and you felt a small laugh escape you.
What was that face? He looked like a Latino George Clooney. How did he get taken seriously in life?
“Hey, tiger,” Tom said to you, his lopsided smile showing a little too much teeth on one side.
“Hey… Tom.” you replied, raising a hand in greeting. He made a little ‘pfft’ sound and pulled you in for a hug, enveloping you in the smell of… dear god, was that Axe?
You heard the crunch of gravel, and a movement out of the corner of your eye told you that the devilishly handsome man was currently introducing himself to Sandy.
Probably wouldn’t have worked out with us anyway.
“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.
“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”
A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.
“This is my girl right here, Frankie.” Tom said, and the proprietary tone in his voice made your stomach turn. You should have just met them at the bar.
“Crazy, I thought your girl was sitting at home looking after your daughter and -” the second half of the sentence was in mumbled Spanish, and you heard a bark of laughter from the handsome man. A quick, rough pat on the back and Tom released you, already walking into the building as if nothing had happened.
The speaker was standing in front of you; a tall-ish man wearing a blue plaid shirt over a grey tank top, with a beat-up baseball cap on his head. Just as the phrase ‘hillbilly trucker’ crossed your mind, every thought in your head promptly vanished on looking up into his face. A pair of warm brown eyes were gazing down at you, creasing gently at the corners. He wasn’t built like Tom or William; they slanted more towards beefcake, where this guy was toned and slim. He was older than you - not a surprise, William and Tom were in at least their mid-40s - but it was a very manageable older. Unruly, curling brown hair peeked out from under his cap, and the man smiled, a shadow of a dimple appearing on his cheek.
The other guy was crazy good-looking in a movie-star way, the sort of hot that had made you laugh because it was almost unreal. This guy was the perfect side of handsome, mortal enough to take your breath away just a little and not make you feel stupid about it.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Frankie.”
Maybe it was the dimples, maybe it was the fact that he had just saved you from a fate worse than death, or maybe the cold had finally gotten to your brain. Whatever it was, you barely knew what you were saying until you’d said it:
“And I am so fucking yours.”
So much for not feeling stupid. His smile widened, and your heartbeat quickened just a bit.
“Ignore Redfly,” he said. “He just doesn’t have good manners.”
Another burst of Spanish from behind you, from the dark-eyed Adonis near the door, and Frankie replied in kind, with an evocative hand gesture that you were pretty sure meant ‘fuck off’.
You finally turned to get a good look at the other man. He was standing in front of your friends, angled towards Sandy in a way that boded well for her. He was terribly good-looking.
“Hey, how’re you doing?” he leaned toward you, and took your hand in his. “Santiago Garcia.”
The man was on another level. You felt like you were meeting a politician. You told him your name as if in a dream.
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, looking into your soul, and you felt that laugh bubble up again. This was too much all at once.
Dina blew out one last plume of smoke, and threw her cigarette butt on the ground.
“Come on guys, it’s fucking freezing out here.”
—————————————-
The arena was chaos. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but he could have been standing two feet from you and you wouldn’t have seen him. He could have been behindyou.
As the thought crossed your mind, a hand came to rest on your hip and you jumped sideways, ready to kick Tom in the fucki-
It was Frankie, hands suddenly up and visible, mouth framing a ‘whoa’ that you could never hear over the din of the crowd. You grimaced, mouthing sorry.
He gave you a tight-lipped smile, uncomfortable, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He craned his neck to look over the crowd, toward the ring, and you stepped quickly toward him. Your hand raised, like you had the right answer in a classroom, and you tilted your mouth up towards Frankie’s ear. He scrunched his face and bent his head towards yours.
“Sorry,” you said into his ear, trying not to deafen him at this range. He smelled warm, and clean, a welcome respite from the arena’s smell of old beer and sweat. “I thought it might be…” one of your best friends, whom I loathe. “… a creep.” you finished lamely.
When you pulled away, he was looking at you so intently that a blush started to creep up your neck. Hands still in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels as he processed what you said. His tongue worked in his mouth, pushing out his cheek, before he winked ever so slightly, and nodded.
He knew. He damn well knew.
Frankie grinned and pointed towards the ring, to where your friends had disappeared, before nudging you forward.
————————————
Dina and the others were sitting ringside, by Benny’s corner. Dina had shrugged her coat in the sticky closeness of the arena, and was adjusting her top for maximum cleavage. Beside her was Sandy, deep in conversation with Santiago, and Tom sat beside Santiago next to an empty chair.
The single empty chair.
Fucks sake.
Tom saw you both coming, and had a look of fake disappointment on his face that your hands twitched to slap off. He held his hands up in defeat, before patting his thigh. A quick scan showed that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the arena; the place was jammed so tightly that you counted at least seven people on laps in this section alone. A fire hazard, and a pain in the ass.
You’re fucking kidding me.
You went to take a step, and felt a hand grip your arm. Frankie was sliding past you on your right, pivoting to sit in the empty chair. A shit-eating grin slid onto Tom’s face, and he patted his thigh again.
You’refucking kidding me.
Frankie still held your arm loosely in his left hand. Reaching over Tom, he nudged Santiago, who broke off from his conversation long enough to pass him a beer. Settling back into his seat, Frankie spread his legs a little too wide and steered you into the space between them.
He looked up at you under the brim of his cap, his face out of Tom’s eyeline. The corners of his mouth curved downward and one shoulder shrugged, as if to say ‘Why not?’.
Lightheaded, floating on a mental chant of fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell, you perched on Frankie’s knee, your knees pressing against his other leg. A quick glance at Tom’s face nearly made you yelp. The ham-coloured man was staring sullenly out over the ring, lips pursed around his mouthful of beer. The smile was nowhere to be seen.
Frankie shifted slightly, and with one hand on your waist pulled you closer until you were sitting mid-thigh. When he was satisfied, his hand moved to settle against your lower back, keeping you upright. The shape of the seat had his body angled away from you, allowing you to sit upright without being nestled against him. He leaned towards Tom and said something in his ear, something you could barely hear over the din. It was as if he’d forgotten you were there.
But not quite. Slowly, as if you were a wild animal he was trying to tame, his hand started to move in gradual, broad strokes, forward and back, forward and back.
Your stomach muscles locking tight was your only visible reaction, and you thanked baby Jesus and all the angels in heaven that Frankie couldn’t feel the way your pulse had suddenly picked up. Though that might not be far off; there was a warm throbbing between your legs that definitely hadn’t been there two minutes ago.
Forward and back. Forward and back.
This was totally normal. This happened to you every day. Every day you met hot guys and sat on their laps. Every day you got mildly turned on by hot guys stroking your back.
Looking over at Dina, the two of you locked eyes. Her grin was positively wolfish.
Fuck off, you mouthed.
You looked around, hoping that the people-watching fodder available would help take your mind off the hot man you were sitting on and what his hand was -
As if Frankie could hear your thoughts, the rhythm of his strokes changed. Now, instead of moving forward and back, his palm started sliding up and down, with every pass downward bringing his hand closer and closer to the curve of your ass.
For a fraction of a second, your breath caught in your throat, and the pulse between your legs kicked up a notch. Trying to keep your cool, you casually - so casually! - looked over at Frankie.
Still absorbed in conversation with Tom. Fine. He clearly had no idea what he was doing, no idea of the effect he was having.
Your awareness was steadily narrowing down to where his hand touched you, to the vague sensation of warmth that each pass left on your skin. Reaching the hem of your jacket, he paused almost imperceptibly, before reaching under the leather to rest on the back of your shirt.
Dear god, were you disappointed he wasn’t touching your ass? Were you actually sad that this stranger wasn’t -
A radiating sensation on your back, so warm and firm, and suddenly you could feel every little movement his hand made, the way his fingers were flexing against your skin so gently -
Air you didn’t realise you had been holding escaped your lungs in a whoosh.
“Getting bored up there, tiger?” Tom’s expression wasn’t as friendly as it normally was, and you were reminded why all of this was happening. This was purely for Tom’s benefit.
“No, it’s fine. It’s…” you looked down at Frankie as he took a sip of his beer. His eyes met yours over the rim of his beer cup, and a smile crept across your face. When the cup left his lips, you took it deftly from his fingers and lifted it to your mouth. Your gaze didn’t leave his. Tom may as well have been part of the furniture.
The beer was not good, but you finished it, and ran your tongue over your lips. Frankie’s eyes tracked the movement, and you felt his hand pause, felt his fingers splay wide across the small of your back.
“It’s great,” you said, winking down at him. “But I think we need another drink.”
You placed a hand on his knee for leverage, and stood. Dina saluted you with her nearly-empty drink, and tapped at the low liquid level with one long fingernail. You nodded, and flashed the OK sign.
A broad chest blocked your view, and the smell of Axe surrounded you. You glanced up at Tom, who was shaking his own empty cup.
“I’ll come too,” he said. “I could do with another-”
“It’s cool, man,” Frankie stood, easily slotting himself between the two of you, and gently but firmly took hold of your shoulders as he turned to the exit. “I got it.”
Empty cups and debris were strewn across the aisle, and you were beginning to regret wearing your heels for what was shaping up to be a fucking obstacle course. But you felt Frankie’s presence behind you, and if you put a little more sway into your walk than normal, so what?
Between a few stragglers at the bar, there was a gap just wide enough for the two of you to lean against the counter. You rested on your forearms, and flagged down the bartender.
————————————
“Two beers, and a whiskey and coke.”
“Make it four,” Frankie said. “I know it may not seem like it, but it is better to get Redfly liquored up. After about,” - his hand made a see-saw motion - “six drinks? He’s going to get real maudlin, start missing his wife, and go home.”
“Oh, yeah,” you replied, “He’s really missing his wife when he’s trying to put his hand up my skirt.”
His eyes flickered up and down your body, and he cleared his throat. One hand came up to scratch at his moustache, before smoothing it back down.
“You know, I don’t blame him,” he said. “That skirt looks great on you.”
A low warmth pooled in your stomach, and you smiled. He smiled back, those beautiful eyes twinkling as he turned around to face the arena, elbows back on the bar.
“If I… go too far, in there,” he said, face suddenly serious. “You can just punch me in the face. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
The bartender laid your whiskey and coke down in front of you, and pulled out two cups for the beer.
“Two more of those, please,” you told her, and took a sip of your drink. You knew you were a bit of a savage for drinking whiskey with coke, but your sweet tooth demanded nothing less. “Frankie, I’m not really OK with the idea of ‘being saved’.”
“That’s fair,” Frankie turned to the bar, and rapped a quick tattoo on the wood. “When we get back in there, you take the seat and I’ll -”
“But,” you raised a finger. “Your lap is pretty comfortable. And if you’re OK with having my ass on your knee all night, then I’m happy to stay there.”
A laugh escaped him, and you found yourself appreciating the way his moustache framed his lips so perfectly.
“I think you’d be hard pushed to find a man who wouldn’t be OK with that deal.”
The bartender laid down four cups of beer. “$25.60.”
Frankie laid out three $10 bills, and pulled the cups closer.
“Do you think you could make sure Tom doesn’t put his hand up my skirt?”
He was intent on arranging the cups in a way he could carry them, to the point that you thought he hadn’t heard you. Just as you were about to repeat yourself, he flashed you a wicked look.
“Well sweetheart,” he smiled, “I’ll just have to get my hand there first.”
————————————
As soon as you sat back down, it was like a switch had flipped. Your conversation at the bar had been light, to the point where you’d nearly forgotten that you’d actually been turned on a little at sitting on Frankie’s lap.
When you got back to your seats, and Frankie had handed off the beers he was carrying, he sat and pulled you down onto his lap in one fluid movement. No more tentative movements; he held your waist firmly, and pulled you even closer than before. And now, not only was his hand stroking your back again - he had put it under your jacket straight away - but his other arm was now resting on your leg. His beer cup sat on your knee, below where the hem of your skirt rode up, and he rotated it gently on your bare skin, almost teasing you with the cool feeling of the condensation on the base.
It drove you just a little short of wild. Though part of you wanted to shift against his thigh, wanted to feel some pressure right where an ache was steadily building between your legs, you kept it together fairly admirably.
A wet patch on Frankies jeans probably wouldn’t go down too well anyway.
A murmur from the crowd rolled towards the ring, and Pantera’s heavy guitar riff blasted through the speakers.
Benny was here.
————————————
Ringside seats were… certainly something.
The smell of blood hummed in your nostrils, and you felt the impact of every punch.
Benny was a monster. He had swaggered into the arena, head and shoulders above everyone, and proceeded to hammer the shit out of his opponent once the bell rang. Watching the way Dina was looking at him, you were very, very glad they were going back to Benny’s place tonight.
The six of you were standing at the ring edge, screaming and roaring with the crowd. Your blood was singing. Sitting on Frankie’s lap, his hands leaving trails of fire wherever they touched you, had rattled you something fierce, and the adrenaline from the fight was getting to you too. You didn’t think your pulse had slowed for about ten minutes, and you were breathing like you were climbing a mountain.
It was the last minute of the last round, and Benny was flagging.
You guessed. You really had no idea who was doing better, both fighters were covered in blood and looked tired as fuck.
Santiago, Dina and Tom were rattling the cage, howling through the wire at Benny. The man was intent on his opponent, never taking his eyes off him.
As you watched, Benny did an odd movement, stepping back, rotating his shoulders and head as his feet danced. You heard roars come from your friends, but were completely lost.
“He’s about to kick the guy’s head off his fucking shoulders,” Frankie’s voice was low, and close. You felt his nose brush the outer shell of his ear, and you suppressed a shiver as his breath ghosted over you. He was standing behind you, so close that you felt his warmth up your body from ankle to neck. He reached over your shoulder, and pointed up at Benny’s right foot.
“You see that?”
Benny’s foot was moving in a fan shape on the floor of the ring. He dodged as much as he needed to to evade blows, but whenever he was still his foot moved in that fan shape.
“Why is he waiting?” Turning your head, your nose brushed against Frankie’s jawline. He smiled down at you.
“Not long now, sweetheart,” he said. “Watch.”
He stepped closer until he stood flush against your back, and crossed his arms over your chest to grip his own elbows. His beard brushed against your cheekbone, and you found yourself nestling further into his hold. He was just so warm and solid and -
Benny moved like lightning. His opponent came too close, ever so slightly unguarded, and Benny pivoted on his left foot and -
“Fuck!” you screamed. Benny’s opponent hit the floor, and the arena erupted.
Warnings: heartbreak, sorrow, crying. This is angsty, y'all.
Notes: I heard a song that just resonated with me and I had an idea I had to write down. This is unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are mine.
I suggest you listen to the song before or after you’ve read this little ficlet . It really is beautiful and the lyrics are mentioned in the story.
Found by Jacob Banks
As you open the door, you look around, feeling lonelier than ever before. Today was the day you would remove his stuff from your home. No. It wasn’t a home anymore.
It had been a home when he was there. Your home. Now it just… felt wrong. Empty.
Without Benny there, the house lacked soul. Warmth.
You know you have to, but how can you possibly gather the strength to remove his stuff. The things left behind.
The more I see and find out new things about Garrett Hedlund, the more I realize that maybe Garrett wasn’t acting in Triple Frontier. Garrett is Benny and Benny is Garrett.
Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, hurt and maybe some mild comfort?
Notes: I was asked to make a part two of “Oh, the love I found”, so here you are @mermaidxatxheart, this is for you. It’s not complete closure, but I hope you like it anyway <3
And I have an idea for part 3, if anyone wants it ❤️
You step aside, letting Benny into the house. Your heart clenches when you smell his cologne, the one you gave him for his birthday. You close your eyes for a second, trying so hard to suppress the tears building, knowing that the dam could break any second.
When you look up, you see the guys. They are all there to help Benny move his stuff. They are always there for each other. A small pang of jealousy hits you, whishing you had someone there for you, too.
You try so hard to look strong, but you know they can see how fragile you are. How puffy and red your eyes are from crying, how tired you look from the lack of sleeping.
Pairing:TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount:15.4K Warnings: trauma. self-hatred. alcohol/drug abuse (this is srs this chapter). reverse harem. fluids. insecurities. angst. smut. injuries from choking. mentions of hair. rough sex. barf. Summary:She spirals. Things get complicated. A/N:wow this chapter took A MONTH. a struggle indeed because it dealt with some serious triggering things that i wanted to get right. you may find it hard to like our girl here, but she’s been through a lot. My utter thanks to@frannyzooey who sent me constant encouragement and help me with transitions and clearing up so many confusing parts. my gal @krissology who sends the most horny thots and ideas for the smut and dialogue. she literally worked her ass off writing the most romantically delicious book so order it or perish. i hope you all like because your comments make my life
The thing about living with men running a criminal enterprise was that they could get their hands on anything: alcohol, speed, benzos, automatic weapons, Bengal tigers, vintage Quaaludes (which she doubted still worked). It wasn’t terribly surprising that their “doctor” would also give her whatever she asked for.
Of course, of course, Ms. Faire. Sounds great. I’ll have it delivered.
It had started with the birth control. Pope had readily agreed when she had asked him about needing a script. No further comment. He’d ducked his head, his cheeks glinting pink as he wordlessly handed her a business card.
“Just call him,” he muttered. “He’ll give you anything you want.”
through your eyes, everything had been golden; though, what makes the beauty of any moment even better, is each time both you & benny find yourselves getting closer…
rating: T or M, love, comfort, the perfect getaway, allusions to mature adult situations, blog is 18+ only
With the way the sun’s been going down like this, in faded waves of an amber glow, the plane ride over the mountains doesn’t seem so bad at all.
It’s like a steady tipping point between how you got here, and where you’re on your way to now. A towering silhouette of smog surrounded evergreens, reminding you of your closeness and his touch; of all the intimate shadows from just the night before – a fever dream, maybe, where both your hands and his just might have collided, grazing past pebbled skin there inside your memory, where a mess of things inevitably ends up in piles there along your floor…
Shifting there beside you, Benny smiles, stealing a glance your way before you have the chance to really notice him.
But you do, every time; especially now with the way he’s been taking up the whole seat next to you, arms the slightest bit tense, and looking for reasons just to hold your hand.
It feels like maybe you haven’t just imagined all of it; how he smells as good as he does right now without even realizing that he does, playfully nudging the edge of his knee against yours away from his more than obvious distraction…
It’s all so that you don’t end up missing a glimpse of everything that passes there from right outside your window; the subtle way the light’s been cascading itself past, trailing amidst the moment where the pad of his thumb brushes over yours. The warmth embraced by a hovered air, rising toward the edge of nowhere, until a stone carved trail becomes visible beneath it all, and you suddenly remember getting lost throughout all the cloud cover.
“See, right down there? That’s where our tent is going to go, sunshine. You and me, baby, on top of the world.”
Leaning into the sound of his whisper, you lend the smooth ridges of his hands a gentle squeeze, humming softly to yourself as you listen to him soundly against that heartfelt wave of stillness; taking it all in, one mile further at a time, as your eyes begin affectionately coming to a close.
“On top of the world…just you and me.”
You can feel that familiar wide grin of his sliding over the curve of your shoulder, kissing you so leisurely and slow, where a rush of heat soon presses to your skin he’s been quietly chasing after.
A subtle promise for something moreto happenlater,that awakens all your nerve endings; committing the pure shape of you to the forefront of his mind, with all the loving touches he’s been giving.
And, oh, how you can’t imagine a time when anything had truly ever felt better than it does right now.
…
a/n – this is my late entry for writer weds ! hope you love this little scene with benny. xo A
A Triple Frontier Soulmate AU! Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x female reader
In a world where every soul has a perfect mate, Frankie Morales has seen no evidence that his even exists. Soulmates gain each other’s permanent body markings - scar and tattoos - and while all of Frankie’s ink and battle wounds have transferred over to his soulmate’s skin, he’s never found a single mark on his body that he didn’t make himself. Until now.
I love a good soulmate au story and this is certainly 1 of them! just had another read, it is so good and i love the reader, she is such a good character, which is fabulous as we know all the boys will be great as usual….
Pairing: Benny Miller x Will Miller x Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader
gif is not my own. credit to the creator [ if you know who made this, please tell me so i can credit them, thanks! ]
Rating: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY!) Warnings: Sex Pollen, Group sex, Double Penetration, Unprotected PIV (please be safe irl), cum eating, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), Anal, Shower sex, let me know if i missed anything! Word Count: 5,818 Notes: This has been in the works for MONTHS at this point and I finally feel okay releasing it to the hellsite. It’s filthy, it’s probably not perfectly canon but I love these boys and this was such an adventure to write. Please let me know what you think!
You were nervous as hell to walk into the conference room. The first day on any job is nerve wracking but even after a few weeks, you found yourself feeling like the outsider still. It wasn’t anyone’s direct fault, per say. Just a feeling you had from being the new one on the team.
The team you had been assigned to was a tight knit one. The four of them having been through all kinds of combat and missions together. Their previous team leader had gone off the rails and was forced to retire early.
Your debriefing hadn’t gone into a lot of details but the remaining men on the team seemed friendly enough. Benny and Will Miller, the brothers were such polar opposites that their interactions were always entertaining. And Frankie Morales seemed like a pretty sensible one, a lovable man with a mean streak when needed.
And then there was Santiago Garcia. The man was generally more observant but when he spoke, he attracted the attention of an entire room. His personality was electric in a way. The way his scruff would sound as his hand ran over his jaw, deep in thought at whatever mission was being described as one that the team would be taking.
A new drug lord was suspected in Miami, carting drugs from Colombia and Bolivia. The trail had led to many dead ends but there was one loose end that your new team would be able to solve. A nightclub had been staked out and found to be smuggling drugs through some warehouse-like door in the basement. There wasn’t enough to get full intel and they needed a team to infiltrate and go undercover to gain more information.
He found you attractive, and funny, so of course this lead him to flirting with you.
He didn’t really think anything would come from it, but he did it anyways, because he was just a flirty guy in general.
Ben found that he liked the way you’d get a bit flustered or blushy if he flirted with you, so in some ways it a bit of a joke to him at first.
He would call you a variety of nicknames, usually a random one in the moment, they were always changing.
Sweetheart or Love (when he wanted to make you blush), Robin (he was batman), Sherlock (when you did something intelligent that often saved the group).
Slowly, he started to notice the way your smile or laugh made his heart flutter. Or the way his eyes would seek you out to make sure you were close.
He seemed to always want to be around you, seeking you out so he could be nearby. He just loved being around you.
If you attended one of his fights, it made him work harder, as he found himself wanting to impress you.
When he got hurt, you would worry over him, and he loved it.
If you were ever put in a dangerous situation, he was protective before hand, but he started to notice that it got worse over time.
He never wanted you to go off alone, and if he lost contact with you for even a moment, he would start to panic.
It didn’t really click for him that he was developed honest-to-God feelings for you until William called him a “love-sick puppy”
Once he realized that he had fallen for you, and no longer just saw you as a good friend, he wasn’t really surprised, not upset in any way. He was just afraid that you would never feel the same.
When he confided in the boys about his feelings, they laughed at him because they already knew.
And once they reassured him that you certainly returned his feelings, he decided not to run from them.
Confessing + First Kiss:
Benny got into his own head about how to tell you how he felt.
He wanted to say it right, he wanted it to be a romantic confession, though he wasn’t sure how to do that.
You were the first person he felt genuine and strong feelings for. He didn’t just want this to be a casual relationship, he wanted it to be more, and to last a long time.
He thought maybe he should ask you on a date, or to go out for some coffee, breakfast, dinner maybe.
But one day, when you had been hanging out with the group, and you announced you were going home, he decided now was the moment.
So he offered to walk you home, as it was starting to get dark.
You smiled, and accepted the offer, silently relieved, as you never really liked walking the distance alone. Plus, you liked spending time with him.
The evening was nice and cool, but not cold.
The sky was a nice grey-blue, with a few clouds scattered along the sky.
You walked in silence for a while, before you came across an empty playground.
You smiled and made a comment about how you had spent a lot of time thee as a kid.
Ben, being the childish sort, ran over to the playground, calling out to you to come over.
Joining him at the swings, you sat beside each other. You swung slowly, as Ben swung high, the seat creaking with his adult weight.
You smiled softly to yourself as you looked around the desolate playground, not noticing that Ben had almost come to a stop in his swing. Hearing him clear his throat you looked over, only to find him staring at you.
“What is it?” You sat up a bit, startled by the sudden change in his demeanor.
“Oh, nothing bad, I just-” He hesitated as he scratched his neck. “I’ve just bee hoping to get you alone for a while now.”
“Oh? Why?” You asked softly, hoping your nervousness wasn’t obvious in your voice.
He kept looked between his feet, to you as he seemed to be struggling to find his words.
“Ben?” You asked softly.
His eyes met yours and you saw him let out a soft breath. It seemed to happen in the blink of an eye before he was leaning out of his swing, the chain twisted so he was facing you. His hand was cupping your cheek, and his lips were against yours.
You froze for a second as you processed what was happening. Then, closing your eye, you let yourself sink into the kiss. A moment later, he pulled away. Your eyes slowly opened as you met his eyes. He was smiling softly, but he could see your gaze was curious.
“Sorry. Uh-I- I was gonna ask you on a date, or something, so I could tell you how I felt. But, seeing you this close, I couldn’t help myself. But I, really like you Y/n, more than I thought I could see, well, anyone really.”
A smile crossed your face, and his own widened a bit.
“I’m hoping that smile doesn’t mean you’re appalled or anything.”
A soft chuckle escaped as you shook your head. “Of course not Ben. I feel the same.”
He nodded his head and smiled. “Good.” You saw his eyes drift to your lips before he spoke again. “Then, you wouldn’t mind, if I did it again?”
You let out a soft giggle and shook our head. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”
Summary: Star may be feeling embarrassed by her fall, but everyone else is impressed with her heroics. Frankie can’t deny how he feels now, and a few tense moments bring them together.
A/N: Oh hi! Sorry about my very long and unexpected hiatus. Please forgive me, and here is what you’ve been waiting for. I hope you enjoy!
When your door opens after only being alone for about twenty minutes from fleeing the beach, you don’t bother to look up, knowing it’s Little. She’s the only person you knew who never bothered to knock on a door–a habit she’d had since your days in school together. The familiarity of it made you smile internally, but outwardly you gave a low groan and brought the pillow you were clutching to your chest to rest over your face.
“Oh, Star, it’s not that bad,” Little says steadily, and the bed shifts as she climbs on next to you and rips the pillow away. Her face is inches away, that dazzling smile far to shit-eating to be comforting. “Seriously, you looked badass–it was like a movie!”
“Little, I will punch you,” You deadpan, shooting her a glare, “And not the fake movie kind of punch.”
She merely snorts, rolling her eyes before propping a hand against her cheek, “So you don’t want to hear about how Frankie just spent the last twenty minutes singing your praises and debating whether he should come up here?” She gestures towards the door with her free hand and you jolt up slightly in a panic.
“He’s not coming up, is he?”
“No, I said I would because I knew you’d be in here having a crisis.” She replies easily, and you take a breath before lowering yourself back down into the comfortable duvet. Little watches you for a moment before adding; “You know, I was looking at him when everything happened. I wanted to make sure he caught Rosie, but the look on his face when he saw you fall–I couldn’t look away until I heard the way you hit that rock.”
“He was just concerned, Little. He probably realised it could have been Rosie that got hurt.” You try to keep your tone light, despite wanting to throttle her for reminding you of the expressions of panic and concern that had flashed over his features when he had pulled you from the water. “He just got full custody of her, he’s going to be extra hard on himself for a while.”
“That’s probably true,” Little agrees, having been the one who told you the details of how Elena had sent him those papers releasing her from all parental rights, just weeks before the wedding. “But, Rosie was fine and you weren’t. He lost his shit, and don’t pretend you didn’t hear him saying ‘mi amor’ after insisting he be the one to bandage you up.”
You give another long sigh, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, thinking back to the look he’d given you on the beach. The way it made your heart feel as though it would beat right out of your chest. Maybe he did care more about you than you were admitting, but that didn’t mean it was anything more than a platonic love. You’d grown close over the course of helping Little and Santi plan their wedding, it was understandable that he was upset you had been hurt. Everyone else had been, though seeing as it was his daughter you had literally thrown yourself into harm’s way to save, it made perfect sense that he felt responsible for you.
“Let’s drop it Little, you need to get back to your husband and enjoy your honeymoon, and I need to wallow for a bit before eating my feelings at dinner.”
When Little gives a frustrated groan, you look back over at her in surprise to find her glancing at the closed door before her low voice says, “Santi will kill me for this, but…okay you know that he came by the night he got those papers from Elena?” You nod, your brows furrowing in curiosity, and wait for her to continue. “Well, I was in the shower when he first got there, so they were alone in the kitchen talking when I…uh, quietly walked down the hall to join them.”
You arch a brow at your best friend, “You eavesdropped?”
Little purses her lips, but gives a conceding jerk of her head, “Eavesdropping. Overheard. Whatever, Santi was the one who said Frankie was finally free to focus on himself. And I quote, ‘Ask out Star, I know she’s interested,’ and Frankie replied ‘Let me figure that out in my own time, man. No need to rush things with her.” She breaks off as you bolt upright, giving her a wide-eyed look.
“Shut up!”
“I’m serious! So take your time too, if you need it. But stop denying something is there.”
You drop your head into your hands, “Oh god, Little, making a move on vacation after your best friends get married isn’t the right time,” You shake your head, pressing your thumbs into the corners of your eyes, “There is a reality we live in, one where it makes zero sense to be together because we are so different and he has much more important things to worry about.”
This time, Little sits up and faces you, her expression serious, “He is not going to care at all about the–”
“He will. Even if he’s lovely and sweet about it because he’s Frankie, he has a child and a past with drugs, me coming in with my unofficial criminal activity is not–”
“Oh my god, Star, you weren’t even charged. The detective gave you a slap on the wrist by way of a stern talking to and then thanked you for saving those dogs when no one else would!” You open your mouth to respond, then pause as voices sound from the hall.
You both listen as footsteps near and then hear Frankie’s soft voice speaking to Rosie. He’s assuring her they can go back outside and play once she’s had a quick bath, and his voice fades when they disappear into his room, the sound of the door clicking shut the last thing you hear. Little gives you a look, not unloving but certainly frustrated, before giving you a quick hug and leaving the room.
You lay alone in your room for a long time thinking, until eventually the cool room and white noise of the fan whirring away above you lull you into a fitful nap. Your last thoughts–or perhaps, the beginning of your dreams–are of Frankie Morales pulling you from the water and promising to take care of you.
You stay in your room for the remainder of the evening, going so far as to order dinner up and letting the staff member pass along your goodnight to everyone on your behalf after she rolled the food cart in. You gave yourself a break, and thankfully no one begrudged it of you. It was relaxing enough, though you did have to distract yourself with a few movies to give your mind a break; overanalysing your feelings and intentions for Frankie wasn’t going to do either of you any good.
You had promised yourself to not hide anymore, however, and so the next morning you rose early enough to slip downstairs and join the few early risers for coffee. When you arrive in the kitchen, you almost turn back upon seeing only Frankie sitting at the table, coffee in one hand and a book in the other.
Maybe he was trying to distract himself as well.
You clear your throat before you take the coward’s way out, and he looks up with a mild interest that morphs into a full and stunning grin the moment he sees it’s you. You return an awkward smile, “Good morning.”
Frankie sets both his book and mug down, turning in his seat, “How are you feeling, querida?” His voice is deep from disuse so early, and you swallow nervously as you side step toward the coffee pot and help yourself.
“I’m really good, thank you,” You say, though when you do come around the counter to join him, his eyes fall to your bandage, peeking from the short hem of your romper. “Honestly, I changed the dressing first thing and it’s not too bad.” You try to shrug, but when you meet his gaze again his lips are pressed together in a thin line.
You sit down next to him at the table and offer a wider smile, grateful the concealer on your cheek hid the bruising around the slight cut there. “How are you?” You say, taking a sip of coffee and doing your best to appear relaxed despite the proximity.
He doesn’t press you, instead he seems to give a half shake of his head before replying. “I’m alright. I was worried…” He trails off, eyes dropping to his coffee and one of his large hands coming to rub the back of his neck. He needed a trim, his bed head more noticeable since he wasn’t yet wearing his signature cap. The desire to run your fingers through the mess of curls almost made you moan aloud. “I can’t thank you enough, you know. Rosie is completely fine because of you, and I’m really sorry you were hurt because I messed up.”
You look at Frankie in surprise, the self-loathing in his voice slipping through the steady tone he was trying to hide behind. Resisting reaching out for him, you instead opted to point at him and ensure he met your eyes before you said, “You did not mess up, Frankie. Kids run, they get wild and carried away and that’s why it sometimes takes a village when it comes to raising them,” He’s smiling a little, so you continue, “Anyone of us would have done the same, I just happened to be right there. But she’s going to scrape her knee one day and it won’t be your fault, okay?”
“I–you’re right. It’s a lot, having a kid. I love every minute of it, and I’m grateful for all the support, from my mother, from Little and all of you,” He sighs, pausing to take a sip of his coffee, “It’s just, at the end of the day I’m her dad. I’m supposed to be the one person who never lets her down or fucks up. She doesn’t have a mother anymore, I have to fill that role too now.”
You reach for him without thought as the words, that heartbreaking confession, come out. Taking his hand, you squeeze slightly and rub your thumb in soothing circles. For a moment, it’s silent, and you’re afraid to look up so you stare at your hands as you speak. “Any kid with a parent who loves as much as you do, Frankie, is lucky. Elena is the one who is missing out on both an amazing kid and a remarkable man. It’s her loss.”
You glance up when Frankie moves and only have a moment to see that blazing expression on his handsome face before a voice cuts in, startling you both.
“Here here!”
It’s Benny, bounding into the room cluelessly, his eyes on the morning fruits and breads set out along the counter. You pull your hand from Frankie’s and cover your blush by taking a large swig of coffee. He clears his throat and does the same, then greets Benny with a small edge to his voice.
“Hey Superhero!” Benny looks at you with a huge grin, slapping Frankie on the back in way of a greeting, and you can’t help but smile up at the blonde. He was just too nice, too oblivious to know he’d walked in on…well, you don’t know what that was.
“Benny, it’s too early to be so chipper.” You joke, grabbing one of the strawberries off of his plate as he sits down across from you. You spend the next half hour chatting with the two men, that tension between you and Frankie going unnoticed by the middle Miller, and then take advantage of Little, Santi and a few others all appearing to slip out of the room with your beach bag, eager to get some quiet time in by the water.
You can’t help but glance back as you close the patio door behind you, a pleasant heat coursing through you when you find Frankie’s eyes following you.
At lunchtime, you decide to pop upstairs to check your leg again before eating, knowing that once you have you’ll want to relax and procrastinate on the task. You haven’t stopped thinking about Frankie all day, but he’s been busy with Rosie and his mother, which has both kept him at a distance and stopped any further conversation from occurring between the two of you. You aren’t sure exactly what you would say, even if given a moment alone.
With a sigh, you convince yourself it’s for the best. There was a moment, yes. But this was a vacation–people tended to get caught up in the excitement. Your own mother was one to fall fully in love with pretty much any place your family traveled. But getting yourself too involved with the idea of Frankie and you was only going to lead to heartbreak for you, and potentially damage a friendship with him that meant a great deal.
Once you’ve finished, you open the door to your room and pause, glancing back towards the bed and finding your sunglasses laying on the duvet where you had tossed them as you came in earlier. It’s when you are padding back out the door moments later that you hear a soft little cry, which pulls you from your thoughts. You peer at the neighbouring door to yours, finding it slightly ajar, and listen. A few beats later another cry sounds, and you don’t hear Frankie or Imelda so you approach slowly and give a light knock.
“Imelda?”
You step into the room, eyes casting around only to find the bed empty–though clearly having been slept in. Rosie is tousle-haired in her crib, a frown on her little face that makes you soften instantly. Her grandmother must have woken already and left her to nap in peace, and you give the toddler a knowing smile.
“I think someone woke a little early,” You say, and her lower lip pouts out as tears begin to well and you scoop her up instantly, snuggling her close and peppering her with a few kisses. “Don’t worry sweet girl, I’ll cover for you.” Rosie gives a little giggle as she settles against you, finding a comfortable way to lay her head, and you begin to slowly pace the room, lightly swinging her in your arms, one hand rubbing soothing circles over her back.
As you comfort her, sadness washes over you. The idea that her mother could abandon her as if she were one of the unwanted dogs you worked with everyday made your heartbreak–and you were also a little angry for her and Frankie. You could understand not being ready to settle and have a family, but to put so little effort in over the first months of Rosie’s life, leaving for weeks at a time to party and always sending Frankie the bad news via text messages, you couldn’t wrap your head around it.
You had guessed that Elena was the one to bring Frankie close to drugs, before she was pregnant. That they had been spiralling together-her happy to be on the arm of a handsome veteran, him believing she wanted more than simply a little status and a constant partner to berate and abuse. You don’t know the details of what happened, or how he found out about Rosie, but you knew she was gone from their lives now and hoped that meant he could finally heal. You don’t realise you’ve begun to speak softly in Spanish, just calming words to help lull her back to sleep, until Rosie gives a happy snore.
You’ve been pacing by the window, and decide to move toward the chair in the corner, thinking you’ll just take a seat with her until Frankie or Imelda come up to check on her. You begin to turn when you hear a floorboard groan and pause in alarm to find Frankie there, just inside the doorway watching you in surprise. The expression on his face is odd, but you can’t get a read on it even as he continues to stare.
He just keeps looking at you, and you can’t stop looking back.
Frankie knew he should look away– he was staring. Aggressively. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the image before him, the wonder barely concealed by his surprise. You, holding his baby. Saying words of comfort to her in Spanish as she clutches herself close and snores happily. He had wanted to come and wake her up from her nap, see if she wanted to play some games or build sandcastles, give his mother a few hours on her own. The last thing he expected when he walked into the room was to find you there.
He didn’t miss it either, that moment his foot made contact with the squeaky floorboard and your expression flashed with a protective concern, arms tightening slightly around his baby. He can hear his blood roaring in his ears and staring is the only thing he can do for several minutes. You become unsure as the silence stretches on, eyes assessing him in confusion before you move towards him.
“I’m sorry, Frankie. I heard her crying and thought I’d look in–”
Frankie shakes his head and smiles, “No, don’t apologise. I just,” He looks down at Rosie, still sound asleep, before meeting your gaze again and stepping closer. “I’ve never seen her relax like that for anyone else. She really likes you.”
He wants to say he does too. After that moment at breakfast, he’d found it hard to think of anything else and wanted to try and capture you alone, to explain why he had given you such an intense look when you’d comforted him. He wasn’t exactly sure how he would say it–certainly not, ‘I realised that moment I wanted you more than anything and I was going to ask if I could kiss you before that asshole Benny came in’. But something similar. Lighter.
You smile at his words, looking away from him to his little girl, “Oh, she’s a sweetie.”
He reaches out and rubs a hand along her back, careful to avoid touching yours, “Nicest kid, don’t know where she gets it from.” He jokes, but you frown at him, “What?”
“You’re just so hard on yourself,” You reply, your kind eyes never looking away, “But you know you’re an amazing person.”
Unsure of how to reply, he merely nods before gesturing over his shoulder. “Want to come downstairs? We were thinking of putting on a movie for her later, but she’s a bit tired today so it might be better to do it now.”
You brighten immediately, that beautiful smile tugging at your lips instantly and making his stomach do somersaults. “That sounds great, lead the way!”
Rosie is content to remain in your arms for the afternoon, whining anytime someone attempts to take a turn with her and snuggling back in close. He leaves you with her for the movie, opting to sit in a large bean bag chair at the back of the room where he can relax–he’s seen Finding Nemo enough times. You sit up front with Rosie and Benny and the afternoon moves along at a steady pace, the movie more than half over before he feels another person join him on the beanbag and looks up from his half doze to find Little giving him a knowing look.
Admittedly, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you. You were facing away and hadn’t noticed him watching, but he watched every laugh, the way you held Rosie. He’d seen you with her before, but this was the first time where it wasn’t with the purpose of wedding planning and you were more relaxed, entirely focused on his little girl.
Little follows his gaze and smirks, “Hey Fish,” He shoots her a look, well aware of what she’s up to, and she only smiles broadly. “Don’t look at me like that.” Her eyes sparkle, and when he looks behind her he sees Santi a few feet away on the couch she had been sharing with him, attempting to hide his own grin behind his drink.
“Look, I can guess the general direction of your thoughts,” He replies in a low voice, though the general chatter in the room, sound from the movie and distance from where you sit up by the TV with Rosie tells him he could probably speak at a normal volume and you wouldn’t hear. “And I’m going to tell you the same thing I said to Santi–in my own time.”
Little sighs, saying nothing and he thinks she might let it go, but eventually she pats his arm and gives him a small smile. “I just wanted you to know I’m here for you. Whatever you need–it’s my honeymoon, but if you’d like a babysitter tonight, Santi and I would be happy to take RoRo and give you some…space.”
Frankie considers his best friend’s offer, well aware that the evening activities planned included a beach bonfire everyone was going to dress up for. Maybe he could find a moment with you and just see what would happen. Tell you that he has feelings for you and then let you decide if another step could happen. He glances over in time to see you throw your head back in laughter at Rosie’s partial imitation of one of the characters in the movie, delight brightening your features, a happy giggle tearing out of Rosie.
He looks back over at Little, but meets Santi’s gaze as he does and pauses, remembering his friend’s words from the day before–that Rosie deserved to have a dad who was happy. He puts a hand over Little’s and gives a small nod, “Just for tonight? I think–I’m going to put myself first, just this once.”
You’re staring in the mirror, frowning at your reflection. You think your dress looks pretty–it’s casual and flowery, but there’s just so much cleavage. Little had said it was the exact right amount, and basically threatened to remove one of your fingers if you didn’t wear it to tonight’s little bonfire on the beach, but you had convinced yourself it would be breezy enough to justify a sweater over top. Instead, it was hot enough out tonight that the air conditioning was a very welcome reprieve even as the sun had started to set and you had opted to eat inside for dinner.
With no excuse, you decide to just wear the damn dress and enjoy, let yourself shut down the negative thoughts—because so far, not one person here has done a thing to make you uncomfortable or self-conscious. The only thing was, the dress had the type of tighter material that no bra could really contend with—regardless of the several options you had to go with, all were very noticeable underneath the smooth fabric, and the straps were twice the size of that of the dress. You turn this way and that as you look into the full length mirror, then let out a great sigh. You’ll go without a bra on. Plenty of people with breasts avoided bras all the time, there was no law saying that because yours were big, you had to hide them away. And aside from being much more comfortable, you know that the dress is tight fitting enough at the top to steady the ladies, so long as you don’t do any running.
Now that you’ve thought about it, you become determined and work quickly to throw the dress off, remove your bra and then redress, this time adjusting yourself carefully and then looking into the mirror with trepidation…but you look—well, amazing. Without the bulk of the bra, you fill the dress like it was literally handmade just for you, and the cleavage becomes slightly less pronounced. You love it, you love the self-confidence you feel as you gaze at yourself, and give yourself a little nod of approval before making your way down to the beach.
You had spent most of the afternoon with Rosie, only parting ways when it was her dinner time to sneak upstairs and get yourself ready for the bonfire. You’d ended up lingering in the shower, using the luxury soaps and conditioners to your heart’s content. You felt pampered and knew you smelled pretty amazing, and hoped that you’d still feel this confident when you faced Frankie again.
You didn’t know what tonight would bring, but you wanted to tell him that you had feelings for him. You were going to keep it simple; admit how you felt, but tell him he owed you nothing, not even a response. You just wanted him to know, and see where it took you–because this tension filled relationship was starting to wear on you, and falling harder and harder for him only meant doing more harm to yourself the more you held it back.
“Hey, Star!”
You startle out of your thoughts, glancing up from watching your feet as you clambered through the sand, to find Benny waving from next to the bonfire. He’s grinning a little manically, and you look around to find Little sitting on a chair nearby, shaking her head at her brother. “Benny, you look like you set the fire with ill-intent, you psycho!” She jokes, and you join in the laughter with the Millers, taking the seat next to Little and thanking Benny when he hands you a drink a moment later.
“I’ve interrupted a sibling gathering, it seems.” You say, smiling at your friend and noting the many empty chairs. Benny and Will are the only others down so far, each of them working on the fire as they chat about a past fight Benny had won and whether he would face the same opponent again.
Little leans back in her seat and answers your unspoken question. “Frankie is putting Rosie to bed, and Santi was on a mission for me to find skittles,” Her head rolls towards you, eyes giving you a head to toe scan and brightening. “You wore the dress.”
“Please don’t make it a big deal. But you were right,” You admit this reluctantly, and Little has the good grace to cover her self-satisfied smile by taking a large drink. “I do like how this one fits. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to start listening to you.”
Little makes an unamused noise, “But you look amazing! Seriously, you’re-”
You cut her off, “I heard you, Little—“
Another voice interjects, this one much deeper, “You do look very beautiful, cariña,” Frankie takes the free seat next to you and gives you a soft, shy smile. You’ve spun to look at him almost comically, your mouth opening and closing as heat floods your cheeks. “That colour suits you.” He adds, but his eyes don’t drop from your face like any other man would—no, he holds your gaze, rubs his neck nervously.
You stare for a long minute, the sincerity in his voice, the way he’s dressed up in nice slacks and a starfish patterned button up shirt, that little smile he’s giving you. You blurt out your one secret in a jumble, not even pausing to take a breath.
“I’ve kidnapped abused dogs when animal control can’t intervene without evidence and given them new homes in other cities and states. The police have warned me away from it but my family is well connected so I’ve only ever gotten a slap on the wrist…they keep it quiet so even my job doesn’t know but I use it to find out about the bad owners.”
Frankie just stares back at you silently, his eyes widening a fraction, firelight dancing over his handsome features. There’s a pause, and then Little moves to stand up, capturing both Frankie and your attention as she does. “So I’m going to go make out with my husband. But don’t forget to mention my badass escape driver skills from years ago, Star. I’ve been wanting to brag about that.”
Little walks over to join Santi where he stands chatting with Benny and Will, snatching a bag of skittles happily from his hands. You look back around at Frankie nervously, relieved to see his shocked expression has been replaced by curiosity. “That’s really…I mean, what you’ve done is incredible, Star. Even if it’s vigilante level,” He smiles now, and you can’t help but feel your lips tug up in response, “And I appreciate you sharing but, well, why?”
You turn to face him more directly and bite your lip as you think of how to respond. Deciding that you might as well keep going with the over-honesty, you say, “Because I really like you, Frankie. And I know you have a lot on your plate, that Rosie is your primary concern and if we—I mean, I just don’t want to add to your stress. And I’m just Little’s friend, I know we’ve gotten close but you don’t have any like loyalty to me if I were to get in trouble again and I know you had the drug charges—“
You cut yourself off, mortified at your words, but Frankie is smiling at you, his eyes soft. At first he doesn’t say anything, his eyes merely search your face. “Let’s go for a walk.” He stands, then offers you a hand to help you up, which you take without looking away. You wish you could read his mind right now, because despite the warmth in his smile you can’t get a read on much else. Nerves bubble away in your stomach; what if he’s about to tell you nicely he just wants to be friends?
But as he starts to walk away from the bonfire, his hand doesn’t drop yours. He holds it as he leads you along the beach. He still holds it when you reach the dock and begin making your way along, the ocean waves surrounding you and silencing the chatter from the bonfire group, the darkness growing. When you’re standing at the end of the dock, he gestures for you to take a seat, and as you do he still doesn’t drop your hand.
The moon isn’t very bright tonight, its glow minimal, but it’s enough to reflect off the water and create enough light to see one another. Your stomach is doing summersaults now, and you think your hand is sweaty so you instinctively grip his a little harder to avoid any slippage that would give you away. “Relax, Cariña” He says softly, and though you offer him a smile you can’t really do much more—the moment feels too significant for relaxing. “Let me say this first—I like you too. A lot. I have for a while.”
You feel your stomach disappear, like you’re dropping over the peak of a rollercoaster. “Oh.”
Frankie chuckles warmly, then drops your hand and instead reaches up to brush some stray hairs back from your face. You have to suppress a shiver and can’t look away from the earnest expression on his handsome face.“Yes, ‘oh’. And you aren’t just Little’s friend, Star. You are a part of our family, everyone here loves you, so please don’t think you’re only here because of her,” His hand falls to take hold of one of yours, resting in your lap. “And if you know about the drug charges, then you know they were dropped and I’ve been clean for a long time. Did you really think I wouldn’t want to be with you because you’ve rescued animals in need from their abusers?”
His eyes are searching your face, narrowed slightly to combat the darkness, and you’re glad he can’t sense the way your cheeks are so flushed you could fry an egg on them. “I don’t know what I thought, really. I just…you are such an amazing man, Frankie. You’re this incredible dad, and you were in the fucking special forces, and I’m a much younger vet tech for an animal rescue. I literally bring home strays all the time, and I could never,” You pause, fishing around for the right way to say this, and Frankie simply sits there patiently, his hand still holding yours. “I could never imagine realistically how we would work. How I could fit into your life.”
When Frankie says your name, his voice is a low timbre that sends a wave of sparks up your spine. You meet his gaze as he continues, “You’re way too hard on yourself, baby,” Your brows shoot up in surprise at his recycling of what you had said to him earlier; heat coils in your stomach, “You realise I’ve been thinking the same way? Wondering how an old man with a kid could ever be what you would want, convincing myself I’m no good for you. Doing the same thing I watched Santi do for years with Little.”
His voice has taken on a new edge, a confidence there you hadn’t sensed before. “I want…you to be happy. I want to be happy too, Frankie.” Is all you say, and he nods once, and then his hands are running up your neck and pushing into your hair as he dips his face close to yours, half-lidded eyes a breath away.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” You reply breathlessly, and then Frankie Morales closes that gap and those plush lips seal over yours, finally. It’s perfect and you could cry with joy. He kisses you slowly, deliberate, his hands holding your head steady. Minutes pass and you have to practically gasp for air until he slowly pulls back. You both ignore the cheering you can hear coming from the beach. “Let’s go inside for some privacy.”
He considers you, “I want that. But you need to know that I want to date you, properly, once we get home.”
You tilt your head, smiling, “Oh, I was hoping what happened in Hawaii stayed in Hawaii.” Frankie laughs, and the look of pure adoration on his face is enough to make you turn to jelly. “I want that too, Frankie. I want to do this right.”
You smile at each other like lovesick kids, and then Frankie is helping you to your feet, an arm landing around your shoulders and you begin the walk back. It seems like the longest distance, now that you know you’re going inside to be alone with Frankie, and you know he feels the same–it’s almost a struggle to keep up with his fast pace on your much shorter legs. You’re grateful that everyone is either at the bonfire or relaxing in their own rooms, meeting no one as you slip upstairs together and into the quiet comfort of your room. Frankie locks the door behind you and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as you both ready yourselves for this next part.
“Frankie I–” You pull back slightly, trembling with nerves that you see reflected in his own expression. He gives you a reassuring smile, one large hand swiping your hair back over your shoulder. “I have birth control, and I’m clean. I actually haven’t been with anyone else in a while. Just, well I’ve been so busy and there’s no time for dating and then I met you and–”
Frankie swoops forward and captures your lips against his, stopping you mid-blubber and effectively wiping your mind free of all thoughts. He kissed with a purpose, like a dance that his entire body had to move with; you weren’t just entwining your tongues, no his body was pressing to yours, a hand cupping your face and the other steadying you, pressed to your lower back. When your arms settled around his shoulders, you couldn’t resist sinking your fingers into his curls, a low groan of approval your indication that he wanted you to touch him too. It went on like this for ages, still at the door despite the entire room being available to you.
You enjoyed the conflict in the actions; frantic kissing, but no rushing towards the next part. Frankie was taking his time, and you relished in it, happy to spend the rest of the vacation in this very spot, like he was breathing oxygen into your greedy lungs just when you needed it the most. The hand on your back splays somewhat, moving up to better hold you and you can’t help the little whimper you breathe, because he’s so much bigger than you and you feel small and safe, but also incredibly turned on. It’s this that nudges him forward, only one step. He presses you harder against him and grounds his hips slightly.
You feel the hardness of him against your stomach, and your thighs clench wickedly in response. Entirely without thought, you begin to unbutton his shirt, making quick work and then lightly trailing your fingers down, stopping short at his stomach. Not by choice, but because the second you got that low, Frankie let out a snarl against your lips before his hands moved suddenly to grip the flesh of your ass. “You are so goddamn sexy, mi amor,” He sighs, his forehead pressed to yours, and you smile at him–you’re surprised he went for your ass, his hands still massaging over the fabric of your dress, a hunger glinting in his eyes.
You thought he’d go straight for your chest and forget the rest of you. You worried that even though you wanted his attention, for him to take you in every way, that he could end up like the rest and focus on your largest insecurity. Instead, he’s looking at you like you alone hung the moon, and that he’s the lucky one getting to touch you. “Frankie, please.” It’s a whispered plea that seems to awaken something in the man before you.
His entire body reacts, and you can only gasp when the world suddenly spins because he’s lifted you–tossing you gently onto the bed.
Frankie couldn’t stand it, how perfect you were yet how insecure. The fear that was etched in lines along your otherwise youthful complexion. He knew you, understood what you thought he would do, and he was determined to show you how a man could worship every inch of you properly. “Yes, baby, what do you need?” His voice is low, dripping with honey as he runs his hands up the backs of your thighs, pushing your dress up as he does. You respond with a little mewl that makes his rock hard cock twitch, and he has to unzip his pants to give himself some reprieve from the pressure. “I’ll do anything you want–walking around with this perfect body, you think I haven’t wanted to taste every inch?”
You moan aloud now, head turning to peer at him over your shoulder. Your eyes are wide, pupils blown with desire, and he can’t help but growl at the sight of you on your stomach, legs splayed and trembling for him. “Anything. Please, do anything…” You gasp, and he gives you a wicked smile before running his fingers over your panties, using one hand to tug them aside, and then he dives forward and licks you where you need him most.
The sound that escapes you is half-tortured, half-hysterical. He doesn’t relent, feasting on you like a last meal, his fingers gently prodding and pressing to ready you for his cock. He can tell you’re tight, and he doesn’t want to cause you even a moment of discomfort. Though you continue to make noise for him, it takes him a few minutes to get everything right, maximising your pleasure as he learns what you like. He can feel your legs are tense, and lifts his head slightly to peer over the curve of your ass. You have your head to the side, pressed into the mattress with your eyes tightly shut.
Frankie grunts in dismay, “No baby, you have to relax for me, that’s it, I’m not going to stop. You need to cum, alright?” He waits for you to nod and for your body to loosen, and he gives a cheek a reassuring squeeze. “Good girl.”
He feels you tighten around his fingers at the praise and makes a mental note before surging back in, licking and tasting your cunt until you’re quivering on the edge. When he senses you there, he nudges his nose through your folds and sucks at your clit, from there it’s only a second before you jerk with your orgasm. “Ohohoh!” You sigh, hands fisting the sheets, ass rocking as you pull the most pleasure from him. Frankie helps you over the edge and then eases you back down, gently kissing your inner thighs.
“So good, baby,” He murmurs, moving to his hands and knees and pressing kisses up your back, dragging your dress the rest of the way. You help him, limbs slightly shaky, and toss the dress over the side of the bed, where he also throws your underwear and his own remaining clothing. “You doing alright, mi amor?” Frankie reaches up and turns you on your back, his eyes searching your face for any sign of wanting to stop.
You lock gazes with him for a long moment and an emotion flashes over your expression, halting him. “You can look…you can touch me, Frankie. I want you to.” You say, half gesturing at your chest. And he looks now, at those perfect tits you hide behind cardigans and too-big sweaters, knowing full well that men have mistreated you in the past because of them, not meeting your eyes when you wanted them to. He scoots forward, surprisingly at ease with your eyes drifting over his naked form, the hard length of him standing proud, scars long healed from his days in combat now available for you to drink in.
“I want you to know that these are perfect,” He replies, hands trailing over your nipples, “Everything about you is. Eres tan encantadora…” He lowers his head and licks over one, then moves to the other, his eyes on your face. “I am going to fuck you all night.” He adds, and you swallow thickly, mouth slightly open as you watch him press his lips between your tits, then trail his tongue up, stopping at the column of your neck.
He positions his body over yours, careful that his cock rests near enough to your core to tease you, and you open your legs wider, inviting him as close as possible. “My body has always been mine,” Your voice is soft, the tone openly vulnerable, “It always will be, I’ve learned that. But I want you to take me, Frankie, make me yours too. I trust you.”
His heart almost stops in his chest, and he adjusts his position so that he can trace one hand over your cheek, “Mi amor, I belong to you, it’s you who takes me.” He doesn’t look away, simply adjusts himself with his free hand and slides himself through your soaked folds, then grips your hip as he sheaths himself fully inside of you. “Oh fuck.” He grunts, his head dropping now to the crook of your neck as the velvet warmth of you overwhelms him.
“Frankie, fuck,” Eyes closed, you arch for him, legs circling his waist to pull him deeper. “So big, ah!”
“That’s it baby, take what you need,” He groans in your ear, thrusting slowly as you get used to his size. When you drag his face to your, hands gripping his hair almost roughly, and kiss him again, he could drown in the feeling. It’s more erotic than earlier, the kisses now nearly aggressive with need, each of you pulling for dominance in a lust-filled game. It’s a short while later that your hips begin to move to meet his slow thrusts, a sign that you want more.
Frankie has always been good at sex–hot nights in the middle of the jungle lead to quick, passion-filled encounters once back in town with women he didn’t even know the name of. He never paid for sex, it was always consensual, women picked up at bars, and then with Elena it was always fast. She liked to take what she needed, then finish him off and leave the cuddling for the actors in movies.
But tonight he was truly making love for the first time in his life. His body felt connected to yours, like you were echoing one another’s pleasure, wanting the most for the other person. He wants you in every way and finds himself so entirely involved–like he can hear every thought in your head, guess your every need. When you let out a small whine, he can’t help but laugh against your lips, and then he’s moving and pulling you with him, delighting in the sound you make when he’s got you seated on his cock, his back against the headboard.
“That’s…wow, you’re deep Frankie,” You can barely speak, and he’s so fully entwined with you now that he can’t do more than groan in pleasure and help you begin to move on his cock, the wet sounds of your bodies no match for the noises you can pull from each other.
The world melts away in that room, hours passing as you passionately fuck, and he holds himself back from cumming, loving the way you try to do the same and fail several times. You cum like you have a secret, and he is more than happy to make it happen again and again. He puts his hands everywhere but your injury, careful to avoid the bandage, and makes notes of the places that make your eyes roll. And as time goes on, you begin to become cock-drunk, slowly revealing a more demanding part of yourself–first, you start by telling him to go harder or faster, then the dirty talk begins, and now he’s sure you aren’t going to let him bring you over the edge again alone.
There’s a note of desperation in your voice, paired perfectly with the whimpers as he fucks you from behind, one hand on your hip and the other wrapped in your hair. “Where do you want to cum, Frankie? Inside me? All over my ass?” You toss him a look over your shoulder, nearly feral and the desire to slam deep and cum inside of you is there, but he holds back. “No no, I want to taste you. Let me get down on my knees for you.”
Frankie almost cums, he really does. It’s close, and he has to rip himself back and grip the base of his cock hard–all the while you turn on the bed and grin at him in victory. “Fuck baby, you almost made me cum,” He groans, then watches in complete shock as you climb off the bed and get down on your knees next to it. You part your legs slightly, one hand dipping down to rub your clit, the other pushing your hair behind your shoulders.
“Come here, Frankie,” The most delicious demand he’d ever heard. He’s a little shaky as he gets off the bed and moves to stand tall over you. He still grips himself, wondering if he can get away with lifting you back on the bed–but you sense his plan and tilt your head back, “Please, I need your cum–”
Frankie grunts, one hand shooting out to grip your hair–he’s gentle, but you only grin wider and open your mouth. “You little–oh fuck–” He can’t stop himself, because you tremble and he sees that you begin to cum on your fingers, feels how his hand is half the reason you’re still sitting upright. He cuts off in a guttural moan and fists his hand over his cock, and then he’s giving you exactly what you wanted.
You make happy noises as he comes across your lips, then again down your chin and over those perky tits. He hears himself moaning, but he loses the rest as he watches you lick your lips, then surge forward and take the tip of him into your eager little mouth. He didn’t think he had anymore left in him, but he’s shooting down your throat now and it’s all he can do to keep standing. He finally pulls you back, spent, and almost starts cumming again at the sight of you covered in his cum, breathless from swallowing around his cock.
“Mi amor,” He growls, recovering enough to bend down and pick you up, placing you back onto the bed and then falling to lay next to you. It takes several moments to catch your breaths. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” He asks you eventually, rolling onto his side to survey you with concern.
You give a little laugh, “Am I okay? No, I’ll never be okay again after that, Frankie Morales. That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” You say, and he blushes at the compliment, a surge of pride making the slight pain in his back dull. “How was that for you?”
There’s an edge of uncertainty he immediately works to dispel, first kissing you gently before pulling back with a warm smile. “I will remember this night for the rest of my life. You are amazing,” He takes one of your hands in his, “The best night of my life was the night Rosie was born. Nothing has ever come close, and I thought that was it for me–my happiness is Rosie, and that alone was more than I deserved. She is more than I deserve,” Frankie speaks slowly, ensuring that you hear every word, “I never thought that–even if I did admit how I feel about you, Star–that you would feel the same. You are the best person I have ever been lucky enough to know, and this night was…it’s the only one that has ever brought me as much happiness as that night Ro was born. I don’t know if I even deserve this, but I want a million more nights with you, mi amor.”
He then drops his gaze to rake slowly down every curve of your body, placing his fingers where he came on your chest as he tries to convey how he feels for you. When you shiver, he knows he’s on the mark, and he smiles at you for a long time when he looks back into your eyes.
“I think I just fell in love with you, Frankie Morales.” His heart swells with emotion and you shift closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
“Welcome to my world,” He replies, your name intimate on his tongue. “Now let me take care of cleaning you up, I’m sure I can get you to cum a few more times…”
Frankie woke with a start, his head jerking up from the pillow as he clocked the sound of Rosie’s early morning whimpers. He’s confused at first, because she had stayed with Little and Santi the evening before, but when he finds where the noise is coming from, he is swept by that feeling he kept experiencing the night before.
You stand a few feet from the door, having just returned to the room with Rosie, wrapped in one of the provided robes. You have her head tucked under your chin and you’re speaking softly, soothing words with no real meaning to keep her calm. The golden sun streams through the shutters that were never fully closed the night before, and though he aches all over from making love to you for hours, he really never has been happier in his life.
The woman he loves, holding his child, comforting her without hesitation. You must have woken before him and realised that Rosie hadn’t seen him since the night before, gone to find her while he continued to snooze. He watches you quietly, drinking in the way you run your fingers through her hair, press soft kisses to the crown, and appear entirely at ease. It isn’t until you begin to climb back into bed that you finally look at Frankie, and you pause in surprise when you see him awake.
“Oh no, I woke you, sorry Frankie,” You say quietly, but all he does is shake his head and reach toward you. You make to pass Rosie to him, but he shakes his head abruptly and you slide closer, a small smile appearing now, and snuggle as close as possible with the sleeping toddler between you. When you’ve settled comfortably, Rosie content in the middle, you lay your head on his pillow and sigh happily.
Frankie settles one hand over Rosie where it joins yours, and runs the other across your cheek, “I could get used to this, mi amor,” He admits, and you nod in agreement, eyes twinkling with happiness he feels as well, right to his core. “Thank you.”
You frown slightly, “For what?”
“For loving me, I suppose.”
The frown softens, kind eyes filled with emotion as you reach for him, pressing a soft kiss to his nose, “Frankie, you are so easy to love.”
And even after so many years feeling the opposite, of doubting himself because of who he is and what he’s done, Frankie believes you. He believes that you love him, that’s it’s easy for you because you were always meant to be his. And truly, Frankie knows he has always belonged to you.
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Follow up Series to Little. — Frankie Morales had gone through a lot in the last few years. First, he gets his ex pregnant around the same time he dabbles in cocaine, unable to deal with the PTSD he suffered from since retiring from the Special Forces. He gets clean, only to find that Elena doesn’t want anything to do with him—or the beautiful baby girl she brings into the world.
Now a single father, Frankie leans heavily on his best friends and mother for support raising Rosie, the light of his life. And then Little introduces him to you, and he’s smitten at the first bashful bat of your eyelashes. When Santi and Little get engaged, Frankie is asked to be the best man, a duty which requires him to plan and work closely with the maid of honour—you. Nicknamed Star for your talented singing voice, you’re one of the most incredible women he’s ever gotten to know.
Too bad both Frankie and Star are too shy to confront their feelings. But they do say, weddings are the most romantic occasions…
Summary: Star is content to spend time alone relaxing (and daydreaming about Frankie) after Little and Santi’s destination wedding. But toddler Rosie Morales ensures that’s not how the vacation goes…
Warnings: Language, adult themes, injury, mention of blood, (eventual smut).
A/N: Here we go, part one of the follow up to my Little mini series! Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!!
You dreamt of Frankie Morales when you went to sleep. The way his eyes fixed on you as you sang with Santi on the beach, his gaze warm and kind. How he had looked in his suit, and then how handsomely disheveled he became as the night wore on until he was rid of his tie, a few buttons undone, revealing the tan, hair-speckled chest beneath. How gently he’d held you as you danced together, as though he thought you were delicate and his large hands had to be extra careful.
The sunshine woke you late the morning after the wedding, golden rays filtering through the California shutters you forgot to properly close in your haste to fall face-first into bed when the reception had wrapped up. You were naked, save for your underwear, and a quick pass of your hand over your face reminded you that you had managed to wash away the makeup before going to bed. When you finally rise from the luxurious sheets and pad to the en-suite bathroom, you see your pretty dress pooled on the floor, a set of false lashes next to it, and your heels kicked against the nearest wall.
It looked as though you had evaporated, and you laughed to yourself before freshening up. You took time to hang your dress, then changed into a comfortable lounge set. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a few minutes, eyes drawn to your chest.
You had promised yourself that this week was a vacation, where you were staying among friends, and that meant you didn’t need to wear your usual bras. You could get away with wearing this looser, insanely comfortable sports bra. But as you gazed at your reflection, you felt that twist of self-consciousness that always arrived just before you were to be around others. Your chest had been the biggest, in every sense, target for bullies growing up. And now as an adult woman, it was all the men seemed to find interesting about you.
Usually, once they stopped admiring your tits, they didn’t stick around much longer.
This was one of the many reasons that had brought Little and you close when you went to school together. She was beautiful, curvy and busty and unapologetic—you adored her confidence, her determination to ignore the ‘standards’ and just be herself. And she sensed your anxieties pretty quickly, promptly spending the formative four years of university encouraging you to love yourself, pulling you out of your comfort zone at times. And she was just there for you, supporting and loving you no matter what.
But her confidence only rubbed off so much, and while you looked at yourself now and saw a gorgeous figure, you still cared too much about what others thought when they looked at you. It was impossible to completely ignore the intrusive thoughts, especially when, time after time, men usually proved to be thinking exactly what you suspected them of. You had been ‘accidentally’ groped or brushed against too many times to count, which was why you had formed the habit of wearing constricting bras and avoiding low-cut shirts. You wanted to fully love yourself, but sometimes you thought it would just be easier to get a reduction and slink into the background.
You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard some laughter filter in from outside your open windows and promptly pushed away your concerns—it was vacation. You weren’t looking at a normal bra for seven more days.
Based on the direction of the laughter and voices, you guessed there was a larger group in the kitchen and dining room now. Santi had done a great job on securing this place because it came with everything—even a large staff dedicated to attending to all the guests’ needs. You had poured over the online brochure for the AirBnB during the flight to Hawaii, and know that there was a number you could text for room service. You found the number, already saved into your phone, and ordered a light breakfast and dark coffee. When it arrived, you happily wheeled the cute breakfast cart out onto your private balcony and relaxed with a podcast as you ate and watched the earlier risers settle in on the beach.
The balcony had dividers between it and the rooms on either side, but they didn’t fully extend so you could, in theory, walk next door. But Little, in all her match-making efforts, put your room right next to Frankie’s, stating it was ideal for the best man and maid of honour to be close to one another. And while she wasn’t technically, wrong, you still knew her well enough to know that wasn’t her primary motive.
She had sensed the chemistry between you and her friend straight away, but you denied it at first. You’d almost walked into a wall when you had first seen him at the wedding of a mutual friend he, Santi and the Millers had also attended, but you knew immediately who he was and that he was certainly not going to be interested in a much younger woman. He had a kid, for fuck’s sakes. But the more you got to know Frankie, the harder it became to deny that there was something there between you. And the harder you had fallen.
It hadn’t helped that, for the last six or so months, you’d been helping her plan her wedding. Which meant that you and Frankie saw a lot of one another. Eventually, you had started texting on the regular—always about the wedding, even if sometimes it evolved into sending memes back and forth or making jokes at your engaged friend’s expense. And you might have sent him a dozen-ish photos of your rescue pit bulls, Anna and Elsa, while he sent cute shots of Rosie being adorable.
You were friends, it was normal banter really. Even if every time he messaged you, a warm sensation would fill your belly it was entirely platonic.
You’re sipping on the final dregs of your coffee when Little appears below, holding a large mug in hand and appearing to be speaking. You pull your AirPods out and stand, catching her eye.
She grins up at you, “Morning, Star!”
“Oh, good morning Mrs. Garcia!”
She giggles at this, and Santi steps into view and spins to look up at you, his grin an extension of Little’s. You don’t miss the way his hand secures to her lower back. “That’s the first time today anyone has said that! I love the sound of it.”
Little rolls her eyes at her husband, then adds to you, “We’re going to relax at our little cabana on the beach, come join us whenever okay?” She gestures over her shoulder, where a small, mint-painted beach cabana sits among the spattering of shaded loungers.
“You’ll see me once I’ve had my second cup of coffee. I’m still recovering.”
Little and Santi laugh, send you friendly waves and make their way along the path, away from the concrete and grass surrounding the infinity pool and into the sand. You watch them with a small smile, your heart swelling with happiness at the sight. Little had been in love with Santa for a very long time, and when she’d called to tell you they had gotten together because she’d overheard him admitting his feelings over the phone—to Frankie, no less— you had been over the moon for them both. Helping her plan this wedding was one of the great honours you could have been given.
You contemplate the rest of your morning because in reality there is a lot to do. Or a great number of places to go ahead and do nothing, including a tranquillity room, movie theatre, onsite RMT, steam room, private beach, pool and hot tub—the list went on. It was paradise, and you were momentarily overwhelmed with all of the options laid out before you. You had to remind yourself that you had seven days left to enjoy this place, so you didn’t need to get all of your relaxing squished into one day. You decide to make your way down for another coffee, changing so that your bathing suit is on under your lounge set, the green of the suit peeking out from beneath your peach-coloured shirt and shorts. You pack a bag with the essentials, including a book, water bottle and sunglasses, and head for the kitchen.
You give your room a final once over, ensuring you haven’t left a big mess for the housekeeper. It is a beautiful room, filled with rattan furniture and live plants, soft white linens and orange accents throughout. The bathroom is open to the bedroom area, the only thing hidden behind a door was the toilet itself, so you could see the large soaker tub and tiled shower, and couldn’t wait to take advantage of both later that day.
As you wander downstairs, happy that you can’t hear any voices, you think of Anna and Elsa. This was the first trip you’d taken since rescuing them two years before, and though you trusted your veterinarian parents to care for them perfectly, you still ached for them and wished they could understand why you had left, that you’d be back before they knew it.
When your turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you barely take two steps before slamming into a wall. The wall grunts, hands shooting out to steady you as you reel back in surprise, and you look up to find a tousle-haired Frankie standing before you.
Oh, Christ. He looks good.
“Shit, sorry Frankie!”
He smiles at you shyly, a hand reaching to rub the back of his neck. “No worries. How are you?”
He still hasn’t taken a step back, though neither had you for that matter, and you catch his masculine scent now; an intoxicating blend of freshly mown grass and cedar. “I was worried that Rosie wouldn’t sleep well, being in a new place,” He replies, his smile widening, “But she’s taken to it fine, which means I’m sleeping well. So I’m great, how are you?”
You laugh, happy for him because, with all he had been through with his ex, you knew he deserved to relax more than anyone. You remember suddenly what you’re wearing and blanch because your figure is more accentuated in this outfit, but his eyes haven’t strayed from your face for even a beat. Whether he finds you attractive or not, you appreciate how Frankie was a true gentleman.
“I’m really good, thanks. Slept like the dead, now I’m going for another coffee to take down to the beach.”
“I’ll see you there in a little bit. My mom and Rosie are on the same nap schedule,” He lowers his voice teasingly, and you giggle. You try not to notice how his eyes brighten. “I’m just going to wake them up, and then I want to take Ro swimming.”
You nod, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you soon, in that case.” You part ways from him and resist turning to watch him make his way up the stairs. It wasn’t about checking him out; you just really liked looking at Frankie, memorizing the ways he moved, the expressions on his face, what made him laugh.
Yes, you had it bad for the man.
You’re relaxing in your lounger, grateful for the shaded canopy and enormously comfortable cushions, reading one of several books you’d brought on the trip. Others filter by, most saying hello but giving you your space. Recognizing that as maid of honour, you were more than due for a good rest.
Benny stops by on his way to tease Little and Santi, who are swimming in the blue ocean water, and you end up having a fun conversation with him. You’re retelling one another the best moments of the night before, and agreeing on the parts you hope made it onto the wedding video—and the ones you hoped didn’t. You’ve always really liked Benny, he seemed to sense the type of person you were in that same way that Little had, and he had a way of making you feel normal. Where you and Will had a friendly enough relationship, Benny felt more like a brother. Protective and encouraging and just really nice.
When Will comes along, he says hi to you before Benny—who gives you a quick hug—leaps to his feet and bounds towards his brother, ready to wrestle in the water. You laugh, watching them dunk one another, then a large splash hits Little and Santi jumps into the tussle, and your friend makes her way out of the water shaking her head in exasperation. When she plops down next to you on the lounger, you’re both snorting with laughter.
“It’s like they’re twelve. Santi literally said ‘don’t be a butthead’ to Benny,” Little giggles, and you both watch them for another minute before she turns to you and lowers her voice. “So, how are you doing today?”
“I’m supposed to ask you that, Mrs. Newlywed.”
Little doesn’t take the bait, and you never expected she would. “You know what I mean, Star. Are you having fun? Can I do anything for you?” This was the thing about Little. She was not just a good friend, she was a thoughtful and caring one, the kind that you could call at midnight and ask to move a body and she’d show up with shovels. Which was basically what had cemented your friendship several years before, though you weren’t going to think about that right now. You were on vacation.
You lean in and press your forehead to hers briefly, “This place is incredible, I’m extremely happy. Please stop worrying.”
“I just…I know you never get time for yourself. Or to have some fun and unwind,” She takes hold of your hand and applies light pressure, “I know you have busy shifts with the rescue, long hours. I just want this week to give you the break you deserve—the wedding was absolutely perfect and that’s in great part because of you, Star.” At this, you sigh softly and pull her in for a proper hug.
She was right that you barely had time for yourself, you worked a lot at the rescue as a vet tech, a job you loved and wouldn’t change for anything. You were hoping to get a couple of new techs hired and trained so that you could reduce your hours in the next year or so, but it wasn’t an urgent thing. You just wanted a little more free time, because currently, you were operating on hardly any, always either working, sleeping or making your way to and from work. Around the time that Little had asked you to be her maid of honour, you had made the permanent switch to daytime shifts, and your life had greatly improved with the steady routine.
But you still had a dismal social life, only occasionally going out with Little or spending time with your parents. And dating? You literally would have to give up sleep to bother with it, and since you were hung up on a man completely out of your league, that wasn’t happening anytime soon either. So you understood her concerns entirely.
“Little,” You pull back from the hug and give her an encouraging smile, “You don’t need to be so worried, I’m having fun. I’ll try to socialize, I promise.”
She grins back at you, then glances down at your outfit, “Is that the swimsuit we picked out together?” She’s beaming with pride that you’ve worn it, and you shrug with a smirk pulling at your lips.
Little coaxes you into the water, and after applying another layer of sunscreen and ridding yourself of your clothing, you follow her into the cool ocean. You love the water and sink into it quickly as you glance back toward the beach, instinctively seeking out who might have seen you in your swimsuit. Will and Benny are sitting in beach chairs in the shallow water, deep in discussion, while Santi is back at the cabana, cracking open a drink. His eyes are on Little in that rapturous, protective way that makes your heart swell with joy for them. They were perfect for each other, there was no way around that.
You spend a good half an hour swimming and chatting with Little, who tells you about the new woman in Benny’s life that he’s insisted is just a friend, but she suspects there may be more to it. And when it came to Benny, both of you knew that if he was feeling something for someone, he would deny it. He liked to be the bachelor, the ladies man because he was afraid of commitment. You tell Little that he just needs to find the person he won’t be afraid of doing anything for.
Eventually, her brothers grow bored and begin taking turns jumping off the end of the dock situated at one end of the beach. You aren’t surprised when Little takes your hand and leads you out of the water, eager to join in on the fun. You let her pull you along, happy to break out of your comfort zone and, other than her brothers and Santi, no one else is around. You glance back to see if he’s coming to join in and almost stumble in the sand.
Frankie is standing with Santi, his eyes locked on you as he speaks with his friend. Rosie is in his arms in a cute little one-piece swimsuit that has the Little Mermaid on the front, and she’s craning her neck to look towards the noise the boys are making on the dock. But all you can focus on is how Frankie watches you, even as you meet his gaze, and you feel heat flood your cheeks. “Jesus,’ You turn away as you speak, and Little looks at you, eyes searching your face before she looks back.
“Oh,man, Frankie looks like he got hit over the head. You realize that you look like a goddess right now, Star?” She slows her pace so that she can keep her voice quiet, her head leaning closer to yours.
You scoff, “Please, Little,” But she cuts off your protests before you can even begin.
“He looks at you like that all of the time. Like you hung the moon,” You glance back at him again, trying not to look too obvious, and find that he is making his way over to the dock now too, being tugged along by a giggling Rosie, her little feet sinking into the sand. Looking away, you smile to yourself, but you can feel Frankie’s eyes on you, your senses in overdrive, and you wish you could be brave enough to just look around and smile at him. Toss a flirty wink, just like Little would do with Santi.
But you were no Little (Miller) Garcia. And Frankie Morales was most definitely not interested in you. You try to ignore the swell of misery within—Frankie was the perfect man. The universe seemed to enjoy dangling him in front of you, showing you everything you wished you could have was just out of reach.
The Miller brothers make more noise at the end of the dock as you and Little step onto the warm wood, drawing your attention their way as they do elaborate jumps into the water. You gaze along the side of the dock, into the shallow water, where you can see several large rocks piled. There’s a little sign on one of the dock posts here, advising to walk along this first section, and you can see an orange line painted across the dock just ahead, the indicator that the water deepens and clears starting there. You’re so focused on the line that you lose track of your feet and stub your toe on a slightly raised plank, hissing in pain.
You pause and bend to inspect it, ensuring there are no slivers. “All good?” Little says, patting your arm with concern, and you smile at her, opening your mouth to respond.
When Frankie’s panic-stricken voice cuts through the air, you both turn in alarm. He’s at the end of the dock, now rushing forward because Rosie had pulled from his grip and was darting toward Little happily, her giggles in stark contrast to the horror on Frankie’s face. She’s not much of a runner at her age, so Rosie teeters back and forth in a way that would be adorable if it weren’t for how close she was to the edge that drop into the rocky shallows.
“Rosie stop!” Frankie’s voice is strained in an effort not to sound too scary to his daughter as he yells, but she glances backward anyway, her legs still moving, and you react before you think. It’s probably because you’d spent years dodging kicks and bites and swats from your animal patients, that your reflexes work the way they do.
Frankie isn’t as fast as you, and you have the advantage because she’s moving towards you and Little—you shoot forward as fast as you can, and just as she sees her dad chasing her and loses her footing at the edge, you drop down and shove your arms out, catching her in the chest so that she’s knocked toward Frankie.
You see him catch her, hear her confused whimper, but the momentum you created darting toward her so quickly gives you no ability to correct yourself, and you skitter, then plunge right off the dock, falling face down into the water.
You hear the way your leg smacks off of a pointed rock, and then pain is lancing through your face as it glances off of another one. You’re dazed, but still aware enough to feel the splinter of pain in your thigh, and you cry out—only you’re underwater, so it’s garbled and you push your hands out to try and get your bearings and raise yourself—
“Mi amor estas bien?” Frankie’s rumbling voice fills your ears as he lifts you, turning you in the water before pulling you up and into his arms, and you don’t even register what he said, really, but you lock onto the fierce concern in his expression and the words begin to sink in. “Cariño? Jesus Christ, Santi get the first aid kit!” He yells, and you feel him moving out of the water and tilt your head, looking down your body.
You can see the brutal gash on your leg, and immediately recognize it’s not as bad as it could have been—but it gushes a decent amount of blood, and it stings from the saltwater and you whimper again.
“F-Frankie—is Rosie-?”
“Cariño, she’s perfect thanks to you,” You look at him again, surprised at the strain in his voice. He sounds wrecked, and you want to ask him if he’s okay but you don’t know how, and something about the way he’s holding you as he carries you—your instincts say that he’s not okay, and to let him take charge here. He reaches a lounger and begins to lower you down carefully, but your leg is jostled and the pain peaks; you start to cry, short sobs that you try to hide—Frankie makes a noise in his throat, and then his hands are cupping your face gently. “Mi amor, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you. Please don’t cry.”
You stare at Frankie because this time, the words smack you right in the face and you can see that he means them. That he called you his love, twice now, and as you realize this, you see understanding flash in his expression and he doesn’t correct himself or try to deny it. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then the others are surrounding you and a first aid kit appears and you can only slump back and cover your face.
The man of your dreams just said something that might change your life, but you couldn’t do shit about it right now. And then realization sets in that you just fell off a dock in front of him, and you want to die of humiliation.
You tilt your head to look away and your eyes land on Little, who has Rosie in her arms and one hand over her mouth—but you recognize the way she’s trying to hide her smug smile, and you glare at your friend. Her expression changes, and even though she doesn’t speak, you know exactly what she’s saying.
‘I told you Frankie loved you, didn’t I?’
Please consider commentingandreblogging if you enjoyed this story YOUR FEEDBACK IS GOLDEN!!!
Pairing:TF Boys x F!Reader Wordcount:14K Warnings: gore. alcohol/drug abuse. kidnapping. eventual reverse harem. self-medication. smut. semi-public sex. torture. brief hint of non-con in a dream. hair pulling. Summary:Pope calls a meeting. A/N: i struggled SO hard with this chapter. it was like pulling teeth. i fear that it is utterly boring, but at some point i had to punt it into the great unknown. my millions of thank yous to @frannyzooeyand@krissology who continue to motivate and inspire me with ideas and words and love. i hope you all enjoy.
It didn’t start right after the club - after Will punched Ben so hard that his cheekbone swelled to the size of a plum. That night had gone from liberating to disastrous as soon as they’d opened the front door.
It had been an onslaught of emotions, and she could barely remember what the argument had even been about in the first place.
Ben could have gotten you killed. You’re in danger. This is why we don’t have women in the house.
Pope had been a total fucking dick, but Frankie had reallypissed her off. He’d just stood in the corner - slinking into the shadows as he watched Will and Pope chastise her. He had no right. He wasn’t allowed to “care” about her safety when he had literally ignored her the last few weeks. She also despised that she still had briefly wondered about his date. Was she in his bed? In his room? Had he fucked her?
All of those thoughts drunkenly rolled around her skull as she watched Ben defend their actions. She balanced on her heels - skin sweating under Will and Pope’s disapproving glares. The liquor and greasy food bloated her stomach. There was a startling sticky ache between her legs from riding Ben in public for anyone to see. Despite her pride and all that she said, she still felt a tug of guilt at what they had done. She didn’t owe them anything and yet -
It didn’t matter. It was done.
The commotion of it all had not only overwhelmed her but sobered her up.
Will’s anger had shocked her. She’d never seen him furious. Even in the basement, he had doled out pain with an impassive, untouchable expression. He spoke softly and slowly without a drop of emotion. After George’s, he had been irate. It had hurt. It had bothered her. The disappointment in his glare had the same consistency of oil sticking to her limbs - her bones and lungs.
“I don’t fuck around when it comes to your safety.”
Those words had ripped through her - circulating with the same wild intensity of a tornado. She followed Ben up the stairs, flinching when she heard Will slam his door shut.
“Fuck,” Ben had muttered under his breath. “He’s throwing a hissy fit.”
Was he? Maybe - he just cared about her? How sweet it was to be cared for in any capacity. Her mother certainly hadn’t - not even when she was a little girl. She could have run away from home for three days, and her mother would still have greeted her with: Oh - you’ve been out all this time?
She’d yelled at Pope, which had been somewhat exciting. He pissed her off with those great big dark eyes and that permanent scowl that curled his lips. He’d tried to crush her damn high. She didn’t connect with him like she did with Will or even Frankie. Pope simply existed as her keeper. He was the man who was pulling the strings through this whole nightmare, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever attempted to get to know her.
She’d helped Ben to bed, and when he’d tried to drag her beneath the covers, she’d stopped him. She wasn’t sure why. She just felt too off-kilter. She just needed to be alone and get her head on straight and sober up because whatever had happened in the living room had been messy, and she could barely keep up with who was pissed at who.
She also wanted to pout dramaticallyin the comfort of her room where none of them could judge her. She was out the second her head hit the pillow, slipping into a restless sleep as the sequins on her dress pricked her skin.
She was awoken by the warm wet pressure of lips at the nape of her neck. The smell of soap and damp skin. Mid-afternoon light filtered through her drapes and flooded her white linen duvet in buttery orange.
“They’re out,” A low voice rumbled at her back. Benny. She arched into him, and he wrapped his fingers around her throat - wrenching her against his chest. “I woke up so fucking hard for you,” he murmured as he tugged her earlobe between his teeth. His fingers trailed down her thigh toward the heat between her legs.
She was still covered in glitter from the club. Her lashes were sticky and clumped as spider legs. Her hangover beat dimly within the shell of her skull. Everything spun out as all of her senses narrowed to what Benny was doing to her. “I’m gross right now.”
“You’re fucking hot,” he growled as he nosed at her jaw. “and I’ve waited allday to get back inside that pussy.”
“Jesus.”
“Tell me yes.” He was digging his fingers into her hips so harshly that she shuddered. He was pushing against her - gluing his hard body to her back. There was a wantin his touch. Ben had seduced her last night. Ben had taken her out. Ben had freed her from the penthouse and treated her like she was something special. He’d ignored every girl who’d walked up to him.
“Okay.”
***
They keep it quiet. They don’t make it obvious that they are fucking on every surface available. It’s an unsaid thing - an understanding. She doesn’t want to deal with questions or judgment, and Ben just seems to go with it.
It was pleasure in its most blunt form. Ben fucked her so well that she could barely think straight, and perhaps that was the point. She didn’t want to think. She had spent the last few years - slowly rotting in her father’s house. She walked on eggshells - terrified that one wrong move would send her mother into some aggressive state. She kept to herself and burrowed in her head. Loneliness marked her. She’d been genuinely isolated, and the people she did fuck had been only a night-worth of reprieve. She’d had one boyfriend in college, but that had blown up as quickly as it began.
She’d used caring for her mother as an excuse. She was lonely and bored, and she had filled up those days by getting drunk or staring at a television. At the penthouse, getting screwed daily kept her fairly busy.
It was constant.They were running through condoms. Ben just kept several on his person at all times. She wanted to get on birth control, but a large part of her was nervous that if she did, the sex would stop. She’d jinx it somehow. It didn’t make sense. Nothing in her life made sense, but the fucking was like a drug - burned just as good as alcohol.
The first time Benny had taken her outside her bedroom had been in the kitchen.
She was pouring chopped herbs into softened butter. She mixed and minced and grated. She was going to make roast chicken with truffle mashed potatoes and garlicky spinach.
She felt him before he spoke. His chest flushed against the crown of her head. He was hard - his erection resting against the small of her back - his hands clasping her hips. He nosed at her neck - his lips brushing her bare shoulder.
“Ben,” she warned.
“What are you making?” he asked as he tugged her away from the counter. His voice was perfectly normal. He gingerly drew her over to the island - his long arm sweeping the rest of her ingredients to the side. “Tell me,” he urged.
“Roast chicken,” She felt the pressure of his hand at the middle of her spine. He pushed down, and she went- bending over so that her front was sealed to the butcher block. Her hands planted. The side of her cheek lay flat next to the rosemary twigs, sage, and garlic. He flipped her dress up and drew her panties down - just enough that they banded around her knees.
“That sounds good,” he hummed just as he sunk into her. She gasped - breath hitching as he filled her in one, bruising stroke. “Did you wear this dress for me?”
She shook her head - biting into her lower lip. He made a frustrated sound before cracking his hand across her ass. The sound was muted beneath the music coming from the Ipad in the corner. Gin Blossoms. The edge of the island cut into her stomach. “I think you did,” he taunted as he began to thrust into her slick heat. There was the slap of skin. The muffled broken noises that he forced from her mouth with each drag of his cock. She was practically on her toes. He was spearing inside her - stretching her open. The pressure. The ache of it spread through her lower half. “I think you wore it because it’ll make it so much easier for us. I can just lift this dress up and fuck you standing.”
She bit into her bottom lip until she felt the iron burst of blood. He was changing up his pattern - fucking her hard in rapid, short strokes before drawing back far enough so he could press into her in one slow, inexorable thrust. She grunted when he covered her body with his. He was burying her with the weight of him. His fingers were between her legs as he plucked her clit with each snap of his hips.
She arched - pressing her ass back against his hips. His name flooded her mouth. She cried it as her knuckles accidentally knocked the potatoes from the island - the jug of heavy whipping cream - the jewel-green chives.
They did more than just fuck. They watched movies - trading off on who got to pick what. Ben had a habit of choosing old nineties action flicks, while her tastes drifted from period romances to violent slashers.
“I want to watch Scream,” she huffed.
“We can’t keep watching Scream!” His eyes narrowed. “That’s the third time in the last month.”
She stuck her lip out, and his jaw ticked - his gaze trailing over the stretch of her neck and chest and bare legs. “Fine,” he agreed. “But this is it. No more.”
She’d smirked, knocking him flat with one of those dubious expressions like she knew this certainly wouldn’tbe the last time.
And it never was.
***
They were just down the hall. Frankie and Santi. Will is in the basement. She was watching television - another rerun of Top Chef.
She felt Ben at her back almost immediately - able to catch the subtle whiff of his cologne. He braced his broad hands on the top of the couch as he looked over her head at the television screen.
He was silent for a few minutes. The clatter of knives and chef’s yelling and dramatic music filling the space between them. All of a sudden, he gently tugged on her hair until her head fell back. He leaned down to press his lips to hers. There was the seep of his tongue - his palm hot on her cheek.
It was a flurry of movements. Ben somehow ended up on top of her. He opened her thighs with the flat of his palms, rocking against her damp crotch. All he had to do was shove his pants down and hitch her panties to the side, and then he’d be balls deep. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.
“They’ll come back,” she protested against his mouth. “They’ll see.” He couldn’t stop kissing her. Not even when he wanted to, and sometimes that scared her just as it unnerved him. I like you too much. It’s weird.
“Maybe,” he shrugged before he sunk to the hilt. She choked - gasped- revealed how fucking easy she was for him.
He rucked the top of her dress down so that her tits popped out and swirled his tongue around the nub of her nipple. She moaned despite herself. She loved the patchwork of sensations. Her bare nipple damp from his warm mouth. The harsh rasp of his pants across her inner thighs. The cool air conditioning. The weight of Ben’s too-big body as he attempted to fit on the narrow couch. The fear that they couldget caught.
“I’ll be fast, baby,” He ground into her - pinned her until she couldn’t jerk a muscle. There was no space between them as her knees clamped around his hips - her heels knocking against the backs of his thighs with each harsh rut. She tangled her fingers in his hair - trying to fuck stealthily in the great wide open of the boy’s den. She could hear herself - hear the slick sound of her cunt taking him all the way over and over again. The couch creaked. She panted against his tongue. “C’mon…c’mon….c’mon….” he commanded as his fingers circled her clit - his cock impaling her and her bare ass scraping the couch. There was heat in her veins. She throbbed and whimpered - shivering from the orgasm that screamed through the meat of her.
“Jesus Ben,” she rasped and he licked into the cup of her mouth.
She held onto his biceps - clung to him desperately as the place between her legs began to go to liquid. The whole room spun, and her head tipped back as Ben bit into her throat. For a moment - she wondered if he’d open up her vein - if blood would bloom to the surface.
The thought of blood and sex inevitably brought Will to her mind. She was already climaxing by the time she realized that he could come upstairs and find them. It would hurthim. To see her not only refuse him but to take his brother instead. She had to speak with him. The night of St. George’s had left a crevice between them in its wake. Will had avoided her, and she couldn’t stand it. She had to make amends.
“Fuck, baby,” Ben growled as the couch squeaked under their weight.
She felt Ben’s teeth sink into her shoulder. Her underwear cut into the flesh of her hips as he jerked - whole body trembling above her. She threaded her fingers through his hair and fisted it - yanking it back hard enough to make him groan.
“I missed you,” he rumbled - kissing the skin beneath her ear lightly. “Fuck - I missedyou.”
His voice was heavy with want- a sort of aggression she hadn’t heard from him before. Thoughts of Will flew from her mind as she focused on Benny - as she felt his muscles tense underneath her hands.
His dark blonde hair was in his eyes and she combed it with her fingers. “I saw you this morning.”
He drew back - bracing himself above her. “I know.”
She stared up at him, and he met it. His mouth was flushed and swollen. “You have a problem,” she teased, her tone soft.
“I have you.”
***
She’d resorted to asking Will via text about training her. Confrontation gave her hives and, quite frankly, she wouldn’t be able to handle him refusing her face to face.
Hi. It’s me. Was wondering if you’re still down about self-defense lessons?
Who is this?
Wow.
Haha. Sure. No problem.
After she’d painstakingly tried to analyze his tone, she figured that he was being cordial. Did “haha” mean everything was okay? Did the “sure” and the “no problem” combined mean he was looking forward to it?
Will was already waiting for her when she stepped into the gym. His expression was closed off, his lips settling into that indifferent mask he maintained when he was outside his home. Fuck. She walked towards him, past the state of the art equipment, enormous television screens, and vast windows that revealed the heart of downtown.
“You’re still angry at me,” she stated plainly.
The corner of his mouth curled. He cocked his head - lifting a single eyebrow as he regarded her with…nothing. He wasn’t being cold but rather impassive. She shifted her weight - crossing her arms defensively over her chest. God - he was gonna make her grovel.
“I-I didn’t meanfor that night to happen the way it did!.”
“I know,” he replied - dragging his thumb over his beard.
“Okay…” She stepped up to him. “So, are we good?”
He shrugged, but there was a glimmer of amusement behind his eyes. He was enjoyingthis.
“Oh - you dick,” she hissed - punching him hard in the arm. His hand shot out and caught her wrist - pulling her forward so fast that she stumbled against him.
“Lesson one,” Will said. “You do stupid shit? You get killed and probably horribly.”
“Obviously.“
He tilted his head - a knowing smirk twisting his pretty mouth. “Going to George’s? That’s stupid shit right there.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know! I literally just go where you fuckers tell me.”
His smirk deepened, and he released her. “Well - now you know.”
She poked him in the chest and the muscle tensed under her fingertip. Fuck. “You’re being unfair about this. It’s not my fucking fault that Ben took me out, and, honestly, what was I supposed to say? No? He was just being nice, and…” she trailed off when she realized his expression had softened.
Those stupid blues eyes mellowed to the color to something clear and crisp as April sky. “I wasn’t mad at you,” he explained. “I just wanted to fuck with you a little because you get so heated about it.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “Funny.”
She stepped away from him - her gaze drifting subtly over his body. His blonde hair was slicked back, and he was clad in sweats and a tight black t-shirt. His cheeks were flushed, which made him only more alluring. Fucker.
She tugged her sweatshirt off and tossed it onto the bench. Her sports bra and top were clinging to her frame, and Will averted his eyes. Ha! “So what are we doing? How to throw a punch? How to kill a man with only your thighs and a rubber band?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “First - we have to build your strength up. You need a strong core in self-defense.”
“Sounds dull.”
“You’re not getting anywhere with noodle arms.”
She scoffed. “Not all of us can have biceps the size of rotisserie chickens.”
Will glanced down at his arms, which he then flexedon purpose. “I wouldn’t say rotisserie chickens.” He simpered. “Not big enough.”
She lunged forward, pinching the back of his arm viciously enough for him to yelp. “Fuck, Faire!” He staggered backward - clutching at the reddening patch of flesh. “You’re so mean.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
His eyes narrowed, and she suddenly regretted needling him. “Treadmill,” he ordered in a low voice.
“Why?” she scowled. She hadn’t been on a treadmill in ages. Not since she’d fucked around with a gym membership one sad January a year ago.
It’s all about recharge! Get yourself into the best shape of your life. Make the new year count.
“Warm-up,” He threw his arm around the top of it like it was a pet. “You can power walk. It’ll just get your blood going. Loosen you up a little.”
“I am loose.”
“You’renot,” he grinned. “You’re wound pretty fucking tight.”
“Because I am in a constant state of fight or flight.”
He winced. “Shit - I know. I’m sorry -”
“I’m kidding. I’m fine.”
“You’re annoying,” he frowned.
She glared at the treadmill as if avoiding it might make Will forget its existence. Perhaps, she could talk her way out of it.
“I’m not strong,” she whined. “Can’t I have a weapon? A nice hammer?”
“It’d be used against you.”
“Chainsaw?”
“Could you lift one?”
“They make mini chainsaws.”
He turned to stare at her, planting his feet. His t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. “Look - I want you to be able to protect yourself. You’re running around with us. Shit could happen, and I guarantee that you won’t be strutting around with a hammer or a chainsaw -”
“A gun!” she chirped.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not. You’d shoot one of yourself or one of us.”
She bit her lower lip, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He leveled her with a stern glare, and she returned it. “You’re the one who asked me to help you out,” He cracked his knuckles. “I can leave? I’ve got other shit to do.”
“Ugh,” she relented. “Fine! I’m just…really out of shape.”
“Then I’ll make you in shape. Now, get up there,” Will commanded.
She ground her teeth before huffing and climbing onto the ramp. He turned the speed up to a three. An easy power walk. After a minute, the backs of her thighs twinged. She pulled a face. Her muscles were tender, and most of it was from Ben bending her in too many positions. She was sore between her legs - soft and raw like he had managed to carve into her permanently with each shove of his cock. Not like she could complain to Will about that. Not like she’d wantto.
“You’ll have to stretch more,” he noted.
“I hate stretching.”
“Why?”
“It’s dull. It’s why I hated yoga. Too slow.” She paused before looking at him. “Fuck - I am being a huge brat.”
“Yep.”
“Sorry.”
“Talk less. Walk more.”
It wasn’t the easiest thing: attempting to walk with Will staring at her with that casual smile on his face.
“So, did you know him?” Her words were jumbled - breath quickening as Will turned up the speed.
He raised an eyebrow. “Know who?”
“Baron.”
“We were the same age. Went to school together, actually. I was pre-med at Harvard and then went to John Hopkins.”
“Wait,” she said. “You’re a doctor?”
“I didn’t actually finish - it’s why I’m good at what I do. I know how to keep people alive while also bringing them to the edge of death. It’s an art.”
“Why didn’t you finish?”
He shrugged. “Learned what I needed to learn. Santi wanted me back.”
“Is everything you do for Santi?”
His gaze darkened, and she felt like she’d spoken out of turn. She didn’t know their relationship. Not entirely. She saw pieces of it. She knew Frankie and Ben had their connection. Will and Ben were related. Santi and Frankie went deep. Who was Will closest to? She honestly couldn’t tell, and a very tiny part of her was upset at the thought that he was alone more often than not.
“I just - I just meant do you do anything for yourself? For your own benefit?” He said nothing, but his eyes raked down her body - blatant and weighted with something. Longing? Hunger? She was jogging now - her breasts bouncing in her sports bra. There was sweat collecting at her hairline. She suddenly felt naked under his lingering stare. Will alwaysmade her feel as if she was stretched out on glass for him. An exhibit. She was fucking his god damn brother, and still,he made her doubt all of the values she thought she held dear. She had seen him make men sob and beg. You’re in bed with cold-blooded killers. You’re already gone.
Will’s jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared and -
“Let’s do weights,” he announced as he shut the treadmill off. He started walking to the far side of the room, and she followed.
***
Ben’s room was darker than she expected. A lot of deep greens. A amber square with recessed lighting stood from floor to ceiling and centered the space. On the gray slate walls hung framed movie posters done in a cartoon style. Blocks of bright colors. One of his guns was lying casually on his oak bureau.
The sun pulsed outside his window. It bled over them as they lay tangled in Ben’s sheets. There were dust motes in the air - the warm glow of Indian Summer comforting and lovely. It was strange - like a dream. Ben’s eyes roved over her face - his hand on her cheek. She stared right back. Everything pulsed. There was no tension - only softness - only the sweetness of what they’d been doing. He trailed his fingers over her chest - circling a nipple. She shivered.
“I hope you cleaned these sheets,” she teased.
“Babe,” He cocked an eyebrow - his tone offended. “You’re the only person who’s been in this bed for a month….” His words fizzled out, a frown curling his mouth like he suddenly had to think about it. “At the least,” he added.
“Month, huh? Pretty sure you had chicks over a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah - but we used the kitchen table.”
“Ohgross.”
He laughed and sprung for her - wrapping his arms firmly around her waist. She grunted, shoving up against him, and he wrestled her under him. He pinned her with both of his arms braced on either side of her head. He wedged himself between her thighs and slowly rocked his hips forward so that she could feel the length of him against her. “You make me so hard,” He dropped his head to suck a mark into her neck. Her breathing hitched. “You drive me insane, woman.”
She gripped his chin - drawing his mouth down to her own for a rough kiss. He used his legs to spread her thighs apart further, and she mewled against his tongue. She placed her palms on his chest - his heartbeat fluttering and fast as a bird’s. He rubbed his cock through the seam of her folds before lifting himself up. He dropped his head to stare down between them and watch himself fuck her.
It was strangely intimate of him. He liked to study the way her body absorbed his cock - the slow drag backward and drive forward. The wetness she painted him in.
“Wait,” she murmured, and he stopped - hovering right at her entrance. He grit his teeth and lowered his head - knocking his nose against hers. “What is it?”
“I want to know about you.”
“You know a lot about me,” he grinned as he slowly pushed the tip of himself into her. She jerked, and he slid deeper. “Shit,” she panted before slapping his shoulder. “No - no, I want - I want something else.”
He frowned. He couldn’t quite remember what their conversation had been twenty minutes ago. She’d stepped into his room, and he had lost his head. The smell of her. The taste of her skin and how soft she was. He’d wanted to rub her all over his sheets until the bedroom stank of her. He’d divested her of her clothes, and here they were. His mind seemed to live permanently in his dick whenever she was around.
“Alright,” he said, and he eased himself out of her. She winced, and he wondered if he’d been too rough last time. They were fucking like crazy - multiple times a day and in all sorts of positions. They had started to get messy - sloppy - not as covert. He honestly didn’t care who saw them, but she did, and he’d respect that. He snuck a glance at the patio outside his room. He should really shut those blinds, in case Frankie decided to go mope outside instead of brooding around the penthouse -
-or fucking everything that walked.
He brushed his thumb over her lip. “What would you like to know, princess?” He rolled beside her - resting his head in his palm. He caressed her stomach - drawing a pattern - his signature - anything as he waited for her to speak. She turned toward him.
“Tell me the story,” she implored. Her hand went to his spine - lightly drifting over the distorted, gnarled skin. “Tell me about your back.”
Benny - usually- would have shut down. He would have pushed her away. He would have told her to fuck off and probably do something self-destructive like fuck a girl who wouldn’t try to understandhim. He didn’t like talking about it, and it wasn’t as if he owed her anything.
But when he lookedat her, he felt something twinge in his chest.
She stared at him meaningfully - her big eyes glittering under afternoon light. It sucked that she was so lovely to him. He’d, of course, had plenty of gorgeous women. Too many to count. But - there was something about her that spoke to him. It echoed in his lungs and throat and made him catch his breath. The last week with her had sent him through a tailspin. He craved her. He demanded her.
If she wanted this from him, he’d give it.
“Five years ago,” he began before scraping a hand across his face. His muscles felt oddly tight. He exhaled sharply and then continued. “Five years ago - Frankie and I did this job for Santi that involved burning down several of the Reaper’s meth labs.”
She furrowed her brow. “Reapers? I’ve heard of them but don’t know what they do.”
“The Reapers own territory outside of Ashford - they’re barely ever an issue, but they’d pissed Santi off because they’d killed one of his guys during a bar fight. Santi was furious and had us punish them by removing some of their main sources of income.”
“Meth labs?”
“I mean, they probably produced a ton of different shit, but I wasn’t exactly paying close attention. Just lighter fluid and a couple matches and boom,” he threw his hands apart to emphasize his point.
“Okay,” she replied as she scooted closer to him. They were skin to skin. He could smellher - the floral, smokey burst of her perfume. Her shampoo. Her sweat. He felt like he was shouting. His gaze ran up her bare shoulders before cutting across the swell of her tit. Benny forgot what he was even talking about.
She nudged him.
“Right,” he muttered as he tried to recount all the terrible moments that had happened that night. One bad thing after the next. The fact that Santi had asked Frankie and Benny last minute to do the job. The lack of planning. The amount of alcohol Frankie had had that Benny had ignored. In truth - Benny had always trusted Frankie to be fine. He had watched him mow down a group of four men with his bare hands while loaded.
“When Santi had called, neither of us had really been prepared. It was late at night. Frankie had been drinking. I don’t think I was all that sober myself.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him no? Or get someone else to do it?”
Benny shrugged. “We thought we were invincible. We were these two guys who’d kill more men than we could count, and we had never been beaten. We also never told Santi no. In retrospect, we should have, but it didn’t occur to either of us. It was just like, “ok, boss gave us orders, let’s do this quick so we can get back and party more.””
She hummed, tracing the branches of the tree tattooed across his forearm. She tapped her fingertip against the center of it. “So what happened after you blew up the labs?”
He offered her a tight smile. “Frankie was driving. He was really fucked up, and I don’t think I paid any attention to just how fucked up he was. He crashed and flipped the car and -”
Benny paused as the memories from the wreck blew through him: the shattered glass that caught in his hands and cheek, the smell of gasoline, the force of the hit. His head had felt so swollen. It felt like he was underwater and couldn’t drag himself out. She stopped tracing his tattoo and folded her fingers through his. She squeezed his hand, and it felt weird. It felt like she’d kissed him.
“I was out cold. Frankie was relatively fine except for a few cuts and bruises.” He swallowed thickly - his mouth suddenly very dry. He knew that the next few moments were really what had made Frankie hate himself. They had made Will punch him in the face - nearly beat the shit out of him. Santi had been a whole different matter - both guilty and stunned that Frankie could fuck up that badly. Ben still didn’t think it was Frankie’s fault. They’d both made those decisions, and they both suffered for it.
“Frankie left,” he recalled, and the girl tightened her grip on him. “He was so drunk and high and probably dizzy as shit from the crash that he must have forgotten I was with him. I think he made it a mile down the road before the cops ran into him. We have those cars that call emergency services if a crash occurs, so they were already on their way.”
He glanced up to find her face close to his, her expression deeply concerned. “Is that how you fucked up your back?”
Benny chuckled - combing a hand through his hair as he shifted on the mattress. ”No,” he said. “It turns out that some Reapers followed us.” Those images were now cluttered and burned at the edges. He could remember sensations, but his brain had long since blocked out the pain he’d been in. “They pulled me out of the wreck and took me back to their place. I was already pretty fucked from the wreck, but they wanted me to suffer. They hung me up and cut into me for a week.” The girl inhaled but said nothing. Her eyes were glistening. She wedged her leg through his and tugged him closer. He allowed it - slightly grateful. “They essentially flayed me alive until the guys managed to get to me. I blacked out for most of it.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He had tiny flashes of the hours that he spent in that basement. His wrists were shredded from the rope. His raw flesh burned with agony. The stickiness of his blood. The smell of iron. He’d wanted to die by the halfway point. He still had nightmares about it though they weren’t as frequent as they’d once been. He’d gotten an infection from the dirty tools. By the time he’d been found, he’d been delirious with fever. He’d been ripped apart, and the Ben who came out was not the Ben who went in.
“What did Santi do?” she asked as she pressed her face into his shoulder. Her warm breath skated over his skin. He wanted to kiss her as if it would somehow dim those gore-streaked memories.
“He crippled them business-wise,” He wrapped his arms around her waist - hauling her flush to his torso. His cock was hard between them. Fucked up, but it’s not like he could stay soft when he has a gorgeous naked girl on top of him. “He said they’d form a truce, but once he saw what they did to me…he took it back. Claimed that the Reapers had lied by saying that I’d been treated well. I’m not sure if they did lie, but they probably stepped around the truth, and Santi used it.” He sighed. “That’s why they’ve been run off the map. They’re stuck on the outskirts mostly.”
“What happened to the ones who hurt you?” He could feel her lips dragging over his throat as she dug her fingers into his ribs. He liked it. “The ones who personally tortured you?”
“Will took care of them,” he answered. Ben had never seen his brother like that. He’d genuinely enjoyedpulling those men apart - breaking them spectacularly until they were mounds of flesh and organs. He’d stepped back into the penthouse - coated in a thick film of blood - his eyes black and almost manic. His blonde hair tinged pink.
They’re gone, Ben.
She cleared her throat as she rubbed her cheek against his chest. He cradled the back of her head. “That’s good.”
“It wasn’t Frankie’s fault,” Ben added quickly. “It really wasn’t.”
She drew back from him and touched his jaw. “I didn’t say it was.”
He felt as if he had to defend him. Frankie was a good person but just lost. His head was screwed on differently. “Not to bring Frankie between us, but that whole event is why he is the way he is now. He thinks he doesn’t deserve affection or friends or family, and I’m sure Fish believes that he doesn’t deserve you. He lost control and fucked you and is now crying about it.”
“He’s not crying about it.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s looked pretty okayto me.”
“Fair,” he said. “But you also don’t know him like I do. He’s upset. He’s just very, very bad at showing it.”
“We’re not talking about Frankie.”
“Fine.”
Both of them went silent. Ben watched her, analyzing her reaction to all that he’d said. She’d handled that story shockingly well. It’s not like she’d made a big deal over it. She didn’t sob or curl into herself. She didn’t throw her arms around him in pity. She was assessing- those sharp features of hers studying him as he told her about the worst fucking moment of his life.
“Do they hurt?” she finally asked - tracing one of the scars that curled over his shoulder.
“Sometimes,” He adjusted himself on the bed - the sheets scratching at his back. “I get these weird ghost pains. I hate it…makes me remember what happened.”
“What about therapy?”
“Like physical? Think I’m finein that department?”
She scowled and tapped him lightly on the temple. “Mental.”
“Nah,” he said. “It would only become a danger to whichever therapist tried to help us out.”
“Tony Soprano did it.”
“That’s a tv show, babe. This -” He spread his arms - outstretched towards the ceiling. “This is real. People die all the time just for knowing something they shouldn’t.”
She squinted at him. Skeptical. “I think that you should thinkabout doing it. There’s nothing wrong with working through the hurts you’ve been dealt.”
He tilted his head. “Do you?”
“I’m not part of a crime syndicate.”
“You are, technically.”
“My dad being a crime boss doesn’t count.”
He laughed before he gripped her - yanking her toward him. She yelped, and he pinned her to the bed. “No more talking,” he ordered. He placed his arms on either side of her head as he once again shifted between her legs. “Open up, baby,” he demanded, and she did - her knees spreading. He dropped his head and kissed her jaw before sucking her lower lip between his teeth. She mewled - wiggling against him. “You could be part of this crime syndicate,” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, and her mouth parted in surprise. He rocked against her - clutching her wrists and fastening them to the edge of his mattress. The light was flooding her hair - her skin - gilding the bridge of her nose and brow. He drew his hips back.
“I-”
The rest of her sentence died on her tongue as he sunk into her. He could feel her pussy stretch and flutter around him. Her body was searing and feverish - her lashes dipping as she tipped her head back. She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts - each punch of his cock forced a sweet, desperate noise from her throat. Her pretty tits bounced.
He planted his knees and pressed her to the edge of the bed. “Ben,” she moaned, and it sent sparks through him. The aches in him dissipated as every nerve in his body centered around where he was plunging into her.
He grit his teeth as he picked up his pace. Punishing. Rough. Frantic. He wanted to live inside her. The sun blinded him through his French doors - smearing heat across his scalp. He should have closed those blinds. He should have -
He glanced up and saw Frankie staring at him - open-mouthed.
“Fuck,” Ben muttered, but she didn’t hear him. She was gone- arching and bending - her head tossed back in pleasure. Her eyes firmly screwed shut. He didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to. Frankie’s expression bled from shocked into furious, and then he disappeared.
“Come for me, baby,” Ben pleaded as he fucked her. “Come for me.”
***
Santi dragged a palm across his face. He was exhausted. Frankie sat in the chair across from him - his mouth curled downward into a tight frown. He’d been in a dark place, and it unsettled Santi. He didn’t know how to reach him, and he certainly didn’t know how and why Charles’s daughter had managed to pierce him so profoundly. It was bewildering.
He’d been in a foul mood the last two days. He’d barely seen him. It wasn’t until Ben had informed him that Frankie was “nose-deep in pussy at the Casino again” that he had even known where he was.
“Stop sulking,” Santi ordered.
“I’m not sulking,” he snapped far too defensively.
“Did something newhappen that I’m not aware of?”
Frankie’s jaw flexed, and Santi thought that he might finally confess - he was going to give up whatever had been bothering him the last few weeks. They were closer than brothers. They had shared secrets and all the fucked-up desires they’d had. Goals. Fears. Dreams. But - Frankie was also good at hiding the parts of himself that he thought were weak - that he thought no one should hear because they were his burdens to bear. He never told Santi what he had done during those lost years where he’d trekked the globe. He’d come home, and that had been enough.
“Francisco…” he implored. There was the hitch of a plea in his voice that he hadn’t meant to have. He realized it was the wrong move.
Frankie’s gaze swept over him, and as quickly as that troubled expression appeared, it left. He closed up - his face shutting down to something cold and unbreachable. “What’d you need me for?”
Santi sighed. “Baron.”
“Do you think he’ll retaliate?” Frankie asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Shadows burned across his features. He seemed too big for the chair.
“He already has.”
Frankie’s head snapped up - attention finally captured. “What do you mean?”
Santi tossed him his phone. Frankie caught it - turning it around to glance down at the screen. His brow furrowed, and he bared his teeth. “What the fuck is that?”
“They put a dead snake in her bed.”
Frankie’s eyes widened. “What? Is she okay?”
“Luckily - the maid found it. She wasn’t there, but Will said she nearly fainted when he showed her. Apparently - she’s deathly afraid of snakes.”
“Fucking hell,” Frankie cursed under his breath - he lifted his hand and massaged the creases in his forehead. He looked young. He looked just as he did when Frankie had to march into Eduardo Garcia’s office and ask for contrition after he’d killed someone he shouldn’t have.
“Morales - you’re a fucking idiot. You fucked this deal because of your damn hot head. I don’t know why we even keep you around?”
Santi wanted to get mad at him. He wanted to scream at him for acting on his own impulses. His feelings. Frankie was too passionate. He was like Will in that people feared him. His height and his breadth, and his talent at killing. You didn’t know you were dead until he’d appear in front of you and feel the sharp burn of a blade under your chin. But - Willwas also logical. He was clean and shrewd and careful. Frankie shouldn’t have killed those men. His affection for the girl had clouded his judgment.
“How did someone get in?”
“I don’t know,” Santi chewed the inside of his mouth. Everything was in disarray. He felt like he was losing when he didn’t even know the rules at play. How did this one girl throw his entire life into chaos? “He has someone on the inside? He snuck someone in?” If Baron could hire ghosts to slip between walls, Santi wouldn’t put it past him. “It doesn’t make fucking sense,” he continued. “I’m done hanging back and waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“So we go after Baron?”
“No,” Santi said, and Frankie’s eyes narrowed. “We can’t fucking do this yourway, man. We have to talk to him. We have to try and solve this without spilling more blood. It’s ridiculous.”
“Since when does Mateo listen?” Frankie growled. There was heat now - a throbbing sort of anger that was gleaming under his skin. Christ- he really did hate him.
Santi’s feelings toward his brother were not drenched in that same resentment. Their relationship was broken, of course. Definitely irreparable. But, he still had goodmemories of him. He still recalled how they’d been close as children. They’d always had the best time screwing around at Church. They’d been forced to sit through mass in their starchy shirts and tight jackets. The watered-down wine and flat white wafers. The spiced tang of incense and the harsh wood pews under their bony kid asses. They’d nearly die of boredom, and the two of them would whisper stories to each other - each one more ridiculous than the next.
An alien comes down and shoots up the place.
Aliens don’t have guns.
What do they have then?
Blasters.
That’s the same thing, idiot.
Fine - what do they do when they’re down here?
Kill Father Reynolds!
Ugh, then we could leave.
They’d whisper and giggle until their father would challenge them one of those sternglares, and grandmother would knock them upside the head. It’d be worth it. Santi didn’t think it would turn out like this. It hadn’t been his fault that his brother had been branded as the second son. His brother’s success had been entirely reliant on Santi’s failure. Despite the shit that had exploded between them, he had to admit that Mateo had ignored the fate his father wanted for him and prospered on his own. He’d done what he had to do to get what he wanted, and that brutal, singular motivation was what made him an adversary worth being nervous about.
Santi had seen the kind of violent coldness he was capable of. He’d seen it and knewthat he couldn’t let Mateo take a seat at his table. He couldn’t collar his brother even if he wanted to.
“He will,” Santi said. “I’ll have him here. Our territory. He can talk to Faire and see that she has no interest in the Apostles.”
Frankie stood, his nostrils flaring. “No.”
“Come again?”
“You can’t put them in a room together.”
“Why not? She’s perfectly safe with us.”
Frankie opened his mouth again before closing it. He dropped back into the seat - arms and legs spread out as if a string hanging him by the shoulders had been plucked. “I don’t like it,” he finally mumbled.
“You don’t have to like it, Fish,” Santi reshuffled the papers on his desk - his eyes flitting toward the black and white photograph of him and the guys: arms around each other, dressed in ratty t-shirts, the beach at their backs. They’d all been in their twenties aside from Benny, who had been eighteen or so. Will and Frankie were actually smiling - their teeth so white and big and branded across the shape of their sun-tanned handsome faces. Those two consistently befuddled him. They had twin darknesses that crept through their foundations. They always had - like they’d been born with a fungus that could not be removed or cut out of them. It clung to their bones, and it was just how it was and how it would always be. Mateo had been the same.
The photo served as a constant reminder for Santi. Since it had been taken, something dark and insidious had burrowed into his family. Frankie and Will huddled deeper into their heads. Ben shoved himself outward - plastering on that playboyfacade that none of them really believed was entirely genuine. Santi worked. Santi liked to work. He liked schedules and clean lines. He had no life outside of it.
Frankie cleared his throat to get his attention. Santi had gone somewhere just then - somewherebeyond the penthouse. Somewhere years ago, when everything hadn’t been up to him. “Well - I guess we’ll see what happens,” he said begrudgingly. Frankie stood up to his full height, dragging a hand through his too-long hair before focusing on Santi. His expression was somehow both pointed and weary. “Have you told her everything?”
Santi stilled - his body locking up tight. “No,” He tapped his fingers across the surface of his desk. Besides the piles of paper, his gun glittered under the delicate pendant lights of his office. He could see the cityscape reflected in the wood under his hands. The trickle and spark of offices and apartments - thousands of windows and dozens of skyscrapers all birthed from his family’s empire. “She needs to trust us. She needs to stay put while she’s still in danger.”
“So we just lie to her?”
“It’s more like omitting the truth.”
“Yeah,” Frankie’s tone was bitter. “She’ll really appreciate that.”
“You and I both know that that shit is complicated.”
There was a beat of silence - the unsaid events of their past rippling between them. Frankie shook his head. “Fuck, man,” There was a bitter laugh on his tongue. “Didn’t think I’d be here nearly twenty years later with Charle’s daughter on the line.” He scratched at his chin - his overgrown beard. He looked tired - threadbare, which was unnatural on him. Frankie rarely seemed weak due to his size and brunt strength. “Didn’t think I’d care this much either,” he added softly as an afterthought.
“You like her?” Santi needled.
Fish sighed. “She’s…she’s a nice girl.”
“Uh-huh.”
Frankie’s jaw clenched. “It’s not like that.”
“I know I have my head up my ass most of the time,” Santi dropped his chin in his hands and smirked up at him. “But I am pretty sure that it is like that.”
He could literally see the gears in Frankie’s brain working overtime - his nostrils flaring as if trying to weigh the pros and cons of admitting whatever feelingshe may have for her. Santi didn’t know the extent of them, but he did know that Frankie barely gave most women the time of day. He didn’t get protective or possessive. Hell - they’d shared women before due to it being practical.
“It’s not like that,” he repeated tightly before he stormed out of the office. Santi rolled his eyes.
***
Santi had called a dinner, which had seemingly surprised the girl. She’d kept her distance from him since they’d fought the night Benny had taken her out. The things he had done, he had done for her. At least - that’s what he told himself.
He was not a good person. He didn’t consider himself one, but he was still trying to wipe his slate clean. His history with Charles felt as if it was wrapped firmly around his neck. It throttled him consistently.
Santi studied her now as she sat in one of the dining room chairs. She was perched - not relaxed or at ease. He couldn’t blame her. They held her right at the precipice where she could not tell up from down. Santi was actively keeping her in the dark, and he wondered what he would do if she outright asked him what happened between her father and him.
He had realized that she was pretty good at watching people. She might appear aloof or quiet, but her eyes were constantly darting over their movements. She observed, and she remembered. She counted the knives on the table - the sips he took of his wine. Will had filled him in as much. Their training sessions had been taking place every other day.
“She’s got a photographic memory, man,” he informed him - his tone almost dazzled. “At least, when she wants to use it. She’s been able to mimic all the moves I’ve taught her. Granted - she’s still kind of weak, but she’s got the movements down.”
She picked up her fork before lowering it back to her plate. Her hair was mussed. Santi could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek. Her lips were bright - flushed and swollen from picking at them.
Frankie sat across from her - his expression strained. Every time the girl glanced at him, he averted his eyes or picked at his food. Ben was on one side of her and Will on the other - flanking her per usual.
Santi stared at her mouth again - imagined the plush of it giving way under his own. Her features narrowed when she caught him looking - her brow creasing in suspicion. He fiddled with the label on the wine bottle.
“So,” she said slowly. “Is there a reason we’re eating at the table like this?”
“Santi will tell you,” Frankie muttered as he folded his arms over his chest. The black ink of his tattoos flexed with his movements. He’d made it quite clear where he stood. Santi rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.
“The situation with my brother has gotten out of control,” he explained carefully. “He made his intentions clear when he left that present in your bed.” She grimaced, returning her fork to her plate as if she were sick. “Frankie fucked up by killing two of his men and - ”
“He did that for me,” she interrupted, her voice quiet. “He was just -”
“It was still a stupid move on my part,” Frankie intercepted. His gaze was thoughtful and bleeding with something Santi couldn’t identify as he looked at her. “I messed up. It just put you in more danger.”
She sighed - scrubbing at her forehead. “So, how do we fix this?”
“Iwill fix this,” Santi corrected. “I’ve talked to Baron. We’ve called a temporary truce. He’s going to come over and speak with you and hopefully realize that you have no intention of making a move on his territory.”
Will’s jaw ticked - his fist curling tight around the handle of his steak knife. But it was Benny who spoke.
“Yeah…,” he drawled. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“It’s already done,” Santi poured himself more wine. The pain in his head increased. He needed to get fucked.
Ben jerked his thumb at Frankie. “You’re fine with this?”
“No,” Fish said. “I’d rather pierce my dick than break bread with that fuck.”
“Thank you so much for that visual, pendejo,” Santi took a hearty gulp from his glass. “And the support,” he finished.
Frankie shrugged. “It’s my mess. I’ve screwed it enough.” He cast the girl a furtive look, which she returned evenly. “Santi knows what he’s doing.”
The girl’s mouth twitched. Santi felt as if several unsaid things were being shot around the table. The shared gazes. The tense jaws. Everything bled innuendo and suggestion.
“I don’t want him here,” Will rumbled - his arm thrown over the top of her chair. He was turned toward her - leaning into her body protectively. “I don’t want him near her.”
Jesus. Christ. Now - he had Will to contend with about this.
Santi opened his mouth to argue, but the girl beat him to it.
“Will,” she soothed - placing her hand on his. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be safe with the four of you.” She motioned to Santi. “If Pope says it’s what we have to do to get out of this, then it’s what we should do.”
He’d keep her around just for agreeing with him. It was becoming apparent that she had more sense than the others, who had slowly begun to lose sight of how they did things becauseof their affection for her. The irony.
“Thank you,” he replied as meaningfully as he could. However, she didn’t smile - in fact, she closed up again - staring back down at her plate. She was still pissed at him.
Will snorted - unmoved. “Baron is not going to touch her. He’s not walking in here and putting a bullet in her head.”
Faire shifted in her seat, and Ben scoffed. “As if he could.”
Santi glared. “This is justa meeting. It’s justa conversation.”
Will’s expression darkened as he pinned Santi with a sneer. “I haven’t forgotten how he acted during the RICO meeting.” He curled his fingers around the back of the girl’s chair. “That had just been a conversation, also.”
Santi winced.
“It’s fine,” She chewed her lip - a nervous habit that Santi had noticed she had. “I’ll do it, but I don’t understand why me talking to him in person is going to convince him that I don’t want to be part of his group.”
“He wouldn’t believe me if I told him. He’s going to have his inner circle there - people who can vouch for him and say that you personallyadmitted that you wanted nothing to do with the Apostles. It’s all just presentation…ceremony. You walking into the Chapel was a symbolic move even if you didn’t know it at the time.”
Will gave a frustrated grunt but didn’t argue. He was practically pressed against her, his hand still firmly settled on top of her chair. The tips of his fingers brushed the curve of her shoulder in a way that screamed intimacy. She pursed her mouth before nodding at Santi. There was something slightly childish about her features - a combination of her having seen both too much and too little. He couldn’t describe it. He had remembered her as a young girl - the big wide eyes and cute mouth. She had grown out of that girlhood spectacularly well, but it was as if her insides had permanently marked her beauty. A sadness stuck to her. Santiago felt it because there was sadness in him. She seemed lost in a lot of ways. As she sat in that chair, the edges of her dimmed. She started to dull. Charles hadn’t wanted her to be part of this life, and yet here she was. She was stuck on a runaway train with no reprieve or ability to brake. A fixed track. Written in the stars.
It made him fearful for her.
Santi found himself speaking before he could stop himself. “If you’re sure?” he urged. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Frankie raised an eyebrow - his stare pointed. I thought you weren’t giving her a choice.
It was as if a flip switched. She sat up higher - sticking her chin out. The glittering lights from the chandelier swept over her - dressing her face in a warm, rich glow. The sadness had vanished, and Santi felt his breath catch.
“I’m sure,” she replied. “How bad can it be?”
Santi gripped his glass before downing another heavy swallow. “Alright,” His gaze dragged over her again before he could stop it. Something heady bloomed between his ribs. He’d have to call a girl over tonight. Maybe, two.
***
“Ben,” Frankie called from the foyer. He was doing everything in his power not to gapeat where Faire was slouched on the floor of the den. Her back was against the front of the couch, and Tom sat curled in her lap. She mindlessly stroked his head as she stared up at the television. She was dressed in jeans and a pink sweater with tiny pearl buttons. Everything fit so snuggly that Frankie could see the curves of her hips - the swell of her breasts beneath the cashmere fabric. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The way she looked when Ben was fucking her on that bed still played on an endless loop in his head. Her face tipped backward - her lips parted, and her eyes shut in ecstasy. Her arched back as Ben drove into her hard and fast. Frankie hated that that particular image had managed to overtake the one that was his. He recalled sensations: tight, wet, and clenching. Her moans and the tiny wrinkle between her brows when he first sunk into her. She’d practically strangled his cock. The heat of her gorgeous cunt had been molten and soaked. He’d cared for that image. He nursed it. He’d fucked at least a dozen women since, and it hadn’t been enough. Still - he continued that descent - racing without a steering wheel toward an unfinished end as he tried helplessly to banish her from his memory. More nameless women. More. More. More.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s fine.”
“Ben!” Frankie yelled again. The girl finally cast him a sharp glance before it darted back to the television. He deserved that. He deserved her hate and her anger, and all of the bitterness that had no doubt accumulated over the last few weeks. Frankie heard Benny curse and then the tread of his heavy boots stumbling down the stairs. He strolled into the foyer like his world had been doused in gold. Maybe - it had been.
Ben grinned at him. He was freshly showered - his boots still untied. Frankie briefly wondered if he’d just gotten done fucking her when he remembered that Faire was sitting in the den looking perfectly put together. Jesus.He was losing it. Jealousy was a foreign feeling for him. He’d never cared enough to be jealous, but the sight of her getting pounded by his best friend had unlatched something poisonous in his system.
“Where we headed?” Ben asked. Frankie ignored him and marched out the door.
“What have you been doing?” Frankie snapped over his shoulder.
“Jacking off,” Ben quipped as he followed him out into the hall. “Now - tell me where we’re going? I was looking forward to a quiet night.”
Since when had Ben ever looked forward to simply hanging out? He was restless - always chomping at the bit to work his club or socialize with the masses. Gamble. Drink. Sit in his booth with the same pompous energy he’d utilize if it were a throne. Now - that wasn’t enough for him.
Frankie knew the answer. Of course, he did. The girl had managed to infiltrate each of their heads - shake them around until they didn’t know what direction they’d been standing in, to begin with. He was not himself, and neither was Benny. Even Will no longer spent all of his time in the basement.
“Theo,” he replied shortly.
“Why?” Ben laughed. “We fucking her again? Thought that was a one-time thing.”
Frankie’s lips curled. He wouldn’t put it past Ben to try and get a rise out of him after they’d made direct eye contact while he was balls deep in their captive. “We’re going to make sure that Baron will be on his best behavior. You know how good Theo is at wrangling him.”
The garage was empty and humid. Summer was still clinging to the buildings - leaking into the concrete. He slipped into the front seat of one of the Range Rovers, and Benny followed, taking shotgun.
He was silent as they made their way out of the garage. Frankie was grateful for that since his head was beginning to pulse. His ears buzzed. He tapped his fingers across the steering wheel as the sun filtered through the windshield. It was a gorgeous day. Blue and blinding. It irritated him.
“So,” Ben clapped his hands together. “We going to discuss how good Faire’s pussy is or -?”
Frankie slammed on his brakes - the car screeching to a halt and nearly missing the stop sign. “Jesus, Ben.”
“What?” he smirked. “I know you fucked her.”
Frankie’s head whipped toward him. “She told you?”
He shrugged. “I figured it out, but she confirmed it.”
He pursed his lips - sweat building on his palms. He dragged a hand over his face and started driving in what he hoped was the right direction. They had to meet one-on-one with Theo. He couldn’t remember why. It was as if everything about his day had suddenly melted into black space.
Benny cleared his throat. “She thinks you hate her,” he remarked. “She thinks you don’t respect her - just wanted to use her.”
“I mean, that’s kind of what happened. It was…a moment of insanity…I don’t know.”
Ben’s huffed. “You can’t do that to her. She doesn’t deserve it.”
Frankie shot him a withering look.
“What? Are you guys dating or something?” His tone was mocking. He was pissed when he didn’t have the right to be, but he couldn’t hold back. “Ben, you are the most fickle person I know. You’ll love this girl for a week - be enamored with her and her pussy, and then you’ll get bored like you always do.”
The words were spilling out of him like brackish water.
Benny’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not like that.”
“Really? I can name a dozen other women you’ve done this to…Emily, Cara, Jessica, Marissa…the list goes fucking on,” Frankie shook his head, scoffing. “I did the right thing. I coul
