Drabble based off a prompt from a list below. I apologize for the lack of ‘keep reading’ link. It wasn’t working out.
He hated when you walked away, but you weren’t sure you would stay composed if you stood in front of him anywhere with your eyes wide and mouth open in evident surprise. Wasn’t he just saying a couple weeks ago that he was finally feeling settled? You left Will silent in the kitchen, right hand thrusted out of frustration into the pocket of his jeans while you pretended to try and collect yourself in the bedroom.
You weren’t actually making an effort to be composed though. Instead, you were mumbling small groans of confusion on your side of the bed while taking out your earrings. They were small gold studs, the first gift Will ever gave you. Almost 4 years ago, silently leaving the box on the bathroom sink of the apartment you’d been renting on your own at the time. He was so nonchalant about it that you didn’t notice the little black box by your toothpaste all day until he had to prompt you to go look. You wore them almost every day, but you needed something to do or else your hands would be left right now to furiously remove the pillows from the bed and toss them across the room.
Will sighed as he settled his side against the door frame. He had given you a minute to yourself, but it had felt like eons as he paced through the kitchen and pantomimed cleaning the counter. He wrinkled his brows together as he saw you taking out your earrings. What did that mean?
“It could lead to a lot of money, babe.” Slow and confident, as if he was wrapping up one of his professional speeches, he told you.
While you weren’t looking over at him yet, he had your attention.
“How much is a lot?” Money was a pink elephant in the room. You two rarely outright spoke about it, but the stress of combined bills at the end of every month was silently felt between you both.
“It would cover your student loans.” Will checked the space between his socked feet and then back to you. He hoped that nugget would bring your eyes to him again. “And then some”
It took you long to pipe up and you felt that, but the idea of never feeling the hot force of student loans pushing into your shoulders every month was momentarily enticing. He knew that. A man of few words, Will Miller wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.
“If the choice is between having huge debt for years or you going off and potentially being shot at again? I am always going to choose debt. Always.” Conviction cracking your voice, you finally looked at him in disbelief that you would have to say that. The obvious sadness pouring through you coaxed him over the threshold and into the room with you. “I just thought that was finally behind us.” He had a new routine now. He was on a sleep medication that worked. He wasn’t feeling isolated in a crowd anymore. The idea of him going back, even for one last job, felt like pissing all over that progress. You didn’t doubt that you two could do it again, but the idea didn’t set off fireworks. Hands between your knees, you sighed as he cautiously sat by you on the bed’s edge.
“It’s for Pope. It’s an easy job.” He said as if either fact was reassuring. His right hand came to the back of your head, fondly strumming through locks of hair. “I don’t want to go with my girl pissed at me.” Will admitted what you already knew, his thumb moving hair away to graze over the empty spot on your ear where the gold stud had been.
Part of you wanted to tell him again not to go, just as you had when you were both still in the kitchen, but you felt his eyes on your profile, fingers soft in your hair and on your skin, and you inhaled to reset - finally feeling closer to composed.
“I’m not pissed.” Your shoulder met his chest as you leaned in with trust, deflating against him. He wasn’t asking for your permission nor did he require it. It was your support that Will wanted as per usual. “I’m always going to worry about you, but I’m also always going to be in your corner.” It was a promise, one that you both were always reminding the other of. Will bowed his head over yours, breathing in the soft scent of sea salt shampoo before protectively closing his hand over the side of your face that wasn’t up to his chest. Finally, he could breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was for you to go to sleep angry at him.
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.
Just wanted to share the chapterboards for Chapters 9 and 10 of Frontier of Anarchy! ✨
tbh I haven’t even started writing Chapter 8 (I shared the chapterboard for that one along with Chapter 7 in this post previously!) but making these chapterboards has been part of my efforts to stay inspired to continue with this story
Continuing with this series of gif teaser thingies for Frontier of Anarchy ✨ Thanks again to the few lovely readers out there who have been following this story! I’m super grateful to have you on this journey
Aera and Will have the night of their lives, exploring NYC with no idea that a certain somebody might have just arrived…
Shitpost of FoA-themed gifs depicting my tumblr fic writer experience
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My impatient ass @ the entire tumblrverse like 2 seconds after I’ve posted a fic lol, bouncing off the fucking wall:
. My needy ass loudly begging for love 24/7 on this blog, listen bitches I’m sorry I know I’m annoying as fuck:
. My professional ass pretending that I don’t give a shit as I busily go about my day, not like I’m out here on tumblr obsessively checking my notifs okay:
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My overdramatic ass feeling personally attacked by tumblr’s low opinion of my writing quality and the fact that barely anybody loves me, lol I’m a joke honestly:
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My indignant ass convinced that my writing is good shit and underappreciated hence the urge to ditch my WIP and delete my page, lmao watch me rage:
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My tumblr addict ass inevitably crawling back to carry on with my bullshit, biting the bullet ‘cause apparently I can’t stop posting content even if nobody wants it:
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Idk if any other fic writers relate to the clown shit I’m going through but anyhoo, thank you to everyone who doesn’t hate me lol I’m sure it’s very few!! Luv u ❤️
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
Additional ficlet for Writer Wednesday on 8/9/21 here. I didn’t write it as an addition to Another Round, but it fits if you assume it’s set pretty much immediately after the guys come back from their failed heist.
Really enjoying series and cannot wait for more!! i like the reader character very much too. Could you add me to a taglist for future Pedro fictions please?
