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#will miller
laurfilijames · 3 days
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Hello lovely! I was curious how you'd rank Will's outfits in TF. Which look is your favorite?
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Love, Jess 💜
Jess
JESSS.
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This ask has thoroughly destroyed me but I am so grateful to you and the thots that have come from it, so thank you very, very much. 🥵
These were not easy decisions, and it took a lot of time staring and researching, but here are my rankings:
The Polo.
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Come on. The fit of that thing? Fuck me. The way it stretches over his broad shoulders and his firm tits and how it showcases those arms of his?!? I'm wrecked. Every single time I see THAT scene I am incoherent and making noises and there's drool.
Not only the shirt, but the jeans?!? They cover those legs of his in a way that makes them go on for DAYS. The belt? The way he makes a point to hold the belt as he's talking? Fuck off, Captain Miller, you're too sexy for words.
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The Grey Henley. (I couldn't find a better gif 😩)
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Just. Yeah.
I hardly have words to explain this one.
I mean, he could've undone that last button which probably would've put this outfit at number one, but god the fit of it is purely carnal and I'm unwell. Points for rolling up the sleeves to show off his amazing forearms which are a favourite feature of mine and a whole kink in itself. And pairing it with those cargo pants? 👌 A+ Will.
I'm calling this next one The Warrior Outfit.
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The plaid shirt. The slutty scarf. The tac vest with all his gear and weapons 🫠 (hey, Captain let's put those zip ties to good use…) We have another appearance of cargo pants, this time equipped with built in knee pads (🥵) I can't begin to explain how this outfit gets better over time with him being soaking wet from rain and swimming across that river, the mud and dirt and grime, plus the blood from his gunshot wound….I'm starting to think this needs to move up in the ranks but I'm honestly such a mess right now I can't make a decision to save my life.
The Hoodie
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I know that polo is under it 👀 Imagine how warm he is in that? I would like to bury myself in it and never be seen again please and thank you. He just looks so comfy and cozy and thicccccc in it and I really love this casual look on him. For some reason it screams Husband to me 🫠
The “I’m a professional and this is my fancy shirt” Button Down.
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He's just so fucking sweet in this shirt. I imagine this is like his “date” shirt. I want to rip it off of him. Points for tucking it in those fucking jeans again 🤤 and rolling up the sleeves. 💦💦
Honourable mention to this outfit
Which I'll call The “this was rolled up in my bag for a week but it matches my eyes” shirt
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It looks comfortable. Linen and breezy. Clearly effortless judging by the wrinkles 🤣 and fuck me the way it compliments his eyes in that last scene has me screaming. I'd really like to see him in just that white t-shirt that's under it though.
In conclusion;
William Miller can wear anything or nothing at all and it will severely disarm me no matter what.
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navybrat817 · 2 days
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💋
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Lizzie, look at him. LOOK AT HIM. Yes, all caps. My god. This man. That strut. On his way to destroy my-
But why is this giving me semi-fake dating vibes? He sees some bastard hitting on you and getting a little too close for comfort, yours and his. You make eye contact with him that isn't quite pleading, but it's enough to for him to walk over and put a stop to it. He ignores the prick and double checks that he's supposed to be pick you up at 6 o'clock for dinner. He doesn't want to be late.
You smile and play along and all it takes is one glare from Will for the other guy to back off.
And wouldn't you know it?
Will shows up at 6 o'clock for that date. ❤️
Love and thanks! ❤️
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nyxvuxoa · 10 months
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Charlie Hunnam as William 'Ironhead' Miller Triple Frontier, 2019 | dir. J. C. Chandor ↳ requested by @voxmortuus
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reesewillow-delrey · 6 months
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I wanna chew on his belt with my K9s #ovulating 🕊️
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gayghoulsthings · 10 months
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I could take them...(not in a fight)
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intheorangebedroom · 4 months
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Tonight you belong to me, prologue
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Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 
This is the beginning of what you wished had no end.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)
Rating: Explicit 🔞
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 See series masterlist for extensive a/n blurb and especially for trigger warnings. Tread carefully. Ily 🧡 Please be gentle, I'm terrified 🫣
Word count: 5.1k
[series masterlist] * [next]
Prologue: In The Beginning
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He comes to you every Friday. 
He gets in after dark. He is gone before dawn. 
In this shady motel on the outskirts of town, where no one will recognise your car. The curtains are yellow, and the carpet is brown. There’s a dollar store painting of the Appalachian above the bed, and the tap runs either trickling and scalding or high pressure and cold. 
You hated that in particular, in the beginning. Now you don’t care. You don’t wash him off your skin anymore. Not until you’ve got no other choice. 
Because he can’t mark you, you’d been firm on that point, he likes to come on your skin. 
When he’d finally spoke, that very first time, he’d told you he was Frankie, but you assume it’s not his real name. Which is fine, you didn’t give him your real name either. 
“Frankie” had been far subtler than you, regretful, perhaps, you like to entertain the delusion, when he’d hinted that you couldn’t leave any trace on his body. 
And, in the beginning, you couldn’t imagine that it would ever matter. 
You were wrong. 
You were wrong about a lot of things, in the beginning. 
Friday night. Again. 
The swinging door creaks on its hinges to let in the regulars at random intervals. Mostly men, mostly middle-aged, mostly unshaven. Mostly clad in the working-class uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt. Few of them sit around the round wooden tables. The bar isn’t large, there’s only four of those.  
When they come in small parties, the men favour the two pools on the right. They’re lined with blue felt. The casing is made of plywood. No one ever plays darts, no one ever feeds the jukebox. Its electric cord lays unplugged on the floor, coiled like a sad sagging tail. 
If they walk in alone, they tend to sit at the bar. Head turned toward the giant television screen hung on the wall to their left, where younger men in more colourful uniforms fight, run, kick or throw balls in all shapes and sizes. Its noise is at the forefront, the middle-aged men’s conversations a low humming sound that falls into the background. 
The long and angled bar itself takes up most of the rectangular room’s space. The counter is stripped-down to the bare minimum. Stainless steel, easy to clean, practical. Four beer taps and a gambling machine and beyond the counter, a large mirror with three rows of dusty liquor bottles. 
Food is served, occasionally, as evidenced by the paper napkins dispensers and the two yellow and red plastic condiment bottles on each table. 
The barman runs the place on his own. You drink here every Friday evening, and you’ve never seen more than six customers at once, you included. Admittedly, you might not be very observant. 
Being observant requires endurance, far more than you possess and are willing to deploy and direct towards others. You’re not selfish, not in the least. But you’re tired. You’ve been tired for years. There’s no rational explanation for your exhaustion. No honourable, awe-inspiring, valid ground. You don’t even know what wears you out. It might be sadness, disappointment, or boredom. Or all three in equal parts. All you know is that, come Friday night, your head needs the support of the gray wall behind you.
The creaking noise on your left signals the arrival of another customer, stomping in with a sure gait. Your eyes stay shut. You don’t come to the very aptly named Hole in The Wall seeking the company of other people, whoever they may be. 
You come here to hide for a few hours, between the styrofoam ceiling and the dusty carpeted floor. To drink your week away in peace, but not in nerve-racking silence. Alcohol, you found out at a young age, has interesting properties: it blurs out the sharp edges of your dark thoughts in just the right amount. 
Back in spring, when you stepped in here for the very first time, you looked comically out of place in your corporate attire, and you did raise quite a few eyebrows from the other patrons. Five months later, they must have learned to see past the charade of your overpriced clothes, because none of them pays you any mind anymore. It’s better than anonymity: it’s casual indifference.
You loosen your grip around your tall cocktail glass and let the condensation drip down onto the cardboard coaster. Reluctantly, you lift your weary eyelids to locate the square napkin lying somewhere on the table and dry your fingertips on it.
That’s when you see him taking a seat at the counter, directly across from your small table. 
Years from now, you will still remember the precise circumstances of your first, brief encounter, even though you’re not fully paying attention yet. Nothing indicates tonight will be any different. Nothing suggests you are about to live through a pivotal moment in your existence.
Details will stand out, however. Mostly visual, surprisingly, given the dim lighting of the place. The back of his trucker hat, midnight blue plastic mesh, flattening the dark curls on his nape. The washed out denim of his shirt, worked-in, greenish in the diffuse artificial light, pulled taut across his back, as he sits facing away from you. 
The square shape of his shoulders is backlit against the bar’s mirror. Your empty gaze finds the solid slope of his broad silhouette, and you let it rest there, lazily following his movements whenever he picks up his glass. It’s the same comfort you find when you rest your empty head against the hard wall. It’s aimless, inconsequential.
Later, on different kinds of Friday nights, the sight of his muscles bunching as he tugs off his shirt will bring you back to this very moment. The thought will reshape into a sharp, wistful ache deep inside your heart. What would have happened, to you, to him, if he had chosen to stop for a drink at another bar, somewhere further down the road? What if you had done the same, back in April? 
For now, your mind is blessedly blank.
Does he catch your reflection in the mirror? Does he feel your gaze on the back of his head? 
After a while, how long, you cannot tell, he pivots slowly on his stool, grounded and dense. Slowly, like a mountain would if a mountain came to life and decided to walk into the ocean. He doesn’t turn around completely, just enough to look at you, one of his arms still propped on top of the counter. 
The right side of his face is darkened by the shadow from the brim of his hat, but you can make out the pronounced crease in his brow. His eyes are black, and unfathomable, like the ocean at night, but alight with a bright glimmer. They find yours instantly. 
Something shifts inside your rib cage, something close to the heart, close to pain. 
You feel exposed, entirely bare. Your breathing subsides, you cannot move, trapped in a nightmare-like stretch of time as he glares down at you, immobile, impressive, gigantic. Dark eyes boring into yours. You’re drowning in them. 
You don’t want it to end. 
Inevitably, he breaks eye-contact, and swivels back toward the mirror. He sits still for a few seconds, before grabbing his glass to finish his beer in long gulps. 
You watch him lift his hat and brush his hair to the side with a large hand, and he’s out the door less than a minute later, without so much as a glance in your direction, a conscious choice, given the minute proportions of the place. 
He leaves you sitting there, with your brow pinched and your empty drink, struggling to understand the rippling effects of his massive presence on your body and your brain.
You bring your fingers to your chest and rub them over your sternum, where the shifting sensation continues to prickle. 
Neither a second drink nor a third helps dull the feeling, but a fourth one is not an option if you want to get home without a DUI. 
It follows you into the darkness of the deserted parking lot, on the drive home and into the glass prison of your clinically clean apartment. It’s there when you get into bed, when you lie wide awake at 3am next to your sleeping fiancé, and it’s still there when you wake up, hungover and sore, four hours later. 
Nestled between your lungs. The memory of his cold hard stare. Of his soft sad eyes. 
It bypasses your most foolproof diversions of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain. Your attempts at hard work and your compulsive distractions. It robs you of your appetite, of your lucidity, of your ability to rest. It corners you in the first floor toilet of your office building on a Thursday morning, on the verge of a panic attack, until you consider calling your sister for help. 
Ava would figure it out. She’d get you out of that loop in which you’ve locked yourself up, she’d know what to say. With her crude words and her unforgiving formulations, she’d admonish your silly overreaction and dismissively rebuke your daydreams over a mundane interaction, probably throwing in something about your heteronormative fantasies. 
Dude, you’re all worked up because of a staring contest with a rando in a dive bar? she’d say. She’d toss the rhetorical question at your face, you can hear her as if you’ve already sweated through the conversation. 
She’s often harsh but she’s always right. 
And normally, you’d be seeking that out. For your little sister to bully some good sense back into your nebulous brain. 
But something has shifted. 
Dark curls, thick fingers, flexing shoulders. Solid arms. Cold, hard stare. 
He abraded something on the surface of your skin, and you don’t think you’re capable of withstanding Ava’s sarcasm in your current state. 
By the following Friday, you feel so vulnerable you consider going to another place, or not going out at all. 
Only, the alternative is worse. 
You walk into The Hole in The Wall convinced that your unsteady gait is betraying your apprehension, squinting to adjust to the dim light of the place. The bar is nearly empty, as always, save for a couple of bearded graying men you vaguely recall having seen here before. They all look the same to you, anyway. Another thing you hate about yourself.
The barman tells you to sit while he prepares your drink. The gesture is kind but uncustomary, and it only serves to increase your uneasy feeling. 
Within an hour of waiting, because that's what you've been doing, you register with an icy trickle of shame dripping down your sides, you realise he won’t be coming. 
That man’s presence here last week is the very definition of sheer happenstance. Nothing more. Nothing else. If anything, you’ve been a nuisance to him, ogling him while he was simply trying to unwind with an afterwork drink. 
You’ll never see him again. 
And it’s fine. You’ll move on, drift back into drifting, avoiding at all costs to process what happened to you when you met his gaze. The tree hiding the forest. 
When you walk up to the counter to order your second drink, the question slips away from you. 
“Can I have the same thing the man in the trucker hat had last Friday, please?”
The barman looks up at you from the tray of clean dishes he's pulling out of the dishwasher and he huffs. He’s handsome, by most standards, you notice for the very first time. Very tall, and broad, green-eyed with a three-day stubble. He’s probably a couple of years above forty. His head is shaved bald. He’s manly in a burly, albeit fatherly way. 
“Oh sweetheart, d’you know how many guys with a trucker hat I see here every day?”
It’s not meant to make you feel small, his tone is gentle. It’s a straightforward, factual answer. 
“What do you wanna drink?” he asks when you don’t answer. “Tired of that G&T yet? Cos I got good beer. This is a beer place, you know? Wanna try a light blonde, to start? Something stronger? An IPA?”
What do you want. You’ve been drinking gin all your life because that’s what your mother always has. Starting at 5pm in the afternoon. Would you, indeed, like to try a light blonde? Something stronger? An IPA, to start? 
It’s a brand-new world unfurling in front of you, a yellow brick road paved with what-do-you-wants.
“Sure,” you nod, “I can try an IPA.”
The barman goes by the name of Mark. He’s also the owner of The Hole in The Wall, you learn. Bought the place two years ago, after a painful divorce. A cliché, he adds, with a charming, self-deprecating smile.
The interaction’s short and altogether not unpleasant, and the beer, to your surprise, is fresh and enjoyable. It’s much tastier, in fact, than the cheap, tepid gin you’ve been sipping so far. It gets you drunk just as fast, but this time when you leave the bar, your mind is quiet, if not at ease. 
The following week, a heatwave hits the Tampa Bay. The melting asphalt sticks to your leather soles, like your sweaty clothes to your clammy skin, like your brooding mood to your dampened dreams. In a couple of days eventually, August will draw to an end, but the summer won’t end with it. It never truly does. It taunts you all year round, a sweltering reminder of how much you hate living here.
And if it wasn’t for the humidity, you’d be jogging the short distance between your car and the cool haven of the air-conditioned bar. 
You push the swinging door forward, eyes shut in anticipation of the blinding darkness and you stand in the entrance for a few seconds. The familiar and comforting smell of moldy dust mixed with beer yeast greets your senses as you take in the chill air grazing your naked arms. 
And then you reopen your eyes. 
He’s here. 
Trucker hat, blue jeans, gray T-shirt. Different clothes, same silhouette. He’s sitting at your table, his position a magnified echo of yours two weeks ago, hand loosely wrapped around his pint, seemingly asleep with his head propped against the wall. 
Mark looks at you and tilts his head in his direction, wiggling an eyebrow with a silent question of “Is this the guy you were asking about?”
Your breathing’s so loud you think everyone must hear it over the droning television. Mark’s brow furrows with incomprehension at the alarm widening your eyes, and you anchor yourself to his face, walking toward him in slow motion, climbing on the first high stool you reach.
“Hey. You ok?”
You stretch your lips in a wince of a smile.
“So? What will it be today? Wanna try a Free Dive? It’s local.”
You nod in silence, but then he grabs a large glass, and you ask tentatively, “Can I have only half a pint?”
Fuck, your mouth is so dry.
Behind you, to your right, you feel more than you hear the man shift in his chair.
Mark sighs, his left hand paused on the tap handle. 
“I don’t have beer glasses this small, sweetheart. Get a pint, the first one’s on me, okay?”
You reiterate your silent nod. He places the beer in front of you, and you swallow the first swigs too quickly. The back of your throat throbs with the fast flowing intake of the cold liquid, or perhaps it’s because of the frantic beating of your heart.
He’s getting up now, you can tell by the friction sound of the chair dragging on the carpeted floor, and your frightened expression turns downright pleading as you hear him close the distance between you.  
He’s at your back, sliding his thick naked arm past yours to return his empty glass to the counter. His movements are slow, deliberate. You get a whiff of his scent, a masculine musk, with a faint smell of laundry detergent, it’s wholesome, safety, comfort. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Looking at you with intent.
He’s so tall you have to lift your chin to hold his gaze. Hard cold stare, soft sad eyes, it’s swirling violently inside your exhausted chest and he’s leaving again already, walking toward the door like nothing just happened.
He pulls it inward and you watch him exit the bar into the dusk light.
Did he come back for you? Are you going insane? 
Sixty-seven seconds. Sixty-seven seconds is the time it takes you to decide your next move. The one that’s going to forever change your life. The one that could be everything or turn out meaningless. 
“I’ll be right back,” you tell Mark, sliding your handbag on the counter and you stand up to follow him outside.
The sunset sky is a pink shade of orange. Shadows are stretching long onto the asphalt, drawing a distorted world upside-down. 
He’s not here anymore, you waited too fucking long. You quickly scan the parked vehicles on the other side of the road to your right, and the parking lot in front of you, but it’s empty, save for your anthracite sedan, a black truck and what you assume must be Mark’s old SUV, because you see it every week. 
“Fuck,” you breathe out, pressing your fingers to your sternum. 
You look to your left, where the parking ends. There’s a white utility vehicle advertising a plumbing service and a dark blue city car. Beyond them, the lot extends into a narrow stretch of gravel behind the small rectangular building. There’s a pile of junk, and the tailgate of a red truck.
Your hand drops to your side and you start walking toward it, going around the white van. 
He’s there. He’s waiting for you by the front of the red truck, behind the building. His hands propped on his waist, head down, hidden under his cap. 
You keep walking toward him, the sound of your shoes on the dirty ground grating your ears, but you stop short when he raises his head, fuck he looks even taller at this distance, with his elbows spread.
It’s like he senses your apprehension, or perhaps he shares it, because he folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself. 
For the very first time, you can fully make out his face. Strong features, a strong curvy nose, a patchy beard peppering a sharp jaw, and plush lips. Your gaze follows the solid column of his neck down to his suprasternal point peeking above the V-collar of his worn-out t-shirt, before it’s drawn back to his eyes.
He stands there perfectly still for you to detail.
Above you, the sky has turned a rusty blue. The humidity is stifling. It’s Friday the 30th, 2019, 8.17pm.
“What do you want?”
His voice is deep, and low, barely louder than a murmur yet intense, his words full and round. 
The question, however legitimate, hits you square in the solar plexus, right under your aching sternum. You fear that if you don’t speak fast enough, he’ll leave you again, alone with the memory of his soft sad eyes and his hard cold stare. 
“I don’t know,” you whisper, and god, if it’s true, what are you doing here? 
He huffs, and it’s the very sound of disillusion. His eyes grow dimmer, you think you’re not the one darkening them. Unfolding his arms, he removes his hat and takes a step closer, then another. You could touch him, if you reached out with your arm stretched. 
He looks at you like he’s already seen how your story ends. 
You could back away. You don’t. 
He moves slowly, thick body thrumming with undiluted strength and unreleased tension, eyes searching yours, giving you the time to leave, should leaving be what you choose, should you turn around and run before the hanging threat breaks like dark stormy clouds and drench you soaked. 
He slowly moves forward until he’s towering over you, until his chest touches your breasts, until the pilled cotton of his t-shirt catches at the satin material of your blouse. His scent floods your senses, he leans down into the curve of your neck and inhales you there, long, deep, unhurried. You hold your breath, still, in turn, for his exploration, nails digging into your palms, heart tripping.  
And then, he touches you. With his lips, a feather-like caress over the soft skin under your ear. Your eyes flutter shut, your thoughts are suspended.
“This what you want?” he murmurs.
His words sink under your skin, they harden your nipples, raise goosebumps on your nape in the muggy evening heat.  
“Yes.”
The cap falls onto the gravel. His hands go to your hips. Clutching you there with a rough grip and he’s tugging you closer, flush to his chest. He licks up a broad stripe along the line of your throat, pivots with you in his arms and backs you into the side of the truck, you have to grab his forearms to keep your balance. 
A guttural sound catches in his throat, like a grunt he tries to hold back, for your touch, for the taste of your skin, for your pliant docility.
Your head rolls back, you’ve gone weeks without a skin on skin contact, and now this man is hunched over you, his body swallowing yours, this stranger who’s infected your dreams with his cold hard stare and his soft sad eyes, his mouth roaming the expanse of your throat, short beard prickling your skin, and the shifting sensation inside your chest drops to your core where it catches fire.
His kisses are lips, teeth and tongue, rough and scraping at you raw in all the right ways, they trail up along your neck, under your jaw, and when they find your lips, he presses you harder into him. He tastes like beer, unfamiliar, you want to get used to it. 
The seams of your blouse strain when he pulls it out of your skirt with an impatient tug. His hands slither under the hem and find the naked skin of your back. His palms are strong, rugged and scalding and his fingertips calloused, they make your skin sizzle underneath their pressing, crackle like snapping wood, like fireworks at a summer county fair, like sweet candy wrapping. 
You're leaking hot and sticky between your hips, responding with your entire body, opening up for him, letting his tongue in past your lips with pathetic grateful little moans, winding your arms around his shoulders, over the cording muscles of his back, musky sweat dampening his t-shirt. The thick, solid shape of him, that got etched behind your eyelids.
You’re a want and a need and an empty flutter, entangled with him, whoever he may be, his tongue swirling inside your mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, his splayed hands covering your back, his knee spreading your legs open. 
He’s voracious, harsh in his own need, snatching from you what you’re already willing to give, angling your head with a sharp pull on your hair to deepen his kiss, grunting his approval when you moan at the sting. 
Arousal keeps dripping down your fold where his thigh prods firm and brawny against the black material of your skirt that hinders the pressure. 
He growls, frustration rumbling low and menacing inside his throat. He grabs your ass and squeezes, thick middle finger pushing against the fabric of your clothes into the cleft between your cheeks and you jolt, leaping forward further into him. His belt buckle bites into the soft flesh of your belly, right where you're burning empty and wanting and shameless for him. You feel him hot and hard against your hip, and he tightens his hold, cages you within him. 
He’s big all over, larger than life proportions, you surrender to the fact with your lust-drunk mind, from the height of his frame to the girth of his sex, from his grip on your senses to the sorrow in his eyes. 
It blooms inside you like pain, blossoms of mahogany red spreading along your limbs in relentless waves, the power he already wields over you and you don’t even know his name.  
You buck between his arms, a first and very last attempt at freeing yourself, unconvincing with the scrap of your fingernails along the pebbled skin of his neck, and you press back into him again, squirming against his throbbing length, offering him some friction.  
He pulls out all of sudden, breaking the kiss, and you're left panting, ankles swaying, you’d drop to the gravel without the support of the truck, still sun-warm in the early evening, yet colder than his feverish body. 
He shakes his head with a silent no, his shoulders heaving, a wordless warning hissed through his clenched bared teeth. The simmering anger under the surface only makes you want him more, the unyielding restraint shining dark in his eyes.  
But it’s over. You know it. He gave you this, and took it back. With shaky hands, you smooth down the wrinkles of your blouse where he’s bunched it in his fists. You lick his taste off your trembling lip. You will not cry. 
He shakes his head again, you watch him through welling tears, confused, eyes flickering between his. 
Behind him, the city car’s engine revs up to a start, aggressive headlights backlighting him. His throat bobs up and down in chiaroscuro as he swallows hard. You know what you must look like in the crude white light. Supplicant, dependent, awaiting. Disheveled by his hand. Tires grate on the gravel as the car reverses away from you into the night, and with it the headlights, leaving you standing in the brown city night, urban semi darkness, and you see him shut his eyes. 
He smiles, a puzzling, sorrowful lift of his plush lips, and a new sort of ache washes over you. You raise forward on your tiptoes to peck a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His entire frame quivers for you. A muscle clenches in his jaw, the deepening crease in his brow redefines his traits in shadows. 
He leans into you, like he wants you but he doesn’t want to want you, like he’s giving in but not entirely, because giving in would be the end of him, of you.
The flat of his palm to the swell of your breast, and he kneads your soft flesh, slowly at first, growing urgent. The back of your head hits the truck’s window when he pinches your nipple, hard, with two fingers, and you bite down a moan. 
He’s engulfing you again, lips latched around your other nipple, tongue swirling and licking through your blouse and your thin bra and you hold on to him, you cling to his frame when he bunches up your skirt around your waist, leather boot nudging your foot to the side, cock throbbing on your hip, slick dripping down your walls. 
“Stop me,” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. It’s not a dare, it’s not a plea, it’s your last chance to back down before the free fall. 
Your pulse stutters, you arch into him without hesitation, but he pins you back against the truck with his chest, cupping you through your underwear and he curses into your neck at the sticky leaking mess he finds there.
Your naked leg hitches up rigid and tense against his leg, curled fingers, curled toes, and he hooks his index into the cotton of your panties. 
A brief stroke of his knuckles into the soft, smooth dip between your sex and your inner thigh, unexpectedly tender, before he parts your soaked lips with his two middle fingers, coating them in your sticky slick desire, and he sinks them inside your empty cunt. 
You crumble around the intrusion, forehead hitting his collarbone, slack-mouthed, a short exhale of a silent “oh.” He brings his left hand to the crown of your head and cradles you there, while his fingers pump in and out of your heat fast and rough. His thumb glides through your folds and starts rubbing at your clit, deft and precise, and you shudder between his arms, you slump into his hold. 
He keeps stroking your hair, gentle soothing sounds murmured into your ear as he fucks you raw with his hand, attuned to your moans and your every reaction, gauging what you can take before his fingers curl deeper inside your cunt, merciless, thumb pressing tight circles on your bud at an increasing pace.  
Your breathing comes in ragged and short while his intensifies. It’s pouring into your ear hot and overwhelming and you’re dissolving. Sweat beading at your temples, heat raising from his exerted muscles. 
You focus on the sensation of his flexing muscles under your clawing hands to stave off your building orgasm, it’s growing bright and blinding, searing and violent but it’s inevitable, and soon, too soon, your release flows hot and sticky into his hand. Your whines resound inside his chest but he keeps going, low husks of shhh, come on now, that’s it, until your trapped body trashes with the overstimulation.  
It’s like he can’t let go, pressing his nose heavily to the side of your face, and you struggle to resurface, blood thrumming in your veins, his angry cock pulsating against your hip. 
You let out a dry sob when he slides out of you and the rubber band of your panties slaps your sensitive skin. You don’t miss the flat drag of his tongue licking your taste off his palm, you furrow your fingers deeper into his arm with a short clench of your eyes. 
“Fuck,” your hear him quietly groan, and his fingers disappear into his mouth. 
You want to stay tucked up against him, curled up into his hold. You could live the rest of your life there, you think, between his hands and his scent, between his chest and his truck. 
You lock your ankles and your knees, hoping they will not fail you and you stand, pushing away from him and into the side of the truck. You readjust your skirt, slide it down, palm it smooth. Brush the damp hair from your forehead with the back of your trembling hand.
In your peripheral, he’s leaning down, picking up his hat from the ground and combing his fingers through his hair before he sets the cap back on his head.
You look up dazed and heavy-lidded and you brace yourself before meeting his gaze, cold hard stare, soft sad eyes, and he says,
“I’m Frankie.”
****
Bonus (having déjà vu? that's normal 😝 Gonna use this gif at the end of every first chapter I manage to yank out of my crazy in love brain):
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Home Is Where The Heart Is.
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Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.
Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.
Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.
Age Rating - 18+
Word Count - 5k
Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3
as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3
Masterlist. Inbox.
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You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.
"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.
You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.
"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.
"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."
Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.
"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."
You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.
"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."
Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.
"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.
"I built your couch!"
"You can't build a couch, Ben."
"He did! It needed assembling!"
Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.
"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.
"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.
Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.
"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."
"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."
"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."
You shrug, squeezing him tight.
"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."
"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.
You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.
"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."
All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.
"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."
"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.
As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
The Living Room. Benny.
You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.
So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.
"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."
"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."
"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."
Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.
You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.
You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.
"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.
"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."
Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.
"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"
"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."
"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.
He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.
"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.
"Had what?"
"A hickey."
Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."
Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.
"You want one?"
You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.
"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"
He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.
"No games, baby."
"No?"
"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."
"Out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."
You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.
"Okay."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."
He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.
Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.
"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."
"Whatever you want, baby."
Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.
You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.
Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.
"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"
"That's half the fun, baby!"
"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."
"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."
And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
The Bathroom. Frankie.
Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.
You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.
"Hey, you guys. You okay?"
"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."
"Anything."
"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."
You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.
"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"
Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.
"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"
He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.
"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."
You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.
"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.
You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.
"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."
"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.
"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."
"What?"
"What?"
"Don't call a guy!"
"Why not?"
"I'll do it."
You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.
"Do you... know how?"
"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."
You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.
"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"
"Of course I don't."
You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.
"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.
"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."
Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.
"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.
Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.
"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."
"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."
"Me too," he says quietly.
You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.
"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."
He goes to protest, but you cut him off.
"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"
Frankie stares at you for a moment.
"You're right."
"Can I get that in writing?"
"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.
You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.
You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.
"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."
"You tell me everyday, Frankie."
"I do?"
"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."
"I love you," he says again, surer this time.
"I love you. Both of you. So much."
When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
The Kitchen. Santiago.
You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.
Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.
You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.
"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.
"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.
"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"
He smirks slowly, before winking at you.
"Surprise."
You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.
"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."
"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."
He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.
"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
He knows what.
"Looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"
He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.
"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."
"Good times, huh?"
"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.
Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.
"What are you making, cariño?"
You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.
"Nothing."
He smiles, Cheshire cat style.
"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."
You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.
"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.
"What was that? Hmm?"
You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.
"I'm making you a cake."
He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.
"You are?"
"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."
"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."
"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."
"There's a party too?"
"Shit."
The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.
"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."
"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."
"I made a list."
"Of?"
"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."
You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.
"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"
"What?"
"Painting your goddamn kitchen."
You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.
"Are you serious?"
"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."
"It's not that bad."
"It's terrible."
"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."
"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."
"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."
"Can I help you?"
"I can think of nothing I want more."
"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.
"I love you too. So much, Santi."
The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
The Bedroom. Will.
"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"
You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.
You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.
"Honey?"
"Shit, sorry. The green one?"
"Please."
He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.
"You okay over there?"
"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"
"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."
You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.
"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.
Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.
"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.
It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.
"...Hmm?"
"The colour on your walls. I like it."
"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."
He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.
"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."
"Is that a good thing?"
"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."
"You're a smooth talker, Miller."
"I learned from the best."
The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.
"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"
You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.
"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."
"That's my girl."
You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.
"We did a good job."
"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."
"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.
You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.
"I'm always looking at you."
Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.
"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."
His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.
"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.
"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."
"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.
"What?"
"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."
You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.
You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.
He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.
Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.
"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.
"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."
Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.
"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."
You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.
He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.
The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.
"Will?"
"Yeah, honey?"
"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"
He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.
"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."
"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.
"You ready to keep building?"
As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.
"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.
You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.
"I can't wait for you to move in."
He grins at you, pecking your lips.
"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."
"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."
"Can I get that in writing?"
"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."
"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.
"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.
"Do what?"
"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."
"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.
"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."
Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.
You and Will's first dance.
Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.
"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."
"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."
"It's perfect," Will agrees.
"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."
You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.
"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."
"Love you, hermosa."
"Love you too, cariño."
"Love ya, baby!"
"I love you, honey."
The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.
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@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld
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theanothersherlockian · 8 months
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ok maybe i’m seeing too much into the picture and maybe someone has already pointed it out BUT
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i can’t help but notice that everyone has a drink in front of them except Frankie.
Will has the blue beers (2) , Benny the red one in front of him and the other red one (2), Santi has the blue one (3) and Tom drinks the red beers in front of him.
What about Frankie you might ask, well on the scene where they all leave Frankie is driving. Frankie was the designated driver of the night, he couldn’t have a drink. His space on the table is empty because he’s responsible to get them safe.
idk love the detail jeje.
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musings-of-a-rose · 2 months
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Weighted Blanket
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Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader
Word Count: 860+
Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!
Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 
Notes: Chatting about what a great weighted blanket this man would make and so I dedicate this to @laurfilijames. This was not beta read.
**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!
❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)
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**Reader is not described
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Will Miller Masterlist
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Today had been the day from hell. You knew it would be, especially since you’d been out for several days being sick. Morning meetings ran long, everyone scrambling to prepare to open, and then the patients? Don’t even get me started. 
When I finally get into my car at the end of the day, I turn on the ac and rest my head against the headrest taking several deep breaths, just listening to the vents pumping cool air into my hot car. I just have to make it home. A shower is waiting for me and Will should be home today.
Will. 
My amazing boyfriend of a year and a half. Will had to go away for work for a few days and was finally coming home. I know a few days isn’t that long but it killed him to leave me when I was sick. And to be honest, I hated not having him there, sick or not. 
His truck is in the parking lot when I pull in and I smile knowing he’s upstairs. I hurry to our apartment and push my key in the lock, quickly shedding my shoes and tossing my bag down on the little side table before heading towards the kitchen, where sounds and a delicious, heavenly smell were emanating from. I lean against the door frame, just taking in the sight of him. Will, standing at the stove with his back to me, casually making my favorite food, his hair still wet from a shower, navy blue shirt stretched thin over his broad back and thick arms, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. He clicks off the burner and divvy’s the food onto 2 plates before turning, his face lighting up when he sees me.
“Hey, sweetheart. How was work?” When I don’t answer right away, he let’s out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”
I nod, pushing off the door frame. “Nothing I didn’t anticipate. Still sucked though.”
“You hungry?”
“Starving. But first I need to shower. I feel so gross.”
Will sets the plates down and takes a few large steps towards me. He moves for a hug and damn do I want one, but I’m gross. People actually spit up on me today. So I sigh, stepping back and Will puts his hands up, freezing in place. 
“Must have been really bad.”
“You don’t even want to know.”
He winks and blows a kiss at me, turning back to finish up dinner. The shower was glorious, the hot water and bubbles relaxing me somewhat, and washing away all of the gross from my skin and hair. I don’t linger, my stomach grumbling as I pull on some pajamas and head straight for the kitchen table, where Will had just set down drinks for us. Before I sit, he pulls me to him, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, his hands cradling my face. 
“I missed you, sweetheart.”
“I really missed you too, Will.” He starts to deepen the kiss, but is interrupted by the loudest grumble yet from my traitor of a stomach. He laughs, placing a hand on my tummy. 
“Let’s get some food in you.”
—----
Dinner was delicious, as usual when Will cooks. It’s not just that he follows the recipe to a t, but he has his own personal flair to it. Will’s cooking can make any sour mood turn sweet. Or maybe that’s just me. 
After our bellies are full, we sit on the couch and I curl my body against his, feeling his large arm wrap around me, the warmth from him seeping into my bones. He kisses the top of my head and rests his own there, both of us content to just be with the other. But my day was hard and before long, I feel my eyelids drooping. Will must have noticed because I swear I blinked and somehow ended up in bed, Will pulling the blankets up around me before crawling in next to me. He tries to pull me to him, but it’s not what I need. He crooks his finger under my chin, lifting my head to look at him through sleepy eyes. 
“Do you need Will blanket?” I nod, my eyes barely open. 
Will helps me lay down on my back, making sure my pillow is adjusted before he drapes half his body over mine, linking one of his muscular legs with mine as he tucks himself over me. His arm drapes over my body, rubbing small circles into my opposite arm. I turn my head and realize my nose is in the perfect spot to nuzzle into his hair, so I do it, inhaling the scent of him. The weight of him on me settles my nerves, the last bit of overstimulation and wired emotions leeching from my body the longer I feel his breathing, his body pressing into mine. 
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you too.”
It’s so tender and loving, full of care and I think about how much I love this man as he gently lulls me to sleep.
In the morning, he has different plans for me and I’m so glad I got the rest I needed.
—----
General Taglist:
@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings
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We do not talk enough about the fact that everytime all five guys are in the jeep in Triple Frontier, Benny gets stuffed in the fucking boot
The epitome of youngest sibling energy
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Here is the entire article about Triple Frontier 2.
May I remind you all that Oscar recently said there is a project in the works with Pedro? Please say it’s this!
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I may die a small death if this happens.
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frenchiereading · 3 months
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Sequel to the Sky Drabbles
Summary: The rest of your day, and your night, after Frankie asks you out on a first date.
Word count: 2.3k
Story info: 18+ MDNI, fluff, smut warnings: kissing, oral (m receiving), allusions to oral (f receiving), piv (unprotected, not prepped much, don't do that), kinda rough yet sweet sex (? idk it's my Frankie he can't be any other way), (1) terrible joke. Reader is Will and Benny's sister. No physical description, no use of y/n.
A/N: Amaretto is a sweet Italian alcoholic drink made from almonds. I don't like it but I sure enjoyed writing this! First time I'm writing smut that is that short, I'm loving the challenge. This is unbeta'd, written instead of preparing lesson plans. I'm not a native speaker. Please consider reblogging if you enjoy this story!
Taglist | Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist
There are some boundaries Frankie won't cross, the number one being that he won't defile Will's house and his respect by having sex on his couch, with his sister. You do make up for it with plenty of kissing, the first minute or so awkward and interrupted by giggling and snorting at the new-found situation, the obvious development of your relationship.
Lots of making out while you wait for your food to be delivered. Lots after. The abrasion from Frankie's beard that you can feel on your cheeks and your neck even when he's not pressing his face to yours, as you wash your hands in the bathroom. Track of time lost.
Not that you mind it one bit. You'll take anything if it means feeling the velvet of his tongue against yours, the little noises of appreciation at finally burying your fingers in his hair, the delicate roughness of his hands on your lower back, hiking up your tee-shirt to grab at bare skin.
A dream come true.
You do hope your face, your entire being really, don't betray what you have been up to when you re-emerge in the hallway, ready to finally leave. You didn't imagine your day would be interrupted like this and there are places to go before dinner. Before your date.
Will's back home as you walk back to the living room and you adjust your clothes, clear your throat, try not to sneak a glance at Frankie still on the couch. You fail.
“Oh, hey,” your brother says, hanging his jacket by yours, giving you a hug hello. “Found your mail ok?”
“I did.” You pat your back pocket. “Thanks.”
“Got invited to a wedding?”
“Yup. Up north in the winter so not great odds but we'll see.”
Eyes that dart to Frankie once more that your brother follows this time and you silently curse.
“Well, I better get going. Now that it's not a monsoon out there anymore.”
Heavy clouds and a light drizzle but nothing like the earlier downpour that trapped you inside the house. For the better. You even feel relatively dry again. Everywhere but between your legs and that's a problem you're hoping Frankie can help you solve later tonight when, fingers crossed, he'll spend the night at another Miller's place. If not the night, at least a couple of hours. You're desperate for his hands all over you, now that you've gotten a taste of him.
Another glance in his direction, you can't help it but you'll be damned if that's how your brother learns how things have been developing. Not now. He'd be insufferable. Both of them will. A problem for another day.
“Sure. Okay. I'll call you during the week?”
“Sure. Thanks for the tea.” Even if Will has no idea what you're talking about as you hug him again, reach for your jacket. “See you soon, Frankie?”
You can't just ignore him, looking at your feet now.
“Yeah. I'll see you ton– See you.”
He clears his throat, too, messes with his hair, feels the burning stare drilling a hole into the back of his head after you've left.
“You didn't tell me she'd drop by today. I was barely decent,” Frankie mutters.
Will only shrugs.
“I didn't know. She said whenever. Looks like you guys had fun, though?”
Take-out boxes and half empty mugs litter the coffee table and Frankie's met with a scrutinizing smirk when he eventually looks up and around.
“I'm – I won't be here tonight. I'm – we're going out.”
What your brothers have been pushing him to do but it's one thing to think about it and another one entirely when it's real. Dynamics changing.
A grin that splits Will's face and he claps his hands loudly.
“You are? Fucking finally! That's fantastic!”
Frankie dares smile at the reaction because yes, it definitely is. He hasn't kissed someone for so long in months and his lips still tingle from it. There's your taste in his mouth when he swirls his tongue along his teeth.
“Hey, hold up, Morales. Sit your ass back down,” Will orders as his friend starts to stand up to tidy things up. Big brother meaning business. “I gotta give you the talk now.”
“Oh, I – sure. Of course.”
“I'm kidding, Fish! Man, you should see your face!” One strong clasp on Frankie's shoulder, muscles still tense. “But seriously, don't hurt her.”
“I'd never.”
Never more honest that when he says these words, sticking to them even much later in the day. When he finds himself on your couch, with his hands clutching your hip and the back of your neck, fingers digging into soft skin, he's nothing if not careful, even in his eagerness. Discovering you. Those strong hands you know could manhandle you and that's something you wouldn't mind exploring later but for now it's all so fine, learning each other like that.
Learning what Frankie likes, the moan that drips over the pouty lip you graze with your teeth.
The bitter taste of the amaretto you both had for dessert at the little Italian restaurant, tucked away in a corner of the room, Frankie relaxing like you'd never seen him do before. Just the both of you then.
Just the both of you now. In an apartment he's only been in once before, for your house-warming party. Not single at all that he was at the time. Sour memories banished by your hand rubbing his chest under his shirt. Only you that matters now.
Palm gliding down to rub denim, his crotch, and Frankie keens in your mouth, pushes a tiny bit into your hand.
“Fuck.”
“I know. You don't know how long I've been thinking about that, Frankie.”
“You have? What about?”
“Well,” you feel how hot he is under your touch, bulge growing and a messy kiss, his hand groping a handful of your dress, of your breast, making you lean forward into him. “Well, that big cock of yours that I kinda saw this morning.”
Only the outline in his underwear, enough to make you salivate. Hot mouth against his ear, down his jaw to find his tongue again. Blindly popping the button of his jeans open, fingers grasping at your clothes and hitching them higher to feel the skin of your bare thigh. Close to pumping blood and desperate skin between your legs. Your knees dig into the cushion so you can rise up better, give him better access to where you need him.
“I wanna see how it feels when I have it in my mouth.”
Mouth which sucks in his neck, down the throbbing vein and Frankie's throat bob with the hiss he takes at your hand sneaking inside his jeans, a couple of passes gripping a hardening cock in your fist before you go under even more clothes. Skin on skin and he throws his head back. Clutches your thigh so high up, his thumb grazes your panties and you buck into him, nose feeling up until it meets wet lips. That delectable moustache that tickles your upper lip, tongues clashing again.
“I wanna suck you off, Frankie. Can I?”
A sultry demand breathed into his very soul and he's already lifting his hips up to get rid of too many clothes that pool at his ankles, your hand still working him hard, throbbing in your hand before you let go, a handful of seconds to properly admire him. Dishevelled hair, buttons half undone on his shirt, delectable cock, as big, if not bigger than what your imagination could conjure up and you moan, bite your lip.
More when Frankie feels you up, massages your ass, guides your chin up for a kiss so sweet it's almost out of place, with how fast you're breathing. Eyes shining with desire.
“Only if you let me eat you out too. I bet that pussy tastes amazing.”
Pupils that widen right into his when his hand cups you, feeling how wet you are. A long, hard rub of lace against sticky folds and aching clit and you jerk him off tighter in response, pressing down onto his palm, impatient to feel him without any clothes on.
“Might have to throw in a fuck in between those two.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I want everything tonight, Frankie. Been waiting too long.”
Crumbs of your dinner conversation rising up in his mind, squashed down within mere seconds when you slide down the couch, abandoning his touch to settle between his legs, shoes and jeans and underwear all kicked out of the way.
“Your dress too.”
Order or request you don't care, you'll do everything that he tells you, letting him ghost fingertips over your bra, matching lace, the drag of him on your shoulder, toying with the strap as you lean forward, inhale deeply, lips slow on his cock. Mapping its length. Hot, open kisses up, one nail following the ridge of a vein. Warm, inviting mouth that sucks on the tip and Frankie snaps his eyes close, curses above your head and smoothes his hand down your arm.
Pets your head as you suck him off, finding you looking up at him when he blinks his eyes open again. Grinning around his cock, that taste you've been dreaming off. Bitter almond from dessert mixing with musky saltiness from shining pre-cum as you swallow as much of him as you can, hand gentle that barely pushes you down more into him, clutching your neck and rewarded by a moan that echoes around his length.
“Mmmmhmmmm.”
You suckle the head, saliva dripping down when you angle your head just the right way to watch him. The rapid rise of his chest, the peak of the tummy you have yet to feast on that your hand gropes.
“You taste better than gelato, baby,” you tease, hand replacing your mouth, wet sounds of jerking him off, breathing his scent into his mouth and Frankie snorts in your face at the joke, lets you rub yourself against his length as you straddle him. Underwear still on. You wiggle to push it out of the way and whatever he meant to say in response gets lost in a gargle at the first feel of your soaked pussy on his throbbing cock.
“Like that?”
“If that's ok with you? I'm clean.”
“Me too. I haven't – not since, you know.”
You kiss away the apprehension in his voice.
“I'm on birth control too.”
“Thank fuck. Condoms are all the way in my jacket.”
And there's no other place Frankie would rather be right now. With you nestled in his arms, the flick of his fingers that get you rid of your bra, enticing tits that he swallows, burying his face in your chest. Both your hands on his shoulders as you sink onto him, feeling the stretching and the burn of not having prepped yourself enough. Slick barely enough to help him slide into you and you gasp into his neck, clawing at his skin and sobbing at how full you feel and how it never seems to stop.
Much better than all that you'd imagined. All those times you've touched yourself thinking about Frankie fucking you. Sushing you, mouth by your temple, hips still as he lets you adjust and then thrusting into you the second you roll yours on top of him. Your nipples are hard from how he's playing with them, one hand on your ass guiding your bounces on top of him.
Noises in his shoulder that are driving him insane. How tight you are. Even more when he fumbles you around, lying you down, thrusting into you deeper like that, one hand holding on to the armrest, swallowing your grunts with his kisses.
Curls flop on his forehead that glistens with sweat with each of his moves, hitting spots in your pussy you don't think anyone ever has, making you clench and gush around him and Frankie can't think, can't stop looking at how you play with your breasts, one hand on them, one hand that travels down your stomach to rub your clit. Lathered that it is with slick, even more with your pussy split open and how you can feel his cock drive deep into you under your touch.
Frankie watches you, watches your hand going so fast and how you moan and bite your lip and scrunch your eyes shut. Learning you. Learning the quick rise and fall of your chest, the exposed throat he sucks on, fucking you faster and when you come, from him, from you, from it all, it ripples down your body, flames in your belly that fuels the fire in Frankie's crotch and you feel it in the hand you've splayed on the small of his back. How he ruts into you, longer, quicker, harder thrusts until he comes, bare inside of you and he growls against your cheek.
Quiet that settles in your living room as you both try to get your breathing and your heartbeat under control. The tip of Frankie's nose that glides along your jaw to rub against yours and a lazy grin that stretches on your parted lips, the pads of your fingers mapping the broad expanse of his back, ankle hooked to his calf, keeping him against and inside you. Pulsing still.
“Hi,” you whisper, soft lips slotting against yours.
“Hi,” Frankie replies, the brush of a thumb on your forehead from where his arm is still resting, above your head.
And then you giggle. Can't help it. The high of the situation taking over you, handfuls of his curls that you clutch as he kisses you again, before he drops his head in the crook of your neck. By the hollow of your throat.
Ragged breaths on tingling skin. The hint of a tongue. The promise of more.
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Divider by the great @firefly-graphics
Please consider reblogging if you've enjoyed this story! Comments and questions are always welcome as well!
Taglist | Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist
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navybrat817 · 3 days
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Miss Navy, I don't think Bucky is happy that this William fella is all over your blog now. 😚
First, sweet nonnie, I love that you're calling me "Miss Navy". ❤️ Second, cackling that you said "William fella". 😂
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And third, what is Bucky going to do about it? 😏
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Love and thanks! ❤️
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laurfilijames · 4 months
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When Sleep Comes Easy
Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader
Words: 1.6k
Warnings: Rated E, 18+ only. Unprotected intercourse. Mentions of PTSD, panic attacks, insomnia, nightmares/night terrors, military service and death.
Summary: Will always has trouble sleeping, but after another sleepless night and an anxiety attack followed by a run to try to ease his mind, he finds another way to expel his frantic energy and finds himself in the midst of a well deserved nap.
A/N: I am such a whore for sleep intimacy and felt the need to write some for Will again. So. What.
---
The last of his deep, slow and deliberate thrusts stilled to nothing more than him pulsing inside you, your bodies drawing out the rippling aftershocks of both of your climaxes, and it was difficult to distinguish which of your thrumming heartbeats was resounding in your ears.
Will leaned down and captured your lips that were now bruised equally from his fervid kisses and rough beard, the long exhale through his nose blowing out on your cheek as he struggled to catch his breath.
You returned his kiss gratefully, hoping to continue to pour all your love for him into it as much as you had in your love-making, your chest feeling tight at the recollection of the tough day he had had so far.
Another nightmare. Another panic attack. Another sleepless night that ticked on painfully slowly into the morning where he couldn't seem to get out the front door fast enough to try to run it off, only to return home in a worse state than when he had left.
There were so many times you felt helpless, unable to give him the reprieve he needed from his own mind, but when he returned home sweaty, angry and seemingly desperate to seek out a way to channel his frantic energy, you knew exactly what it was he needed.
His lips crashing into yours at the same time he forced your back to collide with the wall eventually led to this moment now; tangled and breathless in your bed, your skin coated in a layer of sweat from a ravenous, manic pace that quickly settled into something more emotional and purposeful, his love for you shining through the darkness and the demons that he fought so often.
His forehead rested heavily against yours as he broke the seal of your lips, sighing out a somewhat shaky breath as he began to slip out of you, feeling your combined spend leak out onto the already dampened sheets beneath you.
You reached your hand up between your chests and gently traced along his lower lip, smoothing across its fullness back and forth until he puckered them and kissed the pad of your finger, his fatigue and anguish so present in his blue eyes, the circles around them dark and deep.
The muscles in his arms trembled slightly, his body as exhausted as his mind was, the definition in his forearms and biceps so prominent from his efforts while the veins that wildly coursed through them like a map of rivers bulged as though they would break through his skin.
With a sigh and a wince, he shifted to move off of you and collapsed onto his side of the bed, not changing his position much as he landed on his stomach and let his leaden limbs sink into the mattress, his eyelids falling shut while his arms snaked up under his pillow to support his head.
You expected him to only stay like that for a few minutes at most, knowing that by the time you shuffled to the bathroom to go pee and came back into your room, he would be up and heading to have a shower, but when you returned to see him still splayed out in the mess of blankets and sheets, a faint smile tugged at your lips.
Will rarely napped, usually feeling it was a waste of time and fearing it would affect his already compromised sleep, but it was evident how much he needed to rest, seeing his back moving with his shallow breaths as sleep already took hold of him.
Slipping carefully back into bed, you turned onto your side to face him, not feeling like you could fall asleep as well but happy to simply lay there and admire him.
As his body twitched and his brow furrowed, you hoped he was dreaming of something that didn't plague him, the little sleep he already got afflicted by too many nightmares, and for the millionth time since knowing him, you wished you could take it all away. Even if that was possible, Will would never let you, needing to feel all his burdens and wear them like a badge, never forgetting any of the things he's done; each life he had taken and decision he's made carefully counted and stored in his mind no matter how much time has passed. He had told you once that he believed his insomnia and night terrors were a penalty he deserved and would accept for the rest of his life, feeling like it was hardly punishment enough for some of his sins, your heart breaking all over again when you watched him suffer through another episode just as it had the day he had admitted it.
His cheeks flinched as he clenched his teeth together tightly, his arm jolting under his head, his muscles jerking and fluttering as if they were battling to keep awake while the rest of him fought to sleep.
After a few minutes, his body finally succumbed, quieting the restlessness that made him stir, his features relaxed and no longer tense or strained. Knowing he wouldn't easily wake now, you lightly traced along his hairline that had been made all messy from sex, the blond strands stuck up into spikes that went in every direction darkened from sweat that hadn't yet dried, drawing languid patterns in a trail from his forehead down along his shoulders and through the valleys on his back.
His breathing continued to steady the longer you touched him, your fingertips carefully worshiping every dip and curve of his sculpted back and up over the plump crest of his bum, feeling yourself relax and begin to keep tempo with his composed inhales and exhales.
It was tempting to want to wake him up to tell him you loved him despite having already repeated it over and over while he drove inside you and made you alternate your affirmations with his name like a mantra, but decided against it, vowing to yourself that you would tell him as many times as you could when he opened his eyes again.
Feeling yourself grow tired as the intensity of your love-making finally set in, you brought yourself closer to him, snuggling into his side where you placed a kiss on his shoulder and let your arm rest across his back.
In his slumbering state, Will lifted his arm and wrapped it around your back, scooping you toward him as he draped his leg over top of yours to lock you in place, holding onto you like he feared you suddenly wouldn't be there if he didn't, a low grunt escaping his lips as he nuzzled his face into your neck.
The security of his weight on you was something you always longed for whether it was like this or during the heated moments of passion you often shared, the way he covered most of your body with his a sense of comfort and assurance that couldn't be matched.
You inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of his sweat and sex that hung in the air, his skin holding onto all the remnants of his hardships along with your love that helped to wane them, the warmth of his body convincing you to allow your heavy eyelids to close despite not wanting to give up the opportunity to see how gorgeous he looked when he slept.
As you began to drift off, you prayed for the things that haunted him to grace him some peace for as long as possible, selfishly wanting to stay like this forever, the rarity of Will indulging in rest that wasn't scheduled or forced only to be broken by his pain something you would sacrifice your own for without hesitation.
Without knowing the time, it was clear that hours had passed when you opened your eyes to see your room shrouded in darkness, Will's bare body still draped over yours comfortably. You carded your hand up and down his back soothingly, hearing his breathing change as he slowly woke up, his soft groans rumbling through his chest while his lips began to pepper kisses along the column of your neck.
You smiled, the sensation of his mouth on your sensitive skin as well as his hard cock pressing into your thigh awakening the building need inside you, your slight grin fading as your lips melted against his when he brought his mouth to meet yours.
Will propped himself up slightly, positioning himself overtop of you, slowly guiding his cock inside your tight walls that stretched to fit him with a lingering soreness from earlier.
"Thank you," he whispered in a raspy voice, his nose nudging yours adoringly.
You sighed and returned his act of affection by rubbing your nose against his, knowing the reason why he was thanking you was because you helped him sleep, the ease of it reviving him and leaving him in awe of you. Words seemed to fail you so instead you kissed him slowly, your hips beginning to roll in a tepid motion, his tongue claiming access to your mouth with a firm demand to contrast from the languid actions of your bodies.
"I love you, Will," you eventually murmured when your lips parted briefly.
He smiled, the lines around his mouth that still managed to be visible through his growing beard making your heart swell even more, pausing his movements inside you for a moment.
"I love you, too, sweetheart."
Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him back to you, kissing him like you needed the air from his lungs in order to breathe, his pace increasing to pump in and out of you with vigorous intent.
---
Taglist:
@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989
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reesewillow-delrey · 6 months
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I want to turn into a mosquito and suck him
Omggg who wrote thaaat?🙄
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Best Friend's Brother
Will Miller x f!reader
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Warnings: (infidelity, possible unlikeable reader/Will, fingering, p in v, creampie, no safe sex, dirty talk, cursing)
A/N: Don't mind most of my smut wear condoms. Also I needed more Will fics out there.
Summary: With enough liquid courage you tell your best friend's brother exactly how you feel about his fiance.
Word Count: 4.3K
“You know if you interacted with anybody here you wouldn’t have to read so many romance books.” Benny’s breath tickles your ear as your eyes are glued to the words on your phone screen. Your favorite author surprise dropped a new chapter and you retreated from conversation to read it.
“After I finish this chapter.” You barely pay any mind to your best friend. 
“You said that 10 minutes ago.” For such a large man Benny has a talent for sounding like a whiney child when he wants. 
You heave a deep sigh before placing your phone on the table. The moment your irritated eyes land on Benny he sheepishly slides two whiskey shots in front of you. Internally you’re already gagging but you shoot them back and grimace at the burning in your chest. The warm air of the bar did little to help the heat flourishing through your body. 
“You couldn’t have grabbed me a soda.” Temporarily a frown is etched on your face until the bitter taste goes away. 
“I drank it while you were reading.” His answer makes your head snap to him but before you could respond he abruptly stands. “Will!” His booming voice does little to disturb the patrons around you, but the name he calls makes the hair on your body stand up. 
The two golden boys meet in the middle to hug each other and you try to calm your overactive mind. You could say you’ve had a lingering attraction to the older Miller brother, though it would be downplaying the amount of times you’ve thought about him. 
When you first met Benny his brother was already away so you only knew him through the stories Benny would tell. From the way he described his brother, you thought he was too good to be true. But when you met him you were proven wrong, and soon you were under his spell. 
“Hey, Buttercup.” Your thoughts halt when you feel Will’s hands squeeze your shoulders before taking the seat to your left. His nickname for you never failed to warm your cheeks, even if technically he had a fiance.
“Hi Will,” The cheery tone of your voice causes Benny to roll his eyes at your abrupt change of mood. You never brought up how you felt about his brother but it wasn’t hard for him to put together the pieces. 
Benny checks his phone before telling the both of you he’s getting more drinks for when Santi and Frankie arrive. 
“How’s the book going?” You playfully roll your eyes at the mention of your pipe dream from when you were 19. 
“Still on page 3, inspiration has yet to strike.” His smile makes your heart beat so heavily in your chest you think he can see it. 
“Hard to believe that,”  His hands grab at the half-cold fries on your plate. “What genre are pushing for anyway?”
“Most likely historical romance,” The whiskey shots settle and you feel your body become lighter. “The old-timey English is hard to get into though.” 
“Coming from the walking encyclopedia.” His words are slightly muffled by the fries he’s shoveling into his mouth. 
“What’d we miss?” Santiago’s voice cuts through your conversation and you look up to find him and Frankie occupying the seats in front of you. 
“Not much Benny’s getting the drinks.” Will rubs his hands on his jeans to rid his hands of grease. 
As usual, the men around you dive into sports commentary as if they’re the analysts they watch on TV. In the meantime, you skim over the food menu trying to figure out what else you want. With two more people at the table, the heat from Will’s arm brushing against you makes you lean closer to him. If he felt the difference he didn’t let anything on. 
Two pitchers of beer slosh against the plastic as it's being set down before a flight of whiskey is placed directly in front of you. An eager smile graces Benny’s face and you know exactly how this night is gonna go. As the two of you go shot for shot the three veterans look at you both in amusement. 
“How’s the wedding planning going?” Santiago smiled as he nudged h
“It’s going,” Despite his lack of answer the way he feels is written all over his face, and everyone at the table knows it. 
“It can’t be that bad man.” Frankie tries to give the benefit of the doubt but he unknowingly releases the floodgates.
“She told her family to send pictures of what they were gonna wear to the ceremony,” Will gulps the rest of his beer before continuing, “Then she proceeded to veto her grandmother’s peach pantsuit because it was too close to white.”
Everybody has variants of shock written on their face except you, though your reasons may have more to do with animosity. Melody, his fiance, had first been introduced two years ago. From the start, you could tell they weren’t right for each other, but your mouth remained shut until Benny brought it up. 
Leave it to your best friend to be the one feeding into your delusions. 
“And don’t get me started on the flower girl fight, she had both her sisters send test shots of their daughters.” You adamantly aim to keep your mouth shut, knowing the liquor has loosened your lips. The last thing you wanna do is rattle down the long list of reasons you don’t like his fiance, namely because she’s his fiance. 
“You sure know how to pick em’ Ironhead.” Santiago whistles while he thinks of all his previous relationships. 
“Maybe it’s just the wedding.” His tone was even but laced with something like doubt. 
“Maybe it’s a glimpse into your future.” Benny tries to bring the lighthearted energy back by wiggling his fingers and mimicking a ghost. 
A smile cracks Ironhead’s exterior at his little brother’s antics. 
“Drinks anyone?” You look around the table watching them nod in agreement before taking off to the bar. 
The counter is busy when you approach so you take the time to go over what you want. Two pitchers of beer and two Long Island iced teas. A hand connecting with your lower back causes you to swivel your head to accost the perpetrator, only to find Will. Relief floods through you but not for long.
“You’ve been quiet all night, it’s not like you.” Will leans his other arm over the bar, caging you in. 
“Your brother’s been force-feeding my shots all night what’d you expect.” You hope you can stir him away with humor but he knows better and so should you. 
“What do you think? Am I setting myself up for failure again?” The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. You know how he feels about this being his second engagement and nobody could blame him for wanting to be sure. 
“Look if you’re happy what does it matter what those idiots are talking about?” Will’s eyes narrow and you give in to the voices in your head. “Honestly, she’s always lacked valuable character traits.” You avoid eye contact with the man next to you as you flag down a bartender to give the order. 
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” His blue eyes bore into yours and you find your eyes lowering to his lips. 
“And how exactly am I supposed to bring that up in conversation?” Your conversation ceases for now as the bartender places your drinks in front of you. 
A silence falls over the both of you even after you return to the table. Thankfully none of the other guys notice you averting your eyes from Will’s direction. 
……………
All Will could think about was what you said. 
Sure he noticed how self-centered Mel could be but it didn’t bother him because he had his fair share of baggage. Even when the guys were making their jokes about how she acted on a camping trip, he didn’t care. Yet the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t shake the feeling that this engagement wasn’t right either. 
For the past hour, he’s been looking your way, hoping to catch your eye, but you purposefully avoid it. He watches you engage with everyone else until you feel his gaze burning and return to sipping on your drink. 
He checks his phone only to find a string of complaints from Mel. 
“I should get going.” Will reaches for his wallet and places enough bills down for the tab and tip. Much to the dismay of everyone else at the table. 
“We’re supposed to be treating you man.” Frankie scrambles to get his wallet but Will waves him off with a charming smile. 
“Next time.” He promises.
“We should probably head out too.” You peer over at Benny with pouty lips 
“I can take you.” William wastes no time volunteering to get you alone, he’s never been one to squander an opportunity. 
For the first time in an hour you look up at him and he can see the panic swimming in your eyes. You want to object but that would look suspicious so you nod your head and gather your things. Each of the guys hugs you goodbye before Will’s hand finds its way back to your lower back to guide you through the crowd. 
You know it’s a friendly touch still, excitement swirls within you.
Outside the bar is just as crowded so Will’s hands remain on you. In fact, he slides his right hand around your waist to bring you closer to him. People walking past would assume the two of you were together the way you were glued to each other. 
“When you said she lacked character traits, which specifically do you mean?” Will’s rough voice shocked you with how close it was to your ear. 
“This feels like a trap.” You look up at him with suspicion. 
“It’s not, I promise.” He laughs at your hesitance, “You’ve just never said anything and if you had…” He drops his sentence but you know what he’s implying. 
“You really care about what Benny’s best friend thinks?” You jab his stomach with your elbow.
“You know you mean more than that to me.” He leaves no room for argument and you’re left speechless at his side. 
You take a moment to digest his words because it isn’t the first time he’s said them, but it feels like it. 
“Sometimes it feels like you care more for her than she does you.” Your voice is quiet. “And it’s not like I would be telling you out of the purest intentions.” The words leave your lips before you think better of it. 
“What intention would you have?” You realize too late that he’s slowed the pace and now you’re standing face to face. 
“For you to break up with her.” You see no point in lying, and it’s not like you’re the only one who feels that way.
“And that’s it?” Will looks down at you like you're his prey. Clearly, he already knows the answer.
“Mhmm.” You lied. “How away far is your car?” 
“It’s right there.” He tips his head in the direction of his truck but his eyes and body don’t move from you. 
After a few seconds, you turn to make your way to the car but Will’s hand prevents you from leaving your spot. 
“Is that all you’d want me to do? Leave her?” That gruff voice is going straight is going straight down to your core. 
“No.” Your eyes are glued to the ground. 
For now, your answer seems good enough because he pulls you back into him for the remaining three feet to the car. He opens the passenger door for you and you take a short reprieve to gather yourself. 
Of course, Will could read how desperate you were for him. Dread settled in the bottom of your stomach when you think of how awkward this ride is gonna be.
“Look I’m sorry, here I am criticizing Melody for her character-” You spew out your thoughts hoping to do damage control. 
“I’m not upset Buttercup, when the guy's rib on Mel’s antics it’s one thing but when you say it…” He plays with the scruff on his chin before continuing, “Santiago has yet to be in a serious relationship, Frankie is working his way back from the doghouse, and Benny is Benny.” 
Your giggle rings through the cabin despite the tense atmosphere and Will can’t help but join you. 
“Seriously, I’m no better especially since I want to be in her position.” Your eyes are focused on your lap but you almost feel the wind from Will’s head craning towards you. 
“You what?!” Based on his tone of voice he didn’t know that tidbit and you were the one to give yourself away. 
“Shit.” You clasp your hands over your face as you feel the car pull to a stop.
“What do you mean you want to be in her position?” The fact that he softened his voice made this the stuff of nightmares. 
“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory William.” You deadpan without bothering to look up.
“Indulge me.” You remove your hand from your face but keep your eyes locked in front of you. 
You make sure he can see your eyes roll before you continue, “She’s worried about how everything’ll look to other people but if I were the one marrying you the only thing I’d be worried about is how much lingerie I could reasonably pack for the honeymoon.” 
“How long?” The thought of your words causes pools of blood to gather below his waist. “How long have you felt this way?”
“Since I met you.” You say matter-of-factly. “I thought it was just a crush but it progressed over the years.” 
“Why didn’t you or Benny say anything?” Will’s upper body almost completely faces you. 
“Are you saying you would’ve been receptive?” You ask the question but you already have an inkling of what he’ll say.
“I don’t know-” Will feels like the rug was swept out from underneath him. He’d already had doubts but he was willing to settle, at least before you opened your mouth. 
“Exactly.” You don’t let him finish in the hopes that he’ll pull back onto the road. 
“To be fair I have a decade on you so legally speaking, it’s a little touchy.” Of all the times he graced you with his humor it was not appreciated right now. 
“More like a decade and a half but okay.” Despite yourself, you smile while his drops at your statement. 
“And yet that didn’t deter you.” Suddenly the cab feels small and you don’t know when but the two of you got closer. 
“That’s because I never said it was a bad thing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
Tonight you were full of surprises. Will thought he knew everything there was to know about you but he hadn’t seen this side of you. Your blown-out pupils and plump lips call out to him like a siren’s song. The faint scent of whiskey and strawberry chapstick wafts his way. Intoxicating is the only way to describe how you’re making him feel because the beers he had did nothing. 
He doesn’t register his hand reaching out to rub his thumb along your bottom lip. The moment you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck he loses every thought,,,,,,
Will removes his thumb only to replace it with his lips. It doesn’t take long for you to kiss him back with even more vigor, this was your chance and it wouldn’t go to waste. You feel your bottom lip being sucked into his mouth but somehow he isn’t close enough. Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, bringing him closer while you tilt your head.
Your soft hands feel almost ticklish on the back of his neck and a deep groan passes his lips. 
Will reaches out to your waist, pulling you closer until he feels your tits pressed against his chest. You make the lust-filled decision to swing your knee onto his other side and sit on his lap. The denim skirt you’re wearing rides up, almost showing him your panties.
A gasp escapes your lips when you feel what you thought was Will’s zipper. One look at his smirking face tells you you’re mistaken.
“Is that-” Your eyes zero in on where the two of you meet. 
“Mhmm,” Will confirms your dream and arousal bubbles in your core. Before you can say anything he rolls his hips perfectly hitting your clit in just the right spot. 
The sound that leaves your body is a culmination of all the years you’ve spent yearning for him, for a moment like this. You’ve never felt more desperate in your life. Quickly you lay your head in the crook of his neck and rock your hips back and forth. Your hands find themselves squeezing his biceps for purchase. 
All of your breathless pants make him throb with need, as good as you feel like this he wants it all. Will inches his hand up your inner thigh, planting himself on your moving hips. 
“Buttercup?” Will talks to you like he’s rousing you from sleep.
“Hm?” He watches you focus with your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip jutted out, there’s no better view. 
“Want you to sit on it.” He can tell when you register his words because of the decline of your movement.
In all of five seconds, you’re clawing at his pants and all he can do is look at you. There’s no denying you’re gorgeous, sweet, funny. Now that he thinks about it he did care a little more for you than he should. Hell, sometimes you would go to him before Benny and he always felt great when he could problem-solve for you. 
While he had been staring at you and daydreaming you managed to pull him out of his pants. If he thought your hands felt good before they feel even better now that they were stroking him. 
“You’re so big Will.” Even your fantasies couldn’t live up to the real thing.
“Yeah?” Will rubs over your wet fold through your panties, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me right?” He slides your panties to the side before teasing your entrance with his middle finger. 
“Whatever you want.” And you meant every word. 
He barely has his finger in and you’re already clenching around him. With your hands now on his shoulders, you impatiently rock your hips showing him you’re ready. Will groans when he feels your warm walls clenching on his finger. He takes his other hand to your chin to bring you closer before telling you, “You’re perfect.”
Before you fully realize what he said he adds another finger to your aching core. Your eyes meet his almost pitch-black ones, and again you feel like his prey the way they bore into his. When he curls his fingers inside you you involuntary buck your hips for more. 
You wonder if you’ll leave bruises the way your fingers dig into Will’s shoulders. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, his teeth slightly rub against yours before he deepens it. Dizziness fills your head from the way his fingers pumped into you to his warm tongue licking into your mouth.
You were ruined for anyone else after him. 
The sounds in the truck consist of heavy breathing, moans, and squelching. A pit formed in your lower stomach and you felt like you were falling in it. You feel too much at once and you feel yourself pulling away from the kiss to calm down but Will moves to your neck. As he sucks and licks at your neck his fingers expertly pull you over the edge. 
You would’ve fallen against the wheel if he hadn’t held you in his arms. He rubs his hands over your back until you come to. Somehow your orgasm felt like a shot of espresso and you’re right back on Will. 
Without pause you sink down on his leaking tip and slowly inch him deeper. You watch his face while you do it and you almost miss his blue eyes, but he looks so much more hypnotizing. You couldn’t look away and neither could he. 
Will couldn’t imagine his night would end up like this, not that he was complaining. 
With you finally taking all of him you let out the airiest sigh before rocking your hips. Your knees were burning from the seats but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Will’s hands move down your back to grip your ass while you rock and bounce on him. 
“Fuck,” He is the first to break eye contact but only to look at where the two of you meet. Your juices leave a ring on his dick and he almost cums at the sight. “I can’t wait to taste you next time.”
“Next time?” You try slowing your hips to comprehend what he just said but he picks up your slack. With his hips rutting into yours from below the pleasure must be clouding your brain to imagine things. 
“You thought I was gonna let you go after this baby?” An unforgiving pace brings that familiar pit in your stomach that has you pawing at his covered chest. “You know me better than that Buttercup.”
Will’s hips sputter before you hear a guttural groan and warmth being shot into you. Even as he’s cumming he uses his hand to urge you to rock your hips against him. When everything slows to a halt all that’s left is heavy breathing from the both of you. 
“Did you mean it?” You bring yourself to ask as you fiddle with your fingers 
Will lifts his head from the headrest to look at you, “Of course I mean it.”
“You know you still have a fiance right?” 
“You didn’t have to put off by that a few minutes ago,” His playful grin lets you know he’s only messing with you. “Seriously though it wouldn’t have lasted, I just didn’t think anybody else would want me.” 
“I mean you make it easy.” You haven’t looked up at him yet.
“You’re one to talk.” Will tilts his head before giving you a kiss. “Let’s get you home.” Heat fills your face at his charm.
With a hiss, he slowly helps to lift you off his now softening dick. You’re quick to move your panties back in place before any of his cum drips out. He tucks himself into himself back into his pants.
Before he even turns on the car you’re lying across the the front seat and nodding off. He takes the jacket he always keeps in his car behind the seat and drapes it over you.
He takes a look at his phone and sees missed calls from everyone. It’s almost 3 in the morning and Will winces as he looks at the messages asking him where he is. Instead of staying here for another hour, he heads in the direction of your condo. 
Your porch light is on when he pulls into the driveway in front of your house. One look over at you and he can see that you’re dead to the world so he searches for your purse. When he finds your keys he runs to open the door before circling back to pick you up. 
Once in the house, he kicks the door closed then locks it. He already knows the way to your room since he basically set it up for you. In fact he moved most of your furniture for you, not wanting moving companies to take advantage of you. 
Your room has clothes strewn on the floor in what looks like failed outfits you tried on. A laugh escapes Will when he realizes you ended up wearing a short jean skirt with a v-neck. It’s only two steps to the bed and he lays you down gently not wanting to wake you. 
He tries replacing the jacket over you but your fingers have gripped it so he settles on laying the comforter over you. When he’s sure you’re settled he rounds your bed to sit on the other side, unlacing his boots. After that are his shoes socks, jeans, and shirt. 
A relaxed sigh is let out the moment his back hits your bed. Although it makes no sense to cuddle, he saddles his body close to yours. 
Bacon and potatoes infiltrate your nose the more awake you become. Last night quickly flashes through your mind as if your brain urged you to remember. Your room is exactly how you left it and the thought of Will seeing it sends shame through your body. Of the discarded clothes you pick up some lounge shorts to throw on. 
Your hunger overpowers your drowsiness so you make your way to the kitchen. Will’s naked back is a welcomed sight anytime. 
“Good morning.” He grins when you make an appearance next to him. 
“Morning Buttercup.” The spatula he’s using to stir potatoes is cast aside so he can run rub circles on your lower back. 
Now that the afterglow faded you wondered what direction this is heading in. 
“I ended things with Mel this morning, she’s pissed to say the least.”
“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Guilt creeps into you now that your chickens have come home to roost
“I know, but I’m glad it happened.” Without waiting for your reply he's back to cooking like our conversation never happened. “You can sit down if you want it’ll only be five more minutes.”
The debrief call with Benny will be one for the books.
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