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navybrat817 · 3 days
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We'll call this Titillating Tuesday.
The Triple Frontier boys are part of a military program where they're each paired with a reader for breeding purposes.
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Except Tom. He isn't invited.
Could also work with the Cap trio.
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That's all, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️
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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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Taglist (thank you 🧡 if you don't wish to be tagged anymore, just drop me a DM 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @nicolethered @littleone65 @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @mylostloversbookmarks @its-nebuleuse @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @all-the-way-down-here
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wysteria-clad · 1 year
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'Call your man by his first name and see his reaction' trend with triple frontier boys
a/n: aka them being your baby™
genre: fluff
paring: triple frontier boys x fem! reader; established relationship
------
Santi
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"Hey, Santiago, can I have a cup too?"
You ask him for a cup of coffee when you see him in the kitchen making some.
"Who?"
"You"
"You never call me that," he looks at you half offended, half in disbelief.
"It's your name," you move closer to him.
"No"
"Can I have some coffee now?"
"No"
"What do you mean 'no'?"
"Coffee is only for the woman who does not call me 'Santiago,'" he stresses the 'not'. "You didn't call me 'baby."
You suck in your lips to stop you from laughing. "Aw, baby, are you mad?" you reduce the distance between you two and place a hand on his chest.
He leans down, and buries his face on the crook of your neck.
You smile and rest your hand on the nape of his neck, and trace his scar with your fingers.
He sighs in content, and pulls back after a moment and looks into your eyes with anticipation.
You lean closer to him, and then reach out your hand past him to grab the coffee cup on the kitchen counter and turn around.
"Really?" he shakes his head.
You take a sip, smiling to yourself. "Coffee is great, thanks, baby"
"Really?!" he shouts, watching you walk away from him with a teasing smirk on your lips.
"I love you!"
Your peaceful moment with his your coffee doesn't last long as he grabs you and flings you over his shoulder.
"Babe!"
He smacks your ass playfully, and carries you to bedroom making you laugh.
Frankie
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"Francisco, cuddle me?" you look up from the couch, extending your arms at him in an invite.
"Am I in trouble?"
"Why would you be, Francisco?"
"I thought I was your 'honey', " He gives you his soft, puppy eyes, "your 'baby'."
Did he forget an errand or any important event?
"Am I in trouble? seriously?" he is confused, but he complies your request and lies down on the couch next to you, wrapping his arms around you.
"No, baby," you snuggle to his side, and bury your face into his chest. "I love you."
You smile when you feel a kiss on the top of your head.
"Te amo."
Benny
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He was on a quick grocery shopping run. You were in your shared bedroom, sitting on the bed comfortably, telling him what else you needed.
"Benjamin, don't forget the chees-"
"What'd you just call me?"
"Benjamin"
"Why would you call me that?" he looks so offended.
"It's your name."
"It's not my name.." he lips parts open. The disrespect..."My name is 'baby'," he states as if it's the most obvious fact. He tackles you in a jump hug, pinning you to the bed and falling on top of you.
"You are crushing me, you, goof," you speak, smiling and still pinned underneath him. "Benjamin, get off me," you laugh.
Nope, try again. He doesn't even bulge.
You stifle a laugh, "Baby?"
"Yes, darlin'?"
"Baby, get off me," you giggle.
"That's better," he pretends to get off you, then grabs your face, and presses his lips on the side of your face, giving you a loud, sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. He then gets off you, and walks out of the bedroom.
"Ben!"
"I'm baby!" he yells, making you laugh.
Will
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"Hey, William. How was work?"
He just came home from work. You had arrived home two hours before.
"Are you mad at me or something?"
"No, William."
"Why'd you say that?" he looks at you like you had just shot him. "What did I do?"
"Nothing."
"Sweetheart..." he follows you around the living room, "Speak to me, what did I do?" his voice is soft. He gives you the kicked puppy look, instantly making you feel bit bad.
"Nothing, baby. I'm sorry, how was work?" you soften your tone, and snake your arms around his neck. You stroke the back of his head with your left hand, and move your right hand forward to cup his cheek.
He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.
You kiss his lips with tenderness and assure him you are not mad.
2K notes · View notes
darlingdekarios · 9 months
Text
bending to the honeysuckles.
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rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,216 content: William "Ironhead" Miller x f!reader, reader has a prior drug addiction, drug addiction recovery, drug rehab, mentions of past abuse in a relationship, pining, fluff, Will is a simp, smut [oral, unprotected p in v]
while you insist you don't want a relationship, Will Miller falls for you like it's his destiny to do so. he's willing to meet you where you are while he waits for you to let him love you.
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Life had been hell for Frankie Morales since he’d returned from Colombia. While he was able to keep decent control of himself for the first couple of weeks, the things he’d done caught up to him – they always did. He’d retreated into himself, away from his friends and into the confines of his house, numbing his feelings with whatever he could. At first, it was several beers every day, and when that wasn’t enough it was liquor. When the liquor wasn’t enough, he’d remembered what could truly help him – cocaine – and it had all just sort of spiraled from there. 
Three months after his return home Frankie staggered into his birthday dinner with dilated pupils, a running nose and an air of confidence only to be met with an intervention from Pope, Benny, and Ironhead. The reminder of how pathetically few people cared about him stung initially, but he quickly remembered he deserved even less than that. He found himself in a rehabilitation program then, spending the next 90-days of his life with far-too-nice people trying to help him get his shit together. 
As he expected, Santiago had taken up residence in his spare bedroom in Frankie’s absence, deciding to stick around in the states to ensure his best friend actually recovered this time, found a career for himself, and didn’t lose his house. He’d started attending a group session for recovering cocaine addicts the same week, and that was where he’d met you. 
You were at least a decade younger, quiet until you were directly spoken to, and sarcastic and quick when it was your turn to talk. The message deciphered from your introduction of yourself was that you had just moved to take over your grandfather’s company, you were coming up on six years of sobriety, and you did not like to be around people. His second meeting, a week later and your six months of sobriety, you’d approached him at the end of the meeting to propose being his sponsor. 
The two of you had been friends since. Wednesday nights you met for dinner before you made your way to group together, and Sunday nights you had a quick phone call to check-in with one another. As much as it helped Frankie to have someone outside of the Delta Force to understand his situation – that he trusted to understand him – it helped you just the same. You had moved to the area a month ago and finding people tolerable was difficult. He quickly became your closest friend, and he was more than happy to introduce you to the other people in his life. 
When Will had first suggested coming along to group with Frankie to offer some support, it was a surprise when the older man agreed and mentioned you immediately, almost proud to have someone to introduce to the man he looked up to so much. You’d agreed it was fine to skip dinner that week so Frankie could come along with Will, almost relieved for the extra time alone between work and group. It gave you a chance to shower and change into something a little better than your pink work overalls, ready to meet the first additional person in Frankie’s life. 
Frankie walked in much later than he normally would, and while you would normally jokingly call to him from across the room for cutting it close, you lost whatever wit you’d planned on using when your eyes landed on the gorgeous blonde following behind your friend. When Frankie spotted you he raised a hand to wave, which you returned feebly, eyes a little too focused on the newcomer. 
“We’re cutting it close, I know,” Frankie breathed when he approached you, your senses suddenly returning and forcing you to your feet in politeness. “This is Will. Will, this is my friend I’ve been telling you about.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were late for your own birth, Frankie,” you greeted him with a quick hug, fixing your eyes on Will with a smile as you mentally swooned under the gaze of his blue eyes. “Nice to meet you, Will.”
William Miller did not get distracted.
When he had a responsibility – a job to complete – Will was laser-focused, in-control, and driven. Whether he was in an active combat zone or giving a speech to a group of veterans trying to rejoin society, he was always able to stay on the task at hand until he’d completed it – until he’d excelled at it. Tonight, his task was to support his friend, his brother, Frankie – and tonight was the first time in months he felt he’d truly failed at his task. 
He couldn’t pull his attention away from you for the next two hours. No matter who was talking, even Frankie, Will found his eyes glancing to you, eager to see your reactions and expressions and your body language. On one particularly long-winded monologue from a woman about how she had just tried cocaine for fun, and it ended up ruining her marriage (she cheated on her husband, that’s what really ruined the marriage), you rolled your eyes in Will’s direction while mouthing:
“Are you having fun yet?” Will nearly laughed at the question but opted to respond with a much more situationally appropriate light smile and subtle thumbs up. Your eyes flashed with mischief as you mouthed again. “Liar.”
He couldn’t get you out of his head after that meeting and found himself asking Frankie if he could go with him again the next week, and again, and soon enough he was a regular supporter of the meeting, showing up early to set up snacks and coffee and keeping track of the sign-in sheet. Each time he found himself falling more and more into whatever trap you’d seemingly laid out just for him, and even though he really didn’t get the chance to talk with you much, his interest was sparked enough to want to get to know you more. It was after the fourth meeting he’d joined that he lingered in the parking lot with you even after Frankie had left. 
That was the night he’d begun to understand the depth of his fascination with you. Sitting in his trunk bed drinking bottles of water Will permanently kept in his backseat he marveled in you as you opened up to him and showed him who you were…at least as much as you were willing to share. As much as he hung on your every word, you did the same for him, unable to look away from his face as he spoke and enamored by the things he told you about himself. 
“I like hanging out in parking lots with you, Will Miller,” you’d complimented, eyes sparkling under the full moon’s light. “You’re good company.”
“Yeah, we should do it again sometime,” came his reply before he could stop it. Reaching to scratch the back of his neck, he opted to continue – there was no going back now. “Maybe the parking lot of a restaurant…after dinner?”
You felt your cheeks burn immediately and, even more embarrassing, the smile that spread across your face like the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day. All too soon, though, the clouds returned, the melancholy filling your voice. “I’d love to say yes but I…can’t. I’m not looking for anything serious right now with…well, everything. And I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
While it wasn’t the reason you’d given, on your drive home you had to think about the fact that Will Miller deserved far more than a recovering addict who was just figuring out how to really take care of herself. If you had only seen his thoughts on his own drive, about how long he’d wait until you were ready, you may have turned around and given into him. 
Things settled a bit over the coming weeks. You offered Frankie a job helping you out with jarring the honey and making local deliveries for you, which he’d been happy to accept in the meantime until he could get his license back. It was nice to have him around – he was often the one to remind you to take a moment to hydrate, but he never bothered you while you worked. He even took it upon himself to make some minor repairs to your barn in some of his spare time. Another month had passed faster than you could believe, the time filled with settling into your business and spending time with Frankie and his best friend, Santiago. 
Frankie had offered many times – at least once per week – for you to join them for drinks, or dinner, or at the beach. You’d refused every offer, unwilling to face Will again for fear of your wavering resolve. But this week, a Friday, it was different when Frankie asked you to join them before he headed out in the morning to spend his day making deliveries. The loneliness was finally catching up to you, and you figured some time out with other people would serve you well. Plus, despite the bickering you and Santi often found yourselves in, you knew Frankie surrounded himself with good people, and you could trust spending time with them. You agreed to let him pick you up at 7:30, and he agreed with a nod and a smile. Even if you had a miserable time, at least going would ensure Frankie’s happiness for the night.
By the time Frankie’s shitty truck had pulled into the driveway of the old farmhouse you now found yourself living in, you were moments away from sending a text that said you’d changed your mind, the nerves of your horrible day making you dread an unfamiliar place. As you pulled a jacket on and locked the door behind you a sigh released from your lips before you began to make your way to him. While you were finalizing your mental argument about whether it was too late to cancel you saw Frankie’s face peering out of the driver’s side window, an earnest smile on his lips. He was unrelentingly kind and made the decision you faced easy – there was no way you could cancel on Frankie Morales and sleep at night.
“Hiya, Crankie,” you greeted as you climbed into the front seat, rolling the window down before you’d buckled yourself in. Your use of the nickname you’d bestowed upon Frankie made the man shake his head, a quiet laugh sounding as he began the drive.
“Hi, abejita,” came his usual reply, glancing out of the corner of his eye to take in more of your expression. You’d obviously tried to get in the mood to go out, but the tired expression was one Frankie recognized – you probably just wanted to be alone tonight, and yet you were still seated next to him. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”
Of course he knew – he always did. The two of you had spent the last few months bonding over a similar addiction background, and it was nice to have someone that truly understood you. There were no niceties with you and Frankie, and it was the reason the two of you had become such close friends.
“Oh, you know me, Francisco…’I’ll sleep when I’m dead,’ yada yada yad,” you turned your head toward him, offering a falsely reassuring smile. “What’s your excuse? I swear there’s at least five more greys in your hair.”
“I only counted three this morning,” he matched your taunting, chuckling softly at your joking. 
“Yeah, well, I’ve told you that you need glasses, and this just proves my point,” you joked, rolling your head back the other way to rest it on the cool glass of the window. “I probably shouldn’t even let you drive me around…talk about self-destructive behaviors.” 
He laughed again and the comfortable silence set in, the rest of the drive to he and his friends’ chosen bar passing with light conversation about your days, and both of you agreeing to keep one another to the one drink maximum you’d set. Frankie thanked you for deciding to come with him, and it was a sincere show of appreciation – having someone unbiased and understanding of his situation there to support his recovery was important. And, truthfully – he was helping yours just as much. 
Plus, there was the promise of seeing Will again. While it was annoying, it was also impossible to admit that the mere thought of seeing his pale blue eyes again in the flesh caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. It was ridiculous – you’d meant what you said when he’d asked you out a month ago, you didn’t want to pursue anyone or be pursued right now. That didn’t stop you from thinking about his sparkling blue eyes, or the lines of his smile, or how he’d looked at you like you were the only thing he wanted to look at. You wanted to see him, and could only hope, maybe cruelly, that he wanted to see you as well. 
“What are you over there thinking about, abejita?” Frankie pulled you back to reality with a quiet voice as you pulled into the bar parking lot, glancing over at you briefly. “You didn’t complain about my driving at all.”
You smiled and shook your head, unwilling to admit to Frankie you’d been thinking about one of his best friends – one of his brothers. The question of whether Will had told them about asking you out flashed through your mind, and fortunately Frankie shifting his truck into park gave you a feasible reason to not answer his questioning. “Let’s go do this. And remember, if someone offers you cocaine in the bathroom…just say no.”
Frankie laughed in bewilderment nearly the entire way into the bar, a bright smile still spread across his face when the two of you made your way through the door. The sounds of Metallica from the jukebox confirmed Santiago was there before your eyes even landed on the mess of grey and black atop his head, drifting over to the golden locks of Benny Miller with his girlfriend sat beside him. As you walked toward their table you released a sigh of relief, though at the same time your stomach knotted in disappointment – no Will. 
After your hellos and introduction to Benny’s girlfriend, Frankie excused himself to grab both of you a soda from the bar to start with – it was refreshing to see that this group didn’t even bat an eye at the two of you not ordering alcohol, and you had to mentally commend Frankie for his taste in company. Leaning on the counter height table with an elbow you met Santiago’s lingering gaze. 
“You better not be standing to do what I think you’re going to do,” he warned, his words met with a mischievous smile from you. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing at your body language. 
“Oh, I’m definitely standing to do what you think I’m going to do,” you taunted, sticking out your leg slightly to block him into the booth. “And you are just going to have to deal with it, Santiago.”
His hand twitched toward the glass of dark liquid in front of him, taking a sip as his eyes stayed on yours. You offered another smile, lazily drumming your fingernails on the table beneath you. Benny’s voice interrupted the stare down, both of you turning to look at him. “I’m sorry, what is happening here?”
“I refuse to subject the people of this bar to Santiago’s Greatest Hits playlist all night. I’m picking the next song,” you replied, offering another smile to the man you were blocking in the booth. Benny was the first laugh you heard, but from behind you another laugh rumbled – and Frankie still hadn’t returned from the bar. 
“Nice to see someone keeping Pope in his place,” the older Miller brother commented from behind you, immediately sending a chill up your spine and a rush of heat to your cheeks. Forgetting to leave your leg planted you turned to greet him with a smile, eyes brighter than they should be for someone who’d turned him down a month earlier. He didn’t care to hide the smile he offered you back. “Sorry I’m late. Got a little hung up at work, hope I didn’t miss anything.”
Your willingness to spar faltered, and all you could manage under his gaze was a nod, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth. He turned to greet Benny, who had stood, with a hug before saying a quick hello to Danielle and offering her a gentle hug. Even Santiago got a quick version of a hug. You tried to ignore the jealousy that twisted your stomach. 
“You were just about to miss the musical showdown of the century,” Benny remarked, planting himself back into the booth with an arm around Dani’s shoulders. “Someone is finally standing up to Santiago’s musical monopoly.”
“Just because you people don’t know how to appreciate the American classics,” Santiago began, ready to fling himself into a grandiose monologue before Benny beat you to the punch, entering an argument with the older man about the definition of “classics”. You took that as your sign to exit to the juke box, unnoticed by Santi, but not unnoticed altogether – William had followed closely behind you. 
“Are you my escort for the evening, Mr. Miller?” you questioned, attempting a playful tone to cover the nerves you felt around him. “I don’t think I’d get lost on the way to show up Santiago. There’s too much at stake.”
Another laugh rumbled in his chest – it was nice to make someone laugh as much as you made him. “The buttons on that old thing stick sometimes, and I wanna make sure you can use it.”
You couldn’t help but smile a little slowing down your steps to join at his side and glancing up at him as you walked. He had to mentally remind himself not to wrap an arm around you, no matter how badly he wanted to. “You know, helping me figure out the machine makes you an accomplice. I wonder how Santiago will feel about your mutiny.”
“Probably about the same way he feels about most things.”
“Forlorn and personally affronted?”
He laughed again in response, siding up to the juke box with you. He allowed you a moment to get your bearings on the machine, and though you likely quickly realized his white lie about the buttons sticking, you didn’t call him on it. “I was happy when Fish said you were coming out,” he admitted, leaning on the machine on his side next to you. When you broke concentration to meet his gaze briefly, he had to remind himself to breathe. 
“I almost cancelled. Had a bad day at work and didn’t want to look miserable and stupid,” you replied with a shrug, returning your focus to the juke box and flipping through albums. What Will wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet with you and talk to you about your day, to listen to whatever complaints you wanted to hurl to a listening ear – but it wasn’t the time or place. He lowered his voice as Santiago’s previous choice finished up. 
“Miserable may be one of the last words I’d use to describe how you look,” he drawled, removing his appreciative glance from you to focus on what album you’d sought out. He felt you glance upward at him and could swear he heard the quick catch of your breath. 
“You’re very distracting,” you joked, eager to break this tension. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly in an attempt to stifle the smile that was threatening to break under his attention, but it was to no avail – your burning cheeks gave away the fluttering in your stomach enough. “It’s impossible to put Santiago to shame when I can’t focus on this very important song decision.”
He hummed in understanding, nodding his head as he fixed his eyes on you again. Gazing up into the blue pools that waited expectantly you were met with a slightly raised eyebrow. It was infuriating how he managed to look effortlessly flawless. “Should I go back to the table and leave you to it, then?”
“No,” came an embarrassingly immediate reply. “No, just…shut up. Stand there and…keep…looking like a fucking magazine cover, but shut up.”
Will smiled first, a rumbling laughter sounding in his chest. It was impossible not to smile at the laugh you’d pulled from him, eyes taking in the lines of his smile at the corners of his mouth and own eyes. You felt the pull at your heart and had to swallow down the feelings building in your chest, forcing yourself to look back at the juke box – though the smile he’d earned lingered as well. He wanted to reach out to touch you in the short summer dress you’d worn, to hold you closer to him with a hand on your hip – but it wasn’t his place to do so.
Once you’d queued up your song choice you made your way back to the table with Will, glad to see Frankie had returned with a lemonade for you. When you slid into the booth you were delighted to have Will slide up next to you, the warmth continuing to pool from him. As he moved in a little closer, perhaps, than he needed to your song choice began to play over the speakers.
“No way she’s embarrassing you with Donovan right now, Pope!” Benny called, his laughter loud over the music. You smiled a victorious smile across the table at him, eyes bright now that you had confirmation at least one other person at the table agreed with you. 
“She thought really hard about her decision,” Will added, taking a drink of the bottled beer sat in front of him. You nudged him with your elbow lightly adding in a playful eye roll. 
“I took my duty serious,” you explained before turning your attention back to Benny. “At least someone in this group has good taste. Sometimes Frankie’s music is shit, too.”
“Hey now,” the named man intervened, offering a raspy laugh at your call-out. 
“You could try to tell me I’m wrong, but you haven’t reached six months of sobriety yet and your opinions are, understandably, questionable,” you joked, giving him a playful nudge to communicate you were joking if it wasn’t clear. 
“So, you have Frankie working down at the…is it called a bee farm?” Benny questioned, pulling Dani in closer to plant a kiss to the top of her head. In the far end of the booth Santiago rolled his eyes, scoffing out a laugh as Frankie nodded.
“Yeah, I took over the business…about five months ago now. It was my grandfather’s, and he passed away,” you explained, taking a drink of your lemonade and wishing you’d had Frankie get you something stronger to get you through the questioning. “I was looking to move, anyway so it…kind of worked out, though I’m not sure my grandpa would appreciate that phrasing.”
Will loved how easy it was for you to find your place in the group. 
“Where’d you move from?” Dani questioned, sipping on her hard seltzer to savor it. “I don’t hear an accent, really.”
“Middle of nowhere Montana,” you answered, anticipating the next question. Might as well answer it before someone asked. “I’d been in a relationship but…well, it wasn’t a good one. I left him earlier this year and ended up in a rehab program for cocaine addiction. When I got out…I had a couple of months in sanctioned housing, but I needed a change of scenery. It wasn’t long after that the family lawyer called to say the farm and business were passed to me in the will.”
Will caught the way you chose your words carefully as you spoke about your relationship, noticing how your voice had a slight shake to them. The possibilities of your cryptic words tore into him, festering in quiet anger as he ran through what that could mean. It was possible you’d simply been incompatible, perhaps fighting frequently. It was possible he’d broken your heart by being unfaithful. Or, and Will seriously hoped this wasn’t the case, it was possible your ex had been abusive toward you. The thought made him dig his fingers into the table’s edge.
As he allowed the thoughts to consume him for longer than he’d intended the conversation carried on, Benny beginning to understand why his friends had spent the last few weeks talking up this woman. His thoughts were broken by Santiago slapping his fist to the table quickly. 
“Let’s play a round of darts. Winner picks the next five songs. Loser deals with it,” he offered, reaching upward to run his fingers through his hair. With a shrug you finished your lemonade, offering a mischievous smile once again.
“Let me drag up a chair for you to sit in while we play so your knees don’t give out with all that standing, peepaw,” you joked, pulling a round of laughter from everyone at the table except for Santiago, of course, and none louder than Will. The latter took his cue to stand and let you make your way across the bar with Santiago, bickering back and forth as you went. His gaze lingered far too long to go unnoticed. 
“I know our mom taught us that it’s rude to stare, Will,” Benny chimed in first, throwing back the remainder of the whiskey in his glass. Will returned his attention to the men and woman still at the table, reaching to scratch the back of his head as he searched for an answer. 
“Just trying to hear her give Santiago a piece of her mind,” he attempted a cover, reaching again for his beer and swallowing a large drink. He immediately felt the familiar twist of guilt knot his stomach for his white lie. 
“Bullshit,” came Frankie’s retort, a scoffed laugh pulled from his chest. Admirably, only a water sat in front of him still. Benny nodded his head in agreement, and even Danielle raised her eyebrow at the blonde man’s lie. 
“You’re into her,” Benny concluded, setting his empty glass on the table. There was no point in trying to cover himself, and even if there was…it wasn’t in his nature to lie to his family.
“I’ve been into her since I met her,” Will conceded, directing another longing gaze in your direction. You stood with your arms crossed, the smirk on your lips evident even from the side as you watched Santiago struggle to take the perfect aim – his eyes weren’t what they used to be. He saw your mouth move and the glare Pope shot your way, and he wished he could hear what you’d chosen to taunt him with. “I asked her to dinner. A month ago,” he began, taking another drink. “Said she’d love to say yes, but turned me down anyway. Said she didn’t want anything serious right now.”
The genuine disappointment in his eyes had Frankie and Benny sharing a look – it had been a long time since Will Miller had acted so bent out of shape over a woman. 
“It’s a recovery thing,” Frankie offered some comfort, reaching to pat his back carefully. “She’s afraid if she doesn’t get far enough and the two of you don’t make it, the disappointment will make her relapse. At least…that’s what I’d think.”
“You should have seen her face when she realized you were behind her,” Benny added. “That’s not a woman who wants to turn you down.”
“I’m going to wait for her until she’s ready,” Will sighed, pulling his eyes away from you to look at his brother. “I don’t care if that sounds stupid, or desperate. I’m gonna wait.”
On the other side of the bar, you’d tied with Santiago and split the next five song choices – two from you, one decided together, and two from him. While he made his individual choices after you, you made your way to the bar to order yourself another lemonade to take back to the table. It was while you stood there waiting that a man decided to bother you, standing far too close and making incredibly lewd offers that no one wanted to hear from a stranger. 
“Why don’t you come on back to my table with me and my friends? We’ll show ya a nice time, darlin’,” he drawled, moving closer to run a hand down your arm. “Pretty thing like you needs something stronger than a lemonade, and a strong man to show you a good time.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, taking a step back which he chased with a step forward. 
“’fraid I don’t take no for an answer, little lady,” he retorted, reaching to grab your arm and pull you closer to him. “You won’t regret it when I have you in my bed later, I can promise you that.”
A large, flattened hand on the back of the man’s neck cut his sentence off before more vulgarities could come through his lips. From behind the man, William Miller kept his icy gaze on your face, searching for any sign of true distress. When he saw the slight quiver to your lip his grasp on the man noticeably tightened, fingers digging into the sides of his neck. 
“Let go of her arm,” he ordered, his tone free of any room for argument. It was a tone you’d not heard yet from him, and one you felt bad for anyone that was on the receiving end. The man’s sweaty hand released your arm, the red mark from his tight hold prompting Will’s jaw to tick briefly, a deep breath releasing from flared nostrils. “I should kick your ass for that, but that would ruin our night. Instead, I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologize.”
His eyes were burning into yours, yet he still didn’t miss the man’s attempt to turn and land a punch on his jaw. Catching the incoming fist with his free hand he pushed the man’s head downward, forcing it to the bar top as he twisted his arm behind him. Shifting his intense eyes to look at the back of the man’s head he shook his head, taking hold of the man’s hair to twist his face to look at you. If he was angry before, he was irate now – but he was controlling himself for your benefit. The man’s nose was unbroken but bleeding, and he spit blood onto the bar as he began to beg. “Look, man, we were just having fun…just let me go and she’s all yours.”
“It doesn’t look like she was having fun,” Will corrected, his grasp unfaltering. “I’ll give you one more chance to apologize to her.”
“I’m…I’m sorry, okay? I’ll leave, just let me go, man,” the man begged, breathing shaky and anxious as he feared the wrath of the man behind him. Will used his remaining grasp to lift the man straight upward again, pushing him toward the door with disdain. 
“You should walk off this mood you’ve got yourself in,” Will began, moving to stand closer to you but keeping his eyes on the staggering man now. As the man made his way toward the door, Will left him with another parting threat. “If I see you back in this bar it won’t be good for you.”
Subconsciously William slipped an arm around your waist, turning you to face him as his other hand reached to lift your arm gently. The handprint around your wrist was now bruising lightly – barely there – but it was too visible for Will. His eyebrows pulled together in frustration, trying to steady his breathing and heart rate so he could ask you if you were okay. You beat him to the punch. 
“Shhh,” you soothed, removing your arm from his hold and placing your hand on his bicep gently. Your eyes met his again, releasing a shaky breath once you realized how close he held you to him. Chests pressed firmly together you could feel the rapid beat to his heart and his fight for a normal breath – he needed to calm down, and Will being calm was far more important to you than a bruise. It’s not like this was the first one in your life. “I’m okay, Will. I’ve had worse from bumping into the coffee table, it’s alright. Breathe with me.”
Storms darkened his eyes, his hands grasping at your sides now as his chest gave a solid heave. Brushing your thumb against his arm you reached your other hand to rest against his cheek. You pulled him backward with you toward the quiet hallway by the bathrooms, offering a gentle smile once you were alone. Drawing in a deep breath as your eyes remained locked on his you gave his arm a light squeeze, encouraging him to pay attention to you – only you, not on following the guy outside and knocking his teeth out. 
He could follow orders, though – that was something that no situation could turn off in him – and he soon began to mirror your deep breaths, hands still clutching you to him. By the time he’d released his fifth deep breath his mind was less clouded with anger, but that didn’t mean it was clear. If anything, it was even more clouded, but now it was clouded with you. You’d never been this close to him. He’d never felt the way his fingers could dig delicately into your skin. He’d never felt your chest pressed to his. 
He’d never been only inches away from claiming your lips with his – and that’s exactly what he did as the adrenaline rushed through him. Grasping your hips tighter he anchored you against him, his lips soft and rough as you stood frozen, a quiet gasp slipping through your lips in shock. The quiet sound brought Will back to his senses, immediately pulling away from the kiss with a shock-laced look of horror on his face. 
“I’m…so sorry,” he began, though he still hadn’t released his hold on your hips, his eyes transfixed on yours. The concern behind his eyes was unmistakable – he was terrified of how badly he’d just messed things up with you – and yet that didn’t stop his cheeks from darkening slightly, or his tongue from running over his bottom lip briefly for another desperate taste of you. “I shouldn’t have – mmph.”
Your hungry lips cut off his words quickly as you grasped at his bicep, the hand you held against his cheek sliding to the back of his head to hold him closer. He returned your kiss like it was something he’d been waiting to do for years, his hands sliding to rest on your lower back and pull you into him completely. A pleasant sigh slipped through your lips as he ran his tongue across the seam, granting him access to explore your mouth. When he’d kissed you breathless, he withdrew from your lips, his own curving into a smile as he bumped his nose against yours lightly. Leaning his forehead to rest against yours he took in a deep breath, savoring the moment he'd fantasized over for weeks.
“I still don’t want anything serious,” you whispered, eyebrows pulling together in frustration at so many things, none of which were Will’s fault, all of which fell on you and your past. ‘Live in the moment!’ a voice screamed in the back of your head, begging you to see that the man in front of you was a direct pathway to happiness. You’d silenced that optimistic part of you long ago. “I’m sorry I just…don’t. I can’t.”
“Sh,” he cooed, sliding one of his hands to rest on the top of your back to hold you closer. He bumped his nose against yours again lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before looking deep into your eyes. “I know. I don’t care.”
Your teeth bit into your bottom lip lightly, a sign you were nervous and uncertain. “It’s not fair to you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I can’t even promise…what this would look like, Will.”
He shushed you again, shaking his head before he rested his forehead against yours again. “I will take whatever you want to give me for as many days as you want to give it.”
He’d followed through on his word throughout the weeks that followed, thankful that he had turned out to be a very patient man. Even with the generally negative outlook on life you maintained, always finding a fault in every situation – you couldn’t find one with Will. Yes, it was adorable that he’d show up at the farm during lunch to see you, wanting nothing more than to simply see you in “work mode” and to kiss you as he ran a thumb across your cheek to wipe the dirt away.
Frankie didn’t mind at all that you’d started up this…whatever it was with Will. He enjoyed the fact that both of you were happy, and he wouldn’t complain about the lunches Will dropped off when he visited. Frankie wasn’t the only one in the group to know about the time you spent with Will, of course – Will didn’t believe in keeping secrets between the four of them. 
You’d joined them for nights out a couple of times since but remained purely friendly with Will while in the view of others. The car rides home were when he would kiss you breathless in your driveway, holding you close, greedy for every moment you offered him. Things had never escalated past heavy kissing and touching, and that was comfortable – you still felt you could quit him any time you needed to, and it was safer that way. 
It was Frankie that had asked you to take a Saturday off with him to spend time with them at the beach before the weather started cooling off a bit for the winter. You weren’t really one for the beach, not having lived anywhere near the ocean or going into the ocean much for most of your life, but Frankie’s pleading brown eyes won you over. It would be cruel to leave Dani alone with the men, anyway. When you’d walked onto the beach with Frankie that Saturday afternoon, Will thought his heart was going to burst from his chest. You and Frankie had elected to keep your presence a surprise, which worked in your favor as he smiled the brightest smile he’d offered you yet as you made your way over to their umbrellas, chairs and towels. 
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he greeted, unable to help himself from hugging you. His voice was teasing as he continued. “You know I don’t like secrets.”
“Oh, well I’m full of ‘em,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around him and tilting your head to look into his face. “Like…I actually assassinated JFK, and I helped fake the moon landing. I admit it. All me.”
He smiled at your joke and allowed a soft laugh to leave his chest, shaking his head slightly as he released you before the hug lingered too long for your comfort. “I wish I’d known you were coming; I could’ve grabbed some lemonade for you. I’ve got water in the cooler, though, and I’ve always got a pack of those cashews that you like in in my truck.”
You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder, cheeks turning red under his thoughtfulness and sweet intentions with you. Before you could thank him, Benny had joined up with you, picking you up in a crushing hug as Danielle said hello from behind. Will had never really envied his brother until he got to witness your effortless acceptance of him, and the way Benny could hug you however he wanted. 
“Benny, Jesus, you’re going to crack one of my ribs, you behemoth,” you laughed, gasping for air through his hug as you attempted to wiggle free. Benny placed you gently back on the ground and offered a wide grin, immediately draping his shoulder back around Dani who rested her head on him gently. “Hope you guys don’t mind Frankie bringing me along. I couldn’t leave Dani alone around all you men all day.”
“And that is so appreciated,” the named woman replied, here signature sincere smile on her face. “I am going to work on catching up with Benny’s annoying natural tanning abilities, if you want to sit with me. You don’t seem much of a ‘get in the ocean’ kinda gal.”
You did sit on the beach for most of the day with the woman, getting to know one another more deeply, your conversations free of the hindrance of men being present as the group of four gallivanted about the shore and in the waves. Every so often, Benny would yell a quick “hi, baby!” from the water, causing Dani to smile, roll her eyes and wave, a small laugh falling from her lips. It was well past 4 p.m. and the seventh time he’d done it when she gave a different reply.
“He’s an idiot!” she yelled back, her voice full of laughter and love for the man she’d spent just less than a year with now. She quieted her voice back before she added to you. “I knew that when I agreed to date him, though. I can’t complain.”
“You’re perfect for one another,” you asserted, watching as Benny smiled and blew her a kiss before returning to the group. Your eyes wandered, briefly, only to confirm Will had stopped in his tracks to gaze at you, too. Danielle wasn’t the only one with attention focused on her today. Several times now Will had reminded you – gently but firmly – to reapply sunscreen and drink water. As the men set to work on building a fire, he had called to you again to remind you about the water, pulling a quiet giggle from Danielle.
“That’s five times for that one, then,” she counted aloud, watching as you grabbed the water from beside you to take a large drink. “Benny and I aren’t the only ones perfect for one another. That man loves you, you know.”
You felt the heat in your cheeks and knew they must be several shades darker. You finished the bottle of water and released a deep breath before you chose your words, not wanting to be taken off-guard and say something stupid. “He doesn’t…love me. We just…we get along well.”
“He loves you, and no amount of self-deprecating denial from you is going to change that,” she remarked, taking another drink of one of several hard seltzers she’d had that day. You knew those things barely contained alcohol, but you also had to wonder if it was contributing to her willingness to be so open. “You should let him.”
“I should let him what?” you questioned, feeling the answer in your stomach before she spoke it. 
“Love you. You should let him love you,” she replied, rolling her eyes with a soft laugh. “He seems pretty good at it.”
As you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth you turned your face away from her, noticing that the other half of this conversation’s topic had found his way back into the water alone. Finally cracking under the pressure you felt to be alone with him for even a minute you decided the ocean couldn’t be that bad, really, and made your way to the chilling water. You really didn’t want to find your way into the ocean, but if it meant time with Will, so be it.
You’d almost made your way to him when something touched your leg, sending you into an immediate panic as you made your way to him, essentially launching yourself into his arms as you screamed his name. William immediately cradled you against him, smiling down at you with an all-too amused smile.
“I’ve got you; I’ve got you,” he cooed, raising a thumbs up to the shore so no one worried after your scream before he brought that arm to hold you as well. “What’s the matter?”
“Something touched my foot,” you whined, unused to being in the ocean like this. The chuckle that rumbled through him shook his chest, his reminders to reapply sunscreen not influencing him – he’d gotten some color on his cheeks and nose. Even in your distraught state, it was impossible to not recognize how handsome he was. 
“Well, there are fish in the ocean, honeybee,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement. His nickname for you caused your stomach to flip in the most annoying way, and you felt yourself curl into him more despite yourself. “What do you want me to do, hmm? How can I fix it?” 
“I want to get out. Carry me out,” you stated, clinging to him. Whether it was him holding you that felt so good or genuine fear keeping you to him, he really couldn’t say. He nodded, but instead of going toward the shore he moved away from it, swimming out with you further. “William! I said OUT!”
“I thought you said you wanted me to take you further out!” he replied, his tone too full of amusement. You moved to wrap your legs around his waist instead, narrowing your eyes at him and setting your face to be serious, eyebrows furrowed. He wanted to lean in to kiss the lines. “Hey, hey, hey…” he cooed, turning his back to the shore and leaning his forehead against yours with a light smile. You could see the light freckles on his cheeks that the sun had brought out throughout the day, his eyes light in the fading sunlight as he gazed longingly at you. No one had ever talked to you as soft as he did. “’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You don’t need to worry about a thing as long as I am right here with you.”
His lips pressed to yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss briefly before he returned to simply leaning his head against yours. You lightly bumped your nose against his, resting your hands on his chest gently. It was impossible not to believe him. “Still not nice, William Miller.”
“I know, I just wanted you alone for a minute,” he conceded, angling his head to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. You couldn’t help but smile under his affections, maintaining that hard exterior proving difficult as his kisses chipped away at it. “I’m sorry, honey. Let me make it up to you?”
You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow in curiosity, slipping one of your hands to his bicep. “How do you plan on doing that? I was pretty distraught.”
“Let me take you home,” he offered, his eyes so sincere it hurt. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before he continued further. When you didn’t give him a response, he continued. “I have feelings for you.”
“Well…stop it,” slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your cheeks immediately burning at your own callousness. It was second nature to push people away now…especially Will, who was getting closer than anyone was allowed right now. Instead of being hurt, Will could only smile at your attempt. 
“Yeah?” he questioned, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. His words came between kisses as he spoke. “You want me to stop?”
As the kisses grew deeper and you felt the warmth of arousal spreading through your body you had to shake your head, knowing he’d recognize the longing in your eyes and call your bluff if you insisted. He smiled as his hands slipped down from your sides to grasp your ass under the water, pressing you into him firmly as you shook your head and released a defeated sigh. 
“You can take me to your house,” you conceded, running your fingers through his hair as you looked at him through your lashes, devouring him with an unashamedly lascivious look. His eyes lit up even further, finally listening and carrying you closer to the shore so both of you could leave the ocean and get to his truck as soon as possible. As you wrapped yourself in a towel and gathered the items you’d brought with you in a bag you ignored her quiet giggles, unwilling to even consider the conversation Will was having with the men behind you. You supposed you owed Frankie a conversation as well on Monday. Dani called to you to have fun as you walked to Will’s truck. 
When he had you secured in his truck, he leaned to press a kiss against your lips as he buckled you in. He was a safe driver and had incredible reflexes, you reminded yourself of this frequently as he drove back with one hand rested on your thigh, kneading his fingers into the soft flesh occasionally. He pulled into his driveway sooner than he should have – he’d never speed with you in the car again – and immediately had you cradled in his arms again as he carried you into his house.
When he began to make his way up the stairs he finally spoke, trying to cover the happiness in his voice with seriousness. “You’re sure this is what you want?” You responded by reaching your head to plant kisses on his shoulder, trailing them to his neck as best you could as you nodded. As he opened his bedroom door, he gazed down at you finally, not taking another step forward just yet. “Have to hear you say it.”
“Yes, Will,” you confirmed, and those two words melted his resolve. He placed you on his bed carefully before he crawled between your legs, keeping one hand on your hip and cupping your cheek in his hand as he kissed you deeply. You returned his kiss immediately, just as desperate for him as he was for you at this point. His fingers began to work at the ties of your bottoms as he traced the seam of your mouth with his tongue, groaning appreciatively as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. When he was satisfied with the taste he’d received he released your lips, trailing his kisses to your jaw and neck as he removed the bottoms. 
His kisses trailed lower on your neck, Will fighting the urge to suck purple marks into your skin in such an obvious place. Your hands ran up his back to the back of his neck and head, holding him closer as he trailed his kisses to your chest just as he’d worked that tie free as well, removing the fabric from your body and leaving you finally bare for him. He leaned back to run his eyes down you appreciatively, one of his thumbs rubbing gently over one of your nipples slowly. 
“You look so fucking pretty in my bed,” he complimented before leaning forward again, claiming one of your nipples in his mouth with a flick of his tongue. He happily familiarized himself with each of your breasts, earning the most beautiful moans that had ever graced his ears from you as your hips pressed up into his in desperation for friction. When your hot core was met with his obvious erection in his swim trunks you moaned in unison, Will pressing his waist into you further. He released your nipple from his mouth to trail his kisses downward again as he whispered. “Bet you’re gonna taste fucking delicious mixed with salt water…”
His hand that had been holding your hip moved to spread your legs as his lips reached your hip, smiling against the skin before kissing it gently. Experimentally he spread your already soaking folds with a swipe of his fingers, groaning appreciatively as you gasped. “Will…”
“All this for me, baby?” he cooed, lowering his head to swirl his tongue around your clit before sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves lightly. “You always get this wet for me? Is this pretty pussy this wet every time I kiss you?”
You whined your confirmation as he ran his tongue through your folds, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as he finally tasted you. His name fell from your lips again and he nodded in encouragement before setting in on his first task of the night, devouring every inch that your hot core had to offer him. For as many times as you’d imagined Will’s head between your thighs, nothing compared to the way he tended to every inch of you, groans and grunts vibrating through his mouth as he fucked his tongue into your velvet entrance. 
He had your legs shaking on either side of his head in no time, his lips curving into a smile as he connected his thumb with your clit, continuing to swirl his tongue inside of you as best he could. When your breathing became erratic and your hands reached to grasp his hair, he knew he had you on the edge, nodding in affirmation when you warned him you were going to come. When euphoria rocked through you with a loud moan your hips arched off the bed, giving him a much better angle to appreciate the nectar he’d earned.
The ceiling above you turned to a white light as pleasure rushed through you, your moan turning to a scream when he didn’t relent at your entrance or clit, continuing to stimulate you through your orgasm. By the time he’d crawled his way back up your body and removed his trunks you had come down somewhat, only enough to be somewhat aware as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds with a low groan. 
“I can get a condom…” he offered, whatever his full sentence was intended to be cut off as you pressed a lazy, half-aware kiss to his lips as you shook your head, quiet please leaving your lips. Briefly arguing with the responsibility of the decision he was about to make. When you quietly begged him to fuck you again all reason escaped his mind, lining his already throbbing cock at your entrance before thrusting in carefully. Your wet heat welcomed him in like you were meant to do so, the heat of your velvet channel caressing him inch by inch until he was buried in you. He groaned low in appreciation as he pressed his lips to yours in a loving kiss, stilling his movements to give you both a moment to savor the feeling of him filling you. “Better than I could have fucking imagined…”
One of his hands slid carefully up your body to rest on your cheek, pulling you closer as gently as he could to claim your lips in a kiss as he withdrew from you almost completely before thrusting back in, grunting as your walls fluttered around him. As your lips and tongues entered a dance they had done so many times now your bodies came together fully for the first, his cock massaging your walls with each of his well-purposed thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him in closer, holding him against you as close as his thrusts would allow you. He pulled away from the kiss to bump his nose against yours gently before running it along your cheek affectionately, placing a kiss just below his ear when he’d reached the sensitive spot. 
“Like you were made for me,” he whispered in your ear, his thrusts increasing in pace as he neared his finish much sooner than he wanted to. He reached to grasp one of your legs, sliding it so your ankle hooked over his shoulder so he could angle into you deeper. The new depths he reached pulled you closer to the edge, his thumb connecting with your clit again, causing your walls to flutter around him. 
“I’m on the pill,” you offered, feeling a second orgasm approaching you as he rubbed steady circles around your clit and the velvet head of his cock brushed against the coveted spot inside of you, sensing the end approached for him as well as his thrusts became more erratic and desperate. Your quiet suggestion pulled a groan from his chest, his head turning to claim your lips again in a messy kiss. 
“You want me to fill you up, princess? That what you’re asking me for?” he questioned between deep thrusts accompanied by deep breaths, his hand sliding from your cheek to your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your lips. “You tell me that’s what you want and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”
You could only bring yourself to nod as you kissed him deeply, your own orgasm rushing through you as you moaned against his lips. Feeling your walls tighten around him he couldn’t hold his own release back, spilling his seed into you with a groan as he pulled away from your kiss to lean his forehead against yours. He could have told you that he was falling in love with you right then. 
As you both came down from shared euphoria he rolled to his side next to you, wrapping his arms around his waist as he went to hold you against him gently. You listened to your instincts by tucking your face into his neck, breathing in deeply to steady your breaths as Will pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head and whispered quiet praises and thank yous to you. One of your legs slid up between his to cuddle closer, your arms wrapping around his middle as your eyes slid closed. 
You probably could’ve fallen asleep right then, if his words hadn’t woken you from your peaceful lull. “I’ve got extra clothes and…we can shower before you change if you want.”
The sweet suggestion snapped you back to reality, and you forced yourself to let him know you'd have to go home now. In all honesty, it was the last thing that you wanted to do, but you were unwilling to relent just yet on your insistence to not pursue something serious. Will, of course, didn't want to tell you no because he wanted you to feel comfortable with him - he wanted you to know that he would listen to you, and support whatever you felt was best for yourself. That included you leaving him for the night, even when he wanted you more than he had any night before.
Not hearing anything about accepting a ride home from him, insistent on being independent for the night, you sent Frankie a text to grab you on his way back from the beach if he hadn't made it home already. 15 minutes later Frankie was in Will's driveway, a sympathetic look on his face as he waved to the younger man through the windshield as you climbed into the truck.
Will watched silently as the truck backed out of the driveway and you disappeared down the street, mentally vowing to himself that he would willingly spend as long as you needed waiting.
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When November’s curtain call came and the evening chill of December rolled in, you’d found your match with William Miller, who was acting by his promise and providing you with consistency, with reverent tenderness. No matter what distance you tried to maintain from him he was just as unrelenting, finding ways through your obstacles day after day. He never pushed, never overstepped, but he was always there, ever willing to cherish you in entirety whenever given the chance. Lately those opportunities had grown, proliferating into prolonged post-coital kisses and embraces that could hardly be passed off as anything less than adoration any longer.
Falling wasn’t enough to describe the feeling – falling was too subtle. A plummeting nosedive, a cascade…an avalanche, a crashing meteor – so consuming it swallowed you until all that was left was Will, his affections blanketing you with unwavering warmth.
“Honeybee!” Will called as he entered through the front door, the sound of him removing his boots and setting them by the door causing you to smile as you crushed candy canes in the kitchen. All your meetings had been reserved for his home but today you’d offered to host him and his friends at your farmhouse for dinner – Christmas Eve dinner.
“In here, Will,” you replied from your place at the counter, taking a deep breath as you started sprinkling the candy canes atop the cupcakes you made for dessert. An immediate advantage to having Will in your home was the sound of the creaking floor beneath his large frame – even without shoes – meant you could hear him coming behind you. “Don’t mess me up, Will. This is serious business.”
A laugh rumbled through him as he delicately wrapped his arms around your waist anyway, resting his chin on your shoulder for a moment before turning inward, burrowing his face in your neck with a deep breath. He pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, assessed your response, and then repeated the motion when he realized you remained focused on your task, smiling into your skin lightly. When you finished you slid the cupcake stand back further on the counter for safety before turning in his arms, a playful smile lighting your features. It was only now Will noticed what remained of a candy cane in your mouth, his mind spinning already at the thought of what your lips must taste like now.
“Did I mess you up?” he questioned, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead with a quiet hum of appreciation as your arms found their way around his neck, not before your hands slid over his chest. He opted to forego the ugly sweater party – you knew that was coming – but he did at least wear a red sweater, the color bringing out the coolness of his eyes. Even in the winter he was managing to keep up plenty of color, but not enough to hide the redness to his cheeks as you held his gaze.
Sometimes he couldn’t decide if it was better you could hold his eye contact now or not – he still hadn’t grown used to feeling somewhat embarrassed just under a woman’s gaze. The way you removed the candy from your mouth          with a pop and placed it in the trash behind you certainly didn’t help.
“Nearly, but I’ll let it slide seeing as it’s Christmas and all,” your fingers found their way into his hair, pulling him closer so you could press your lips to his in a gentle kiss. One thing he would never grow accustomed to was the clench in his heart whenever you initiated affection – some of his favorite kisses sparked by you.
“Christmas Eve, honeybee,” he replied when you released him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as best you could from standing on your toes. He tightened his hold on your waist to hold you against him tighter, relishing in your attention and uncaring about the inevitable mess that would transfer from your apron to him.
“Mm, you look handsome in this little red number, Will,” you teased, bringing more color to his cheeks. It was too easy for you now – you loved it.
“I wore it just for you,” he drawled, seeking out another taste of peppermint on your lips with a gentle kiss. The fact that you knew that was true only made your chest swell more.
“Well, you’ll have to wear something else for me, too, since technically…you are out of dress code,” you remarked, eyebrow raised slightly in a manner he knew to be playful. Whatever you had in store he would play along with, as long as it meant this mood you were in would continue, particularly with how the two of you had left things last time – an argument that had been eating at both of you for days.
"You’ll have to make a decision sooner or later,” he’d stated as he leaned against his truck in the parking lot after one of Benny’s fights, trying to appear much cooler on the outside than he was on the inside where frustration bubbled under his skin. He’d slipped – called you his girlfriend, and it had been too much of a reality check for you to handle. Despite his harshness he reached a hand toward you, beckoning you closer – you did not follow.   A wild animal backed into a corner – hissing and feral and scared. So many questions remained in his mind about why it was so hard for you to accept love, but he’d never push for those answers. You’d give them freely in your own time. The topic at hand remained to be that Will had spent weeks earning your affection, and while he was patient, it had been worn somewhat thin. “We don’t spend the night together…months now and I’ve never woken up next to you,” he continued, eyebrows pulling together as he crossed his arms again. “And if that’s not frustrating enough, I can’t even slip and call you my girlfriend – to my brother – without you getting upset. I’m doing everything I can here, I just need you to give a little back. Anything.”   Your lip had quivered, tears pricking at your eyes. Will hated to see you that way, hated to have caused it – it would gnaw at him in the days that followed, as would all the words that followed, so unimportant now. As much as the argument shredded his heart day after day the same was true for you – perhaps if he knew how guilty you felt because you were still resisting what was right in front of you, he could have gone easier on you.
Even now the guilt festered.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unwilling to spark any sort of disagreement today. You reached behind you to the counter to grab a Santa hat before lifting it onto his head, smiling a sweet smile before flattening his hands against your lower back to pull you closer. He offered you a smile in return, withholding any fussing about the hat as his eyes met yours again. One of his hands left its position to lift to your cheek, callused fingers lightly dusting across your cheekbones. “I’m sorry about Friday night, honey. I shouldn’t be pushing you like that…I knew what I asked for when I asked for it.”
It was in your nature to lean your head toward his hand, your eyes drifting shut briefly to enjoy the moment. You only met his gaze again when you’d chosen your response, words leaving your lips quiet and sincere. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Will,” you sighed, leaning forward to lay your head on his chest, calmed by the familiar rhythm of his heart. “I do need to make a decision, you were right.”
“Yeah, but I…lost my temper. I raised my voice,” he rested his hand that had been on your cheek on the back of your head, stroking your hair and internally smiling at the streaks of flour leftover from your day in the kitchen. “I should never do that to you, there’s no excuse.”
“Apology accepted,” you whispered, burying your face into his chest to inhale the smell of him – saltwater and oak, subtle and resolute. He leaned to press a kiss to the top of your head, holding you for a moment before the day needed to continue. “Can you help me get the star on the tree and put presents underneath while I set the table? Dinner should be done by the time everyone else shows.”
He nodded, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before releasing you so you could get back to work. “You know at least one of ‘em will be late.”
“I included an extra twenty minutes on the cooking time to accommodate,” you quipped back cheerfully, removing your apron and hanging it on its rightful hook, giving the kitchen one final look over to ensure nothing was forgotten before setting off into the living room, remarking how Will needed to hurry because you had everything planned to the minute.
He’d never been more certain he loved you.
“Why’d you get a tree you couldn’t reach the top of, shortcake?”
You turned to throw him a look, cheeks burning with heat despite the amused smile that broke out across your face. He returned it with one of his own, straightening the Santa hat on his head before walking over to where you stood by the tree. He adored the mood you were in today, and wondered briefly if you were this way every Christmas. Your playful tone had returned. “Size does matter with some things, love. No one wants a wants a tiny tree with no needles.”
It wasn’t the first time that nickname had slipped, yet his chest still tightened. He wrapped his arms around you again, unable to resist pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulled you in close before lifting you up so you could situate the star atop the tree. Satisfied with the state of the living room you tasked Will with starting the fireplace, putting music on via the record player in the living room, and lighting some candles while you finished cooking.
It was easy being domestic with you.
Everyone’s arrivals staggered from there forward. Benny arrived next, early and eager to spend time with his brother, with an arm slung around Dani, smiling and remarking how fantastic your house was before giving himself a tour. By the way his eyes kept raking over her you could only assume they found a hallway to defile. Dani joined you soon after with a smile and offered to help in the kitchen, which you accepted with some relief.
As Will and Ben broke into a bottle of bourbon and eggnog (Benny had threatened not to come if there was no eggnog available), Santiago showed up – surprisingly not in an ugly sweater after weeks of talking trash about how his was going to put yours to shame. You opted not to even bring it up given the expression on his face – today was clearly not the day to pick at Pope – and instead greeted him with a sweet smile instead. Frankie was last – really to no one’s surprise – and everyone had found a seat at the table as you loaded it up with food.
Santiago had jokingly requested an entire turkey – the largest one you could find – perhaps as a challenge, and you’d agreed to make it without second thought. Frankie was simple and asked for macaroni and cheese, Benny sheepishly requested sweet potatoes and dinner rolls, while Dani was sensible and requested “any kind of vegetable.” Will had shown his sweet tooth by requesting something sweet for dinner, hence the cupcakes you’d finished earlier.
“This looks incredible,” Benny complimented, pulling his eyes away from the food in front of him to look toward where you sat at the head of the table. Frankie and Dani both voiced quick words of agreement while Santi nodded, checking his phone quickly. “You have to give a toast.”
“Oh, no,” you laughed, waving your hand dismissively as you shook your head. Your face burned so badly you felt like all your head had become was a flaming ball. “No one wants to hear me do a toast, seriously. Dig in before it gets cold.”
Ben crossed his arms and Frankie’s face set into concrete resolution. It was the younger Miller who spoke, tone unwavering and serious. You weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him be so serious before…even before his fights. “We’re not eating until a toast is given.”
“Will can give a toast,” slipped from your mouth, nervousness causing the words to spill freely – maybe a little too freely. With a nervous laugh you continued. “He’s basically the man of the house.”
Will’s eyes noticeably widened up at you to your right, his mouth falling open slightly in surprise as his cheeks mirrored the fire in your own. Ben’s head snapped toward Will, giving a light smirk as his brother stood, never pulling his eyes from your face as he lifted his glass from the table.
The toast he gave was short, and yet he still struggled to make it through its entirety. Several times he cleared his throat, feeling the tingle in his tear ducts that threatened to pour with each passing moment, each beat of his heart causing a tightness in his chest.
“And…” he began the final sentence, releasing a shaking breath as he looked around the table. His eyes settled back to you like it was the most natural place in the world for them to be. You reached out to where one of his hands grasped the edge of the table, sliding your hand atop his and giving a gentle squeeze. The simple act spurred him through the rest of his speech. “And here’s to hopefully many more Christmases with all of us together.”
Dinner went smoothly from there, the table’s mood lighthearted and happy as everyone ate, light conversations being passed around – which included stories from both Will and Ben about their Christmases growing up and the trouble they used to get themselves into. Once the table was clear the group relocated into the living room to sit around the tree to complete the Secret Santa gift exchange you’d all planned.
Santi gave Frankie the gift he’d gotten him first – a new fishing pole, a hat (it was the same one he’d always worn, just a new version – you had to wonder how many times he’d been gifted the exact hat), and a pack of new socks. Frankie was enthralled by each of them, saying they’d have to plan a trip soon. As a result Frankie went next, handing Danielle her gift in a bag (he’d tried to wrap it, truly…he gave up when half the roll had been used). Danielle’s face lit up at the various candles and candy inside the bag and waved the spa trip for two pass in your direction with a smile.
Dani gifted Santi with tickets to a concert he’d been complaining for weeks he didn’t secure tickets to, which brought his trademark soft smile to his face as he thanked her profusely. Not before multiple comments were made about how the group hoped there was seating in the venue, so he didn’t have to stand on his shitty knees the entire time, you announced you’d go next since Santi had already handed out his gift. Passing a sizeable box to Ben with a wink and a smile you leaned back against the fireplace, watching as the younger Miller tore into it with excitement.
“You did not get me an original Nintendo 64,” he exclaimed, eyes wide as he pulled the old console out of the box. As Will watched on his chest tightened as you smiled at Ben, the word family seeming to repeat itself in his mind.
“You’ve been complaining about how the new model isn’t the same,” you explained with a shrug, taking a drink of the cider you held in your hand. “I can’t wait to kick your ass in Mario Party.”
“Next weekend, you’re on. Hope you’re not a sore loser,” he smirked, digging through the games that littered the bottom of the box as well. Wrapped up in admiring his gift he almost forgot to pass the envelope he was holding to his own brother with a playful smile. Will laughed – your heart swelled – and as he opened the envelope, he shot his brother a smile. “I know we usually say no gift cards…but you’re impossible to buy for. Figured you could use it on dinner or…somethin’.”
The brothers shared another knowing look and smile before Will reached out to pat his back, mentally noting to give him a proper hug when they weren’t sitting later. Which left Will to give the gift he’d purchased for the only person that remained without…you.
He moved closer to you on the couch, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close as he slipped his phone from his pocket, glancing down at you first to offer you a smile. “So, you’ve been saying that you miss the snow…”
As his sentence trailed, he turned his phone screen so you could see it, the sight of a small, warm-looking cabin surrounded by snow and pine trees filling your eyes. You turned your head to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and questioning as your mouth opened briefly. Will beat you to talking.
“Now, obviously…I didn’t buy it, but I did rent it for a weekend…next month when there still should be plenty of snow,” he offered, crystalline eyes transfixed on yours as he spoke. “I thought we could take a nice trip…together, especially since that weekend will be your anniversary of going to rehab. It’s big enough for people to join –“
“Not a single one of us wants to be in that cabin with you two that weekend,” Santiago interrupted, quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of his head.
“…no offense, of course.” Frankie chimed in, elbowing his best friend.
“Oh, full offense intended,” Ben joined in, his words chased by a laugh. “You two in a cold ass log cabin somewhere in the fuckin’ Rockies? Count all of us out.”
Your cheeks burned at their teasing and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Will, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth briefly as you grasped his hand gently. There were a lot of words that ran through your mind in appreciation – three not-so-little ones squeaking quietly in the back of your mind. You tried to silence them – something you had to do often now. It was getting more and more difficult to do.
Everyone else was ignored, even their taunting. As was so often the case, it was only you and Will.
“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, melting at the gentle curve of his lips. Without thinking you leaned upward to kiss him once quickly and gently, a small action that quickly silenced the group. They knew it happened, but seeing it was far different than hearing about it.
It was thanks enough for Will.
Now the gifts had all been received you excused yourself to gather plates and cupcakes from the kitchen. Once everyone had plates with multiple cupcakes each, it was time to watch a movie – the choice of which was yours.
The movie you chose really didn’t matter – your focus was almost entirely on Will. Taking the loveseat close to the fire, Will had his arms wrapped around you tightly seemingly from the moment you’d sat down, pulling you back against his strong chest to support you while he balanced a plate of cupcakes on his knee. He left no room for you to protest such an obvious display of affection, keeping one arm slung around your shoulder and seemingly pulling you closer and closer by the second.
After everyone had eaten their cupcakes and really settled in, you had to wonder if the other men and woman in the room minded the state you found yourself in with Will. His arm remained around your shoulders, your hand reaching up to lace your fingers with his…which allowed you the ability to press kisses to his fingers with ease. Several times Will turned your head, to press a gentle kiss to your lips, your nose, your forehead…smiling earnestly each time and pulling at your heart.
Halfway through the movie Will leaned to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against the shell. The mint lingering on his to his breath and huskiness in his voice send a chill up your spine – you knew he felt it when a quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Let’s split the other cupcake on the plate.”
You turned your head to flash him an amused look, raising an eyebrow. “That’ll be your third one.”
“We’re splitting it,” he defended with a shrug of his shoulders, his other hand reaching for the aforementioned plate on the table beside the couch. “It doesn’t count.”
“Mm,” you smiled, taking the cupcake to unwrap it before taking a slow bite. When you offered it to him his eyes flashed with a look entirely indecent for company, his voice lower as he held your gaze. A subtle shake to his head confirmed what your mind had already begun to infer. “Gimme a bite.”
You fed him a bite slowly, eyes locked with his as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly, watching his pink tongue dart out to run along his bottom lip to collect the peppermint icing there. He offered another smile with an appreciative hum
“Would you two get a room?” Benny questioned over the movie, shooting his older brother a playful look. He wasn’t serious, he truly didn’t mind seeing his older brother finally loosen up a bit and be happy – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give him hell. It was, after all, the responsibility of being a younger sibling.
“They’re all my rooms, Benjamin,” you taunted, shooting the man a bright smile that Will took the moment to cherish. Taking another bite of the cupcake with a smirk on his lips he opted to settle back in then, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on the top of your head.
The two of you remained that way for the rest of the movie, his arms clutching you against his chest and rubbing gentle circles on your stomach occasionally. There was nothing stopping him from pressing kisses to the top of your head, either – which he considered fair, given that you were irresistible this close to him.
Santiago cleared out first in a haste, jaw clenching through his goodbyes which he seemed less-than-focused on as he checked his phone’s screen several more times. It was then that you offered a room to anyone who wanted to stay, which was quickly shot down by both Ben and Frankie who shared a knowing look.
“We do not want to be in this house when your…canoodling escalates,” Ben asserted, glancing between his older brother and you, who were now standing a few steps further from Will in an attempt to be less obvious. It was far too late for that.
With a hug and kiss on the cheek from Frankie and a promise to call you tomorrow, Dani gave you a gentle hug which was quickly contrasted by a crushing hug from Ben, who then only had to hug his brother goodbye before the two of you were alone. Will immediately wrapped his arms around you when the front door was shut, pulling you into his chest while releasing a deep breath.
He loved his brothers – but solitude with you was bliss.
“Let’s go clean up that kitchen,” he began, pausing his sentence mid-way through to press a kiss to your forehead. “Get it over with so we don’t have to worry about it, darlin’.”
You’d do almost anything he asked so long as he asked in that molasses thick tone.
You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, teasing him by pulling away slowly with a light smile on your face before you removed yourself from his arms, making your way to the kitchen with him following. When you began to run the sink to fill it you glanced to watch him lean against the counter to wait, his arms crossed like he was trying to control himself. Following his gaze your eyes landed on the cupcakes that remained (you’d made extra knowing he would be this way), and a smile passed over your features.
“I see you eyeballing those cupcakes, Mister Miller,” you teased, smiling further when he turned to you with red cheeks and a bashful gaze. You leaned across the counter to grab one, taking a slow bite as your eyes stayed on his. He wasn’t quite sure the cupcake was so important anymore. “C’mere and share this one with me before we do the dishes.”
He was good at following orders.
He didn’t need to tell you to feed him bites this time, you gladly taking up the task with adoration pooling in your eyes as you fed him almost the entire cupcake. He offered you a gentle smile as you reached upward to remove icing from the corner of his lips, popping the digit into your mouth with an appreciative hum before handing him the kitchen towel.
“I’ll clean, you dry.”
The rhythm the two of you entered was the same as every other way the two of you seemed to effortlessly fit together these days. Will could reach cabinets you couldn’t which made the task go much faster, and while he found himself quietly humming seasonal songs you soaked in the relaxation the sound brought.
“Today was good, yeah?” Will questioned from beside you, drying off another dish before placing it in its rightful place in the cabinet. “I think that’s the best Christmas this group has managed in years.”
“Benny said he’s going to pay me to make him those cupcakes every week. That Miller sweet tooth is something fierce,” you joked, rinsing out another glass. His cheeks reddened at your teasing. “Did you talk to Santiago? Something was up with him, he looked at his phone at least twenty times an hour, and he was bragging for weeks that his ugly sweater would put me to shame and then he just…didn’t wear one.”
“Mm,” he mused, taking another glass from you to dry it. “Pope is doing a poor job at keeping a secret he thinks he’s doing a great job at. He’s on edge.”
“Doesn’t he know better than to try to keep secrets from you?” you questioned, handing the last dish and turning to fix your attention on him as he dried it. At some point, damn him, he’d rolled the sleeves of his sweater up, and he looked so natural in your home it was starting to make you feel sentimental. Whole. “But today was great. We did a good job.”
“We, like I had hardly anything to do with it,” he hummed, smiling lightly as he put the dish away before leaning on the counter with his hip to face you. “It was practically all you. But…I’ve been telling you we make a good team.”
He reached out his hand gently toward you, pulling you closer to him to press a kiss to your forehead, not expecting a response. Wrapping your arms around his waist you stepped in as close as you could, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes. He held onto you tightly, shifting to lean his back against the counter to hold you closer. Flashes of the day spent together ran through both of your minds –you’d sat in his lap on the couch in front of everyone – because the living room didn’t have enough seats (lie) – but the feeding him bites of your cupcake was entirely optional.
Will loved you. It was a fact that was growing harder and harder to ignore by the day, the ache in his chest growing every time he heard your name or saw your face.  He didn’t want to say his next words, but he had grown so used to them – so used to this routine now that he accepted when they needed to be said.
“It’s getting late. I should probably head out, before the idiots get out on the road.”
It was a long pause, putting William on edge for a moment as he waited for your words. Even hesitation like this wasn’t normal for you. Your voice was soft, slightly wavering as you tilted your head back to look up at him.
“I don’t remember asking you to leave.”
Will paused, brief confusion flashing on his face before he smiled lightly, clearing his throat as he gave a slight nod. He was truly doing his best not to look overjoyed, though that’s exactly what he felt. “Are you asking me to stay, honeybee?”
“I thought it’d be a good Christmas present.”
“Maybe the best one I’ve ever gotten,” he smiled, leaning closer to brush his lips over yours again. His hands slid lower, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your lips gently. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, at his desperation to be close to you now that the two of you were alone, and his poor attempt at hiding how happy he was. His hands slipping lower still he ran his fingers over your thighs, eyes searching your face for a response. You were getting far too good at the poker face you’d developed against him.
“Are you trying to take me up to bed this quickly, Ironhead?” you cooed, looking up at him with a hooded gaze through your lashes. You hoped your face remained straight despite the burn that surged toward your core – feeling a bit proud of yourself again as you noticed him swallow hard. “You’ll miss out on the matching pajamas I picked up for us…”
“I’ve waited all day,” he pointed out, dragging one of his hands upward to push your skirt up, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. You grasped the edge of the counter to steady yourself, his eyes glancing up into yours again as he began to sink to his knees, using one of his hands to lift your leg over his shoulder. “I’m still starving.”
An embarrassingly wanton moan fell from your lips, one of your hands reaching to slide your fingers through his hair as his hand slid up your thigh to push your underwear to the side. “Is this what you thought about all day, Will?”
“You know it is. That little stunt you pulled earlier wasn’t very nice,” he drawled, eyes hungrily running over your already soaked cunt. “Look how wet you are for me, honeybee. You’ve been thinking about me today too, haven’t you? You sweet thing.”
You whimpered as he ran his fingers through your folds, his lips curving upward into a light smile as he taunted you slightly – waiting for you to answer. “Thought about me all day and now you can’t stop talking.”
He chuckled as he leaned forward, running his flattened tongue through your folds with a low groan as you rocked your core against his face, his nose bumping your clit and causing you to moan. He set in on his task then, satiating the hunger he still felt by licking and sucking and kissing every inch of your sex he could, relishing in your fingers tangling into his hair as you threw your head back with a moan. “God, this is a Christmas present…” The muffled laugh he released vibrated through you, the sensation causing you to buck your core into his face with a gasp as you pulled his hair slightly. “Fuck, William, you’re so fucking…so good at that.”
He removed his mouth from fucking his tongue into your entrance to smile up at you crookedly, his lips and facial hair glistening with your arousal. Slipping a finger into your tight channel he turned his head to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Love when you tell me how good I make you feel.”
He began to thrust his finger into you as he connected his mouth with your clit, giving the sensitive nub a flick with his tongue before sucking it gently. You whined his name quietly, keeping a hold on his hair as you moved your aching core against his face and hand, already desperate for more. He groaned against your skin with a particularly slow swipe of his tongue, adding a second finger to begin to stretch you.
The tips of his fingers massaged against your walls perfectly each time he pushed them back into you, particularly against the perfectly blinding spot behind your clit. You cried out, hands grasping his hair to steady yourself as you rutted against his mouth desperately. His tongue circled around your clit again, one hand slipping behind you to cup your ass and hold you against him closer, his blue eyes still burning up at you.
“Fuck, Will, I…” you began, words trailing off with an uptick in pitch as your thigh began to shake behind his head. Ensuring he tightened his hold on you he nodded, flicking his tongue against your clit with more fervor. Not long after you moaned his name again loudly, your eyes rolling back as heat rushed through you.
He removed his fingers but continued to lap at your folds, groaning appreciatively at the taste of your release coating his tongue. When he’d drank enough of you down he began to kiss up your body again, holding you close by the hips with one hand and undoing his belt and pants with the other as his lips connected with yours again. You tasted yourself on his tongue and – damn it – all of the cupcakes he’d eaten that lingered as well. After pushing his pants and briefs to the floor and kicking them aside.
Before he could lift you to the counter you broke the kiss, trailing your kisses down his neck before sucking a light mark above his collarbone with a smile. His chest rumbled with a groan, his hands slipping to your lower back to hold you closer. Your hands moved to hold his shoulders, applying pressure to encourage him to swap positions with you, smiling as you looked up at him through heavy lashes.
“Where you goin’, honeybee?” he asked, voice heavy as he reached his hands toward you again. Widening your smile you reached to wrap your fingers around his hardened length, eyes flashing with adoration when his hips jolted forward to meet your touch, a low groan sounding in his chest again. As you continued to rub along his length you sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact as you ran your tongue along the slit of his velvet head to taste the precum leaking from him already. His hands immediately grasped behind your head, fingers lacing into your hair. “Fuck.”
You removed your hand, running your nails down his thigh lightly as your tongue traced the thick vein on his cock, a light smile tugging at your lips when he moaned out another profanity. You continued to lick up and down his length and suck only on the head briefly, enjoying the frustrated huff to his breath that grew as you teased him slightly.
His usual sense of self control was obliterated by his need to feel the warmth of your mouth around his length. Before you could pull your lips free of him again he grasped your hair tighter, holding you in place as he slipped more of his length into your mouth. “Do you like teasing me, sweet thing?” You moaned in affirmation around his length, managing to run your tongue around as much of his length as you could manage. He pushed more of his length into your mouth, head falling back briefly before he corrected himself, eyes meeting yours again. “This is what you want? For me to fuck your mouth?”
You moaned again and he took his command, thrusting his length into your mouth greedily and with almost embarrassing speed. He seldom got to enjoy the feeling of your mouth around his length as he’d always opt to bury himself in your tight cunt before he got the chance, but on these occasions when you insisted – when you wanted him to bruise your throat – he was never one to resist. When his velvet head hit the back of your throat and you gagged slightly he huffed out a deep, sustained groan as his cheeks flushed, one of his hands moving from your hair to cup your cheek and stroke it gently.
It only encouraged you further.
You reached your own hand to cup his balls, fondling them gently as he began to thrust repeatedly into your mouth – gentle as he could manage in his clouded mind. “Fuck, baby…” he began, hitting the back of your throat again and holding your hair slightly tighter to keep you in place for a moment. “God, you’re doing so good. You look so pretty. Going to make you feel so fucking good soon.”
You moaned around his length which spurred him to brush your cheek again before he returned to fucking your mouth, some part of his brain keening at the sight of you drooling around his length. He may have been a clean freak, but there were some messy sights when it came to you that he loved.
He continued to praise you while he enjoyed your mouth, lasting for several more thrusts before he removed his cock from your mouth, gently tugging you upward to your feet again. “Let me fuck you right here. I can’t wait for the bedroom.”
There was something so intrinsically commanding – and sexy – about his tone that had you scrambling to allow him to lift you onto the counter, removing your skirt and underwear and tossing them to the pile with his pants as you went. “You’re fucking me in every room in this house, William Miller. This is just the start.”
He used his hand gently to raise one of your legs and hook it over his shoulder, his other hand fisting his cock to smear your remaining spit around his length as he groaned at your words. Leaning forward he lined his cock up with your tight entrance, releasing his length to grab the hand towel on the counter beside you, holding the fabric behind your head gently as he pressed a kiss to your lips gently.
“Don’t want you hitting your head,” he explained before beginning to push his throbbing cock into your velvet walls, groaning deeply as he leaned his forehead against yours with his eyes screwed shut in concentration. You leaned your head back, grateful for the cushion of the towel and his hand rather than the cabinet as you gasped, keening at the feeling of his cock splitting you open again.
When he’d bottomed out in you he stilled for a moment, kissing you again deeply and hungrily as he enjoyed the feeling of being fully wrapped up in you again. When he released you from the kiss he lowered his head to burrow into your neck, breathing in the smell of you deeply as he began to thrust into you carefully, perfectly. Even with you on a counter he knew the perfect angles to enter you, each thrust knocking the head of his cock against either the spongey spot that made you moan or your cervix, which always made you cry out his name.
It was impossible for him to say which he preferred.
After thrusting slowly and carefully for a while, enjoying the steady beat of your heart against his chest and your pulse beneath his lips. He raised his head to kiss you again, picking up the pace as his tongue danced across your bottom lip again, a deep groan sounding in his chest when your walls fluttered around him. He was unwilling to release you from the kiss fully so he muttered against your lips – how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how wonderful you sounded moaning for him, how fucking perfect you were…
He was burrowing into your mind and heart now. You were letting him.
You intentionally clenched your walls around him slightly, wrapping your other leg around his waist to force him deeper into you, pulling what was practically a growl from his chest. His hand on your hip grasped tighter as he gave several deep, pointed, slow thrusts, his forehead falling to lean against yours as he released a shaky breath.
“Wanna fill you up again,” he breathed out desperately, fingertips digging into you roughly as his pace became sloppy. “Can’t stop thinking about seeing my cum leak out of your pretty pussy.”
“Will, fuck…” you moaned again, hands grasping his shoulders to help ground yourself somewhat, feeling the building pressure again and knowing euphoria approached. His hand left your hip to slide lower, his thumb rubbing quick circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves to coax you over the edge.
“You like that? You like hearing me talk about filling you up, my love?”
“Yes, Will, fuck, f-f-fu-fucking love it,” you moaned out, your eager-to-please tone scratching an itch in his brain and causing his pace to increase – he now pounded into you relentlessly, knowing full well you wouldn’t walk well tomorrow. He’d be here to care for you anyway.
“I know ya do,” he groaned, nipping at your bottom lip lightly. “Means you’re mine.
”You could only nod up at him as your lips stayed open, eyelids heavy. He managed a light smile at the sight, losing himself in the fantasy of filling you so often that one day it would really take and that the two of you would fill this big farmhouse with a family – one day, he thought. For now, he could at least enjoy claiming your womb in practice.
Your orgasm washed over you quickly and powerfully, walls tightening down around his cock causing him to stay buried to the hilt as you cried out his name loudly, eyes rolling back. He ground his waist against you best he could with your tight, hot walls spasming around him until his own release came, ropes of his hot seed spilling into you. He kissed you throughout your orgasms, pulling you in closer to his chest to have you as flush against him as possible.
He continued to kiss you repeatedly, gently, reverently, worshipful as both of you came down from your shared high.
“You still want me to stay?” he questioned quietly against your lips when both of you seemed to have your breath returned to normal. You offered a gentle smile, pressing a kiss against his bottom lip – it was lazy, tired. Some of his favorite kisses from you were such – when you had no energy left and you still tried to give it to him.
“Only if you carry me to bed, soldier.”
He smiled – one of his pure and genuine smiles – as he scooped you up into his arms bridal style, holding you closer to his chest as he nodded. Flipping the lights off, Will began to exit the kitchen to make his way to share your bed for the first time, before a final thought ran through his mind. For a moment he questioned if he should voice the thoughts – but he knew you wouldn’t judge him.
“…You want me to grab more of those cupcakes before we go up?”
masterlist.
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stealfromthedevil · 10 months
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Ugh, they're just too much! Always Benny for me, but I can appreciate how beautiful the rest of them are.
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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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missdictatorme · 5 months
Text
Just A Little Push
Pairing: William Miller x Fem!Reader
Genre: Fluff and Smut
Summary: William Miller was a gentleman. No matter what. If a woman was in need, he helped her. He always tried to be respectful, but what happens when you are pushing his buttons long enough?
Warnings: Reader is drunk, but not that drunk. Will is so done with you being a brat but he is also horny. Both of them are idiots. "Just the tip, oops, its fully in." Don't drink and drive, even if it's just a beer. It's only okay in fics. Lots of typos cause I'm too tired to edit.
A/N: Just a little something cause I miss my sexified Disney Prince.
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Will was in trouble and it all started with Benny. It always started with Benny.
Damn his overly friendly nature. If they were dogs, Benny would be a Labrador. Or a Golden Retriever. Whatever dog breed is the most eager to make friends.
The boys had a favourite bar they liked hanging out at. The place was clean, the bartender was cool, the music was good, the drinks had reasonable prices. They liked it here. When Benny got drunk he always wandered over to other tables to chit chat. With complete. Fucking. Strangers.
So far it didn't get him in trouble, the other people just laughed with him and shared some stories then Benny got back to the boys to retell their tales.
Until one time a bigger group of women entered the bar.
They were pretty, they were in a good mood, and they happened to occupy the table next to the boys.
All of them gave the group a once over as they passed and Benny being Benny couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"Hiii giiirrrls." - he greeted them with a big grin.
The ladies giggled at the clearly drunk young man.
"Hello random citizen." - you answered and lifted your hand.
Benny high fived you as you walked by him and laughed, watching as you all got comfortable at the table.
"Allow me to buy your first drinks." - he said over Pope and Frankie's shoulders.
Your friends got excited but you narrowed your eyes then looked at the other man who was facing your table, the one who was sitting next to this fella.
"He doesn't have any money, does he?" - you whispered loudly like the boy you were talking about shouldn't hear this conversation.
"Nope!" - Frankie turned around with a laugh before William could answer the question.
"Hey! I do have money! Right here... Right... here..." - Benny patted down his pockect confused.
"You left your purse at home, you dumbass." - William reminded him.
"Oh, right!" - they younger man pouted as he remembered it suddenly. - "Sorry ladies!"
"That's what I always tell my dates when they want to split the check!" - one of your friends said and your table roared with laughter while you shook your head.
"That's such a cheap trick, dude!" - you told Benny.
"I swear it was an accident!" - he told his friends at the table who waved him off, then Benny winked at you and you snorted, rolling your eyes.
"Tell you what, we have a round with my friends then I let you kick my ass at darts and you can pay for our drinks. Would that make you feel better?" - you asked.
"Aww, you'd do that for me?" - Benny asked hopefully.
"Hey, not all heroes wear capes."
-----
That's how it started. From then on, on most Friday nights the two friend groups met at the bar and they pushed their tables together to drink and complain about work, bills, relatives or bad dates.
Sometimes the girls got a bit too drunk and the boys offered to take them home. Usually Frankie was the driver since he never drank alcohol, but sometimes it was Will, when Frankie wasn't there. Will only drank a shot and one or two beers at tops, so he was good to go.
The boys were also the protectors when it came to other drunk dudes trying to approach you or your friends. Frankie, Santi, Benny and William were all very handsome men and you and your friends liked to thank their help with hugs and pecks on the cheek. Benny also noticed your hugs and kisses lingered a tiny bit more when you were seated next to Will and his arm somehow always ended up around your shoulder to keep you at his side when you wanted to pull away. When he first did that you looked at him with a smile, but with a curious gaze.
"So other men don't get funny ideas." - he said and you thanked him again, resting your head on his shoulder.
Benny smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at Will when the older brother's eyes landed on him across the table as he took a sip from his drink while you were laying against him, talking to the girl sitting on your other side.
Will narrowed his eyes at Benny, daring him to say something stupid, but thankfully the younger man stayed quiet.
Will then turned to Santi to continue to talk with him and after a few minutes he felt as you grabbed his hand that was across your shoulder and started playing with his fingers. He turned his head to look at your joined hands then down at you and he realized you did that absentmindedly as you were slowly nodding at the things your friend was saying. Will nuzzled your hair with his nose playfully, and he sucked in a breath when your other hand landed on one of his thighs. He squeezed your hand warningly, but that only ended with you squeezing his thigh in return, then continued to caress it.
He leaned more down until his lips found your ear.
"What are you up to?"
He smiled when he heard your giggle, then you turned your head on his shoulder to look up at him.
"Nothing." - you replied with an innocent smile.
"Mhm, yeah. You want another drink?"
His face was close to yours, with your noses almost touching. Fuck, you loved his eyes. You shook your head as your eyes dropped to his lips for a second, then you look up again.
"No. I'm getting sleepy. Can you take me home?"
Will's face fall a little. It was still so early and you wanted to go home. He was looking forward to this night to see you again after one week and you were barely here for two hours, but you wanted to end the night early. He also was hoping he could gather the courage to ask you out on a date, but looks like luck wasn't on his side tonight.
He squeezed your hand again.
"Of course, sweetheart."
After about two minutes of saying your goodbyes to the group, you wrapped your hands around Will's arm and he escorted you out and to his car. He opened the door for you and helped you climb in, being careful that you don't bang your head as you got it. When he sat on the drivers side and started the car, he saw that you were still struggling with the seatbelt, then you looked up at him with pleading eyes.
"Help."
Will laughed and reached over and with one move he easily pulled the belt over you and clicked it in place.
"My eye-hand coordination is even worse when I'm drunk."
"Well, you did say coordination without any trouble so I think you're doing pretty good, especially compared to a drunk Benny."
Will grinned when he heard your giggles and he started to drive you home.
You made small talk during the ride, but William noticed that your eyelids dropped close for a few seconds every once in a while.
When he stopped in front of the building you opened the door to get out, but when you learned forward the seatbelt pulled you back.
"Ah!"
"Stay put, baby." - Will chuckled and he got out of the car and walked over to your side.
He leaned inside and undid your seatbelt, hearing that you sniffed him while he was close to you. When he pulled back to take your hand and help you climb out he saw that you had a dreamy smile on your face.
"Come on, let's get you inside." - he pulled you up, closed the door then locked the car.
He let you lean against him as you walked to the door and he helped you find the keys in your bag and opened the door for you again. When you reached the stairs you whined.
"I hate these stairs so much I could cry!"
"We don't want that now, do we?" - he asked and he leaned down to pick you up, bridal style.
You yelped and hold onto him for dear life.
"Oh my god, we're gonna fall down!"
"Have some faith in me, darling." - Will said effortlessly as he carried you up.
When he rounded the second floor you hummed.
"Jeez, just how strong are you?"
"Depends."
You frowned.
"On what?"
"For you, I could move a mountain." - he winked at you, making you giggle. - "Your turn." - he said as he stopped at your door.
You looked down at the keys in your hand and furrowed your brows to concentrate on fiding the right one.
Will watched you amused and waited patiently while you were searching.
"Ha!" - you held the key up in triumph, making Will chuckle then after three attempts you succesfully opened your door.
Will put you down on the other side of the doorstep without him entering your apartment.
"Mission accomplished, ma'am."
You giggled again and Will's heart ached a little that it was the last time he heard that sound tonight.
"Not quite." - you said cheekily. - "What if I fell while I try to go to my bed? What if I hurt myself bad?" - you pouted.
Will took in a deep breath, then licked his lips as he looked you over.
"I would feel really bad."
You smiled as you took a step back to let him in.
He slowly walked through the door and looked around as you closed the door behind him. Then lock it.
He turned his head to look at you as you flicked on the lights.
"You want something to drink?" - you asked you kicked off your shoes and he leaned down to untie his, not wanting to mess up your flat.
"No, thank you."
You walked around him to go towards the kitchen, but you only put down your bag on one of the chairs then you turned around, only to bump into his chest.
He grabbed your upper arms to steady you and you looked up into his stupidly beautiful eyes.
"Careful."
You gulped.
"Yeah." - you slowly took hold of his hand and started leading him into your bathroom.
After turning on the lights there too, you walked in front of the mirror, but slipped on the tiles and took hold of the counter with your free hand.
Will quickly put his hand behind your back to catch you in case you fall back, but you managed to gain back your balance.
"Jesus, girl."
"Help." - you said again with innocent eyes as you held up a cotton pad and a bottle for him.
Will chuckled as he took the items from you, inspecting the bottle.
He saw that the label said 'make-up remover foam' and he looked at you.
"I put this on the cotton or on your face?"
"On my face then you use this" - you pointed to the cotton - "to get it everywhere." - you gestured to your whole face.
"Okay..." - Will sighed, hoping he won't be too rough or poke your eyes out.
He first washed his hands and helped you wash yours, then he lifted you up to sat you on the counter and got to work.
He carefully applied some foam on one of your cheeks and started to carefully move it over that side of your face with the cotton pad.
"You have to apply a bit more pressure to get the make up off."
William did as he was told like a good soldier, still being careful. He saw as your make-up started to come off and he threw the pad on the trashcan next to the counter, then grabbed a clean one to continue.
He started smiling when he saw that you were smiling too with your eyes closed.
"Feels good?"
"Yeah." - you giggled, then after a few seconds you lifted your chin to show him your neck and he licked his lips as he cleaned your skin there too.
He leaned back a little to inspect you and his eyes softened when he saw how beautiful you looked even without the make-up.
"All done."
You opened your eyes and turned to the mirror to see how you looked.
"Good job, Ironhead."
"I tried my best, ma'am. What's next?"
"Help." - you said holding your arms out.
Will grabbed you under your armpits and picked you up from the counter and placed you on your feet.
You turned on the tap and washed your face, then held out your hand again sideways.
William followed that line and picked up your towel to give it to you.
You closed the tap and dried your face, then you put the towel back and faced him with a grin.
"Beautiful." - he said as he was looking at your face with a soft smile.
"Liar." - you narrowed your eyes.
"You see, when someone compliments you, you say thank you, let's try again."
You rolled your eyes.
"Nuh-uh." - he grabbed your hand and made you look at him. - "Ready?"
"No."
Will's gaze moved over your face as he took you in.
"You're beautiful." - he said in the most sincere voice you ever heard from anyone.
You looked deep in his eyes, getting lost in the beautiful colour for a few seconds.
Then you quickly shook your head and narrowed your eyes.
"Liar."
Will sighed defeated.
"You're impossible." - he said.
"You are impossible!" - you argued.
"No, you."
"No, you!"
"Brat."
You gasped again with wide eyes and Will smirked.
"Go get me my pajamas!" - you pointed to the door.
"You're cute when you're angry." - he kissed your cheek quickly then he was out the door.
A huge grin appeared on your face then you hid it in your hands.
"Where are they?" - you heard him yell from your bedroom.
"On the chair at my dressing table!"
After a few seconds Will returned with the asked items.
"Cute." - he said as he held up the folded pants and shirt, with the front of the shirt displaying the 'Barbie' logo.
"Hey, it was on sale." - you defended yourself.
"Sure, with the movie only being out for a month." - Will teased as he walked to you and handed them to you.
You narrowed your eyes at him again and he looked you up and down.
"You need help with changing too, princess?"
You licked your lips.
"In fact I do." - you said matter of factly and lifted your arms.
Will's heart started to beat faster as he looked over your body again. He took in a deep breath trying to stop his blood from rushing to the one part of his body he doesn't want it to, not like it fucking helped.
He stepped closer to you and grabbed the bottom of your top and slowly started to move it up, not daring to look at your revealed skin, but when it uncovered your bra he couldn't help but steal a glance.
Big mistake.
The bra was cupping your soft breasts perfectly and he wanted nothing more than to sank his teeth into the flesh that peeked out above the lace and bite it hard to leave a mark, then soothe the pain by licking it over with his hot tongue.
When the shirt was off he threw it on the top of the laundry hamper, then he grabbed the Barbie shirt and helped you put it on. Once you were covered, you reached behind your back under your shirt and unclasped your bra then you pulled it off from the front and threw it on the laundry basket too.
"Nice trick."
You grinned and took the pajama bottoms with one hand and you grabbed Will's hand with your other and lead him to the bedroom.
You undid your belt and buttons then pulled down your zipper, pulled down the jeans to your thighs them sat on the bed and lifted your legs.
"Help."
Will snorted and grabbed your jeans by the waist, but you stopped him.
"No, they won't come off like that, you have to grab the end of one leg and pull it. Hard."
"Uuuhh, okay."
He grabbed one of the ends and started pulling on it and he lifted his eyebrow when it didn't even move.
"The wonders of skinny jeans." - you explained with a chuckle.
Will started to pull again. Harder.
"Wooo!" - you grabbed the sheets hard when with the movement he yanked on your whole body.
"Jesus Christ, how do you even pull them on?!"
"It's not that hard, honestly. I don't know what happens when I wanna pull them down!"
"Okay. Hold on to the mattress. Tight."
You gulped and did as you were told.
"Ready?"
"I think so."
William gripped the material harder and yanked on it roughly and it finally slipped a little lower.
"Oh yeah, keep going!" - you encouraged him.
He stopped and looked at you tilting his head and lifting an eyebrow.
You sucked your lips between your teeth when you realized how that sounded and you giggled.
"Sorry."
"Be a good girl and stay put."
You bit down on your lower lip and Will smiled and rolled his eyes when he saw how your eyes sparkled.
He yanked on your jeans again and that side slipped off your leg.
"Oh, look at you, you got it!"
He gestured with his hand to lift your other leg and with the same technique he managed to yank it off your calf with one move.
"You're a pro already."
"I'm a quick learner." - he winked as he folded your jeans and put them on a nearby chair.
You pulled on your pajama shorts and tried to climb under the blanket, but it somehow got twisted and you couldn't kick it into place.
Will kneeled on the bed with one leg and shushed you like one would to a small child, and grabbed the blanket, shook it once, then put it over you.
You grabbed the side that was at your neck and pulled it closer as you turned to face away from him, tucking it under your chin.
Will looked over your form once again, before he sighed and turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" - you asked as you sat up in the bed, when you heard his footsteps get further.
"Home?" - he asked confused.
A hurtful look appeared on your face and you patted the spot next to you.
"No, uh-uh, I'm going home." - he said as he started to walk backwards towards your door.
Your lower lip quivered and you patted the spot again.
"Sweetheart? Don't do this, please? You know I can't stay." - he pleaded. The hurt look on your face killed him.
"Why?"
"You know why."
"No, I don't. Cuddle me? Just until I fall asleep? Please, William."
He was so torn. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you, and even maybe...
No. You were drunk he can't do that. And he doesn't trust himself once he lays down next to you.
"Princess..."
"Please? I feel so safe in your arms."
Fuck.
"Just for a few minutes I promise." - you said as you laid down facing him and lifted the blanket.
Fuck, how can he say no? You look so pretty and vulnerable it is killing him to leave you like this.
But-
"I'm getting cold." - you said in a small voice.
All of his willpower crumbled at those tree words and his shoulders sank with the deep sigh that left his body. He slowly walked back to the bed, sat down then laid next to you, pulling the blanket over both of you. He extended one arm as he faced you so you can snuggle close to him, but of course you turned from the sweet little princess he loved dearly to that fucking brat that annoyed him so much when you rolled on your other side and scooted backwards to push your ass against his groin. As deep as you could.
He put a firm hand on your hip and squeezed it.
"That was fucking blackmailing."
You grabbed his hand and pulled it over you to place it against your tummy as you slipped even closer if it was possible.
"You could've left."
"Fucking brat."
"Oh, I'm gonna feel so bad for you for having to cuddle a chick, just gimme a sec."
"We shouldn't do this."
"Why?"
"You're drunk."
You snorted.
"I'm tipsy. Big difference."
"You're still a brat."
"Hmmm, maybe you should teach me a lesson."
"Keep acting like one and I will."
"Oohhh, is that a threat?"
"A promise." - he said as he moved his hips a little and you suddenly felt his bulge, pushing into your ass.
You grinned and arched your back, but Will pulled his hips back.
"Stop."
"I don't want to."
"You should."
You rolled on your other side to face him and pushed your nose to his as you hooked a leg over his hip.
"Just a little."
"Bad girls don't get shit." - he put his hand on your thigh to stop you from slipping closer. He still could feel the heat between your legs. Fuck.
"You're still in my bed."
"You're still annoying as fuck."
"You're cute when you're like this."
"Like what?"
"Trying to control yourself when all you wanna do is to rip my clothes off and fuck me." - you whispered and licked his lips with the tip of your tongue.
He enjoyed your affections for a few more seconds before he pulled his head back and squeezed your thigh again.
"You're just acting like this, because you are drunk."
You pouted.
"I'm not drunk, just tipsy."
"Still. It's the alcohol."
"It's not."
He lifted an eyebrow.
"Okay, it does make me a bit bolder..."
Will sighed and looked up to the ceiling.
"...but!" - you said as you rolled him on his back and straddled his waist. - "I'm glad, because I can finally act upon my feelings." - you started rocking your pussy over his bulge.
William growled and closed his eyes as he grabbed your hips and helped you move on him.
"What feelings?" - he asked in a low voice.
"That I like you, silly." - you kissed his neck.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. You know drunk people tell the truth."
"So you admit that you are drunk." - he opened his eyes and smirked.
You sighed defeated.
"Now who's the annoying one?"
"You." - he replied, then looked down watching as your hips moved against his.
You bit your lip and reached down to move your pajama shorts and panties to the side.
Will's pupils dilated as he saw your wet pussy rub against the tent in his jeans and you moaned softly when the rough material grazed your clit.
"What do you think you're doing, huh?" - he asked, but he didn't do anything to stop you.
"Just a little? Please? It feels sooo good." - you pleaded as you rubbed your clit faster on him.
"Little slut. Using me to get off." - he grumbled and he grabbed your hips and helped you move. He even lifted his hips in the same rhythm you were rubbing your pussy all over his erection. - "You're ruining my jeans."
"We can help with that." - you said as you started unbuckling his belt.
"Fuck, please no. Please no." - he closed his eyes, but again, did nothing to stop you.
"We just put the tip in."
"We won't do shit."
"You're free to leave." - you reminded him.
"You're free to come."
You giggled.
"Not without you, handsome." - you winked and lifted yourself when you were done opening his jeans and he lifted his hips when you tugged them down along with his boxer briefs. His long, fat cock sprung free, and your eyes widened while you removed your pajama bottoms and panties.
Wow, maybe you really just gonna put the tip in, look at that.
"I don't think you can handle that, princess." - he panted.
"Fucking watch me, Ironhead."
"It's okay, I still think you're cute."
You bit your lip as you grabbed his cock and positioned it at your pussy and you moved your hips so the tip of it slipped between your lips.
"Fuucckkk!" - Will cursed and he watched as you pushed his cock against his abdomen as you started slipping your pussy over the lenght of it from the base to the tip then back over and over again. - "Fucking tease."
"You want me to stop?"
"Don't you dare. Fuck, that's so hot." - he growled as he watched you ruin him.
His hands started to wander under your shirt and you grabbed the material and pulled it over your head, then threw it somewhere far. Will's hands immediately slipped to your boobs and he started squeezing and playing with them, making you moan.
You reached down to grab his cock and put his tip at your dripping entrance.
"Just the tip, right?"
"Mhm." - you confirmed as you sank down a little, making the head slip inside.
You both shuddered at the feeling and you moved a little up and down, making it slip out and back in.
"Hmm, you're so warm." - Will said as he reached down and squeezed your asscheeks with both of his hands. It made your pussy pulse and his cock slipped a little deeper. - "What do you think you're doing?" - he growled.
"Sorry." - you said as you moved your hips wilder, making your pussy swallow his cock more.
"Stop it. Fucking stop it." - he groaned as he snapped his hips forward out of instinct and grabbed your hips harder to pull you down more on him.
"Deeper. Of fuck, Will, deeper." - you moaned hungrily and Will fucking lost every ounce of willpower.
He fucked up into you with long, deep thrusts while you tried to copy his rhythm, but he was holding you so hard, the only thing you could do was to take it.
He bent his knees suddenly, and when his thighs hit your ass you fell forward. You caught yourself by putting your hands on either sides of his head and you gasped as your nose bumped into his. He used the opportunity and kissed you deeply, licking his way into your mouth and sucking on your tongue hard.
"This is what you wanted? Huh? You wanted me to fuck you?" - he asked as you bounced back and forth on top of him.
"Yes... Yeeesss... So good, baby." - you whined and kissed him again, then buried your face into his neck to bite his skin and suck deep marks in it.
William rewarded your actions with a few spanks on your ass, then he rubbed the skin to ease the pain.
"You always get what you want?"
"Only from you. You love me too much." - you replied as you cupped his jaw with one hand and smiled at him teasingly.
"Little brat." - he smirked and kissed you much more gently than before, then pushed you up. - "Ride me. Show me how much you wanted this cock."
You grinned and put your hands on his abdomen to help you move your hips back and forth faster and faster.
"You're so drenched, princess." - Will teased as he watched you move on him, trying to take a mental picture of you. You looked happy and wild and so damn beautiful like this. - "Squeezing me so good. You wanted this for so long, huh?"
You could only nod as you felt your orgasm approaching. He was sooo deeeeep. His tip reached a spot inside you that made you move harder and harder on him to feel his cock rub against it again and again.
"Touch yourself, baby. I want you to cum on my cock. Cum all over it."
You started caressing your clit and Will bit down on his lip hard as he watched you. This was everything he dreamed of and more. You felt so good around him and he was so turned on by you it drove him crazy. He started fucking up into you again, making you cry out. - "Ch-ch-ch. You wanted it, remember? Then fucking take it."
"Fuck, Will, you're so.... Soooo... Fuck!"
You threw your head back suddenly as the most powerful orgasm hit you. You cried out loudly and pushed yourself down on him as hard as you could to feel it shook through you deep deep deep. You moaned loudly with every wave that passed and your could feel his hands grip you harder.
"Where?"
"Inside, please, please, please!"
"You needy little slut. Fucking greedy for my cum!" - he groaned as his hips snapped forward hard as he started pumping his cum as deep inside you as he could.
"Will, Will! Oh my god!" - your eyes rolled back when you felt his hot cum fill you up and your legs started to shake from the intense orgasm.
You collapsed on top of him and he caught you with a weak groan. He wrapped his arms around you and started caressing your back when he heard you start crying.
"What's wrong, princess?"
You shook your head and kissed him sloppily. Will could taste the salt from your tears and he kissed you until you pulled away for air.
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." - you panted and touched your forehead against his. - "This was... the most intense... orgasm I've... ever had."
Will chuckled relieved and kissed your lips sweetly.
"Same, baby. It was incredible. Fuck, you're shaking like a leaf." - he said as he looked down at your body and you laughed, wiping your tears.
"You were so deep I'd be surprised if you didn't break my spinal cord. Fuck. Guys like you are the reason women can't walk after sex!"
Will started laughing hard.
"Sweetheart, you were riding my cock like you were possessed, if someone broke your spine it was you."
"Help." - you said and Will grinned wide, helping you climb off him and you collapsed on the bed next to him like a ragdoll. - "Shit, I'm serious, I think my legs aren't functioning properly."
"Let me fix that." - he said as he slipped lower then rolled on his stomach between your legs.
"What are you doing?" - you asked and you pushed yourself on your elbows to watch him.
"Someone's gotta clean up this mess and it looks like it ain't gonna be you, princess." - he said then licked your mixed juices off your clit, making your eyes roll back. - "That's it, baby. Relax. Let me take care of you."
"Marry me." - you whined weakly.
Will laughed.
"You say this now, but if you're gonna be pissed when sober you is waking up next to a naked me in the morning, I'm gonna kick your ass."
You smiled.
"Maybe naked you should remind sober me what happened the night before."
"You'd like that wouldn't you?" - he asked, kissing the inside of your thigh.
"Shut up and eat, Ironhead."
"Shut up and enjoy it, brat."
381 notes · View notes
floralpascal · 1 year
Text
Heartbeat - Part 1
Summary: When you cuddle up on Frankie to watch a movie, his rapid heartbeat makes you question if he has feelings for you, too.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader
Word Count: 7k
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Warnings: kissing, (semi-public) dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected p-in-v sex (let me know if I missed anything)
A/N: This started out as a short fluffy fic and it turned into this. My mind goes straight into the gutter for this man. It’s my first time ever writing smut, so I’m a little nervous, but I hope you all enjoy!
Part 2
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Friday night movie night at Benny’s with the guys was a rare treat that you thoroughly enjoyed, even if watching a movie with all four of them at the same time was a pain in the ass. Benny and Santi were always talking over the movie and if the movie had any sort of action, they would all start commenting on how unrealistic it was. If the movie had anything to do with the military, all you heard for the entire two hours was how every small thing was actually incredibly inaccurate.
Though you would feign annoyance every time, you secretly loved it. Even if you never actually got to watch the movie, you got enough entertainment from the guys.
Not to mention that you somehow always ended up sitting next to Frankie, the man you had a hopeless crush on for years. Even if you sat in a different spot for movie night, Frankie was there next to you. He would often lean over to you to whisper jokes about whatever movie you were watching, completely oblivious to the way it gave you goosebumps every time.
Tonight was no different. You sat down on the couch with the popcorn bowl, Frankie coming to join you not long after. He plopped down to your right, stealing a handful of popcorn as he did. The popcorn bowl gave you a reason to lean in close to him as Benny started the movie and Will turned off the lights. Santi took the seat on the other side of the couch from you and Frankie. Benny laid sprawled out on the loveseat like always and Will took his usual spot in Benny’s huge recliner.
Nearly an hour into the movie - and about fifteen different interruptions from Santi and Benny later - you had begun to shiver, curling in on yourself in an attempt to warm yourself up. Frankie noticed immediately.
“You need a blanket?” He whispered to you, only loud enough for you to hear over the blaring movie, leaning in close enough to send a shiver down your spine for a different reason. You nodded, setting the now-empty popcorn bowl on the table beside the couch.
He twisted to his right to grab the blanket behind Santi’s head on the back of the couch. When he brought the blanket closer, you thought he would simply hand it to you. Instead, he flicked the blanket out and draped it across the both of you. You smiled as he turned to you then, moving to lay his arm on the back of the couch behind you, arm open in a silent invitation for you to get closer. He met your smile with a polite, slightly bashful one of his own.
You readily accepted, curling into his side and laying your head on his chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulders to tuck you into his side. You had completely forgotten about the movie now, opting instead to focus on how the heat from his body soaked through the fabric of his clothes to warm your skin. After a moment though, you noticed that you could hear his heartbeat with where your head was placed on his chest, just above his heart. You wouldn’t have noticed if not for how fast it beat, going at nearly the same rapid pace as your own.
After a few minutes, you shifted to look at his face, a movement that drew his attention from the screen to you. He looked calm, his demeanor not matching the way his heart raced. The only thing that seemed off was how intense his brown eyes had suddenly become as he gazed down at you.
“Everything okay?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. You couldn’t help but dip your gaze down to his lips as he spoke, a movement that did not seem to go unnoticed by Frankie.
You had wanted to ask him the same question. You didn’t want to broach the subject now, not with the soft way he was looking at you.
“Yeah,” you affirmed. You noticed his eyes flick down to your lips this time before meeting your gaze again. “Thank you, Frankie.”
“Anything for you.”
You both stayed like that, faces inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze down to his lips again for a fraction of a second, his own following suit once again. His warm hand came to lightly press against your back. Frankie began to lean in-
BOOM!
You and Frankie jumped, turning to see the aftermath of the explosion on the TV screen.
“That would not blow up like that in real life!” Santi grumbled on the other side of the couch. Murmurs of agreement came from Benny and Will. They all seemed to be engrossed in the movie, not noticing the moment that had passed between you and Frankie in the dark.
You gave an awkward chuckle, shaking your head. When you turned back to Frankie, his eyes were already on you, a small smile on his lips. Maybe it was just the dark, but you thought he looked anxious now, a slight crinkle appearing in his brow.
You shuffled back into his side, once again laying your head on his chest. His heart was beating even faster than before.
Was it…you? Was his heart beating this fast because of you? Your mind wheeled from the moment you had shared with him. Had he been about to kiss you?
You spent the rest of the movie curled up against Frankie. You were no longer cold. In fact, you felt like you were burning up now with the way your body was pressed against his. Frankie’s heart rate barely slowed. You looked at the screen, but you weren’t really watching, your focus staying with the melodic beat under you, with the way that his fingers lightly fidgeted with the edge of the blanket that laid on your thighs, the way you could feel his breath rise and fall.
When the movie was over, you reluctantly sat up off of Frankie. Santi wandered off to the bathroom while Benny beelined it to the kitchen. When Will flipped the light back on, you could finally see Frankie completely again. He looked at you as if he wanted to say something, his eyebrows drawn and mouth open.
“Fish!” Benny called from the kitchen. “Do you want to take the leftover pizza home?”
Frankie rolled his eyes, deflating a little. “No,” he called back, “it’s all yours, man.”
Benny then called your name. “You want it?”
“No. Just take it if you want it, Ben.”
“Thanks, guys!”
You laughed, standing up from the couch. You stretched for a moment, feeling stiff from sitting for so long. Your shirt rose up as you stretched, a sliver of skin above your waistline exposed to the cold air. When you looked back at Frankie, he quickly averted his gaze from where he had been watching you, suddenly very interested in his phone.
Was he… checking you out now? You wondered if you were imagining everything that was happening between you or if you were just interpreting it all wrong.
Twenty minutes later, everyone was wrapping up for the night. Santi and Will left together, Will going to drop Santi off at his house on his way home. You and Frankie, inevitably, we’re the last ones to leave. He walked you out to your car in Benny’s driveway, making small talk with you about your week. He still looked so calm, no hints evident on his face that his heart had been racing for the past hour like he had been running a marathon.
When you arrived at your car, Frankie stopped, suddenly seeming nervous. Once again, he started to say something before deciding otherwise, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment. Instead of whatever he had wanted to say, he simply said, “Goodnight, hermosa.”
Hermosa. He had never called you that before.
You mumbled out a goodnight in response, your mind whirring. Frankie gave you a tight smile before turning to head towards his truck.
Your hand reached for your car door handle before freezing. Something was there between you two. It was right there, just out of reach. But if you let him go, you knew that the next time you saw each other you would be back at square one, as friends and nothing more. Neither of you would broach the subject again. You thought for a moment before whipping around to look for him again.
“Frankie?” You called, catching him as he was rounding his truck bed. His head snapped up from where he was looking at the ground.
“Yeah?” His wide eyes stared at you from the other side of his truck. You thought you saw a flash of hope cross his face.
You made the decision then. You ran around his truck, praying that your suspensions were correct and trying not to lose your nerve. As you approached him, he gave you a quizzical look. Before he could say anything, you were up against him, hands lightly cupping his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.
It was a short kiss. You pulled away a few seconds later, Frankie chasing your lips slightly before his eyes snapped open again. You dropped your hands, too afraid that you had misjudged his feelings for you to stay close.
He looked utterly stunned. You could see as his mind worked to try to catch up to what you had just done. He blinked once, twice, before he closed the distance between you again, his soft, warm lips colliding with yours as he buried a hand in your hair and his other snaked around your waist to pull you closer.
Your own hands scrambled for purchase on his shoulders, grabbing onto his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer.
It was a desperate, hungry, all-consuming kiss. Frankie kissed like it was the last thing he would ever do. He kissed like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do.
You broke the kiss, trying to catch your breath. “Frankie,” you whispered.
Frankie pulled back, both of his hands moving to cup your chin. His eyes were hooded now, the way he was looking at you sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. “I wanted to kiss you so bad. In there. I didn’t know if you… if you…”
You nodded, bringing your hands to grasp at his wrists. “I do. I have for a long time.”
“Me too, cariño,” he sighed. His thumb rubbed over your cheek and you leaned into his hand. “You were all I could think about tonight. Hell, you’re all I can ever think about.”
“I didn’t pay attention to the movie at all,” you admitted. “Just you.”
“I don’t even know what that damn movie was even about.”
“Whatever it was, it was loud.”
Frankie chuckled before becoming more serious again. “So where do we go from here?”
You shook your head slightly. “I have no idea. Just kiss me again, Frankie.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It didn’t seem that Frankie needed to be told twice. In one swift motion, he grabbed the hat from his head, tossed it on the top of the truck, and leaned down to kiss you again, now without the hindrance of his hat in the way. He kissed you so hard you felt dizzy within mere seconds. All that mattered was him, that he felt the same, that he wanted you.
You swore you hadn’t meant for the next kiss to turn heated. You couldn’t even remember how the kiss that followed had taken a turn from sweet to something more. But now you were pressed between Frankie’s chest and the cold metal of his truck as his lips moved against yours and his hands explored unknown territory.
Neither of you could get enough of each other. Every one of your senses were fully focused on one thing: Frankie. Kissing him, you were quickly finding, was an activity that demanded all of your attention. Everything else seemed to fade away, replaced only with the press of him against you, the way he moved, the way he pulled you against him. The insistence he kissed you with sent you soaring.
After a while, his lips strayed away from yours, teeth lightly nipping as he made his way maddeningly down your neck. One of your hands grasped at his shoulder, the other lightly tugging his soft curls as his lips found the tender space between your neck and shoulder. You gasped a soft Frankie when you felt his teeth graze against your skin there, your body slightly arching against his. You could feel him smile against your shoulder in response before he continued to kiss any bit of skin he could find.
As he pressed against you, you could feel the bulge in his jeans pressing against your hip. He was getting hard from this. It gave you the confidence you needed to roll your hips slightly against his, causing a small groan to fall from Frankie’s lips on your shoulder. He rasped your name as he gave a testing roll of his own, sending a spark of pleasure through you.
He moved back up to kiss you properly, a new fire behind his kiss now, and you pushed against him again. Another spark of pleasure spread through you, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many layers between you two, you so desperately needed-
“Hey!”
For the second time that night, you both jumped. Frankie’s hands locked around your waist as you both looked to see Benny standing on his porch, his front door wide open. From the light spilling out of the open door, you could see that he wasn’t even trying to hide the shit-eating grin he had on his face.
“I’m happy for you guys, kiss all you want, it’s about damn time,” Benny yelled over to you both. “But you two are not gonna fuck in my driveway, okay? Take that shit home. Get a room. Something.”
You laughed, slightly embarrassed that you had been caught so close to doing something with Frankie in your friend’s driveway, and buried your face in Frankie’s chest. You had completely forgotten where you were, too caught up in Frankie to care.
“Fuck off, Benny,” Frankie called half-heartedly, chuckling a little as he pulled you closer. He turned his back to Benny and hugged you to him, as if hiding you from Benny’s view would save you from some of the embarrassment. It also helped to hide his surely-noticeable erection from his friend. His hands moved to your back, rubbing circles as you giggled into his chest even more.
“I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere, Fish, and this is it. It didn’t look like you two were slowing down anytime soon. You guys have a good night, just have it somewhere else.” Benny grabbed his door handle and started to go back inside. He yelled over his shoulder, “Also, Santi owes me $50 now, so thanks guys!”
The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Frankie once again. You pulled away enough to see him. The smile that was still plastered on his face sent your heart soaring.
“They had a bet going on us?” You asked.
Frankie shrugged. “It’s news to me.”
You shook your head.
“Do you - Um…” Frankie started self-consciously, one of his hands leaving your side to scratch at the back of his neck. “Do you…want to come home with me?”
You almost couldn’t believe that the man you had been practically dry humping out in the open was asking you that like he thought you wouldn’t want to.
“I do, Frankie.”
“You don’t think it’s too fast? I don’t want you to think that I just want a quick fuck or just a one-time thing or-”
“Frankie,” you interrupted. You moved to whisper into his ear, “I don’t want just some quick fuck either. I don’t want a one-time thing. I want you. If you want me, take me home.”
The groan that came from the back of his throat filled you with excitement. He pulled back, his hand coming to your cheek, and kissed you hard.
“I want you. Fuck, I want you.” He kissed you again before telling you, his self-consciousness gone, “Hop in the truck, cariño. I’ll bring you back to get your car tomorrow.”
Benny would just have to deal with your car in his driveway for the night. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about it at the moment.
Frankie opened the driver‘s door for you, allowing you to step up into the truck and slide down the bench seat enough to let him into the driver's seat. On his way in, he retrieved his hat from the roof and tossed it in the back of the cab as he sat down. You had never seen him toss his favorite hat so carelessly before, like it was something that was only getting in his way at the moment.
You had been to Frankie’s house countless times before. You had even ridden with him in his truck on his way to his house. But you had never gone like this. You had never been able to sit right up against him. You had never had his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles. You had never had this much anticipation between the two of you.
Frankie was the most focused you had ever seen him as he drove. You wondered if this is how he looked when he would fly: concentrated on his destination, his movements deft and calculated. The hand he had on the steering wheel was gripped tight, his fingers lifting periodically before curling tight around the wheel again.
You raked your eyes over him, bathed in the light of the passing streetlights. On a normal day, Frankie’s pants didn’t leave much to the imagination. They fit a little too well, which was something that had haunted you for years. But now you could see so much more as he strained against the confines of his jeans. He was big, that you already knew, but now you were starting to get an idea of just how big.
You began to play with his hair, carding your fingers through the brown waves of unruly curls while Frankie raced home.
“Cariño,” he rasped out, his voice strained, “if you keep doing that, I’m gonna have to pull over and take you on the side of the road. I’m barely hanging on here, baby.”
You gave him a mischievous grin, continuing to run your hand through his hair. “Why don’t you then?”
He turned his attention from the road to you for a moment, letting his eyes sweep you up and down. He looked hungry and disheveled, a combination that you had never seen from him before but already couldn’t wait to see again. It made your heart race. You could see him consider it, pulling over somewhere secluded and finally fucking you. For a second, you thought he might actually do it. But then he shook his head resolutely and answered, “Because you deserve better… and I’m gonna need a lot more space to work.”
The promise in his words filled you with anticipation.
After what felt like an eternity, you arrived in Frankie’s driveway. He ripped the keys from the ignition before he opened the door and scrambled to get out. He immediately turned to offer you his hand to help you out of the truck. You took it and hopped out, Frankie closing the door behind you.
Then, Frankie was on you, his hand cupping your jaw and his lips finding yours once again. He broke away, leaning back to see you, his rich brown eyes drinking you in.
“Come on, bonita,” he said, taking your hand in his. He led you up the old wooden steps to his front door. Of all the times you had followed him up those same steps, you never thought it would be for this reason. That your hand would be in his, the taste of his lips still on yours, with more to come. You took a breath to steady your own racing pulse.
He hastily fiddled with his keys before fitting one into the lock and turning. He shoved the door open, turning to walk backwards through the entryway as he pulled you closer to kiss you again. Once you had cleared the door, Frankie reached out blindly to grab the door and push it closed behind you.
You quickly realized that Frankie had been quite well-behaved in Benny’s driveway, all things considered.
You felt his tongue ask for entrance, which you immediately granted. He kissed you with a fervor that made you dizzy as his tongue met yours. His hands were on you once again, exploring and grasping at whatever they could find. One hand pulled your hips flush with his again and the other found the skin of your back under your shirt.
Your arms were thrown over Frankie’s shoulders, grasping at the back of his shirt and neck. You felt just as desperate as him, years of pining for him finally pouring out.
After a while, your fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, hastily undoing them one-by-one. Once you had undone the last one, he helped you shrug the cloth from his shoulders. Your hands came to rest on his bare chest, your right hand just above where your head had been laying just less than an hour ago. Under your touch, you could feel his heart race just as it had earlier.
Then, Frankie found the edge of your shirt and lifted it over your head. Though he had seen you in a bathing suit before, he took you in like he was seeing you for the first time. Then he looked you in the eyes, his arms wrapping around your middle. You felt his fingers hook onto the clasp of your bra and then freeze.
“Can I?” he asked, almost at a whisper. You realized it was a bigger question than just that. He was checking to make sure you still wanted this. That you still wanted your relationship to move past being just friends. He was giving you a chance to stop, to go back before you both strayed too far away from the friendship you had known for years.
Like you could ever go back after even simply kissing Frankie. You nodded, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to his jaw.
Frankie worked the clasp undone and drew the straps down your arms. Once you were free of it, you saw the way his breath picked up as he took you in. He kissed you again, bringing your chest flush to his. Hands roamed your bare back as he walked you both backwards, his lips finding yours once again.
You hadn’t realized where Frankie had guided you until the back of your thighs met a hard object. Frankie broke only enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours, “Hop up here, baby.”
You turned to see that he had backed you up against his kitchen table. You did as he said, coming to sit at the edge and immediately making space for him between your legs. He connected your lips once again, one hand on your hip and the other coming to palm your breast.
“Can I taste you, cariño?” He asked breathlessly, his voice low.
You nodded, giving him an adamant and breathless yes automatically.
Frankie grabbed your hips and gently pulled you closer to the edge. You watched as he pulled back and dropped to his knees, his broad shoulders coming to rest between your thighs. He guided your underwear down your legs, throwing them to the ground once he had freed you from them. His brown eyes were blown black with lust as he took in the sight of your dripping core.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he admired. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about this. How you would taste. How you would sound…”
“You thought about it?”
Frankie smiled, leaning closer to you. “More than you know.”
“I have, too.” You returned his smile. However, it lasted only a moment before your eyes snapped shut and your mouth dropped open as Frankie’s tongue met your folds for the first time, licking a stripe from your dripping hole to your clit. He then moved to focus on your clit with a proficiency that already had your breath hitching, devouring you like a man starved.
You couldn’t have stopped the moan that fell from your lips if you tried. One hand came to grasp at his curls, the other moving behind you to prop yourself up on the table. He grabbed your shins and tossed them over his shoulders for leverage.
“Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby,” he cooed, his hot breath hitting your core. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. “Let me hear you, don’t hold back.”
He kept his eyes locked on you as he brought his tongue to your clit once again. His brown eyes looked so sweet compared to the absolutely sinful way his mouth was working at you.
You let your moans run free. After he changed speeds, a high-pitched Frankie fell from your lips, eliciting a moan from him. The vibrations from it rocked through you. When you breathed out his name again, you got the same maddening response from him. You realized that he liked it when you said his name like this. No problem. You could already tell that you would be saying it a lot tonight.
Your cries of his name only seemed to spur him on, his pace increasing as his hands wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place. He seemed to learn from every moan and every movement of your body what sent you higher.
Soon enough, you could feel the red hot coil in your stomach building, pulling taut.
“F-Frankie, I’m close,” you gasped out. “Don’t stop.”
With a few more calculated swipes of his tongue over your clit, the tension finally snapped. You closed your eyes again as your head dropped back and you cried out. Waves of ecstasy washed over you as Frankie drew out your release, his head trapped between your thighs. As you came down, he moved lower to gather your slick on his tongue.
He passed his tongue over your sensitive clit a few more times, eying the way your muscles jumped from the attention. The lust and adoration evident on his face nearly leveled you as he stared up at you.
“Can you give me another like this?” he asked, his voice gravelly, mustache and beard glistening with your slick, before giving another testing swipe at your folds.
Oh, fuck. You hadn’t ever been with someone who enjoyed eating you out like Frankie seemed to. You were starting to see that Frankie had been telling the truth: he didn’t intend on a quick fuck. He was a patient and attentive man - you were beginning to see just how much.
In your haze, you mumbled out a yes. Frankie smiled.
“Lay back, cariño. Let me take care of you.” His hand came to your chest to guide you to lay back onto the table. The cold of the wood was in stark contrast to the heat of your skin and the heat of Frankie’s mouth as it met your folds again.
You were lost in the feeling of him, one hand gripping the edge of the table and the other finding its way back to Frankie’s hair. Just as you began to adjust to his speed and pattern, he would change it again, quickly sending you higher than you thought possible. Moans of oh fuck, Frankie and just like that poured from your mouth.
The tension began to build again, quicker this time. You lifted your head off the hard wood to watch as he closed his eyes and savored the taste of you. That was all it took to send you toppling over the edge once again.
He kept working at you until you had come down from your high and lightly pushed him away from your overstimulated clit. Frankie gave one last, savoring lick to your hole, savoring every last drop of your slick. He pulled away, licking his lips as he groaned, “Fuck, you’re so sweet.”
Breathing hard, you sat up and gently guided him up from between your legs, bringing his face to yours. You tasted yourself on his tongue, his lips still wet as they met yours. Frankie’s tongue moved against yours with the same skill as when he was eating you out.
“Frankie, that was-”
“Just the warm-up,” he finished for you, leaning his forehead on yours. He hadn’t even fucked you yet and you were already wrecked just from his mouth alone. You couldn’t imagine what you would be like later if that was just the beginning.
“Well, that was a hell of a warmup.”
You kissed him again, wrapping your legs around his hips, your arms once again over his shoulders. Frankie took full advantage of the position, pulling your lower half to his and snaking an arm under you to pick you up from the table. He carried you to his bedroom - a place that you had only seen glimpses of a few times before - without even having to break your kiss. He flopped you down onto his bed, causing you to giggle as he climbed to hover over you and kiss you again.
You reached up to pull at his belt, trying to undo the leather. Once you had gotten it undone, you switched your focus to his jeans.
“Need these off,” you panted against his lips. You weren’t unaware of the slight air of desperation that had slipped into your voice.
Frankie shed his pants and boxers and discarded them to the floor. And, shit, he was big. You had guessed from what you had seen and felt earlier that he would be, but it was another thing to see it confirmed.
You brought your hand to his weeping cock, giving him a few testing strokes. Frankie let out a small groan, his hips rocking forward in your grip a bit. You continued to pump him in your hand for a while, trailing kisses along his jaw before he stopped you, his hand coming to your wrist and his lips capturing yours.
“Querida, I’m not gonna last like this,” he said. ”I wanna be inside you when I come.”
“Please. I need you, Frankie.”
“Not yet, baby. I need to get you ready first. Don’t wanna hurt you.” Logically, with how big he was you knew that you should, but that didn’t seem to matter to you at the moment. You tried to protest, to tell him that you didn’t care, you just needed him now, but he shook his head, a wicked grin on his face. He drew out his next words teasingly, “Greedy, aren’t you, baby?”
Your brain shut off, butterflies stirring in your stomach at his words. Like there was anything you wouldn’t let him do when he talked to you like that.
You gasped as he slipped a finger into you and started to pump in and out. His finger was bigger and longer than your own, already hitting a spot you could never seem to reach with your own fingers. He started building up his pace as he began to kiss down your neck like he had earlier in the night. This time though, you could feel him suck lightly as he went, surely leaving bruises in his wake.
You bucked your hips up, his one finger no longer enough.
“Need more, baby,” you whined, all care for how desperate you sounded gone. All that mattered to you now was the drag of his finger inside you and the way he sucked at the tender area just above your collarbone.
He slipped a second finger into your heat as he murmured, “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re so tight.”
His fingers were so much bigger than yours, two of his feeling like three of your own, stretching you as he built his pace back up again. It burned in the best way, radiating pleasure through you.
You arched against him as he curled his fingers, hitting a spot that made your toes curl.
“Right there, Frankie!”
“Come on, cariño. Come for me again and I’ll give you what you want.”
You were so close, teetering on the edge maddeningly as he worked his fingers in and out. Suddenly, he added a third finger. It was exactly what you needed to push you over the edge. Your orgasm rocked through you as you clenched down on his fingers. He continued to work them in and out as much as he could with the way you were gripping him.
“That’s it, baby,” he cooed. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.” Once your orgasm had subsided, he slipped his fingers out and brought them to his lips. He sucked your slick from them eagerly, like he hadn’t just tasted you earlier.
“Frankie, baby,” you panted, “I need you to fuck me.” You could feel his hard length against your hip and you bucked against him. He had made you come three times already and you were still desperate to have him inside you.
“I don’t think I could wait any longer if I tried,” he admitted. Frankie reached over to his bedside table and pulled a foil package from the drawer. He ripped it open with his teeth before taking the condom to roll over his length.
You reached out to take him in your hand again, giving him a few more strokes before you went to line him up with you.
His mouth came to yours as he made the first push into you. You both let out moans, your high-pitched one contrasting with his low one. He made shallow thrusts, each time sinking deeper into you. Even after trying to get you ready for him, it was a stretch to fit him. You had thought his fingers had stretched you. They were nothing compared to this.
“You’re so fucking tight, cariño,” he grunted. “Squeezing me so tight.”
“You’re so big,” you responded breathlessly.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“No, no,” you hastily whined. “Feels so good.”
After a few more thrusts, he finally buried himself to the hilt in you. Then, he stopped, pulling another whine from you. You rocked your hips, trying to feel the friction, but one hand came down to still your hip.
“Just a second. Fuck, don’t move,” he told you shakily. He took deep breaths in, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just give me a second or I’m not gonna last.”
You let him be for a moment, but then you couldn’t stop yourself from softly begging him to move.
He let out one last breath before nodding. He connected your lips again, starting to rock his hips into yours in long, slow strokes. You wrapped your legs around his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts. The hand that wasn’t propping him up came to grip at your ass and thigh over his hip.
His kiss started slow, but incredibly insistent. However, as his pace increased, so did the heat in his kiss.
“You feel so good,” Frankie mumbled against your lips. “You’re so fucking perfect, cariño. Like this pussy was made for me.”
He continued to murmur to you as he fucked you. About how badly he had wanted you all these years. How he couldn’t ever think clearly when you were around. How beautiful you were. You returned it, telling him that he was all you had wanted since you had met. He shuddered before his grip tightened on your skin, his next few strokes harder than before.
You moved to bury your hands in his hair as you gave him a bruising kiss. You ran your tongue along his lips and he quickly gave you entrance.
It was so good, but you needed more and you could tell Frankie was holding back. He wasn’t allowing himself to go as fast or as rough as he wanted. You could feel it in the way he would let up if he felt himself move a little too hard or a little too fast. But that’s what you needed.
“Harder,” you pleaded. “Fuck me harder. I can take it.”
Your previous observation about him had been right: Frankie wasn’t the kind of man who needed to be told twice.
Frankie nearly growled before he smashed his lips to yours messily. He snapped his hips against yours at a new, blistering pace. He hit that spongy spot deep inside you over and over. You broke from his kiss to moan out, your head tipping back into the pillow. He took advantage of your position to attach his lips to your neck once again, kissing and sucking wherever he could.
“Oh, fuck, Francisco!” You cried. You clawed at his back, searching for purchase over the muscled expanse, the way he was fucking into you absolutely devastating. “Just like that!”
His hips stuttered before he groaned into your ear, deep and desperate, “Say it again.”
Even through the haze, you knew what he meant, what he really wanted to hear.
“Francisco,” you whined. In the past, you had sometimes called him by his full name when you were joking around with him. You were the only person he even let call him that at all. With revelation that he liked it when you said Frankie, you now knew why he let you call him Francisco. The difference was that now you were completely serious, letting it drip from your tongue over and over like a prayer.
“I need you to come, baby,” Frankie grunted as he moved against you. “I’m close, but I need you to come first.”
Nothing that came from your mouth was comprehensible other than his name. You were so far gone, climbing higher than you had thought possible, the coil in your stomach continuing to tighten as he slammed in and out of you. Rather than snapping, the tension just kept building and building.
Suddenly, Frankie got a better grip against the thigh under his hand, moving your leg to rest higher on his torso, your other leg following suit almost automatically. He was deeper now, completely filling you as you cried out.
After a few more strokes, your orgasm barreled into you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. The breath was knocked out of you from the force of it. You clenched around him hard as he worked you through it, your legs locked and spasming around his torso. Waves of pleasure rolled over you.
“That’s it. That’s it…” he murmured into your ear. He kept moving in and out of you as much as he could, drawing your orgasm out.
Once it had subsided, he began to build back up to his previous place, chasing his own high. You threaded one hand through his hair, the other grasping at his back as you held on.
You gave a tug on his hair and his rhythm faltered. You did it again, this time while whispering into his ear, high and breathy, “Come for me, Francisco. Let go, baby.”
That seemed to be all he needed to send him careening over the edge. He let out a strangled sound, fucking into you three more times before his hips stilled, buried deep in you, and he found his release.
Once he had emptied, he nearly collapsed into you, his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard, his cock still buried inside you. His weight on top of you was a welcome one. You ran your fingers through his curls once again, lightly this time, as you both came down.
After a few moments, Frankie lifted up and pulled out of you. He took off the condom and secured it before discarding it in the small trash can on the other side of his bedside table. Then, he rolled over to lay beside you, totally spent, pulling you to lay with him. Your head came to rest where it had laid earlier in the night on his chest, just above his heart. You chuckled a little, listening to the familiar, hammering thrum of the beat as Frankie came down.
You began to leave small, light kisses on his chest. Then, Frankie’s forefinger hooked under your chin, guiding you up to meet his lips as he whispered, “C’mere, hermosa.”
Your lips moved languidly against one another, completely savoring the moment. Your hand came to his chin, feeling the prickle of the sparse beard under your touch.
“You weren’t kidding,” you told Frankie after you broke. He gave you a questioning look, adoration in his soft brown eyes. “That was just a warmup.”
He laughed, his head falling back before he looked down at you again. “You’re amazing,” he countered. “I don’t know how I’m gonna go another day without fucking you now that I know what you feel like… and what you fucking sound like.”
“Yeah? I may have a short-term solution to that problem.”
“I’m listening…”
You gave him a small smile. “We could leave my car in Benny’s driveway the whole weekend and not leave your house.”
A grin spread across his face. “Baby, you’re gonna be lucky if I let you leave this bed this weekend.”
“No problem. I don’t know if I’ll be able to physically walk after that.”
“That’s the idea.”
You laughed, collapsing back onto his chest, both of you spent and blissed out.
You both still had things to discuss, but you knew that you would figure it out soon enough. For now, all that mattered was that you both wanted each other, that he was here, his arms wrapped around you as he kissed the top of your head.
After a few minutes, you drifted off, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.
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wildemaven · 5 months
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Pizza & Cards with the Delta Force Boys
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winniethewife · 16 days
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I walked with you once upon a dream
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(William "Ironhead" Miller x F!reader)
Words: 539
A/N: For the Triple Frontier Write-a-Thon.
Will’s phone was ringing, the caller Id flashing that it was the woman he had been dating for just a few weeks. He was hesitant to call her his girlfriend, they hadn’t really talked about it yet. He reaches for his phone and slides to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hi! Will! Thank god you answered. I hate to bother you, but my car broke down on my way home from work and I need help. I don-” he could hear the tell tale whimper of tears in her voice and acted instinctively, interrupting her with a gently soothing voice. “Just send me your location, I’ll be right there.” He says with a reassuring tone, he could hear her sigh with relief on the other end of the line,
“Thank you so much. I owe you one.” She sounds significantly calmer when he hangs up the phone. When he gets her location he’s surprised because she shows up not so far from a suburban neighborhood. He thought she would be somewhere near town, but he realizes, he has no idea what she does for a living. As he gets into his car he ponders the possibilities. Is she a house cleaner? A Nanny? Door to door sales-woman? Will feels a little embarrassed, he hadn’t even asked her what she did for a living. He tried to rack his brain for anything that she might have said, not coming up with a single thing she had said. He pulls up behind her on the side of the road and gets out of his car. As he walks up to her door he was wracking his brain for a way to ask her what she does when he sees what she’s wearing. A full on ball gown, and a tiara. Will does a double take, this was not what he was expecting at all. She rolls down her window.
“Hey, thanks so much, I didn’t know who else to call.” She says with a smile.
“No problem…princess.” He says with a slight laugh before looking her over. “I will admit, I’m a little surprised to see you…dressed like that.”
“Oh, god. I forgot I hadn’t told you. I work for a party princess company.” She says as if that will explain everything to him. He looks at her puzzled.
“And that is?” he asks as he leans on her car looking at her.
“I get hired to dress as a princess and show up to kids birthday parties.” She explains. “Sometimes other events too, but mostly parties, hence Party princess,”
“Ah, I didn’t even know that was a thing you could do…” Will smiles and rubs the back of his head sheepishly. After getting under the hood and figuring out that this was not something he could fix on the side of the road they called roadside assistance and as they waited for the tow truck to some he asked her several questions about her job and she happily answered them. After the tow truck came Will drove her home. As he pulled up in front of her place she leans over and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you…prince charming.” She says with a cheeky smile. He chuckles slightly.
“Anything for my damsel in distress.”
~
Masterlist
Tag: @triplefrontier-anniversary @romanarose
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illusivelle · 8 months
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shake the frost / 1
pairing: william 'ironhead' miller x female reader rating: t (for now) length: 2,140 words content: established relationship with the triple frontier boys, drinking, light pining summary: you've always held a small spark for will and tonight is the first time you realize he might be looking at you in the same light, with a promise of something more. a/n: been a long time since i put something out there so please be gentle, but figured why not, especially if the idea's been rotting in my brain. not edited or proofread, will likely be one part of a series (that will gradually become nsfw surely). mostly just taking it as i go, but hoping you enjoy! thanks for reading. link to ao3 here!
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You’ve known Frankie for most of your life, a constant presence akin to a brother. You’ve witnessed him transform from a once fun-loving guy into a steely, quiet one. Still outgoing, still willing to go to bat for his friends – just different. Different in ways you couldn’t begin to understand when you were younger and couldn’t bear to think about it now that you knew. Not that you would ever know it all, but it was easy enough to grasp the change war brings around, especially to someone you long considered family.
But it was nights like tonight that made everything feel normal, you and Frankie playing rounds of pool and betting on rounds of drinks. You finally had a string of days off from work and as soon as you got the text from Frankie to join him and his buddies at the bar, it was hard to find an excuse to say no. Not when he’d been hiding out for a while, not after everything that happened with one of his closest friends. You wished you could’ve been there for him but Frankie didn’t let you, but he was inviting you out now and you’d be foolish to miss the chance again.
“Pay up, pilot.” You settle a hand on your hip, a waiting palm out in his direction. Frankie had that shit-eating grin while he shook his head at you, his hand sliding into his pocket when the bell chimed above the door and a loud laugh echoed through the dim space.
“Oh-ho-ho!” Your head jerks to find Frankie’s friend stride in, first the tall one you remember as Benny. He’d been the fighter you stitched up some time ago when Frankie called you over for help. Trailing closely behind him is a blonde, that one with striking blue eyes you couldn’t seem to look away from when you first met, while you were tending to his brother’s wounds. Will, he’d introduced himself then. A name you found hard to wipe from your mind, a face you found hard to look away from as his gaze connects with yours. You suck in a deep breath like that might help ground you but what actually does is the way Benny’s frame cuts into your line of sight, suddenly feet in front of you. “If it isn’t Doctor Shortcake.”
You cast your eyes up at him with a shake of your head, one because you weren’t a doctor, and two because “just my name is fine. You do know it, don’t you, Benny?” You’ve never been fond of pet names or nicknames and you weren’t about to be now, not even with the low drawl of Benny’s voice. He doesn’t say anything, just walks to the bar with his hands shoved into his pocket whistling a tune. It’s then you register Santiago is here, too, as he’s pulling you into a side hug and calling you mija. A term of endearment you’d let slide if only because you saw Santiago as more of a parental figure than you ever did Frankie.
But the one you’re really waiting to talk to is leaning against the edge of the pool table, his arms crossed against his chest as he talks with Frankie. His voice draws you in, your eyes landing on his mouth before they drift up to those powder blues. Ones that were looking right at you, heat crawling up your cheeks. “Hi.” You murmur and take a step toward him. Maybe it would be better to lean into it than to pretend he hadn’t just caught you staring at his lips.
“Hi.” The faintest smile hangs from his mouth while his gaze lingers on yours. “It’s been a while.”
A while was an understatement. You’d first met Will, and the rest of the guys, what felt like years ago. You were as much of a fixture in Frankie’s life as they were in his, but it was always either you and Frankie, or you tagging along with Frankie and the guys. You never had a moment alone with any of them, and certainly never with Will no matter how often you might’ve thought about it. Instead, the two of you stole fleeting glances, exchanged small smiles, the occasional conversation here and there but never about anything too personal – and never for too long. Frankie didn’t say much about it, just a sordid reminder one of the first times he noticed you eyeing Will for too long that the captain kept almost everyone at arm’s length and to not get your hopes up.
But that didn’t mean you couldn’t… look, right? Besides, you’re far too shy to try to make any kind of move, especially on a guy like Will Miller. Quiet, stoic, hard to read. Everytime you were around him, even just the feel of his sea of blues on you made your skin prickle, the depths in those eyes something you could get lost in. Every wash of blue something you might see in the ocean. Something you could drown in.
“Beating Frankie at pool?” His words cut into your thoughts.
“Oh, I was–” you chuckle softly, chin tucking into your chest bashfully, “I was, yeah, but he doesn’t wanna pay up.”
“Let’s play. I’ll double it.”
What? You blink up in near surprise but your head tilts with slight intrigue. “You sure? I’m pretty good…”
This pulls a gentle laugh from him and you can’t help your smile. You’ll replay that sound tonight, you’re sure, until the next time you could hopefully draw it out of him again. “Yeah. Frankie’s gonna go broke, so I’ll bail him out this time.”
At this, Frankie snorts, claps Will’s shoulder and mentions that he’s off to the bar to grab some drinks. Benny is still there, Santiago chatting him up, and it leaves you and Will alone – for the first time. Sure, there’s the energy of the other patrons and the giant pool table in between you, but they all seem to blur the second he’s offering you one of the pool cues. It’s barely a graze of his fingertips but it’s enough of a touch to reel you in. “Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” There’s not a drip of a threat in your tone, light and teasing to accompany the warm flush sprawling over your face.
It was something you couldn’t hide, either, not even with your hair falling against your temple. You knew Will would see it, knew he was entirely too observant to miss a beat. Maybe he was already counting all the ways he made you blush, and why were you so curious to know how he felt about that? 
“Let’s see what you got.” He’s already set up the balls, gesturing for you to break.
For as shy as you were, there were always a couple of scenarios where you were braver than usual. One, at work. Helping others came naturally to you, something you studied long and hard for. It wasn’t that you were turning your brain off, but in a weird way, it felt like that – a sort of routine that came easy. The second was times like now. A little competition always lit a spark in you, confidence growing with each drop of a ball in a pocket or each round of poker you won. It helped that guys like Frankie were always so appalled and confused when you’d win, thinking they had the upper hand. And wasn’t it just so much more fun to surprise people that way?
You break clean, sinking a solid colour in a pocket, turning to Will with the corner of your lip tugging up into half a smirk. “That makes you stripes.” You say as you move around him, leaning forward on the table to line up your next shot, but Will is quick to shift his body to face you. It’s almost unnerving and your grip on the stick loosens a little, or maybe your palm’s just become damp from the nerves. Why were you nervous? It was just Will. A friend of Frankie’s. It was just pool. A game you’ve played too many times to count. Just another guy, just another game.
“You okay?” He chimes and for a second, you swore he wasn’t teasing. Swore that you could hear that underlying concern in his tone.
You flash your eyes up at him, a light crinkle at the corners. “Good. Thanks.” Then you turn your attention back to the game and sink another ball.
You’re good – but Will is, too. You should be frustrated every time a striped ball makes it in but you’re finding this thrilling, someone who could challenge you, innocent as your interactions were. Even when you were looking at each other from across the table, it felt like a small exchange. One final ball for the both of you, but it’s your turn, your chance to end the game. “You sure you said double?” You breathe out, glancing up at Will from where you’re folded over, pool cue aimed at the white ball. 
“I’m sure.” He’s propped up against the back of a bar stool now, beer in hand, the boys scattered about having their own conversations. Benny pipes in at the perfect time to taunt his brother and if Will even hears him, he doesn’t show it – his blue eyes strictly on you. Taunting you in silence, instead.
Another deep breath, one you let out slowly as the end of the stick hits the edge of the white ball, rolling and rolling until it knocks into a coloured one. But you don’t pay it any mind, not quite caring whether or not it went in because you’re daring a glance up at Will… and he’s still looking at you. A few beats pass before you hear a loud smack on a table, “she got you good, man!” Benny clutching onto his brother’s shoulders, shaking it almost violently.
You roll your lips in between your teeth to hide a coy smile, but it’s obvious the way a blush steals across your cheeks. Will manages to escape Benny’s hold, slow and steady strides until he’s finally standing in front of you, one hand wrapped around the cue he’s holding and the other digging into his pocket. “Why don’t we–” you nod to his hand, the one that’s about to procure your prize, “have a rematch sometime? Triple or nothing.”
“Oooooh boy, that confidence is unmatched.” Benny laughs.
You lift a shoulder in a faint shrug, “just a thought,” though really it’s more of an excuse for you to maybe see Will again without the company of the others. You told yourself before you wouldn’t make any moves, but this wasn’t one, right? It was hardly forward. Just about the game. When your gaze darts to Frankie, however, his expression tells you he knows exactly what you might be up to, even if you don’t know it yourself.
“Sometime?” Will asks. “Why not tonight?”
“Because I should probably get going.”
“Do you need a ride?”
The question stuns you for a moment before you’re shaking your head. “No, it’s okay. You stay, you guys just got here.”
“You sure?”
“I’m…” not sure that you don’t want to take his offer, but not sure that you’d be able to handle any more time alone with Will, “sure.”
Will’s mouth twists in something you can’t discern. He’s got so many different emotions that play out across his face, some you’ve noticed over the times you’ve seen each other, though many you see for the first time when they play out – and sometimes, never again. This was new. After a pause, he finally nods. “Okay. A rematch next time, then.”
You’re quick to say your goodbyes to the boys, and once you get to Will, you find yourself fidgeting with your knuckles. “See you next time, then.” You echo his earlier sentiment, brushing a tendril behind your ear before you spin on a heel to make it to the door. One foot in front of the other – it’s the only thing you can focus on, else you might find your mind fluttering to thoughts of the blonde haired blue eyed captain.
And you don’t know why you do it but you steal a look over your shoulder and find those exact blue eyes locking with yours, Will resting against the bar’s patio, taking a swig of his drink. It was as if you felt his gaze on you, or maybe he felt the way you were thinking of him. Either way, you throw him a timid smile before you’re disappearing around the corner. Thoughts of Will Miller the entire walk home, the entire time you undress and slide into bed, the entire time your eyes are closed.
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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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intheorangebedroom · 7 days
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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3
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Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.  What happens if you can't make it to the motel on Friday evening?
Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)
Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.
A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey thank you for your help and beta reading, I fucking adore you so much it's downright obscene 🧡
Word count: 12.2k
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Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier
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Make us come, baby. Make us come together. 
These words are yours. 
Even if you never see him again. Even if you lose him before having had the time to map the freckles on his skin. To sleep in his arms. To hear him repeat them. They’re yours to keep. 
He mouthed them against your skin, sunk them into your bloodstream in bright mahogany before coming undone, wrapped around your body. 
They’re yours, right? 
Even if you don’t get to see him ever again. 
It starts with the cramps. That’s how it usually goes. A myriad of microscopic pliers nipping at your intercostal muscles. 
Your eyes shoot open at the familiar ache. The early morning hues redefine the room in blue shadows. You blink your sleep-heavy eyelids a few times, confused, before your vision adjusts and you recognize the room around you. It’s your bedroom. Your nightstand, your lamp, your books. Your pills. Your tube of scented hand cream. The chair in the corner, that ugly, Louis XV style, transparent polycarbonate monstrosity by that French designer. The large windows. Those damn floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light, too much heat, too much open view. Nowhere to hide, in here. 
It has to be sometime between 4 and 5 am, you assume, before another cramp seizes you. You curl up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter to your chin.
Not today. Please. Not today.
Friday. 
Inside your abdomen, nausea streams densely, like liquid lead, from your ribs to your stomach, as cold shivers run up your spine. Sweat breaks on your forehead. You know only too well what’s happening, but it can’t be, there’s been no warning signs. No headache, no stabbing sensation in your lower belly, no spinning head. 
Today is Friday. 
You reject the obvious.
Were you so engrossed in the memory of him to pay attention? His hand wrapped around your nape, his forearm molded along your spine, pressing you into his chest, making you two as one. Closer.
Nausea is already lapping at your esophagus. The pliers bite harder at your ribcage and you know you have to move now if you want to make it to the bathroom before it happens. Shuddering, you push away the comforter, then get up and run.
Kneeled on all fours on the cool bathroom tiles, you dive headfirst into the toilet’s porcelain bowl as everything inside you collapses on itself, emptying the content of your stomach, mostly liquid. You should have eaten something last night. 
You know you’re not pregnant. For an infinity of reasons. 
Because you haven’t let Adrian fuck you in weeks. Because, when he does, he always wears protection. That’s your mutual, very tacit agreement. A silent understanding that you’re never the only woman, at any given moment. An unspoken confession on his behalf, implicit permission on yours. 
Because your contraceptive pill is the only one you’ll never stop popping. 
Because you’ve suffered through more stomach bugs than you care to count.
And of course, because Frankie won’t come inside you. 
You stand up on fawn-like legs and flush the toilet. 
You splash water on your face and grab your toothbrush with a trembling hand, shaking from head to toe. You know this is only the beginning, but it’s coming in strong. This one is most likely going to be a bad one. At least for now the pain is gone.
Above the sink, the woman in the mirror stares at you with unsettling, disproportionate glassy eyes. Her skin looks waxy, she scares you, and you have to lower your eyes. You brush your teeth as quickly as you can. 
You haven’t made it back to the bedroom when the second wave of cramps squeezes your abdomen. The pain folds you in half, and you let out a low whine. 
It echoes like distant thunder along the glass walls of the empty corridor. 
On Fridays, you count. You break down hours and minutes and steps and heartbeats into small, bearable quantities, so that you can live through them without going crazy. Today, however, you’re counting trips to the bathroom, and the time between two attacks from the cramps, like you’re readying yourself to give birth to a terrible monster, feeding off you from the inside of your quivering body. 
You’ve managed to spend most of the day hiding in your office, with the window cracked open, and the AC cranked up to the max. The clothes you wear are the same as yesterday. Your expensive formal blouse sticks to your sweaty skin in clammy patches. You’re cold, cold and hot all at once. In fact, you’re burning up, and a chill sweat has you shivering in the non-existent breeze. 
You haven’t gotten any work done, to state the obvious. You’re just dozing in and out of consciousness between two crises, head like a rock sinking onto your arms on top of your shiny glass desk. Its surface fogs with every one of your short breaths. You’re running out of toothpaste. 
Being the boss’ daughter has never granted you any particular privilege over your coworkers, except on days like this. At the first signs of sickness, you go home, or call in sick. Stay in bed for a couple of days, sleep it off, sip water tentatively every time you throw up until you can finally keep it down. No one has ever thought to comment on the frequency or duration of your sick leaves. Not even your father.
Kaytee has probably noticed something’s wrong with you. Her office is right by the bathroom, and you've run there seven times since you’ve arrived this morning, an hour late, which is uncommon, to boot. You look like a walking corpse, your eyes eating up half of your face and your lips pinched in a tight line. And surely, she will find a way to use this against you in the near or distant future. She’s been dying to take your place ever since she was recruited nearly two years ago, champing at the bit, waiting for you to slip so she can bury you. 
If she only knew. How you are dying to let her have it all. That you are convinced she’d be so much better at the job than you’ll ever try to be. 
With your last shred of energy, you push down the thought, like you push down the nausea and the shivers. On Fridays, everything that’s not him is irrelevant. At 6pm sharp, you’ll count your steps down to the parking garage and hop in your car. You’ll sit in traffic until you reach the 589 and you can finally cruise towards the motel in the protective semi-darkness of the Tampa suburbia. 
You haven’t yet considered what will happen beyond this point. When he steps into the room and finds you sitting there, looking like an undead version of yourself, reeking of stale bile, rancid sweat and toothpaste. 
All you have to do is make it there. You won’t give up, simple as that. You’ll suck it down. 
Demonstrating resolve you never knew you possessed, you make it to sundown. You hold out through the pain, through the cramps, through the soreness on your knees and the abrasion in your throat and the stabbing sensation behind your eyes and the pulling of your gums. 
At 6pm, you turn off the alarm of your phone and put it away in your purse. The room swirls around you the first time you try to get up. You wince, falling heavy on the simile leather chair you sweated on all day. You wipe your damp forehead and neck with a tissue, and you stand up again. 
All the blood in your body rushes to your feet. There’s not a drop of it left in your brain. You swallow hard against the bitter taste clinging to your tongue and palate and start counting your steps toward the elevator, only to lose track somewhere after 18.
Dark, green circles flash in rapid succession across your pupils, narrowing your vision. You grip the strap of your purse harder, and register you can’t feel your fingers. Something is wrong with your balance, your whole body slants to the left. You try to correct its trajectory but you can’t feel anything below your calves either. What you can feel is your forehead and your nape, defined by pain, burning hot and somehow also freezing where beads of sweat run down your skin.
You’ve made it to the lobby when everything fades to black. 
In your early 20s, you had genuinely tried to shake off the melancholia. An honest, hopeful attempt. You were away at college, and even though you didn’t get to choose your major, different and various paths seemed possible, within reach. A couple of years after graduation, when you had met Adrian, you had tried again, with renewed vigor and motivation. 
You did want to get better. 
You cut back considerably on hard liquor. You smiled broadly, at everyone. You said “please,” and “sorry.” Applied lipstick daily, polished your nails weekly. You went out to dinners and parties, wore high heels and interacted with strangers, drank wine in stem glasses and in reasonable quantities. 
On your mother’s advice, you went to “see someone.” As your father prescribed, you read the news and followed sports results. 
But the sadness kept settling down inside you, like the white particles inside a snowball. The vomiting spells became more frequent. Despite your willingness and earnest efforts, you kept falling short, and each fall hit you with increased brutality. 
For your mother, you were too much. For your father, never enough. For Adrian, you would soon come to realize, you were a commodity.
Trying to please them in turn, learning your cues, anticipating their needs and wills and whims, torn up between their contradicting desires and expectations, smiling pretty and meek, you completely lost track of what you liked and who you were. 
Anxious, confused, perpetually dissatisfied and unsatisfying, you withdrew within yourself. Hid away between the folds, detached and ready to flee, wishing for nothing more than to disappear. 
As Ava grew up, her loud and unapologetic personality compelling everyone’s attention, she provided you with a reprieve and, most importantly, a purpose. But a diffuse sense of guilt soon arose, as your little sister’s struggles could hardly be instrumental to your self-fulfillment.
Inside of you, isolation and loneliness grew solid, like a second skeleton, keeping you upright.  
Apathy soon took over. You resorted to medication to control it all. 
And when it was no longer enough, you found your way to the Hole in the Wall.
The smell of rubbing alcohol floats around you in the chilled darkness, its rough acetone accents abrading your nostrils. There’s an undertone to it. Rotting perfume and decaying bodies. A faint beeping sound tugs at your consciousness, and as you begin to come to, pain strikes you in multiple places. 
Something sharp stings the thin skin on the back of your right hand. Each one of your intercostal muscles is sore. Your throat is parched, rougher than sandpaper; your tongue too big for your mouth, stuck to your palate. Every single joint in your body is sensitive, but the worst, by far, is the piercing ache in your forehead. It glues your eyes closed. 
Panic floods your brain with static when you stir, wincing against the shooting pain, and you don’t recognize the motel’s mattress. The one you’re lying on is too hard, the linen covering you too starchy, the darkness is closing in on you, you need to open your eyes, fence off the pain, find Frankie…
Frankie. 
You never made it to the motel. Where the hell are you? When the hell are you?
“Ah. At long last, she wakes. How are you feeling, babe?”
Adrian’s honeyed voice hauls you through the darkness. Your eyelids flutter against the light until you open your eyes to a square room with a single, large window, blazing sun darting through. 
Adrian is sitting in the corner by the foot of the bed. A hospital bed, apparently. A narrow, dark blue mattress, unusually high, encased with rails on each side and at your feet. You’ve never been hospitalized before. 
He’s looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin stretching his thin lips, like he was just let in on a juicy secret. He’s dressed in his golf apparel. 
The violent luminosity intensifies the splitting sensation in your forehead, it vibrates to the back of your skull, from within, from the sides.  
Squinting, you turn your head to the side to take in your surroundings. On top of a beige, melamine nightstand are a black phone with a long twisted cord, an oval device with a red and a white buttons and another cord, and a metal kidney dish. 
There’s a tray table over your legs, with a jug standing next to a hard glass already filled with water, and some paper napkins. There’s a needle in your hand. A drip. With a cord. You flinch a little at the sight. A white rectangle eats up the tip of your index, a red light flashing from inside it. Another cord. It’s linked to the source of the beeping sound, a square monitor to your right, displaying wobbly lines of green. Another two cords are plugged in, you follow their sinuous lines to your bed, where they disappear under the sheet, and you take in the two round patches taped to your chest.
So many cords. Too many sensors. 
“Where’s my phone?” you mumble. 
Your tongue feels like a piece of carpet. You’re not sure whether it’s even your voice anymore. 
“You scared us this time,” Adrian says. His tone is cold, practiced, policed. 
You reach for the plastic glass and bring it to your chapped lips. The liquid flows down your throat like a waterfall; you wince again.
“Can you pull down the blinds, please? The light hurts.”
He lets a moment pass before he gets up, then circles the bed, unhurried, pacing toward the window, but instead of shutting the Venetian blinds, he sits by your side. The mattress dips under his weight. You hold your breath, anticipating a new jolt of pain. Behind him, the daylight forms a halo, blurring the outline of his silhouette. Your eyes water against the brightness. 
“What day is it?” you try again. 
“One thing we don’t understand is why you didn’t go home. You got us all worried, you know?”
The beeping picks up pace, imperceptibly. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. The one with no cords linked to it. You know this dance, he won’t cooperate until you ask the right questions, the ones he wants you to listen to him answer. Better to give him what he wants, for now.
“What happened?” 
“We don’t know exactly, that’s the thing. Well, you were sick, this you know,” he punctuates his words with a knowing grin and a wink, “but instead of coming home, you stayed at work, for some reason. We think you lost consciousness on your way out, and you hit your head on the elevator’s frame in your fall. We couldn’t help you right away because most employees had already left the floor. Jerry found you. He called your dad.”
You close your eyes, blocking the image of Jerry, of all people, finding you sprawled out and unconscious on the floor. And why would he call your father? Why not 911? You resent that collective we. Who the hell is we? Right about now, you could swear it’s the entire world versus you. 
Besides, you’re fairly certain Kaytee was still in her office at the time. She never leaves before 8pm at the earliest and makes sure everyone knows about it. 
“You split your forehead open. Apparently, you were running a pretty high fever, too. Oh, and you were critically dehydrated, according to the doctor I saw this morning,” he frames the words critically dehydrated in air quotes. “He also said something about a light concussion, I think.” 
You lift a heavy hand to your forehead, the tip of your fingers gingerly testing what they find there, a gauze dressing, held in place by medical tape. 
Having the clinical explanation behind the multiple aches throbbing inside your body somehow eases some of the pain.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, unable to look him in the eyes with the harsh light behind him. “I need my phone. Can you give me my phone, please?”
“What do you need your phone for?” he asks casually, seemingly absorbed by something on his pants.
It’s a dare. You know that tone all too well. Today, however, you find that you don’t feel like playing. You want your goddamn phone.
Frankie cannot possibly have tried to reach you as you never exchanged numbers, but you want to call the motel. Find out if he came. What happened then. You want to know what time it is, what day, how much of him you’ve missed. You’re craving his touch, his skin between your parted lips, your heart pumping on empty, racing madly from the need for him, and of all the sensations making your body known to you, this one by far hurts the most. 
The beeping sound accelerates, drawing Adrian’s attention to the monitor, then to you. His cold blue gaze narrows on your face. You try to slow down your breathing, hoping it translates to your heart rate. 
“I need to call Ava. She must be worried.”
“Ah yes, your sister, of course,” he exclaims, feigning a bright mood, as if you’d just reminded him you’re traveling to Hawaii together next week. 
Getting up, he walks nonchalantly to the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall underneath the TV set, hands in his pockets. The black screen dwarfs his lean proportions. His red polo enhances his pallid complexion. You avert your gaze, lest the monitor picks up your disgust like it does your nervousness.  
“Yes, it’s true, she probably got very distressed, when you didn’t show up at all last night,” he agrees with affected concern.
There’s a foul taste in your mouth. Acid, rubbing alcohol, and something else. The glass is empty, but you don’t think you can lift that jug. Each one of your muscles is vibrating, waiting for the axe to fall. If only that fucking monitor could stop beeping. 
“Remember back in October, when Kenneth went to New York over the weekend for the symposium at NYU? Well you’ll never guess. He saw your sister there, in some uptown restaurant, making out with her…” his upper lip curls, “with this older woman, her girlfriend.”
So this is it. He knows. All this time, he’s known. Since October, practically since the beginning. And he let you believe you had him fooled, that you had the upper hand on the situation, that this part of your life was yours. He lured you into a false sense of safety, a deluded feeling of freedom. And all the while, he’s known. 
It’s really your fault, for forgetting that’s how things are with him. That nothing truly is what it seems. That he likes you scared, anxious. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. 
There’s no point in trying to control the beeping, now. In fact, given its cadence, you expect a nurse to barge in any minute. 
“Polly’s not old,” is your answer. 
“Yeah, whatever, they’re degenerates, both of them.”
“Where’s my goddamn phone, Adrian?”
“What do you want your phone for?” he barks.
The words are spat in your direction, and the sheer volume of his nasal voice startles you. Red blotches erupt on his cheeks and neck, his eyes are blazing with contempt. 
“You need to call your fucking dealer? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed that you’re high half of the time?”
You remain perfectly still, holding your breath.You can feel your skin pulling at the medical tape in your hairline. 
He doesn’t know shit. In fact, he’s scared. He’s so, so small. 
“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you do every Friday night, ok? But can you at least be fucking discreet about it?”
The poison in his tone and his words corrodes your confidence. 
“They will announce the senior partners in January, I cannot fucking lose your father’s business until it’s done, do you understand me? So whatever you do,” he points his index finger at you and stabs it through the air to accentuate each of his following words, “you be fucking discreet. More fucking discreet than that shitshow you pulled, do you get it? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Should you nod? Is he waiting for you to manifest your understanding of the situation? 
You hate yourself for thinking, ever so briefly, that he might have been jealous, that he might have cared. Held down on this bed with all these cords, you feel like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, on display in a cabinet of curiosities, a mere object amidst a multitude of other trophies covered in dust and mold. You’ve always hated butterflies. They gross you out. 
You allow yourself to breathe again when his posture relaxes. Looking down at his feet, with his hands on his waist, he shakes his head and huffs. The stance reminds you of Frankie, the difference in their proportions almost comical, like a circus monkey aping the brawny horseman, the one who gets top billing in the show. 
Frankie had you pinned on a bed repeatedly, without ever making you feel like a study in entomology. 
“Your dad is waiting for me, I’m already late,” Adrian says, coming toward you, “I’d love to stay a little longer, but you know how he is about golfing. Don’t want to keep him waiting!” 
He pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. The pain darts through your skull in all directions, all the way down to your spine. 
“Where’s my phone, Adrian?” you call one last time as he strides toward the door.
“You don’t need your phone, babe. What you need is to rest. Get those magical hospital electrolytes. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a wink. 
And he’s gone.
Furious tears hang from your lashes. You focus on the plastic box on the tip of your index, and you begin to inhale and exhale, as deeply and slowly as you can. It’s shaky at first, but you’re encouraged by the decreasing cadence of the beeping. 
Adrian and your father go golfing at 2pm on Saturday afternoons. Meaning you’ve been out for over fifteen hours. Without your phone, you have no means to assert the time. Your watch is nowhere in sight, neither are your clothes, shoes, jewelry, purse. 
The room has a phone, but you have no idea if it’s connected. You don’t know the number to the motel. Hell, you don’t even know its name, only its location. 
Frankie’s silhouette invades your thoughts, the size of him, the shape of him. His broad back, his strong shoulders, the line of his neck. The sensation of his hands grasping your waist. Their precision, their roughness. Their intent.
Is this how it ends?
Fresh tears swell under your eyelids. You quickly clench them close. 
You did everything wrong. What an appalling idiot. You should have acknowledged you’d never make it there, not in the state you were in. You should have called the motel to leave a message, explain your absence, and promise you’d be there again the following Friday. 
Now you have no means to reach him. You probably have lost him forever. The warm touch of his skin. His unique scent. His taste.
The beeping grows frantic. Heavy wet sobs heap up inside your chest. Your hand flies to cover your eyes. You anchor yourself to the throbbing pain in your skull and the prickling needle in your hand. To the faint clasp of the pulse oximeter on your index finger. Pursing your lips, you exhale.
Whether the phone is connected or not is just a detail. You can always signal someone with that little remote on the nightstand and have the option charged to the room. Ava’s phone number is the one you have memorized, she can come and get you, and when you manage to get out of here and get your phone back, you’ll replace Adrian’s contact info with hers as your ICE. 
The point is: you’re not trapped. You’re not a dead butterfly in a glass case. 
Your heart rate slows down. 
Between the cords and the hospital sheets, you look up at the white ceiling, and do what you do best: you check out, slip back between the cracks, disconnect.
The pain from your head injury is overwhelming. You’d ask for painkillers, but that collective we still haunts you. 
You expect Adrian to come back on Sunday. He doesn’t. Throughout the day, you fall in and out of sleep, a restless, feverish slumber crowded with violent dreams of flesh-eating monsters licking your bones clean.
On Monday morning, the doctor comes in to see you. A man in his early 60s with a thick mane of gray hair and a carefully trimmed beard, he calls you “sweetheart,” and when he raises his eyes from his tablet, he flashes you a perfunctory smile with blinding white veneers. He introduces himself as the head of the gastroenterology department. And a friend of Richard. He makes sure that you understand that his name on your chart is a favor to your father. His demeanor commands your respect, preferably by way of intimidation. 
Whatever he tells you, you’ve already learned from the nurses who waltzed in and out of your room in a brisk and constant ballet throughout the weekend, to check with skilled, professional movements the multiple cords and tubes pinning you to your bed. 
You suffered bacterial gastroenteritis, with severe dehydration, necessitating an antibiotic treatment, and, from your fainting spell, a minor concussion and a head injury. A thin split, on the right side of your forehead, perpendicular to your hairline.
You got sick. You fainted. You hurt your head.
After the doctor’s gone, you’re finally allowed to get up. Under the fluorescent ceiling light of the adjacent bathroom, you spend several minutes observing the seven stitches adorning your forehead. The thick black thread tied in neat little knots that look like dollhouse barbed wire. The visible indentation in your flesh underneath them. The kaleidoscopic and psychedelic coloration of your skin, spreading from your brow to your scalp.  
One of the nurses assures you the scar will quickly fade and disappear. Just like you. 
You find your belongings inside the narrow closet by the bathroom door. The slit of your pencil skirt is torn nearly up to the waist, and the blouse is bloodied. Your jewels are tucked inside your purse. You stand in front of the shelves, staring blankly at the black leather rectangle with the two gold C’s entwined on the front. One of the very first gifts you received from Adrian. You can’t remember if it was for Christmas, or your 30th birthday. Every Friday evening for the past three months, you’ve shoved it unceremoniously under your car seat. You hate that thing. It’s soulless, tacky, it begs for attention, it screams money.    
Later in the afternoon, your mother comes to visit. She brings you magazines, In Style, Elle, Southern Homes, Vogue … At first, she doesn’t look at your face, and when she does, she crumbles into tears. You comfort her. You watch her pad the corner of her fake lashes with a tissue she pulls out of her Birkin purse, and reapply lipstick.
Adrian comes back on Tuesday, with a large bouquet of roses, a box of imported Belgian chocolates you’re not allowed to eat, and your phone. He doesn’t stay long. Before he leaves, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your lips. You wait until he’s passed the door to spit into the kidney dish.
Your father calls within minutes of his departure, with an apology for not visiting. Work, he says, the magic word that justifies everything, from the clothes on your back to his shitty behavior. You tell him the doctor has advised to rest for the remainder of the week. 
In the evening, you finally text Ava. She calls you back immediately, which, beyond her audible concern, puts a lump in your throat. When she asks you how you’re feeling, it’s a minute before you can even speak. 
You’re discharged on Wednesday, with a tube of antibiotics, a short list of food to favor and a much longer one to avoid. 
Ava comes to pick you up. She brings you a change of clothes, a pair of baggy, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt that spells PRIDE in rainbow letters. You smile at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when you come out, she laughs like a child at her own joke. You laugh with her. It hurts a little, but the pain is worth it.
You’re still smiling when you ask her if you can keep the t-shirt, and her face drops. She hugs you, a bone-crushing hug with closed fists compressing your back, her face slotted into the crook of your neck. Her voice quivers when she answers that everything that is hers, is also yours. 
You stuff the pockets of your jeans full of your things and leave your purse in the closet. With a little bit of luck, the person who will find it can get a good price for it. 
On Friday morning, you drive back to the hospital to honor a 10:30 am appointment to remove your stitches. You’re led through a sprawling maze of corridors into a windowless room with baby blue walls, and instructed to undress to your underwear, which you don’t. Sitting on the examination couch, legs dangling in the air, palms rubbing on your jeans, you wait for the nurse to come in. 
She doesn’t remark on your defiance. In fact, she makes a point of soothing your nervousness, introducing herself as Diane, complimenting the color of your sneakers. She promises that you won’t feel a thing, and you believe her. When she smiles, her irises nearly entirely disappear, and a wide-spanning arch of wrinkles appears at the corner of her eyes, like sunbeams drawn by a happy child. 
While she prepares her utensils, she engages you in small talk, skillfully stirring the conversation toward the matter of your mental health and physical well-being. You’re well-trained too. You divert without shame or remorse. 
True to her word, she makes quick work of it, and when she’s done, she hands you a mirror framed in a blue, rubbery material. 
At first, you refuse to look, but she kindly insists. Her voice is gentle, angelical, her hands are warm when she lays them on your shoulders. She never once pronounces the word “scar.” She calls you “a beautiful and brave young woman.”
So you let her guide your hand upward until you’re faced with your image. 
“See? Barely visible. Once the ecchymosis has faded, you won’t even be able to notice it. Just something that happened.”
As she stands behind you, her warmth radiates through your cold bones, and she smiles broadly at your reflection. You blink back your tears. You want to commit her words to memory, uncorrupted by emotions. Just something that happened.
Out in the street, a strong wind blows in gusts from the east, in an overcast sky. The damp smell scrunches up your nose. Even without the sun, the air is too warm for the season. When you get into your car, the first thing you do is crank up the AC. 
That rotten hospital smell is still clinging to your skin and hair, you keep having these drops in blood sugar that leave you trembling like a willow tree and drenched in cold sweat. The whiplash from this morning’s anxiety does nothing to level your mood. 
You glance at your watch. 11:30. You let your head roll back on the headrest. You can’t remember a time in your life when you were not exhausted. 
You consider heading straight to the motel. Originally, you intended to go home first, change your clothes and apply some makeup. Cover up the giant bruise on your forehead, and do your best to look alive. It would be smart to put some food in you, too, and of course, to hydrate.
“Fuck it.”
You start the ignition, and merge into the midday traffic. 
The drive is excruciatingly long. A week from Christmas, the traffic is terrible. Getting out of Tampa takes over an hour. 
It’s the afternoon when you pull into the motel’s parking lot. Your eyesight’s unfocused, your nerves are raw, your shoulders pulled taut. 
Of the three other cars parked in the lot, none look like the one you’ve always assumed to be Raul’s, an ancient white Jeep Wagoneer with a rusty back bumper. 
As you try to ponder what to do next, the prickling of your healing tissues riles you up, convoking intrusive thoughts of your scarred reflection. The antibiotics drill a hole into your stomach, the discomfort creases your brow into a constant frown. Your right leg bounces continuously on the car floor. 
You’re running on empty. Pure, solid stress is what’s holding you up.
Once again trapped, this time inside the carbon fiber box of your car, while the outside world is defined in movements. The course of the overcast sun across the pearly gray sky, and the ever-changing shades of the clouds chased by the eastern winds. The occasional vehicle driving past the motel on the secondary road. The trembling of tree leaves, birds flying over, lonesome or in flocks. 
That decaying smell is everywhere in you, around you, but it might be your festering thoughts.
You’re too much, not enough, a disposable commodity. 
Is this how it ends?
Sometimes before 7pm, the white Wagoneer pulls into the parking lot, followed a few minutes later by a red sedan. Raul’s short, bespectacled figure is recognizable through the windshield of his Jeep. Then, it’s the familiar sight of his blue overall as he climbs the flight of stairs to the reception. You slide down on your seat, you don’t need him to see you already stationed here. 
Shortly after, a curvy young woman with a straight, blonde ponytail that goes down to her waist comes out and jogs to the red sedan. She gets in on the passenger side, and you wait until the car disappears on the horizon to exit yours. 
The short walk from your car to the office should be muscle memory. Only today, the gravel feels steady under the flat soles of your Van’s, and your jeans allow you to take actual, proper strides. Carried by the momentum, you march into the room, opening the door so wide it bangs on the door stopper with an ominous sound of shaking glass panes. 
Behind the desk, Raul lifts his head. It’s easy to tell by his puzzled expression that he doesn’t place you. And why would he? You look nothing like you usually do on every other Friday evening. Your clothes are casual, your face is bare, your features pulled taut by mental and physical exhaustion and an array of soreness and pains, your forehead shines in Technicolor, set off by a fresh, inch-long scar. 
“Good evening,” you start with a tight smile. “I—“
A whole week. Seven days, and you haven’t thought this through. The liability that is your impractical brain appalls you, exasperation heating your temples. In the silence that ensues, the droning of the AC unit seems to grow louder. You smile again. 
“I come in every week?” 
Jesus. 
“Oh yes,” he nods, his boot-button eyes boring into yours, “Friday nights, room number 2.”
“Yes,” you answer with a strained, cringy little chuckle, “room number 2. Is it–”
You wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans.  
“I was wondering if the room was booked last week?”
“Yes, last week room 2 was booked. But you didn’t come, last week.”
“Yes, no, I was held back,” you hear yourself say. You wince before you add, “And, the— the tall man— the tall man who joins me, did he come, last week?”
“Yes. He came. He waited, two, maybe three hours. You didn’t come, so he left. No refund.  Reservations paid in advance are not refundable unless canceled at least 48h—“
“Oh no, that’s fine,” you cut in, relieved he might have thought this embarrassing interaction was about money. “And is the room booked for tonight?”
Raul’s boot-button eyes linger on you for a beat before he lowers them to the computer screen on his left. The mouse clicks a few times, loud and suspenseful, as he operates the thing. You try to catch the reflection of something, anything in his round glasses. There are seven rooms, two cars beside his and yours in that parking, what can possibly take him so long? 
If the bacteria hasn't killed you, the wait surely will. 
“No,” he eventually declares, looking up at you, “it’s not booked for tonight.”
The answer falls on you like a guillotine. It rings out in your ears and you sway on your feet from the violence of the blow. You don’t know how to breathe. 
“Do you want to book it?”
You shake your head slowly.
“No. Thank you.”
Back outside, in the muggy semi-darkness, your wobbling legs find the way to your car on autopilot. 
He made no plans to come back. This time, he didn’t leave any note. This is how it ends. Between your lungs, the wild creature is bleeding. 
You should turn around, ask if they have his full name, bribe Raul into giving you his contact info. You never thought of memorizing his plates, but you could always drive back to the Hole in the Wall, see if he’s been there, if he came looking for you. 
You don’t. You won’t. You’re not entitled to any of it. He was never yours. Never yours to want, to long for, to miss, to hold.
All that’s left now is the abyss and the fear. You’re terrified. Of what lies ahead, the choices you’ll have to make, the answers you’ll have to give. The hollowness in your chest. The gap in your existence. The fracture in your years. 
The before and the after him. 
He has changed you. You changed yourself. You’ll never know if you changed him. 
Stunned, you stand still by your car, cloaked in the velvety night, frozen in space and time. Your hand petrified on the door handle. Unable and unwilling to leave. Eyes riveted to the brass number on the door, glinting with a blurry glow in the soft yellow hues of the porch lights. Moths flutter fuzzy and silent into the light beam, oblivious to the drama of your story. 
The rectangular window stands guard over your secret life. Behind the yellow curtains, your lonely silhouette awaits to come to life, poised and silent, seated on the edge of the bed. 
That woman, young and brave . Want has made her bold and determined. In just a few moments, her trained ears will pick up the sound of an old truck engine drawing near on the empty road. Her existence will come into focus with thrilled anticipation. She will bloom out of her restraints at the sound of tires on the gravel. 
“Oh god,” you whisper, whipping your head around, your grip on the handle white-knuckled as the red truck parks behind your sedan. 
His massive silhouette comes out, and you clasp your hand to your mouth to muffle a dry sob. 
It’s a trick of your overwrought brain. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a suede jacket over a dark t-shirt. The brim of his hat casts a long shadow over his face, but he’s moving fast, and in a couple of strides, he’s standing before you, hands on his hips. He’s smiling, a broad and bright smile. You catch a glimpse of a dimple you’ve never seen. A trick of the mind. 
Oh but he’s here, in the flesh, your body knows before your brain comprehends his presence. The instant pull, the humming purr of the creature inside you, the blood level instinct.  
“Hey!” he calls. He sounds out of breath. Like he’s been running. Running to you. 
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out through your clenched fingers. 
“What?”
His smile drops when you take a step back. 
“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make it, I thought I could, but I couldn’t make it, and then I couldn’t—“ 
Your throat closes around the memory and you swallow hard, eyelids weighed by stubborn tears that refuse to fall. 
He takes a step forward, tilting down his head. That scowl. That scowl, you know. You’re only too familiar with it.
“Then it was too late and I couldn’t reach you,” you finish.
“What happened to you?”
The low timbre of his voice reverberates inside your chest. His eyes flicker up to your forehead. Before you can think of anything to say, he cups your face with both hands and turns it to the side, towards the light. The whole sequence happens so fast that you trip on your feet and catch yourself on his forearms. 
“Who the fuck did that to you?” he grits, leaning so close his breath fans your forehead.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper. 
“Did he do that to you?”
“What?”
“Your husband. Did he do that to you?” he asks again, louder, this time. Separating each syllable.
“Oh no! No, I fell.” You bring the tip of your fingers to the sensitive mark. “The nurse said it will fade.”
“How did you fall?” he presses. 
He doesn’t believe you. Like you could lie to him if you wanted to. 
The tension from his frame resonates through yours, where a week’s worth of suppressed emotions and tears are piled up, waiting for a detonator that will bring down the dam. You push away his hands, your frown mirroring his own. 
“I fell, ok? I’m here now, so let’s go inside.”
“I’m not– no,” he huffs, hands back on his hips, shaking his head. His boots scuff over the gravel, the grating sound loud in the empty lot, in the stifling night, and despite the dimness you can make out that scowl, ever present, splitting his gaze. 
“You can barely stand.”
However relevant, his rejection burns your cheeks. You raise your chin, leaning against the hood of the car for countenance. For balance.
“I’m fine. The room is free. Let’s go.” 
“I said no. I’m not fucking you. Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re clearly not well enough–”
“You don’t fucking tell me what I’m well enough to do,” you snarl with your heartbeat in your throat, pushing away from the car, sustained by your last shred of strength. “Don’t assume you know what I’m capable of.”
He stands in front of you, seemingly unmoved, impossibly tall, infuriatingly silent. Stoic, and you’re thrumming with frustration, standing stubborn and brittle in front of him. He gives you none of the myriad of micro-expressions that usually play across his face, that you read instinctually. You feel ugly, exposed, but you withhold his gaze, jaw clenched, breathing heavy through your nose. You might faint again.
The silence drags on. It’s a minute before he moves again, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is calm, when he speaks next, low and quiet, almost soothing. You don’t want it to be soothing. You don’t want to be soothed, you’re not done with your anger. He didn’t book the room, and now he doesn’t want to go in. You are a swappable vessel, after all. 
“I don’t. I don’t assume anything,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”
“I told you already, you cannot hurt me,” you snap, impatient.
“Wanna bet?”
You don’t need to. You know he could. Just not in the way he thinks he would. He’s already marked you permanently, deeper than any injury, any wound ever could. 
“Listen,” he begins with a sigh. 
“No, I get it, I look like shit and you don’t want to fuck me—“
“Alright, that’s enough!” he silences you with his index finger pointed at you. His voice booms in the dim parking lot, and you avert your eyes. Weariness washes over you, you fall back against the hood of your car.
His shoulders sink just a bit, the slightest drop in the tension pulling them taut. He steps closer to you, leans down, seeking your gaze, searching your face in the semi-darkness. 
“Hey, why don’t we go for a drive?” he offers. “We can talk. Or not. We can listen to the radio. Or just drive in silence, if you want. Clear our minds. What do you think?”
Our minds. 
He’s so close you can smell the clean scent of his t-shirt and the musk of him underneath it; you can feel your skin reaching out for him in feverish little tendrils you cannot control. 
“Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Yes, ok.”
He smiles, a cautious, appraising smile. The light catches at the mahogany depth of his eyes. He reaches for you, placing a large hand in the small of your back, and whispers, “Alright, let’s go.”
— 
The cab of the truck feels almost sacred. For months, it’s been your favorite daydream. Picturing him alone in the only private space of his you’ve ever seen, driving to you. 
What are his thoughts, then? Are they of you? Are they happy? Are they hopeful?
On any other occasion, you’d relish the opportunity to be in here with him. You’d catalog and store up every tiny detail for future use in your fantasies of him. Instead, you’re sitting tight and rigid on the wide bench seat, pressed against the door, face turned toward the window, seeing absolutely nothing. 
You hate yourself for that, too. 
After a while, you risk a glance at the dashboard. 
Judging by the analog dials, the truck has some mileage, but it’s visibly been well maintained. There’s no visible spots, no dust, no dents, only the patina of time. The vinyl bench seat is upholstered with a soft fabric whose colors have fainted after too many years under the Florida sun. There’s a cassette player and a cigarette lighter. The windows are manual. 
The one on Frankie’s side is cracked open. The night air carries his scent over to your side of the cab. Leather, laundry, musk. You can’t escape it. 
“Hey. You ok there?”
In the moonless night, you can only make out the sharp lines of his profile against the outside darkness of the country road. 
“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 
He looks at you, brow pinched, but his expression is soft. Compassionate. 
“C’mere.”
The truck slows down to a snail pace, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. You scoot over near him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches to your right and rolls out the middle seat belt across your lap, fastening it between your hip and his. 
The truck accelerates to a cruising speed, and he wraps his arm over your shoulders, drawing you closer. 
You let him, allow your body to slump against his, embrace his warmth, your cheek pressed against his chest. It’s solid and strong, a match for your skeleton of loneliness. The suede fabric of his jacket is smooth, worn in. You inhale him there. You rest a hand on his thigh, and slide the other under his jacket, to rest on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing. If you lie real still, you can feel the steady thumping of his heart. 
“I’m not married.”
“Ok.”
The word is felt through your cheek as much as you hear it. 
“The man I live with. He’s not my husband.”
“Ok.”
The nodding motion of his head nudges you a bit. 
“And I really fell.”
He remains silent, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. The leather lining creaks inside his fist. 
“I got sick, last Friday. I get these stomach bugs all the time, but this was a mean one. I tried to make it through the workday, but eventually I passed out. Like a corporate rendition of a Victorian damsel, or something.”
You chuckle, diverting the humiliating memory. Just something that happened. 
He tightens his embrace. 
“That when you hurt your head?”
“Yes. On the edge of the elevator’s frame. At work”
“Fuck. Did it hurt a lot?”
“Actually it didn’t? I was out. It hurt when I woke up later, in the hospital, though. I had this terrible headache. I didn’t know where I was, or when I was.”
You feel him shake his head as he asks, “Were you scared?”
How to put into words, that the only fear you’ve ever had, is to never see him again? 
“I survived,” you answer with a shrug and a little, empty laugh.
If you were brave enough, if you had some strength left, you’d ask. How did he feel, when he got to the motel and found the door to the room closed. Why he didn’t book the room again. Why he still came tonight. 
“Does it still hurt?” he asks. 
“No,” you lie. 
“Mmh. And for real?”
You rub your cheek against the smooth suede, imprinting your soft smile into it. And maybe some of your scent for him to keep. In case, just in case he does care.
“A little. I’ll be fine.”
The truck cruises over the black asphalt, between the straight, stretching yellow lines. 
Your next words come in quiet, but not hesitant.
“He wouldn’t hit me.”
“Ok.”
“That’s not what he does.”
He exhales slowly through his nose. 
“What does he do?”
You bite your cheeks, already regretting this moment of weakness. The treason. 
“He makes me doubt.”
“Him?”
“Myself. And him too.”
Your eyes clench shut. His chest flexes under your cheek as he hardens his grip on the wheel. 
The truck drives past a gas station, through a small town. Neatly delimited square lawns, white houses with flags hanging on their porches, Christmas lights blinking through square windows, and you tilt up your head to look at him in the streetlights. 
His outlined profile, his steady expression, everything about him feels safe and grounding. The beauty that radiates from him, from within him, sinks to your heart. It races madly, awakening the soreness in your bruised ribcage, and perhaps he can feel it, with the way you’re curled up into his side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your forehead. You bunch up his T-shirt in your fist. 
Soon, the yellow lines unwinding endlessly in the truck’s headlights weigh down your eyelids. In the safety of Frankie’s hold, your mind and body slowly drift into a peaceful slumber. 
“You ok? Want me to close the window?”
His voice is a distant whisper skirting the edges of your consciousness. 
“No, ’m good,” you mumble. “Wanna stay like this forever.”
Under your palm, Frankie's heart thumps loud and heavy. 
When you wake up, the truck is still and silent. Engine cooled off, windows rolled up. The night is pitch dark. Frankie’s scent, heady, familiar, everywhere around you. Your cheek is resting on his lap, and his hand lies heavy on your waist. His breathing comes in even and slow. Both your seatbelts are unbuckled. Your feet are bare. 
Aside from your legs, sore from being crammed into the length of the seat bench, you feel better than you have in a week, with your headache finally gone. 
You sit up, take in your surroundings and his sleeping form, seated behind the wheel. He stirs, lifting an eyelid and glancing in your direction, the corner of his mouth tugged up into something that resembles a drowsy grin. 
At some point while you were asleep, he drove back to the motel. Parked the truck so that the cabin faces away from the only source of light. 
You stretch side by side, sleep-heavy limbs, comfortable silence. You watch him lift his hat and comb his fingers through his hair, a tender smile lifting the corner of your lips. You know the curls he hides there. 
Of course, it cannot last forever. Nothing ever does. In a couple of hours, it’ll be daybreak. He’s always gone, by then. 
You won’t make this uncomfortable or difficult for him. You slip your socks and shoes back on. You’re reaching for the handle when he stops you with a hand on your thigh. 
“Wait. I need to talk to you.”
His voice is low and husky from sleep. You realize you have never woken up next to him. Never slept with him through the night. Probably never will. 
You hum quietly, pivoting on the seat bench to face him. 
“I can’t come, next week,” he says, searching your eyes. 
Emotionless. That’s how you have to be. You know how to do this. Not when it comes to him, but you can try. You try your best, your very hardest. 
“I understand.”
“I imagine you can’t be here either.”
No, you can’t. Thanksgiving at your parents’, Christmas with Adrian’s family. Always. 
“No, I can’t.”
The following week, either. But you don’t share that.
This is when the two of you should discuss a practical means of communication. The awareness hangs between you, loud and unspoken. The consequences it would have on whatever it is that the two of you share. The shockwave, the shift in nature and intention. The names that exist to describe your situation, crass, overused, sordid. Tainted with lies and deception, secret texting, hushed phone calls, disgusting, undeniable guilt.
Frankie moves first, getting out of the truck and going round the hood to open the door for you. You slide out of the high cab into his arms, and when your feet touch the gravel, you wonder if this could be the last time he will ever hold you.
In the feeble porch lights, his face is a landscape of diffuse shadows. The dip in his collarbone draws you in, a beacon in a dark ocean. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his scent, taking in his fragrant warmth. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, graze your cheek along his pebbled skin. What if you stayed there? Tucked away forever. Disappeared to the rest of the world. Would it matter? Would he let you? 
Your fists bunch the sides of his jacket. 
“Kiss me, Frankie, please.” 
“Yes.”
His first kiss is tentative, the plush cushion of his lips a soft press over yours, but they return immediately, hungry for a taste, for more, the tip of his tongue brushing against your parted lips. 
All that you crave, all that you need is here, in his embrace, between his arms and his hands tugging at your waist, beckoning your body closer to his. 
Your arms circle his neck, the tips of your fingers seeking his curls. His hand spans your back, finds your nape. He molds you into his chest, and with the way he’s pressing you against him, firm and commanding, you know this will be one of these moments that feed into your hopes. The delusion you’ve been nurturing since the first time you’ve faced him. The dream that he wants you to be his above anyone else. 
His third kiss opens you up, tongue swirling around yours, and you keen, rising to your tiptoes, angling your head to take more, more, more and he gives. Hands gripping, tongue licking, crushed lips and guttural moans, he gives you all that you need like he needs it too. 
You’re floating above the gravel, there’s no time, there’s no space, his body has no end and there’s no beginning to yours as he kisses away your fears, your doubts, your darkness. 
Together, you stand entwined between night and morning, linked by chance, need and hurt, bonded by will and desire. 
There’s no urgent hunger in the spanning of his splayed hands across your body, no rage in his kneading of the soft of your hips, or the swell of your breast. His grip is strong, but studious and thorough. He takes you in, your curves, your dips, the slopes and slants of your figure. Like he’s storing up the feelings and memories of you for when there will be no more, when you’re far and gone, away with your husband who is not your husband. There’s despair in his touch, but most of all, there’s foresight, and intent. 
He’s untucked your t-shirt, calloused hand skimming up to cup your breast, thumbing the hardening peak of your nipple.
Once again, you find yourself pressed against the hard, cool metal of the truck, and like the first time, you’re frantic in his hold, but he’s in control. His thick thigh parts your legs, offering friction to the coiling need between your hips, that fire pooling liquid down your core. You squirm against the firm muscles. 
“Want me to make you come, baby?”
He’s breathing into your mouth, and you whine in frustration. 
“No, I want you inside me.” 
“Shit, you sure?”
“I’m not made of glass, you’re not going to break me.” 
You push away to look at him, a demonstration of strength. All talk, but you’re that desperate. He pulls you back into him for another kiss, chuckling into your mouth. 
“You think I don’t know that?”
So many simple things you had never done with him before tonight, after months of lying bare and naked, to his gaze and his touch, inside and out. Driving, falling asleep, walking, his steadying hand nestled in the small of your back. 
Behind the reception desk, Raul seems unfazed by this new development. The drawing pad blackened in charcoal is back.
“Room number 2,” Frankie asks, “for the night.” 
It’s so wild to consider that the two men have never interacted, when Raul plays such an important part of your Friday ritual. You’d try to get Frankie’s full name, real name, perhaps, but Raul doesn’t ask. This is not that kind of place. 
“I can pay,” you whisper into Frankie’s shoulder, tucking your t-shirt back into your jeans. 
“I know you can.”
When he flips open his wallet, a small color picture pops out, next to his driver's license. The photo booth format is easily identifiable. In the snapshot, a bare-headed Frankie is holding a very young child. The picture is that of a moment, seized through movement, the kid holding the Standard Heating Oil hat in her chubby hands, likely mere seconds after having snatched it from Frankie’s head, who’s looking down at her, with a bemused grin, tousled hair. 
It’s him, his distinctive, sharp features unmistakable, only he hardly looks like the man you know. There’s no trace of the grief he carries like a cloak when he meets with you. No crease splitting his brow like when he looks at you. Instead, his eyes glint with pride, creasing with a smile that dimples his cheeks, large and genuine. And the child’s round, plump face is brightened by the same irresistible dimpled grin, the same head full of wild curls, the same mahogany eyes.   
You quickly avert your gaze, but you’ve seen enough. The guilt is physical, visceral, it squeezes your ribcage harder than the pliers. The pain has you wincing and you grip the reception desk for balance, but Frankie’s arm is already wrapped around your waist and he’s leading you outside. 
In a trance, you walk beside him to room number 2. Your room. That picture-perfect image of fatherly love dancing before your eyes. 
He’ll never be yours. The wild creature shivers between your lungs. The certitude shatters your heart. 
Stepping inside, you’re rooted to the floor. Limbs too heavy to lift. Your blood has turned into lead. The fire in your core is a pile of ashes. You can taste it on the back of your tongue. 
Frankie flicks up the toggle switch, and the room lights up in amber hues. It feels too big, the satin quilt, the brown carpet, the yellow curtains, everything is foreign and distant.
Behind you, he sets his hat on the desk, drapes his jacket on the back of the chair.
“You ok?”
His voice jolts you up. You turn around to face him, unshed tears hanging round and heavy from your lashes. After a beat, he takes a step towards you, and you feel that absolute pull tugging from behind your midriff. 
His gaze drifts up to your fresh scar, where your flesh is tender, swollen and bruised. Yours travel down along the pebbled skin of neck, to the dip between his collarbone. A firework of freckles springs from the V-shaped collar of his faded blue t-shirt.  
Carefully, he slides your t-shirt out of your jeans again. You lift your arms like a docile child, let him undress you. He places a hand, warm and calloused, beneath your sternum. His palm heats your skin, warmth seeping into you. It untangles something, there. Something you didn’t know was still bruised. You lean into it. 
He stays like that for a while. 
Then his hand skates up to the base of your throat. His cold hard stare finds your soft sad eyes. 
“Do you get wet, thinking I could hurt you?”  
“I trust you,” you answer, a nod contradicting your words. His gaze hardens.
“Why did you think I wouldn’t come tonight, then?”
You shake your head, blinking fast. You never mentioned that. How would he know your thoughts? 
“Don’t you know I would fuck you on my deathbed?” he grits.
But you don’t know. Of course you don’t know, and how could you? Nothing in your life has ever prepared you for him, for this, for the strength of that pull, inescapable, for this obsession that has uprooted your life, your body, your instincts. Nothing has prepared you for the magnetism of his skin, the things you’d do to be in his presence, to breathe the same air, what you’d risk for his touch, what you’d give up for his attention, what you’d destroy for his affection . Your comfort, your safety, your future, your health. Your family and his, nothing fucking matters compared to the insatiable hunger of this wild thing inside your chest and its incessant chant of him, him, him. 
Your chest heaves, but his grip is firm. He leans down, lowering his lips to your ear, where he whispers, “What’s your name?”
You close your eyes, the wild creature is gnawing at your chest, eating you raw from within. 
“I want you.”
His hand lingers, travelling higher, fingers splayed across the width of your throat in a loose grip. You hope he tightens it. Like he does sometimes when he’s inside you. Tune out your mind, toss you into white-hot pleasure. Into oblivion. 
He doesn’t. 
He’s never truly been gentle with you before. Tonight, his kisses are languid, his touch soft and slow along your ribs. Delicate, when he reaches the swell of your breasts and slides down the cup of your bra, replacing the fabric with the palms of his hands. When he leans down into you, wrapping his plush lips around your nipple, sucking in the peaked bud ever so lightly, flicking the flat of his hot wet tongue around it, lips pursed, suckling. 
Against your belly, you feel him harden. You shiver with arousal and anticipation, with exhaustion. With the weight of this week and the burden of your life. With pain, ache and soreness. With your empty body, and your empty cunt. With that creature in your chest that can’t be tamed or satisfied. Can’t even be named. 
You shiver in his hold, for fear that this’ll be the last time. For fear that he’ll never be yours, that he’ll never want you the way you want him, with determination, with madness, without a choice. 
“I want you inside me, Frankie please," you breathe out, and he backs you into the bed to lay you down on the quilt. 
The fabric is cold under your burning skin, you shudder at the contact. He takes off your shoes, rolls off your socks. He slides your jeans down and off your legs, then your panties. 
You sit up to watch him undress, his eyes of mahogany brown never once leaving your face. 
He stands before you, naked, erect, filling your vision with this breadth, and you want to rip your beating heart out of your aching chest. 
The bed dips and he’s crawling over you. Leaning down, he drags the crown of his head up along your belly, along the valley of your breasts, his hair a soft caress on your quivering skin. Your fingers twine in his curls, you get lost in the sensation. For weeks he has barely let you touch it, kept it out of your reach. Now the abundance feels decadent, your head sinks back into the mattress with a faint exhale. 
Cautiously, he parts your folds with two knuckles. You bite down a gasp, tensing up. You can’t shake off that chilling dread, the one that trickles inside you, cold and piercing, when you think you’re losing him. But your body knows better, that sticky wet slick pooled between your hips, the coiling heat at the center of you. 
“Stop me,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, “don’t let me hurt you.”
He inches the tip of his length inside you with a strained groan, hooking your legs around his waist. He tries to work you open with a few shallow thrusts, panting against your temple.
“Fuck you’re tight.”
“Please, Frankie–”
His frame tenses up under your palms.
“I’m trying, you’re too— fuck, you’re too tight. Let me eat you open.”
“No!”
That’s not what you want, not tonight when you have no strength to spare, no time to lose, no patience left out. 
“I can—“ You trip over your words. 
“What?”
“I can sit on it.”
Heat creeps up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. He gives you a quiet chuckles. 
“Yea. Yea you can.”
He grabs your wrists and lifts you with easy strength. A few swift movements and he’s lying on the bed underneath you, your folded knees a straddle across his lap. You feel dizzy, like your blood can’t course along your veins fast enough, like it’s no match for his strength, for your arousal. 
“Spit on it,” he says. 
You circle his cock, smooth, heavy. It throbs into your hand. You take it all in, with a trance-like gaze, the coarse curls at his base brushing your skin, the round head, an angry shade of red, the ridges and pumped up veins along the length, the tip of your fingers that don’t meet around it.  
“Come on, don’t be shy, spit on it.”
Bending down, you lick a broad stripe along the thick ridge of his underside, from his balls to the fat round tip, where the skin is smooth and his taste heady, and he hisses something you can’t make out. It shoots through you, his sound, his burning skin, his taste. The curled tip of your tongue slides inside the small leaking slit, collecting the pearly drops he gives you. Your eyes flutter shut. His hands grip your thighs above the knees as you take him into your mouth, his fingers digging, a bruising furrow, something desperate. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Your lips slide along him, up and down, tongue wrapped around his girth. With hollowed cheeks, you take him deeper with each stroke until your head is spinning and you slip him out, rueful, glassy-eyed. 
His breathing comes in almost as heavy as yours. 
“Sit on it, now.”
His voice sounds wrecked, like you must look. 
“Yes,” you pant. 
Hands braced on Frankie’s chest, you’re not that flimsy, empty shell. You’re that fierce creature inside your chest, the one that claws and purrs and spits and demands. You tap into the bottomless pit of its life force, tap into the rumbling of Frankie’s ragged breathing under your palms, and you take.  
Eyes strained on the solid breadth of his chest, on the expanse of his amber skin and the darker circles of his nipples, on the constellation of soft brown freckles that turn your insides into a sticky leaking mess, you slide up his lap, part your folds with his hard cock, rub your clit over it.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, not for you, not really. To himself. Like the memory comes back crushing. 
The bobbing of his throat, the low rasp of his voice, the wet sound of your slick smearing over his cock, it all builds up hot and prickly right under your navel. 
Sweat breaks on your forehead, along your spine, down in the bow shape of your arched back. 
You push away from the cradle of his hips, knees sinking into the creaking mattress. Raise yourself from his heat just enough to line him up, with his hands curled around your thighs, a steadying help. 
You’re tight, but wanton-wet. He’s a gliding stretch along your walls as you sink down on him with all your weight, your cunt ready to collapse, fluttering frantically. 
His thrashes back into the mattress, corded neck, strained muscles. Thick fingers bruising the tender flesh of your legs. 
“Fuck wait, don’t move, don’t move. Stop moving, shit!”
You still, not like you can move anyway, the pleasure-pain has you numbed out, limp, blinded. Your head lolls back, your eyes roll shut. Your lower lip twitches with the tension and the stretch. He’s so big you forget how to breathe but this is what you wanted, for him to annihilate all the other pains.
A sound comes out of your parted lips. A grating against your vocal cords, a primitive vibration of the air that’s punched out of your lungs. It’s not you, it’s the creature mewling.  
You can feel his cock pulsating hard and angry inside your belly. It’s a tidal ripple that travels up your chest. Your heart skips several beats. 
His hands cup roughly around your breasts. You lean forward into his hold, hips swaying, slack mouthed. You keep him inside you, a deep roll, hipbones to hipbones. The coarse black hair at his base a harsh scrape against your swollen clit. 
And suddenly, he fucks up into you. A hard shove, filling, merciless, into your cervix. You cry, nearly toppling backward and he sits up with a cinch, arms wrapping around your waist, catching you before you can fall. 
“Too much?”
“Oh god yes.”
You’re crying, at last. Big, hot beady tears of salt rolling down your cheeks. Full, fucked out, filled to the brim. Everything that’s not him obliterated. Thoughts, emotions, sensations.
“That’s what you wanted, right? You want too much, baby?”
His voice is quiet and soft like silk, teeth raking along your throat. It’s almost a bite but not quite, tongue tasting your sweat, lips wrapping around your pulse point, barely sucking in. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his arms, forming little pink crescents you’re not allowed to leave behind. 
You nod, you breathe out, “Yes, I want too much.” 
He straightens up, your breasts are pressed to his chest, sweats mingling. His scent is overwhelming. That musk he exudes, a leathery spice, whenever you’re fucking. The scent of his desire. 
His hand tangles in your hair. He makes sure you’re looking at him.
“Take it. Take what you want. Fuck, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you believe it, right?” 
You try to tilt your face down, hide your tears, hide your scar. He doesn’t let you. So you give in. Because, what if you are? 
“Say it again, please.” 
“Look what you do to me, baby. Can you feel what you do to me?”
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he grinds you onto his cock, a slow, thorough grind, splitting you deeper onto him. It’s coiling fast, hot and heavy, right at the center of you. 
“I’m gonna come, Frankie.”
“Do it. Come. Use me, make yourself come on my cock. Make yourself feel good. Take everything you need.” 
He talks you through your orgasm as you tremble and crumble in his hold. It’s a high that feels like a free-fall, like you’re unraveling, like you’re never landing. Like your skin’s burning and your mind is the horizon. 
You’re sobbing quietly when he carefully eases out of you, still hard. He carries you in his arms and you think you’re floating. You’re drained, boneless, falling asleep already. 
He lies you down under the covers, tucks you in. Places a glass of water on the nightstand. Folds your clothes on the desk. 
You don’t hear him dress up. You don’t hear him leave. 
And in a few hours, when room service wakes you up, barging into the room, you won’t remember his forehead kiss. 
****
170 notes · View notes
dailydragon08 · 1 year
Text
How Will Acts With A Crush
See my full masterlist and a list of fandoms I write for here! Read on AO3 here!
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When he first meets you, he’s a bit starstruck. He’s good at hiding it from you, but Benny definitely notices and teases him about it later.
He’s extremely attentive, even though it takes him awhile to get enough courage to actually talk to you. But he’s always doing little things like holding doors, handing you your things, grabbing your favorite snack/drink from the vending machine at Benny’s fights, and is always looking over to check if you’re okay.
If he overhears you mention anything you think is hot in passing, he’ll start doing it. For example, he once heard you tell Benny’s girlfriend that you loved it when guys took their shirts off by pulling the back of it over their head with one hand. Lo and behold, when you all went to the beach together, that’s exactly how Will took his shirt off before diving into the water.
He’s always the first to rush forward to help if you need it. You’re in a wintery place with an icy patch on the ground in front of you? Will’s holding out his hand to make sure you don’t fall. Trying to get your duffel bag out of the trunk and carry it yourself? Will wouldn’t dream of it. Standing on a chair to get something off a high shelf? Will’s hands are already on the back of the chair to steady it for you.
When he finally does strike up a conversation with you, he’s great at keeping it going because he’s been paying attention to all the things you love. He may or may not have researched all your favorite bands, books, shows, movies, games, etc. just so he could talk to you about them and watch your face light up. He loves listening to you and always makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room, no matter how loud or crowded a place is.
If you’re more on the quiet or shy side, Will always makes sure you feel included. He doesn’t let people interrupt you and always turns around with a soft smile and a “what were you gonna say?” He always makes sure you have a seat at the table and will guard your spot loyally.
He loves giving you little touches, like rubbing your shoulders, squeezing your hand, and putting a hand on the small of your back as you walk in front of him or tell him something. Definitely does that thing at Benny’s fights where he puts a hand on the small of your back and leans his head closer to you to hear what you have to say.
Whenever you prove how well you fit in with the guys, he can’t help but let his mind wander to what it would be like to date you and make you an official part of the group. He feels all warm inside at the thought of being able to sling his arm around your shoulders, pull you into his lap, hold your hand, or even give you a kiss. He’s not a huge PDA fan, but just being able to show that you’re his and he’s yours around the guys makes his stomach fill with butterflies.
Sometimes he gets in his head and convinces himself you deserve better than him, so he’ll start to pull away a bit. But he can’t help how touched he feels whenever you’re concerned and give him a little extra love. He can’t stay away for long and when he frames it as concern over whether he’s a good enough friend, the praise, gentle touches, and acts of service you do for him make him want to pull you close and never let go.
Whenever he sees Benny (or sometimes even random couples he doesn’t know) being all sweet with his girlfriend, he starts daydreaming about being able to do that with you.
The first time he hugs you, he feels like he’s about to explode from happiness. He holds you maybe a little too tightly and a little too long, but is pleasantly surprised when you hang on just as long and squeeze back just as tight. He starts gently lifting you off the ground for a few moments every time he hugs you and delights in your little laugh and smile.
The first time you sit on the couch next to him at movie night, he leaned his elbow on the back behind you and awkwardly chewed on his thumb while glancing at you. After a few minutes, he hesitantly stretches his arm out behind you.
Whenever you comfort him during a bad mental health day, he can’t help but give you a little kiss on the forehead before forcing himself to extract from your arms.
If you’re sick or having a bad mental health day yourself, he will drop everything to leave a little care package at your door full of carefully selected soups, crackers, sweets, and a card with a short, but heartfelt message inside. If you let him, he’ll even come inside and clean your house, run you a nice hot bath, and make you a healthy meal.
He’s not the most emotive person, but a little spark lights up his eyes whenever you walk into a room and he’s always genuinely excited to see you.
He isn’t a big texter, but he’ll call you at least once a week to just see how you’re doing.
When he finally does ask you out (or if you do, he’ll say yes with no hesitation) and shows up to Benny’s fight holding your hand, the guys all crow, “Finally!”
433 notes · View notes
darlingdekarios · 1 year
Text
keeping count.
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eating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 3,470 content: William "Ironhead" Miller x f!reader, established relationship, angst, mentions of canon-accurate death and violence, smut [f receiving oral, unprotected p in v]
when William returns home far later than he was supposed to, it becomes his new mission to show you how worried he was he'd never see you again.
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Your boyfriend was only supposed to be gone for a week, so on day eight when he still hadn’t walked through the threshold of your shared home the anxiety began to bubble in your stomach. By day ten, the anxiety had festered into full-blown trepidation, and by day fourteen you were practically hysterical on the phone with family – both yours and his, minus his brother of course, as they were supposed to be together. No one had heard from either of the Miller brothers in two weeks now, and that fact made any possibility of comfort for you impossible. William Miller, a man so tough you’d never fathomed that he could be in danger when he last walked out of the door, was officially missing. 
It was always misery being away from him – it had been this way for the last few years of your relationship – but the feeling that this time he seriously may not come home to you was worse than any pain you’d felt before. The time passed so slowly, 24-hour days feeling double that until they all muddled together, each day bringing new and horrible thoughts about where he could possibly be. By Friday, 15-days after he’d set off with his team, you could hardly sleep, or even focus on anything other than when he was going to return home to you. 
If he was going to return home to you. 
The temporary reprieve for the day was a day off from work, a nice hot shower, and the bottle of bourbon that awaited you in the kitchen, eager to numb the pain and quiet your mind for a few hours. Keenly aware of the hour you’d already spent in the shower by the amount of music that had passed you resigned yourself to moving on to the next part of your evening after conditioning your hair. As your head tilted back to rinse your hair you closed your eyes, inhaling a deep breath to steady yourself once again. 
Your mind occupied in that false semblance of a peaceful moment, you missed that the song playing through your speaker had stopped and that the heavy wooden door to the bathroom had swung open without a creak. The interruption was unnoticed for a moment before your eyes opened once again, immediately landing on the one thing you’d spent days hoping for through the glass door of the shower. You wanted to ask him if he was real or just your mind playing a cruel trick on you, but your mind betrayed your wishes and refused you the proper words to utter as he pulled his shirt over his head, his pants and underwear soon following. 
His time in South America and whatever had, presumably, gone wrong had caused him to lose a bit of weight, and his eyes contained so many emotions encompassed by exhaustion that you had to wonder how he was even managing to stand. Your usually clean-and-tidy William was now disheveled, the evidence of a lack of access to a good shower for days presenting itself to you. As he moved closer to the shower and opened the door to join you the stitches on his side showed themselves to you, a quiet gasp leaving your lips at the sight. William had always been completely honest with you, something you loved about him, so while you had known why Santiago invited him on this mission down South, you never expected him to return home with that many stitches. 
By the time he had climbed into the confines of the shower with you your mind was reeling with an entirely new set of questions – where had he been? What happened? Why did he have stitches? Why didn’t he call you the second he could? Why did he always let Santiago get him in trouble? Was he okay? The racing thoughts were overwhelming, and as always he read your expression perfectly as he stepped right in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist to bring you forward to the warmth of his body firmly and his head lowered to press soft lips to your forehead. 
  “I’m home,” he breathed out quietly, lying his head on top of yours to soak in the feeling of closeness to you once again, cherishing the way your arms wrapped around his neck instinctually as any remaining centimeters were closed between the two of you. Tears broke through the dam you had built against them for the day, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them. 
  “Will,” was all you could manage back as a reply, his name leaving your mouth somewhere between a sob and a prayer, your fingers locking together on the back of his neck in an attempt to prevent him from pulling away before you were ready for him to.
  “Sorry I’m late,” he whispered into your hair, his lips pressing into the freshly-washed area in a way they’d done thousands of times before, soaking in the coconut and orange scent that he’d spent hours wondering if he’d ever smell again. His hands slid to grasp your hips in a display that meant you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, either. 
  “You’re eight days late, William,” you choked out, the anger boiling to the surface to cover the despair in your voice. There was no use hiding from him though – he saw through you now as clearly as he ever had. 
  “I know, I kept count,” he sighed, his fingers digging into your skin with the lightest pressure. When your face tucked into the crook of his neck as you attempted to quiet another soft cry from your lips, one of his hands slid to cover the distance from your hip to the back of your head. As he stroked your hair softly and held you against him his lips repeatedly pressed into your head. “I won’t do something like that again, sweetheart…I promise.”
  Finally truly at home again back in his arms you allowed your emotions to continue spilling out, quiet and strangled whimpers soaking into the skin of his neck as he held you through your emotions. Taking a step back into the water he allowed the heat to work over his muscles, washing the dirt and grime and blood away from his skin. He knew he’d have questions to answer when he returned, and remained certain that they were an inevitability sooner rather than later, but he still found hope building that for today you’d allow him to enjoy what he had feared he’d never see again. 
  He was always the perfect source of comfort and soon you were satiated, your falling tears coming to an end as you pressed a light kiss to his shoulder. Nuzzling your face against the hollow of his neck in a quiet sign that you were happy he was home pulled a relieved breath from him, his arms wrapping to hold you tighter in silent communication that he was happy, too. As you released one hand from its hold on the back of his head to reach for soap your head dipped back at the perfect moment his reached for you, your lips meeting in a days-late kiss, the starvation of you evident in his heated kiss.
  Finding his designated bar of soap that had gone unused for weeks you began to work it over his skin as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip to beg for entrance, an unnecessary gesture he knew you still always melted for. When you pulled away for a desperate breath his lips chased after you, his head ducking to capture the soft skin below your ear as your head fell back, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. You were always conscious of gentle, calculated movements with him, but he displayed a newfound level of appreciation for them as he placed small kisses down your neck. Doing your best to keep an eye on where your hands were taking the soapy cloth to avoid stitches and lighten over bruises you eventually cleaned his entire torso, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his chest. 
  “You’re filthy,” you remarked quietly, earning a quiet and missed chuckle from his chest as he nibbled lightly at your collarbone. He eagerly moved forward to claim your lips again and released a frustrated huff when you evaded him, clicking your tongue in disapproval. Turning your head you placed a light kiss over a bruise on his thigh, soaking in the quiet whimper that passed through his lips. “You’re not finished.”
  The quiet words had hardly registered when you sank to your knees in front of him, your hands sliding down his torso and to his hips to begin work on his muddied legs. A quiet sigh passed through his lips as your hands worked over his thighs, down his calves and back up to slide back to his muscular backside. Soon your hands had made their way back to his thighs. 
  As one of your soapy hands reached to work over his slightly hardened cock, a light moan slipped through his lips as his head leaned back to soak in the feeling of your hand wrapped around him again. With several rubs of your hand he was satisfactorily clean everywhere and his cock was at full attention in front of you, his eyes once again staring down at you as though you may disappear any moment.
“Santiago is a bad influence,” you frowned, leaning forward to place a soft kiss to his hip, quietly appreciating the chance to have more moments like these given the two weeks you’d spent panicking about his well-being.
“I’ll tell him you said that, sweetheart,” he breathed out with the normal amount of honesty behind his voice, his fingers finding their way to your cheek to brush it gently as you kissed along the expanse of his waist. 
  “I’ll tell him myself,” you asserted, your hands sliding to the backs of his thighs again carefully. “Did Benny come home?”
You finally returned your gaze to his face, met immediately by his impossibly blue eyes. A nod from him lifted some of the remaining anxiety from your chest and you nodded in return, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Did…everyone come home?”
His silence and the hazy look that reached his eyes brought no comfort as you trailed kisses up his torso, standing once more to reach for his lips and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your kiss brought him back to his current whereabouts, his hands once again finding your waist to hold you close as his quiet voice reached your ears. “Please…tomorrow. Let me just be home tonight.”
As the word home left his lips his right hand slipped downward, a long and skilled finger sliding along your folds to gather the evidence of your excitement to see your partner home again. A quiet moan of his name left your lips in agreement to his proposition and his lips claimed yours again as the same finger slipped into you, swallowing the next noise that came from your mouth as his tongue gained the entry it sought. Your body responded to him as it had done many times before, leaning into him as he curled his finger inside you to pull another moan from within you. 
His lips moved in a kiss that communicated the fear he’d spent days feeling – the fear that he’d never have you again – until he found himself breathless, his solitary finger pumping in and out of you gently. When he withdrew for air he began his trail of kisses once more, making his way down your torso with a speed that reflected his lack of patience as he fought through pain to kneel before you, pushing you back toward the wall with a gentle hand on your stomach as he went. 
“William, your stitches…” You barely managed to breathe out, your speech entirely uneasy as a second finger was added within you, his eyes once again finding yours through the steam of the shower. His free hand slid to one of your ankles, encouraging you to lift it over his shoulder which you fulfilled hesitantly as his lips kissed your hips one at a time. Any hesitation you felt melted under the heat of his voice. 
“To hell with the stitches,” he essentially growled, his face moving forward to lick a thick line from the fingers he had buried in you to the swollen bundle of nerves he knew would send you over the edge. His reward was the quiet whimper released from your lips as your fingers found their way into his still-wet hair. “I’m starving.”
There was no further reasoning with him, not until he had completed the mission he set out on, and you knew that as his lips connected to your clit again, sucking lightly as his fingers curled in blissful unison against the coveted patch deep within you. The groan of appreciation that left his throat was laced with pure appreciation – grateful for the taste of your arousal for him, and grateful he got this again. Grateful that thanks to a newfound clarity of what was important in his life, he’d never risk giving this up again. 
His free hand slid to grasp your hip, digging his fingers in and holding you in place as he pumped those two fingers faster, alternating his sucking and perfectly pressured licks to your clit perfectly. He couldn’t help himself from keeping track of each moan that left your lips; each perfect combination of his tongue and fingers causing your walls to tighten; and each time your grasp on his hair pulled his face just a little closer, often so close he struggled to breathe – not that he’d ever complain in his current position. 
A particularly wanton moan and feeling your thigh shake beside his head signified his goal was in sight, his fingers curling and stilling within you as he tilted his head back to search your face, happy to see your loving gaze already fixated on him. He licked his lips free of your arousal painfully slow before telling you what he needed to hear.
“So delicious,” he praised as his lips found their way to your inner thigh, pressing a kiss to the soft skin there before wiggling his fingers back and forth slowly. “Give me one, princess.” He removed his fingers, eliciting a desperate whine from you before he coaxed the sound into a moan, licking along your folds and dipping his tongue inside of you before returning his tongue to your clit, flicking it back and forth. A few more sinful flicks of his tongue had you ascending, your fingernails digging lightly into his scalp as you moaned out his name, signifying you’d given into his desires perfectly once again.
Catching your hips in his hands to keep you steady through your orgasm he gathered what he could onto his tongue with a final swipe of his tongue before kissing back up your body. When his lips reached yours again he tasted of you, and you hadn’t returned your breathing to normal; and even still you hungrily swallowed his kiss with fervor, your hands sliding to the sides of his neck as you awaited whatever he asked of you next. Your kiss was too consuming to pull away from, and he whispered against your lips just long enough to plead you for more.
“I can’t carry you,” he panted, his voice strained despite its low volume. “I’d take you right in the shower, if I could. Let’s go to bed.”
The suggestion had barely left his lips before you were out of the bathroom, heading down the wood-floored hallway recklessly dripping water wherever it landed. Will didn’t waste time with a towel and followed behind you with slightly more cautious steps until his feet reached the carpet of the bedroom, his steps increasing to cover the distance between the two of you so he could reclaim your lips in his. Ensuring the pair of you made it onto the bed without damaging his stitches took more restraint than he needed to have right now, and by the time he found himself kneeling between your spread legs and stroking himself he could hardly wait to feel your warmth engulf him. Bending forward, his lips found yours once again.
His lips kept their connection to yours as he rubbed the leaking head of his cock around your entrance, his kiss faltering as he pushed inside of you, moaning out in profound appreciation at how you welcomed him home again. Your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, your lips leaving his as your head fell back against the pillow he’d reached back to move beneath it, thankful as ever for your partner’s endless consideration toward you. Your hands grasped his biceps as his fingers dug into your hips, sliding thick inch after inch into you before there was nothing left to give and nowhere else to go, filling you completely. 
Burying his face in the crook of your neck he sucked your earlobe between his teeth to lightly nibble before nuzzling his nose into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo once again as he savored simply being inside of you. When a quiet “please” fell from your lips he ground his hips into yours, groaning deeply and the friction the movement brought. There was no amount of money worth the risk of never feeling this again.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he cooed, sliding his already-throbbing cock out despite his desire to stay buried in you painfully slow. Weeks in the jungle meant he had recently had other things on his plate and no access to you, and he knew no matter how laser-focused he attempted to be he’d never last long – you always made it so hard to last long after he was away. His back straightened again to look down between your bodies as he slid his cock back into you even slower than he’d exited, his fingers grasping your hips hard enough to bruise. “You should see how fucking pretty you look taking me in like this, you perfect thing.”
His praise was always rewarded by the most thankful cries and now was no different, your hands reaching to slide down his chest as your legs wrapped tighter around him in a desperate attempt to keep him closer. Eager to oblige you, he began a melodic pace, pumping into you with intentional and calculated yet rhythmic movements as he gazed down at you lovingly, enjoying the glow to your face and the way you only looked this messy and beautiful and perfect for him.
As he pondered his adoration for you his pace picked up, his hips occasionally grinding against yours as he bottomed out within you to rub the head of his cock within that sensitive patch deep within you. When he found the angle to hit it perfectly it became relentless, his right hand reaching between the two of you to connect his thumb to your clit. As he rubbed perfect circles around your clit his pace quickened to a possibly reckless speed in his current state, neither of you fully conscious of the risk as your thoughts only focused on the results of your reunion. The noises from your mouths combined with the sound of his balls slapping against your skin as he forfeited any grinding, focusing his efforts on pinpointed thrusts. 
“Give me another one, baby,” he coaxed, leaning down once again to press a kiss to your lips as he adjusted his position to lay over you in desperation to be closer. “Please give me one more.”
You whined into his mouth and wrapped your legs tighter as your walls clenched around him, giving into his needs for the evening once more as your legs shook around him. Normally not one for messes, Will had opted to release onto your stomach or back in the past, but now he couldn’t bring himself to leave you as his own orgasm washed over him, painting your walls with thick white ropes with no regard to the potential consequences. 
When he could bring himself to remove himself from you he repositioned onto his back, keeping the arm closest to you extended in a welcoming gesture for you to come to his side. In a way you’d done so many times before and you’d never take for granted again you curled into his side as the two of you steadied your breathing to normal, your eyes closing as your head found his chest as a pillow. 
$5 or $5,000,000, he had everything he needed right here with him.
masterlist.
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stealfromthedevil · 9 months
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The Millers just being the best brothers ♥️ Tagging my favourite @laurfilijames
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