#Will Ironhead Miller x You | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youvebeenlivingfictional · 8 months

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Kinktober Day 12

Day Eleven | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Thirteen

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who voted in this poll!!

Warnings: Established relationship; FLUFF; formal wear; oral sex; safe sex

Your dress fit perfectly, your shoes were by the front door, you’d transferred everything you needed over to your matching purse…Hell, you were basically all ready to go. You glanced toward your phone as you picked up your earring, lowering your hand to quickly tap the screen. It lit up, flashing the photo of Will hugging you from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You smiled a little at the sight, then swept your eyes up to the time. Against all odds, you were ready with time to spare.

“Hey, hon?” You called out, “How are you doing?”

“Just fixing my tie.”

“You need help?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Captain William Miller, ladies and gentlemen,” You muttered to yourself, reaching for your other earring, “The definition of efficiency.”

“Your shoes and your purse are out here!” Will called back.

“That’s on purpose!”

You straightened, smoothing your hands over your dress as you left the room. You rounded into the hall, spotting the broad set of Will’s shoulders by your front entry way.

“How’s the tie looking?”

“You tell me.” He turned to face you, brows raised, expectant of your scrutiny. You stilled, eyes widening slightly as you looked him over. The navy blue suit fit him to a tee. His shoes were polished; his light blue tie brought out his eyes. When you lifted your gaze back to his face, you found him smiling as you came closer.

“I assume you like what you see?”

“What makes you say that?” You asked dazedly.

“You had a similar expression the first time you saw me naked.”

The reminder made you splutter, embarrassed, and lightly whack his arm once he was close enough.

“I did not,” You grumbled. “You just…Look criminally good in a suit,” You looked over him again openly.

Will huffed a soft laugh, grasping you by the hips and drawing you closer.

“You look beautiful.”

“It’s a good dress.”

“It’s not just the dress.”

His quiet sincerity warmed you the way it always does. You leaned in, giving him a gentle kiss, then another as you fought the urge to curl your fingers in the fabric of his suit.

“I tell ya,” You sighed, drawing away. “If my cousin wasn’t the one getting married, we wouldn’t even make it out of this apartment right now.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“I’m starting to get one. Come here.”

“What?”

Your heart leapt into your throat as you watched him kneel down. That wasn’t—He wasn’t about to propose, was he? Right before your cousin’s wedding? You hadn’t even said your first I love yous yet! What the hell was he thinking—?!

Your mind went quiet as you watched Will pick up your right high heel, waving you closer. Hoo, boy, okay. That was a harrowing four seconds. And the fact that your mind even went there in the first place—what the hell did that mean? You walked closer, steadying your hand on his shoulder as you stepped into the shoe, smiling as he adjusted the strap and the buckle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You murmured.

“I don’t mind. You just got your nails done.” He helped you into the left shoe before straightening. “All set?”

“Mhm!”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not staring.”

Will’s eyes were focused on the road, both hands on the wheel, so it felt like a plausible enough lie. It wasn't as if the man had eyes on the side of his head...Though his peripheral vision was stellar.

“I can literally feel you watching me,” Will argued. You didn’t bother to argue this time. Your mind was already moving elsewhere. Why had you assumed that Will was kneeling down to propose? He’d already reminded you that your shoes were out there; he knew that the straps were finicky, he knew that you’d just done your nails for the wedding.

Did you want that with Will? Did he want that with you? Did you even want to get married? Did he? The two of you had never bothered to get on the same page about those things.

“What’s going on over there?”

Will’s gentle prodding snapped you out of your train of thought. You shook your head a little and drew in a deep breath through your nose.

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, baby, I know you better than that.” Will brought the car to a stop at the red, turning his head to get a better look at you. You smiled as he met your eye, unable to help the little fluttering in your belly. You always felt it when Will looked at you. You’d felt it since the day you met, and you knew you would feel it every day you were with him…Those would make cute vows…Damnit, focus!

“Hey,” Will murmured, raising his hand and gently trailing his knuckles gently along your cheek. “Where’d you just go?”

You turned your head, brushing your lips against his hand.

“I’m right here,” You insisted. Will’s brow rose in clear disbelief, but he didn't push. He turned back to the road as the light changed, lowering his hand to rest on your thigh. You sank into your seat, resting your hand atop his and turning to look out through the windshield.

“...Just thinking, that’s all,” You admitted. “About the wedding and stuff.”

“What about it?”

You couldn’t tell him the truth now, right? It would sound silly. It could ruin the vibe for the rest of the day.

“Just hoping my family will behave themselves,” You fibbed. Will squeezed your thigh reassuringly, offering,

“I’m sure it’ll be alright. They know how important today is to your cousin.”

“Oh, I know that they know. They’re just not always as considerate as they should be. Speaking of which—”

“If I’m cornered by your Aunt Linda, I should excuse myself as quickly as possible. I remember.”

“Okay. Good,” You chuckled. Your stomach churned as Will pulled the car into the venue’s parking lot, and into a space. He shut the car off, but he didn’t hurry to get out. Instead, he turned his hand over in yours, intertwining your fingers.

“Listen, worse comes to worse, I'll fake an emergency and tell them we have to go," He offered.

“Do you already have one in your back pocket, because these people can smell an unprepared liar a mile off.”

“Ben had a fight two nights ago, took a hard hit. He said that he was fine, ignored the fact that the ring doctor told him that he had a concussion and needed to take it easy. Fish is taking him to the hospital, but I have to go and I’m not leaving without you.”

Your brows inched up, a stunned smile growing on your lips.

“Damn, Miller. That’s almost frighteningly impressive.”

“If it’s only almost frighteningly impressive, I can keep workshopping it.”

You snorted a laugh, slapping your hand over your mouth before the sound could spill out. Will reached up, taking hold of the other hand and catching your lips in a sweet kiss. He rested his forehead against yours as you settled, his nose brushing gently against yours.

“It’s going to be fine, baby,” He promised.

“And if you hate it at any time, we can leave,” You offered, “You tell me and we will be out of there.”

“Deal.”

“And you will not believe this contraption that they had to break out out to saw through my calluses—”

“I’m so sorry, can I borrow her for a moment?” Will’s voice was like an angel from on high as he broke into the conversation. Aunt Linda’s eyes flashed, a salacious smile blooming on her looks as she took Will in.

“I do hope you’re talking about me, William,” She purred. You glanced up in time to see Will’s tight smile.

“Not this time, Miss Linda. Excuse us,” He took hold of one of your hands, resting the other on your lower back before gently steering you away. You leaned into him, sighing softly once you were out of earshot of your aunt.

“Your timing is impeccable, William.”

He chuckled, letting go of you just long enough to pluck two champagne flutes off of a passing tray before nodding you toward the patio. You took one of the flutes as you stepped outside, sighing in the cool night air. It was a surprise to find that no one else was out there, but you weren’t complaining. You needed a break from your family. You took a sip of the champagne, leaning against the wide marble railing the surrounded the space. You turned to Will, smiling as he leaned against the railing beside you.

“Has it been excruciating?” You asked.

“No.”

“C’moooon, you can tell me. They’re my family and they’re driving me up the wall.”

“Honestly, baby, they haven’t been that bad.”

“Not even Linda blatantly wanting to bang you like a screen door in a hurricane?”

Will shrugged. “I seem to recall having a similar effect on you this morning. Maybe it’s the suit.”

“You’ve had that effect on me many more times than that and you know it,” You chuckled, “Though I do have to say…” You raised your hand, lightly fingering his lapel. “Something about you in a suit…I don’t know. It’s really doing it for me.”

“Is that so.”

“Mhm,” You hummed, peering at him from beneath your lashes. “I need to get invited to more fancy things.”

“So you can see me in a suit more often?”

“Exactly.”

“How often are you thinking?”

“Oh, once a month, at least.”

“Once a month?”

“At least. Every other month if I have to—once a quarter at the barest of bare minimums.”

Will set his champagne flute aside, curling his arms around you and drawing you closer.

“Well what about you, huh?” He murmured.

“What about me?”

“Would we both be getting dressed up once a quarter?”

“I’m sure I could arrange that, if that’s what you want,” You shrugged. Will hummed thoughtfully, a contemplative pout forming on his lips.

“Or, we could pick a date night every couple of months and get dressed up.”

“A fancy date?”

“Do you wanna go skydiving in a suit?”

“...My knee-jerk answer is no, but that kinda sounds cool as hell—Like, I don’t think I’d ever actually wanna go skydiving!” You hurried to add as Will laughed, “But if I did, I think I’d want it to be my fancy clothes.”

Will leaned in, nuzzling into your neck and drawing in the scent of your perfume. You felt him lift his head, his carefully groomed beard brushing your shoulder.

“Tell you what else,” Will murmured.

“Mmm?”

“I can’t wait to get you home and see what’s underneath that dress.”

Your eyes widened, stunned at his nonchalant admission. You turned to look at him as he leaned away, and found his face vacant of expression as he reached back, taking up his champagne flute and taking a sip. He lowered his eyes to yours, shooting you a wink. This man was going to be the absolute death of you.

“If you’d rather I didn’t, I can always see if Aunt Linda is free,” he added, lowering his glass again.

“Oh, please. Linda would chew you up and spit you out.”

“That wasn’t so bad. “

“Are you kidding me?” You glanced back at Will as you headed for the kitchen. You were on the verge of being exhausted. Your feet were killing you from being in those damn heels all night; you didn’t even want to think about the little dents that your shapewear would leave when you finally peeled it off. Will looked just as composed as ever, though he’d loosened his tie in the car. You sighed heavily, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter and swinging your legs back and forth.

“No, I’m not kidding you,” Will shook his head, leaning in the doorway. “You were worried about your family being on their best behavior, right? I thought they seemed pretty reasonable…I mean, Linda was, you know.”

“Linda was Linda. Linda is Linda no matter what anyone says, and while it occasionally makes me wildly uncomfortable, I sort of respect it.”

“Did you respect it when she nearly hip-checked you out of the way to catch the bouquet?”

“Doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause I snatched that sucker right out of the air,” You remind him, thrusting the bouquet into the air. Will laughed, nodding.

“It was very impressive,” He insisted, closing the distance between the two of you. You grinned as he smoothed his hands down your thighs, lightly hooking them in the fabric of your dress and pushing it up around your knees, his fingers brushing along your skin as he did.

“Well. I’m naturally very impressive, so,” You insisted, setting the bouquet down beside you. “Just in case you needed the reminder.”

“Oh, I hadn’t forgotten.” Will slipped his hands up beneath your dress, palming your thighs as he crowded up against you. You raised your hand, curling it lightly around his tie and using it to draw him closer. You sighed softly as his lips met yours, grip tightening on the fabric as his tongue teased between your lips. You sucked in a soft gasp as Will’s hands snaked around the back of your thighs, tugging you toward the edge of the counter. His broke your heated kiss, grasping you by the nape and tipping your head back as his lips traveled lower.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” You admitted.

“It’s a good suit.”

You unwound your hand from Will’s tie and cupped his chin, forcing him to look at you. You shook your head, lovingly sweeping your gaze over his face as you insisted, “It’s not just the suit.”

Will graced you with a wide, almost bashful grin before he leaned in for another kiss. He hooked one hand beneath your knee, drawing your leg up to undo the little buckle. You groaned softly as the strap loosened, and you wiggled your foot, letting the heel fall to the floor. He did the other next, and you sighed as you flexed your toes, then wrapped your legs around the backs of his. Your fingers made short work of his tie knot, then undid each of his shirt buttons, revealing more and more of his muscled chest to you. He shrugged his jacket and shirt off as one, and you almost mourned the sound of the two of them crumpling on the floor.

Will reached up, undoing the zipper on the back of your dress. As it was pulled lower, the straps on your shoulders grew looser, sagging against your shoulders. You groaned as he reached under your dress, fingers skimming the edges of your shapewear. You broke your kiss, insisting, “Bed—Now.”

You giggled as you lifted your hips from the mattress, letting Will peel back your shapewear and toss it back in the direction of your dress and strapless bra had been thrown as soon as you’d entered your bedroom. He leaned over you, smoothing his lips over the little dips and dents left by the material. He pushed your thighs wide as he settled between them, his kisses trailing over your inner thigh. You tipped your hips enticingly toward him as he neared your pussy—and then skipped over it, trailing kisses along your other thigh. You whined in frustration, pouting as Will shot you a smug grin. His eyes stayed trained heavily on yours as he lapped over your tingling cunt. He held that eye contact—at least, he tried to. His eyelids fluttered as he tasted you, then slipped completely closed as he moaned, lapping at your core, his beard brushing over your tender skin.

You sagged back into the mattress, your hand winding into his hair as he indulged in the taste and scent of you. You didn’t use your grip to guide or steer him—you didn’t need to. Will took every little shift, sigh, whimper, and throb as guidance without you having to say or do a thing. He swirled the pad of his finger around your twitching hole before easing it in gently. He eased another in moments later, giving a soft, approving hum against your clit as your cunt clutched at them. He twisted and curled them, driving them in and out again at a steady rhythm, drawing you closer and closer to release. He rested his head on your thigh, his tongue swiping against your clit as your hips pressed down into his touch.

“Will,” You breathed, swallowing thickly as he tipped his head to look up at you. “Not yet.”

Will smiled, pressing another little kiss to your clit before he drew away. You bit your lip, watching him kneel up on the bed, and eying the swell in his trousers. Your mouth watered as you heard the clank of his belt, and you pushed yourself onto your hands and knees. You crawled the short distance to him, undoing the button and zip on his pants. You peppered kisses along the trail of pubic hair leading to his waistband, smiling as he pushed his pants and briefs down to his knees.

You grasped his cock at the base, stroking it gently as your kisses grew closer and closer. You smoothed your hand down to massage his sack as you pillowed your lips along the side, tracing up to the head. He hissed softly at the first swipe of your tongue against his glans, and sighed as you took him between your lips. You bobbed your head slowly, laving your tongue along the veined underside as you drew your head back, and widening your mouth as you took him in. Will rested his hand on your head, simply letting it stay there rather than guide you any deeper. You pulled off of his cock with a slick pop!, swiping your tongue back and forth just beneath his head. You glanced up at him, unable to help the smug grin that overtook you as you found his cheeks and chest flushed, his lips parted as he panted softly. You drew away from his cock completely, using your hand to pump the slick shaft as you leaned up for a kiss.

Will groaned, lapping between your lips as he hauled you closer to him.

“Lay back, baby,” He murmured. You lowered yourself back down onto the bed, letting go of him as he leaned over to your nightstand, grabbing a condom and the bottle of lube.

The first press of his cock made your mouth fall open with a moan, your hands grasping his thick biceps as he slowly guided his cock deeper into you. You bit your lip to quiet yourself a bit, sliding your hands further up, your nails denting into his muscles. Will’s eyes were closed, his lips parted as yours had been. That sweet little flush was still high in his cheeks, and you watched as his tongue lapped over his plush lower lip. You leaned up, taking his lip between your teeth and tugging it gently, only letting go as he fully bottomed out.

You pressed your hips up against his, urging him on. Will lowered himself close to you, your chests brushing together as his hips began to gyrate in tight, controlled circles. You wrapped your legs around his, your foot trailing up his calf as his thrusts picked up in pace. Will nudged your chin up, brushing kisses along the column of your throat until he reached the base. He pressed a reverent kiss there before he nipped at it roughly, chasing the sting with a harsh suck. You whimpered, tugging his hair as the sting bloomed and dissipated. Will planted his knees on the bed, lowering one hand to your hip as his thrusts became longer and more forceful. The slap of his hips against yours cut through the sounds of the two of you moaning and panting as you each inched closer to your climax.

You were the first to tip over the edge as Will slipped his fingers between the two of you, swirling your tender clit beneath his roughened fingertips. You moaned his name as you tightened around him, hips bounding up into his touch, and against his cock. He followed close behind, hips juddering against yours as he moaned against your throat.

Your thrusts slowed, then stopped entirely as he settled. He sighed softly, pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin as he slowly drew away. You watched him through bleary eyes, tracking him as he got out of bed, tying the condom off and dropping it into the bin beside your bed before disappearing into the bathroom. You sighed softly, closing your eyes and wriggling, goosebumps sweeping across your skin as your thighs pressed together, sending a latent throb through you.

Will reappeared a few moments later, a wet washcloth in his hands. You let him spread your legs, keeping still and murmuring your thanks as he cleaned you. He tossed the washcloth into your hamper, then climbed back into bed beside you, drawing the covers up as you cuddled against his chest. You turned your head, pressing gentle kisses to his chest and shoulders as you slid a leg between his.

You closed your eyes, listening to the steady thumping of his heart beneath you, your fingers aimlessly tracing along his side.

“Will?”

“Mm?”

“...I love you.” Panic set in as soon as it was out of your mouth, and you forced yourself to keep still and quiet—as if that would help. He was a man, not a t-rex.

“You don’t have to say it back,” You added. Will was quiet for a moment, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“...And if I want to say it back?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning like a dweeb.

“I mean,” You shrugged, “I’m not gonna stop you.”

Will chuckled, grasping your chin and tipping your head up to meet his gaze.

“I love you, too, baby,” He murmured. You let yourself grin then, leaning up and pressing a tender kiss to his lips before settling back in. Will sighed softly, fingers stroking gently over your skin.

“...You do know what being the one to catch the bouquet means,” He added after a few moments. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you blinked dumbly for a few moments. Was he…Did he just suggest…?

“Mhm!” You squeaked. Will nodded, murmuring,

“Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

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#Will Miller x Reader #Will Ironhead Miller x Reader #Will Miller x You #Will Ironhead Miller x You #Will Miller/Reader #Will Miller/You #Will Miller Fic #Will Miller Imagine #Kinktober #Kinktober 2023

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rayslittlekitten · 11 months

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No More Secrets

“Dad Will” Masterlist

A/N: Heeeey! Look what's back! So, I hadn't touched this arc in a while where Dad!Will did some shit and essentially fucked up his marriage. Well this arc finally made some progress like their marriage. Italics (first half) is a flash back.

Rating: T

Word Count: ~3,400

Pairing: Dad!Will x Wife F!Reader

Plot: You and Will continue to make progress on repairing your marriage.

Contains: hurt/comfort, angst

"How does steak and potatoes sound for dinner tonight?" you asked Will as you sipped on your coffee after finishing your breakfast and watched him from across the table while he was glued to his phone.

"Uhhh....yeah, sure," Will replied. “Whatever you want,” he added after finishing whatever he was doing on his phone.

"Okay. What do you have going on today? You're giving a speech today, right?”

“Yeah and then I’m meeting up with Fish for lunch,” he confirmed, then finished up his own cup of coffee.

“He’s back in town?” you asked, sitting up straight.

“Uh, yeah. Are you done with that?” He asked as he got up from his seat and gestured to your mug.

You took the last sip and handed him your cup.

“Thank you.” You looked up and smiled at him but he was already halfway across the kitchen headed for the sink.

You'd noticed Will's been a bit distant lately, like something's been occupying his mind, but every time you asked him about it, he would say it's nothing or he just hadn’t been sleeping well. You even asked if he'd been having those nightmares again, but he said no.

You'd also noticed that the sex between you two had been less frequent, almost to a halt. You had tried initiating a few times and he'd been seemingly disinterested or gave an excuse. And even when you were intimate, he seemed to be somewhere else.

“Oh shit, I gotta go,” Will said as he glanced at his watch.

“Yeah, me too. Let me just grab my purse and we can leave together–” you started as you got up from your seat.

“Sorry, I gotta go now,” he told you as he scrambled to the front door.

“You’ll be home for dinner, right?” you asked.

“Yup! Spaghetti and meatballs!” He replied while halfway out the door. “Have fun at work!”

“Bye! Good luck on your speech!” you waved and quickly spat out as the door behind him closed.

***

You decided to pick up some treats for Will at his favorite bakery and cafe on your lunch break. Maybe that'd help with his mood. It’s across town but you'd decided to take an extra long lunch break. After finally finding parking, you quickly jumped in line as the place was already packed because of lunch time. Thankfully, they always anticipated the crowd. It certainly helped that the counter and dine-in areas were separated in a way to maximize efficiency. After picking out a few things you knew Will indulged in the most and a treat for yourself, you booked it out of there.

After you got into your car, you took a bite of your lemon poppy seed cake and savored it before starting your car to get ready to head back to the office. As you were ready to pull out of the parking spot, you noticed Will coming out of the bakery along with a woman you had never seen before. They stood in front of the bakery, off to the side and exchanged a few words before they embraced in a hug. A hug that lingered while he said a few more things to her. You felt your chest tightening. After they broke apart, they appeared to say their goodbyes and they gave each other a kiss on the cheek and another quick hug before going their separate ways.

You watched as Will made his way to his parked car. As you thought about confronting him then and there, your phone went off, interrupting your thoughts.

***

When you got home, you were surprised to find Will had beat you to it, considering he had been staying out later these days. Even more surprising, he had started dinner.

“Hey! How was work? I know you mentioned spaghetti and meatballs this morning but found these steaks in the fridge so I thought I’d throw them on the grill and roast some potatoes with them,” he said. “Hope that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you told him as you started to settle down.

"So how was lunch with Fish?"

"Huh? Oh, um, it was alright. You know, just catching up and stuff,” he answered, pausing his task for a moment.

"Where'd you guys end up going?" you started walking towards him.

"Uh… he picked this diner by him," he replied.

“Was it any good?”

“It was alright,” he shrugged.

“So… did you have lunch with him before or after you stopped by Astrid’s?” you asked him when you reached him.

“What are you talking about?" He turned to face you.

“Are you seriously going to deny that you were at Astrid’s this afternoon? I saw you with my own eyes,” you told him.

“What were you doing there? Weren't you supposed to be at work?" His body visibly stiffened.

"I stopped by there on my lunch break to get you a brownie because I thought it'd cheer you up!" You told him as you tossed the pastry bag onto the kitchen counter beside him. "I saw you and some woman getting all cozy, hugging and kissing. Is that why you've been so distant? Is-is that why you won't even touch me anymore?" you asked with disgust.

"No..." Will started, then realized what you were implying. "No, no, no! It's not what you think."

"Then what is it? Because these last few months, it feels like you don't even want to be with me anymore. At least be honest with me if you don't want to do this anymore. I can't figure this out on my own and every time I try to talk to you about it, you dismiss it like everything is all good, but it's not. Or am I just going crazy?" You rattled off.

"No, you're not crazy," Will reassured you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"Then can you please tell me what's going on?" you pleaded with him.

Will shifted his weight to his other leg and let out a sigh. At this point, he knew he couldn’t continue keeping you in the dark.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me. Even if you met someone new or-"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Will shook his head. "The woman I saw today, she's..."

Will paused, looked down at his feet and propped his hands on his waist, bracing for the words that were about to leave his mouth.

"She's my ex-fiance," he finally finished his sentence.

"O-oh..." you simply responded, taken back by that curve ball. This information actually made your stomach drop even more. "Okay."

"And I asked her if we could meet up," Will continued.

You couldn’t help but get more emotional as you anticipated where he was going with this. Your vision started blurring up but you remained silent as he continued.

"No, please don't cry," he said, reaching out for you, but you instinctively took a step back, creating distance. Will felt crushed by your rejection, but he also understood why you did it.

"I honestly didn't expect her to even respond considering how we left things the last time we saw each other, but she agreed to meet up. I just wanted closure with her, to apologize to her for all that I had put her through," he explained.

You let out a shaky breath.

"Why... why didn't you tell me about this?" you asked.

"I...I don't know. Maybe I wasn't sure how you would feel about it," he admitted.

"So instead of talking to me about it, your solution was to avoid me? Is that the reason you’ve been acting so weird? Not just do we not have sex anymore, but we barely even talk. Not unless I initiate. Things we used to enjoy doing, you don't seem to care or want to do anymore. We live together and I hardly ever see you. You're always out with the guys and come home late, which I get you needing and wanting to spend time with your friends, but it's like you don't even want to be here. And when you are home, you're not here!”

You didn’t want to lash out and wanted to give him the space and chance to explain himself but you were so pent up and riled up from all the speculation after seeing him at the cafe on top of everything that had been going on.

"I'm so sorry," Will apologized. "I know I haven't been the best boyfriend these past few weeks--"

"Months," you corrected him.

"Months," he nodded in agreement.

"Is there anything else? Or is it just this closure you needed with your ex-fiance?" you prodded. "Which, again, I can understand, but I wish you would have at least told me so I’m not left wondering if you don’t care about us anymore."

Will quietly looked down at his shoes again as he rocked on his heels.

"Will, there can't be secrets between us if you want this to work-- IF you want this to work. If you've decided this isn't for you, just say so and-" you rambled on.

"No, of course I want this! I want you," he quickly jumped in, looking straight at you. "I want... us."

You stared at Will, waiting for him to tell you more.

"There... there was also another reason I wanted to meet up with her," he started. "I, uh... I just wanted to make sure I don't make the same mistakes I made with her."

"What... do you mean?" you asked with wrinkled brows.

"I'm so sorry for how I've been treating you these last few months. I've been figuring some things out about myself, figuring what I want and if I'm truly happy where I am with this relationship - our relationship," he started to explain.

"Oh!" A brief chuckle slipped from you, a bit thrown off by his last thought, but you started to frown again, not sure where this is leading up to. "You still could have said something. If you needed space or, or... I don't know,” you shook your head.

"I know. I know. And I am SO sorry I've made you feel unwanted and unloved. That's the last thing I'd ever want for you."

"Are you happy?" you asked him quietly, afraid of what his answer would be. "With me? With us?"

Will just stared at you, studying your face as he thought about his answer. The fact that he'd taken this long confirmed your fear. After what felt like forever, your shoulders slumped and your frown deepened as you nodded. You swallowed the lump in your throat and dropped your head, staring down at the patterned linoleum tiles, now thinking about where you guys were going to go from here. Do you move out? Does he move out? You sniffled and brought your head back up when you felt the mucus coming down your nose. You were taken back when you saw Will on one knee in front of you holding out a velvet box. You opened your mouth but no words or sounds came out. You're not even breathing.

"I was going to plan this whole romantic thing out, a rehearsed speech and all but I just can't wait anymore. I've been waiting for this moment since the first time I laid eyes on you. And to answer your question, in short, yes. I am happy with where we are in this relationship - beyond happy, but nothing would make me happier than to have the privilege of spending the rest of my life with you. You are the most amazing person I have ever met and I am so grateful to have you in my life. Every morning I wake up feeling like the luckiest person in the world and there are many days, especially these past few months, where I wonder what I did to deserve you. You make me a better person and honestly have surprised myself at what I am capable of and who I've become and that's all because of you. You make me want to do better and I want to continue this adventure with you beside me as my life partner, but I had to make sure that I do everything I can to not fuck this up because I would not be able to forgive myself if I do. That's the real reason why I went to see my ex-fiance."

Will spoke from the heart and soul and he instantly felt the weight lifted from his chest. The weight that he had been heavily bearing these last few months.

At this point, you were completely speechless.

"And I know I've been a shit boyfriend these last few months. Not that it’s an excuse, but I was scared - not of committing to you, but of me making the same mistakes. Of me fucking all this up and losing you. And clearly I had been unknowingly doing the exact thing I was afraid I’d do. I'm so sorry I pushed you away, but I promise I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me."

Tears now streamed down your face.

"I love you so, SO much. Will you marry me?"

He held his breath, waiting for your answer. He hoped that he didn’t mess up his chances too much.

You looked down at him with blurry eyes and finally nodded.

“Is… is that a yes?” Will cautiously asked.

“Yes!” You confirmed as you nodded again.

He sprung up onto his feet and wrapped his arms tightly around you. You melted against his chest and instantly felt your heart fill to the brim. He gently untangled himself from you to slip the ring onto your finger. It fit a little loose but it was beautiful.

“We can get that adjusted. It was my grandmother’s,” he explained.

“It’s perfect,” you said while admiring it.

“I love you,” Will pulled you in, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I love you too. Promise me, no more secrets?" you asked as you sniffled and looked up at him. “You’re not completely off the hook yet but let’s not go through that again, please.”

"I promise. No more secrets," Will agreed as he swiped his thumb under your eyes before leaning in to kiss you.

***

You finally allowed Will back into the bedroom. As comfortable as that couch may be, you know it’s doing his back no favors. You also think maybe he’s gone through enough punishment. It’s been a couple of months and he has not complained once. He’s done everything you’ve asked and has been consistent about it so it’s time you show you’re starting to trust him again. This really takes effort from both of you, not just him.

The two of you are on better terms and doing the best to make it as normal as possible for Lucy but your relationship is nowhere near where it used to be. You can’t even recall the last time the two of you were intimate. Not even a kiss or a hug. Sure, Will would be affectionate when you allowed him to: a brush of his hand on yours, a small peck on your cheek or temple, but anything more, you haven’t even thought about it and he hasn’t pushed it either. He knows he needs to earn it.

After settling into your side of the bed with your back to Will, you feel his arm snake around your waist and then pull you against his body. You stiffen for a moment. As much as you have missed your husband’s touch, you haven’t felt it in so long, it almost seems foreign. You allow him to cuddle with you but after a few moments, you feel his lips on your neck and his hand exploring your body. You immediately sit up.

“I’m sorry, I thought—“

“Will, just because I’m letting you sleep in the same bed again, it doesn’t mean I’m ready to be intimate again.”

You thought you were ready for things to get back to the way it used to but in this moment, you realize you’re not sure if that’ll ever be possible. You’re still hurt and the fact he thinks he can just ask for sex like nothing happened infuriates you.

“I’m so sorry. I assumed. I’ll back off until you’re ready,” Will says, scooting back to his side, putting some distance between the two of you.

“I just want to make love to my wife,” he adds quietly with sad eyes. “I miss you. And I don’t just mean the sex.”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t even know if I’ll ever be ready. I’m… I just still get so angry every time I think about you and...” You let out a heavy sigh trying to calm yourself down.

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry about." Will sits up. "I’m the one who put us in this situation and the fact you’re giving me a chance to fix this, I’m already grateful. I don’t want to lose you and Lucy. I can’t. I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work again."

"I... I don't know. Just thinking the what ifs, and worst case scenarios and losing you— hell, Lucy losing you. How am I supposed to explain to her that her father did something so selfish and stupid? I want things to be the way they used to be, but I don't know how or when, or even if it'll ever get close to it again." A tear falls down your cheek.

"I know," he nods.

"And I've spent so much time wondering what else you could’ve lied to me about," you add. “What else are you hiding.”

"I swear on my grandmother's grave, there is nothing else. I've never lied to you about anything else," he assures you. "Aside from the ice cream thing and maybe letting Lucy stay up past her bedtime a few times when I said I wouldn't," he adds with a tight-lipped smile, hoping to lighten up the mood, but your facial expression doesn't budge when you glare at him.

"I'm sorry, not the time for jokes," he says. "But I promise you, I'm not hiding anything else. I haven't hid anything else. You can check my phone, computer, iPad, everything--"

"I don't want to do that,” you cut him off. “I don't want to have to do that. If I do, then I don't want to do this anymore."

"What... what are you saying?" he asks, bracing himself.

"I want to trust you again and I am trying, but I don’t want it to have to come down to me constantly checking up on you. That’s not trust. That’s… “ you try to think of the word you’re looking for, “Babysitting."

”I… I don't know,” you shake your head and sigh.

Will watches you as you close your eyes and steady your breathing. You flinch and open your eyes when you feel his hand over yours.

"I promise this time, no more secrets. And I know my words may not hold any value right now, but I will show you that I am all in."

“Stop making promises if you don’t know you can keep them,” you shake your head. You look back at him with teary eyes as his thumb fingers your wedding ring which you've kept on this entire time throughout this whole mess. “Let’s just take this a day at a time, okay?”

“Okay. I can do that,” he nods, knowing his words definitely don’t mean anything if his actions don’t follow.

"It's getting late and I know you need your beauty sleep for your weekly Monday morning meeting tomorrow. I'm sorry for riling you up and making you cry," he says, and then cautiously reaches over to swipe his thumb under your eyes.

“And I’m sorry for…” he vaguely gestures his hands towards your body. “I won’t try that again, not unless you’re ready. I’m happy just being beside you. Can I give you a good night kiss?”

You look back at him for a moment, determining if you want one and then nod. He slowly leans in and plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Good night. I love you.” He settles himself back into bed and you do the same.

“Good night,” you finally say before closing your eyes. “I love you, too.”

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #triple frontier #will ironhead miller #will ironhead miller x reader #will ironhead miller x you #will ironhead miller x fem #will ironhead miller x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction #dad!will

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hopeamarsu · 2 years

Note

hi lovely 💐 thank you so much for opening requests & congrats again on your follower milestone ! 💛 [xo from princessxkenobi]

can I please request these prompts, 'hugs that last a little longer than they should', & 'the image of you pops into my head and I just lose my breath' with Will Miller?

maybe he reunites with his lady after being away on a mission with the guys for a while? they aren't together yet, but it feels like they already are, the mutual pining is there, he just needs her to finally see it when he returns ! 💌

Hi darling 💛

Thank you so much. Your kindness and comments are always something I look forward to! Thank you for being you and being here, sharing this space, and making it wonderful.

You are my reason

Will Miller x fem reader (no pronouns)

Word count 1,4k

Rating Teen/Mature

Warnings: Pining, love confessions. Very fluffy.

Summary: If being in this jungle has taught him anything, it's that he no longer can hide his feelings. Prompts hugs that last a little longer than they should' and 'the image of you pops into my head and I just lose my breath'

The jungle is unforgiving and the wound on his stomach aches, but Will feels none of that when he reclines back, letting the lush greenery around him hide him from view. He spies Benny talking in hushed tones with Santiago, heads drawn together as the men plan for the next day. Frankie is napping, ballcap drawn deep over his eyes, his turn to guard the camp later. Tom is off somewhere, but for him Will doesn’t want to waste thoughts. The man has gotten them into this mess, hiding in the jungle and running for their lives.

He knows it’s petty, but he’s glad Tom is somewhere off from their camp. He’d never say it out loud, but their commanding officer has royally fucked up. But, he doesn’t want to think about that and instead scans the area to count the others around him again.

Satisfied that the men he considers brothers are safe, Will closes his eyes, hiding the baby blues from others. He doesn’t have to wait long, his mind already knowing where to go. It easily conjures up an image of home. Of wood panels and terracotta accents. Of white fences and a porch swing. Of warmth of a coffee cup in his while he stands barefooted in his kitchen.

But in his dreams, there is someone else in the kitchen, not as a friend but as something more. Someone who he can only hope wants the same thing as him when Will can return back from this hell. You.

You with your big smile, hopeful eyes and soft skin that Will aches to touch and explore. You, with your pretty dresses and tempting thighs. You, who he wants to hold close, keep near for all eternity.

You who he hasn’t had the courage to tell his feelings to. But that stops now. He will tell you everything, every painful and hopeful thing his guarded heart has kept hidden.

If this trip has taught him anything, is that he no longer has time to postpone telling you how he feels. Will can’t let you slip through his fingers. He jut has to hold onto hope that he is not too late.

Will’s dirty, his beard is slightly overgrown and he’s sure the clothes he has on would have to be disposed as hazardous waste but he couldn’t wait a second longer once the plane hit the familiar tarmac.

Here he stands, metaphorical hat in hand, and waits for you to open the door. He’s run through each and every scenario in his mind already, calculating the odds and anticipating the outcomes. He can’t help himself sometimes; he counts to keep himself calm and it comes to him as naturally as breathing. This is who he is, numbers and all.

The door opens and there you stand, long summer dress floating around your ankles and Will is almost sure the image of you keeps him captivated for life. He’s lost and he never wants to be found it that means he can keep this image of you, smiling like the sun.

Another image pops up in his mind of you and this time his breath is lost. He sees the dress, the white of it glowing and making you look ethereal and suddenly Will can’t wait to see it in reality. It’s that thought that gives him the courage to look you in the eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’m…”

“William Arthur Miller! Where the fuck have you been!?” Your face morphs, the sadness echoing in your voice and filling up your porch. Before he can move, you spring forward like a wired coil and ram into him. The oomph that leaves his chest is more of surprise than anything else. His hands wrap around you, feeling your scent wrap him in a similar warmth and happiness he’s been dreaming about for all those nights in the jungle and middle of the rocks, waiting for a signal, any signal from Benny.

He buries his face in your neck, breathing deep to ground himself. He tries to count how many moments he has until he has to move away, how long can he steal this moment until the awkwardness of a hug too long rears its head. You burrow deeper into Will, sighing and he can feel your muscles loosen. In turn, he grips you tighter, unwilling to let this opportunity slip by. Given the chance, Will would hold you forever.

When you let go, untangling your limbs from his neck and back, Will can already see the telltale signs of your embarrassment. “Please don't,” he whispers softly, fascinated by how visceral a reaction he gets when his voice ghosts over the slope of your neck. “Don’t hide. Not from me.”

He waits a beat, before adding. “Never hide from me, sweetheart. My heart could not take it.”

You look at him with a curious expression, something mixed with hope that Will can’t really discern. Maybe it’s his own hopes and dreams he wants to see reflected back to him. He wants to hope it’s not the case though. He takes your hand, pulling you close as he places one of your hands right over his heart.

Hi baby blues, the ones that can storm rain and ice over anyone who steps on his way, soften into heavenly clouds and he holds your gaze. He knows he’s normally guarded, a man of routine and precise calculations, but around you his sharp edges soften. He hopes his words that formulate in his mind convey that to you.

“I am sorry I left without a word or note, sweetheart. I can never apologize enough for that. I left for selfish reasons and I am here in front of you now for selfish reasons. But, they are different reasons and these ones are much more important than the stupid ones I left for without saying goodbye.”

He can see the tears gather in the corner of your eyes and Will smiles softly. “I am sorry if I am too late, or I don’t have the right words. But sweetheart, you are my reason. My reason of waking up in the morning, because I get your message of good morning then. My reason when I’m tired on the road when I come back from speaking because I know you want me home. My reason when I retreat into myself and my PTSD gets too hard to handle because I know you’ll never judge me.”

He takes a breath of air, speaking the next words that will change everything between you.

“I want to be your reason. I want to be the one who makes you smile, who you can rely on and who you can tell all your worries and happy accidents to.” He speaks your name then, the low timbre of his voice curving into musical notes and he smiles before turning serious.

“I’ve been in love with you sweetheart for too long and I can no longer keep silent. If you don’t feel the same, that is okay. We can go back to being friends and I’ll,” Will tries not to choke on the words, forcing himself to continue.

“And I’ll be content. I promise, I’ll never leave you, whether we remain friends or become something more. But if, if you feel the same, please let me finally kiss those lips I’ve been dreaming of for so long.”

Your lips pull up in a smile, the Mona Lisa -effect taking place and your eyes speak your truth. Your whispered yes is all Will needs and he pulls you in, slotting his lips to yours. He lets his actions speak louder than words, kissing you with everything he has and a little more. Every emotions, each bit of his heart is poured into the kiss.

The sun can rise or set behind him, he doesn’t care. He has you, he is finally kissing the love of his life and that is all he needs.

It’s the first kiss of many and Will intends to count each and every one of them, storing them as core memories in his mind. He will kiss you until he’s too old to remember what his speech sounded like, until he no longer can respond to any order coming from his superior and his knees grow weak. This is his forever and he can’t wait to see where this goes now that he has this.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this one!

(please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list any time!)

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @miraclesabound @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea@princessxkenobi @sixshooter665 @amneris21 @greeneyedblondie44

Triple Frontier taglist @darklingveracruz @evyiione

#Hopeamarsu milestone celebration #will miller #will ironhead miller #william miller #will miller x reader #will ironhead miller x reader #will miller x you #will ironhead miller x you #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier imagine #my writing #hopeamarsu

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navybrat817 · 2 months

Note

😘

Kris, look at him. I need him! 🫠

Welcome to the Meal

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Will's hungry, but not for food.

Word Count: Over 600

Warnings: Established relationship, implied explicit sexual content, reference to oral sex (f. receiving), being in love and slight feels (it's me, okay?), William Miller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for Sinday and inspired by a prompt @whisperlullaby provided. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Will stared unashamedly at you from across the table as you tried to look over the menu. Again. Each time you glanced at him over the flickering candlelight, you found his blue eyes staring right back at you. The retired captain had an impressive talent of not giving away a single emotion unless he wanted to. But tonight, he didn't bother to try and hide his lust.

Just because he promised to take you out for dinner, he didn't say anything about playing nice or fair.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you begged. It wasn't that you didn't like having his undivided attention because you loved it, but how did he expect you to get through the meal when he looked about two seconds away from tossing the table aside to get to you? “Please.”

Amusement flickered in Will’s eyes, his voice low and teasing when he asked, “Like what?”

You huffed because he knew exactly how he was looking at you. He wanted to devour you and he wanted to hear you say it. “Like I’m dinner.”

“Maybe I’m hungry,” Will said.

“Well, I'm not dinner,” you said, closing the menu.

“Yes, you are. And dessert,” he smirked, licking his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Breakfast, too, and you know how hungry I get first thing in the morning.”

You suppressed a shiver as you recalled how his eyes dragged along your body earlier that day. He had you sprawled out naked in his bed, his large hands gripping your thighs and pushing them apart so he could stare at your exposed, glistening pussy. He licked his lips like he was eager to taste you and you clenched around nothing before he dipped his head. The moan you let out when his tongue moved between your wet lips sounded a lot like his name.

The man took pride in everything he did and that included eating pussy.

“How are you always hungry?” You asked. You understood his need whenever the two of you reunited after being apart, but he was insatiable any day of the week that ended in “y”.

“Because you're delicious, sweetheart,” he answered, your heart skipping a beat as scratched along his short beard. Facial hair was never a “make or break” deal with you until him. You longed to feel him bury his head between your legs again and soothe your ache. “I can't get enough.”

You took a moment to admire the love of your life when you realized he wasn't just talking about your body. Some days he held you a little too close because he knew what it was like to lose, but you loved him all the more for it. He let you in because he trusted you when it didn't come easy. Having his heart was an honor.

Who wouldn't want William Miller to love them?

“I can't get enough of you either,” you said, reaching across the table to take his hand. He gripped it like a lifeline and it wasn't just lust you saw when you gazed into his eyes this time.

You saw paradise. Home. Love.

Everything he wanted and didn't think he deserved until you.

“Are we ready to order?” The server asked, temporarily breaking the spell.

You nodded after a moment, your heart full as you squeezed Will��s hand. “I think so, but we’re going to take our meal to-go. If that's okay.”

“Of course,” the server said.

The small smile on Will’s face told you that was his plan all along and you didn't mind.

Besides, who were you to keep your starving man from eating?

I love him, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #william miller x reader #william miller x female reader #william miller x you #william miller x y/n #will miller x reader #will miller x female reader #will miller x you #will miller x y/n #william miller #william ironhead miller #will miller #charlie hunnam #will miller fic #will miller imagine #will miller fanfiction #triple frontier #charlie hunnam x reader #will miller smut

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intheorangebedroom · 3 months

Text

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

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

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier

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.

****

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reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 8 months

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I want to turn into a mosquito and suck him

Omggg who wrote thaaat?🙄

#will ironhead miller #william miller #will ironhead miller x reader #triple frontier #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller x you #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier x you #charlie hunnam

407 notes · View notes

illusivelle · 3 months

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shake the frost / 2

pairing: william 'ironhead' miller x female reader rating: t (for now) length: 3,044 words content: established relationship with the triple frontier boys, cursing, bruises/cuts, tending to wounds (my jam) summary: you don't expect to find will waiting for you so late at night, and especially not for these reasons. a/n: just a sucker for one person taking care of another while they're hurt. really just feeding into my own agenda here. and also a sucker for some idiots who think their pining is unrequited. read part one link to ao3 here!

Next time.

Two words that had been ringing in Will’s ears, bouncing around his head. Words he’d been repeating to himself because he wasn’t sure you meant it, wasn’t sure what spurred it. Wasn’t sure why it awakened something in him that had been dormant for so long. Two words that felt like a promise of more – more time, more you.

It wasn’t as if it was something novel considering the way he’d looked at you, and caught you looking at him, too. All those fleeting glances you’d both share when he thought the other guys weren’t looking, tiny smiles and faint touches in passing. But this was something different, wasn’t it? A step in a direction he wasn’t certain either of you would make a move toward, or maybe he’d been overthinking the entire thing and it was just something polite you’d offered.

Either way, Will Miller couldn’t seem to get his mind off – nor wrap it around – the idea of ‘next time.’

If only said next time wasn’t under these circumstances, knocking on your front door in the state he was in, hoping that you were actually home.

You’d just pulled into your parking spot, locking your car door three times as you walked up to your apartment. The silhouette that’s slumped over your door is enough to have all the hairs rising at the back of your neck, one hand digging into your purse to clutch for something you could potentially use as a weapon. Shit, if only you’d listened to Frankie all those years ago, you might’ve been better prepared for moments like this. The only thing you could feel as you rummage in your bag is the dull handle of a switchblade, the one thing you did accept from Frankie if only to appease him and make him feel better about your safety.

And now you were kicking yourself in the fucking ass for not listening.

Tentative steps bring you closer to your door, your fingers grasping the knife tightly as wary eyes assess every inch you can see. In the darkness, you can only make out the fact that the person is a) much, much larger than you and b) hunched over like they might be sleeping. At your door, though? It doesn’t tell you much, save for the fact that you had to be very fucking careful about what might happen next. One more step brings you only a few feet away but the rustling of your clothes is enough to have the other’s head snapping up, and you whip out the knife from where it’d been hiding. “You should–”

“It’s me.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Even in your haziest dreams, you could pick out that deep timbre and husky rasp that belonged to the one man that had no business occupying so much of your thoughts, especially as of late. “Will?” His name is a hushed whisper as you toss the switchblade back into your bag and quickly close the distance between you two. You’re crouching down as he’s pushing himself up, clumsily meeting halfway, your hands rising to settle on his shoulders. Not that he needed you to steady him, but you needed something to steady yourself, the sight of Will Miller sitting at your door something you’d never in a million years think would happen. “What’re you– is everything okay?” Immediately, your thoughts fly to all sorts of scenarios, a wary and assessing gaze raking over him as your palms work in a similar fashion, running up and down his arms like you might find a broken bone or a gaping wound.

It’s only when your eyes finally land on his face that you notice, in the small sliver of moonlight peeking through a break in the sky, how dark red has matted along his hairline and paired nicely with the cut slicing his brow. Icy blue eyes dance as they search yours and Will remains quiet while you continue your inspection, finding more surface wounds on his lip and jaw, one that clenches when you linger too long. “Come in,” are the only two words you can think to say, reaching past him to shove your key in and unlock your door.

Maybe it’s your imagination, or maybe there really is only just a few inches between you and Will, his heat seeping through your clothes and prickling your skin. You swear you can feel his ragged and warm breath fanning out across your nape, a subtle roll of your neck like that might alleviate some of the tension thickening in the air when you push open the door to let both of you in. “Thank you,” his hoarse voice cuts in before he immediately tacks on an apology, “I’m sorry. I can go if you–”

“No.” You interrupt him before he can spiral. “Stay.”

His reaction is physical. His shoulders sag like that one simple word washed away all of his worries, the divot between his brows smoothing as he takes one step further into your place and then another. You’ve already dropped your bags and shrugged off your sweater, shuffling to the bathroom to grab your first aid kit and wet a towel with warm water. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Calling out to him, half expecting Will to remain planted where he stood because if there’s one thing about the stoic blonde man standing in your home, he always knew boundaries.

But when you close the medicine cabinet and turn on a heel, you nearly smack into a solid wall of carved muscle, one palm flying up to meet his firm chest to keep yourself upright. “Oh– Will–” blurting out his name while colour steals across your cheeks, “um, you can just have a seat there, then.” He takes orders so well, almost as well as he gives them. The only reason you know what that might sound like is because you’ve heard him bark them out to his brother Benny, even to Frankie and Santi. There’s no way it was anywhere near how he sounded when he’s on the field and you’re not delusional enough to think so, but it’s always been enough to strike a match in your gut. To spark that flame that burned for William Miller.

That same fire is ignited the second you lock your gaze with his pool of blues, tipping your head to the side with a cocked brow. Imploring him with your expression alone, hoping that he’d take the bait or feel comfortable enough to say something – anything – as you slowly and gently bring the edge of the warm towel up to wipe away the dried blood on his temple. “Benny got into somethin’ stupid after his fight tonight,” Will grumbled, those bright arctic irides breaking away from yours for a beat, “they didn’t like how he mouthed off too much in the ring. I told him one day it’d come to bite him in the ass, but you know Benny.” He huffs out a breath, one that tickles the sliver of skin peeking from your shirt, a lick of your lips to hide the way you noticed and zeroed in on the sensation so quickly.

“Mmhm. In one ear–” “Out the other,” he finishes with a dry chuckle.

Will barely flinches as you start to clean out his wounds, pressing damp alcohol-soaked pads to open cuts. It’s a testament to all that he’s endured out in the field, things far worse than you can ever imagine. Things far worse than what you’ve seen with your own two eyes at the hospital. You remember Frankie talking about a gunshot wound on their last ‘mission’ that Will simply patched up with a few pads of gauze, and even remembering the way Frankie told the story has your brows pinching together with distaste. “Is it bad?” Will murmurs, bringing your eyes down to his again.

“No, it’s not bad.” Were you really that easy to read, or maybe this close Will can just see right through you? “Are you feeling okay? Need a painkiller or something?”

“Probably just some water but I can wait.”

A hint of a smile teases the edges of your lips, wanting to lighten the sullen mood that’s fallen between you two. “I’ll make it quick, then.”

And you do, as much as you could. All of the open wounds were small enough that Will didn’t need any stitches; a few slips of the skin glue enough to close them, followed by pressing the thin adhesive strip bandages on top to make sure everything held. You lean in close when you get to the cut along his cheek, not wanting to mess up something that could’ve otherwise turned into a scar. Not that you thought Will would mind or didn’t have plenty of those, but you’d always been cautious about the face for any of your patients and he was no different. So focused on your work, steady fingers brushing back the small bandage, you don’t notice just how close your mouths are until you start to speak, the bristles of his beard tickling the edges of your pout. “Good as new,” you chime and without thinking, continue to say, “handsome as ever.”

If the ground could open you up and swallow you whole, you’d thank all your lucky stars and maybe even become religious. Had you really just said that? Heart hammering a bruise behind your ribs, you dare to steal a glance at Will’s face, hoping and praying and wishing you’d find something akin to indifference written over it. An indicator that he didn’t hear what you just said or maybe that he’d spare you and ignore it. Instead, you find a slick shine on his lower lip, a flirt of his tongue before he pulls it in while those thick, blonde lashes bat against his cheek. It’s silent for a few seconds, the weight of your words hanging over you like a blanket, and as soon as you open your mouth to say something, Will’s hand finds a home on your hip.

“It’s okay.” His tone stuns you, softer than you’ve ever heard it, swallowing thickly as you give him a shallow nod. “I didn’t mean to come here so late. Thank you for helping me. I was going to drive myself to the emergency, but Benny thought it’d be better to come see you directly. He all but followed me to make sure I actually didn’t go anywhere else.” All the while his thumb starts an absent sweeping motion, snagging on the hem of your shirt and sending goosebumps spreading fast on your skin.

“I’m glad you did, Will. You’d have been sitting in the waiting room for hours, you know.” Your fingers trail down until they brush over his knuckles, the same ones still holding you steady. “A heads up would’ve been nice, though, I guess.”

You’re not sure where this drop of courage is coming from. Maybe it’s the fact that Will took the lead here, the fact that his palm seems to press in more firmly where it lay. But as you search his eyes for a response, you can see the very second the moment splits into two. The moment where reality rears its ugly head and presents the staggering truth: too much. This is too much, too soon. There’s a faint quiver to Will’s lower lip, a muscle feathering in his jaw, and a few blinks is all it takes for those arctic blues to gloss over with something colder. Something you’ve seen in his eyes before, usually at the start of the night when he’s still had all his guards up and the others were around keeping a watchful and protective stance around you. Or when you’d overhear him and the guys talking about their pasts, especially their old friend. Or even the times you listened to Will’s speeches, recounting the eventful situation he found himself in at the grocery store when he all but lost his grip and sense.

“It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” His hands drop as low as his voice, the words leaking of shame.

You won’t pretend to ever know what happened between Will and his ex, or even Will on the last mission, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the wheels turning behind those wary eyes. His entire face twists like he’s trying to hide the visceral need to run, and the warning signs flood the forefront of your mind as Frankie’s booming voice echoes between your ears: it’s a bad idea, he’s not ready, he’ll hurt you, you’ll hurt each other.

“It’s okay, Will.” Barely above a whisper, you say the three words you hope will settle in his bones the same time you step back to put a small gap between your aching bodies. His aching undoubtedly from the fight he’d put up for Benny and yours for different reasons entirely, emphasized by the fact that every fibre of your being is reaching out to return to his orbit.

His hands clasp together in front of him, another sharp breath slipping past those lips before he rises to his full height. It takes you too long to point out that his knuckles still have dried blood on them, but it’s clear he has no intent on staying any longer than necessary. Hiding the hurt from your face was easy enough but the way it stings the corner of your eyes is something that’s more challenging to tamp down. Twisting your body away from him and ducking your chin into your chest, you try to stride out of the bathroom, but his words have you faltering right at the threshold. “Do I owe you something for this?”

“What?” Brows bunching together into a frown, you peer at him over your shoulder. “No, Will. You don’t owe me anything.”

Is it relief you see as tension uncoils from his body? Like maybe the fact that he didn’t owe you anything meant he didn’t have to talk about this night, relive it, or see you again? Your mind is racing a mile a minute, your steps faster as you make it to your living room and leave him following behind. “Hey,” Will’s voice is strained and again, it has your resolve wavering, leaning against the back of the couch as you slowly turn to face him, “thank you. I’m not sure what else to say. I know seeing a man sitting at your door late at night probably wasn’t the most welcoming thing, and out of the blue, too. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You don’t mean to snap, the words falling out with a bite, but it’s too late to take them back. The only thing you can do is cast your eyes up at Will with a hint of regret flashing across your face. Because you did want him to stop saying sorry, to stop feeling bad for leaning on you when he needed help. Because you’re hit with the realization that refusing and turning him away at the door was never even an option. “It’s okay. Really, Will. I mean it. I’m happy to help you.” You admit softly, sucking in a breath to keep the momentum going, pivoting at the last second to turn the conversation into something less daunting as you murmur, “though I guess I thought the next time would’ve been under different circumstances.”

This seems to do the trick, lifting the veil of tension even for a brief moment, allowing you to catch a ghost of a smile when the lines on Will’s cheek deepen. “Mmhm, yeah. Would’ve been nicer if it were, I imagine.”

Fidgeting with your fingers yet unable to keep your attention away from him for too long, your eyes dance between your own hands and his. “Do you want me to take care of that, or…?” A little matted blood only needed a good wash, but you’d take the opportunity to tend to him if he allowed it.

Blue eyes dart down to meet where you’re looking, a quiet hum sounding in your apartment that feels like a ticking time bomb minutes before the inevitable crash. It comes far too quickly, and far too quietly, hitting you harder than you’re prepared for. “No, it’s okay. I should go.”

Whatever bubble you’d convinced yourself you were in pops, the moment once again splitting into pieces. This time, more than two, dropping around you helplessly and all you can do is agree with him as it slips like water between your fingers. “Okay.” After all, you'd have no right to ask him to stay. He’d already done that, and now Will’s decided it’s his time to leave. Palms slicking with sweat, you find yourself nervous. Find yourself wondering, not for the first time since you’ve known Will, why you were so nervous around him. It’s just Will, you remind yourself, something that’s becoming more of a mantra these days. “You drove here? You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be alright.”

But would you be alright? It’s hard to tell because the longer Will lingers in front of you, the longer your mind strays. Is he second guessing himself? Is this all in your head? Is he going to shrug his jacket off and change his mind? Through the corner of your eye and in the dim light of your living room, you see the way his fingers twitch as it slowly rises. Inches before they can touch any part of you, it fades, your heart sinking into your stomach.

Only for it to crawl back up to lodge in your throat when the scent of Will threatens to overwhelm you as he steps in to press a kiss to the crown of your head, another muffled “next time, then,” before he’s skirting past you, opening your door, and leaving.

Leaving you with even more conflicted thoughts about Will Miller, ones that replay over and over again the entire night. Ones that blend into a flurry of emotions as you clean up and ready yourself for bed, ones that have you picking up your phone in the dark to type out a hurried text

'You should’ve stayed. Next time?'

#will miller x reader #william ironhead miller #william miller x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #charlie hunnam fic #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam #william miller #will miller #will miller x you #william miller x you #triple frontier

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musings-of-a-rose · 4 months

Text

Weighted Blanket

Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 860+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Chatting about what a great weighted blanket this man would make and so I dedicate this to @laurfilijames. This was not beta read.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

Today had been the day from hell. You knew it would be, especially since you’d been out for several days being sick. Morning meetings ran long, everyone scrambling to prepare to open, and then the patients? Don’t even get me started.

When I finally get into my car at the end of the day, I turn on the ac and rest my head against the headrest taking several deep breaths, just listening to the vents pumping cool air into my hot car. I just have to make it home. A shower is waiting for me and Will should be home today.

Will.

My amazing boyfriend of a year and a half. Will had to go away for work for a few days and was finally coming home. I know a few days isn’t that long but it killed him to leave me when I was sick. And to be honest, I hated not having him there, sick or not.

His truck is in the parking lot when I pull in and I smile knowing he’s upstairs. I hurry to our apartment and push my key in the lock, quickly shedding my shoes and tossing my bag down on the little side table before heading towards the kitchen, where sounds and a delicious, heavenly smell were emanating from. I lean against the door frame, just taking in the sight of him. Will, standing at the stove with his back to me, casually making my favorite food, his hair still wet from a shower, navy blue shirt stretched thin over his broad back and thick arms, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. He clicks off the burner and divvy’s the food onto 2 plates before turning, his face lighting up when he sees me.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was work?” When I don’t answer right away, he let’s out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

I nod, pushing off the door frame. “Nothing I didn’t anticipate. Still sucked though.”

“You hungry?”

“Starving. But first I need to shower. I feel so gross.”

Will sets the plates down and takes a few large steps towards me. He moves for a hug and damn do I want one, but I’m gross. People actually spit up on me today. So I sigh, stepping back and Will puts his hands up, freezing in place.

“Must have been really bad.”

“You don’t even want to know.”

He winks and blows a kiss at me, turning back to finish up dinner. The shower was glorious, the hot water and bubbles relaxing me somewhat, and washing away all of the gross from my skin and hair. I don’t linger, my stomach grumbling as I pull on some pajamas and head straight for the kitchen table, where Will had just set down drinks for us. Before I sit, he pulls me to him, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, his hands cradling my face.

“I missed you, sweetheart.”

“I really missed you too, Will.” He starts to deepen the kiss, but is interrupted by the loudest grumble yet from my traitor of a stomach. He laughs, placing a hand on my tummy.

“Let’s get some food in you.”

—----

Dinner was delicious, as usual when Will cooks. It’s not just that he follows the recipe to a t, but he has his own personal flair to it. Will’s cooking can make any sour mood turn sweet. Or maybe that’s just me.

After our bellies are full, we sit on the couch and I curl my body against his, feeling his large arm wrap around me, the warmth from him seeping into my bones. He kisses the top of my head and rests his own there, both of us content to just be with the other. But my day was hard and before long, I feel my eyelids drooping. Will must have noticed because I swear I blinked and somehow ended up in bed, Will pulling the blankets up around me before crawling in next to me. He tries to pull me to him, but it’s not what I need. He crooks his finger under my chin, lifting my head to look at him through sleepy eyes.

“Do you need Will blanket?” I nod, my eyes barely open.

Will helps me lay down on my back, making sure my pillow is adjusted before he drapes half his body over mine, linking one of his muscular legs with mine as he tucks himself over me. His arm drapes over my body, rubbing small circles into my opposite arm. I turn my head and realize my nose is in the perfect spot to nuzzle into his hair, so I do it, inhaling the scent of him. The weight of him on me settles my nerves, the last bit of overstimulation and wired emotions leeching from my body the longer I feel his breathing, his body pressing into mine.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

It’s so tender and loving, full of care and I think about how much I love this man as he gently lulls me to sleep.

In the morning, he has different plans for me and I’m so glad I got the rest I needed.

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

#will miller x reader #will miller x you #will miller x f!reader #will miller x female reader #will miller #william miller #willilam ironhead miller #will ironhead miller #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fan fic #triple frontier ff #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam character fanfic #charlie hunnam character fanfiction #charlie hunnam character ff #charlie hunnam characters

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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 4 months

Text

Best Friend's Brother

Will Miller x f!reader

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.

#triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller x you #william miller #will miller smut #william ironhead miller #will ironhead miller

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gosmigenergy · 4 months

Text

JUST DESSERTS

( Triple Frontier Boys x F!Reader )

Summary: Frankie and Santiago decide to host a Valentine’s dinner however you’re already a little suspicious of what they have planned.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, swearing, minor angst because Santiago’s an idiot, sex pollen, group sex, oral - female receiving, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), cream pie, voyeurism, choking, nipple play, oral - male receiving, hair pulling, spit roasting, gagging, squirting, allusions of masturbation (male), fluffy ending, nickname/pet names, no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 8.4k

Author's Notes: Just for a little context, here's the fic this one's related to.

You had spent all afternoon watching from a distance.

Frankie preferred you to be out of the kitchen when he was prepping a three course meal for multiple people, saying you were too much of a distraction. Reluctantly, you stayed out of his way and tried to keep yourself busy.

You heard his hushed profanity.

“You ok, babe?”

He was stuffing his phone into his pocket when you approached.

“I forgot an ingredient.”

Your head cocks to one side, brows furrowing. It was unusual, he was so methodical when it came to cooking, he’d never forgotten an ingredient since you’d started dating. Maybe it was Valentine’s Day nerves or because he was in someone else’s kitchen, you had to ask him why they chose Will’s place.

“I can go get it for you.”

“It’s ok, I’ve already messaged Pope.”

The pair of them had planned this evening together because you couldn’t quite book a table for five at a fancy restaurant on the day of love without being questioned. Not to mention the extortionate price rises, the candle lit table where you can barely see and the knowledge you would sit throughout dinner with four sets of eyes on you, all wanting the same thing.

“Soooo,” you bite your lip, “what do you want to do now?”

Leaning back, he folded his arms, eyes trailing you from head to toe. A shiver shot up your spine as his stare hung low, his tongue flicking over his lips and Frankie knew he had just enough time to do what he wanted to do.

When Santiago knocked on the door, it took a few minutes to get an answer.

He was just about to knock again when it swung open and revealed you, flustered and glancing down, he noticed your lack of pants. His one eyebrow quirked and a slight smirk came to his lips.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Frankie entered the living room. “I made sure she finished.”

The temperature in your cheeks rose to scorching, in all of your dating history, you’d never been caught and of course, it has to be Santiago who catches you after a thorough fingering. He’s fucking delighted.

You walk away from him before he can utter a word.

“He wouldn’t let me answer the door until I came,” you say, taking your shorts from Frankie.

“Gotta make sure you’re satisfied.”

A hand snakes around your back and he pulls you closer, squeezing the plumpness of your ass. You cup his whiskered jaw and place a kiss on his cheek before kissing him lightly on the lips, his fingers burying further.

“I’m just gonna clean up.”

“You’re welcome to stay like that,” Santiago chips in.

“I thought you were helping Frankie in the kitchen.”

You saunter away, purposefully not putting on your shorts just to rub it in his face a little.

“I hate you,” he turns to Frankie.

Frankie blinks at him, “You got the stuff.”

The pair of them go into the kitchen, ensuring they’re out of the way from prying eyes and Santiago pulls a tiny brown bag out of his pocket. Frankie snatched it from his hand and eased out the bottle, it looked like any other baking ingredient in a pipet bottle except it was fluorescent pink in colour.

“I still think we should tell her,” he said, bringing it closer for inspection.

“She’ll be fine.”

Frankie went to the fridge and brought the rest of the ingredients to the counter top.

“Ruby chocolate?”

“It’s fruity and should conceal the colour of that stuff.”

Santiago patted his friend on the back, “I knew I could trust you.”

Once you’d finished in the shower, you went to check on the pair of them in the kitchen. Santiago wasn’t being much help, merely standing there and talking whilst Frankie gently folded a pink concoction in a bowl. As you stepped closer, you caught the chocolate wrapper and knew you had to sneak a taste, slipping past Santiago.

Frankie clocked the single finger approaching and slapped your hand hard.

“Ow!”

He immediately put everything down and wrapped himself around you.

“I’m sorry, cariño, I’ve only made enough mousse for the five of us, no samples.”

You look up at him, your pouted lip beginning to quiver, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. It actually really fucking hurt but only Frankie knows why he had such a reaction and Santiago probably, you could only assume.

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it better.

“There’s some chocolate spare in the fridge,” he glanced at Santiago as he spoke.

Santiago headed to the fridge and back, handing you the other unopened bar before boosting you onto the countertop next to where Frankie was working. You eased the paper packaging apart at the top and cracked the first line, breaking a square off.

“You got any questions about tonight?”

Santiago leaned in, opening his mouth slightly and you fed him the piece of chocolate in your hand.

There was only one question you could think of.

—

“Why are they hosting it at your place?” Benny asked his brother.

“Because I’ve got a big enough dining table.”

In all honesty, Will didn’t know if that was their reasoning, he was confused when they asked him too.

“They could have hosted it here.”

“With what table?”

Benny shrugged, “I could have got something.”

His brother was still living like a bachelor, no table just two stools on a breakfast bar, no spare bedroom or fold out couch, he shook his head. When Frankie arrived at his place with bags of ingredients, Will saw it best to get out of the way and offered to come and get Benny, who was trying to figure out what to wear.

“Don’t you have a dress shirt?”

Will watched on as Benny rifled through his wardrobe.

“Do I look like I would have a dress shirt? The moment I stopped doing parades, I got rid of ‘em.”

He would have offered him one if it wasn’t for the fact Benny’s lean physique would be swamped by his. There was already a pile of rejections on the floor including the one denim shirt he owned and the one that Benny had named his good hoodie.

“Who’s idea was it to dress up anyway?”

“Who do you think?”

“Ah, the man with a thousand black shirts.”

Will laughed, “Even Fish has a nice shirt, brother.”

“The coke one?”

Will folded his arms, brows knotting. Benny looked innocently over his shoulder, throwing his hands out.

“You know which one I mean.”

Narrowing his eyes, Will notices the stuffed shelves to the side of his brother and can make out two green sweaters amongst all the greys and blues.

“What about the green sweaters?”

Benny stepped to the side and pulled them out.

“Bunny likes this one.”

He held it up the forest green one and Will was about to say it would pass until he turned it round.

“Is that a cartoon character?”

Benny scowled at him, “It’s a video game character.”

“You never fail to surprise me,” Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “and the other one?”

Tossing another rejection to one side, Benny unfolded the other one, a lightweight knit with a v-neck and emerald green in colour. He’s pretty sure this was one his mother gave him, he wore it once or twice to please her and then pretended he’d lost it over Thanksgiving. He just hated wearing anything other than gym wear, jeans and a t-shirt.

Will was going to have to take him shopping.

“That’ll do.”

—

You’d finished getting ready just as the sound of keys entering the door. Tottering over, you grabbed the door handle and opened it before Will had chance to get it himself.

“You look as lovely as ever, Bunny.”

You brush the front of your pink and purple slip dress, turning round to show him the back, you’d even wore kitten heels for the occasion.

He hands you a bag whilst he takes another, “The Prosecco you like was on offer.”

“Oh, thank you,” you kiss his cheek and leave a mark.

Benny bashfully came in after his brother.

“Aw, Benny, that sweater brings out the colour of your eyes.”

His cheeks turned pink, this was the first time you’d seen him relatively dressed up.

“I told him that but he wasn’t impressed,” Will called from behind you.

You take his sweater by both hands and pull his body to yours, crashing your lips to his. Instinctively, he brings an arm to your waist to stop you from falling backwards as your frame arches.

“Thanks for dressing up for me,” you say after parting your lips, “I know you hate it.”

“If that’s the reaction I get, I might do it more often.”

A pop of a cork filled the room and Frankie was the first to complain.

“Christ, you could have given me a warning,” he said, the food he was tentatively placing on a finely toasted slice of bread now sprayed across the plate.

Santiago came out of the dining room to see what all the fuss was about and then ushered the three of you away from Frankie. He sat you at the top of the table with the Miller brothers either side before he switched on some background music and left to help Frankie serve.

“Can we have more light?”

“Honey, this is meant to be romantic.”

You hum, “Would be nice to see everyone’s faces.”

You had resisted saying anything for two courses, it only seemed right to see them for dessert. Frankie pulled out all the stops on food, to start was freshly made Bruschetta then he followed it with the first ever meal he cooked for you, steak with dauphinoise potatoes and greens. With everyone’s plates clear, he went to dish up dessert.

Santiago grumbled and turned the dial up a little, bringing a warm glow into the room.

“That’s better,” you smile even as he stares you down.

Frankie comes in with the first two plates, placing one in front of you. The pink mousse he was creating earlier was delivered with a handful of berries on the side.

“I’ve waited all afternoon to try this!”

You waited, fidgeting for the rest of the boys to get theirs with a spoon in your hand. The moment Frankie put his ass in his seat, you took the biggest portion you could.

“This is so good,” Benny said, continuing to stuff the mousse into his mouth.

It was good, you weren’t going to deny that. It was velvety smooth, the ruby chocolate adding a touch of fruitiness along with the berries but there was something else. You began to eat slowly, eyebrows knotted as you tried to decipher what it was.

Everyone kept eating before Will spoke up, scraping the last of it from his ramekin bowl.

“What was that floral flavour?”

That wasn’t quite it but you knew he was close.

“Special ingredient,” Santiago responded quickly.

Frankie sighed, “We’re gonna have to tell them eventually.”

“Tell us what?”

Benny was using his finger to scoop out what remnants he could, eyes flitting from Santiago to Frankie.

“Sooo, it’s not rose?”

Will’s query suddenly makes you feel queasy, unable to eat the last couple of spoonfuls so you place your cutlery down.

Santiago clocks it.

“No,” he says, folding his arms. “It’s Aphrodite’s Essence.”

Will looks at Santiago and Frankie before his brother, who sheepishly avoids eye contact.

A swell builds in your chest, the name is all too familiar and you don’t know whether to scream or cry or both. Instead, you bundle the cotton napkin from your lap in your hand and throw back your chair.

“You’re such a fucking dick, Santiago.”

You launch the napkin, hitting him square in the face as you flee from the room.

He calls your name but you ignore him, already bolting for the bedroom, swinging the door heavily. The slam echoes through the hall and Santiago goes to get up. Will gestures a hand for him to stop and he follows the order like any good soldier would.

“Give her a few minutes,” his eyes glanced to everyone again. “And you can tell me what the fuck is going on.

—

Santiago was hesitant to go in, he didn’t quite know what was behind the door. The four of them had talked it out, Will was pissed with every single one of them for a fleeting moment. Benny and Santiago almost ended up in a shouting match whilst Frankie remained quiet until he decided to step in and shut them up.

“Sure you don’t want to do this?”

He looked over his shoulder at Will who shook his head, he was always shaking his head at one of them.

“It’s gotta be you, man.”

His friend was right, Santiago just hated it.

Taking a breath, he rapped the door but you didn’t respond. He takes it as a good sign and squeezes past the threshold as he opens the door enough to fit through.

“Hey.”

You’re sat up, back against the headboard of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around the teddy Will won you. In the darkness, he could just about make out your teary eyes and he switched on the nearest the nearest lamp to give off some light.

You sniff, “Hey.”

He sits at your feet and you move them back.

“Honey, I’m sorry.”

“The last time we saw each other, you wanted to slow down on all of this shit then you go and —“

You lose your words, you’re so mad at him.

“I know, it’s bad timing on my part.”

You look away, pushing your cheek into the soft fabric underneath.

This wasn’t bad timing, he’d made an idiotic decision to get revenge on Benny and thrown everyone else into the mix with them.

“You remember how scary it was for me, I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t, Fish and I made sure of that.”

“It doesn’t mean I want to go through it again.”

“It’s about ten percent of what you had last time, fifteen tops. We added a little extra just to make sure it works.”

“Couldn’t you have just laced Benny’s?”

“Would you want to be around Benny with that stuff in his system and without any in yours?”

“No,” you hugged the teddy closer. “You could have made him go it alone.”

“I’m mean but I’m not that mean.”

“You could have warned me,” your voice was timid.

He rested a hand on your foot, his thumb stroking your ankle. You were right, Frankie was right but he wouldn’t admit he was wrong.

“Would you have eaten it if you knew?”

You breathe in, the stutter in your chest that you only get from crying. Dropping a hand, you hold onto his thumb, eyes returning to him.

“I guess not.”

He hummed, he guessed as such.

“We’ve got to make sure we all have a level playing field,” he handed you the last of your dessert. “I had to fight Benny before he had the rest.”

Your smile peeks from behind the green dome head and you let go of his thumb, taking the dish. You eat the final spoonfuls and hand it back.

“How long till it kicks in?”

“Somewhere between thirty minutes to an hour.”

“So I have time to fix my makeup?”

He double checks his watch, “Plenty.”

Santiago continued to draw circles on your ankle, listening to your breathing as it steadied into its usual pace.

“Am I forgiven?”

“We’ll see how the night goes.”

He slips off the bed and onto his feet, leaning forward to brush his nose against the crown of your head.

“We’ve got you,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You wait until he leaves the room to sort yourself out. In the bright light of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of how messy you looked, mostly from the mascara trailing down your cheeks like rainfall. Wiping it away, you reapply everything and fix your hair, rearranging your tits under your dress.

“Need any help?”

After hearing the hive of activity in the kitchen, you popped your head through to the dining room.

“All good, sweetheart.”

Will was alone, carefully stacking dinnerware and blowing out candles. You step further in, playing with your hands.

“I kind of ruined dinner, didn’t I?"

“Hardly.”

Santiago ruined dinner, you merely reacted how most people would having found out their food had been laced. He was surprised he’d taken it so well himself.

You hovered nervously, waiting for his attention.

Leaving the plates on the table, he wanders over to you and coils an arm around your frame, pulling you close. His touch is hotter than usual, palm scorching through the slip dress you wore and you try to figure out how long you’d been gone from the room.

“Can I fix you a drink?”

You smile, “Please.”

He took everything in his hands and told you to head to the lounge. Following him, you part ways and you perch on the couch.

You recognised the similarities of last time beginning to trickle through your system. The elevation in your heartbeat, the rise of temperature in your skin that felt as though you were basking in the afternoon sun. It felt like your lips were getting plumper, your eyes growing bigger, the colours of the room becoming vibrant.

“Benny’s insisting whatever this is isn’t working,” Will chuckled. “Fish is fighting with him to not put a couple more drops straight into his mouth.”

“And what do you think?”

You take the glass from his hand and scoot to the side to allow him space next to you. Taking a sip, every bubble pops along your tastebuds, the flavour sinking in deep.

He shrugs, “I don’t know, what am I supposed to be looking for?”

Leaning back, his eyes roam over your body, noticing how you seem to be glowing. Each inch of bare skin he looks at tingles and you wonder if this is how it starts when you take a normal dose. He stretches his hand, fingertips skimming over your shoulder blades and the shiver travels down your spine, pulsating in your pussy. Something travels from you to him, electricity shooting up his arm and his face turns serious.

“On the table.”

You cock your head to the side, “The coffee table?”

“Front on the coffee table, ass facing me.”

“You sure?”

His one eyebrow arches and he folds his arms, tipping his head towards the table quickly.

You swallow, mouth drying as you listen to his instruction. Slipping effortlessly off the couch, you crawl to the coffee table and move a few items out of the way before you drape onto the cold glass top. Glancing over your shoulder, you see his glazed stare, Aphrodite’s Essence soaking into every fibre of his being.

You knew you were in trouble when his hands reached for his belt.

Your desire was already pooling, the nice underwear set you wore an afterthought as you leaned to show your ass to him.

Will glanced to where the other guys were talking before lifting himself up and dropping to his knees. He tapped your ankles and you spread yourself wider. Grabbing the hem of your dress, he lifted it over the curve of your ass, displaying the dark patch already present on your knickers.

“You shouldn’t have worried about the underwear.”

You frown, looking further over your shoulder.

“Didn’t expect to already be this turned on, thought you would like them.”

“Any other night I would.”

You gasp as he cups a hand over your pussy, pushing against your mound and forcing the bottom half into your wet folds. Whining, you lean to his touch, back bowing. The noises you make cause his cock to harden, already straining against the fabric of his pants.

“Fuck,” he growls, hungrily yanking down your knickers.

He parts your ass cheeks to gaze upon your glistening folds, arousal weeping from your entrance. You breath shudders in anticipation as you break eye contact and face the dark television screen.

You watch as he stares longingly before shuffling back and lowering himself, his broad shoulders visible either side.

He flattens his tongue to your folds and licks up slowly. The mewl you gift him is intoxicating, how your body shakes only sweetening it. Your juices already dribble onto his chin, every moan he gives scattering through your nerves.

Unlike last time, the sensation isn’t as intense, instead it softly spreads a warmth through your body, like the tingle you get from coming in from the cold.

Will continued to eat your pussy, tongue slipping between your lips and teasing your inner walls. Then he tilted his head back and moved forward, mouth locking around your clit. It came alive, your legs threatening to lock if he hadn’t forced you to widen, hands gripping harder.

The sweat was arriving to his forehead, his head cloudy as you engulfed him.

You try to hold onto the table top, clammy palms slipping on the glass as you stretch your fingertips in front. Yet, he fights you, continuously pulling you back until you managed to break free.

“Where are you going, Bunny?”

Turning your upper half, you see his dishevelled appearance, messy blond hair and bright red cheeks.

“Nowhere,” you bat your eyelashes, tongue flicking to dampen your lips.

A smile grows on his face, “Good.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, chest heaving as he scrambled to get the fabric from his skin. Standing up, he stripped down to nothing, eyes not moving from you.

Everyone else remained in the kitchen, talking, unaware of the situation enfolding on the opposite side of the wall.

Kneeling down, Will kissed your lips and brought his weight down on you, pining you to the table top. His hardened cock pushed into the valley of your ass, nestling sweetly between your cheeks. You moan, inviting him to shove his tongue into your mouth and meet your own.

His hands trail up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he carried on up your body and over your stomach, hitching your dress higher.

Sinking his teeth into your bottom lip, he tugs gently before releasing it and nuzzling into your neck. His whiskers scratch your skin as he suckles and the essence in your system screams desperately to be covered head to toe in his marks.

You nudge your ass into him, grinding against his stiff length as your want becomes too much.

Groaning, he snakes a hand between the pair of you and takes hold of his cock. He brushes the tip over your asshole, causing you to shiver before he gathers the juices pooling at your opening.

You have little time to prepare yourself as Will ploughs through your folds and fills you to the hilt. It took the air from your lungs, your arms slipping on the smooth material beneath you. He brings his hands to your shoulders, chest firmly set on your back as he squeezes you, pressing you firmly to the base of his cock.

He waits to see your fingers grip the edge of the coffee table, knuckles almost turning white before he pulls easily through your slick and slams into you again and again. Each one of his overwhelmed senses was only able to focus on you. The final hint of your perfume as the aroma of each other’s sweat hit his nostrils, your frantic cries as you begged for more, your wrecked appearance reflected in the tv.

In the stifling heat of your bodies, you could only think of his cock.

How it glided and buried itself within your walls which pulsed as they attempted to take hold of his length, how every stroke hit the multiplying number of sweet spots in your weeping cunt. It was becoming almost unbearable, you just needed to cum.

“Will,” there was a sense of urgency in your tone.

His breath burns your neck, “I promise I’m close.”

You whine, toes curling as the desire is fit to burst in your belly.

He let go of one shoulder and brought his arm just below your neck, holding you to his chest. His other hand moves downwards, stroking your side with a featherlight touch that has your body vibrating in anticipation. Tucking it underneath, he pulls back the hood of your clit before pressing a fingertip to the bundle of nerves.

His arm locks around your neck as you begin to squirm.

Words fail you, nothing coming out of your mouth but tiny squeaks and the sound of you choking to get air into your lungs. Your eyes are shut tight, the inside of your lids decorated with pinpricks of white and pink.

He takes a few more thrusts until he can no longer force his way through your closing walls. He holds you as close as he can as you stop fighting and your hands cling onto his arm, the orgasm surging through you. Your pussy throbs until you milk him dry, his rasp hot in your ear as your bodies mould into one.

When you catch your breath, the adrenaline pumping through your veins approaches your chest and dispels into giggling.

“Shiiit…”

The laughter was contagious, Will’s chest rumbling against your back before he lifted himself from you. His cock draws out of you as he rests onto his heels and he watches you push his thick white cum from your opening, the audible churn as it dribbled out.

“Is this what happened last time?”

“Sort of,” you look over your shoulder, “except this is much more fun.”

His still stiff length twitched at your words and his cheeks went even redder.

“I’m gonna get some water, want anything?”

You pick yourself up, legs shaking and your dress falls over your frame covering the evidence, if you ignored that he was completely nude.

“I’m good,” you say, closing the space between you.

Leaning in, you kiss him, the flavour of your juices soaking into your lips. When he pulls away, he winks and retreats to the kitchen.

Inside the others had carried on talking, Santiago on drying duties whilst Benny cleaned. Frankie clocked him first, eyes darting over Will’s post sex image and he stepped aside to allow him entry to the sink. Will grabbed whatever glass he could and knocked his brother out of the way, immediately switching on the tap.

“What the fuck?” Benny couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Santiago leaned against the counter top and admired the view as Will chugged before going in for another.

“You ok?”

“Fucking fantastic, brother,” Will smiled at Santiago.

“See, Benny, it is working.”

Benny rolled his eyes, “My brother’s hard on is not proof that it’s working.”

Santiago didn’t know what other proof he could give, he shrugged, opening up his hands in disbelief.

“Will’s got a hard on, I’ve got a hard on and Fish—”

Abruptly, he stopped talking when he realised Frankie wasn’t even in the room any more. He ran his hand over his mouth, fingers tugging gently on his bottom lip as he thought about his next move.

“Come on,” he strode to the door.

Benny threw the sponge into the sink and followed him, Will stayed put, downing water to rehydrate himself. In the lounge, the other two were greeted by a euphoric sight.

Frankie had already made himself comfortable with his shirt unbuttoned, jeans and underwear pulled down his thighs and sat on the one armchair. You were sat on his lap, legs tucked either side of his as you sat with your ass to him, now fully naked. Slowly, you lifted yourself up and down his shaft, sweet and delicate grunts falling from your lips.

One of his broad hands was on your hip, fingers deep into the flesh as he guided you gently, the other at your neck, shaping your back into a perfectly formed arch. You tilted your head to look at him, eyelids heavy as the cock drunkenness begins to set in and his blown eyes reflect back at you.

“Looks like we have an audience,” he drawls.

Your eyes break away from his so you can catch a glimpse at who’s watching, through the fog of the essence you can tell it’s Benny and Santiago. A sharp sting comes across an ass cheek and you yelp, attention returning to Frankie.

“Feeling it?”

Benny took the question as rhetorical, of course he was feeling it now. His cock grew in a matter of seconds, the bulge visibly drawing the tension in his pants and Santiago tried not to look at it.

Instead, he starts to unbutton his shirt, walking towards you and Frankie hungrily. He places a single finger on your knee and follows your form, a delicate touch over every curve before he takes his thumb and squeezes your nipple.

You bite your lip to stop the moan from coming, a slight stutter in the movements of your hips.

Santiago steps forward and looks down on you, beads of sweat on your hairline and flushed cheeks - god he loved you like this.

“How’s it going, Bunny?”

You gasp for air, “Good.”

His head tilts to one side, eyes flicking to Frankie.

“Just good? I’m sure Francisco and Will are better than that.”

Frankie’s fingers constricted around your neck causing your inner walls to pulse, more juices to flow down his length.

“They are,” you plead with them. “They’re so fucking good.”

Santiago could forgive you, words never came easily when you were overstimulated. Your hips had stopped moving and you sat heavily on Frankie’s length, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he loosened his hold on your neck.

He looked at his friend, “Can I join you?”

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the way their eyes met.

Frankie removed his hands from you and you straightened you back, eyes following Santiago as he repositioned himself in front of the pair of you. Your hips had begun rolling of their own accord, only widening Santiago’s smile as Frankie hissed.

He roughly snatched your hands in response, bringing them together behind your back before he placed one of his in between your shoulder blades and eased you forward. You watched, saliva building as Santiago unbuckled his belt, slipping it swiftly from the loops. There are so many ways he could use it yet it gets tossed to the side along with his shirt and pants.

He picks your chin up, “Don’t look so disappointed.”

How could you be disappointed?

Frankie takes your ass in his hand, pushing to encourage you to start riding him. You’re slow at first, trying not to go hell for leather like the essence wanted, and at this angle, you can’t see him just hear how he purrs.

Santiago holds two fingers in front your face and you part your lips, running your tongue along the underneath as he slipped them in. You rolled your tongue around them before he pulled them out, a string of spit hanging briefly between the both of you. Licking your lip, you open your mouth wide enough for his stiff length and girth.

Tipping your head, you stick out your tongue and lick the precum from his radiating tip, the sharpness hitting your tastebuds. He sighs, cupping your jaw and drags you along his cock, stepping forward to graze the back of your throat.

“That’s it.”

His hands drop to his side as he allows you to the control.

You bounce on Frankie’s lap and swallow Santiago in tandem, moaning at the sensation of being full but also the fire in your muscles from being trapped in this position. After a few minutes, Frankie meets your hips with a thrust and you gag on Santiago’s cock as it twitches.

“You alright, cariño?”

You give a muffled response.

Looking up bleary eyed, Santiago’s one eyebrow arches as he double checks on you. You flutter your eyelashes when he brushes the hair from your face and tucks the strands behind your ear. His hand hovers before he runs his fingers into your roots and takes a fistful, the prickling travelling down your neck and shooting down your spine.

He begins to bob your head for you, the tip of your nose tickled by the hairs that line the base of his cock.

Benny had to get out of his clothes.

He scrambled to remove his sweater before freeing his cock from it’s prison. Dropping to the couch with a groan, his length swung towards his navel, this must be what it’s like when someone stumbles across one of his videos.

Every sound the three of you make floods the room, the smell of sweat as the heat builds and can no longer fight the overwhelming urge to wrap his hand around his throbbing shaft. He flinch, his cock so sensitive it’s like he was stupid enough to touch fire. Pushing through it, his jaw locked as he clench his jaw and cautious spread the bead of precum over his head.

Santiago heard movement and track Benny as if he had eyes at the back of his head. He adjusted his stance to let him see you, your features enhanced even from the distance. The glistening of your spit over your lips and round your mouth as you sucked Santiago’s cock, the wave in your throat as he moves in and out, the peaks of your tits wobbling every stroke Frankie took.

The rest of the world blurred around the edges.

Frankie could feel his legs seizing, the knot in his stomach tautening, he wasn’t going to last much longer. He was dizzy from the high, different to the one used to gain from drugs, if he didn’t cum soon he was going to black out.

“We’re gonna need to hurry this up.”

Santiago gave him a singular nod.

Frankie let go of your wrists and tucked them just above your elbows before lifting himself from the armchair. Santiago kept you steady as he moved back and you almost didn’t notice you’d changed position until Frankie snapped his hips, plunging deeply into a new spot.

The vibrations of your groan sent shockwaves through Santiago.

“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth.

He brought another hand to the back of your head, strategically placed in a way to not obstruct Benny’s view. He helped you take him smoothly as Frankie slammed into you again and again, making you see stars.

“You’re being such a good girl for us, stay with me.”

This was the first time Santiago had seen you go crossed eyed, your tongue so loose you were drooling down your chin, each choked huff sugary sweet.

Frankie could feel the essence pumping through his veins, his crotch was burning as his desire increased until he balls were full enough to explode. His final thrust forced you into Santiago’s stomach and he held you there as his seed coated your walls before your whole body trembled.

When Santiago came, he spilled his load deep into your throat until you swallowed every last drop. The orgasm carried on, your muscles spasming to the point where you pushed Frankie’s cock from your pussy. Your juices flowed after and in the pink coated darkness you could hear Santiago singing his praises, pulling his shaft from your mouth.

Your arms are still held strong by Frankie who worried you were about to collapse before the room came back into view. Santiago was crouch in front of you, rubbing your cheeks until you stopped seeing double.

“I thought it wasn’t meant to be this intense.”

He shook his head, “I dunno, honey, maybe it’s to do with the hormones.”

You were surprised he understood you, your tongue going numb.

Frankie coiled an arm around your chest and straightens you up, holding you close until you stop feeling floppy. However the goosebumps arrive on your skin as you can still feel a set of eyes drilling into you and your eyes finally drift to Benny.

He’s still sat down, his hand firmly clutched around his cock.

Frankie kisses you on your temple before he unravels you, allowing you to approach Benny, who’s hand relaxes. You pierce your lips together, your head dropping to one side as you inspect his length. Your fingertips skim the back of his hand that had settled onto the arm of the couch and his stern expression melts away.

“Need a hand?”

He shuffles forward, head falling back so he can gaze upon your beauty.

“You could use a break…”

Your heart sinks.

“So hold onto my shoulders,” he stands as he speaks, crowding you, “and I’ll do the rest.”

Curiosity paints your face as you look up at him doe-eyed. He raises his eyebrows before he moves quickly, hooking his arms under your ass and lifting you off the floor. You scream, instincts kicking in as your arms winding round his neck and legs opening to wrap around his waist. Burying your head in your arms, he feels how tense you are, muscles shaking in your effort to hold on.

He chuckles when he feels your nails dig into his back.

“Relax, I got you.”

You lift your head up, leaning back to be greeted with beaming face. Your arms loosen up, your spreading hands sending a hot flash down his spine causing his cock to twitch. He repositions his hands to hold more firmly onto the meat of your ass, lining up with your opening. As your legs relax, he slowly sinks you down, cock entering your spent pussy with ease.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, eyes peeking to watch as his shaft disappeared.

Your inner walls pulsed as he dropped you inch by inch. The base of his spine was on fire, reaching over his hips, burning in his groin and he swore he could shot his load in you there and then.

When he filled you to the hilt, he let you become accustom to the angle and waited until you focused on him. Your chest was picking up speed as your heart rate quickened and skipped, the adrenaline of pleasure entering every end of your body. The flush was returning back to your cheeks, pearls of sweat on your décolletage as he watched.

“Just remember what I told you,” he says when your eyes finally meet.

He dragged his cock as you whine from the loss before he thrust back in, gradually increasing the speed.

Frankie tuts, “Show off.”

Santiago smiled, if his knees didn’t hate him, he would have taken you like this at some point. The training Benny did as well as his physique in general, helped him without the need for wall support though it wasn’t going to last.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Benny.

His furrowed brows as his head hung low, infatuated with how you were taking him, how more juices seemed to flow with every penetration. His dirty blonde locks fell in front of his face, the centre of his chest gaining a sweaty dew, his huffs a rumble against the thunderous claps of each other’s skin.

The tip of his cock nudge at the same soft spot every time, turning your legs to jelly.

“Benny, Benny, please,” you beg.

“Almost there, Bunny.”

His hips were moving as fast as they could, his grasp sinking deeper into your ass yet he could feel you going limp. When he craned his neck, your fingers were slipping to his neck, upper body slopping away from him. Suddenly, he was seeing everything in slow motion, the ripple that travelled through your curves every time he rocked his hips, your tits bouncing. Your head was thrown back, mouth slack as you tried to gain air in your lungs.

Every part of him began to stiffen from his neck towards his chest and abdominals, from his feet to his legs. His movements got sloppy before his ass clenched and the desire he held within dispersed, surging through his veins. The last thing he could do was move a hand to your back and shove your chest to his.

He grunted animalistically, hips jerking as he pumped you full of his cum.

You shuddered as another orgasm washes comes yet there’s no sound from your lips, that underwater sensation washing over you. All you can hear is Benny’s pounding chest, the ragged breaths he releases when finishes.

There’s a wobble as he staggers backwards before collapsing on the couch. He settles, twisting your head to one side to give you fresh air, the hand on your back rubbing soothingly. Another one of the boys approaches, you can’t tell who, and you listen to Benny drink hurriedly.

You don’t know how much time passed until you could lift your head.

“Thought we’d lost you.”

In your cock drunk state, you managed to focus on him admiring you. He brings a hand to your cheek, a thumb trailing over the hot skin and you tilt your head to deepen the touch.

“You’re gonna need this.”

Will crotched down next to you two, placing a hand on your shoulder. You lift your head, sluggishly moving the rest of your body and using Benny to push yourself up with your hands.

Looking to Will, he holds out an entirely full water bottle and winks before you take it off him. He clears the hair from your face as you tip your head back, chugging as the Millers keep their eyes firmly on you. You remove the bottle from your lips and take some big inhales before you can eventually speak.

“You two ok?”

Frankie and Santiago were staring dumbfounded until you snapped them out of it. The tips of Frankie’s ears went bright red and his eyes took a sideward glance to Santiago.

“All fucking good, Bunny.”

You knew Santiago was teasing you except you couldn’t care less.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s take you to bed.”

You move your legs first, setting your feet on the floor, then you press your palms deeper into Benny’s defined abs to lift yourself. Both of you groan as you raise yourself from his cock which landed heavily to his navel.

All of the boys were still hard and the desire already ignited again.

“Everyone’s coming, right?”

Will took your hand, “Do you really need to ask?”

You walked across the room, glancing over your shoulder when you notice Benny isn’t following, his body solidified to the couch.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Getting tired, Ben?”

He hated being called Ben and out of all of them, he knew he could last longer than Santiago. Flicking his middle finger, you left him to take a break, sharing one more fleeting glance to see him smiling as you stepped out of view.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night, you found yourself in between of Benny and Santiago, the three of you in the guest room. Both were out cold, their rising chests slow as they breathed softly, tangled in the sheets.

You wiggle from under the covers and crawl over the bed without disturbing them… or so you thought.

“Where are you going, honey?”

Santiago stirs, rolling onto his back, you can both just about see each other’s faces.

“I’m going to check on Frankie and Will.”

“They’ll be fine.”

You fold your arms and huff, “I’m still mad with you, remember.”

There was a pause.

“How could I forget.”

He turned over, shuffling closer to Benny.

Opening the door, you slip out and tiptoe down the hall before gently entering Will’s bedroom. It doesn’t take much to wake him, the dip in the mattress caused him to lift his head.

“Coming in with us?”

You hum and he tosses his side of the duvet aside for you to get in. Tucking yourself to Frankie, you draw your arms in and press your forehead to his back. He mumbles something incoherently and you sigh, a quiet smile coming to your lips.

Will pulls the covers over you and himself before coming near, his warm palm spreading across your stomach as he snuggled you.

In the morning, both sides of the bed were empty. You blink, squinting as your eyes adjust to the light streaming through a single slither in the curtains. Taking your time, you gradually haul yourself out of bed and stagger around the room to find something to wear. You pull on one of Will’s t-shirts and venture down the hall.

The house was alive, the smell of pancake batter frying in butter, the sound of chatter and laughter. You thought you may just be able to slip into the kitchen with them, nick a piece of incredible crispy bacon that would be on the griddle pan whilst one of them tried to pass you a drink.

Santiago’s spider-senses were tingling.

Suddenly he appeared in the hallway, holding two mugs in his hands. You freeze before he juts his chin towards the office and you go where you’re told. He follows behind and you shut the door behind him, placing the mugs down on the dark wood desk.

“What have I got to do for you to forgive me?”

He asked as soon as the mechanism of the handle clicked.

“Morning, Santi,” you say, not turning round.

“Morning, honey,” the words rush out. “So?”

You sigh, stepping forward whilst you hugged your frame.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Since when?”

“Since you managed to get five orgasms out of me.”

He’s lucky last night actually went so well.

Santiago wanted to correct you, tell you it was actually six but this was not the time to for bragging rights.

“Then what have I got to do for you not to be mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.”

He swore under his breath, in his second language so you couldn’t understand or maybe you could, he didn’t know by this point. Your attitude told a different story, you were closing yourself off to him, that constant soft smile of yours no longer there. He bites his tongue, not wanting to lose his shit, not wanting this to become a screaming match or for him to yell at you for acting like a child.

Your eyes were starting to turn glossy with oncoming tears and he saw how hard you swallowed, your jaw locking.

“Bunny…”

His anger subsides, his tone less harsh. He comes to you, gently wrapping an arm around your back, the other hand cupping your face.

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to lie to me,” the words caught in your throat.

Santiago nodded, his deep brown eyes searching your face.

“Or plan something as stupid as last night without consulting me.”

He shakes his head, “It wasn’t stupid.”

Now, who’s acting like a child?

“Santi,” you extend the ‘i’ at the end of his name, using your hands to cover your face out of sheer frustration.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

You fight him as he tries to pry your hands away until he stops and walks away. He approaches the desk and takes a coffee, leaning his ass against the edge, folding one leg in front of the other. When you drop your hands down, all you can see is his smirk.

“So, where do you stand on surprises?”

“Surprises?”

He hums, staring over the lip of the cup as he drank.

You try to keep your composure, straightening your back and folding your arms again but Santiago can tell your fit to burst.

“Depends how stupid they are.”

“Yeah,” his eyebrow arches, “A trip to Disney is kind of stupid.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

There had been conversations about a trip. The boys all wanted different things, Will was happy to hop from state to state trying higher end motels, his brother mentioned the desert and horses. Frankie was fine if there was a body of water, preferably a lake, whilst Santiago said a cabin in the woods with a hot tub.

You vaguely remember alluding to the fact you hadn’t been to the parks in over ten years but if you were going to do it, you wouldn’t want just the day there.

The moment you said the ‘D’ word, Santiago groaned. It wasn’t that he hated it, more that he detested the idea of being surrounded by kids, overpriced food and Benny singing ‘it’s a small world after all’ on loop.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re lying.”

“You didn’t want me to lie to you anymore,” he held his hands up.

He’s grateful he put his coffee down as you sprint to him and throw your arms over his shoulders, crashing your lips squarely to his.

“I love you, Santi,” you say when you pull your lips away.

He doesn’t say anything and you scowl.

“You gonna say it back?”

He smiles, “Love you, honey.”

You give him a peck on the cheek.

“Am I allowed to let the boys know that I know?”

“Sure.”

With that you were gone, door left wide open.

“Bunny, your drink!”

The rest of them stood in the kitchen, chatting about what they could remember from last night, cradling cups of coffee and tea. It was the picture of calm until you burst in, bounding onto Benny who almost lost his balance as he took the weight of you around his neck.

“Hot pan!” He flung his arm out.

“We’re going to Disney,” you screamed.

Frankie and Will groan in unison. Benny put the pan down and wrapped his arms under your ass, scooping you up to his waist before talking to you enthusiastically about the trip without giving away any details.

“Pope, seriously man?”

“I thought we were telling her closer to the date.”

He shrugged, “I had to.”

Santiago would never admit why though Will gave a knowing nod and smile before turning his attention to you. He took the handle of the frying pan and switched the gas on as you twist your head round.

“Pancakes?”

“Please,” you replied softly and started discussing what you wanted to do. “We should do the drink around the world challenge!”

“Yes!”

“No,” Frankie and Santiago said immediately.

You pout to them as Benny places you down on the counter top. It’s short lived as you watch Will pour the batter perfectly into the pan with an accompanying sizzle. Benny still talks and you stuff your face with strawberries whilst Santiago and Frankie look on.

“You’re getting soft in your old age.”

“Shut up.”

Frankie knew full well it wasn’t old age.

#triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier x you #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #santiago garcia #benny miller #will ironhead miller #frankie catfish morales #benny miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #will miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #smut #valentines fic

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