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pogueit · 2 years

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P.H: Confession #39209

Pairing: Pope Heyward x reader

Summary: All the pogues are going away to college but will your feelings for a certain human secretions specialist go away too?

Songs: That Summer Feeling by Jonathan Richman, Gloves for garbage by Damaged Bug, Friends of P. by The Rentals

Warnings: alcohol, drug usage, swearing, going to uni, a sandflea? If there’s anything you guys would like me to take let me know!!

WC: 3,183

A/N: This is extremely overdue (this motherfucker has been in my drafts for a WHOle YEAR!!! I hope you enjoy it as always!! I appreciate feedback and requests!!!

It was the last big party before all the pogues go off to college. Sadly, the group was finally being split up, but hopefully not forever. You decided to send your ass off to go to art school in Chicago, Kie was accepted to Standford, Pope is flying to Boston University, JB is attending a community college in North Carolina, and hell they even managed to get JJ into a local trade school. It had been the best summer of your entire life, but there was one thing that weighed on your heart, you were madly in love with Pope and you've never had the guts to tell him.

You had known each other since the third grade. You became acquainted in the principal's office after you beat the shit out of Topper for slapping a book out of Pope's hands. Both of your parents managed to hit it off too and would lend their child labor, you, to the Heywards and the Heywards would lend their child labor, Pope, to your parents whenever they needed help. You two were practically conjoined at the hip. No one ever saw one without the other. It was always Y/N and Pope or Pope and Y/N. Pope would later introduce you to JJ and John B and you would introduce all of the meatheads to Kiara. After the gang was officially formed, that's when all the mischief began and that's what you guys were known for. Always fucking shit up or blowing shit up or bringing shit to life.

You made multiple attempts throughout the summer to confess your feelings, but the boy was still as clueless as ever. Sometimes you just wanted to grab him by his shirt and scream it in his face but when you would take the first steps to do it the nerves would hold you back. Every instance always ended the same. The light would be hitting him just right or he would just be warmly staring up at you. You'd always start it off with "I have a confession to make" and you would be able to see the intrigue light up in his eyes and he'd say something along the lines of "Oh really? What is it?". You then would barf up a lame answer of "Remember when-" and continue to tell him you caught his favorite hoodie on fire and replaced it or how you'd been the one stealing his lunch that one week a hundred years ago.

"So... Are you gonna tell 'em?" Kie asks as she tossed herself down on your bed full of clothes. She has been egging you on since summer started and has become even more persistent as summer is coming to a close.

"Please, tell me you are!" She pleads, grabbing your arms and pulling down with her onto the crummy mattress.

"Ugh, Kie, you already know I won't" you sighed, pushing yourself into a sitting position with your legs crossed underneath you. Kiara rolled her eyes at you and mimics the same position you are in and begins tugging at the clothes she was on and folding them before she placed them in the suitcase.

You had been stalling on packing all week and now only had a day before your departure to get everything stowed away. Now, seeing your relatively empty bedroom, you started to regret your decision about going so far away. From now on everything’s going to be different and everyone’s going to change. Even the ones that say they won’t always come back a little different whether it be a new haircut or clothes you never come back exactly the same. Seeing Kiara’s concerned face you shake the feeling from your mind and begin to get to work.

After you and Kie manage to shove all your clothes into the suitcase, you motion for her to jump onto the suitcase so you can attempt to close it.

"This is your last chance! You just gotta!" Kie followed your orders and threw herself onto it, but before you can reach for the zipper she grabbed you by your shoulders and added "You have to tell him tonight!"

"You are supposed to be helping the pack, not annoying me!" You playfully shoved her off the suitcase and onto the bed once you seal it shut. She feigns distress, something you can only roll your eyes at.

"Whatever, loser, we have to go help the knuckleheads set up anyways" Kiara jumps off the bed and pulled you along with her to go see the boys.

When you two got to the Boneyard it was a mess. The boys were terrorizing each other with sand and the twinkie has yet to be unloaded.

“Guys, what the fuck!?” Kie shouted at them using her “mom” voice and they all froze in place, even you. This voice was reserved for only true fuck ups and it was the most terrifying thing anyone could ever hear. The boys exchanged questionable glances to one another before Pope started running towards JJ again, with something obviously in his hand. JJ with wide eyes booked it, running right for you and Kiara. He immediately grabbed you and used you as a human shield against whatever the hell Po was holding.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You tried to break out from his grasp as he maneuvers your body to block Pope.

“Tell him to get the fuck away from me!” JJ cowers behind you when Pope stuck out his hand right in your face to reveal a sand flea.

“Oh, fuck” You immediately threw yourself backward into JJ and begin to fight over who’s going to be the human shield. Both you and JJ had a fear of these little creatures, because of JJ’s dad. He told you that they will crawl into your head through your ears and eat your brain and that was enough to send you two spiraling in fear. Also, they looked gross.

“You gotta be kidding me!” Kie huffed and left you two fumbling on the ground to go start unloading the van.

“C’mon Pope, it isn’t funny” JB grabbed the sand flea from Pope’s hand and tossed it to the side. Finally, allowing you guys to relax on the sand.

“Or is it?” JB still had the flea and threw it at you. He doubled over in laughter watching you leap into Pope’s embrace.

“It’s not on me is it?” you whimpered hugging him tighter.

“No you’re good” He chuckled looking you over and dusting some sand off your back.

“You sure?” You looked up at him still not letting him go.

“I promise” Pope reassured you rubbing your back soothingly to calm you down. At that moment it came up again, should you profess your undying love for your best friend? No one was around, the waves calmly lapped against the sand, and the sun was beginning to set behind him creating a halo effect. You could feel the courage strong in your chest and you were finally ready.

"Pope, I have a confession to make" you pull away slightly so you could get a better look at his face.

"If it's that you have been stealing my--"

“No, just listen to me, please” You promptly cut him off as the sudden courage could wear off any second. As soon as you opened your mouth to continue, Kiara’s exasperated voice rang out.

“Pope go help JJ and Y/N come here right now!”

All the confidence you had deflated immediately.

“We’ll talk later okay?” Pope promised and you weakly nodded your head, as he gave you a quick hug before leaving reluctantly.

Kie put you to work immediately and you were semi-grateful as it helped take your mind off of Pope. Yet, you couldn’t help but think maybe it was a sign from god to keep interrupting you in the midst of confessing your feelings? Should you just get over it and grow up?

The persistent questions weighed heavy on your heart.

“I’ll take that!” Pope swooped in and snatched the case of shitty beer from your grasp.

“Jesus!” You nearly jumped out of your skin at his sudden appearance.

“Not him but close” He gave you a cheeky smile and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Whatever, at least let me help” You held out your hand and did the grabby hand motion. Pope skeptically thought about it for a second before nodding his head and letting you hold the other end of the beer case. On your walk back to the party, Pope told you about some of the people who showed up and who’s going to what university. Between his little quips and watching the sea of people interacting with one another, a familiar uneasiness washed over you.

“Is it too late to go to school here?” You stopped in your tracks, suddenly, as the feeling became overbearing.

“Woah, Woah” He took the end that you were holding and set the case down on the sand “What are you talking about?” His hands landed on your shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know I just---” You could feel your heart rate start to pick up and your breathing becomes more distressed.

"You're gonna kick ass in Chicago, Y/N'' Pope quickly regained your attention and pulled you into his signature "Security Hug" to ground you. He'd been the one to encourage you enough to actually submit your portfolio to them in the first place because he knew how much you wanted to go. All you needed was a little push. You were glad that he did, but now seeing everyone for potentially the last time had sent you into a spiral. He rubbed your back in slow circular patterns while whispering reassuring words into your ear.

“Thanks, Po” you smiled at him. An overwhelming urge to kiss him suddenly settled within you.

“No worries, that’s why I’m here” the way his face scrunched up into a smile made the feeling intensify and you finally decided to let your actions speak for themselves. You were halfway into connecting your lips to his when a whirlwind of guys from his AP Chemistry class pulled him away and left you awkwardly leaning forward with slightly puckered lips. He caught your eyes and gave you an apologetic look. You were riddled with embarrassment and now you could only hope that you could wash it away with a couple of hundred shots.

“Did you tell him yet?”

You were downing your third cup of god-awful beer when the voice startled you. It made you accidentally inhale the remaining liquid which promptly sent you into a coughing fit.

“Oh my god! John B!” You finally managed to say after the coughing and his amused laughter subsided. “And no I didn’t-- How did you--” You could barely finish your sentence before you both shared a knowing look.

“Kiara,” you said in unison and buried your face into the beer-infused palms of your hands. JB threw an arm over your shoulders and roughly brought you closer to him.

“There, there, kid. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. It’s actually kinda cute?”

“I’m older than you” You try, to no avail, to break away from his sweaty embrace “You think anyone else knows?” you stood crushed to his side.

“Oh yeah, the whole island has known since like… Forever” He chuckled and you couldn’t help but groan.

“Does he know?” He loosened his grip around you and reached around you to get himself another drink.

“Fuck no, he knows shit but he doesn’t know shit, y’know like me or J” He surveyed the crowd. You could tell he was looking for a distraction. The poor boy was taking the breakup with the kook princess pretty hard.

“Smooth, JB, smooth” You rolled your eyes at the brunette and gave him a playful jab with your elbow. His gaze was soon caught by a girl with faded purple hair and you knew you already lost him.

“Just take your time and only do it if you’re comfortable, yeah?” His voice became distant as his mind was already somewhere else. The girl dared JB to make a move and with that, he gave you a half-hearted pat on your shoulder before trailing after the vacationer.

“Thanks a lot, bird shit” you called after him and he flipped you the bird without sparing you a second glance. Asshole. You had hoped that the alcohol would have kicked in by now, but you were still painfully sober. The alcohol in your system did nothing to soothe your nerves so you sought help from your favorite salt-lifer.

The sun was almost gone now as you fought your way through the crowd. The only remnants of the sun left were barely visible in the glowing water. You didn’t think looking for him would be difficult but you were always out to disappoint yourself. The search for the golden boy got increasingly confusing as each person you asked about JJ’s whereabouts pointed you in a new direction. Out of frustration, you let yourself slump against one of the many logs that were strewn about. Your eyes lazily moved from one vaguely familiar face to another. It wasn’t until a while later that you caught sight of Pope. He sat on top of a pile of trees as he talked at length to a girl sitting too close to comfort next to him. You could feel the familiar pull at your stomach as you watched his face contour into laugher at whatever the girl said. It was only for a second though as a wave of determination washed over you. It wasn’t strong enough to send you marching over there, but it was enough to spring you into finding JJ again. This time it didn’t take long. He was cooly leaning against one of the dead trunks trying to act nonchalant while he chatted with a cute redhead.

"I need a hit" you mumbled in JJ's ear. You cowered behind his massive frame to try and not distract him too much from his ongoing conversation. Yet, the touron he was talking to still did not seem pleased at your sneaky attempts.

"What for?" He quickly whispered back trying to keep most of his attention on the person in front of him.

"I'm nervous" you wring your hands in an attempt to ease yourself.

"About what? Wait are you--" he quickly spun around shifting his entire attention to you and away from the touron.

"Yeah…” You kick around some of the sand at your feet failing to meet his gaze.

“Oh my god! Dude, Finally!” JJ laughed and threw you into a hug. He seems to be giddier about this than you were. “God, I’m so proud of you right now!” He continued and pulled away from you to rummage around in his pockets. The touron made a sly attempt to regain JJ’s attention but failed miserably. You gave them an apologetic glance, but they only rolled their eyes at you. Once he found his trusty vape pen, that you all collectively deemed the “flash drive”, he tossed it to you. The inhaled smoke in your lungs felt familiar yet foreign as your lungs grew to accept each new puff. You could feel the pit in your stomach relax by your last puff and you handed it back to him.

“I just saw him head over to the twinkie, so you better go make your move, shithead” He put the flash drive in between his lips as he quickly straightened your shirt and tousled your hair.

“Thanks, dude”

“Whatever, now go make us proud” and with that, he pushed you in the twinkie’s general direction.

When you finally fought your way through the crowd you saw Pope sprawled out on top of the vehicle.

"Hey, Poe" you greeted him once you got yourself on the roof of the van. He gathered his limbs and scooched over to make some room for you to lay down. The cool metal arose goosebumps all over your bare skin as you laid down. While the flash drive immensely drove away the nerves, you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You didn’t want to see his face when he tells you he doesn’t feel the same way.

“I, uh, have a confession to make and I promise this is the last one” you kept your eyes focused on the abyss that held the night sky.

“Yeah? What is it this time?” He rolled over to face you; he sounded tired from the Boneyard party. You took in a deep breath and prayed to your ancestors that you weren't about to make the biggest mistake of your life.

“I fucking love you. I have loved you ever since we got sent to the principal’s office in the third grade and--- and I felt like I needed to tell you before I leave tomorrow.” You could tell he was expecting something humorous as he laid beside you wide-eyed. His silence was overbearing and was beginning to fray away at the little confidence you had the longer it went on.

“Like, I totally get if you don’t feel the same I just...” You cut yourself off when the view of the stars above you was blocked by Pope as he leaned over you. He then tenderly connected his lips to yours and you more than eagerly kissed him back. Your hands immediately went around his neck to bring him closer. It was sweet and delicate. It was something you longed for and it was absolutely everything you could have even dreamed of. It was cruelly interrupted though by the bickering that surrounded the twinkie.

“Can you see anything?” JJ’s voice rang loud and clear.

“Shut up!” Kie hissed back at him and they still had the audacity to act surprised when your and Pope’s head came into view on Kiara’s phone.

“What the fuck you guys!” You shouted exasperated at them for ruining the idyllic moment that you’ve waited so long for.

“What? We just wanted to see if you made your move, but I guess---” You cut him off by throwing your jacket at him.

“I can’t believe you guys would stoop this low” Pope scoffed as he jumped off the roof of the van. He quickly turned around and helped you get off safely.

“Whatever, love birds” Kie snickered and tossed your jacket back to you before she ran off towards the party with JJ. Pope pulled the van’s side door open and plopped himself on the carpeted floor.

"Y’know, I did think all those confessions did mean something” he chuckled as he leaned against one of the back seats.

“Yeah, right!” you rolled your eyes with a smile before crawling over to Pope and making yourself comfortable on his lap. “How about we give this another shot, shall we?” you continued and wrapped your arms around his neck once again. Pope answered by eagerly rolling the rusted door closed.

#pope heyward #obx #pope heyward fic #pope heyward x you #obx fanfic #pope x reader #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward imagine #pope heyward fanfiction #pope obx #pope fic #outer banks fanfiction #pope heyward outer banks #outer banks fanfic

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canisalbus · 4 months

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Have you drawn Vittorio before? I'd like to see what he looks like pls.

Vittorio's design has given me more trouble than I expected, I'm still not sure if I'm happy with his looks. He's Machete's trusted personal secretary, a small and modest but resourceful and resilient man. I think he's somewhere in his mid 20's.

#he's mixed breed with strong spitz influence #maybe some papillon type of lap dog in there as well #I'm not sure where he's from #former accountant #his uneasy personality and humble origins mirror Machete in a way #probably one of the reasons he ended up hiring him #Machete himself was his age when he was in a similar situation working as Pope's assistant #own art #own characters #CanisAlbus #Vittorio Tomassetti #Vaschete lore #fic Separation #fic A Voi

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princessmaybank · 3 months

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Outer Banks P!Links PT2

Here's Part 1: P!Links

*Once again: I'm aware some of them look nothing like them, but that's okay, it's all for fun*

WARNINGS: MDNI, THIS IS 18+, PORN LINKS

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

~A lot more than last time! Please enjoy! I didn't check to see which was already used, so I'm sorry if there are repeats from the last post!~

JJ:

Him Pounding Into You

Riding JJ While He Plays With Your Tits

Soft Fuck With JJ

Jacking Him Off

Teasing Him With Your Pussy

Riding Tatted JJ

69 Tatted JJ

4 Fingers

Oral And Riding By The Pool

Wants To Try Something From Your Book

Rubbing Your Pussy

Rafe:

Tatted Rafe POV

Cumming On Your Stomach

Hitting It From Behind

Riding Him

Gently Playing With You

Fucking You Outside

Fingering Then Fucking You

Slapping Your Pussy On The Way To Midsummers

Rubbing You Until You Can't Take It

Bent Over His Lap

Anal By The Pool

John B:

Sucking His Dick In The Twinkie

Playing With You

Couldn't Resist You

Having Some Fun With Kiara

Parking Garage Fun

Tatted JB, Playing With Each Other

Making A Mess In Your Panties

Using His Dick While He Plays His Game

Sitting On His Face By The Pool

Upside Down 69

Dicking You Down While JJ Drives

Pope:

Tatted Pope, Waking You Up

Bouncing On His Dick

He Asked For A Handjob

Jacking Him Off Then Riding Him

Under His Desk While He Studies

Fucks You In Your PJ's

Bouncing You Back

Tatted Pope Fucking You On The Counter

Anal From The Back

School Girl Fantasy

Riding Pope On The Couch

Bonus:

Kiara Eating You Out

Eating Out Tatted Cleo

Tribbing With Sarah

Tatted JJ & Rafe Sharing You

Playing With Sarah's Pussy

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rubiehart · 2 months

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cockwarming bestfriend jayj would just be so ughhhhhhhhhh. you’re both a little past the point of tipsy, having slipped away together from the kegger back to the chateau, legs tangled together in the hammock as you watch jj slowly inhale the joint he still managed to roll pretty well even in his intoxicated state. his eyes flutter closed as he sucks in the smoke and reaches over to place it between your fingers as he blows it out, too focused on the way the smoke clouds his face and then disappears, blue eyes trained on your figure, raking up your bare legs and ending on your face.

you blink away the thought and bring the joint to your lips and inhale deeply, looking into his eyes as your hold the smoke in your mouth, not too sure what this eye contact meant from his end but you knew exactly why you were doing it, the reason evident as you feel your cotton panties dampen a little, choosing to ignore it as he reaches his arms up behind his head and groans, stretching his legs out and his foot nudges your leg to get your attention.

you rip your eyes away from his for a second, your high clearly taking over your actions, grinning at jj as he knits his brows together, a little smirk laying on his rubied lips, tonguing the little cut on his bottom lip as he watches your frame. you pass him the joint and he takes another long hit, coughing a little when you start crawling up his body, situating yourself on his lap. he reaches one hand to hold your waist as his eyes widen. “oh- hey, watch’a doin?” you just smile and giggle as you reach down to capture his lips in a kiss.

he groans into your mouth and releases the smoke he’d been holding. you start to slowly grind on him, little whines of pleasure leaving your lips as he winds his tongue with yours, kissing you back as desperately as you. pulling away for a second and using his thumb to wipe away a string of saliva from your lip while you look at him all big eyed. “jayj..” you whisper before he nods, as you fumble with the buttons of his cargo shorts, pushing them down his thighs until his boxers are exposed, flicking your eyes up to see his dilated pupils and parted lips, the joint still between his ring-clad fingers.

he brings it to your lips as you pull down his boxers, his rock hard cock standing up, his mushroom tip leaking precum. he groans, eyes widening when he sees you unbutton your tiny denim shorts you’d been teasing him with all night, slipping them down your legs to reveal your little cotton panties, biting your lip and looking up at him whilst slipping them to the side, the weed seemed to give you some new found confidence, and maybe the way jj was looking at you “jesus fuckin’ christ..” he mumbles at the sight of your glistening cunt in the moonlight, prepping your hands on his chest, lifting yourself up.

“hey, hey, hey. a-are you sure?” he asks, panicked at your sudden confidence as you nod eagerly. “are you?” you giggle, still hovering over his cock. “fuck yeah.” he grins as you finally sink down, hissing at the stretch, his eyes transfixed on your face the whole time, your tiny pussy stretching around his dick making him groan, your face comforting and whining when he’s about halfway in, him grasping both hands to your hips after putting the blunt out on the bark and dropping it to the dirt. “shhh.. you got it, yeah?” you nod slowly, teeth sinking into your lip as your resist the pain, stroking your hip with his thumb softly. “good, goooood girl. there ya’ go.” the praise sliding off his tongue so casually making you clench around him. finally getting to the hilt and he lets out a huff.

“feel so fuckin’ good..” he whimpers, as you roll your hips a little to get used to the feeling making him let out a pornographic groan. “you’re so big..” you whisper, leaning down to rest your head in the crook of his neck, feeling the stubble on his chin against your forehead as he breathes deeply. “keep talkin’ like that and i’ll fuckin’ bust.” he whispers into your hair making you giggle a little, leaving a little love bite on his neck and he reaches down to cup your ass, kneeding the fat of it in his palms as you roll your hips gently, making him suck in a breath. “fuck..you’re gonna kill me baby.”

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luvstarss · 9 days

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Life as a family with JJ maybank

Warnings:None!

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stvolanis · 1 month

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Rafe Cameron would definitely call your breasts “tits”

JJ Maybank would call them some stupid shit like "melons”, or “jugs”, but more commonly, “boobs”.

John B is a simple man. He’d probably refer to them as “his girls”.

Pope Heyward would just call them breasts, but when he’s influenced by JJ, he’d call them milkers.

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princessslutt · 26 days

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heyy, could you do sm with reader who is addict to make up and she buys a new lip plumper and give rafe a kiss, how would he react to the burning feeling ?

you had been begging and begging rafe to go shopping with you today, he promised you after he got all of his work down he would take you out to go shopping.

“rafeyyyy — cmon I’m bored! you’ve been working alllll day” he hadn’t really been working all day, you just really wanted to get out of the house.

“oh yeah, let’s over exaggerate it, princess.” you could tell by his tone that he was getting annoyed, and the way his jaw clenched. you huffed and stomped away to lay in your queen sized bed, that he bought you.

you were spoiled, got everything you wanted — anything that you laid your eyes on was yours. so when rafe told you to be patient you had absolutely none of it.

instead of acting like a brat, you decided to be good for rafe and sit still like a good girl.

you must have been waiting for awhile because you had fallen asleep. only to be woken up with rafe carrying you to the car.

“said you wanted to go shopping, that’s exactly what we’re gonna do.” you got overly excited because you had been wanting a new lip plumper for awhile because you ran out of your favorite one.

when you arrived at the mall, he followed you to the makeup store, arms crossed.

“rafe look! it’s the one i ran out of — can i get it please?” you whined, but how could he say no to you? he nodded his head and just rolled his eyes.

when he takes his card out to pay for the product you wait patiently for him to give it back to you.

you leave the store, practically running to the car to flip down the mirror in the passenger seat and apply it.

it was exactly the same one you had ran out of. the sparkly, the shine it laid on your lips.

rafe just though you were a ray of sunshine, he loved buying you new things.

“thank you rafey — thank you so much!!!” you smile, leaning over the center console and kissing him right on his perky lips.

“sweetheart, why – why is it burning?” you giggle at his words, rolling your eyes and smiling.

“it’s lip plumper silly. it’s supposed to tingle on your lips!” he glares at you, finding it impossible for a lip gloss to do that to your lips.

“never kiss me again with that on your lips.” he starts to drive and shakes his head.

you pout, even though he was just playing.

˚˖𓍢ִ🛍️✧˚.💋୨୧ ⋅˚₊

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fettuccin-e · 6 months

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Think About It

Kinktober Day 23: Dirty Talk

Tags: Santiago Garcia x Reader, talk of Frankie Morales x Reader x Santiago Garcia (ie. talk of threesome), unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life I beg of you), dacryphilia, plenty of dirty talk like it's a lot, light degradation, breeding kink whoopsie, Santiago Garcia is a filthy motherfucker do Not blame me for this (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: So this may have gotten out of hand a tad so do Not fucking look at me okay??? Santiago Garcia the man that you are I love you sm and also there are so many Frankie mentions in this fic so it could be a prelude to this fic I wrote earlier this month where they actually have a threesome (For Kinktober I have been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

Santiago Garcia doesn’t get overwhelmed easily. He’s a soldier; he’s been conditioned to withstand the harshest conditions, brave horrible situations without breaking, without letting his hard exterior crack.

But fuck, when he’s with you like this, that exterior shatters like fragile glass, all over the floor in front of your shared bed.

You’re so fucking tight and wet around him as he keeps a hard grip on your hips, yanking you back on his cock, plunging himself as deep as he can fucking get.

“God damn it, baby, taking me so fucking good,” he grits, yanking your hips up further, your face pressed into the pillows as you scrabble at the sheets, clinging for purchase against Santi’s onslaught. “This pussy’s so goddamn wet, she’s fucking leaking around my cock, baby. Making a goddamn mess.”

“Santi,” you whine, “You can’t just-”

He lands a swift smack to your ass, watching as your skin recoils against him. It’s hypnotizing, makes him want to fuck you into these sheets for hours, just to watch your gorgeous body react to him over and over.

“What, baby?” He growls, leaning close and fucking into you hard enough that the headboard smacks against the wall. “Can’t what? Can’t tell you how fucking tight your little pussy is? Can’t tell you that she’s fucking sucking my cock in like you can’t get enough?”

You whine, loud and high-pitched, burying your face in the pillows. Santi snarls in return, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and yanking your head up until you’re gasping air into your lungs. He fucks you harder, slamming into you violent and fucking reckless. His careful control has burned to ashes before him, lost in the heat of your body.

“Look at you, fucking desperate slut just sobbing on my cock. It’s spreading you so wide, honey, ‘s gonna split you apart,” he snarls, and you hiccup over your moans. “Think this is enough for you baby? This needy pussy just needs more and more and more.”

Your hips will probably bruise under the strength of his grip, but God, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think you do either, with the way you moan, high and wonton every time he buries himself so deep.

“Should get Frankie, fill you up even more, get you all fucked and loose on two cocks,” he grits, and Christ, the way your cunt clenches around him has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from busting inside of you right fucking now.

He chuckles darkly, and you squeak softly when he leans close to you, covering your back with his warm body. “Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” he grins, and you shiver beneath him.

“Fuck, I don’t- I don’t know,” you whine, pushing yourself back and fucking yourself on Santi’s cock.

“I do, baby. I know you want it,” he growls, leaning back up again to fuck into you hard enough that you scream. “Could get Fish and we could both fuck you so good, hermosa. Get him buried in this sweet little pussy while I,” he pulls your asscheeks apart to expose that little hole buried between. You jerk and moan when he brushes a finger over it. “I could take this sweet little ass.”

You sob into the sheets, humping involuntarily back into Santi’s harsh thrusts into your heaving body. Tears are dripping down your face and landing on the pillow below you.

Santi groans, fucking lost to it, rambling as he fucks into you like a man possessed.

He leans over you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pulling you up until you’re only pressed against him, your tits exposed to the air while he humps up into your cunt.

“I could eat your pretty cunt while Frankie fucks this mouth, show him what a good little cocksucker you are,” he murmurs into your ear, and you gasp his name.

He pulls his arms tighter around you, holding you so fucking tight as he gets so deep into your hot cunt. You’re dripping all over his thighs, his thrusts making lewd snapping noises when his thighs stick to yours every time he shoves his hips in, in, in.

“We talk about you, baby, me n' Frankie,” he mutters, and you can’t do anything but let your mouth gape open as he forces little moans out of your mouth. “Talk about how pretty you look, how good you fucking taste. Frankie needs a taste baby, wants to bury his tongue in this sweet pussy still you’re fucking drowning him.”

“Jesus, Santi, fuck- ah, oh my God,” you slur between labored breaths, and you can feel Santi’s cocky grin against your neck, before he bites sharply into it.

“My gorgeous fucking girl, can’t believe you’re fucking mine,” he snarls snapping his hips up, up up. You dig your nails into his forearms as he breaks you apart, jamming the thick head of his cock up into that little spot that makes you cry so beautiful for him.

“Gonna knock you up, just like this, baby, wouldn’t you like that?” he says, and you hiccup a little yes that has him growling, one of his hands coming down to clutch over your stomach, pawing at your skin.

“I’ll pump this sweet pussy full of my cum, make sure it fucking takes.” You sob like you’re dying, blinking fat tears from your eyes. “And if it doesn’t,” he continues, “I’ll keep fucking you, over and over, flood this cunt till you’re dripping everywhere, leaking down your fucking thighs.”

“Santi, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna-”

Santi talks like he can’t hear you, maybe he fucking can’t, too lost in the heat and wetness and the need to hold back his own orgasm brewing deep in his bones. “I’ll fuck this pussy everywhere, I’ll make sure that you have a baby, watch you so round and goddamn beautiful baby, you’ll fucking glow, I just know it. Shit, I’ll fuck you in the kitchen, the goddamn shower, keep you nice and full of me no matter what. I’ll make you nice and loose so you can take my cock all the time, no matter what, just give me the word, sweet girl, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

You scream, wordless and overwhelmed, when you cum, your pussy gushing all over Santi’s thighs even as he ruts into you like a goddamn animal. He growls, littering your neck with kisses and bites and licks. The guys will give him shit when you see them next, but he can already picture it: the way Frankie will eye the marks, his pupils blown wide, and Santi will fucking know.

“Please cum, Santi, please fill me up, give me a baby,” you whimper as you shake through your orgasm, and who is Santi to refuse you?

He groans, shoving himself hard into you, as deep as he can get, and floods your cunt with his cum. He hopes the first time will take, that he’ll be able to see the way you get rounder and rounder, carrying your beautiful baby.

When you’re both finally wrung dry, he keeps you hugged tight to him as he lowers you both to your sides. He keeps himself buried deep inside, not wanting a drop to slip out.

“Fucking Christ, Santi,” you mutter, running your hands over his forearms as he buries his face into your hair. He groans, but stays mostly quiet. “Gonna blow your knees out if you keep fucking me like that,” you giggle.

“Worth it,” he mutters, and grins into your hair. “But if I do, we can always call in Fish to keep you satisfied.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, but Santi doesn’t miss the way you clench around his soft cock at the prospect.

He files the thought away for later.

#santi has absolutely no fucking control #feral man love him to death #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia smut #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier x you #triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader

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maybaenk · 2 years

Text

Aftermath

Summary: In which JJ is the only one who can ease the pain.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Warnings: SA, mentions of SA, mentions of ED, cursing

NA: this story is about the reader dealing with the aftermath of a SA so be careful before reading. Also if you’ve been through this, please speak up to your loved ones. My dm’s are always open if anyone needs to talk.

This is very personal to me, it hits home, so please do not judge. Just scroll.

————

JJ Maybank had never been one to be silent.

He would constantly be telling stories, cracking jokes and teasing people. His voice would often be loud and he would sweet talk his way into just about anything, his way of speaking just captivating. He was the kind of person to lighten up an entire room as soon as he’d walk in, everything about him enthralling.

That’s why, upon noticing him grow quiet one Friday afternoon at The Wreck, the pogues immediately knew something was off with him. They silently decided to let him be, although they quickly grew worried over what was happening to him. They brushed it off as him being mad at something his shitty father had done, that usually being the reason of his bad mood.

However, Kie had noticed the way his eyes would linger on you. You were sitting, quietly, in front of JJ. She observed from her spot next to him as his eyes would frequently flicker to your frame. You were playing around with your food, not really hungry it seemed, as your mind wandered to what seemed to be a world of your own.

She sighed, eyes softening upon seeing her best friend look so off. You’d been distancing yourself from them for the past days, and she remembered how JJ had told them he thought it was weird you’d suddenly grown sick the day after the kegger that took place five days ago. That’s what you’d told them, you’d been sick and would stay in bed until you’d be better. JJ had told them he was worried when the fifth day had passed and you still hadn’t reached out but didn’t want to invade your personal space.

This was the first day you’d shown up since then.

Kie asked herself how she couldn’t have understood immediately JJ was acting this weird because of you.

She sighed, returning to her conversation with the boys and thinking of ways of approaching you later to ask what was wrong.

JJ’s eyes, however, never strayed from you. He watched you pick at your food with your fork and he furrowed his eyebrows; you loved fries.

“Hey.” He softly spoke up.

You didn’t answer, didn’t even seem to have heard him. His leg nudged yours under the table.

Your eyes snapped to his, for the first time today, and he was taken aback by the void dullness in them.

“You okay, baby?”

If this had been any other time, you would have blushed at the nickname he’d often use for you. He was your best friend in the whole world, your golden boy, and yet you couldn’t deny your feelings for him. Sometimes you’d wonder if he felt the same.

But this wasn’t any other time. Something had happened to you, and you couldn’t let him find out. So you put on the best fake smile you could before answering.

“Yeah, sorry. Just tired.” You replied, eyes averting from his own in hope he wouldn’t see right through your lie. He always seemed to.

JJ saw the way your smile didn’t reach your eyes. His frown deepened when he saw the sad look you were trying to hide behind them and he shook it off. You were already starting to zone out again.

“You not hungry?” He inquired, choosing not to say anything about your evident lie.

You shook your head lazily, placing your chin on your hand as you returned your eyes to him, then to your plate.

“You never say no to fries.” He spoke, and before you could think of another lie as to why you weren’t hungry, he did again, “C’mon, bub, you have to eat some.”

Your heart swelled at his sweet tone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. Nor to answer.

You looked at him when you heard him move and saw him pick up a single fry, holding it up for you to bite. He gave you the best puppy eyes he could, and your heart quickened at the look he was giving you, and you would do anything to make him happy.

“Just one.” He pleaded, smiling at you, “For me?”

You sighed, finally cracking a smile at how cute JJ Maybank was. You could never say no to him. His grin widened when he saw you smile for the first time today and he brought the fry closer to your mouth.

“Fine.”

You bit it, gently taking it from his hand. You chewed slowly, really, really not in the mood for eating.

“There you go.” He praised you once you were finished, “One more?”

————

Your friends took off to the Chateau, of course asking you if you’d be crashing there. They’d tried convincing you with the promise of a bonfire and a lot of beer.

Any other day, that would’ve done it. But this wasn’t any other day, so you’d gently reclined, telling them you were still feeling a little off. They’d eventually given up, telling you if you had changed your mind, that’s where you’d find them.

JJ had offered to walk you home, but you’d told him your mom was on your way to pick you up. A total lie, but he didn’t need to know. Of course, being the gentleman he was, he’d told you he’d wait for you but you’d insisted on him going with the others so he wouldn’t have had to lose his ride to the Chateau. He’d reluctantly agreed before taking off, too.

You’d walked the whole walk home in silence, trying to find peace within it.

The water now cascading on your skin did nothing to help you with the uneasy discomfort you felt in your whole body. This was the third shower of the day, and it was doing little to nothing to help you soothe that feeling. You scrubbed at your skin, too hard. You scrubbed every inch of your body, washing it again and again. Your skin became red when you scrubbed too hard in the places he’d touched the most.

You tried shaking the thought out of your mind.

Stop thinking about it.

You shuddered, a memory of the feeling of his hands grabbing your legs suddenly flashing through your mind.

It wasn’t long before you were sitting on the shower floor, knees brought to your chest with your arms around them.

You sobbed quietly, shaking, the hot water falling on you and burning your skin. You wanted to forget the feeling, you wanted to forget it all. The steamy water was nothing compared to it.

————

You’d ditched them again that night. This time you’d told them your mom needed your help with something.

You sure everything’s okay? JJ had texted you.

Please, God, don’t let him find out.

You hadn’t replied.

You were in your bed, knees to your chest as you laid on your side in one of JJ’s t-shirts he’d leave over when he’d sleep here.

You’d hoped JJ’s scent and the feeling of being in his shirt — it always comforted you, would make you forget about what had happened. About him.

You found yourself wishing to be with him right now, craving his touch.

You soon realized you needed to be in his arms, you needed nothing more than his comfort right now. The only comfort you could have.

You needed him now more than ever.

You grabbed your phone.

I need you

You hoped he would see the message, not feeling like calling him. You knew he’d leave his phone laying around the Chateau when crashing there.

You didn’t know JJ had kept his phone with him the whole time, hoping you’d answer his text or to have some news.

He answered just a minute later.

Are you home?

Yes

Leaving now

Twenty minutes later his last text you heard a knock on your window. He chose not to ring on your doorbell, assuming your mom would be home since you’d told them she’d needed your help, not knowing if you wanted her to know he’d be over.

A little startled, you looked up to see JJ standing there. You sighed in relief before getting up to open the window for him.

“You could’ve come in by the door.”

“Thought your mom was home. Didn’t know if you wanted her to know I was here.” He explained, climbing over the window edge.

You felt panic rise in your stomach, before you had to tell yourself he wouldn’t think much of it.

“She left a while ago.” You quietly told him, deciding to leave the window open, the summer breeze light on your skin, “And you know she doesn’t mind.”

JJ wanted to tell you about how he thought you didn’t want her to know because maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want her to know something was wrong with you. You didn’t usually go and talk to your mother about your problems, not wanting to burden the poor woman, already too much on her hands. JJ knew that.

But he decided to change the topic because you yet had to admit to him something was wrong. He was hoping you’d tell him tonight, given the fact you’d told him you needed him.

He got closer to you.

“What did you need me for, Y/N/N?” He gently asked you, his voice so sweet you thought this boy would be the death of you.

You shrugged, eyes tired. You grabbed his hand and pulled him to your bed.

“Just needed you here with me.” His eyes softened.

He couldn’t even be disappointed at you for not telling him the truth, you looked so tired and sad it was starting to pain him.

“Okay, baby.” He whispered, hand coming up to place a strand of hair behind your ear, then resting on your cheek, “Just let me change and then we can cuddle and watch a movie or something, yeah? How’s that sound?”

You smiled feebly, feeling the urge to burst out crying. You pushed your emotions back, nodding at him.

“Yeah? Okay, I’ll be a minute.”

JJ was quick to grab one of his sweat shorts from your closet, changing into that and removing his t-shirt. He placed it on your dresser before taking off his shoes and plopping down on the bed with you.

He adjusted himself on the pillows before tugging you to him. You laid down on your side, resting your head on his chest and your arm around his torso. His arms was around you as he pulled you closer.

“That’s better. Now, what do we wanna watch?” He asked, picking up the remote control on your nightstand.

You let him pick the movie, loving to hear him rent about the new sequel of an action movie he was dying to see once it came out. He settled for the first movie, telling you you just had to see it so you could watch the second one with him.

You smiled into his chest, comfortably nestling into his arms. You didn’t really care about movies right now, just his presence, but you loved listening to what he was saying. You always did.

You were the only one out of his friends who actually enjoyed listening to his bullshit. It made his heart warm.

The movie started playing, and it was a few minutes in that you spoke up.

“Thank you, J.” Your voice was low.

“For what?”

“For being here with me. I’m sorry if I forced you here, I know you’d have more fun at the bonfire.”

You felt him pulling you impossibly closer.

“Don’t say that, you know I’d rather be with you.” He replied, making butterflies flutter in your stomach.

You sighed, nuzzling further into him.

He was easing the pain.

You thought the conversation was over when you heard his voice again.

“I know something’s wrong. It’ okay, you don’t have to tell me right now. I’ll be waiting.” He whispered.

You didn’t know how you managed to keep the tears at bay this time. You held on to him tighter as you silently wished for it all to stop.

————

It had been a week and a half since that day. The Outer Banks’ summer breeze swept through your hair and gently caressed your skin as you sat on the HMS Pogue, silently looking out at the water.

This was the first time your friends had managed to convince you in coming with them on one of your ritual days on the Pogue. You relished in the feeling of comfort being here with them brought you, momentarily stranding your mind away from what tormented it. JJ had been by your side all this time, giving you your space but nonetheless providing you the comfort of his touch and presence whenever you needed him. He’d been so careful with you your love for the boy had become unbearable.

You flinched when you felt a hand on your thigh, quickly calming down when you turned your head to see JJ. He looked concerned at your sudden movement.

“Sorry.” You quietly said, your hand reaching down to touch his fingers on your skin.

A frown was on his face, but he didn’t let it sit there for long before he changed the subject.

“You wanna swim?” He asked, carefully.

You let your eyes roam around the boat, shamefully noticing it had been stopped at your usual spot and everyone had long dipped in. Your thoughts had distracted you from reality.

“Oh.” You let out, masking the surprised tone in your low voice, “I don’t really feel like it today. But you go ahead.”

JJ’s eyes stayed on you, eyes scanning your face. He gave you a small pout.

“Come on, a little dip.” He gave you that pleading look that always made you give in, “It’s really hot today, you’re gonna burn yourself.”

You sighed, already knowing putting up a fight wouldn’t be no use. With a little nod, you sighed softly before following him in standing up when he took your hand.

“Can’t have my princess all burned now, can I?” He grinned, happy you’d agreed.

He let your hand go when you needed to remove your clothes. You slipped out your shorts before removing your t-shirt.

JJ’s frown returned when he took in all the weight you’d lost. He took you in carefully, his eyes noting the way your ribs were starting to lightly show and the way your thighs did no longer touch each other.

“I’m ready.” You told him, averting your eyes from his scrutinizing gaze.

“Y/N…” He started, voice unsure.

He was worried now.

“Let’s go.” You interrupted him and pulled him away by his hand.

The water was cold against your skin, the refreshing sensation making you almost hum tu yourself.

With a little push from JJ, you timidly joined the others who were currently floating and joking around. Sarah and Kie were splashing each other when you swam towards them.

John B immediately lightened up at your presence, smiling softly at you.

You couldn’t help but feel disappointed when you felt your mind slowly begin to drift away as soon as they brought up a topic you didn’t really care about. Normally, you would have. You cared about everything your friends said.

The cold water was starting to make you shiver. You were starting to feel lightheaded, the contrast between the hot sun burning on your already hot skin and the water that minutes ago had seemed so refreshing was now starting to bother you. Your head felt hot and throbbing. You sighed as you started to feel dizziness fog up your mind.

“You okay, Y/N/N?” Kie’s voice brought you out of your daze and you looked up to see them all staring at you, worried looks painted on their faces.

“Yeah, you’re looking a bit pale right now.” Pope stated, eyebrows furrowed and a concerned expression on him.

JJ was immediately by your side, hands coming up to grab your hips and hold you against him.

In the suddenly confused state you were in, you remembered feeling relief just by his touch.

“Hey, hey, what’s happening, baby?” JJ rushed as your body slumped against his.

Black dots started to blurry your vision, and you shuddered against your best friend.

“I’m not-“ you started, “I think I’m going to faint.”

“Fuck, JB help me out here, man.” He frantically began, voice panicked as John B immediately swam to you.

They helped you back on the boat and you didn’t remember anything but the hot sun beating down on your skin, your head felt burning and your heart racing.

“Shit, don’t faint on me, baby. Come on.” All you heard in your semi-unconscious state was his voice.

They made you lay down on a towel messily laid on the floor where there was a bit of shade. Kiara grabbed the cooler and got you water as fast as she could, throwing the bottle to JJ.

“Lift her head up, JB.” He instructed briefly before helping you drink it.

You couldn’t really understand what was going on. Everything felt hazy, you tried waking up but you could feel sleep luring you into unconsciousness.

When you woke up a few moments later, a cold bottle of water was placed on your neck and JJ’s eyes were the first thing you saw.

“There she is.” His shuttered voice breathed out in relief.

You could hear the pogues muttering grateful words.

The concerned look in them, the desperation, almost made you cry and you wanted to apologize for making them worry but you couldn’t. You still felt a little dizzy.

“Come on, baby, let’s get you up so you can drink some more.” He placed a hand behind your back to help you up, then placed himself behind you so you could rest against his chest and between his legs.

“Feel any better, Y/N/N?” John B hopefully asked.

“A little.” Your voice felt hoarse, your head still a little dizzy.

You could fill the unspoken questions lingering in the air, the hesitant looks. They were debating whether or not to finally speak up, to finally demand to know what the hell had been going on, why you were suddenly so skinny and why you were acting so distant. You hoped they wouldn’t ask.

And they didn’t. Maybe they thought it was a conversation JJ should have had with you.

As the boat moved to shore, you became painfully aware of the swinging of the boat. You thought you’d be throwing up had you had food in your system. You were kind of grateful for that.

The rest of the ride home you didn’t remember very much. You still felt fuzzy, your mind fogged. You could hear the pogues worrying around you and offering water to you but the only thing that mattered was JJ’s touch on you. You were pressed up against his chest, safe in the protective embrace of his strong arms.

JJ carried you inside the Chateau as soon as the boat stopped at the dock, not even waiting to help. He placed you softly on his bed, the one in the guest room that was now practically his. You whined playfully at the loss of contact, reaching your arms out for him. He didn’t seem as amused.

“When is the last time you’ve eaten anything?” His blue gaze suddenly felt cold on you, he sounded angry.

You looked away, eyes immediately filling with tears. It wasn’t often that he was mad at you, and you hated it.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was low, trembling.

When you’d gathered the courage, your eyes found him again. His expression had softened, realizing he’d been approaching this the wrong way.

He sighed, hands coming up to cover his face.

“I’m gonna make you a sandwich or something, and you’re gonna eat it for me, okay?”

You relished in the familiar sound of his sweet tone, you couldn’t take him being mad at you.

Without even thinking, you nodded.

He disappeared, leaving you alone. Maybe it was time to open up. Maybe you had been hurting him and the rest of your friends for too long now. He deserved to know.

When he came back, you let him help you eat the sandwich. He sat beside you and encouraged every single bite, his voice honey as he helped you. You didn’t want to, you weren’t hungry; the bread felt disgusting in your mouth and you hadn’t eaten in so long you couldn’t even get past half of it.

But you did, because he was looking at you with this pleading look in his eyes and JJ Maybank was your weakness.

“There we go. All finished.” He happily praised you, a lingering kiss on your forehead.

You gave him a small smile, the best one you could master.

“I need to shower.” You told him.

You surprised yourself by not wanting to be left alone, by wishing he could come with you. Would it freak him out if you asked him to come with you?

“That’s fine.” He whispered.

When you got up to leave, he spoke again.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on with you.” His voice was strained, and when you turned back to look at him again where he was sitting on his bed, his head was in his hands.

You felt your heart shutter, pain immediately blossoming in your chest at the sight of the boy you loved pleading, begging you to just tell him why you had let yourself fall apart. To let him in. To let him help you.

It really was time to tell him.

You sighed, walking back to the bed.

When you sat down your hands began trembling. You didn’t look at him, you looked forward into nothingness. You could feel his gaze on you now.

How did one approach this? How did one get this kind of thing out? You spent what felt like minutes trying to get the courage to speak up, to say something.

And JJ waited. He sat silently, waiting for you to be ready.

It was only when his hesitant fingers touched your hand that you found the courage hand that you spoke up.

“It was that kegger.” You started, voice feeble, “It was like — like, two weeks ago.”

“What about the kegger?” You could hear the confusion in his voice.

“I don’t know if you remember that touron that flirted with me all night, the one I left with.”

A pause.

JJ was starting to get it, a terrible feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

“What did he do?” His voice was stoic, hard. You felt your hands tremble.

It wasn’t unusual for you or him or any other of the pogues to leave with someone, to hook up with someone met at a party. You’d always told him you’d never went further than making out. Just once had you went third base with a guy, someone you’d been seeing for a few months at the time. (Of course, being in love with him, you’d always hoped JJ would be your first time, and so you’d been waiting for him. Even if you knew he certainly wasn’t a virgin himself.)

So It wasn’t anything new for you to maybe leave with someone, but what had him dreading your next words was that he’d already started connecting the dots. You’d been miserable for weeks and it had something to do with this guy. JJ didn’t think of himself as smart, but he also didn’t think it would take a genius to figure it out.

“He—“ how could you go on? How could you shutter his heart? “JJ I can’t…”

You felt your eyes beginning to sting, the burning anticipation of tears. You exhaled deeply, trying to look at him. You weren’t strong enough.

His hands found your face, gently forcing you to look at him. His eyes were begging you, an angry and desperate storm simmering behind the blue ocean.

You let go then, completely crumbling beneath his touch, his hold. A broken sob left your lips as the tears cascaded in an endless flow on your cheeks.

JJ shut his eyes, looking like he was straining himself, like it physically pained him to see you like this. He took a deep breath, his gaze found yours once again and this time his eyes were watering.

“Did—“ he stuttered, his voice completely broken, “Did he touch you?”

You knew he meant raped, but he didn’t want to trigger you even more. You knew he knew now the boy had taken you against your will, had taken the very thing you’d saved for someone special in a brutal, scarring way you would never forget. You knew he’d ruined you forever.

You found the will to nod softly.

His hands suddenly left your face, the absence of his touch leaving you feeling cold and alone. You sobbed, again, as you watched him storm out of the room. You tried following him, calming him down, but how could you when you didn’t have enough strength for yourself?

You placed your hands on your ears when the yelling and shuttering of glass reached you. Despite this, you could still hear the rumbling of objects being thrown and the voices of the pogues now intervening. You could vaguely make out Kie’s voice trying to calm him down and John B screaming at him to tell him what happened.

You don’t know how you found yourself curled up in the corner of the room, knees to your chest and hands still covering your ears. Your eyes were shut as your chest heaved uncontrollably as you fought the panic attack you felt coming.

Then, silence.

A shattered sob. Someone crying.

JJ.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you felt the touch of someone on your hands, prying them away.

“Hey, hey, it’s me.”

Kie crouched down before you, her eyes glossy and lips trembling as she reached her arms out to you.

She knew. Everyone knew now.

“I’m sorry.” She cried and you found yourself engulfed in her embrace, her arms around your body and your head buried in her neck.

You couldn’t breathe, you felt the anxiety and the panic swallowing you as you fought to stop the sobbing.

“JJ.” You hoarsely let out between broken cries.

“Okay, okay, babe, calm down.” She whispered to you, standing back to hold your face in her hands, “Try to breathe for me, he’ll be here in a minute, okay?”

She turned around quickly, and only then did you notice Sarah standing in doorway. Her hand was on her mouth as she silently cried, too shocked to do anything.

“Sarah, please get JJ here.” She pleaded, her voice as serious as ever.

The blonde was gone in mere seconds, disappearing in the hallway to supposedly retrieve her friend.

You needed him, and hoped he’d find the strength to be there for you. You hoped he’d be there to hold you.

“Breathe for me, okay?” Kiara’s eyes found yours and you felt your heart warm at the worry you saw in them.

Your friends cared for you so much, and yet here you were making them cry.

You nodded, just for her sake but really couldn’t.

“I love you.” You sobbed out and reached your hands out to hold her hands, still trying to breathe.

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to show you how to do it. Tears flowed down her cheeks at your sweet words, and Kiara had never felt so guilty in her whole seventeen years. How could she have been so blind? It was so clear something had been wrong with you, yet she’d never pushed it as not to overstep any boundaries you had put between yourself and the pogues lately. She just though you needed your time.

“I love you too, Y/N/N.” She sniffed, her hands finding their way around your shoulders again in a desperate attempt to hold you to her, to protect you. It was too late, she’d been a shitty friend, she felt it was her fault.

“Kiara.” Sarah’s worried voice sounded from behind her.

Kiara backed away to look at her blonde friend, her eyebrows furrowed at the concerned tone in her voice. Something was wrong.

“JJ’s gone.”

You don’t know how you recovered from the sinking feeling in your chest and the panic attack that sentence triggered, you don’t remember how long it took them to calm you down, how long they’d tried helping you breathe for. At one point, Sarah had been so scared she’d proposed calling an ambulance. But then you’d grown so tired, slumping against Kie’s chest as she softly ran a hand down your back, silently thanking God. You just remembered them laying you down on the bed, each of them on either side of you as they held you close in their familiar, comforting embrace. The last thing you remembered was the thought of JJ in your mind.

JJ.

Even in your sleep you could swear it was his scent that was engulfing you. You could vaguely sense his strong arms around you as you stirred awake.

You opened your eyes, and you could feel how swollen they were. They were probably red, too.

And there he was. You’d been right.

You don’t know when, but he’d moved you so you were laying on him. His arms were around you as he rested against the headboard, your face buried in his neck.

You moved your face away, slightly, just so you could look at his face.

You felt your breath hitch when you found him staring right back at you. An intensity in his eyes you’d never seen.

“JJ.” Your voice was hoarse, broken.

His eyes immediately softened. You could see the dark bags under them and your heart shuttered.

“I’m here.” His voice was soft, broken.

You sighed, falling back into his embrace.

You had a terrible feeling about his disappearance, a fear in the back of your mind about where you were almost sure he could have gone during the time he was gone. What he could have done.

You knew he remembered who the touron was, and knew for a fact he’d still be on the island for a whole month. The two things combined didn’t make for a good ending.

You didn’t want to ask, though, just wanting to be with JJ. You didn’t want to think about him, about what JJ could have done to him. The only thing that worried you was the consequences, but you knew your boy was smart, so you pushed the thoughts away for now and just enjoyed the way his presence subsided your pain.

“Don’t leave me again.” You whispered.

He inhaled, like it pained him to hear you say that.

“I won’t.”

You knew he wanted to say more, he was just trying to figure out the best way to do it. He’d never been one to talk, never good at expressing his feelings. You didn’t mind.

“Does it hurt?” He cut the silence, deciding on voicing his worries regarding the physical part first.

You frowned, tightening your grip on his shirt.

“Not anymore.” You let out.

You could hear his rage in the silence.

“What time is it?” You tried diverting his anger, suddenly wondering how long it had been.

“Four.” His hand found his way to your head, his fingers starting to play with your hair. He knew it calmed you.

You loved him so much, it hurt you. How you wished it was him instead. You’d always thought that maybe, somehow, he would be. That’s why you’d been waiting, saving your special moment for the person you loved most in the world.

Your mind started to wander. You imagined how it could’ve been, how sweet JJ would be with you. You imagined his lips on yours and his strong arms around you and his scent clouding your senses. You imagined his sweet words when it would hurt, and then your mind betrayed you and instead carried you to your pained cries and his threatens to stay still.

You opened your eyes, trying to forget about it.

In a daze, you let the words out.

“You know, I’d always hoped it’d be you.”

You felt surprised hearing yourself voicing your feelings for him after all this years.

You didn’t regret it, it was how you felt. And it was time he knew. You were kind of grateful of the numbness that brought you to confess yourself to him, or else he’d probably never known.

You felt his breath hitch, the movements of his hand stopped.

It took him some moments to speak up.

“What do you mean?” He tried, hesitant.

There was no use in trying to take it back, you wanted him to know.

“I’d always hoped you’d be my first time.” You admitted, being completely honest now, “For so long, I’ve rejected everyone because I was waiting for you.”

You didn’t want him to say he felt the same about you, that he loved you. You didn’t care if he reciprocated your feelings because you were just so glad you’d finally told him the truth that either way you’d be happy. You’d love him nonetheless.

Silence.

Obviously, though, all of your heart hoped he would.

You didn’t expect what happened next.

You didn’t expect the broken sob that left his mouth, you didn’t expect him to pull his hands away from you to cover his eyes with their back.

You knew your heart was already completely broken, so why did it feel like this was the most painful thing you’d ever gone through and that it was shuttering for real this time? You felt devastated at the thought of being the cause of this. What had you done?

You sat back, looking at him and you felt tears running down your cheeks before you knew it.

“JJ, I’m sorry.” You hurried, “You don’t have to say anything back. I swear, I don’t care if you don’t feel the same.”

He cried, his knees coming up to his chest and his hands staying on his face, shielding its view from you.

It took him so long for him to speak up, you’d already concluded he was feeling guilty about not feeling the same. You waited, tears cascading down your skin as you watched the boy you loved break down in front of you.

You didn’t know how long it passed when his voice cut the silence.

“Maybe-” he started, but had to breathe a few times in order to go on, “Maybe if you’d known — if I had told you I love you and I’d do anything for you, you would have never met that fucking sick-”

He stopped, now sobering up and realizing the mention of that guy could have triggered bad memories for you.

You stayed silent, refusing to believe this.

JJ actually felt the same about you?

You felt something, something for the first time in almost a month. You felt happiness swirl inside of you and you had to breathe out in relief at the feeling of something other than pain.

JJ removed his hands from his face.

“This is my fault.” His eyes were completely broken.

You could see behind them the guilt that would forever torment him. Suddenly you put your happiness aside and the realization hit you that he believed if he’d confessed himself to you, this could have been avoided.

“JJ, what are you saying?” You rushed to him, your hand coming up to meet his beautiful face, “Don’t ever believe that. This is none of your fault. It’s his. No one else’s.”

He shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. JJ looked away from you, a pained expression on his beautiful features.

“You don’t understand, Y/N.” His voice was strained, “I could have avoided all of this.”

You couldn’t believe he was blaming himself.

You shook your head, “No! JJ, you couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have know how I felt about you. Stop blaming yourself, please. You’re hurting me.”

He turned to look at you again, his gaze immediately finding yours.

Only then did something shift in his eyes. Another realization. This time, JJ felt extremely selfish. He looked into your eyes to see the pain behind them and could only think about how extremely selfish he was being in giving you another burden to carry. The worry of him feeling guilty.

“I’m sorry, angel.” It was all he said.

Exhausted, he slumped against the headboard again, laying down on the cushions. You were hesitant, not really knowing if he wanted your comfort. It was paining you, the absence of his touch. You needed him, but also knew he was fighting another battle in his head.

Then he extended his arm to grab you by your waist and pull you against him. You sighed in relief once in his arms again.

“I really want you to know that it had nothing to do with you. Nothing could have changed it.” You sniffled, your hand coming up to play with his hair.

JJ felt like shit. Here you were, trying to make him feel better when you were the one who’d gone through it.

He nodded for your sake, although in his mind he’d always think that if he’d just told you, maybe you two could have been together. Things could have gone differently for you.

It wasn’t about courage. In fact, JJ didn’t have a single amount of shame in him. It was just that he loved you so much and he was so sure you could never reciprocate his feelings that he preferred not to ruin your friendship. He always thought it was pretty clear he liked you, that the pet names and the constant physical contact gave it away. But apparently they didn’t. Not for you at least.

There wasn’t time for you to wonder about what was going to happen now, the distraction from this moment already subsiding to the pain you’d constantly felt all of this time. It was draining.

You’d love him no matter what, whether he wanted to be with you or not. That, you knew.

Now, you just wanted to feel the comfort he brought you and you just wanted to be with him. To have him so close to you. Because he was the only one who could ease this never ending pain.

His voice cut your thoughts off.

“I wish it could have been me, baby.”

You guessed with all of the tears you’d cried, it’d be physically impossible for you to have any more in you to spill. But apparently not.

“I know, now. That’s all that matters.” You spoke, “You’re all that matters, JJ.”

You felt his heartbeat quicken underneath your head.

“We’ll figure this out together, okay?” He asked.

You held him tighter. You nodded, grateful for his presence.

He spent the rest of the night whispering sweet nothings in your ear, wiping away your tears and caressing your hair. You’d barely speak, too drained from everything.

At some point, you felt sleep carrying you away. But not before a thought occurred to you.

“I love you, too, by the way.” You whispered softly.

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meiiie · 4 months

Text

﹒⪩🐚⪨﹒drew starkey - mood board﹒⪩🐚⪨﹒

in honor of them finally shooting obx s4!!

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downbadf0rficppl · 3 months

Text

well, my left hand's free

JJ x F!Reader

Summary: JJ's been staying at your house for a bit, and you catch him doing something you definitely weren't supposed to see.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Masturbation, Smut

Repost

You slipped out of bed to grab a glass of water. It was just passed midnight and you were sure everyone was asleep. The floor was cold against your bare feet and you wrapped your jumper tighter around you. It got cold on the beach, even in the summer.

You heard shuffling from your brother's room. It took you a second to remember that you'd put JJ up in your brother's room for the night.

You were walking home from work when you overheard JJ talking about needing a bed for the night. You considered yourself a friend of JJ's - more an acquaintance, but you sat next to him in half of your classes and let him cheat off your tests. Plus, he bought you new pens when he stole so many of yours that you ended up not having any left, and he invited you to every kegger personally. Yeah, you guys were friends. Your house was also closer to John B's than JJ's, and since your brother hadn't come back from college on the mainland yet, it seemed perfect.

JJ had tried to argue with you about it, saying that he didn't want to be in the way, but you were far too stubborn for him to even try to reason with you. "Plus, my parents aren't going to be home. They're going to dinner. It's their anniversary."

You walked past his room and went to the kitchen. You grabbed two glasses of water, given that JJ was up, and you softly padded back over to your brother's room.

You were knocked on the door with your elbow, holding a glass in each hand. "Shit." You heard him whisper through the door and then a loud thump as he fell off the bed.

"You good in there? JJ?"

You went to push the door open, but he yelled out quickly, "Wait, wait, wait. Give me a second."

You waited for a second before the door flung open. You were met with a flushed - and very shirtless - JJ. You shamelessly checked him out as he moved out of the way to let you in.

"Like what you see?" He smirked.

"You didn't need to go to all the lengths of taking your shirt off. It's not anything I haven't seen before." JJ raised his eyebrow at you, "Gym class, JJ, get your mind out of the gutter."

"Sorry." He muttered as you elbowed his chest, "I - um - sleep naked." He said, scratching the back of his neck, "Didn't think you were still up."

You shrugged, "Thought you might want some water. Heard you shuffling around." You handed him a glass of water, before walking over to the window, "You can open the window, by the way. My brother said it gets really hot in here sometimes."

"What are you doing up?" JJ said, taking a sip of water.

"Just making sure you're not having sex in my brother's bed. He'd kill me if he found out." JJ choked on the water. You looked at him, mischief glinting in your eyes, "I'm kidding." JJ smiled unconvincingly.

You walked out of the room, and JJ shut the door quickly behind you. You smirked at how easy it was to fluster JJ.

JJ sighed heavily when you walked out of the room. Shit. He'd almost been caught. His head had flown out of the gutter when you knocked and he'd fallen off the bed trying not to get caught with his hand on his dick. Just thought of sleeping in your house, with you less than 15 feet away, had his cock standing at attention. He downed the glass of water and grabbed the towel that you gave him, headed to the bathroom for a cold shower. Maybe that would stop his racing thoughts.

He forgot that you had told him about the faulty lock and that he should knock to make sure no one was inside. You were inside having a shower when you heard the door open. You shrieked, and tried to cover yourself with the curtain, except the curtains you had were practically sheer.

JJ's eyes dragged over your body before his mind caught up with him. He spun on his heel quickly and slammed the door shut behind him, quickly retreating to his bedroom. He threw himself face down on his bed, and groaned, head in his hands, cock somehow harder than before.

You stormed into his room, towel wrapped tightly around yourself, "I told you to knock!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't think anyone would be showering right now!" He said, refusing to face you.

"Well, it doesn't matter, just forget it ever happened." He groaned, "It's fine, JJ, you didn't see much."

"Yeah well, maybe that's the problem." He muttered under his breath.

You looked at him, stunned, "What?"

"Shit." He sat up to face you, trying to apologise and explain himself, but as his eyes met yours, you dropped the towel. His eyes went wide, drinking in everything he can. You crawled over to him, his legs widening as you settled between them, straddling his cock.

You gently pressed your lips to his, hoping you haven't massively misjudged the situation. But JJ's hands moved to rest on your ass as he kissed you harder. You broke away for air and pressed light kisses down his neck.

"As much as I'd love to have sex with you. I'd prefer if we didn't do it on my brother's bed." He chuckled into your neck, picking you up with ease. Weeks of working in the junkyard lifting scrap metal had definitely done JJ some favours.

He attached his lips to yours as he walked over, kicking open the door with his foot and carefully dropping you onto the bed. He shut the door and ripped off his t-shirt before re-attaching his lips to yours. He bit your lip gently, eliciting a low whine from you.

"Just like that pretty girl, keep making those pretty sounds for me." His fingers ran over your slit, caressing the clit as you bucked up against him, "Didn't know you were this dirty, acting so innocent in class. Makes me wanna fuck your brains out every time you bite your stupid pencil." The thought of that makes you smile.

JJ thrusted a finger into you without warning. You shrieked, grabbing his hand as a hot pain burst through you. He looked at you in concern as he retracted it quickly. You held on to his hand, not letting him move further away, as he lifted you up and into his arms.

"What's wrong?" He searched your face for any secrets that you were hiding from him.

"Just...hurt. Never done that before." JJ looked shocked. You were mortified.

You tried to crawl away from him, covering your body with your hands and trying to find some clothes.

"I'm sorry, baby," The nickname sent a hot flame straight to your core, "I didn't know." He came up behind you, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, pulling you back to rest on his chest. "I'll be more gentle."

"You still wanna have sex?"

"Of course, I do, baby." He turned you around, eyes gazing into yours, filled with adoration. He leans down to kiss you again, but this kiss was different. The other kisses were fervent, lust-filled, driven by purpose. This one was slow, understanding, driven by trust and love. He carried you back to bed, lips never leaving yours. He trailed kisses down your throat, in between the valley of your breasts and down your stomach. Each kiss made your back arch, the sensation completely unfamiliar to you.

"You ready?"

"Please, JJ. I swear to God, I need this so bad. Please, JJ, please, please... please." His head dove between your thighs, placing small kisses on your clit and slit. He let out a low groan at the sight of your glistening cunt, the hot air making you shiver. His tongue slipped between your folds, parting your pussy just for his view, pulling a loud moan out of you.

He delved further between your folds, tongue-fucking you as you writhed above him. He placed a hand on your stomach, keeping you in place as he continued his ministrations. JJ drank like a man starved, letting out moans every now and again. You couldn't believe it. There was no way JJ was truly enjoying what he was doing.

He sure acted like it though. His mouth attached to your clit, sucking harshly, as rutted into your bed. He moaned loudly before he pulled away. Arousal coated his face, and the sight alone made you want to combust. "You ready for more?" You could only nod.

He returned to your clit, tongue running over it, flicking it before sucking it again. He slid a finger into your now dripping pussy, and the intrusion felt much less painful now. His pace was slow, his finger pushing into you completely. He watched your face for any signs of discomfort, but all you could do was throw your head back and moan out loud in pleasure. The pad of his finger circled over the spongy patch at the top of your vagina. You bucked your hips up, eyes watering in pleasure.

"You like that?" He placed a gentle kiss on your clit, before he picked up the pace with his fingers. Your moans had become silent, mouth stuck in an 'O' shape. JJ rutted into your bed beneath you, speed picking up with his fingers.

"So close," you whispered, moans breaking through you. “JJ… feels so g-good JJ… oh shit… oh, JJ-” Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, a white-hot lightning strike bursting low in your stomach and shockwaves through your cunt. It made your ears ring, black spots covering your vision.

You felt JJ brushing the hair out of your face and kissing your forehead gently when you came around. His fingers were still pumping in you slowly as you rode out your high, "Just like that, baby girl, just like that. There you go, you did so well. So good for me, pretty baby." He pulled his fingers out of you, and you whined at the loss of fullness. It felt nice.

Your cum clung to his fingers, and brought the digits to his mouth to lick them all clean. You moaned lowly at the filth of his actions, pulling his lips to meet yours again.

He kissed you, but stopped you again, "I think that's enough for now. Got to let my favourite girl recover."

You blushed at the compliment, but looked at him confused, "What about you?"

"I kinda already took care of myself." He said, sheepishly. You looked down to see a wet patch on the front of his shorts.

You burst into laughter as JJ let out protests of, "Hey, it's not my fault you look so hot when you cum."

You clean yourself up with your towel as JJ changes your bedsheets, and then you find a pack of unused boxer shorts in your brother's drawer.

You throw the pack at JJ's head, and he creeps into the bathroom to clean himself up. You throw his boxers and his shorts into the washing machine, before heading back to your room. JJ comes in a few seconds later with a glass of water in his hand.

"Drink. Or you'll get dehydrated."

You smile and down the entire glass. JJ turns to leave, but you grab his hand. "Stay?"

"Tut tut tut. What will your parents say?"

"They don't have to know."

"Still I'd rather not get beat up by your dad." You pouted as he pressed a tender kiss on your lips, "I'll see you in the morning."

"In the morning."

fin.

buy me a coffee

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intheorangebedroom · 1 month

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.

****

218 notes · View notes

princessmaybank · 4 months

Text

Outer Banks P!Links

~Only JJ, Rafe, John B, and Pope but willing to look for others!~

*I'm aware some of them look nothing like them, but that's okay, it's all for fun*

WARNINGS: MDNI, THIS IS 18+, PORN LINKS

3way with Sarah

Best friends fucking

JJ finger blasting you

Bouncing on his cock

Sucking off Tatted!JJ

Rafe

playing with yourself while satisfying Rafe

Dom!Rafe playing with your little pussy

Stepbro!Rafe helps you out

Rafe taking you from behind

Taking you to pound town

John B

John B and JJ giving you a helping hand

Bouncing on JB's dick

JB eating you out

Shower sex w/ JB

Bouncing on his dick in the car

Pope

Pope puts his hands in your panties

Riding him in public

Destroying each other

Stretching you out

Pope dicking you down

#p links JJ Maybank #p links Rafe Cameron #p links John B #p links Pope Heyward #p links #jj maybank #rafe cameron #john b routledge #pope heyward #outer banks #obx fic #rudy pankow smut #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank smut #obx x reader #outer banks smut #jj maybank imagine #smut prompts

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rubiehart · 3 months

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jj thinking you look the prettiest when your stomach’s all big and swollen with his baby, laying out on the bow of the boat on a towel he’d lay down for you, sunglasses perched on your nose and bikini hugging your body perfectly, specifically showcasing your tits that seemed to be getting bigger every month into your pregnancy, which jj wasn’t complaining about.

he’s at your side whenever you call his name, “everythin’ okay mama?” ,giving you sips of lemonade or water whenever you ask, comin’ over every half an hour or so to make sure you’re all lathered up in sunscreen “gotta make sure my babies aren’t cookin’.” indicating to you and the child you were growing making you giggle and throw an arm over your eyes as he rubs the sunscreen into your plush thighs and up all over your stomach, just bein’ all gentle with you.

big smile on his face cuz he knows he’s gonna love this baby more than he’s loved anyone or anything before (not including you of course!!)

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

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Tethered.

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

Pairing - Benny Miller, Frankie Morales, Santiago Garcia, Will Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, sexual content, mentions of sobriety

Word Count - 5523

Author's Note - by popular demand!! thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, it was so helpful!! don't worry, there is still a stewy hosseini fic coming very soon. i love writing for the triple frontier boys, so if anyone has any requests or particular thoughts, please send them my way. i'm also a total will girly, if you couldn't tell. as always, lots of love <3

my other triple frontier fics - Time, Tranquility and Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Masterlist. Requests.

Will’s strong hand rubs steady circles into your thigh under the table as you all hunch over laughing.

Benny’s telling the story of his bad date from the night before. The combination of his masterful storytelling and the whiskey that seems to be refilling itself is making you giddy, all of you high on the joy of being with your best friends. There’s no feeling quite like it, laughing until you cry.

“Wait, that doesn’t explain why she slapped you!” Santiago exclaims from opposite you, clapping Benny on the back.

“She slapped me because, it turns out, I’d kissed her best friend a few months ago. She called me a dog and everything,” he laughs, tears escaping from his eyes. “She had a strong hand!”

“Did you know who she was when you saw her?” Frankie asks, genuinely intrigued.

“I realised as soon as I sat down. I didn’t know it’d be a problem! Man, fuck blind dates,” Ben chuckles.

“Am I crazy for not seeing the issue here?” Santiago asks, looking around the table.

“I didn’t see it either, apparently. It’s not like me and Lucy ever went anywhere. It was just a kiss.” Benny’s face is scrunched up in confusion. It makes you want to smooth your thumb over the crease between his brows.

“She was giving me the look, I swear,” he continues. “So I went in for the kiss, and she hit me.”

The boys are all laughing again, and as guilty as you feel, you can’t help but join them. Benny has such an animated, expressive face, that even the most boring of stories are entertaining when being told by him. It’s a gift. He just has a way with people.

“What do you think, hermosa?” Santiago asks, looking at you pointedly. “Would you kiss someone your best friend has kissed?”

“I don’t know,” you reply carefully. “Depends on the situation, I guess. I’d try not to, I think.”

Will’s looking at you with amusement in his eyes, slight smirk on his face. It’s clear that no one is putting the pieces together.

“Would you, Santi?” you question, lips quirking up at the corners.

“Probably not. I’d avoid it, if possible,” he replies.

The whiskey is making you braver than usual, a warm buzz running through your veins. Without thinking, you laugh,

“Too late.”

Everyone looks at you, brows raised in confusion. Will’s grinning now, chuckling to himself quietly. You’re giggling at their faces, their naivety making you smile.

You watch as Frankie looks slowly around the table, and then back at you. Shaking his head, he catches your eyes and snickers.

“Minx,” he mutters, still smiling.

“Am I missing something here?” Benny asks, surveying the silent communication happening between you, Frankie and Will.

You sigh sarcastically and throw your drink back, downing it in one go. Well, we’re doing this, you think.

“I’ve kissed every single person at this table,” you start. “Which means you’ve all kissed the same girl your best friend has kissed.”

Santiago and Benny go silent for a moment, processing this new information. Will and Frankie are still smiling, already a step ahead.

“Wait, what?” Santiago finally speaks. “You have?”

“Oh no. Pope thought he was special,” Frankie laughs, head thrown back.

“Stop it, Francisco! You are special, Santi. It just so happens that they are too.”

You point generally at the other boys, all of them with their eyes fixed on you. You can see that Benny is still figuring things out, the alcohol making his brain work slower than usual.

“I’ve known you guys for years. We’ve been through a lot together. And you’re like, the four most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen! It was bound to happen sooner or later,” you justify.

Everyone’s laughing now, the final piece finally being put into the jigsaw. You can tell they’re all thinking back to their kisses – you are too.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Benny had been the first one to kiss you.

It happened right at the beginning of his boxing career. He’d started working out religiously, meal planning, prepping for his first big fight. He set strict rules for himself – no alcohol, no women, no sex. You were glad he’d found an output for his energy, glad he was taking something so seriously – even if the idea of him getting hurt did terrify you.

The four of you had gone to support him, eager to see him win after months of watching him train and prepare. He’d really committed to the process, which was a surprise – Benny was a notorious ladies man. He loved to relax with a beer. But he’d never broken his self-made rules, not once. No matter the outcome of the fight, you were insanely proud of him. All of you were.

The atmosphere in the warehouse was electric. It was a big venue, with hundreds of people gathering to spectate. You hadn’t realised this was such a popular event. Adrenaline buzzed through the air, making you antsy with anticipation. You and the boys had front row seats by the ring, allowing you the perfect view, the ideal place to support Ben.

“I’m gonna go get us some beers,” Santiago yells over the noise.

“I’ll come help you,” you shout back, linking your hand into his so you don’t get separated.

You make your way out of the double doors and down the hallway in attempt to find the bar. On the journey, you spot a sign that points to the locker rooms.

“You order, I’ll be right back,” you tell Santiago, before following the directions.

You push open the door and step into the locker room. Benny is sat on the bench, headphones blasting music so loud you can hear it from 10 feet away. You make your way over, and touch him on the shoulder gently. He doesn’t startle.

“I don’t want to disturb you, Ben. Just wanted to say good luck,” you say quietly.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you to sit next to him.

“You could never disturb me, honey. You’re my good luck charm,” he winks, and the cheekiness of it warms your chest.

He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you, breathing in the scent of your strawberry shampoo. You inhale with him, and soak up the heat that’s seeping into your skin.

“It doesn’t matter what happens out there,” you tell him. “I’ll love you no matter what.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, and throw a beaming smile at him before leaving. You find Santi at the bar, and help him carry the beers back to the boys.

You’ve never seen this side of Benny. He’s throwing and dodging punches like it’s second nature. The man moves like ocean waves, fluid and constant, never once caught off guard. There’s a lot to be said about the pastime of men fighting each other, but honestly, Ben has found his calling.

Electricity crackles through the air as Benny swings his last punch. His opponent falls to the mat as you rise from your seats. All of you instantly begin screaming, roars of celebration filling the space. Ben throws his fist in the air, signalling his victory. It’s rare, this feeling. The five of you don’t win very often. This needs to be savoured.

Eventually, the cheering dies down, and Benny leaves the ring to go and get changed. The boys are all ecstatic, chattering with pride in their voices about their brother, their teammate, their best friend.

“Be right back,” you tell them, moving to slip out of the doors and down the hallway.

You strut into the locker room, eyes scanning the space for the man you’re looking for. You find him stood, unwrapping his hands. Before you know it, you’re running into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he spins you. His bare chest is dripping with sweat. He’s covering you in it, but you couldn’t care less. You’re both laughing, joy and love filling the air.

“I’m so proud of you,” you breathe into his neck, still in his arms. Your feet finally find the floor, and you lean back slightly to stare up at him.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, pretty girl,” he beams at you.

You can feel the energy coursing through his veins. He’s thrumming with it, buzzing with adrenaline – it feels like he’s going to burst. He’s practically vibrating.

Before you can even register what’s happening, Benny pulls you back to him, smashing his lips onto yours. He skims his hands down your back to grab at the backs of your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist and press yourself into him.

The kiss is needy, desperate, pulsing - all teeth and tongue. Benny walks you backwards to slam you against the lockers, using the pressure of his body to lean forward into you. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling forcefully. He groans, deep and guttural, and it’s one of the most gorgeous sounds you’ve ever heard.

He’s grabbing at your ass as he dips his head down to leave open mouthed kisses on your neck, biting at the column of your throat. Your dress is practically around your waist, and you roll your hips forward, searching for friction. It’s your turn to groan now.

“Fuck, honey,” he murmurs. “Prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.”

He holds you up with one arm, and moves the other hand to twist into the waistband of your underwear. He’s pulling them down when someone bangs on the door, startling you both.

“Benny! Champion! Get out here, man, or we’re coming in!”

It’s Will’s voice, that deep tone instantly recognisable.

You pull your lips from Benny’s, your head dropping back against the locker with a clang.

“Shit,” he chuckles, gently pressing a kiss to your sternum.

“Shit,” you repeat, giggling gently.

Benny puts you down carefully, smoothing down your dress with those big hands of his. He fixes your hair next, sweetly moving it out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. He runs his thumb under your bottom lip, wiping where your lipstick has smudged.

“Do we look like we just made out?” you ask him, amusement evident in your tone.

“You do. I look like I just won a fight.”

He smiles at you, and you can’t help but smile back. God, this man. One minute he’s got you whining against the lockers, and the next he’s got you giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Come on,” you urge. “They’re gonna come busting in here any second.”

Right on cue, the door swings open, three men barrelling inside. They all jump on Benny, ruffling his hair and pulling him into a headlock affectionately. You watch from a short distance away, smile still etched on your face. You love them so much you’re worried your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

You look at Will, and find him smirking at you. Always a step ahead. Frankie grabs your wrist and pulls you into their celebrations. You’re being thrown around like you’re in some sort of whirlpool, dizzy with the joy of being with your best friends. You wouldn’t change a thing, even if you are a little lightheaded.

You catch eyes with Benny, and he winks. You know that the events of tonight aren’t going to change anything between the two of you. Your friendship is so solid, you’re convinced it can withstand anything. The five of you are connected, somehow. This unexplainable, invisible tether, binding you wherever you go. The kind of friendship that they write books about.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Frankie was the next person to kiss you.

Or maybe you kissed him. You’re still not sure.

The five of you were at a bar downtown, drinking and laughing. The boys were a few beers deep, muscles relaxing and minds quietening.

But not Frankie.

When he’d made the decision to get sober, he’d included everything. He wasn’t a man who believed in partially sober, or ‘California sober’. If he was going to commit, he was going to commit fully. Alcohol included.

Usually, it didn’t bother him. He could go to bars with his friends, happily crack open beers for them when they watched a football game, make a mean margarita when they hung out at his pool in the summer. But that night, he was on edge. He didn’t know why, couldn’t pinpoint any reason specifically, but he was on overdrive. His mind wouldn’t slow down - thoughts barrelling into him at a hundred miles an hour. He was debating going home to bed, before realising that he was designated driver. So, he’d sat back in his seat, taken a deep breath, and tried to pretend like he wasn’t about to combust.

You’d noticed. Of course you had. You, with your observant eyes, your careful gaze, your genuine smile. You’d noticed.

Will had too. He was keeping an eye on Frankie from across the booth, but he wasn’t worried. He knew you were watching him like a hawk. That reassured Will to no end.

“Oh yeah? Come on then, old man, put your money where your mouth is!” Benny’s yelling at Santiago, grabbing him by the bicep, up and out of his chair. You watch as he drags him over to the pool table, determined to prove himself.

No matter where you were, or what you were doing, somehow, Benny and Santiago always managed to turn it into a competition. You, Will and Frankie were always happy to watch – you usually ended up playing referee, only interfering when someone cheated or got too rowdy.

The two of them began setting up a game, leaving you at the booth with the other two.

“I’m gonna get some air,” Frankie says suddenly, standing up and making his way out of the door.

Will gives you a look of concern.

“I got it. Just make sure those two idiots don’t kill each other with pool cues, please,” you joke.

Will chuckles and nods, squeezing your waist as you move past him to follow Frankie.

Outside, you find him around the side of the bar, leaning against the brick wall. He’s breathing heavily, clearly trying to get a handle on things. You watch as he takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. He slides down the wall, sitting on the cool ground, legs bent in front of him.

You walk over and sit down next to him, ignoring the feeling of the cold concrete underneath your bare legs. You lean into him slightly, placing your head on his shoulder. He breathes you in, and you feel some of the tension melt from his muscles.

Eventually, you speak.

“You okay?”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer.

“Yeah, cariño, I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m usually fine in bars, it doesn’t bother me. Guess I’m just anxious tonight.”

You hum in understanding, before realising something.

“What’s today’s date?”

He looks at you with puzzlement written all over his face, but answers you anyway.

“March 16th.”

“Happy one year of sobriety, Francisco.”

You can see it all clicking into place in his head. The reason he’s been on pins all day, the reason he’s been so wound up tonight, unable to settle. You figured it out before he could. Clever girl.

“And I’m celebrating it in a bar, apparently. How appropriate,” he laughs. It’s a real, hearty, genuine laugh. You love when he laughs like this – so hard that he starts wheezing. It’s so endearing, it makes you want to cry.

“I can’t believe I forgot. A year ago, it was like, the biggest milestone ever. And I forgot.”

You can tell he’s almost disappointed with himself. But you’re not. No, quite the opposite, actually.

“You see how great that is though, right?” you ask him. “You’re so busy living your life now, working, being the best dad ever, that you didn’t even have to think about it. It’s not a bad thing that you forgot about it, Frankie.”

He pulls you closer, both arms wrapped around you, your head pressed into the crook of his neck.

“How do you do it, hermosa?”

“Do what?”

“Always know exactly what to say.”

“Years of knowing you, probably. Years of loving you,” you answer.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, but you hear him clear as day.

“No, I don’t deserve you. I’m so proud of you, Francisco.”

He pulls away from you to look at you earnestly. He smiles at you, and you grin back at him. If love could lift you up, you’d be floating, both of you levitating with it.

Frankie leans in closer to you, and you mirror the movement. You’re not sure who kisses who, but suddenly his lips are on yours, his hands moving to cradle your face. It’s careful, and it’s gentle, and it’s so full of gratitude and history that it takes everything in you not to break out into a grin. One of his hands moves through your hair as the other one caresses your cheek. You can’t remember the last time you were kissed so tenderly. Neither can he.

Unbeknownst to you, Will has come out to check on you both. He stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you wrapped up in each other. His heart swells in his chest, and he can’t help but smile. He knows that this won’t change anything between you and Frankie. It’s just the comfort he needed – you both needed. He makes his way back inside quietly, grateful for the both of you and the way you look after each other.

Eventually, you both pull apart. Frankie rests his forehead on yours, and takes the first full breath he’s taken all day. His shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches. He’s okay, thanks to you.

“Thank you, cielito,” he murmurs.

“For what?”

“Everything. Knowing me better than I know myself. Knowing all of us better than we know ourselves.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you all alive,” you grin, and he chuckles, the vibration of it settling into your bones, warming you up from the inside out.

He pulls you back against his side, wrapping his arms around you. You both sit against the red brick, cold ground underneath you, for what feels like hours.

“There they are!” Santiago yells when he spots you both.

“Mom, Dad, can we go home?” Benny jokes, clearly down one drink too many.

“Of course we can, baby,” you smile, pulling Frankie to his feet with you.

You all clamber into Frankie’s truck – you riding shotgun, the other boys crammed in the back. You reach for your drivers hand, and interlace your fingers, resting your palms in your lap. You hold onto him all the way home, and can’t help but notice how much lighter he seems.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Santiago kissed you next.

The five of you were having a pool day at Frankie’s, trying to cool down in the Texan summer heat. It was rare, for all of you to have the same day off, so you planned to make the most of it.

The four boys were already in the backyard when you arrived. Letting yourself in, you made your way through the house, briefly stopping in the kitchen to put your popsicles in the freezer. You’d purposely picked the strawberry ones, knowing they were Frankie’s daughters favourite. She was at her mom’s house for the week, but you knew she’d be back at the weekend.

“Hey, honey!” Benny yells when he spots you at the back door.

All of them turn to look at you, and you’re slightly taken aback by all the golden skin on display. Benny is wearing swim shorts with an inseam that can’t be any more than 5 inches, strong thighs just begging to be bitten. Will’s navy shorts compliment his blond hair beautifully, and Santiago’s green ones bring out the dark brown of his eyes. Frankie still has his shirt on, but it hugs his biceps just right. Damn, you think. I might just have the most attractive best friends in the world.

They’re all grinning at you as you survey each of them. You know they don’t mind being ogled just a little.

“Eyes up here, princess,” Santiago teases, no seriousness whatsoever in his voice. You scoff and throw your head back in a laugh, all of them simultaneously joining you in your amusement.

You put down your bag and kick off your shoes, before grabbing the hem of your dress.

“Give us a show, Miss Supermodel,” Benny whistles, winking playfully.

You peel your dress over your head slowly, wiggling your hips as you go. You’re left in a little black bikini that admittedly doesn’t leave much to the imagination. You don’t mind. You’re safe here.

They’re all whistling and cheering, make you laugh. You never feel more appreciated than when you’re with these boys. It’s everything. They’re everything.

“It’s like Sports Illustrated in real life,” Frankie grins, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Will says quietly when you catch his gaze. You roll your eyes playfully, but smile at him genuinely, silently thanking him.

Your eyes flicker to Santiago. He has a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. It’s more than his usual appreciation. It’s hungry, hot, burning. It makes your skin prickle, the hairs on your neck standing up. You have to get away from his stare before you jump his bones right in Frankie’s backyard.

“Want me to make you a margarita?” Frankie asks, innocently breaking through the moment.

“Yes, please. That sounds amazing.”

He smiles at you before retreating to the kitchen, Benny following him in search of beer.

The heat doesn’t ease up all day. It’s sweltering, covering you all in a sheen of sweat that can’t seem to be wiped away.

Santiago’s gaze doesn’t help your warmth. Every time you look over, he’s surveying you carefully, eyes raking over your body in a way that makes your breathing quicken. There’s always been chemistry between you, sure. You have chemistry with all of the boys. But it’s never been like this with Santiago. Yes, you flirt with each other – it’s in both of your natures. But this is different. This is real.

You spend all day lounging around. Frankie keeps you topped up with margaritas as you make trips in and out of the pool, messing around with the boys. Benny hoists you up onto his shoulders in the water, throwing you up into the air as high as he can and laughing when you splash back down. You and Will throw a ball back and forth, doubling over when he overshoots and hits Frankie, who’s soaking up the sun in a lawn chair. In the late afternoon, Frankie fires up the grill, preparing to barbeque for dinner.

“Pope, you gonna help me?” he shouts from the deck.

Santiago looks at you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, before joining him. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. There’s anticipation bubbling at the pit of your stomach, butterflies swirling. Warmth has settled in your core, and Santi’s heated glances are only fuelling the fire.

The sun finally gives you some respite in the early evening. You all settle on the grass, drinks in hand, laughing about nothing and everything. Benny’s telling you about his next fight, describing his opponent in hilarious detail. You look down, and realise your glass is empty.

“I’m gonna get a refill. Anyone want anything?” you ask, smiling as you watch Benny jokingly pretend to box his brother.

“Can you grab me a beer, princesa?” Santiago asks, pointed gaze trained on you.

You nod and make your way inside, praying that it’s cooler in the kitchen. The sun might have gone in, but the warmth in your core hasn’t left.

You reach into the fridge for the jug of margaritas that Frankie made earlier. You’re rising onto your tiptoes to fetch a new glass from the top of the cabinet when you feel a presence against your back. Santiago grabs one from the shelf and places it on the counter in front of you, leaning forward as he does it. His lips are brushing the shell of your ear, and you shudder out a breath.

“So you’re feeling it too, mi amor?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. You’re worried you might combust if he keeps speaking to you in that deep, low, raspy tone of his.

“Don’t know what’s gotten into me. Can’t keep my eyes off you,” he whispers. He feels a shiver wrack through your body and chuckles.

You turn around to face him, and he steps forward, caging you in against the counter, arms on either side of you. You can’t go anywhere. You don’t want to.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he practically purrs.

He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, testing the waters. You catch it with your teeth and pull it into your mouth, biting down gently before sucking, not once breaking eye contact. He groans and tilts his head back, exposing his throat to you. You tangle a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, and give him a look that says I dare you.

Santiago surges forward to capture your lips with his. It’s desperate and needy - a perfect representation of both of your states all day. He slips a strong thigh between your legs and pushes upward, making you whine. You’re pressing yourself into him, trying to get as close as possible. His hands are everywhere all at once – your hips, your hair, your back, your ass. He wants to feel all of you, and can’t decide where to start.

You feel drunk off of him as he kisses you. His tongue is making you melt, his steady hands the only thing keeping you upright. You could kiss him like this for hours, surrendering yourself to this man you call your best friend. This man you’ll love forever.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t notice Will entering the kitchen. He clocks the situation in front of him and tries to exit silently, walking backwards out the way he came in. He knocks into the recycling bin, startling you and Santiago, causing you to jump apart and hit your head on the cabinet behind you.

“Shit, sweetheart, you okay?” Will asks, genuine concern etched on his face.

Santiago cradles the back of your head as he looks at you, eyes searching yours for any signs of pain.

“I’m good, I’m good, don’t worry,” you reassure them.

Will smirks at you and winks cheekily before he leaves, grabbing a beer on his way out.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning forward to rest your head against Santiago’s chest. He strokes your hair lovingly, a laugh rumbling through him.

You both know Will isn’t going to say anything. He’s the most trustworthy one of them all. Always observing, never gossiping.

“Love you, hermosa,” he chuckles.

“Love you too, Santi,” you reply, wide smile painted on your face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Will was the last to kiss you.

It had been a long time coming.

Some people think Will is hard to read. He’s introverted, quiet, a wallflower of sorts. But he isn’t hard to read. Not really. You just have to know what you’re looking at.

He’d called you up one Sunday morning, asking if you had plans. When you’d told him you didn’t, he invited you over for a day of pancakes and terrible movies. It sounded perfect.

Which is how you found yourself lying on Will’s couch, legs tangled together, your back to his chest. His strong arms have found home on your waist, wrapped around your middle. You’re not sure how you ended up here, as you started the movie on opposite ends of the sofa. No one’s complaining.

It’s rare, this kind of intimacy. Casual, effortless, easy. No thought goes into it. You just fall into each other as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Will’s always had that gift. He makes people feel comfortable. No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, one look from those big blue eyes is all it takes to calm you down. It doesn’t matter if you’re being shot at on a battlefield, or just getting overwhelmed in a supermarket. Will’s there, and he knows exactly what you need. You’re convinced the man might be a mind reader, honestly.

He’s not, in fact, clairvoyant. He’s just a listener. No matter what you’re talking about, Will’s looking at you like you’re the centre of his universe. He’d be perfectly content to listen to your voice, to watch the way your eyes light up when you tell stories like this forever. You feel like the only girl in the world, as you lay here in his arms.

You’re deep in thought before you decide to break the silence, voice floating through the warmth of the room.

“Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”

You feel him hum from behind you before he answers softly.

“Every day since I met you.”

You nod gently before relaxing back into him, sighing in contentment.

“Have you ever wanted to kiss me?” he asks, mirroring your question.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think about kissing you, William,” you murmur.

His arms tighten around you slightly, pulling you impossibly closer. He presses a kiss into your hair, and another to your bare shoulder.

You sit in the silence for a while, letting the questions hang heavy in the air. It’s not awkward – no, it’s the exact opposite. It’s comfortable.

“I’ve kissed Benny, Frankie and Santi,” you confess quietly. You’re not sure why, but it just feels like something you need to get off your chest. You don’t want him to judge you.

“I know,” he speaks softly. He knows. Of course he does.

“Does it make you think differently of me?” you query. You almost don’t want to know the answer.

“Of course it doesn’t,” he replies earnestly. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t look good for me, I guess.”

“That’s not true, sweetheart. They’re your best friends. You love them. A kiss doesn’t have to change anything - not always, anyway.” He pauses. “Do you regret any of it?”

“Not at all,” you whisper.

“Exactly. We all think the world of you. You should know that by now.”

You shift and turn so that you’re sitting in between his legs, facing him. You press your forehead into his, and he smiles gently.

“I love you,” you say softly.

“I love you too,” he replies, grinning widely.

Suddenly, he jumps off the couch, pulling you up with him.

“Let’s go outside,” he prompts, dragging you out the door behind him.

“Will, it’s raining!” you squeal as he practically carries you into the backyard.

He grabs you by the waist and spins you around, both of you laughing. The downpour has drenched you both, clothes sticking to your skin, hair dripping. He puts you down and looks at you as if he’s reading the words off the very surface of your soul.

Gently, he pushes the hair out of your face, moving it to behind your ears. He uses his thumb to catch a raindrop that’s making it’s way down your cheek, swiping it away. You’re both soaked through, but you can’t feel the cold. You feel the warmest you ever have, love illuminating your bones.

Will leans down and presses his lips to yours. His hands are on your waist, and he pulls you closer, plastering you together. It’s tender, and it’s sweet, and it’s a perfect amalgamation of Will. You’ve never felt more at peace.

When he pulls away, you remember his words from earlier.

“Does this kiss change anything?” you ask, megawatt smile etched on your face.

“Everything, sweetheart,” he replies, grinning widely. “It changes everything.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“You saved the best until last,” Will beams, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

The boys all scoff, laughing as they do it. You smile broadly, moving to peck his lips tenderly.

“Sure did.”

Benny and Santiago roll their eyes jokingly, while Frankie jabs them both with his elbows.

“Idiots,” he murmurs, still chuckling.

Will’s hand finds yours under the table. His fingers twist the ring you’re wearing absentmindedly, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“I love you, Mrs Miller.”

“I love you too, Mr Miller.”

“Guess I just had to kiss a few frogs to find my prince,” you wink at him, the whole table erupting into protests. You throw your head back in a laugh, your whole body vibrating with it. All four of them agree it’s their favourite sound in the world.

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