#Will Ironhead Miller x You

[charliehoennam]

birthday bliss

Summary: Will doesn't usually celebrate his birthday so you decide to do something special for him in your first year of dating

Pairing: Will Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluffing smut | 18+ ONLY

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

The sun is still shyly rising when your eyes blink open.

The morning chill lingers, leaving the air cold beyond the warm covers that encapsulate you and Will's large frame.

As you turn to the other side to face him, you smile to yourself. He's facing, laying on his side facing you with his arm stretched out lazily under his - and your - pillows. His other hand is tucked closely to his face as he rests peacefully, although his fluttering eyelids indicate he's awake.

It's his birthday again and you really want to do something special for him. You know he's not a big fan of large gatherings, so a surprise party was definitely out of the question.

His birthdays used to be special for him as a child because his dad would always take him camping in the woods as a special father/son bonding moment, especially after Ben came along. Knowing that he doesn't feel like his birthday is special anymore, just because he's adult and his dad is so far away, kinda makes you feel sad.

Moving closer to his warmth, you pepper his face with tender kisses as the blond whiskers of his beard twitch into a smile with his eyes still closed.

"You're gonna make it harder to get out of bed like that" he mumbles in a gravelly morning voice.

"Well, maybe you don't have to get out of bed just yet. It is your birthday after all."

"Just another day is all, baby."

His arm lowers to drape over your side as he shifts to make room for you as he pulls you into his embrace. You settle, laying on your side as he rests his head against your chest and tangles his leg between yours, cocooning himself in your warmth. He can't remember the last time he felt so safe and cozy. The only present he could want right now is to spend hours with you just like this.

Instinctively, your arm wraps his head to mindlessly play with his soft short hair, unintentionally persuading him to surrender into staying in bed.

"I know you don't like to do much to celebrate, but do you have any plans?"

"Probably just gonna get a couple beers with the guys after work. Then come home."

His face is still resting against your chest, inhaling the combination of your sweet natural scent and the vanilla lotion you always wear.

"You should come with us" he continues lazily.

"Nah. Guys' night is your thing. Besides, it'll give me time to get your gift ready."

He smirks as he pulls his head back to look up at him. He told you not to spend any money on him, but the smile on his face only proves how he'd hoped you would.

"I thought I told you not to spend any money on that."

"You did, but why would I listen to that?" you smirk back at him.

"Do I get any clues?"

"Nope. You gotta wait and see."

"Aw, c'mon, baby. Don't be like that."

The way he rolls you onto your back and nestles his hips between your legs indicates he's thought of a way to get you to surrender, but you're sticking to your guns on this.

"It won't be a surprise if I tell you."

"You don't have to tell me. All I'm asking for a clue," he mumbles smirking against your skin as he begins kissing and nibbling your neck.

You shake your head as your legs mindlessly wrap around his waist to invite him close. You giggle as he pins your hands under your pillow, grinding his hardening cock against your panties and eliciting a man from your throat.

"i know what you're doing, Will. It's not gonna work."

"It may not work, but it gives me an excuse to try anyway."

His lips smile into the kiss as he presses them against yours with a tender touch. You welcome it open-heartedly, letting your tongues lazily battle for dominance as he savors your kiss.

All those days and nights spent far from you has taught him to be so much more appreciative of every moment.

Allowing your hands to escape from his grip, he allows them to latch onto him, threading your fingers through his golden hair and placing another hand on his back to pull him closer as he continues to tease your dampening panties.

The thin fabric of his boxers does nothing to omit the size of his dick. Just thinking about his thick girth makes you water, but feeling it press and grind against you leaves you drenched.

Will can feel your slick soaking through his garment, making him moan and crave you even more.

Using one arm to hold him up so he doesn't smother you with his heavy weight, he slides his hand down from underneath your pillow and cradles the side of your face with his large palm.

He wishes he could freeze the world, that the man-made concept didn't exist so he could spend the rest of eternity in this bed with you.

"I don't need a present, babe" he says softly with a heart-warming smile as he stands on his knees to take off his your shirt off.

The morning chill turns into hot, humid air as you watch his beautiful form glistening in the tropical glow of the autumnal sunrise casting from the window.

"I already have you. You're everything I could ever ask for."

Speechless from his confession, your arms greet him as he moves back down to continue your passionate kiss.

He takes his time to gradually move lower to your neck and then to your exposed breasts, leaving faint red burns from his beard scratching against your sensitive skin.

Your back arches into him as his hands cup and knead your breasts. Your hands cradle the back of Will's head while his mouth suckles on your nipple, one at a time, tongue swirling and flicking over the hardened nub.

Praises flood from your mouth, telling him how much you love him and how good his attention feels.

Sliding your panties off, he soon nestles himself lower and trail painstakingly slow kisses down your legs, making you giggle in the way he loves the most at how his beard tickles.

He chuckles but doesn't stop, nor speed up, until his mouth finally reaches your pussy. Your legs slide to hang over his strong shoulders as his large hands wrap around your thighs to pull you in closer.

He knows you're desperate for any sort of friction you can get, but he takes his times to kiss your mound and outer labia, making you laugh at his calculated torture.

"Will, c'mon. Don't be mean."

"I'm just showing my woman some 'preciation is all."

His sly smile and mischievous blue eyes make you melt from within. The first lick he gives your wet plushy lips has goosebumps running up your arms.

Will takes his time exploring your pussy with his tongue, extending his arms to wrap around your hips to use his fingers and hold your pussy open for him so he can savour every drop of your wetness.

His eyes close as he relishes your sweet and savory taste, moaning as his eager hips buck against the mattress.

He would tell you how good you taste, but he can't be bothered to part from you even for a minute. And you're thankful he doesn't because the way his nose nudges your clit has you squirming underneath him already.

He moans loudly as you tug on his hair, grinding yourself against his face as you beg for more. The tip of his cock is already leaking with arousal and excitement, forming a little wet spot on his boxers.

His tongue moves expertly as it trails over your pussy, slipping in and out of your entrance to tease your sensitive nub.

His long calloused finger slides into your hole, massaging the wet silky walls as his tongue continues to torment your throbbing clit.

The pleasure quickly becomes too much to handle when he slips another finger into you, making you clench around them desperately imagining his cock inside you.

The building pressure finally explodes in your core, rippling through you as your legs try to shut his head between them while you catch your breath.

Needless to say, you both arrive at work late after going at it for a couple hours.

Using a couple of the extra hours you had put in, you clock out early and race home to prepare Will's big surprise.

You and Will were avid 'woodspeople'. You liked a good hike together, exploring new trails and sites, and camping in the woods so you're not exactly an amateur when it comes to setting up a tent. Or at least you thought you weren't until you realize Will had usually been the one to take care of you and you just assisted as best as you could. You just couldn't understand why it was so damn hard.

It takes you a almost an hour to set it up in the backyard, but once it's done, you move on to starting a nice warm fire in the large iron fire pit bowl. Thankfully, that goes a lot easier than the previous task.

Laying a blanket out over the grass, you take a few of the living room cushion pillows to arrange them out on the blanket while, in the middle, a rustic wooden basket full of all Will's favorite snacks and treats sits propped in the middle.

You load the white cooler with plenty of ice, soda and beer and let it rest beside the blanket when he texts you that let you know he's on his way home.

It's not much and it's not the same as real camping, but you hope it's enough to make him smile at least.

Will has shared plenty of stories about his camping tradition with his father over the years and you could tell those moments were so special to him. You never missed the little gleam in his eyes when he'd told you he could point out all the constellations in the sky better than his old man or the different ways of stacking wood for a fire for different purposes.

He told you about how it's been a couple years since he's done anything other than going out with the guys for a couple beers and laughs. It seems like it became his new tradition and, although he was content with it, you just want him to know how much you care about him.

So, after setting a couple more folded up blankets out to shield you both from the cold night air later on, you race over to the door to wait anxiously for him.

The bar isn't too far from your shared home. Being only 15 minutes away, he'll be home in no time.

You see his truck driving up the road and your heart races at the sound of the gravel crunching under his tires. He climbs out, looking as handsome as he always does in his simple attire. Just a blue long-sleeved flannel, his favorite olive green jacket, a slightly torn blue cap that he's used too many times and refuses to part with and work boots that he usually wears to the construction work he takes up in between his motivational military speeches.

Will can't help but grin at you as he spots you in the window, walking up the driveway with a hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket as the other lifts his hat to take it off to greet you with a kiss.

"What are you all smiles about?" he questions as he set his cap back on.

"Your present!" you giggle excitedly. He laughs along with you, adoring your excitement. He knows you're up to something."Do you wanna see it?"

"Let's see it, babe. Lead the way."

"Alright, but you can't see yet."

You quickly move behind him to reach up and cover his eyes. He laughs at the silliness, but he goes along with it because in truth, he's pretty excited himself.

You try your best to guide him down the hall and through the living room to get to the sliding glass door.

"Watch your step. We're gonna step outside" you alert, so he holds out his hands to feel for the door's frame as he carefully steps out into the backyard porch.

"Ready? 3,2,1!"

You remove your hands to allow him to see your surprise.

At first, his silence fills you with worry as he takes in the camping tent you'd pitched and the picnic you'd set up in the comfort of your own yard.

"So? D-do you like it?"

"You did all this just for me?" his voice is lowered to a whisper as he looks at you in disbelief.

"Yeah... you told me you had a little tradition with your dad. And obviously I'm not your dad and it's not the same but-"

"No, it's not. It's so much better," he confirms with a sniffling grin as he wraps his long arms around you tightly. "I can't believe you went through all this trouble."

"It was no trouble. Well, the tent did almost give me a black eye, but it was worth it."

"This is the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me, babe..." he says as he looks back over at the picnic. Your heart breaks a bit to hear that something so simple has never been for him before, but you're just happy to watch him wipe his tears of joy away.

"Happy birthday, Will.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

What do you think happened to the characters after your fic patched up? Did will get his priorities straight and commit to the reader…pls say yes

Unraveled - Sequel to Patched Up

Here is a very long answer 💖

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. Minors, DNI.

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Warnings: Fluff/angst (flangst). Sexual content: Vaginal sex; safe sex; biting. Not beta-read.

You don't think your coworker means to send your whole day careening off its axis, but it happens anyway. It's tacked onto an invitation to hang out that weekend, coupled with a sigh that she's had no luck hooking up with Ben (who's been out of town) or with the manimal.

You still wince at the term, but you're more intrigued at the fact that Will has turned down your gorgeous friend.

"Oh?" You ply as innocently as possible. She doesn't seem terribly put out as she shrugs a shoulder, setting her laptop and notepad down on her desk.

"He was nice about it, at least. Said he was flattered, but that he travels a bunch, already has his eye on someone."

She says it like it's nothing. And to be fair, to her, it is nothing.

She has no idea that she's just touched on the tenuous string keeping Will—the thought of him in your arms, in your bed, the idea of him—and set the fucking thing on fire.

You're numb and quiet for the rest of the day as the seams of your misplaced devotion silently disintegrate. You drive home stoically, unable to even bring yourself to turn the radio or a podcast on to distract yourself.

You step inside your apartment at 6:02 pm, shut the door, lock up, and draw in a deep breath.

You have no right, no reason to mourn. There's never been an agreement between the two of you. No exclusivity, no expectations, just...an understanding. You'd talked about it. You'd settled on this decision. This is your fault, isn't it?

You should've quit while you were ahead, drawn back when you'd found yourself in tatters after spending nights with him; seaming your sanity back into one piece as your mind spun with his tender smiles, and steady touch; with his eyes slipping shut as his hips bore down against yours—

You raise a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting desperately to staunch a wave of tears that have been waiting in the wings since approximate 10:38 that morning. You can't rationalize this, not right now.

You'll let yourself put your delusions to bed tonight. You can blame yourself all you want tomorrow, and put yourself back together the way you always have.

--

Piece by piece, thread by thread, you draw yourself back together over the next week, two weeks. You stop letting your every other thought be of him—his sweet eyes, and warm hands, and crushing kisses.

You even go out with a couple of people. You don't shy away from the attention that your coworker manages to drum up when the two of you go to the bar, and when some is directed at you, you manage not to shy from it. You let someone new catch your eye, and hold it for a couple of dates.

The time you spend with him that evening is nice—you go bowling, and then grab a drink. He leaves you on your doorstep with a chaste kiss. It's sweet.

But it doesn't make you feel much.

You think, right now, that may be what you need. Something that can be gently tried and carefully broken in, like a new pair of shoes.

You're just hanging your jacket up when you hear a knock on your door. It makes you freeze, your brow furrowing. You pat down your pockets, glance over your shoulder for your purse. You didn't forget anything in his car—you checked before you got out. You tread toward the door softly, wary of the click of your heels on the entryway tile.

He can't have come back for another kiss, that first one wasn't all that spectacular. He can't want to break things off with you in person. You've only seen one another twice, and besides, why not do that instead of kissing you if he wasn't feeling it?

You peer through the peephole and just manage to stop yourself form sucking in an audible gasp.

The sight of Will Miller at your doorstep has never made you feel queasy before.

Nervous? Sure. Fluttery? Absolutely.

But right now, your heart feels like it just shocked your entire system before dropping into your bile-filled stomach.

You consider for a few moments as you watch him wait calmly on the other side of the door. It's possible that he just got there—that he pulled up, parked, walked up to the front door. But...It's also possible that he saw you get out of that man's car. It's possible that he saw that man kiss you, watched that man leave, and walked up your front steps anyway.

Maybe whoever he has his eye on is busy tonight. Maybe he wants his old, comfortable stand-in, and knows for sure that you're home. You gnaw the inside of your cheek, drawing in a deep breath and rubbing your hand over your pounding heart.

You can leave him in the cold. You can leave him on the doorstep, send the message that you're not interested anymore. You don't have to let him in just because he probably knows that you're in there.

Whatever you do, you cannot open the door. If you open the door, you'll let him in, and then all of the hard work that you've put in over the last couple of weeks will be hacked up, fit only to be sold for scraps.

The night air seems chillier than you remember from just a few moments ago—but then, you had been wearing a jacket.

Will waits there with his hands in his pockets, taking a couple of steps closer as soon as the door is opened fully. You force yourself to stand staunchly still, eyes set on his. But his gaze just sweeps from yours to linger on your lips before capturing yours again.

You won't let him inside, you can just tell him that you've had a long day and that you'd like him to leave.

He lifts one of his hands, knuckles stroking gently along your cheek as he watches your lashes flutter at the contact.

"Can I come in?"

You can say no. He probably just saw you with another man. He knows that you're at least dating, if not with someone. Just because he's here, just because he decided to show up, doesn't mean that he's entitled to your time.

--

He's taking his time.

He has before, but this is different. And it occurs to you belatedly that it may be some kind of goodbye. It makes you ache, and hide your face in his neck as his hips roll against yours with deliberate slowness.

You draw in the scent of him—his cologne, and deodorant, and sweat, and Will—and you let out a shaky little breath. You're dangerously close to unraveling the way you did two weeks ago, but you can't, not with him here. So you turn your head, squeeze your eyes shut, sink your teeth into the slope of his shoulder.

Will's hips stutter against yours as a groan punches out of him. But he doesn't let out a word of complaint, or teasing. He slips a hand up from your thigh and grasps the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your head back. His slick skin slips from your teeth as you shudder, your back bowing as you push up against him.

Will peers down at you, those sweet lips parted as he pants softly. His typically bright blue eyes are dark, and covetous. You get as good a look at them as you can before his mouth descends on yours, tongue slipping between your lips.

You can't bring your hands to settle. The sweep across his arms, his hair, his neck, his face, the slick indent of your bite mark.

And maybe it's your turn to be the sadist, to twist the knife knowingly, just a little.

Pressing into the tender skin makes Will break the kiss with a hiss. His hands raise to grasp yours, intertwining your fingers and pinning you them to the bed. You whimper, pressing up into his iron-tight grip, but to no avail. You squeeze his hands, sink back into the mattress, and unravel as he gives and takes and takes and takes.

--

"When'd you get back in town?"

Asking the question feels like you're losing the last vestiges of safety that you'd managed to build up around yourself in your time without him. You shouldn't still want to know. You should give less of a fuck about where he's been, what he's been up to.

But with his body nestled against yours, his palms resting on your thighs, you tell yourself that you'll pick yourself back up tomorrow (again), patch yourself together (again), and move on from Will Miller once and for all (again).

He doesn't answer right away, and after a few moments, you realize that he isn't awake.

Tipping your head down to get a better look at him, you see his closed eyes, and you stop breathing for a moment to feel his—the deep, even pull of it, the push of it against your bare skin. You blink dumbly for a moment before you tip your head back.

You can wake him up. You can shoo him out. He's a grown man, he can handle it.

You reach out just enough to draw the covers up over the two of you and your bedside shut the lamp off.

--

You awake to the feeling of Will pressing his teeth into your clavicle—not hard enough to hurt, and likely not anywhere near enough to mark. But you groan and wriggle, shoving at his forehead all the same. He just presses his body more tightly to yours, hands slipping down to grasp and pin your hips.

You scrub your eyes sleepily, smiling as Will's tongue laves to irritated skin. He rests his chin against your shoulder, the brush of his beard just on the edge of tickling you. You reach up, gently raking your nails against his scalp.

"You stayed."

He doesn't nod, or him, or shrug. He just watches, and waits. And you can handle silence, you can. You'll wait him out.

You manage all of ten seconds before it gets to you.

"...How long have you been back in town?"

"A few hours."

Hours? You'd been expecting him to say days, weeks—

"When did you—?"

"Around nine."

Nine. You'd been dropped off around nine. If Will was being honest, it meant that he'd driven right to yours. You avert your gaze, fighting to keep your composure in the face of Will's steady focus.

"Oh?"

"Mm." One of his hands smooths up and over your thigh, fingers swirling in aimless patterns. "Who was he?"

You're unable to stop or hide your wince, and you pull yourself out from under him as your tangle of feelings flare. He lets you up, and sits up himself. You can feel the close watch that he keeps on you as you grab your bathrobe, tugging it on and tying it more tightly than necessary.

"Well?" He prods after a moment.

"Just a guy I've been seeing."

"How many times?"

"A couple."

"Serious?"

"The hell does that matter?" You scoff. Will remains steady in the face of your irritation, just watching you move around your room, picking up your discarded clothing. You lay his pants on the bed, and he gamely catches his underwear and shirt when you throw them at him. He stands, pulls the underwear on, but doesn't bother with anything else.

"You wouldn't have let me in if it was," He argues. You shake your head, your protestation clogging up your throat. You both know he's right on that point, there's no point quibbling.

"Was your first choice unavailable?" You grumble.

"Excuse me?"

"I've been told you have your eye on someone." You don't dare look at him as the quiet fills the room, and stretches to suffocating as you wait for Will's answer.

"...Yeah," He confirms. And it's like it's 6:02 in your entryway all over again. Tears prickle in your eyes, and your stomach churns with upset. But you just nod, raising your hand to pinch the bridge of your nose and steady yourself again.

"So?" You press. "Why aren't you wherever she is?"

"I am."

It's spoken deceptively softly, so quietly that you nearly miss it the same time. You shake your head, trying to make sense of the words over the blood pounding in your ears.

"Excuse me?"

You register the slight creak of the floorboards as Will stands, the soft padding of his feet as he gets closer. He takes hold of your wrist, drawing it back from your face as he gently grasps your chin with his other hand.

"I just got back into town and I came right here," He murmurs.

"For a bootycall."

"To ask you out...And yeah, for a bootycall."

His warm smile widens as you sputter a disbelieving laugh, the force of it pushing a few waiting tears from your eyes. Will reaches up, gently smoothing the drops away before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I should've said something sooner. That is," He dips his head to meet your eyes, "If this is something that you want."

You huff, reaching up and dabbing irritatedly at your eyes with the sleeve of your bathrobe.

"Can we just be clear about what this is?" You sniffle.

"Dating, for a start."

"A start?"

"Mhm. I'm happy to take it slow, considering how quickly other areas have accelerated."

You consider him for a few moments—the heat of him, the steadiness. He stayed. Will Miller fell asleep in your bed, in your fucking arms. He came to your first.

Your eyes stray to his shoulder, to the slight mark left behind by your teeth the night before. You reach up, skimming your fingertip over it.

"Sorry," You mumble.

"S'okay," He soothes, smoothing his hands over your hips and drawing you closer. "So?"

"Okay."

"Can we just be clear about what you're saying 'okay' to?"

You do your best to shoot him a disapproving glare, but you can't help the smile beginning to twist your lips.

"Okay," You lean into it. "I would like to date. For a start."

Tag list: @missredherring​ ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​ ;�� @paintballkid711​ ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ​;

@recklessworry ; @amneris21​ ; @ew-erin​ ; @youngkenobilove​ ; @carbonated-beverage​​​​ ;

@lorecraft ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​​ ; @kmc1989

@videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter​ ; @thembosapphicclown​ ; @brandyllyn ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce

[rayslittlekitten]

Days of Fine Wine and Roses

Main Masterlist “Dad Will” Masterlist

A/N: Feels like it's been ten thousand years since I started this (probably some time last year, or even the year before), but it's finally done! 😭 It all started because I wanted a dance with Will. I'll spare the excess commentary. Thank you so much to @carni-val and @lovebarefootblonde for beta reading! Banners by @spaghettificationandpretzels. Hope you enjoy and thank you all for being so patient! 🙏 😘

Rating: E (18+ ONLY PLEASE)

Word Count: 5,150

Pairings: Dad!Will "Ironhead" Miller x Wife F!Reader

Summary: With Lucy going off to college soon, a spontaneous date night gives you a snapshot of what yours and Will's life could look like with having more time for each other.

Contains: sex (PiV), oral sex (M receiving), flirting/bantering, aging, sugary sweet fluff, Will finding reader irresistible, Will still being self-conscious about getting older (I think that's it?)

When Will and Lucy made up after DisneyGate, he lessened her punishment so this weekend she's away with her friends to enjoy their time together before they go off to college, which leaves the house to just the two of you.

"Hey, you know what we haven't done in a while?" you ask Will after plopping down next to him on the couch where he's on his laptop with his reading glasses perched adoringly on his slim nose.

"Make brownies," he quickly answers without looking away from his screen.

"Yes, but no," you giggle. 

“Stop by Astrid’s,” he quickly guesses again, still focused on his laptop, clicking and typing away.

“Oh my God, you and your sweets!” You nudge your shoulder against his, your reaction pulling a small smug smirk from Will.

“We haven't gone on a date in a while.” You loop an arm through his and snuggle against him.

"You want to be wined and dined?" He asks, bringing his arm up and behind you while pushing his glasses up on top of his head with his other hand to look over at you.

“I want us to have a nice night to ourselves.” 

"You don't have a nice night with me every night?" he teases. 

"You know what I mean!" you nudge him again. His smirk widens into a smile.

"How about we try that uh… oh! I've got an idea!" A light bulb goes off in his head. "There's like, this social media trend of couples making plans by blindly making choices," Will starts to explain as he closes his laptop. "For example, I'll write on two separate pieces of paper, say two different restaurants and you pick one without knowing what I have written on either, and we go to the one you picked."

"Okay, that sounds fun, but since when have you kept up with trends on social media? You don't even have social media," you say with a raised brow.

"Lucy showed a bunch to me the other day, but the cutest one was with a puppy choosing which outfit it was going to wear."

"Hm, I think it would be fun to pick out each other's outfits," you tell him, suddenly intrigued by this idea.

"Alright, how about this? We throw a couple of restaurants in a hat and we randomly pick one. Leave that to probability," he suggests. "But we each get to personally pick out what the other person wears. How does that sound?"

"Hmm..." you pretend to ponder. "Okay!"

***

After the luck of the draw of picking a bistro you haven't been to in a while, the next step is to figure out what to wear. The two of you take a peek at each other's wardrobe options after a long, refreshing shower where Will decided to join you.

“The navy blue suit? Really?”

“You look handsome in any color but this one really brings out your eyes,” you tell him. “But most of all, I love how your butt looks in it.” You smirk and give his behind a squeeze.

"Do I have to wear a tie?" he whines.

You nod.

“Fine," he submits. "Well, I haven’t seen you in this sexy number in a while.”

Will pulls out a dress from the back of your closet and presents it to you.

“Because I never have a reason to wear it.” You look at the bold red slinky dress with an open back as you walk towards It. “I can’t even remember the last time I wore this. Might’ve been Fish’s wedding. Don’t you think this is a little over the top for where we're going?”

"I'm wearing a suit and tie. I don't think you'll be the only one overdressed."

"Okay, that's fair."

As the two of you start getting dressed in front of each other, you notice Will watching you. You slip into your dress, hoping you still fit into it. The fabric snugs over your curves and contours in all the right places. The zipper in the back is low enough for you to pull on your own but Will helps you with it anyways. When he comes up behind you, you feel the heat of his body radiating against your bare back. He gently puts his palm on your lower back for a moment before sliding it down to the bottom of the zipper, holding it down while pulling the zipper up.

You expect him to walk away to finish getting dressed but instead, you feel him pressing his lips against your shoulder and neck as his hands knead your waist.

“Babe,” you giggle. “This is why I never wear this dress. Because we’ll never leave the house.”

“If my shirt wasn’t already tucked in, I’d take you right now, just like this.” He continues kissing and nipping at your skin as his hands continue to explore your body, drawing a moan out of you.

"Now I remember why I don't like you wearing this out. I wanna show you off, but at the same time I don't want anyone looking at you the way I'm looking at you now."

His eyes rake over your body in the mirror.

“You’re like this gorgeous rose I just wanna ruin,” he growls.

"Well, know that you're the only one I'm going home with."

Turning around, you and Will steal glances at each other as you help him finish buttoning up his shirt for him and adjust his collar.

"I think that gray tie you have with the stripes will go well with the suit. It'll also compliment my dress."

"You don't think it'll also bring out my grays?" He asks, pointing to his head.

"Maybe, but trust me, it's a good thing. I've never wanted you more than I do now," you reach up and affectionately finger his graying sideburns. "And you’re probably gonna have other women wanting you to take them home with you as well," you chuckle.

"Even if I wanted to do that, I can barely handle you in bed. I don't need to add another woman in the mix," he replies.

"Uh huh," you smirk. “Sure.”

"Besides, she's just gonna be watching because all my attention would be on you," he says as he pulls you in against his body.

"Or you would be watching. How about that?" you tease.

"Nah ah. I'm too greedy.” He shakes his head. “I don't want anyone pleasuring you but me."

"Most guys would jump on that opportunity," you say, taken aback by his response.

"Well, I'm not most guys," he points out before leaning in to kiss you, but you pull back.

"We should get out of here or we'll never make it to dinner."

"Why don't we just skip to dessert first?" His nose nudges against yours as his hands slide down to your ass.

"You mean the chocolate lava cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream that I know you're gonna get?" you tease.

"You know what I mean."

"Already? Was shower sex not enough to hold you through until after dinner?"

"Seeing you in this dress got me all excited again." He tries to kiss you again but you dodge him.

"Nah ah," you shake your head.

"Not even a kiss?" His eyebrows shoot up to his graying hairline.

You stare at him for a few moments with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth until you finally press your lips against his. He wraps his arms around your waist and presses your body against his as he deepens the kiss. You can feel a bulge poking you, making you giggle. You pull back, breaking the kiss and leaving you both breathless.

"Now go put on a tie while I throw on some make up and fix my hair," you tell him.

"Yes, ma'am!"

***

You weren't expecting live music, as the many times you've dined there, there never was. It's been a while and they've updated the place, adding a dedicated space for live entertainment for evening service and a Frank Sinatra cover band is setting the mood of the room. During dinner, you find yourselves being very touchy with each other. You toe at his ankle underneath his slacks and his hand caresses yours. Flirty eyes dart back and forth as you banter in innuendos. It's like when you first started dating over two decades ago. You're both falling in love with each other all over again, except with someone different. He's no longer a potential partner; he's your husband, father of your daughter and your best friend. At the core, he's still who you first fell in love with, but he's so much more now. He’s the man you've built a life with, who has walked beside you for the last twenty years of marriage. With Lucy going away for college, this feels like a preview of what your marriage could be like having all this sudden free time, getting to re-discover each other together.

“Mm, that is good, but not as good as mine,” Will reacts after you feed him a spoonful of your tiramisu.

"What is it?" he asks after catching you glancing at him.

"Hm?" you hum.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I can't look at my handsome husband?" you ask with a mischievous smirk.

"You mean your old and graying husband?" he jokes.

"You're still handsome," you tell him. "Maybe even more so now than when we first met."

"Oh yeah? How so?" he questions, indulging you.

"You're like fine wine. As you age, the tastier you get." You bite into your lower lip.

"Is that so?" He leans in with his elbows on the table, intrigued by your analysis.

“You’re in your prime. You’re older, but wiser. You see graying hair and wrinkles, but I see experience and maturity. I mean, your charm and personality also adds to it," you reply. "Fatherhood probably has something to do with it too, but in a way that gets me all hot and bothered.”

"Your opinion is biased because you're married to me and I'm your child's father," he points out.

"Why don't we go ask the young hostess? She was totally giving you googly eyes when we walked in," you challenge.

"What? No, she wasn't! She was just being friendly and courteous. It's her job."

"Babe, you're so adorably oblivious sometimes. She totally was! She never once made eye contact with me, only addressed you the whole time with a goofy smile - the same one you gave me when we first met."

"Hi! How were your desserts?" Your waiter comes over to check on you.

"They were delicious!" Will pulls back from the table as the waiter takes the empty plates.

"Yes, they were," you agree.

"Anything else I can get for you?" the waiter asks.

“No, we are good. I think we're just going to finish our coffee. Thank you!"

"Sure, here is the check whenever you're ready. Take your time, enjoy the music!”

"Your handsome husband also can't read small letters," Will adds as he pulls out his reading glasses and then perches them on his face for a second to look at the bill.

As quickly as he had put them on, he pulls them off and places his credit card with the bill. The cover band starts playing "Fly Me To The Moon". Will suddenly stands up and offers his hand.

"Care to dance with this tall bottle of fine wine?"

"Where are we going to dance?" you ask, glancing around at the other tables surrounding you.

"We can do it right here. We're not gonna bother anyone. There's enough space for us."

You finally take his hand and he leads you to the space beside the table. With one hand on your waist and the other holding your hand up, he starts slowly swaying. Your other hand rests on his broad shoulder.

"I wined and dined you and wanna give you a dance too," he tells you, pulling you in closer to him.

"Yeah, we haven't danced in a while," you realize.

He senses your hesitance as you're dancing a bit stiff and still glancing around.

"Don't worry about those other people. Let them watch,” he whispers. “I want everyone in this restaurant to know how much I love and adore my wife.”

He leans in and rests his forehead against yours. You let out a chuckle. Feeling a bit more relaxed, you're finally enjoying this intimate moment.

"In other words...I love you," Will sings along.

When the song ends, there's a round of applause. Will nudges the tip of his nose at yours before giving you a small peck on your lips.

"Give it up for this beautiful couple!" the singer announces and the applause gets louder.

After settling the bill, as the two of you make your way to the front door, Will notices you lingering behind.

"Are you okay? Are your heels bothering you?" he asks, pausing to wait for you to catch up.

"No. I just like watching you walk away." You flash him a wide smile and a corner of his lips turn up as well.

He offers you his elbow when you finally reach him, which you take, but not before quickly grabbing a handful of his butt. When you finally reach the entrance, the hostess thanks you for coming and hopes you had a great experience.

"We sure did. My beautiful wife here thought the tiramisu was to die for, wasn't it, sweetheart?" He turns to you, giving you that goofy grin you had mentioned to him earlier.

"Yes, it was amazing," you confirm. "We will definitely come back again."

"Anything you want," he adds.

"Are you okay to drive?" you whisper, looking at him suspiciously. "You only had one drink."

"I'm drunk on you," he replies, his eyes never leaving you.

You roll your eyes at his silly antics and turn to the hostess to wish her a good night, which Will also does before you whisk him out to the restaurant.

***

When you finally arrive home, you kick off your heels and groan, feeling the relief. As you bend down to pick them up, Will stops you.

"I got them, babe," he says as he loosens his tie and finally releases himself from the constriction.

“Why, thank you!"

He bends down to grab them for you as you start walking up the stairs. His eyes follow you before his body does, enjoying the view as you ascend. Before both of your feet can touch down inside the bedroom, your husband is already all over you.

"Babe!"

You squeal as he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls your back against the front of his body, groaning while he presses his crotch against your ass. He tosses your shoes into a corner while latching his mouth onto your neck.

"Mm," you purr. "You complain about getting old and gray, but your sex drive is still that of a teenager," you giggle.

"We've talked about this. You're my Viagra," he replies and gently bites your neck.

You reach back between the two of you and palm his crotch, feeling him starting to engorge. He moans into your neck, sucking harder, in turn making you slip out a moan as well. Your other hand creeps up to the back of his neck, fingering his blondes and grays at the nape. His palm glides up from your waist to one of your breasts, giving it a healthy squeeze. Sighing, your back arches and you cup his bulge, giving it a gentle tug. He moans against your skin and sinks his teeth into you. Your bottom lip finds its way between your own teeth while also eliciting a pleasurable sound.

Wanting to take control, you find the willpower to pull away from his touch. Whipping around to face him, you grab the edges of his shirt collar and pull him closer to you, smashing your painted lips against his. His hands snake from your waist to your lower back, pressing your body against his as he deepens the kiss, almost continuing where you left off earlier. You gently guide him to the bed until the edge hits the back of his knees, causing him to fall back.

You hike your dress up so you can climb over him and straddle him. Starting on his neck, you suck and kiss on his delicate flesh, leaving light pink marks. You then start unbuttoning his shirt, taking your time with it. As each button gets undone and his chest gets revealed, you place a soft kiss on his smooth skin. You give some extra attention to his scars as you come across each of them. He's always been self conscious of them, but you always tell him you like how it reminds you how rugged he can be. There have been times you've imagined what it could have been like to have met Will while he was still in the military, thinking about your man in uniform.

The scars are also reminders of how far he's come, his life experiences marked on his body. He's told you how he earned each and every one of them. Some are from protecting the country, some are a result of being careless as both a man and boy, and then there's the most recent one still so prominent on his lower abs. It's been so long, but he's got a constant reminder of one of the things that haunt him the most. You give it a tender kiss before continuing down his body.

When you reach his belt, you tug on his shirt until it gets untucked. Will looks down at you as you continue making your way down to undress him. He takes in an audible sharp breath and his abs tighten when you brush your lips on it. You look up at him and keep eye contact as you lower yourself, following his faint blonde trail until your knees touch the floor.

"Babe, wait."

Will quickly grabs a pillow and places it on the floor in front of you.

"I don't want you to hurt your knees," he tells you.

"Always so considerate, even when it comes to getting a blowjob," you chuckle.

"I always want you to be comfortable, especially when you're giving me a blowjob."

The pad of his thumb brushes against your cheek.

You reach for his belt and slide the leather out of the buckle. You can feel his erection growing as it brushes up against your palms. Once you have his fly undone, you grab the top of his pants and boxer briefs, gently but firmly pulling them down. He tilts his hips up and his thick cock springs out. Will groans when you give attention to the creases where his leg and crotch meets, kissing and licking the delicate spots, causing his cock to twitch. When you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, you run the tip of your tongue from the bottom to the top of his shaft. His blue eyes twinkle as he watches you kiss and lick him up and down.

"God, you're so fucking sexy," he growls. “How did I get so lucky?”

He cups your cheek as you take him into your mouth, making him hiss. Satisfied with his reaction, you're encouraged to go deeper. You relax your throat and push down further until you feel your gag reflex a hair trigger away from bringing your dinner back up.

"You don't have to do that, babe," he says, sensing your hesitance. "I appreciate you trying though."

You keep eye contact as you continue to suck on him, hollowing out your cheeks when you pull back. Will takes in a sharp breath watching himself disappear deep into your warm and wet mouth again until he taps the back of your throat. He fists your hair and grunts.

“Fuck,” he whispers. "Baby, you keep this up, I'm going to cum in your mouth.”

Taking that as a sign of encouragement, you move up and down on him, sliding him in and out between your lips.

"You want that, don't you?" he teases.

You pull his cock out of your mouth with a pop and slurp up the drool that dribbles down your bottom lip and corners of your mouth.

"It has been a while, huh?” you ask while licking him like a lollipop.

“You really want me to cum in your mouth?” He asks genuinely after studying your face for a moment, thumbing the apple of your cheek.

“Hm…” You take a moment to consider it. “Nah ah, I’m not done with you yet.”

You start to pull the rest of his bottoms down until they’re down to his ankles.

“Scoot back,” you command as you slip his trousers and boxers off his feet, leaving him in his dress shirt and crew socks.

As he follows your instructions, you stand up from between his legs and hike up your dress. You then crawl over him, straddling him again along the way, and lean down to kiss him. He eagerly kisses back as his hands grip your hips and then slide back to your ass.

As you continue to make out, Will’s hands move further down, teasing the hem of your dress until he slips his hands up under. He pushes the dress up as his palms press into your skin until he finds your ass again, this time bare and giving it a big squeeze. You grind down on him as his hips thrusts up, rubbing your covered slit against his hard cock.

Will’s fingers find their way between your legs, making you twitch when he lands on your wet opening beneath the thin fabric. He teases you, rubbing slow small circles, coaxing out your arousal. You moan into his mouth when you feel his fingers putting gentle pressure, threatening to penetrate you. Your hips start rolling, wanting more, but he just proceeds to tease you.

You continue to rock against him, but break the kiss. With noses touching, you gaze into his eyes, intentionally dragging your damp panties up and down his length. A sudden gasp escapes you when Will plunges his middle finger inside you. You bite your lower lip and push back as he pumps into you.

Taking back control, you reach down and lightly run your fingernails along his hard cock.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby,” he pants. His lust-filled eyes turn darker as you wrap your fingers around him and stroke.

Will dips another finger in as he thrusts into your hand. You stifle a moan and after a few moments, finally end the torture. Hopping off of him once more, you do a quick strip tease, unzipping your dress first and then pulling down the straps off your shoulders before shimmying out of it, letting it pool at your feet. The whole time you are amused by your husband who is watching while jerking himself. Tonight you wanted to make it all about him and to boost his ego, but somehow he always manages to boost yours even in the smallest ways.

Since he’s enjoying the show, you take your time stripping off your lingerie set. You turn around to show your backside and then unhook your bra. Coyly looking over your shoulder, you pull your bra off and toss it aside. With your arms crossed over your breasts, you turn to face him again. You release your arms, letting your breasts hang freely, to finally slide your thong off your hips and letting them fall to the floor.

Returning to the position you were before, you straddle him and grab his rock hard erection, guiding it to your aching pussy. You rub the tip against your dripping opening, coating it with your lubrication.

“Babe…” Will croaks.

When you’re ready, you finally sink down onto him and he lets out a guttural moan, your own voice joining his as he fills you up. With your palms on his chest, you start moving up and down, riding him slowly at first to get adjusted. You then bear down, sitting as deep as you can. You stay still to really soak in the fullness as he stretches you out, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix, drawing another guttural noise from the back of Will’s throat.

“I can stay like this forever,” you groan.

After getting accustomed to his size, you start moving up and down again, but only giving him short strokes, teasing just the tip. Will’s shaky breath hitches. You watch him as you continue the torture, seeing how he reacts to every move. Feeling yourself clench from all that teasing, you sink down further again, deep down, letting him stretch you out in all directions. Will reaches for your breasts and massages them while teasing your nipples, making your hips twitch.

“Mm, you feel so good,” you tell him.

You then start rocking back and forth, feeling it out and finding the perfect position and rhythm. It doesn’t take long for you to do as you’ve done this probably literally hundreds of times. Your hips move a little quicker, but not quite enough. Drawing out the tease, you move up and down on him, only letting the head penetrate you before sinking down all the way again, repeating the movements.

Getting impatient, Will grips your hips and keeps you still after you envelope him again, and thrusts up to push himself even deeper. Bracing yourself on his chest feeling his muscles flex under your palms, you let him take over for a bit. He pounds into you from beneath, with so much force you’re practically bouncing on his lap. You help him out by rocking against him. His hands glide behind you and he squeezes your ass, pumping up inside of you.

When he bottoms out, you take the reins again, repositioning yourself so you’re squatting over him. It’s one of his favorite views, watching you spread open for him as he disappears inside you. You slip him back inside and place your hands on his chest for support. Slowly at first, you start bouncing on him. As you pick up speed, you’re quickly reminded your knees aren’t what they used to be.

“Okay, this might’ve been a bad idea,” you laugh as you shift your weight behind you to ease the pressure on your knees and balance yourself.

“I got you, baby.”

Will grips the bottom of your thighs to assist you in dismounting him, but finding yourself in this new sexy position, you start carefully bouncing on him again with your weight mostly on your hips and arms, and with Will’s help, it’s effortless. From the twinkles in his eyes, you can see how mesmerized he is by what’s in front of him.

His hand wanders between your legs and his thumb brushes over your clit, spreading your arousal all around and making your elevated hips stutter. You are getting slicker as your orgasm starts quickly building.

“Mm, look at you, my sexy little mama.”

There he goes again with the ego stroking. You start moving a little faster and Will matches your rhythm, getting his second wind and thrusting up again. In the midst of the excitement, he slips out of you and you nearly crush his cock and balls.

“Whoopsie!”

“Are you okay?” he chuckles.

You nod and attempt to reposition yourself.

“Come here.”

He offers you his hands and you take them. He pulls you up towards him so you’re properly straddling him again with your knees planted on each side of his torso as your body prefers. After pulling you against his chest and stealing a kiss from you, he flips you onto your back and then practically tears his shirt off, tossing it on the floor. He props himself with his tattooed forearms, each of them on either side of your head. His head dips down to latch onto the side of your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. He then makes his way down and pulls one of your nipples between his teeth, gently tugging on it and swirling his tongue around it.

You sigh as you gyrate against him. His attention turns to the other one, but only briefly. His knees spread your legs wider as he settles in the space, reaching down to align his cock with your opening. He shoves himself deep into you and you grab onto his broad shoulders as he drives into you over and over again. Your gut gets tighter with each stroke so you wrap your legs around his waist and start moving with him.

"You know, you keep complaining you’re getting older, but you sure don't fuck like you are,” you compliment.

Feeling encouraged, he hooks his elbows behind your knees and nearly folds you in half. The new position forces you to release his shoulders and allows him to penetrate you even deeper. Your eyes roll back when he hits your g-spot.

"I still can't believe you're my wife sometimes, even after all these years,” Will tells you, then leans down to capture your lips, slowing his hips for a moment to really savor the kiss.

He picks up the pace and slams into you with purpose. You clench up and instinctively find his hands which are planted beside your head. A few of your fingers hook onto his and you hold on as you chase your release.

“Come on, baby. I know you’re getting close.”

You start to unravel as he continues to pound into you. A cry shoots out of you and one leaves Will shortly after as you both come together. He doesn’t stop moving against you until your orgasms subside, slowing down to a halt.

He collapses on top of you to catch his breath. After a minute or so, he leaves a tender kiss on your forehead before rolling off of you. You turn to him to lay on his chest and he wraps an arm around you. The two of you remain silent as you let your hearts come back down to resting rate.

“You know, there is one thing I do enjoy about growing older,” he starts as his fingers caress your spine.

“Oh yeah? What?” You ask, cuddling against his chest.

“That I’m doing it with you.”

He looks down at you to meet your rolling eyes, but your already glowing face brightens up even more.

“We should implement a date night every Friday. How does that sound?” He asks.

“That sounds wonderful,” you answer with a wide lazy grin.

“I love you so much.”

Before you can respond, Will cranes his neck and lays a passionate kiss on you while pulling you in closer to his body where you remain to have a lazy post-bliss make out session.

[ravennaortiz]

This was so hot and beautifully written! 🔥🥵💜

Thirsty for What?

A/N: Here’s the next fic for my Dirty Little Secret series!! 😋 Based on the below request in which you walk in on Will Miller jerking off and can’t help but watch — then of course you get caught…

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, you walk in on Will jacking off and just gawk at his cock Request: This Dirty Little Secret request (anon)

Word Count: ~2.1k

Note: As explained in this post, this ‘Dirty Little Secret’ series consists of fics that I had originally written on another platform for another fandom (the secret is out now that it was Dean Winchester) and am now repurposing to be about Charlie characters! Sooo the setup here is you being like a ‘little sister’ (*non-biological*) to the Winchesters and living with them in their bunker… it doesn’t make as much sense in the context of Triple Frontier, but whatever, just imagine that kind of setup with the Miller brothers 🙂

“Will!” you call out his name down the hall.

You know that he can hear you through the walls. But he’s been carelessly ignoring all the noise, so you’ve been forced to raise your voice, up to the volume of a scream straight from a monster movie scene. Only fitting, given what a monster he’s been, sneaking into your room to steal one of your favorite things.

You’re so furious you could kill. “Will!”

It’s the same name that you often scream, in your dirtiest dreams… but in those filthy fantasies, he’s quite a different kind of beast. And that’s all they will ever be—just fantasies. Will sees you as a little sister, a lifelong friend of the Millers. You’ve accepted that reality.

And that’s the way that you two always fight and bicker: like two siblings who can’t stand each other. The fucker must be in his bedroom, you figure. You storm off in that direction, fuming at him for having stolen the last bottle of your favorite liquor. Perhaps not stolen strictly speaking—in all the years that you’ve been living with your non-biological big brothers, you and Will have been sharing almost everything. What’s yours is his. But still, he knows you love that drink. So you are fucking pissed. 

You reach his door; it’s closed of course. You slam against it with your fists and shout his name, a couple times again. No answer. Goddamn ironheaded bastard. Through the door, you feel his presence though he won’t acknowledge yours.

So you knock once more… then push it open. Maybe he’s sleeping, you’re hoping. Then you can creep in, and take back what he’s stolen.

But no such luck. It’s not even that late, and Will is very much awake. One word slips off your breathless lips as you peek through the doorway and lay eyes upon him in his current state—the sight too much to take—running you over like a truck. “…fuck.”

Keep reading

[navybrat817]

Puppy Dog Eyes

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Will feels betrayed by someone he thought was his ally.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, talk of threats and interrogation, slight feels (it's me, okay?), William Miller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by this post @ghotifishreads tagged me in. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Will counted the seconds in his mind as he stared his adversary down. Someone he should've considered an ally. Maybe even a friend. But now? He didn't recognize the beast in front of him.

He was used to people playing dirty behind enemy lines, but this? Betrayal in familiar territory? The sting was like a bullet to the gut.

“Before you test my resolve, I want you to know that I have forty three confirmed kills.”

A huff was the only reply he got.

Crouching down so he was at eye level, he huffed, too. His enemy was much smaller in size, but looks could be deceiving. “Now, I’m not going to hurt you. It wouldn't do either of us any good,” he said, tapping a finger against his thigh. “I just want to know why.”

He didn't get an answer. Only a defiant stare. The silent treatment. That was fine. Nothing he hadn't faced before. He had ways to make enemies talk if it came to that. And the puppy dog eyes wouldn't garner sympathy from him.

Battle had hardened him too much for that.

Shut down. Control. Manipulate. That’s what he did with his human instincts until he completed his mission.

Will continued the staring contest until the smaller one whined. It wasn't an answer, but it was a start. “You made this personal, you know. And I’ll throw you out in the rain if you push your luck,” he threatened, tilting his head to maintain eye contact. “No. You don't get to look away. Not after what you did. After I took you into my home.”

And how did he repay him?

“Honey?”

Your voice pulled Will’s attention away from the task at hand. “Yeah, baby?”

You leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at your kissable lips. “Are you interrogating Bandit?”

Bandit, the puppy Benny got weeks ago. The puppy you offered to watch since his brother was going out of town for a few days and he didn't want to board him. The same little rascal who chewed up a pair of tennis shoes. New tennis shoes.

And hadn't touched a single one of his chew toys.

Will nodded to his ruined shoes. “You saw what he did.”

“I did and I'm sorry,” you said, though you had no reason to apologize. It wasn't like you chewed them up. “He’s a puppy and they’re going to do those kinds of things from time to time. Is it really worthy of an interrogation?”

“Yes, it is.” Bandit swung his head toward you and whimpered. “No, don’t you-”

“Aww. Is the former Captain bothering you?” You walked over and scooped him into your arms. The light golden puppy snuggled close, but looked at Will like he was taunting him. You had a soft spot for dogs and Bandit sensed that. Used it to his advantage.

“Taking his side?”

“I’m always on your side, Will,” you said, softening his resolve. “Now, Bandit, you know you aren't supposed to do that. Play with your toys, not shoes. Okay?”

Bandit barked. He actually barked for you. How did you do that?

“And apologize to Will,” you urged.

He barked again.

“Good boy,” you smiled as Will stood up and crossed his arms. “And don't worry, we won't throw you out in the rain.”

“I still might just to teach him a lesson,” Will half teased. “Or I can just put him in his cage.”

Bandit whined and hid his face. “Don’t you dare. He’s a puppy, not a soldier. And you were happy with watching him until now. Besides, he said he was sorry,” you said, giving Will your own set of puppy dog eyes.

You had a point. Bandit was a pretty well-behaved puppy, all things considered. He didn't bite. Didn't make a mess when he ate. Went to the door when he had to go outside. And he seemed content to sleep in his dog bed and didn't demand to sleep with the two of you.

“Fine. No cage,” he relented.

“Thank you. And I’m sure Benny will buy you a new pair of shoes once he gets back,” you added.

“Maybe,” he said. He wouldn't hold his breath to get new shoes or money for the damage done. He may be Benny’s big brother, but Benny adored his puppy and would likely blame him for leaving them out in the first place. He had a routine though. He put his shoes in the same spot after he exercised.

To be fair, he should've been more careful. He would be in the future. If anything, he could try to see the positive side of things and use this as a learning experience. That's what you tried to do when you ran into unfortunate situations.

“Is it a bad time to suggest we get our own puppy?” You asked, smiling as you lifted Bandit up higher and put his cheek against yours. “Chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice.”

Dogs did make for great companions. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't pictured the two of you having a kid and a dog for them to grow up with. Someone who would be a friend to and watch over his child.

“What do you think?” You smiled when he stayed quiet for too long.

He softly smiled. Most people couldn't sway him to do anything, but you had a way about you. Maybe it was because he loved you. “I’ll think about it.”

You put Bandit down before you leaned in and brushed your lips against Will’s. “Thank you.”

He went in for another kiss, but stopped when the words fully registered. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you say scratched up couch?”

“...Did I say that? I don't recall.”

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he told you.

You put a hand over your heart. “That is so romantic.”

“And you said ‘chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice’, so what exactly did he do to our couch?”

Your eyes widened as you took a step back. “Run, Bandit!”

And he did.

I couldn't help myself. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2024 / Day Thirteen

PREGNANCY / AFTERCARE / ROLEPLAY (@absurdthirst)

Starring: William ‘Ironhead’ Miller x F!Reader

Summary: After making you cum multiple times and then doing the thing you thought he was joking about, Will is going to make it up to you.

Rating: Fluff

Warnings: No use of Y/N, one swear, fingering, mentions of sex and squirting, Will being a softie.

Word Count: 1.7k

Will wasn’t one to panic and it wasn’t that he was panicking, he was just concerned, deeply concerned.

He’d admit, he’d probably gone a little hard on you… scrap that he went hard. He couldn’t help himself, with all of the talks he was doing for the military, it felt like years since he’d last seen you even when you’d told him it was a month tops. All that time, he had been thinking about you day in, day out, and all the things he’d do to you when he got back.

He just didn’t think he’d do them all at once.

Date night was like any other for the pair of you. Will was his calm and collected self, you were excited to finally have him home, to be holding his broad hand as you walked down the street to the restaurant he’d booked.

The whole way through dinner when he became playful. You were practically playing footsie with him under the table and if you were distracted by anything other that wasn’t him, his fingertips would come to any piece of skin he could touch.

It was unusual but you couldn't complain.

His hands were already on you the moment you stepped through the door. He pulled your body to his, his platinum whiskers tickling your neck as he nuzzled in. The warmth of his palms sunk through your clothes, goosebumps already raising to the surface of your skin. You spun on your heels, allowing him to wrap his arms around you.

“Will,” your words were soft.

But he was immediately grabbing your ass under your skirt, boosting you onto the cabinet in the hallway. He placed you gently onto the wood before he turned rough, pressing his lips squarely into yours until you couldn’t breathe.

Your desire travelled down, your juices pooling between your thighs and it’s as if he could sense it. He pressed two fingers directly on your clit, catching the whimper that escaped in his hot mouth.

With his free hand, he yanked your knickers to one side and dipped a finger into your entrance. He worked you until you could take another and then another until your arousal spilled over his digits and your body vibrated.

He didn’t stop there.

Carrying you to the bedroom, he threw you onto the mattress and continued to bring you to orgasm over and over using his fingers, his tongue and his cock.

And that’s how you got to where you were now.

You were motionless, every limb heavy and the only way he could tell you were definitely alive was through your short shallow breathing.

“Baby…”

The stroke on your back sent a shiver down your spine.

“You alright?”

Your groan is muffled by the soft bedding underneath your weight, each stroke of his hand making your body tingle until the aftershock came. He saw how your thighs shook and flinched back, heart twinging.

He was worried about you.

“I’m gonna get some supplies.”

He’s pretty sure you nodded.

The mattress rocked as he got off the bed, the sound of him finding some sweatpants and pulling them on before he left the room, his footsteps disappearing.

Everything he had done brought you so much pleasure, your body genuinely filled with warmth and love but fuck, were your muscles protesting. You were too scared to lift up your head, your face remaining pressed into the sheets to stop the room from spinning. Your mind was fuzzy, unable to think of anything more than him.

Yet you couldn’t be angry, he had gotten you to a state of pure, unadulterated bliss you’d never felt before. It was just unfortunate that he’d had to do the thing he thought you were joking about to get you there.

In the kitchen, he assumed you were mad, scrap that you were probably furious.

He assumed you’d have wanted something nice for your first date since he was back, instead some primal instinct consumed him and well, he didn’t think he’d shove his thumb up your asshole either.

But once he had, he didn’t quite expect you to unfurl the way you did.

Your asshole was tender, you squeezed and relaxed it a few times to solidify the discomfort you were feeling. Will had threatened to do it so much in the past, you guessed it would turn you on, just how much you never knew.

When he forced his single digit in there, you didn’t expect your walls to clench so hard, you’d thrust out his cock. Didn’t think you’d squirt all over his lower body uncontrollably, the rest of you convulsing, speaking utter gibberish as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

He tapped his index finger on the countertop whilst the kettle boiled.

The cupboards had been raided for anything and everything and he still doesn’t think it’s enough to make this right. The tray he normally used to serve breakfast in bed was filled with snacks both good and bad for you. He had milk slowly heating on the hob, drinking chocolate in a mug, and was waiting impatiently for water to put in a hot water bottle.

You wondered if he would freak out to find you still laying here so you braved rolling over.

The chilly evening air started to reach your exposed front, the fine hairs beginning to stand, your nipples growing hard yet it was such a relief.

“Thank god, you’re alive.”

You manage to open your eyes, the ceiling holding it’s position.

“You tried to kill me,” you say breathlessly.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve brought something to make it up to you.”

Your head snaps up and he presents the tray to you.

“Yay!”

He notices how you try to raise your arms, they only list a few centimetres but at least you have a smile on your face. Walking around the bed, you follow him, head falling from side to side to watch what he’s doing.

He kisses your forehead, “Just getting the last few things.”

You look near your right foot and gaze upon the abandoned tray, your tongue flicking over your lips. Will has cut the fruit meticulously, dealt sweet treats into little dishes and when you turn your head to the bedside table, there’s a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

Everything just out of your reach.

He reenters the room to your grunting as you struggle to move.

“D’you need some help?”

You flutter your lashes, “Please.”

He chuckles, joining you on the bed, fluffing up the pillows ready for you to rest on. Tucking his hands underneath your armpits, he lifts you up like you weigh nothing, hauling you into position with your accompanying giggle.

Climbing out of bed, he steps towards the puddle of clothes on the floor, plucking his shirt from the pile. He helps you put it on before reaching for the tray and positioning it on your lap, immediately you take a chunk of apple.

“I really am sorry,” he brushes the hair from your face. “I dunno what came over me.”

He places the hot water bottle low, the subtle heat soothing the ache between your legs.

“You don’t have to apologise, it was really good.”

Your mouth salivates as the sharpness of the fruit hits your tastebuds and you smile at him sweetly as you chew.

“Even the thumb?”

You laugh as you swallow, “Even the thumb.”

The weight falls off his shoulders as he wraps an arm over yours. He draws you closer to his frame and you sink in, finding the strength to draw your legs closer, making yourself comfy. His free hand reaches for the remote, switching on the television just for some background noise.

You pick another slice of apple and bring it to his lips, he takes a bite, your finger approaching his mouth. He sucks in the last of the fruit along with your digit, sucking the flavours from it. The temperature rises in your cheeks and you snatch your hand back before swatting him in jest.

“Don’t you start.”

He couldn’t help himself, you made it too easy.

Once you had eaten what you could and downed your hot chocolate, the heat settled into every inch of your body. Will hugged you near, his hand sliding soothingly over your waist, his chest rising and falling in a slowing rhythm.

Your eyes were getting heavier but before you fell asleep, he squeezed you.

“Let me clean this up.”

You didn’t want him to, grumbling in disapproval. You felt his smile in your hair and the he kissed your crown, easing away from you.

Collecting everything, he carried the tray to the kitchen and left it on the side like he’d planned. When he returned to you, you were sitting on your heels, playing with the hem of his shirt over your thighs.

He tipped his head to the side, not saying a word.

“Would you clean me up too?” You ask timidly.

Coming over to you, he holds out a hand. You take it, slipping off the bed and allowing him to escort you to the bathroom.

He fetches a new face towel, running it under hot water as you perch on the edge of the tub. Crouching down, he lifts up one of your legs and places your ankle on his shoulder, his soft blue eyes gazing up at you.

You spread yourself wider, presenting the mess of dried cum, small bruises decorating your inner thighs were he had once bared his teeth.

His touch was gentle, wiping from bottom to top in methodical strokes.

Once finished, he placed your foot on the floor before asking you to turn around. You do so, resting your knees on the tiles, arching your back for him to get a better look. He parts your butt cheeks apart to inspect your puckered hole.

You twitch when you feel two fingers approach, calming down as he rubs cold cream over the area. A light tap comes to your ass after you lean into his touch then came a kiss, featherlight before he got up.

He guides you back to the bed, opening up the covers for you to get in.

Climbing in on the opposite side, Will shuffled closer, his arm draping over your stomach. His hand curled under your ribcage, pulling you into his body. You form your body to fit snuggly into his shape, the heat of his breath seeping into your crown.

He grew heavy, cocooning you into a cosy sense of security, a simple reminder of why you loved having him home.

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 6

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Time's up.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 Additional 🚨: self-harm, suicidal thoughts

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange bedroom besties 🧡 Thank you for your patience, I appreciate you all SO DAMN MUCH. See you in the end note 🧡 @frannyzooey you're a warrior and I'll go all gothic on you: I will keep loving you long after I'm dead, long after I'm gone, long after love ceases to exist. Thank you for your invaluable help 🧡

Word count: 14.5k

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Chapter 6: Never Let Me Go

Benny bends forward with a huff, and drops the bulky card box he’s carrying next to a pyramid of similar boxes, all labelled “LIVING-ROOM” in black Sharpie. It hits the hardwood floor with a loud thud that resonates in the empty room. 

“Fuck me, that’s heavy. Okay. I think that was the last one,” he pants, lifting his baseball cap and wiping his sweat-damp forehead on his shoulder.

“That went fast,” William observes. His brother whips around to face him with a scowl. 

“That’s because you took the bags labelled ‘clothes’ and you let me haul up all those fucking books! Fish, what the fuck do you have so many books for, man?” he adds, as Frankie steps into the room, two solid oak planks propped over his shoulder.

“To read,” Frankie answers absent-mindedly, setting down the wood against a wall.

Silence falls over the small square room as the two brothers exchange another wary glance. Frankie doesn’t notice. He hasn’t noticed much since morning, too focused on the task at hand, too caught up in his head. 

“What’s this for?” Will asks patiently, pointing at the wood. 

“Shelves. For the books. I left the old ones to Lupe.”

“You mean there’s more books over there?” Benny snarls. Will glowers at him, and the younger man pouts, adding in a softer tone, “You know you could save yourself some money and trouble and get shelves from Ikea or somethin’.” 

“Nah, I don’t like these things, they’re full of solvents. You’re just breathing toxic shit. Don’t want that for my kid.”

Don’t want that for Lee. 

Frankie straightens up and takes a quick look around him. The room is small, yes, but luminous. Clean, and well ventilated, which had been selling arguments. The house itself is no frill, a bit soulless even, but functional. There’s a separate dining-room he plans on converting into a playroom for Lua. Maybe a TV room or an office, when she’s older. The kitchen came equipped and is large enough for a table and four chairs. There are two bedrooms upstairs and, most importantly, a spacious basement where he can work wood. 

The front lawn is fine, but the backyard will require a lot of work, the previous owners seemingly having had no interest in tending to it. 

It’s good enough for his kid and him, but will it be good enough for you? 

He assumes you could afford two houses like this one with what you make in a year. He assumes you live downtown, in one of those lanky glass towers that cast their haughty shadow over the harbor. 

He assumes you hate it. 

And maybe you hate it enough to break your cage open and leave. Maybe someday soon, your Russian literature will sit next to his engineering books on those shelves he’s going to build for you. 

“You got more wood like this at the other house?” 

Will’s voice brings him back to the square room. To all the things that remain to be done. To the urgent necessity of furnishing the house so it’s habitable for a two-year-old. A tiny bed with tiny linens, rainbows, stars and suns. Rails to secure the stairs, a shower curtain, drapes and rugs. Safety outlet plug covers. 

And the question he has yet to ask you. 

“Yea, in the garage. But I can take care of it later.”

“No, let’s get to it, buddy. We can wrap up everything today so you don’t have to go back.”

Benny swipes the hem of his Kiss t-shirt over his face and nods, walking toward the front door. Will’s gaze follows his brother’s tall silhouette before it returns to Frankie, steely eyes of blue openly trained on his face. 

The allusion is not lost on Frankie. This house is a mere couple of blocks away from the one he shared with Lupe. He’s not keen on the idea. If it was up to him, if he moved through life alone, he would have already crossed three or four state lines, at the very least. Head north, and maybe west. Closer to his sister. 

But he’s not alone. He’s a father. Living nearby makes the everyday logistics of co-parenting that much easier. Daycare, then school. Family doctor, friends and sleepovers. Lua will be able to walk between her two parents’ homes. That’s not exactly a functioning family, but for now, it’s the best he can provide.  

“I’m doing what I can, here, you know?” Frankie murmurs, dipping his head under the brim of his hat.

“I know. I know you’re doing what’s best for them.”

Will runs a palm over his nape and winces, hand flying to his left flank. 

Frankie has noticed him clutching his side every so often. He can’t tell if it’s pain or remembrance. He’s never encountered anyone with the Millers' capacity to endure physical injuries. Only he knows first hand that guilt-tainted wounds are another deal entirely. 

“You okay there, man?” Frankie frowns.

“Oh yeah. Golden.”

“We can take a break. Finish after lunch. There’s beer in the fridge and–”

“Let’s get to it, Fish,” Will insists, patting Frankie’s arm as he walks past him.

Frankie firmly believes that no one over thirty should ever, under any circumstance, ask their friends to help them move. Which resulted in him calling the Millers on very short notice. He had decided early on to leave all shared belongings to Lupe, thus hadn’t anticipated there would be so many things left to move. It seems to him that, until three years ago, his entire life could fit in a single rucksack.  

When he saw the two brothers stepping out of Will’s truck this morning, it felt as if a formidable weight had been lifted off his chest. He’d woken at the crack of dawn, setting all the bags and boxes on the front lawn, to spare Lupe the ordeal of having his friends trampling all over her carpet. Not that she’d said anything. She’d gotten up shortly after him, preparing a large pot of coffee, placing a fresh box of donuts on the kitchen table.

“You’re a good man, Francisco,” she’d told him back in early April, when he’d asked her if he should move out, if she wanted him to. “And you’re always going to be the father of my child. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. We’re just not a good match, I guess. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he’d said, holding her gaze. “I just– I want you to know I’m sorry. And grateful. I’m grateful for you, Lupe.”

She hadn’t answered. Lupe was made of heavy silences and sharp thoughts. A perceptive gaze in a movie star's face. She’d pushed away from the kitchen counter, and reached out for his shoulder, giving him a strong squeeze. A gesture that meant, you’ll be alright.

He’ll be alright. That much he knows. When he wakes up every morning between sheets that bear your luminous scent, when your mug is drying on the dish rack next to his and when your clothes are hanging in the closet next to his clothes. Then he’ll be alright.

He cannot wait for you to meet his kid. It’s a childlike anticipation, a fantasy, really. The only thought that keeps him going. That enables him to ward off the crippling dread spreading black and murky inside of him. 

When you came back to him with that fresh wound on your forehead, a clock got set off in the back of his head. A distant ticking, at first, stifled by what you hadn’t yet extinguished of his rage and regrets. But every week since, the timer has been growing louder, pulsating faster in his temple like a swollen vein, ominous, threatening, he needs to get you out of there. Out of there, out of your cage, away from this man. 

This pain rooted in his chest whenever he thinks of you, that piercing ache has become a hindrance, he can’t keep a clear mind, that one obsessive thought obstructing everything else, he needs to get you out of there. Keep you by his side, where he can make sure you’re safe. 

Every Saturday morning, when he parts from you, reluctant and exhausted, the fear that you’ll get caught cheating clenches his hands into vengeful fists. 

Cheating is a filthy fucking word that feels all kinds of wrong to describe what you share and everything you mean to him. Bitterly, he remembers how he tried to scare you off, that first night at the motel. Everything he’s done to keep you at arm’s length, letting you believe he belonged to another woman. How he failed and fell hard, beyond the point of no return, how he was doomed to fail from the very first look you exchanged. 

How does he fix it, now? Does he step into the motel next Friday and flat-out ask you to move in with him? No preamble, no casual dating, none of that bullshit? Would you get scared? Would you trust him? Would you laugh in his face, reject what he’s offering? Does he get you into the truck and drive away with you into the sunset, like he’s dreamed of doing since the first time he took you for a ride, five months ago? 

Will you forgive him? You’ve trusted him so far. Can he push it a little further?  

How much more time can he afford to waste, before your safety is seriously at stake? 

He needs to get you out of there.

—

There’s a latch on the left side of the window frame, concealed in the sleek aluminum panel. It’s difficult to find, to say the least. Purposely, you suppose. 

The pads of your fingers run over the cool metal until you feel a tiny groove in the flat surface. With a satisfied hum, you slide a fingernail into the ridge and lever it up. It’s thin and sharp and it bites into the soft flesh of your thumb. 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to open the windows?” Adrian’s voice comes in from behind you, and you whip around like a cartoon thief caught red-handed, catching your balance with the flat of your palm on the glass panel. “There’s no need for it. And It messes up the thermostat.”

His tone is reprimanding. It makes your toes curl.

He’s been gone the entire weekend. Since Friday morning, as far as you can tell. His bespoke, royal-blue suit looks slept in. It probably is. Somehow, even when you’d been buzzing with gin and numbed out on pills, you’ve always maintained enough clarity to notice these kinds of details. To pay attention to him. 

Tonight, you’re entirely sober. Like you’ve been for weeks. And you have no trouble seeing the white collar of his shirt smeared with lipstick, the faintest trace of a flaming red pigment. You nearly scoff at the cliché. The flap house motel, the lipstick stain. So much for 2010 Bay Citizen’s power couple.

There’s an unkept air to his general demeanor. The dip of his collarbone peeks out from his unbuttoned shirt, his pale skin is flushed. His hair tousled, fairer without the matting pomade he normally applies to sleek it back, loose strands falling on his forehead, casting a shadow over his brow. 

He looks different. A younger, rougher version of himself. He looks handsome. It strikes you, with a sense of guilt to the realisation, like something you’re supposed to know but forgot everything about. 

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“So you thought you’d open the window?” he asks flatly, breaking eye contact to take off his jacket and drape it over the Stark chair.

“I need fresh air. Real air. It’s too stuffy in here,” you mumble. You sound like a scolded teenager. You hate it. 

“Is that literal?” he snarls, throwing you a glance over his shoulder, sliding his undone tie off his neck. 

You sink your teeth into your cheek, strong enough to taste blood. You pivot toward the window. The soft pad of your thumb finds the latch and you swiftly lift it, ignoring the bite of the metal. The window frame cracks open. The dried out joints part with a crunching sound. 

It’s a mundane sequence of actions. Insignificant, inconsequential. Nothing like following a stranger to a dark, deserted parking lot behind a bar. But inside you, the wild creature stirs, awakened by what you’ve set in motion. You don’t know it yet. But it’s too late to back down. 

A briny evening draft rushes in, carrying the bustling city’s noises on its tail, distant traffic, siren’s wails, fracturing the seal of your glass cage. 

When you turn back to face him, a smirk is forming on Adrian’s thin lips, one that can only be interpreted as an expression of condescension for your poor attempt at rebellion. 

The notion riles you up. 

“Actually, it’s not stuffy, it’s suffocating. But you wouldn’t know, you haven’t been here in three days.”

The air stills between you. It’s tangible, ironically, despite the open window. His expression freezes mid-smirk, and your eyes quickly scan his face. That long ingrained apprehension in the back of your brain, desperately, frantically trying to set off all the alarms, but something within you won’t let it. Something new. Something brazen.

Adrian straightens up. For a fleeting second, his expression shifts, unclear, undecided, as though he’s still making up his mind on how to deal with you.

And then, his face settles. 

“Well, that’s rich, coming from the woman who’s been deserting her home every Friday night for over half a year.” His lips purse in disdain around the word woman. 

It’s rage. That something new and brazen inside you is rage. It’s white-hot, and it’s growing fast, too fast for you to even try to contain it. It fills up your brain, smothering your inner voice and muffling the blaring alarms, overpowering everything else. You can feel it swell inside your chest, powered by the wild creature between your lungs. It takes up so much space between your rib cage, you can barely breathe, and yet you embrace the sensation. It’s not discomfort. It’s strength.  

“Another thing you wouldn’t know, since you’re out all night playing poker.” In turn, you scoff at the word, at the lie, at the hypocrisy of this long-overdue squaring up.

His eyes narrow on your face before he delivers the next blow.

“Maybe I had you followed. Maybe I know exactly where, and with whom, you spend your Friday nights. Have you thought of that, babe?“

Blood rushes down to your feet as you break in an instant sweat. Prickling scalp, nape and armpits. The sheer idea is unbearable. This life, or whatever’s left of it, colliding, trespassing on your time with Frankie. At your back, the weak breeze wafts in, and your eyes clench off the vision of the fourteen-story void. 

The sound of Adrian’s delighted snigger jerks you out of the intrusive thought. Your eyes are wide open again. 

“I don’t think you care enough about the details of my whereabouts to spend money on a PI,” you start, lifting your chin as if your heart isn’t thumping in your throat. “In fact, I think it suits you just fine that I haven’t been on your ass about your whereabouts.”

There’s the faintest hint of a wince altering his smug expression at your profanity, but the words keep pouring out of you. 

“Most of all, I think that if you really had me followed, you wouldn’t have missed the chance to ruin whatever you think this is for me. Like you do with everything I–” 

“Ruin whatever…? Oh, I’m the one ruining things?” he cuts in, lunging toward you in a movement so sudden you recoil against the open window frame. “When you’re the one who’s single-handedly destroyed our relationship with your fucking pills and your fucking depression? And now you’re having an affair with God knows who! I hope you haven’t been dumb enough to pick him among our circle of friends. And I fucking hope to God it is a man. Maybe you’re a degenerate, just like your sister.” 

You hit the mark. He doesn’t really care, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but his blatant lack of interest still hurts. After all those years, it still makes you bleed. The pain is washed over by anger, and the cruelty of his grossly redacted and biased narrative of your history. Doubt and guilt tighten your throat. 

He’s taken a step back. Hands on his hips, he’s seemingly waiting for you to counter. After a few dragging seconds, when he’s satisfied that he has silenced you for good, he faces away, and begins to unbutton his shirt. 

“I— You’re— you’re so fucking unfair,” you stutter, deflating, miserable.

“I’m going to shower. Make sure that window’s closed by the time I get out of the bathroom.”

“I’m leaving.”

The words rise from between the folds of your existence, overdue, evident, irreversible. They slip through your lips, and panic pervades your body at a molecular level. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Adrian retorts with an audible smirk, sliding his shirt off his lean frame, “the Grants are coming over for dinner. That’s the only reason I came home.”

Tim Grant is Adrian’s most valuable client after your father. He’s in politics, in some office or other, you know you should know. His wife Cheryl is a flawless, sculptural blond. A Stanford graduate who has mothered five children. She’s three years younger than you. 

You need to get out of here. 

You are rooted to the tiled floor, vaguely aware of the lingering taste of blood on your tongue, and your right hand pinching your thigh. 

“I’m leaving you,” you clarify. 

Adrian turns around and pauses. He looks at you. Looks at you for what feels like the first time in months. At last, you caught his attention.

The alarms are bellowing inside your skull. You have nowhere to go. Ava is over a thousand miles away, everyone you know is primarily Adrian’s friend, and there’s no way you’re going back to your parents. 

Beyond the window, the indigo dusk is shifting to blue. The breeze is soothing. It’s Sunday, April 26th, 6.52 pm. You’re standing on the threshold.

“You’re what?” he asks in a thin voice. 

“I’m leaving you.”

Something flashes across his face, something you’ve never seen before. This is uncharted territory, for the both of you. He scrunches his brow, narrowed eyes flickering between yours. Lifting both hands, palms outstretched toward you, he speaks in a slow voice, detaching each word. 

“Alright, okay, I get it. You’re angry. You can leave the window—”

“I don’t care about the window, Adrian, I am leaving you.”

“Lee, this is not the fucking time for this, the Grants will be here in half an hour and the catering–”

“I don’t give a shit about the Grants!” you burst out.

Adrian’s hands fall limply to his side, his eyebrows jumping to his hairline. He licks his lips, an attempt to regain some countenance. 

“Okay,” he concedes in a strained tone, “I guess we’re doing this. Where do you go every Friday? Who are you fucking?”

“Now, you care? Now, you want to know? When I’m halfway through the goddamn door? I gave you ten years of my life, Adrian! Ten years! I loved you! I gave you everything!”

“You loved me?” he yells back, pocking a finger to his chest. “You gave me everything? Are you fucking serious? You are never here, Lee. You’re checked out, 24/7. Is that what you call love? Let me laugh! You never ask me any question about work, you never once came golfing with me. You can’t even pretend to care!”

“You are so fucking unfair! Tell me, how does it feel, to treat me like you do?”

“I am not unfair, Lee, I am realistic! Yes, maybe you loved me, but as soon as shit got real between us, you fucking checked out! An eight-year-long engagement? Really? Is that your idea of giving me everything? I am the laughingstock of everyone at the firm! You want to know how it feels? How it feels when I see your face closing off every time I try talking to you? You don’t know how to love, Lee. You know nothing about love. Unrealistic expectations, that’s all you got. Dreams. Childish fantasies. You’re heartless. Remote. Fucking hollow. Completely unfit for reality.”

The walls ring out with his acid rant. He stands before you panting, unmasked, with his shaking frame and his unfiltered anger, with his truth and his raw pain openly displayed. With his hurt and his loss and regrets. It’s vertiginous, unbearable. Your body recoils into the glass panels, tears spilling down your face. 

He straightens up, and takes in a quivering breath, a pointed but vain effort to recompose his face.

“Now would you please be so kind as to clean up, and instruct the maid to set the dinner table before catering gets here?”

But his vulnerability lingers in his voice and your crying intensifies, your chest convulsing under the weight of your sobs, of his words, of all your mistakes, and you slump down onto the cold hard floor, weeping uncontrollably. 

“I’m– I’m sorry,” you blubber, “I’m so sorry, Adrian.”

He sniffles, taken aback. Standing awkwardly, he wipes his nose with the back of his hand and takes a tentative step closer.  

“Babe, come on. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. Go get cleaned up, we’ll talk about this later.” 

But you can’t stop crying, your life is folding in on you, all of your certitudes, your broken heart and your grievances exposed, ugly and distorted, through a drastically different lens.

“I’m so sorry, Adrian. I– I loved you wrong. I wasted– wasted your time,” you sob.

“Shh no, come on,” he coos, crouching down beside you, brushing the hair from your face in a gesture so gentle it only makes you cry harder, hot tears scalding your eyelids, “I’m sorry I lost it. I’m tired. Let’s not talk about this now.”

All you want is to reach out and wrap your arms around him. Hold him tight, stop shaking. Go back to the start, take away the pain you’ve caused. But there’s no going back, and your hands are clenched around your shins, pressing your knees into your chest.

“I’m not the one you need. I failed you. I’m not the woman you need and I tried to be and I led you on– and I wasted your years and— and mine, I’m so sorry, Adrian.”

“Babe, stop crying,” he pleads again, panic skirting his tone, “I’m sorry I lashed out. Fuck, I know I can be an asshole sometimes. We can work this out, we always work things out.”

His clear-blue eyes shine with unshed tears. Everything inside you hurts. Everything inside you bleeds.

“I should have done this sooner. I was so scared. I’m such a fucking coward, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t leave, Lee,” he rasps. “We can– Please. Stay.”

—

You stay, inexplicably. You stay to host the Grants. 

Adrian lets you use the shower first, guiding you to the en-suite bathroom, his arm wound around your waist. You keep crying under the hot stream of water, unable to control your sobbing, choking on the hot steam with every shaking gulp of air you take in. 

And perhaps it’s the only way you’ll ever get out of here. Dead, chocked up on grief. 

You let the water run while you step out of the cubicle. Adrian stores the double-edge blades for his razor above the sink, inside the cabinet behind the backlit mirror. The sharp metal slices a shallow cut in the pad of your ring finger when you grab one. You adjust your grip, splay your hand at the top of your thigh, and slash the blade through your tender flesh, underneath the old scar Frankie likes to tease with his thumb. 

Trembling hand, straight line. The pain is searing, your relief immediate. Back in the shower, the blood runs down your leg in crimson rivulets, and your crying finally ebbs. 

In the bedroom, you swallow an anxiolytic, then another. The tablets catch at your throat going down, burning your esophagus like shame and failure.

You’re no longer a person, not really, not anymore. You’re the sum of your pains and discomforts. You’re that cut on your thigh and those pills in your throat. You're the black mascara that coats your eyelashes and burns your eyelids, you’re the red lipstick that dries out your lips. Fragments of you, held together by the snug material of a dress that you hate, a gift from Adrian, the figment of someone else’s desire. 

When the doorbell rings, your hair is still wet.

The dinner is an awkward mess. Adrian looks shell shocked, powerless to summon his usual charming persona. His answers are monosyllabic, incoherent. To you, it’s a complete blur. You drink fast, and too much, hanging your dazed gaze on Cheryl’s double row of natural pearls. Every time you shift in your seat, a sharp pain stings your thigh. You smile through it. 

The poorly executed charade goes on for about an hour before the Grants make a hasty exit. 

Tethered by a thinning thread of lucidity, you go straight to your bedroom, Adrian on your heels. He watches you from the threshold as you heave your shabby college suitcase onto the bed, his pale face twisted, clouded eyes, pinched lips. You try to avert your gaze, you need to hurry, to gather your brains, gather your things. 

But your eyes flicker back up to him. One last look. One last tear. You stare at each other in silence for a brief moment, until a draft closes the bedroom window with a muted bang. Adrian slides his hands in his pockets, turns around, and walks away. A few seconds later, the front door opens and slams shuts behind him.

Your heart trips and plummets. Somewhere far away, long ago, a small voice implores you to run after him. To beg for his forgiveness. To mend your faded dreams. 

Completely unfit for reality. 

Nausea lurches in your stomach, and you lower your head to the empty suitcase stretched open across the bed. You need to get out of here. 

But what are you supposed to pack? The apartment is filled with reminders of what you’ve destroyed. Photo albums, art, trinkets and souvenirs, Christmas presents, birthday gifts. It’s like slicing through ten years of your life, ten years of yourself, of the person you’ve been and never again will be. Letting that woman die and disappear. What do you need to take and what do you choose to leave? 

Completely unfit for reality.

Fighting a sense of urgency, your vision getting more unfocused by the minute, you go through the nightstand and dresser. Prescription pills in rattling tubes, a little box of old Polaroids and Ava’s maternity hospital bracelet, your e-reader and random books, two chargers coiled on the floor like resting snakes… You throw everything indistinctly into the suitcase. It swallows your belongings like a chasm, like a crevice, like a monster with unhinged jaws. 

Staggering to the walk-in closet, you slide some clothes off their hangers and shelves, throwing them blinding behind you. With precarious balance, you rise on your tiptoe to retrieve a leather-bound edition of Anna Karenina hidden on the upper shelf. A gift from your Russian lit professor for your graduation, with an inscription etched in his distinguished cursive on the cover page. Something about you being a promising young woman. You haven’t looked at it in years.  

Completely unfit for reality. 

You pull out a travelling bag, and stuff the book inside it, along with some shoes, and in the bathroom, cosmetics and lotions. 

When you try to change out of the dress, blood has glued the fabric to your skin. You have to rip it off like a band-aid, like a life-threatening habit. The slit starts bleeding again. 

The suitcase’s tired wheels swivel with a loud squeak over the tiled floor of the corridor. The bag keeps sliding off your shoulder. It’s all too cumbersome for you to drag, heavy like your spinning head, swaying like your vision. 

In the living-room, the city’s night lights twinkle and dance behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. You search the room in the semi darkness for something else, something more. Your laptop perhaps, before you realize it’s in your office. Do you need a laptop? You probably do. 

Completely unfit for reality. 

You grab your I ❤️ NY bag and drop the apartment’s keys on the console by the door. Propelled by the creature in your chest, by decades of silence, by an obscure promise for peace, you leave. 

You are in no condition to drive, but you don’t need to be. Your drowsy body’s on autopilot, and the traffic on the 589 northbound is fluid. 

You pull up in front of the motel a mere 54 minutes later, and stagger over to the office, where the young clerk with his blond hair in a bun is hunched over his phone. 

The suitcase refuses to roll over the gravel. One of the wheels folds and breaks off. You have to walk back to the reception and ask the young man to help you carry everything to the room. Your voice is slurring. You rummage in your bag for some cash to give him, only to find him already gone when you triumphantly pull out a tenner from your wallet. 

You don’t fold the dirty bedspread. You don’t clean up your face or brush your teeth, you don’t undress. You kick off your sneakers, and slip under the sheets, Adrian’s words ringing out in your ears. The truth they carry deafening, inescapable. 

You’re unfit for life. For reality. You went out of your way to create a relationship with a stranger, exempt of responsibility, of commitment, of any kind of difficulty. So you could revel in the illusion of a bond, of something greater than you. So you could romanticize a hope, without having to materialize its promises.  

You cry yourself to sleep. 

—

Buried at the bottom of your bag, your iPhone chimes for a solid 14 minutes before you can crack open an eyelid. Your hangover is vicious. It’s a wildfire raging inside your brain. It’s your body thrown off a cliff. 

Cautiously, you sit up on the edge of the bed, brain sloshing inside your skull, nausea lapping up at your esophagus. The harsh denim of your jeans rubs over the slit on your thigh, abrading the cut. A brownish stain of dried blood smears the fabric, and you scoff, thinking you didn’t pack any band-aid. 

The prospect of dragging your body under the shower and putting on clean clothes feels like medieval torture, but presenting yourself at the office reeking of alcohol and in yesterday’s blood-stained jeans is not an option. Not a satisfaction you’ll grant your father, anyway, and the thought gives you strength. 

In the bathroom’s black-edged mirror, your reflection is haggard. Downright cadaverous.

You’re sick a first time, emptying the content of your stomach crouched over the chirped porcelain bowl of the toilet, and then a second time, in the parking lot, after gulping down a tepid coffee from the vending machine in the reception. With the tip of your shoe, you scuff the gravel over the small mess and get in your car, not in the least ready to face the morning traffic, your father, or the rest of your life. But proceeding anyway.  

When you step out of the elevator, your father’s senior secretary is waiting for you in the lobby. Adrian has made some phone calls. Kaytee ogles the scene from her desk, a petty glee lighting up her dull features. 

You follow the older woman to your father’s office, unfazed, obedient. Absent-mindedly watching her restricted gait, encased between her pencil skirt and 5 inches heels.

Richard is calm. An impassive look on his handsome face concealing all thoughts and emotions, the sleeves of his Armani shirt rolled-up to his elbow. He lets you speak first, he listens in silence. 

I’m resigning with immediate effect, the words come out of your mouth easy, and you, too, listen to them. 

You expect to be chastised. Scolded like a rebellious teenager. Sent back to your desk with a mention etched in red on your permanent record and a slap on your hands. You brace yourself for the usual words, his favorite weapons, designed and crafted to humiliate and defeat. 

Instead, he reasons. He bargains. Calling you a valuable partner. A genuine asset for the company, he says, with irreplaceable experience and unique expertise. 

Shadows shift across the glass surface of his desk. His cellphone buzzes, and remains unanswered as he keeps talking, his attention focused on you for longer than it’s ever been. What would your trajectory have been, if he’d paid attention to you from the beginning? If you’d heard his praises as a child? 

What did Adrian say? How did he sound?

After a while, it’s your turn to speak. At the first mention of your shares, Richard’s posture and demeanor switches instantly. Before long, you know you’re never getting this money Ava has instructed you to fight for. 

You don’t argue, you know better. You’ve witnessed firsthand his power of nuisance. His sense of entitlement and his twisted passion for meticulous revenge. But your father’s ire escalates, until he’s standing next to you, pulling you up your seat by your arm and manhandling you toward the double glass doors. 

You wonder how far he’ll go, if he’ll make this public, if he’ll risk the scandal. You soon find out. You’re a rag doll in his hold, as he drags you toward the elevator, seething and sputtering threats.

“You have dishonored me, the name I gave you, your family. You’ve been nothing but pointless ever since you were born. Don’t ever try to come back here. I don’t care if you’re starving.”

As you stumble inside the cabin of the mirror-lined elevator, you realize you never got to retrieve your laptop. You turn to face your father and, looking straight at him, you cover your ears. 

Before the doors close with a cheerful ding, you see his face distorted by wrath, turning a violent shade of purple. 

—

“What do you mean, the room is taken? Taken by whom?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot disclose that kind of information.”

Raul’s affected attempt at hotelier’s etiquette has Frankie scoffing into the receiver. Or is it Joachim? No, you’d said his name was Raul.

“Wait, it’s taken now, but is it booked on Friday? I just need it on Friday. Why did you give them that room, anyway? I’m pretty sure you got plenty of vacancies.”

The real question is, why is he behaving like an ass to this poor man who’s only trying to do his job properly? Why is he getting so nervous over this? How does it matter if you’re not in room number 2, this week?

“I don’t know if the room will be available on Friday, sir. I am afraid the lady hasn’t specified a date for the end of her stay.” 

Frankie’s spine grows rigid. Like a bucket of ice is being poured over his head in slow motion. That ominous ticking fires in the back of his head, so rapid and loud it might fracture his skull open.

“What lady?” he rasps, his throat suddenly parched. “Who’s in there? Is it the– Is it the woman who comes in every week? With me?”

Raul doesn’t answer, and his silence tells Frankie everything he needs to know.

“Alright, thanks,” he snaps, hanging up and throwing the phone on the desk. 

An hour and a half later, he’s pulling up into the motel’s parking lot. Lupe has been gracious enough to agree to pick up Lua from day-care, even though Monday is his day, so he’s got the rest of the afternoon to sort this out. 

This is foolish, though. He, is foolish. Your car is not even here. He’s probably overreacting. 

The thing is, his gut instinct tells him he’s not. It’s a potent, familiar dread, one that sets all his senses on alert. One he’s sworn himself never to ignore again, after Tom’s death. It’s that vision he had on Christmas evening. Your lonely silhouette sitting by the window on the edge of the bed. It’s that pull in his chest. That ache in his flesh.

He gets out of the truck swiftly, with a quick glance at the reception office, and walks straight to room number 2. The place looks even shittier in the bright midday sun. The contours of the low building are pressed flat by the blinding light and the heat. The lime wall between room 2 and 3 is streaked with deep, long winding cracks. The paint on the porch’s poles is chipped, coming off the sun-baked wood in large, crispy flakes. The hanging lights are covered in rust, the base of the railing in mold. 

Once more, guilt squeezes his chest tight at the thought that he’s made you come here, week after week. That you docilely agreed to it, and never said a word. That you kept coming back. Back to this place. Back to him, too.

The door is locked. He rattles the doorknob harder, more to shake off his own frustration than to achieve anything else. The yellow curtains are drawn, and no matter how hard he squints, he can’t see jack shit beyond them. 

He’s probably overreacting. 

What if he picked the lock? Just to make sure you’re not in here?

“Jesus,” he sighs, running a palm over his face, “the fuck is wrong with me?”

He stands in front of the door a while longer, head hung, hands propped on his hips, so still he can feel the sweat beading on his nape. Eventually, he lifts his cap and combs his fingers through his hair, then turns around and steps down the porch. 

He’s halfway to his truck when your sedan appears at the end of the road.

—

On the drive back to the motel, you roll both front windows down, and let the warm breeze blow your hair in every direction.

Yesterday, the pain was all encompassing. So sharp and piercing, you wanted to cease existing. Now, thoughts and images come and go, carried by the draft from the opened window. Kaytee moving into your office, and your employment prospects, nonexistent in the Bay Area. Your forgotten laptop. The talk you need to have with Ava. Your financial situation. 

Everything seems distant, another woman’s problems. You are numb. Remote. Hollow. 

The tears will come back, though. When you ask yourself if this tragicomic public humiliation was your final interaction with your father. If the formal lunch you shared with your mother last Thursday was the last time you’ll ever see her, the last time you’ll hug her frail figure. When you realize you won’t see Agatha grow up. 

You will reject the pain. The sense of loss. Of isolation. But it’ll sweep you away anyway. 

The fact that you have voluntarily orphaned yourself. 

You will choke on your grief. 

“I need to start making plans,” you inform the empty cab with an even tone. 

Or you could simply hide away in the motel for the rest of your life. Waiting for Frankie, Friday after Friday. 

Frankie. 

A strangled gasp ricochets inside your throat. You push the thought of him away, bury it deep between the folds. 

Completely unfit for reality.

But when you turn into the parking lot, the red truck immediately pops into view, stationed in front of your room. Frankie’s standing a few yards away from it, eyes trained on you through the windshield. 

Your body tenses up, a lump grows inside your throat, your grip on the steering-wheel white-knuckled as you maneuver to park. 

When you kill the engine, Frankie walks up to your door. There’s a suspended beat, as he motions to grab the handle. But he seems to reconsider, taking a step back and waiting for you to get out. 

Raw nerves and flayed skin, you exit the car. 

“Are you okay?” he asks when you’re standing in front of him. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Lee, are you okay?” he repeats, detaching each word, his large hands coming to frame your face. 

Shaded by the brim of his hat, his dark eyes skip nervously over your features. You know what you look like, puffy eyes, ashen face, and you squirm nervously in his hold.

“I’m okay. I’m fine. I didn’t fall again,” you add with an empty chuckle, trying to pull away from his grip, evade his scrutiny. 

“Jesus fuck, Lee,” he sighs, shaking his head. 

Your spine grows stiff, but his hand is already cradling the back of your head, drawing you in. Hunched around you, he presses your rigid, reluctant form into his chest, into his heat, breathing you in. Face tucked into the curve of his neck, you stand awkwardly still between his arms, terrified of your body’s reaction should you let go and relent, should you lose yourself in the reassurance of his solid figure, of his soothing embrace, of his comforting scent. 

Eventually, you wrap your arms around his torso, skimming your hands over the soft, cottony fabric of his shirt. 

“Why are you here?” you ask again, your voice muffled against his collarbone. 

“I called to book the room,” he starts, talking into your hair, “and this Raul guy said it was taken. By a woman.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I don’t know. I just knew.”

Clenching your eyes shut, you ball his t-shirt in your fists. 

“Listen, Lee, I can help you. With whatever it is that’s going on. I can help you. Let me help you.”

“I know. I know you can. But I… I think I need to help me.”

Prove yourself, and that collective we, that you can make decisions, be resourceful, be resilient. Other than through silence and disappearance and pills. Stand on your own. Face reality. Deal with it.

You feel the working of this throat against your temple. His hands span your back, spreading warmth in their trail, finding purchase on your waist with a vice grip, as if to make sure you’re really here. 

“I understand.” The deep, velvety roundness of his voice envelops you. “Would you tell me if you needed my help?”

You nod, your cheek brushing the pebbled skin of his neck. 

“I promise.”

His heart beats strong and steady against your breasts. You lean into the slow, pulsating rhythm, into his life force. 

“I need to talk to you,” you start, and his hold on you tightens. “Can we go inside your truck?”

“Sure,” he answers, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move, and you grow anxious, afraid you’ll lose courage, and the momentum will fall to a halt. 

Completely unfit for reality. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he finally says, and you lead the way, walking in short strides toward the passenger side of the vehicle. 

Once you’re both seated, Frankie turns on the ignition. The AC immediately kicks in. In the harsh, unforgiving daylight, the dashboard is not black, but a faded shade of anthracite gray. 

When you turn to face him, he’s already looking at you, the dark pools of his eyes boring into you, searching. 

“I left,” you say in a flat tone, your voice as hollow as your chest feels. “I left Adrian. My fiancé. And I felt my father. The company, I mean. I quit.”

He registers the news, the crease in his brow deepening, lips slightly parting. 

“Okay,’ he nods. “How did it go?”

“It… I don’t know. It went? I’m not sure if they realize I’m never coming back. Adrian especially. Well, my father too, actually. Although he made it clear that he never wants to see me again. I don’t know. Maybe I’m mistaken. I really torched those bridges,” you shrug.

A myriad of fleeting expressions animate Frankie’s features, too fast for your overwrought brain to read into any of them, before they settle into the familiar frown.

He swallows hard, before he asks, “How are you feeling?”

In turn, you furrow your brow, searching the abyss inside your chest. 

“You know the movie, The Dragon Tattoo Girl? Or whatever it’s called? The one with the James Bond actor?”

He lifts a puzzled eyebrow, but nods for you to keep going.

“You know toward the end, when they’re in London and they go tell this woman that her brother is dead, the killer guy. Her abuser, basically. They go back to the car to monitor her computer activity, and she’s just… shopping online?”

“Yea?”

“That’s how I feel.”

He huffs, and you don't know how to interpret his reaction. 

“It doesn’t change anything. For you, I mean. My sister’s in New York, she got away some time ago and I–”

“Lee,” he cuts in, his hand flying to grab yours, but you recoil from his touch, “I told you, you can ask me for anything. Anything you want. Anything you need.”

His gaze pierces through you, soft sad eyes, cold hard stare, and you can’t withhold it any longer. You face away, turning to the brass number 2 hanging upside down on the wooden door. Behind it, there's a travel bag and a beat-up suitcase with a broken wheel that contain all of your belongings. 

You’re thirty-five years old. You only just broke free, and everything you want is in this cab. 

This man, his past, the burden of his sins. The strength and resilience weaved within the fabric of him, his tender touch, too, and the promise of his future. The sense of safety he provides you, unlike anything you’ve ever known in all your years. 

His solid body’s thrumming next to yours, steady vibrations caressing your skin. The air between you ripples as if it were liquid. It’s the only thing you can feel. The first thing you’ve felt since you woke up this morning. 

His words come back to you, from so many Fridays ago, pained and yearning, Are you real? You never questioned the realness of him. You gave yourself blindly to the reality of this. This inescapable and electrifying living thing between you. It’s not the reason behind your emancipation. But it has propelled you toward it.  

Was it all just a dream? 

“Do you sometimes think…” you trail off, hesitant. You’re still not looking at him. The heel of your palm comes to rest over your denim, over the thin wound that brings you relief. You press down on it. You wince. “I don’t know how to ask you this.”

His voice rumbles with tension. “Just shoot it straight.”  

“Do you sometimes think you’ve replaced cocaine with— with me? With this? Whatever this is?”

You risk a glance in his direction and watch him take the blow, eyes lowering to his hands. He releases a deep sigh, cocking his chin. 

“Aren’t you scared you’ve replaced an addiction with another?” you continue. “What if… what if I’ve traded my pills for you?”

His eyes flick up to yours. He stares at you in silence for a while. When he moves, it’s to take off his hat. He props it on the dashboard, assuring its balance, before his gaze returns to you, and you brace yourself, chewing on your cheek.

“Yea, it’s… It’s a valid question. Can’t say I haven’t thought about it. At the beginning, at least. But the answer’s no. I don’t think I’ve traded cocaine for you. I like the man I am when I’m with you. You make me want to be happy. You make me feel good. Coke never made me feel good. It was a means to escape… pretty much everything. I don’t want to escape anymore. I don’t need it. I don’t think I can ever unlearn what you taught me.”

Frankie pauses, letting his words settle over your tense, motionless body. You grit your teeth, your jaw aching. 

He breathes in deep. His voice drops to a murmur, low, but firm.

“I love you, Lee. I was never in love with drugs. I don’t think I was ever in love, not really. Not the way I’m in love with you.”

Your body shudders, tears rising like high water inside your throat, face flushing. All of your suppressed emotions come back rushing. Guilt and fear, remorse, rage and resentment. Hope and elation, too. They tumble inside you like boulders falling off a mountain, in a formidable landslide.

“You can’t love me,” you say in a choked up voice.

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t know if I can be loved. I don't know if I know how to love back.”

“That’s bullshit,” Frankie grunts. 

“It’s not,” you retort, aggressively brushing a rogue tear from your cheek with the flat of your palm, angered by the confidence of his statement. “You don’t know– I’m faulty, Frankie. I’m fucked up. Defective. I can’t handle reality.”

“How about you stop talking about yourself like you’re a machine? Nobody can handle a shitty reality they feel trapped in, Lee. Nobody. Just look at me,” he adds with a shrug.

His words open a floodgate, more tears spilling out of you, streaming down your face in scalding rivulets. 

“But what will happen when you don’t love me anymore?”

“That’s never gonna happen. I can promise you that much.”

“No, that’s bullshit!” you spit out. “Everything passes! Everything ends! Everything, and you know it!”

“Not this. This never ends.”

His assertive tone, his steady demeanor, your stupid, uncontrollable tears, everything sets off your temper. Yet, something throbs inside you, longing and want, stronger than your rage, pulling you toward his still, solid body. His gaze pins you down, not like a dead butterfly in a glass frame, but like a benevolent shadow stretching over you, seeping through your flesh to wrap around your heart and protect it, keep it safe. 

You push back against it, back into the door, the handle biting into your spine, covering your mess of a face with trembling hands. 

“I know what my track record looks like,” he says. “But I’m asking you to trust me. My love for you has no end.”

The seat bench creaks under his weight as he moves closer to you. 

“C’mere, baby.”

His hand circles your arm, pulling with gentle little tugs until you give in and let him tuck you into his side, his arms keeping you firmly pressed against him. His scent engulfs you, his quiet strength, the rumble of his voice felt through your chest as he hums quietly into the crown of your head, Don’t be scared, you got this, I got you. 

Surrendering, you allow yourself to cry, weeping loudly into his shirt, full-body sobs quaking your frame. You might break apart in a million scattered pieces, should he let go of you, but you’re not scared, you got this, he got you, resolute, unyielding, and you weep until the tears run dry, until your rib cage is too sore to heave, until the convulsing of your throat is reduced to a silent tremor.

Releasing his hold, he guides you over his lap to sit you between his legs, and you burrow into him like a small child, eyes drifting close, finally resting. 

—

Around the truck, the sky has gradually changed. The crushing, white-hot afternoon light slowly gave way to a fuzzy, faded coral atmosphere. 

Frankie’s lost track of the time. His arm is numb, his shoulder sore, but he’s not moving. He won’t risk disturbing you. Your breathing comes in deep and regular, you might be sleeping. 

From orange to pink to indigo, the day dies out into the night. 

It’s almost dark when you quietly call his name, and he can hear the toll grief has taken on you in the rasping of your voice. 

“Is it okay for you to be here?” you ask. “Are you going to leave?”

The questions send chills down his spine. Now is the time to tell you. Now or never. It’s been years since he’s known such a fear. 

“No, it’s fine.” He marks a pause, then takes a leap. “What did you mean, earlier, when you said it doesn’t change anything for me?”

Releasing his shirt, your fingers splay over his chest, and with an apparent effort, you push away so you can look at him. In the dim dusk light, he can hardly distinguish your expression. 

“I meant just that. I didn’t leave Adrian on your account. I’m not expecting you to do the same for me. I’m not going to ask you to divorce your wife and abandon your child.”

He runs a palm over his face, sighing heavily.

“I’m not married, Lee. I never married Lua’s mother, and we split up a little over a year ago. Right after that… after that bullshit mission I told you about.” 

Your silence is unbearable. His heart thumps painfully in his throat.

“We kept living together. Until a week ago. Lua’s still young, it was more convenient. I owed them that much.”

You’re still silent, your mind probably working over the implications, measuring the extent of his betrayal, when he’s asked you mere moments ago to put all your faith in him. 

“Why did you never tell me?”

Sweat prickles over this nape. 

“It was easier at first. I could keep you– keep you at a distance. I was scared.” 

“Scared of me?” 

Your eyes glimmer in the darkness of the cab, boring intently into his. He’s reminded of that very first night at the bar, when they bore into his back. When he swiveled on his stool and your gazes met for the first time. When your lives collided. He thinks about how much your eyes have come into focus, since. 

“Scared of what you made me feel,” he breathes.

“What did I make you feel?” 

“Like I’m worthy of you. What I saw on your face when you looked at me… I didn’t want it, but I also didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want to risk changing anything. I’m sorry, Lee. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

He straightens up imperceptibly, moving to touch you, but you lean back into the steering wheel.

“What did you see on my face?”

The words come out of him in a husky murmur.

“You were burning inside. Burning with life. And you wanted me.” 

Everything stands still.

Slowly, your hand goes up to his cheek. It rests there, light and soft. A cool and soothing touch. Like it’s always been. Your thumb strokes his scruff, and he leans into your palm, exhaling painfully.

“I still want you, Frankie,” you whisper, leaning forward, your lips meeting his lips. 

—

You step out of the truck feeling drained, acutely aware of every aching bone and tissue in your body. Frankie by your side, watching over your balance, you walk back to your car to get the room’s key. The brown diamond-shaped keychain fits in your palm with a homely feeling. 

The room has been made. The artificial perfume of the industrial detergent blends with the musty scent woven into the curtains and rug.

Frankie swallows you in his embrace as soon as the door closes behind you. His mouth slanted over yours, his face pressed into your face, his kisses are deep, needy, desperate, and so are yours. His arms wound up tight around your waist, you cling onto his broad frame. 

With infinite care, with measured movements, he starts undressing you. You’re docile, pliant like a sleepy child, giving in to the solace of his touch, relenting to the safety of his devotion. 

Kneeling at your feet, he slowly slides down your jeans, revealing the mess on your thigh. Clumps of rusty-colored blood are caked around the flushed, raised skin. The sight stops him. Your heart cowers, your breathing suspended as he stares at your self-inflicted wound. 

His left palm skims your leg upward, until the small cut is framed between his thumb and index. When he looks up, you can’t tell if the tears gleaming in his eyes are anger or sadness. You cup his face, so many words stuck inside your chest. So many fears, so many regrets. 

Soon, you’re crushed under his weight, spread around his breadth, ankles locked over the small of his back as he fucks his love into you, his hands hooked over your shoulders. His skin rubbing against yours, long, languid, thorough strokes splitting you open. The painful ecstasy only he can give you, when he buries himself deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours. Healing all of your wounds.��

He’s breathing you, his heart thumping inside your rib cage, I love you, Lee, I love you, but your words still won’t come out, so you nod, and he knows. Your nails sink into his back, and you pray that he knows. 

For the first time ever, you sleep in his arms throughout the night. His chest to your back, a thin shin of sweat between your two bodies. His steady breathing fanning the hair on your nape. You wake up together, on a Tuesday morning. 

Stirring out of sleep, he pulls you flush against him. His plush lips trace a wet path of open-mouth kisses along your neck, exploring the expanse of your skin, drawing ephemeral patterns, warm and unhurried. Softly humming, he tastes you, licking your sweat, inhaling your scent, nuzzling the edge of your jaw and nibbling your earlobe, his cock hardening against your cheeks, his calloused hands kneading the soft swell of your belly. 

His mouth rounds over the slope of your shoulder, and he sucks in sharply. You jerk between his restraining hold, his tongue peaking out to ease the blooming bruise. 

You lift a sleep-heavy eyelids and the morning light hits your iris. Dust particles suspended in the golden sunbeams, the musty smell from the sun-warm curtains carried in the air. His teeth sink in sharp at the base of your neck, a low growl rumbling from his chest, primal and possessive, and it dawns on you. What he’s doing. 

The realization thrums along your nerve-endings, courses through your veins, it blooms wild and spreading inside your chest. He is yours. He was always yours. He was never running away from something, not really. He was running to you. 

He chose you, remote and aloof. A bottomless well of craved affection, lonely scars, lost ideals, and he filled you. Imprinted on you his want and his need, his trust and reverence, in all the ways you let him. 

You summoned him. He found you. He appeared. 

You push back into him, granting him access to the line of your throat, and his bite sinks in deeper. Your fingers card through his hair, heart bursting, body like a fever, arousal pooling slick and sticky between your hips. 

He fucks you slow. Shallow thrusts, the fat head of his cock teasing your entrance, inching further inside your heat with each dragging stroke. His arm banded across your chest and his hand between your folds, he commands your pleasure, flooding all your senses, until you cry out his name, until he comes with you, until your bodies are spent. 

You shower together, and drive to a nearby diner for breakfast. Sitting in a red pleather booth, you drink strong filter coffee and devour thick, buttery pancakes, Frankie’s spend trickling down your panties as you watch him shovel scrambled eggs inside his mouth with a ravenous appetite, his face beaming with a dimpled grin. 

Your smile is so wide, your cheeks hurt.

On the way back, he stops by a CVS to get plasters, gauze and an antiseptic ointment. In the room, kneeled between your thighs, he lets you twirl his curls around your fingers while he dresses your small wound in silence, cautious and meticulous, deft and experienced. 

You know you should talk, know you should start making plans, but he carries his heart in his hand, and his touch is soothing, and your want is restless. High after high, your body tenses and breaks, as he fucks your cunt, your ass, your face, fills you up with his come, greedy teeth sunk into your flesh. 

After making a few calls, he stays another night, and when he leaves for work on Wednesday morning, you spend several minutes observing your reflection in the bathroom’s black-edged mirror. You look good, if not rested, your skin gleaming with a flattering post-orgasm glow. 

You detail the bite marks adorning your skin. They’re everywhere. He hasn’t been gentle. He hasn’t been careful. Some of them still a little sore when you poke a finger into the bruised, tender flesh. The mild pain draws a buzzing, electrical line from your heart to your core. You smile at your reflection. Stop me, you challenge the woman in the mirror. She smirks back at you. She’s so beautiful, so confident, your breath hitches. 

Eventually, your current situation resurfaces. Calling Ava sits at the top of your mental checklist. You wait for a couple of hours, until her lunch break, to dial her number. The first ringtones send you into a brief panic. Above the desk, the woman in the mirror is looking at you. You anchor yourself to her image. 

When Ava picks up, you tell her what happened in terse words: you broke up with Adrian, then quit. You’re currently staying in an out-of-town motel. 

She hollers into the receiver, and you wince with an uncertain smile, holding the phone away from your ear. There are a few cheerful curses as she expresses her pride and surprise, but she quickly gets back on track. 

“So when are you coming here? You’re coming here, right? Richard is gonna make sure you never work again over there. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I know,” you concede ruefully. 

That’s the part of the conversation you should have planned ahead. But you’re still riding high on the fuck-drunk euphoria of the last two days. She questions you for more details, demanding an elaborate report of the events that you’re not too keen on remembering, nor submitting to her judgment. She left without a word, without a goodbye, unnoticed, unacknowledged. You had to confront not one, but two of them.

It occurs to you that you don’t have to tell. Nothing forces you to. Maybe, for the first time ever, you can curate your own experience. Refuse to give in to peer pressure, however benevolent. Define your own story. Be its main character, and its sole narrator. 

“What would I do in New York, anyway? Crash your couch? And then?”

“I told you, Polly has a job for you.”

“No, you said Polly could help me find something. Now she has a job for me? What kind of job?” you frown. “At her practice?”

“No, no. Something in a publishing company one of her clients owns. I don’t know, nothing fancy apparently, but enough to get you started.”

“And what, they’re holding a position for a woman without any qualification and zero experience in their field?”

“If Polly says it’s a sure thing, then it’s a sure thing. Call her. She only mentioned it in passing, we never actually thought you’d fucking leave, Lee! And our couch is very comfortable, I’ll have you know.”

This goddamn collective we. 

When you hang up, nothing is decided. Frankie won’t be back until Friday evening. You're going to be on your own to stew over the crossroads for the next two days. 

Lost in the liminal sequence. 

Ava is right. You could never find a decent job in Tampa. You can’t stay here. You don’t even want to stay. You hate this city, you hate this fucking state. It has been your life-long dream to break-free and get away. The idea of staying inside your father’s radius of influence, within reach of Adrian, gives you the wrong kind of chills. 

But New York? Do you really want to live there? The city has always mildly scared you, with its buoyant history and its mythical aura. Too big, too noisy, too stressful. Completely anonymous. It would be so easy for you to drown in there. Forever disappear.  

The truth is, there isn’t any place you can see yourself living in, because you don’t want to live anywhere without Frankie. 

Only right now, the sheer thought of being despondent on another man rises bile in your stomach. You will never be that woman, ever again. 

“Here is fine,” you sigh with a pout, looking at the one-dollar store painting of the Appalachian. “Why can’t I just stay here forever?”

Completely unfit for reality. 

Adrian’s words seem to find you everywhere. They followed you all the way here, in your hiding place, plucking at the safety blanket Frankie’s care has swaddled you in. You shudder in the warm, quiet room. 

Well, fuck Adrian. Fuck your past. Fuck his words and their condemning truth. 

Step by step. That’s how you’ll proceed. You need to secure your financial situation. You need a new laptop. You need to buy underwear to replace the ones you forgot to pack. And you need food.  

You get dressed and drive to an Apple Store in town, where the price tags on the MacBooks make your eyes bulge. You’ve truly been living inside a despicably privileged bubble. Guilt makes your skin grow tight. 

After running a quick search on your phone, you find a second-hand electronic store, where you purchase a refurbished laptop for a quarter of its original price. You feel stupid for feeling so smart. After all, you’re only experiencing most people’s life. The thought helps you follow through with the rest of your errands, starting with the bank.  

When you come back to the motel with your shopping bags and some takeaway Thai, however, the problem of your immediate future remains unsolved. 

Deliberately stalling, you start fiddling with the computer. The motel doesn’t have Wi-Fi, but you manage to tether the laptop to your phone. The small victory alleviates your anxious sadness. You settle over the bed, back propped against the pillows, and watch brainless social media content as you eat. A warm breeze wafts in through the cracked-open window. This is good, you think. The life-altering decisions can wait. 

Over the next couple of days, you gravitate within a few miles radius of the motel, only going out to buy food and take short walks in the surrounding area. Exploring its vicinity in broad daylight anchors the motel in a reality you are not ready to confront. The fact that it’s always felt like an isolated island is what brought you a sense of safety in the first place. 

But being on your own is exhilarating. You can sleep in late without having to put up with the nagging beeping of an alarm-clock that’s not even yours. Choose to shower, or not, skip a meal or eat pancakes for dinner. You can watch Parks and Recreation bloopers all night long and never tune in to a financial show ever again. You can sleep with the window opened and listen to Disintegration fifty times in a row. Your newfound freedom is in every little detail. 

When Frankie comes back on Friday evening, carrying a six-pack and a takeaway bag, he finds you bare-faced in your sleeping t-shirt, sitting cross-legged on the dirty carpet, watching SNL Digital Shorts on your good-as-new computer. 

He sets the beer and the bag on the desk. An appetizing aroma fills the room. Freshly made burritos from his favorite place. 

Silently patting the space next to you, you invite him to join, but he faces away, hiding his soft smile from you. He takes off his hat, then toes off his boots, and your heart somersaults at how far you’ve come since your early rituals. 

Walking over to you, he crouches at your side to inspect the bandage on your leg, that you changed every day, per his instructions. Seemingly satisfied with your handiwork, he pivots to sit down, his knees protesting with a resounding POP that makes him grunt, and you're overcome by a powerful wave of fondness. Oblivious to the food and the videos on the screen, you unfold your legs and climb over his lap in a straddle. 

“Evening, baby,” he greets you with a round chuckle, soft as velvet, as you lean in for a greedy kiss, prompting him to open with a swipe of your tongue over his plush lips. 

He responds in kind, voracious mouth slanting over yours, tongue licking inside you. Your arms wrap around him, fingers burrowing into the plane of his strong back, the heady scent of him, leather and musk, filling your brain with static and your belly with want. His warm hands slide under your shirt, calloused palms roaming the expanse of your naked chest. He swallows your wanton moans, thumbs playing over your peaked nipples and you take, back arching into his chest, nails digging, hips rolling. 

His touch gets rougher, his hands a kneading grasp over your soft breasts, over the dip of your waist, the swell of your ass, desire pooling hot at your center as his tongue licks and twirls inside your mouth. Chasing the contact of his growing bulge, you bear down over his harsh denim, and his breathing comes in shorter, fingertips teasing the elastic band of your cotton panties. You exhale heavily through your nose, slick soaking his jeans through the soft fabric. 

His lips curve into a grin, thick fingers sliding under your panty-line. He presses into the dip underneath your hips to part your leaking folds with an explicit sound. You push harder into him, into the wall of his chest, forcing him to lean back, your need coiled like a wound spring, angling his face with a harsh tug on his curls to catch his lower lip between your teeth.

“Fuck, okay,” he growls, straightening up with a cinch. 

His fingers clutch the swell of your ass and in one swift motion, the room around you swivels, you’re on your back, legs bracketing his waist. 

As he unbuckles his belt, your gaze follows the rippling of his lean muscles along his forearms to the shifting bulk of his biceps, lingering on the round of his shoulders and his corded neck, up to his gorgeous face. Tousled hair, kiss-swollen lips, cherry-red, curved in a boyish grin. Black, lust-blown pupils that watch you watch him. 

A clear laughter rises from your chest and bubbles in your throat, its music beautiful to your ears, almost alien, long forgotten. 

His grin widens, dimpling his face, and he tugs off his shirt, throwing it at random in the room behind him. Your laughter dies in your throat; it steals your breath away, it always does, the sight of his naked chest, towering over you, gleaming golden in the soft hues from the bedside lamps. The dips and planes, the pattern of his freckles, the scars you could trace with eyes closed. The stories they tell, your precious secrets, your treasured knowledge.

A flat press of his palms over your knees, and he spreads your legs open, exposing the wet patch on your underwear to his gaze, and his smile falls, his expression turning wilder, dark and hungry. 

“Fucking soaking wet,” he husks, chucking down his jeans, pulling out his stiff length from his boxer briefs, and you squirm over the rough rug with a pleading whimper. Spiting in his hand, he starts stroking himself, eyes trained on your core, deft fingers loosely circling his cock in a slow up-and-down motion. Saliva pools in your mouth, you clench around nothing. 

“What’s that t-shirt?” he asks, bending closer to you, slotting his cock between your folds over the slick-drenched fabric of your panties.

“Oh god,” you gasp. “That– what?” 

“That t-shirt you’re wearing.”

You can feel the throbbing weight of his sex, feel its heat as it rubs back and forth over your swollen clit, and your mind scrambles.

“From– from college.”

“You’re gonna keep it on,” he tells you, his left hand finding your breast and giving it a tight squeeze through the worn-out material. “You look so young, it’s like I’m fucking you in your dorm.”

The fat head of his cock nudges at your entrance, pushing the soaked fabric in, and your mouth falls open, hips arching into him.

“Like I knew you back then. Like I’ve always known you,” he rasps after a thick swallow. “Like a second chance. You know?”

“I know,” you mouthe with a short nod. 

Hooking the tip of his finger, he slides your panties aside, just enough to line himself up, slowly inching inside your heat with a strained groan. 

“Shit, baby, you’re tight.”

The stretch is impossible, the size of him blinding, and you hiss and squirm, but his hold on your waist is bruising, keeping you in place as he thrusts inside you inch by inch, thick cock catching at your entrance. 

There’s the working of his throat as he gathers saliva in his mouth, and he locks eyes with you, making sure you’re watching, before he lets it slide along his tongue straight onto your cunt. The rough carpet scraps your ass as you writhe against his restraint, against the terrifying notion that he always knows just what it is that you want, that he always makes sure you get it. 

“You wanted it, now you gotta take it. You’re gonna take it like a good girl.”

“Yes, Frankie,” you breathe out, nodding again, surrendering, bucking your hips into him.

“Oh yea, good girl, that’s it,” he coos. “Gonna stretch that pretty little cunt on my cock, until you come all over it,” he says, moving inside you, “until you beg me to stop–”

“I’ll never beg you to stop,” you breathe out, brows furrowed, sweat beading at your temples as you take his first shallow, labored strokes.

“Wanna bet?” he asks, drawing your legs over his lap with a sudden tug, deepening his thrusts at a blinding angle. 

You thrash your head, back arching off the carpet, a guttural sound vibrating in your throat as he starts fucking into you at a steady pace, his cock dragging along your walls, leaving you no choice but to accommodate his girth. 

With a small grunt, he thrusts in deeper, the round head of his cock grinding against your center and your fingers scrabble frantically, flying to his chest and clawing at the meat of his muscles.

“That perfect fucking cunt,” he says, eyes trained on where he disappears into you, “you feel so fucking good, Lee. You’re so beautiful. Say it.”

“I’m beautiful,” you say in a warped voice.

“You’re fucking perfect. Say it, Lee,” he husks, drilling inside you faster, with undiluted strength, clutching your waist and sliding you over his cock so you meet him thrust for thrust. 

“Oh god, Frankie,” you beg, after all, taking hold of his wrists, a desperate attempt to slow down his merciless pace. 

Leaning forward, he covers you with his broad frame, crushing you into the rug, spine undulating as he thoroughly wrecks you, unrelenting, his speed escalating.

The heady musk of his scent fills your nostrils, so thick you can taste it. His hot breath scalds the shell of your ear, brutal shockwaves radiating from your center with each of his strokes, each of his words.

“Be a good girl, and say it,” he pants, “say you’re perfect.”

—

You’re mine, Lee Abbott. 

Celadon green, and a pale shade of yellow. He knows your scent will haunt him long after you’ve left him. You’re a part of him now. He made you so. You’ll forever be woven into his flesh, into his very soul. 

You’re mine. Lee Abbott.

He never speaks those words out loud. He’ll sooner die than compromise or be a hindrance to your newfound independence. 

But god, you’re his. Your entire body bears the mark of his desperate plea. Bite marks on the swell of your hips, the round of your ass, the curve of your neck. Heart shaped flecks of crimson, blossoming underneath the surface of your thin skin along the line of your throat, your collarbone, and the weight of your tits.

Every night, he covers you in his sweat and his spit, before he fills you up with his come. 

I love you, he said instead, that first night, and you never replied. In a few days, you’ll be gone, and it might very well kill him, but he will let you go. 

And maybe, from the start, he was more yours than you ever were his. A part of him knew it. The part that tried resisting your pull. The part that compelled him to run away from you that very first night.

Two weeks. Two weeks, and you’ll go north. Live with your sister in New York. Start over. 

There was this talk, over cold burritos and warm beer. He ate with reluctance, desirous to keep your taste on his tongue. Forever preserve the flavor of your orgasm that he lapped from your folds.

That talk that tore his bleeding heart right out of his chest, when you hinted you might have to leave town. You couldn’t explain, you said. Couldn’t make sense of it. You said, I just want to stay here in this room, with you. I don’t want anything to change. 

But it made sense to him. You had to leave, put physical distance between yourself and those who’d wounded you continuously throughout the years, so you could rebuild your life, rebuild yourself. And you needed to be on your own to do this the right way. Once more, he reveled in your courage. He admired your strength. 

He hadn’t measured the extent of his hatred for this man until you pronounced his name. Adrian. Your fiancé. This shit stain. Ever since you broke free, he’s had violent dreams about him. A faceless, lanky silhouette, he beats him to a pulp until his knuckles burst over the man’s skull. He wakes up feeling blood spilling warm and gooey between his fingers.

The local newspapers continue to allude to your departure from your father’s company. Short, carefully redacted articles downplaying the event with meticulously curated talking points. Typical PR damage control bullshit. 

He looks them up, and never mentions them, of course, but every so often, when he arrives from work, he finds you hunched over your laptop, brow furrowed, bloodshot eyes. Quickly shutting the computer close as soon as he approaches. You’re preparing the after, you say. Scouting for jobs, apartments, and once more, he chooses to believe you. 

But then, you cry at night. Silently heaving next to him, your face buried into the pillow to muffle the sound of your heavy sobbing. He pulls you into him, into his chest, wrapping his body around your shaking frame. Chin tucked over the crown of your head. Humming into your hair. You seem so frail, so vulnerable in his hold, and he wishes to absorb your loss, annihilate the pain, rip it from you and make it disappear. 

I got you, Lee. Don’t be afraid, you’ll get through this. 

Can you hear him, then? Do you believe his words of reassurance? You fall asleep with your hands clutching his shoulders, exhausted, the wrong kind of spent. 

You need to go. And he’ll let you leave. Your needs are his needs. They dictate his life. He’ll be right here, waiting for you on the other side.

He said, This never ends, and he meant every word.

But the fucking pain. 

Constantly ripping through his chest, it’s in everything he does, tainting your last days together. In every look at your gorgeous face, in every kiss, every stroke, every embrace. It’s there when he marvels at the graceful ways in which you move, at your recovering appetite, at your patience with him when you let him dress your wound that’s long healed. 

It’s in the blissful domestic routine you two have so naturally fallen into. It’s in his every thought, at work, with his kid, with you. When he comes to you at night, in this shithole that feels more like home than his new house does.  

And whenever he opens his mouth, he fears he’ll betray himself. The words are always there, in the back of his throat, ready to pour out of him. I want you to meet my daughter. I want you to move in with me. I’ll provide for you. You can be whoever you want. Stay. Stay with me. 

You’re mine, Lee.  

Two weeks isn’t enough. Two lifetimes wouldn’t be. 

—

The small cantina is crammed, swarming with boisterous kids and their harassed parents. A continuous clamor hangs over you like a lead lid, you don’t think you’d be able to hear your own voice if you were able to speak. 

Frankie’s head is dipped, his face half concealed behind the brim of his trucker hat, his broad frame hunched over his tray. He hasn’t touched much of his food, and you have yet to start on yours. When you left the motel, a quick lunch had sounded like a good idea. A welcome distraction from the impending separation. 

Now, it feels like moving through a bad dream, like running away in slow motion from an ineluctable disaster.

Inside your palm lingers the ghost sensation of the room’s keychain. You balled your fist around it before checking out at the reception. You raked your brain for an excuse to keep it, and found none. 

Two weeks ago, you’d thought leaving was the right thing to do. He said he understood your decision. He said, I’ll wait for you. 

And when you booked the flight, the date, however close, seemed surreal. Somewhere in the distant future, intangible. As the day drew near, you did what you do best. You refused to acknowledge the reality of it, eluding the prospect, reasoning with yourself that you were merely preserving your last moments with Frankie. 

Now, the take-off only a couple of hours away, your luggage stored in the truck’s tailgate, you can’t shake the feeling that this is a terrible mistake. You don’t care about rebuilding your life. You don’t give a damn about having a job, about emancipating, about being an independent woman. You want to build a home with him. You want to become his wife, to raise his daughter. You want to be his forever. 

You’re going to be sick, is what’s going to happen. 

“Should we go?”

You meet his shadowed eyes, fighting the tears that fill up yours, and nod in agreement. 

Outside the cantina, the heat hits you like a brick wall. Thoughts rush to your head, about the New York winters, the harsh, icy winds, the snow. The clothes you’ll have to buy. Wool sweaters, boots, a coat. Familiarize yourself with the subway. Those dark, underground tunnels. The ramifications of what this new life entails are overwhelming. 

You look up at Frankie and there is no cold hard stare. Only his soft sad eyes, and the gentle caress of their mahogany light, and the pleading arch of his brow. You’re hanging off a cliff, suspended over the abyss, grasping at the dirt, like the wild creature in your rib cage, trying to claw its way out and back to him, where it belongs. Where you belong. 

Nothing makes sense anymore.

“Okay, I’ll call a cab,” you say into your bag, looking for your phone, heart thumping in your throat, tears prickling your nose.

Frankie sighs, a constrained, pained rasp of a breath. He props his hands on his hips, cocking his leg to the side, and the heel of his boot scuffs over the asphalt. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport?”

The swelling lump in the back of your throat won’t let you talk, so you shake your head no. 

“I can drive you all the way there, if you want. New York, I mean. We could… we could make a detour. Through the Appalachian. See that ugly painting in the real.”

His attempt at a cocky smile fails to reach his eyes. 

A first tear spills out from the corner of your eyes. A fat, angry droplet that rolls down your cheek to hang on the edge of your jaw. 

“Hey now, don’t cry. C’mere.”  

Your bag falls to the floor when you crash into the solid warmth of his chest. Winding his strong arms around you, he cups the back of your head in a gentle, careful cradle, lifting you up in his hold.

His cap falls to the ground when you thread your fingers through his hair. You burrow into his neck, into him. You want to live inside his body, meld with his bloodstream, wrap around his heart, become his heartbeat. 

He breathes you in, the plush press of his lips a warm caress on your temple, and more tears flow out of you.

“I wish you could come with me.”

“I know, baby. I wish I could come with you.”

“I would—” you start with a sob, “I would love her like a mother. I could. I know I could.”

“I know you would. Of course, you would. Hey, look at me,” he says, putting you down and pulling away just a notch, cupping your wet face with both hands. “This is not over. It can never be over. It’s just the beginning. The beginning of something different.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you tilt your head to the side, his calloused palm grazing your cheek, to place a kiss on the inside of his wrist. Over the small tattoo you never got a chance to ask him about. You inhale him there, musk, leather, safety. You let your head rest between his hands, the same way you placed your life between his lips, many months ago.

“Frankie, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“Why… That very first night, in the bar. Why did you turn around? What made you look at me?”

His face falls. The crease in his brow deepens as he visibly ponders over his answer. The sun backlights his curls with a golden halo. When he speaks, his voice is a low rasp, a round aching husk. 

“I’d been searching for you for a long time.”

He thumbs away a stray tear from the apple of your cheek; he scratches his throat. 

“Call me when you get to the airport, okay? And when you board. And when you land. Okay?”

A wistful smile lifts the corner of your lips. Looking at him through hanging tears, you say, “I just realized we’ve never ever talked on the phone.”

Frankie breathes in deep, his smile mirroring yours. So beautiful, so strong. So soft. Yours.  

“See, baby? We got so many things to look forward to. It’s just the beginning.” 

*****

Thank you so much for reading and for your patience 🧡 I hope you liked it. Remember, there's still an epilogue. It will be shorter, so it shouldn't take me too long to birth it, if my brain cooperates 🤞🏻

[musings-of-a-rose]

Weighted Blanket

Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 860+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

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

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

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

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

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

Will. 

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?”

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

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

“Must have been really bad.”

“You don’t even want to know.”

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

“I missed you, sweetheart.”

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

“Let’s get some food in you.”

—----

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

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

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

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

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

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

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

—----

General Taglist:

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[bennysmiller]

Treat You Better - Part One (Triple Frontier x You)

A new series in which the Triple Frontier boys help you through a breakup, and it changes everything.

The iced latte that sits in front of you doesn’t hit like it usually does and now you’re sure that the worst part about having a broken heart is that it ruins everything for you. You can’t even feed your caffeine addiction without thinking of him.

“So,” Benny starts, hoping to finally get your attention. “You’re looking well.”

You look up at the four men around your table, all of whom seem awkward at the lack of conversation.

“I’m looking well?” You repeat, with a mix of disgust and confusion in your voice, while tugging at your somewhat messy hair and cringing at the bags that sit so proudly under your eyes.

“I mean, considering, you know…everything.” Replied Benny, trying his absolute best to not offend you.

He’s referencing the breakup. Evidently, there is no “post-breakup glow”, your friends had lied to you. You’re a mess. A mess that even coffee couldn’t fix.

“Well, thank you Ben. How charming.”

Frankie clears his throat at this and turns to you.

“What he means, is that you’re handling it a lot better than your last breakup.”

That did not make it any better. You glare at Frankie in response, and this time, Will sits forward, his arms crossed on the table. If looks could kill, Benny and Frankie would be well and truly dead, and Will would be the one holding the gun. That’s shut everyone up, you think to yourself.

“I’ve had enough of this silence. What are we all feeling like doing tonight? Movie night? Something stronger than coffee? Running out into the traffic?” You say, trying to break the tension. After all, you caused it. You invited everyone to the coffee shop just to attend the funeral of your relationship.

No one says anything. Instead, the guys all exchange looks with each other, like they know something you don’t. Like they already have plans they don’t want to tell you about. To your right, Frankie starts playing with his baseball cap and runs a hand through those curls of his. Will is looking at his lap. Benny has a slight smirk on his face, one you know all too well.

The atmosphere between all of you has shifted now. As you go around the table, you discover that Santi is looking at you with a very specific look in those eyes of his. But he looks elsewhere when you meet his gaze, and you know something is up.

“What is wrong with all of you? Has this emotional mess I have become put you off as well?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at them.

“It’s the opposite,” says Frankie, a slight nervousness in his voice. “Benny?”

Now you’re confused. You look at Benny, waiting for him to explain.

He still has that smirk on his face and it’s starting to piss you off. Just a little. It melts you, the way he looks so cocky and handsome and perfect. But he’s being a dick by not answering you, so you shrug at him to further demand a response.

“You think you could ever put us off? You couldn’t be more wrong. We have an idea. A game. We love you, but you have terrible taste in men, sweetheart. We hate seeing you so heartbroken. We think we could change that.”

There is something much different in the air now. It isn’t an uncomfortable tension of awkward silence over bad coffee. It’s an excitement you want to know more about. So for the first time since the breakup, of course it is Benny fucking Miller who has managed to bring the butterflies within you back to life. All you needed was for him to light the spark the last man put out, and now you’re overwhelmed with confidence.

“Go on, Miller. Don’t leave me hanging.”

[illusivelle]

shake the frost / 2

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

Next time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably just some water but I can wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be alright.”

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

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

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

'You should’ve stayed. Next time?'

[charliehoennam]

feral love

a/n: @sizzlingcloudmentality had me in a chokehold with this idea.

prompt: Being all up in your face, pissed and horny, hands all over you? Not a single fuck given due to the fact that they are in a bar or something "look at your face while I fuck some sense into you." And he grips her neck from behind and makes her look into the mirror above the sink

pairing: will miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v, jealous will, mentions of breaking up (sorta)

SHARING IS CARING, REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

It’s the first date you’ve been on since the rough break-up with Will. You had decided to take a break when the arguments started to become a constant in your daily life.

Technically, you didn’t even know it was a date. You thought you were just getting drinks with your friend. You hadn’t realized she had set you up on a blind date until you arrived at the bar and saw her boyfriend sitting at a table along with his friend.

You didn’t want to be rude, so you figured you’d stay and enjoy the drinks she had promised. Might as well now that you’re already here.

The friend isn’t too bad. Although you keep mistaking the name Louis for Luke, he’s rather cute and seems nice. He keeps asking you questions about your job, where you’re from, your hometown.

He’s trying to make enough small talk to get you comfortable, which you kindly appreciate.

Your answers are slightly short, but kind and enough to keep the small talk going, despite the fact that Louis keeps getting the sense that you don’t want to be there. He’s not wrong about that.

The bar is pretty packed with people excited to see a band play live as they ready their instruments. When the music starts, everyone instantly makes their way to crowd around the elevated stage.

Sitting by yourself at the table to wallow in your fourth – or is the fifth now? –  gin and tonic. Pushing the ice and slice of lime around with your straw, you scan the bar fidgeting uncomfortable in your seat.

Most of the guests are dancing and singing to the music, a few are scattered here and there sitting at the bar or tables to continue their talk. Some are hanging around the pool tables, taking turns. No one really catches your eyes – not that you were even looking for one who might – until your eyes land on a familiar face staring at you from the bar.

Your chest rises heavily but quickly as you stare at Will. His short blonde hair is slightly unkempt along with his beard. He’s wearing the black hoodie that used to swallow you when you’d put it on to get the take-out after a round of good fucking when he’d come home from deployment.

It still smells like your perfume which is why he hardly wears it now, but this night was an exception. He missed you and he wanted to feel like you were still somehow close.

When he saw you in the bar, he couldn’t believe his own eyes. He had to go over to talk to you, but when he noticed you weren’t alone, the courage he had was shot to shit.

Will became quietly furious and told the guys that he was just gonna drink by the bar, that they should go ahead and shoot pool without him because he wanted to be alone.

They kept an eye on him from the distance while he kept his eye on you. With every smile and laugh Louis managed to pull out of you, Will took a shot of whisky along with his beer to keep him from flipping tables. He was ready to drag the man out of there by his collar.

But instead, he sat back and watched you. Watched how you played with your hair like you used to play with it around him, how you rubbed your lips together to even out your lipstick.

Louis’s glance at them didn’t go unnoticed by Will. He remembered how he used to watch your lips because he simply couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

You can tell from the flaring nostrils that he is livid. It’s not out of fear; you know he would never do anything to hurt you.

You can’t stop feeling like a bug on a microscope, so you quickly avert your eyes and look at your drink. Taking a last long gulp of it, you push the glass aside and grab your purse.

You make for the bathroom seeking shelter from Will’s penetrating gaze, but before you can reach the door, you feel a hand grabbing your arm in the empty hallway that leads toward it.

“I just wanna talk.”

“It’s never just a talk between us, Will” you argue trying to avoid the large silhouette of him cast by the dim dive bar light.

“You’re out with someone else? You haven’t even moved your things out.”

“I’m not out with him. I came here with Natalie and she didn’t tell me we’d be meeting them.”

“Are you fucking him?”

You frown at how quick he is to dismiss your entire explanation. All he can think about is that?

“Are you serious? That’s what you wanna ask?”

“Are you fucking him or not?”

“Yes, I am. What’s it to you?”

Lying to Will is stupid. The man interrogates terrorists from for a living. He knows a lie – especially coming from you – when he hears one. But you just can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that you are still madly in love with him and that it’s why you haven’t moved your things out of his place yet. Inside, you still hope to go back home to him.

He doesn’t reply to you because he knows you’re lying, but it doesn’t stop from getting angry at the thought of you with someone else. You, kissing and touching and fucking someone that’s not him. Their hands holding you and stroking your hair and other parts of your that are meant just for him. That someone else gets to see you come undone, with your hair a perfect mess and lips swollen from his kisses.

That is meant for him. And him only. He can’t understand why you haven’t come home yet, but he does understand why you haven’t come for your things. You can try to hide it as best as you can, but he can see right through your façade.

“You’re fucking him huh?”

His towering frame steps closer, intimidatingly cornering you against the wall. His hand doesn’t leave your arm. The stare he casts down at you has goosebumps travelling over your skin. Like a bunny caught in a trap, you know you’re done for.

“Does he fuck you Iike I do?” he questions nudging his nose at the hair on the crown of your head

“Even better” you snap, trying to resist the trance he holds you under.

He scoffs with a false smile.

“Let’s fucking see about that,” he snarls pulling you into the bathroom.

You frown at the way he shoves you inside, holding your arm where the indents of his fingers are still printed into your skin as you question what his problem is.

“My problem is you.”

Locking the bathroom door, he quickly closes the space between you. His lips crash hungrily against yours. His hand balls the hair on the back of your head, keeping you close and unable to pull away from him. Not that you would either way.

You’ve missed this, you’ve missed him. You’ve missed his kiss. You’ve missed his touch. You’ve missed everything about him.

The way your tongues dance with one another makes you forget why you had even left the house in the first place. As he pushes you back towards the sink, your hands reach for his thick neck to keep yourself from falling over with his eagerness.

Although the music echoes into the bathroom, all you can hear is the heavy breathing and desperate moans coming from the pair of you as eager hands grope clumsily at each other.

The drinks you had only add to the intoxication of his kiss, whisky lingering on his lips. The room spins around you as his mouth reaches that one spot on your neck that he knows drives you insane.

Your head lulls back in a daze and your eyes close to savor the touch of his hand under the top you have on. He groans massaging your flesh and works his way down to your ass, shoving itself past your jeans to push them down as the loose fabric slides down easily.

His large hands grope your cheeks spreading them with a slight burn that only soaks your pussy even more. Will watches his hands knead and massage your flesh the reflection of the mirror like you’re his favorite personal playdough, fingers invading under the fabric of your panties.

With his throbbing dick grinding against you, he closes his eyes and lets himself melt back into the kiss. Keeping a firm grip on your ass, he moves his other hand to your front to shove it down your panties.

You moan his name, pulling away from his kiss desperate for air when he circles around and over your hardened clit.

“Jesus Fuck, Will,” you gasp gripping at his hoodie with your nails. “Fuck, that feels s-so good. Right there…”

With his other hand balled into the back of your hair, he forces your mouth back onto his to continue his selfish prodding with his tongue.

“he touch you like this?” he breathes, mouth opening against your cheek.

“N-no,” you mumble into him.

He smirks watching your face pinch at the pleasure he wants to remind you only he can offer. Gathering the slick from your folds, he hisses at the dampness.

“He get you wet like this too huh? Ain’t even fucked you yet and you’re fucking drenched, baby.”

You shake your head as if he didn’t already know the answer. He just likes hearing that no one makes you feel as good as he can.

Drunk on his touch, the scent of him fills your lungs and goes straight to your head coursing through your veins like a drug. You palm the hard outline of his cock through his jeans and quickly work to unbutton them, high on him as his fingers push into your dripping entrance.

You quickly fumble your hand into his pants and briefs desperate to feel his hard dick. The touch of your hand on his cock shatters the hard front he tries to hold onto.

“Shit, baby,” he whimpers biting into your shoulder when your thumb swipes over his leaking tip.

His fingers cease their movement for a quick moment as you tug on his cock, driving him insane with every stroke. Addicted to you, he turns you around to face the mirror on the wall.

As he quickly pushes his pants and briefs down, you mimic him by quickly pushing your panties down your thighs and spread your legs, angling your hips and arching your ass out to welcome him.

His mouth hungrily latches onto your neck as his cock glides roughly against you drench folds, gathering your slick to mingle with his pre-cum. Licking a glob of his spit onto the fingers that were inside you, he savors the sweet familiar taste he’s longed for as he coats the saliva over the tip of his cock.

“Look at me.” His command has your eyes shooting up to obey, taking in the sight your stained lipstick. “Feel me.”

Staring at your reflection, he watches you to make sure your eyes never leave his as he slowly pushes his cock into your cunt.

“Take it. Take it like a good girl.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the slow delicious burn you feel as his cock slowly spears itself in between your clenching walls.

“You’re my girl,” he whispers wrapping a hand on your neck. The wetness of his spit and your pussy feels cold against your skin.

You nod in agreement gazing hopeless into his dark eyes.

“Say it” he orders bottoming out, balls deep in you.

“I-I’m your girl” you nod, eyes and hips pleading for movement at the fullness of his cock.

“Only my girl?” he questions shoving a hand down to again toy with your clit.

“Only your girl.”

He smiles and finally starts moving his hips, fucking you hard and slow.

“Show me your tits, baby girl.”

Without hesitation, your hands excitedly push your bra and tops up bunching them together over your chest. Will kisses the back of your head praising your obedience, whispering how much he loves you as his hips pick up the pace.

The ungodly sounds of your damp and hot cheeks clapping against his relentless hips fill the bathroom along with your panting. Growing closer and closer to your orgasm, you grip the edge of the countertop and bite down on your bottom lip, taking him raw and rough as best as you can, trying to last longer but the fingers rubbing your clit force your orgasm to come soon than you hoped.

“Look, baby” he orders with a hand under your jaw as he pounds into you, fingertips squeezing into your warm cheeks.

Your teary eyes struggle to fix clearly on the mirror but you obey regardless. You’ll always obey him; a slave to his love.

His hips stutter in their movements as he finally cums into you, filling your walls with warmth.

“Look at you. This is where you belong. With me.” He breathes against your ear.

“Where do you belong hm?” he asks slowly pushing his load deeper and deeper in you with gentle thrusts.

“W-with you.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles and places a tender kiss to your cheek. “Go say goodbye to your friends and tell ‘em you’re coming home.”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 12

Day Eleven | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Thirteen

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

“Just fixing my tie.” 

“You need help?” 

“I’ve got it.”

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

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

“That’s on purpose!” 

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

“How’s the tie looking?” 

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

“I assume you like what you see?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You look beautiful.” 

“It’s a good dress.”

“It’s not just the dress.”

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

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

“Is that so?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” 

“I’m starting to get one. Come here.” 

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

“Mhm!” 

-- 

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m not staring.” 

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

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

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

“What’s going on over there?” 

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

“Nothing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“What about it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.” 

-- 

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

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

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

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

“Your timing is impeccable, William.” 

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

“Has it been excruciating?” You asked. 

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so.” 

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

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

“Exactly.” 

“How often are you thinking?” 

“Oh, once a month, at least.” 

“Once a month?”

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

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

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

“What about me?” 

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

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

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

“A fancy date?” 

“Do you wanna go skydiving in a suit?” 

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

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

“Tell you what else,” Will murmured. 

“Mmm?” 

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

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

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

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

--  

“That wasn’t so bad. “

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a good suit.” 

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

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

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

-- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will?” 

“Mm?” 

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

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

“...And if I want to say it back?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021

[rayslittlekitten]

No More Secrets

“Dad Will” Masterlist

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

Rating: T

Word Count: ~3,400

Pairing: Dad!Will x Wife F!Reader

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

Contains: hurt/comfort, angst

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

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

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

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

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

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

You took the last sip and handed him your cup. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"So how was lunch with Fish?"

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

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

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

“Was it any good?”

“It was alright,” he shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a shaky breath.

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

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

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

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

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

"Months," you corrected him.

"Months," he nodded in agreement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this point, you were completely speechless. 

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

Tears now streamed down your face.

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” You confirmed as you nodded again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I thought—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know," he nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

I remember the fic, I remember every fic I ever requested from people!!!

But he doesn’t. He’s the world’s fucking worst boyfriend, torturing you as you cringe in pure embarrassment. “Y/N, for once won’t you just take the goddamn compliment?”

Poor Will, he's frustrated!

“Don’t make me start a fight,” he teases, tickling your sides, with a few playful little squeezes. “You better start believing it tonight, or else you won’t get your surprise...”

That's bribery!

“Damn right you’re fine,” he coos, using the stupid word against you. Then he swivels you around to bless you with a kiss so passionate it blows your mind. Cradles you like the greatest treasure any man could ever find. “I really can’t believe you’re mine.”

So cute!

“Hmm, that depends...” he purrs, guiding you inside as the door finally opens. “Are you gonna be a good girl and start taking some compliments?”

Of course he follows through.

“That’s a good little girl,” he purrs, barely a whisper. The warmth of his breath on your skin makes your toes curl. “My good little girl. You know you’re the most beautiful thing in the world?”

“Hmmm?” he wickedly hums, rubbing the tip of his dick against your dripping cunt as he traces your lip with his thumb.

Take the Praise, Princess

A/N: Here’s a smutty fluffy little fic in which your man Will Miller discovers that you’ve got a major praise kink! ✨ 

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, reader has self-image problems and Will awakens her praise kink to resolve them Request: Request from @happylittlepuppydog​

Word Count: ~2.2k

“Wow. Babe, you look absolutely stunning.”

Ugh—does he really have to do this now? Whenever Will starts pouring on the praise, your instincts tell you to start running. Far away. Somehow he’s gotten you to stay; that’s just how much you fucking love him. But you’ll never fathom what he sees when you’re standing in front of him. Why this flawless sex god chose you as his woman.

Tonight you’re all dressed up for him to take you somewhere nice, then treat you to some grand ‘surprise.’ So now that you’re looking the best you’ve looked in months—which isn’t saying much—you should’ve seen the praises coming.

Staring at your own reflection, you’re quite sure you couldn’t possibly be farther from perfection. You’re the total polar opposite.  “Will, stop it…”

But he doesn’t. He’s the world’s fucking worst boyfriend, torturing you as you cringe in pure embarrassment. “Y/N, for once won’t you just take the goddamn compliment?”

“No, I won’t,” you refuse, like the strong woman you are. Or at least try to be. With all your crippling self-esteem issues, sometimes it’s fucking hard. “You know how much I hate it when you lie to me. So don’t. Don’t even start.”

Will laughs and wraps his big strong arms around you from behind. “Bitch, are you blind? You look divine…”

“Just ‘cause you force me to receive this shit, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna start believing it.”

“Don’t make me start a fight,” he teases, tickling your sides, with a few playful little squeezes. “You better start believing it tonight, or else you won’t get your surprise…”

Keep reading

[navybrat817]

😘

Kris, look at him. I need him! 🫠

Welcome to the Meal

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

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

Word Count: Over 600

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I’m hungry,” Will said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who wouldn't want William Miller to love them?

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

You saw paradise. Home. Love.

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

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

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

“Of course,” the server said.

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

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

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

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[gosmigenergy]

JUST DESSERTS

( Triple Frontier Boys x F!Reader )

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

Rating: Mature 18+

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

Word Count: 8.4k

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

You had spent all afternoon watching from a distance.

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

You heard his hushed profanity.

“You ok, babe?”

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

“I forgot an ingredient.”

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

“I can go get it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry to interrupt.”

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

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

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

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

“Gotta make sure you’re satisfied.”

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

“I’m just gonna clean up.”

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

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

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

“I hate you,” he turns to Frankie.

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

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

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

“She’ll be fine.”

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

“Ruby chocolate?”

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

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

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

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

“Ow!”

He immediately put everything down and wrapped himself around you.

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

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

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

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

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

“You got any questions about tonight?”

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

There was only one question you could think of.

—

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

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

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

“They could have hosted it here.”

“With what table?”

Benny shrugged, “I could have got something.”

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

“Don’t you have a dress shirt?”

Will watched on as Benny rifled through his wardrobe.

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

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

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

“Who do you think?”

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

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

“The coke one?”

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

“You know which one I mean.”

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

“What about the green sweaters?”

Benny stepped to the side and pulled them out.

“Bunny likes this one.”

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

“Is that a cartoon character?”

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

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

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

Will was going to have to take him shopping.

“That’ll do.”

—

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

“You look as lovely as ever, Bunny.”

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

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

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

Benny bashfully came in after his brother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we have more light?”

“Honey, this is meant to be romantic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that floral flavour?”

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

“Special ingredient,” Santiago responded quickly.

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

“Tell us what?”

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

“Sooo, it’s not rose?”

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

Santiago clocks it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

“Sure you don’t want to do this?”

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

“It’s gotta be you, man.”

His friend was right, Santiago just hated it.

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

“Hey.”

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

You sniff, “Hey.”

He sits at your feet and you move them back.

“Honey, I’m sorry.”

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

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

“I know, it’s bad timing on my part.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m mean but I’m not that mean.”

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

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

“Would you have eaten it if you knew?”

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

“I guess not.”

He hummed, he guessed as such.

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

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

“How long till it kicks in?”

“Somewhere between thirty minutes to an hour.”

“So I have time to fix my makeup?”

He double checks his watch, “Plenty.”

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

“Am I forgiven?”

“We’ll see how the night goes.”

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

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

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

“Need any help?”

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

“All good, sweetheart.”

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

“I kind of ruined dinner, didn’t I?"

“Hardly.”

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

You hovered nervously, waiting for his attention.

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

“Can I fix you a drink?”

You smile, “Please.”

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

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

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

“And what do you think?”

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

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

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

“On the table.”

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown, looking further over your shoulder.

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

“Any other night I would.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going, Bunny?”

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

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

A smile grows on his face, “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shiiit…”

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

“Is this what happened last time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ok?”

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

“See, Benny, it is working.”

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

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

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

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

“Come on,” he strode to the door.

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

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

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

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

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

“Feeling it?”

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

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

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

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

“How’s it going, Bunny?”

You gasp for air, “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you be disappointed?

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

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

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

“That’s it.”

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

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

“You alright, cariño?”

You give a muffled response.

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

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

Benny had to get out of his clothes.

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

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

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

The rest of the world blurred around the edges.

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

“We’re gonna need to hurry this up.”

Santiago gave him a singular nod.

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

The vibrations of your groan sent shockwaves through Santiago.

“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need a hand?”

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

“You could use a break…”

Your heart sinks.

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

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

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

“Relax, I got you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frankie tuts, “Show off.”

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

You couldn’t take your eyes off Benny.

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

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

“Benny, Benny, please,” you beg.

“Almost there, Bunny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thought we’d lost you.”

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

“You’re gonna need this.”

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

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

“You two ok?”

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

“All fucking good, Bunny.”

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

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

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

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

“Everyone’s coming, right?”

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

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

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Getting tired, Ben?”

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

—

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

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

“Where are you going, honey?”

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

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

“They’ll be fine.”

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

There was a pause.

“How could I forget.”

He turned over, shuffling closer to Benny.

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

“Coming in with us?”

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

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

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

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

Santiago’s spider-senses were tingling.

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh, stepping forward whilst you hugged your frame.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Since when?”

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

He’s lucky last night actually went so well.

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

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

“I’m not mad.”

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

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

“Bunny…” 

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

“Talk to me.”

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

Santiago nodded, his deep brown eyes searching your face.

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

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

Now, who’s acting like a child?

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

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

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

“So, where do you stand on surprises?”

“Surprises?”

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

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

“Depends how stupid they are.”

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

Your heart skipped a beat.

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

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

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

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re lying.”

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

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

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

He doesn’t say anything and you scowl.

“You gonna say it back?”

He smiles, “Love you, honey.”

You give him a peck on the cheek.

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

“Sure.”

With that you were gone, door left wide open.

“Bunny, your drink!”

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

“Hot pan!” He flung his arm out.

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

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

“Pope, seriously man?”

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

He shrugged, “I had to.”

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

“Pancakes?”

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

“Yes!”

“No,” Frankie and Santiago said immediately.

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

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

“Shut up.”

Frankie knew full well it wasn’t old age.