#Ironhead Miller | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laurfilijames · 1 month

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Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Hurricane. Power outage. Oral sex (F receiving). Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: A hurricane rolls in and knocks out the power, allowing Will to make good use of the time waiting it out with you.

A/N: I've had this idea toiling around in my head for a bit, and when we recently lost power at our cottage, I decided to go for it. I have no experience of hurricanes so I apologize if this isn't accurate, though I tried to remain vague. A big thanks to @rhoorl for the Florida hurricane knowledge and to @ramadiiiisme for supporting this idea through to the very end 💗

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The sight when you reached the top of the stairs stopped you in your tracks, admiring Will standing by the large window of your living room looking out at the wrath of weather outside, his expression content and thoughtful.

You set down the pile of various candles you had collected from every room in the house, smiling despite feeling a tangle of nerves in your stomach at the potential strength of this growing hurricane.

“Should you be standing that close to the window?” you asked, causing Will to smirk and glance over his broad shoulder at you.

“She’s starting to really ramp up out there.”

You sighed in response, dreading the thought of it getting any worse, the rain already accumulating to the point that the drainage systems on the street couldn’t keep up with it.

Will remained in place, staring back out at the palm trees swaying wildly, the bend of their trunks impressive, seeming completely unbothered by the storm and almost calmed by it.

Coming up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and brought your hands up to his chest, feeling him take a slow breath in as he covered one of your hands with his.

“I like watching Mother Nature do her thing,” he explained, his voice soothing and even. “She’s angry, letting it all out.” He squeezed your hand as you rested your cheek on his back, already tired of watching the sheets of rain and extreme wind bully everything in their paths.

“I know what that’s like,” he finished, exhaling another slow breath that you felt fill and deflate out of his lungs.

Will turned and gathered you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his somber admission now an afterthought. “So, what did you manage to scrounge up?” he asked, his tone lighter than before.

“Oh, just every candle I’ve ever bought or been given,” you smiled, turning your head to look at the array that was spread out on the kitchen table. “It might look nice when they’re all lit up, but the combination of scents might be a bit offensive.”

Will laughed, his body moving against yours with the motion of it, and you smiled and looked up at him, his blue eyes bright in the dim grey of the storm.

“I just hope the power stays on a bit longer,” you wished out loud, knowing however many candles you made glow wouldn’t be enough to outshine the encroaching dark from the storm let alone the fact that it was creeping later into the night.

“Hmm, yeah, the air conditioner is hardly keeping up as it is,” Will explained, his hand smoothing up your back where it dragged your shirt along with it, the stickiness of your skin and clothes already beginning to feel intolerable.

The lights flickered and the sound of the power surging through the house made both of you part slightly to glance at your surroundings, the warmth from the light of the lamps that were turned on illuminating your belongings for the last time before everything went dark.

Will chuckled while you groaned, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. “Well, sweetheart, it looks like you’ve got a superpower.”

You shot him a glare as you walked over to the table, starting to distribute the candles throughout the kitchen and living room, but not lighting any yet since some light was still coming in from outside.

Will sat on the couch, grinning as he watched you, almost seeming like he was pleased and entertained by the situation.

“How long before you turn on the generator?” you asked, testing your luck even though you knew what the answer was going to be.

He shook his head as he laughed again, “Not until I need to. We might have a ways to go here and I’m not wasting gas in the first few hours of this.”

His eyebrows crept up his forehead as he spoke, his voice stern and amused all at once. “You’re going to have to be patient and trust me.”

You sighed and nodded, flicking the Zippo lighter you held on and off a couple of times before walking into the living room to join him, knowing that out of all the people to have by your side during an emergency, Captain William Miller was the best and most capable one.

He had already spent hours checking the house to make sure everything was secure, gathering supplies like gasoline and food and water, and hauled sandbags all morning with Benny and Frankie that they distributed out to the neighbours, even making a point to check in on some of the elderly ones.

“C’mere,” he purred, beckoning you over to where he sat comfortably, his long legs spread wide with one arm draped over the back of the couch.

He looked at you adoringly as you moved toward him slowly, his smile growing to pull out the creases beside his mouth that couldn’t be kept hidden in his beard, and you matched it with your own sly grin, suddenly forgetting everything that was happening around you as you became pleasantly distracted by the man sitting before you.

You straddled his lap, pulling up the hem of your flowy skirt as you did, seating yourself directly on the bulge in his workout shorts that elicited a low moan from him.

“It’s going to be a long night, sweetheart,” he spoke softly, his eyes flickering over your chest and then up to your lips. “We’re going to have to ride this thing out.”

It was said with such implication that despite the heat, you shivered, goosebumps crawling up your back and down your arms, and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you squirmed on his vast thighs.

“And what are your suggestions for…riding… it out, Captain?”

Will shrugged and smirked, his eyes glowing the same way his skin was from the humidity that hung heavily in the room, his hands groping at your hips.

“I’ve got some ideas.”

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks, loving the way his dark blond facial hair felt against your palms, and pulled him into a kiss while arching your back to get your body closer to his at the same time, both of you breathing out in the relief of your lips meeting.

Will set the pace, starting off with slow rolls of his tongue with yours, his hands carding up and down your body languidly, reminding you that there was no hurry in any of your actions and that you had all the time in the world to do anything you wanted with each other.

You slid your hands down the thick column of his neck to his chest, feeling his pulse hammer against them, landing on his chest where his body heat poured off of him, the cotton of his t-shirt damp and clinging to his form.

It took everything in you to maintain composure, thankful for Will reminding you to slow it down whenever you found yourself moving your hips faster, his hands pressing and digging into your flesh to force you to keep the steady rhythm that he started.

The slick that already saturated your thong teased you the more you ground your aching core against him, feeling his hard cock straining against the material that contained it, the excitement and anticipation of having him buried inside you intensifying by the second.

The skin on your chin and lips were already raw from how long you had been kissing, the steamy makeout session only made better by dry humping each other until you both were on the verge of finishing how you were, your whines and moans growing while your movements decreased to be as light as possible in an attempt to prolong this intoxicating tease.

Will kissed and sucked at your neck and chest, having already exposed more of you by tugging the neckline of your shirt to the side with eager hands, his breath fanning over your sweat-coated skin when he sighed deeply through his nose.

“Fuck me, you’re gonna make me cum in my shorts.”

He huffed out a laugh, but his admission only spurred you on more, grinding harder on him until his humour faded out and was replaced by ferocity, growling as he pressed his lips against yours again, the sweat that saturated his beard transferring onto you.

The storm was still going strong in the background, sheets of rain pummeling the house and striking the window with a sound that mimicked waves crashing the shoreline, the nerves you felt about it shifting into a frenzied arousal that you directed onto the man beneath you.

Your hands struggled to get under his shirt, the material so stuck to his stomach from his sweat that the skin on your palms dragged along his abdomen, the tackiness making it difficult for you to peel it up over his head.

It hit the floor with a slap, the weight of it evidence of how much the heat and you were affecting him, and you smiled against his lips at the sound of his breath hitching as you slid your hands down his chest to land on his solid pecs while your lower half continued to torture him.

You touched him everywhere you could reach, smoothing down his stomach and back up again, cradling the sides of his neck and then over his shoulders, and finally up to his hair where you let your fingers rake through it until you knew you had made it stick up in a spiky mess, deepening your kiss as the sensation made him press harder into your mouth.

The window rattled from the force of the winds, disrupting you enough that you broke your kiss and turned to look at it, the thought of it possibly shattering filling you with worry as you were reminded of your vulnerability.

Will placed his hand on your chin, his thumb smoothing it while his other fingers tucked up under your jawline, guiding your head back to face him where he silently assured you that everything was fine, his eyes reflecting a surety and vow of protection that no amount of reinforcements on the house could ever match. He adjusted the pad of his thumb so it sat on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to part it from the upper one, and it surprised you to see how quickly his expression changed, his eyes darkened so much by lust in a matter of seconds that the look in them rivaled the clouds spiraling outside.

He kissed you desperately, his hands falling to your waist where he lifted your shirt upward, only pausing the union of your mouths long enough to remove it from you, your braless chest grazing against his when you leaned into each other again.

Goosebumps broke out across your skin despite the humidity clinging heavily to the air around you, your nipples hardening and feeling incredibly sensitive each time his body brushed against them, your needy moans pouring into his mouth the more his hands roamed over your mostly bare form.

You could hardly handle it anymore, desperate to feel him deep inside you, moving your hips back slightly so you could access him, tearing the front of his shorts down where you reached in for his cock. Will was helpful, lifting his ass off the couch so his shorts could slide down his thighs in order to expose all of himself, his expression serious with brows furrowed and knitted tightly together as he watched you grip him in your hand and began stroking him tip to base, smearing the precum leaking from it all over his silky shaft.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you back to sit directly on top of his groin, guiding your motions as you rocked your covered pussy on his bare cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he hissed, holding your skirt up so he was able to watch you grind along his length, pressing his cock flat against his lower stomach where drips of cum spilled onto the smattering of flaxen pubes.

A slow sigh of approval passed your lips as you continued to languidly ride him, your eyes closing as you lost yourself in the sensation and moaning when you felt Will capture one of your breasts in his mouth and spin his tongue around your nipple.

You could feel him growing more impatient, his lips moving faster along your chest where he eagerly worshiped your tits, his fingers clawing at the thin material of your skirt as if he was ready to rip it to shreds to get at you, and his breathing became more laboured, his chest rising and falling quickly while the exhalations from his nose ghosted against the crests of your breasts.

“I need in there,” he growled, his head shaking to the side a couple of times like there was no way he could handle another second not being inside you, his fingers slipping into the crotch of your saturated panties to pull them to the side before running his index and middle fingers through your slick.

Your mouth pooled with saliva as he drove his long digits in and out of you in broad strokes before bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean, his other hand angling his cock to line up to part your folds while you lifted yourself up on your knees to allow him access to enter you.

You sank onto him slowly, letting him fill you inch by inch until you encased him completely, his blue eyes locked with yours with an appreciation held in them that made your heart beat faster.

Remaining still, you leaned forward and kissed him, your hands holding onto either side of his face, deepening your kiss as you relished in the fullness he provided without moving.

When you parted, Will gave you a soft smile that made you melt, his fingers coming up to trace along the side of your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, the surety in his words clear, although his expression was a thrilling mix of adoration and something waiting to be unleashed, the suspense of experiencing either rough or gentle treatment exhilarating you.

“I love you too, Will,” you breathed, not daring to look away from him.

A strong gale slapped the side of the house, reminding you that the hurricane blasting outside wasn’t to be forgotten, but Will immediately drew your attention back to him, his hands smoothing up your back to hold you against him in a firm, but soft way, his lips pressing onto your shoulder and across your collarbone to your neck, alternating between kisses and nips that told you his control was beginning to falter.

You started moving on him, riding him in careful waves that felt so incredible you weren’t sure how long you could keep it up, knowing that whether you moved slow or fast, you would be reaching your climax in no time.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, resting his back against the couch to watch you, locking his hands on your hips to force you down hard each time you lifted yourself up and almost off his cock.

He was completely enamoured, looking at you as if anything could be happening outside that window and he wouldn’t care to notice, his eyes dancing over your form in a struggle to choose which part of you he wanted to see the most.

Finding the perfect spot that made you thrum with ecstasy, you rolled your hips and bounced up and down, your swollen clit hitting the base of his cock in a shattering blow each time, your skin tingling from head to toe as your orgasm built.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?” Will asked, his words breathy as he admired you sliding on him.

“Yes, fuck!”

Will thrusted up into you a few times, your cries growing loud enough they almost drowned out the noise of the hurricane, your nails digging into the flesh on his shoulder as you approached your high.

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Will interrupted, though his voice was soothing. “Not yet.”

His eyes were big and bright despite the dark grey that had fully consumed the room, and although you were taken aback by him edging you, you couldn't deny the trust you had in him to look after you.

“Sit down,” he ordered, nodding to the space on the couch beside him as helped move your legs off of his.

Will stood and removed his shorts that sat halfway down his legs, stepping out of them before moving to kneel on the floor in front of you, his thumbs smoothing on your knees in a way that contradicted the way he forcefully pressed on them to encourage you to spread your legs for him.

He kissed his way up the inside of your right thigh, a low growl coming from him as he inhaled deeply when he reached your core, and then moved over to your other thigh, peppering wet kisses slowly away from where you needed him most until you were squirming where you sat.

“Will…” you breathed, shifting your hips to try to bring yourself closer to him.

“Let’s get this off,” he grunted, his patience thinning as your skirt was preventing him from taking everything he wanted.

He reached behind you, his fingers easily finding the zipper and pulled it down, keeping steely eye contact while wiggling it off your hips with the help of you shifting from one cheek to the other until he peeled the flowy fabric off of your body.

The creases on his forehead were pronounced as he continued to look up at you as he tugged at the waist of your thong, sliding it down to expose your dripping cunt that his eyes were now fixed on as he guided the wet piece of cotton to your feet.

Will hooked his arms under your legs, letting them relax on his biceps, his tattooed forearms wrapping around your thighs to hold you securely. He pulled you toward him, bringing you to the edge of the cushion so you were flush with his face, his nose brushing your folds before his tongue swiped through the mess he had already made.

A long moan toppled out of you as you raked your fingers through his hair, lifting your hips slightly to get even more contact with his talented tongue that licked at you slowly and precisely in an effort to wreck you.

He picked you apart minute after agonizing minute, continuously bringing you to the peak only to stop you there each time, the violent storm outside going ignored and nothing compared to the one raging inside you.

As always, Will was completely focused on his mission, working you with the expertise he had come to master over all the hours spent learning your body, knowing the exact amount of pressure placed on the perfect spot that would send you soaring.

Not once did his hands leave their hold on your legs, completely unselfish in his art and not even considering touching himself, his generosity and the thought of his leaking, rigid cock left waiting for attention adding to your demise.

You pleaded over and over, his name like a song with the storm as your instrumental background, desperate for release as you ground against his face, your heels digging into his waist as he in turn dug his mouth harder into your cunt.

He had you where he wanted you, and pushing your tolerance a little further, Will unraveled one of his arms from around your leg and slipped his hand between the sofa and you, fingering you slowly while he sucked at your over-sensitive clit, the precise hook of his fingers making you clench around them like a vice.

And then he stopped.

You cursed loudly, whining and squirming as he sat up and looked at you with a satisfied expression, his face glistening from your pleasure.

A stray branch from a tree flew by and struck the house, drawing both of your attention to the window, but Will was quick to recover where your focus belonged.

He stood, a slight hitch as he straightened his long legs, his body that had been put through so much physical turmoil over his years of service known to cramp up if left idle for too long.

Will gripped at your knee, pushing it toward the back of the couch so your body was forced to spin and lay down, crawling between your spread legs until he was positioned over top of you with his arms braced on either side of your shoulders.

He kissed you intensely, moaning into your mouth as his cock nudged where he had left you aching for relief, savouring you like he had gone without the press of your lips on his for days.

His hand found yours, interlacing your fingers as he brought your arm above your head, laying his body completely on yours so he covered you entirely, protecting you with all he had.

He was heavy, but comforting, his weight assuring and a reminder of his strength and unwavering love for you, and at the same time it came as a warning of the crushing power he could choose to have, like he was a hurricane all in himself and you were in his path of destruction.

Will paused in kissing you as he adjusted his hips, looking down between your bodies to watch his cock easily push through your tight folds, a shaky breath exhaling from his parted lips as his brows knitted tightly together at the sensation of being back in your embrace.

You looked to the side to see out the window as another blast of wind surged against the house, only to have Will squeeze your hand that he still held in his, his voice calm and even.

“Hey, focus on me,” he ordered, his eyes a turbulent blue when you met them. “Look at me.”

You nodded, holding his gaze as he began to move inside you, the feel of him stroking your walls in long, slow drags making it difficult to keep your eyes open.

Your free hand ran along the flexing muscles of his back, clawing at his sweat-coated skin as he found a pace that brought you right back to the point he had left you at more than once, your head tipping back into the couch as you were dragged into the throes of pleasure even more intensely than before.

“You’re safe with me, sweetheart,” Will promised, his voice intoxicating and comforting all at once. “I’ve got you, you can relax…”

He spoke against your neck before moving his mouth back to yours, kissing you gently before probing his tongue in, the tempo of his thrusts deepening now that he knew you were succumbing to everything he was giving you.

He moved on you like the wind moved the rain, pushing and forceful, seeking his own release as he rolled against you with fervor and breathy moans were exchanged between your mouths as you chased your highs together.

Your whole body tensed, convulsing and giving up all control as he fucked you through the shattering orgasm made even more powerful thanks to how he had edged you, feeling yourself release on his shaft that alternated between being buried deep inside you and pulling out almost completely.

Will pressed his mouth hard on yours before breaking the seal of your lips, allowing his laboured breaths and rough grunts to sound out as he fought to follow right behind you, the cadence of your contracting walls coaxing out his end.

You could feel him pulse inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed that was always generous in its quantity, his pace remaining steady though his rhythm began to break.

Drops of sweat from his brow landed on your chest, his harsh movements shaking the accumulated moisture off of him, continuing to buck into you erratically until he had nothing left to give.

He crashed against your lips again, transferring even more sweat from his efforts onto your skin, his hand releasing yours where he brought it to your head and smoothed it over your hair, kissing you slowly but purposefully as he gradually let the rolling of his hips fade out.

After a minute, Will pulled out of you, reaching for some tissues out of the box on the side table and handed them to you, taking some for himself for you to both clean up. He stood with a grunt, looking down at you with an extended hand to take the soiled tissues from you, the muscles in his cheeks flinching wildly as he clenched his teeth together.

Will paused for a minute, looking out at the tempest scene, all of his veins raised as blood pumped strongly through them, his muscles accentuated beautifully from his efforts, and you couldn’t help but fall even further in love for him, his face stoic and almost unreadable, but only you knew how much emotion lingered beneath.

He sighed as he moved again, stretching his weary limbs while stalking to the kitchen, and you wondered if he had any idea how much you worshiped him even as he did the simplest of things.

You laid there listening to him rummage around, looking out the window at the ever-present hurricane, the room almost completely dark as night had successfully consumed the sun along with the storm.

Will returned with two glasses of water and set one on the table, passing the other to you.

“Drink up, sweetheart,” he drawled, smirking as he spoke. “The eye hasn't even passed over yet, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

The wink he sent you went straight to your core, your anticipation of whatever else he had planned for you enticing you and almost had you hoping this hurricane would last for days.

You returned his smile as you brought the glass to your lips, sipping it as you watched him sit on the couch beside you and grab the lighter off the coffee table, flicking it on so the warm flame illuminated his dewy, gorgeous features in the otherwise dreary dark. He lit the two candles that you had placed there earlier before grabbing his own glass and downing the contents of it, seeing the way his throat moved as he swallowed making you thirsty for more.

He sighed when he finished drinking, running his hand over his face to rid it of the sweat, and looked back over to you still laying where he had left you.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling up your naked form until they landed on yours.

You shook your head ‘no’, giving him a sated smile, thinking how you would happily give up air conditioning and electricity permanently if it meant sharing more moments like this with him.

Will gave a nod and laid down beside you, helping you shift so there was room for him to lay with his front against your back, spooning you comfortably where you both were able to face the window.

His arm draped over your waist and tucked under yours, his hand cupping your breast, and tangling his legs with yours, brought his groin as close to your bum as he could.

He hummed against the back of your neck, his nose brushing your damp skin, and you smiled when you felt he was hard again, his cock pressing between your cheeks.

“You’re going to outlast this hurricane,” you giggled, squirming so your bum rubbed along his shaft, making him growl against your skin.

“Damn right, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand running down your stomach and around to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart where he slowly pushed inside your tight walls.

He kissed your neck, the sensation of his beard on your skin making you moan and shiver, his hand returning to your breast where he tugged and pinched at your peaked nipple.

“We're going to need to pace ourselves, here,” he warned in your ear, beginning the slow drag of his cock out of you before slamming it back in, the conflict he felt between wanting to keep you safe and seeking to destroy you playing in his mind.

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@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

#will miller #will miller smut #will miller x female reader #triple frontier #charlie hunnam #will miller x reader #will 'ironhead' miller #william miller #william 'ironhead' miller #triple frontier fic #will miller fic #charlie hunnam characters

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intheorangebedroom · 1 month

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. What happens if you can't make it to the motel on Friday evening?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey thank you for your help and beta reading, I fucking adore you so much it's downright obscene 🧡

Word count: 12.2k

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Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier

Make us come, baby. Make us come together.

These words are yours.

Even if you never see him again. Even if you lose him before having had the time to map the freckles on his skin. To sleep in his arms. To hear him repeat them. They’re yours to keep.

He mouthed them against your skin, sunk them into your bloodstream in bright mahogany before coming undone, wrapped around your body.

They’re yours, right?

Even if you don’t get to see him ever again.

—

It starts with the cramps. That’s how it usually goes. A myriad of microscopic pliers nipping at your intercostal muscles.

Your eyes shoot open at the familiar ache. The early morning hues redefine the room in blue shadows. You blink your sleep-heavy eyelids a few times, confused, before your vision adjusts and you recognize the room around you. It’s your bedroom. Your nightstand, your lamp, your books. Your pills. Your tube of scented hand cream. The chair in the corner, that ugly, Louis XV style, transparent polycarbonate monstrosity by that French designer. The large windows. Those damn floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light, too much heat, too much open view. Nowhere to hide, in here.

It has to be sometime between 4 and 5 am, you assume, before another cramp seizes you. You curl up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter to your chin.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Friday.

Inside your abdomen, nausea streams densely, like liquid lead, from your ribs to your stomach, as cold shivers run up your spine. Sweat breaks on your forehead. You know only too well what’s happening, but it can’t be, there’s been no warning signs. No headache, no stabbing sensation in your lower belly, no spinning head.

Today is Friday.

You reject the obvious.

Were you so engrossed in the memory of him to pay attention? His hand wrapped around your nape, his forearm molded along your spine, pressing you into his chest, making you two as one. Closer.

Nausea is already lapping at your esophagus. The pliers bite harder at your ribcage and you know you have to move now if you want to make it to the bathroom before it happens. Shuddering, you push away the comforter, then get up and run.

Kneeled on all fours on the cool bathroom tiles, you dive headfirst into the toilet’s porcelain bowl as everything inside you collapses on itself, emptying the content of your stomach, mostly liquid. You should have eaten something last night.

You know you’re not pregnant. For an infinity of reasons.

Because you haven’t let Adrian fuck you in weeks. Because, when he does, he always wears protection. That’s your mutual, very tacit agreement. A silent understanding that you’re never the only woman, at any given moment. An unspoken confession on his behalf, implicit permission on yours.

Because your contraceptive pill is the only one you’ll never stop popping.

Because you’ve suffered through more stomach bugs than you care to count.

And of course, because Frankie won’t come inside you.

You stand up on fawn-like legs and flush the toilet.

You splash water on your face and grab your toothbrush with a trembling hand, shaking from head to toe. You know this is only the beginning, but it’s coming in strong. This one is most likely going to be a bad one. At least for now the pain is gone.

Above the sink, the woman in the mirror stares at you with unsettling, disproportionate glassy eyes. Her skin looks waxy, she scares you, and you have to lower your eyes. You brush your teeth as quickly as you can.

You haven’t made it back to the bedroom when the second wave of cramps squeezes your abdomen. The pain folds you in half, and you let out a low whine.

It echoes like distant thunder along the glass walls of the empty corridor.

—

On Fridays, you count. You break down hours and minutes and steps and heartbeats into small, bearable quantities, so that you can live through them without going crazy. Today, however, you’re counting trips to the bathroom, and the time between two attacks from the cramps, like you’re readying yourself to give birth to a terrible monster, feeding off you from the inside of your quivering body.

You’ve managed to spend most of the day hiding in your office, with the window cracked open, and the AC cranked up to the max. The clothes you wear are the same as yesterday. Your expensive formal blouse sticks to your sweaty skin in clammy patches. You’re cold, cold and hot all at once. In fact, you’re burning up, and a chill sweat has you shivering in the non-existent breeze.

You haven’t gotten any work done, to state the obvious. You’re just dozing in and out of consciousness between two crises, head like a rock sinking onto your arms on top of your shiny glass desk. Its surface fogs with every one of your short breaths. You’re running out of toothpaste.

Being the boss’ daughter has never granted you any particular privilege over your coworkers, except on days like this. At the first signs of sickness, you go home, or call in sick. Stay in bed for a couple of days, sleep it off, sip water tentatively every time you throw up until you can finally keep it down. No one has ever thought to comment on the frequency or duration of your sick leaves. Not even your father.

Kaytee has probably noticed something’s wrong with you. Her office is right by the bathroom, and you've run there seven times since you’ve arrived this morning, an hour late, which is uncommon, to boot. You look like a walking corpse, your eyes eating up half of your face and your lips pinched in a tight line. And surely, she will find a way to use this against you in the near or distant future. She’s been dying to take your place ever since she was recruited nearly two years ago, champing at the bit, waiting for you to slip so she can bury you.

If she only knew. How you are dying to let her have it all. That you are convinced she’d be so much better at the job than you’ll ever try to be.

With your last shred of energy, you push down the thought, like you push down the nausea and the shivers. On Fridays, everything that’s not him is irrelevant. At 6pm sharp, you’ll count your steps down to the parking garage and hop in your car. You’ll sit in traffic until you reach the 589 and you can finally cruise towards the motel in the protective semi-darkness of the Tampa suburbia.

You haven’t yet considered what will happen beyond this point. When he steps into the room and finds you sitting there, looking like an undead version of yourself, reeking of stale bile, rancid sweat and toothpaste.

All you have to do is make it there. You won’t give up, simple as that. You’ll suck it down.

Demonstrating resolve you never knew you possessed, you make it to sundown. You hold out through the pain, through the cramps, through the soreness on your knees and the abrasion in your throat and the stabbing sensation behind your eyes and the pulling of your gums.

At 6pm, you turn off the alarm of your phone and put it away in your purse. The room swirls around you the first time you try to get up. You wince, falling heavy on the simile leather chair you sweated on all day. You wipe your damp forehead and neck with a tissue, and you stand up again.

All the blood in your body rushes to your feet. There’s not a drop of it left in your brain. You swallow hard against the bitter taste clinging to your tongue and palate and start counting your steps toward the elevator, only to lose track somewhere after 18.

Dark, green circles flash in rapid succession across your pupils, narrowing your vision. You grip the strap of your purse harder, and register you can’t feel your fingers. Something is wrong with your balance, your whole body slants to the left. You try to correct its trajectory but you can’t feel anything below your calves either. What you can feel is your forehead and your nape, defined by pain, burning hot and somehow also freezing where beads of sweat run down your skin.

You’ve made it to the lobby when everything fades to black.

—

In your early 20s, you had genuinely tried to shake off the melancholia. An honest, hopeful attempt. You were away at college, and even though you didn’t get to choose your major, different and various paths seemed possible, within reach. A couple of years after graduation, when you had met Adrian, you had tried again, with renewed vigor and motivation.

You did want to get better.

You cut back considerably on hard liquor. You smiled broadly, at everyone. You said “please,” and “sorry.” Applied lipstick daily, polished your nails weekly. You went out to dinners and parties, wore high heels and interacted with strangers, drank wine in stem glasses and in reasonable quantities.

On your mother’s advice, you went to “see someone.” As your father prescribed, you read the news and followed sports results.

But the sadness kept settling down inside you, like the white particles inside a snowball. The vomiting spells became more frequent. Despite your willingness and earnest efforts, you kept falling short, and each fall hit you with increased brutality.

For your mother, you were too much. For your father, never enough. For Adrian, you would soon come to realize, you were a commodity.

Trying to please them in turn, learning your cues, anticipating their needs and wills and whims, torn up between their contradicting desires and expectations, smiling pretty and meek, you completely lost track of what you liked and who you were.

Anxious, confused, perpetually dissatisfied and unsatisfying, you withdrew within yourself. Hid away between the folds, detached and ready to flee, wishing for nothing more than to disappear.

As Ava grew up, her loud and unapologetic personality compelling everyone’s attention, she provided you with a reprieve and, most importantly, a purpose. But a diffuse sense of guilt soon arose, as your little sister’s struggles could hardly be instrumental to your self-fulfillment.

Inside of you, isolation and loneliness grew solid, like a second skeleton, keeping you upright.

Apathy soon took over. You resorted to medication to control it all.

And when it was no longer enough, you found your way to the Hole in the Wall.

—

The smell of rubbing alcohol floats around you in the chilled darkness, its rough acetone accents abrading your nostrils. There’s an undertone to it. Rotting perfume and decaying bodies. A faint beeping sound tugs at your consciousness, and as you begin to come to, pain strikes you in multiple places.

Something sharp stings the thin skin on the back of your right hand. Each one of your intercostal muscles is sore. Your throat is parched, rougher than sandpaper; your tongue too big for your mouth, stuck to your palate. Every single joint in your body is sensitive, but the worst, by far, is the piercing ache in your forehead. It glues your eyes closed.

Panic floods your brain with static when you stir, wincing against the shooting pain, and you don’t recognize the motel’s mattress. The one you’re lying on is too hard, the linen covering you too starchy, the darkness is closing in on you, you need to open your eyes, fence off the pain, find Frankie…

Frankie.

You never made it to the motel. Where the hell are you? When the hell are you?

“Ah. At long last, she wakes. How are you feeling, babe?”

Adrian’s honeyed voice hauls you through the darkness. Your eyelids flutter against the light until you open your eyes to a square room with a single, large window, blazing sun darting through.

Adrian is sitting in the corner by the foot of the bed. A hospital bed, apparently. A narrow, dark blue mattress, unusually high, encased with rails on each side and at your feet. You’ve never been hospitalized before.

He’s looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin stretching his thin lips, like he was just let in on a juicy secret. He’s dressed in his golf apparel.

The violent luminosity intensifies the splitting sensation in your forehead, it vibrates to the back of your skull, from within, from the sides.

Squinting, you turn your head to the side to take in your surroundings. On top of a beige, melamine nightstand are a black phone with a long twisted cord, an oval device with a red and a white buttons and another cord, and a metal kidney dish.

There’s a tray table over your legs, with a jug standing next to a hard glass already filled with water, and some paper napkins. There’s a needle in your hand. A drip. With a cord. You flinch a little at the sight. A white rectangle eats up the tip of your index, a red light flashing from inside it. Another cord. It’s linked to the source of the beeping sound, a square monitor to your right, displaying wobbly lines of green. Another two cords are plugged in, you follow their sinuous lines to your bed, where they disappear under the sheet, and you take in the two round patches taped to your chest.

So many cords. Too many sensors.

“Where’s my phone?” you mumble.

Your tongue feels like a piece of carpet. You’re not sure whether it’s even your voice anymore.

“You scared us this time,” Adrian says. His tone is cold, practiced, policed.

You reach for the plastic glass and bring it to your chapped lips. The liquid flows down your throat like a waterfall; you wince again.

“Can you pull down the blinds, please? The light hurts.”

He lets a moment pass before he gets up, then circles the bed, unhurried, pacing toward the window, but instead of shutting the Venetian blinds, he sits by your side. The mattress dips under his weight. You hold your breath, anticipating a new jolt of pain. Behind him, the daylight forms a halo, blurring the outline of his silhouette. Your eyes water against the brightness.

“What day is it?” you try again.

“One thing we don’t understand is why you didn’t go home. You got us all worried, you know?”

The beeping picks up pace, imperceptibly. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. The one with no cords linked to it. You know this dance, he won’t cooperate until you ask the right questions, the ones he wants you to listen to him answer. Better to give him what he wants, for now.

“What happened?”

“We don’t know exactly, that’s the thing. Well, you were sick, this you know,” he punctuates his words with a knowing grin and a wink, “but instead of coming home, you stayed at work, for some reason. We think you lost consciousness on your way out, and you hit your head on the elevator’s frame in your fall. We couldn’t help you right away because most employees had already left the floor. Jerry found you. He called your dad.”

You close your eyes, blocking the image of Jerry, of all people, finding you sprawled out and unconscious on the floor. And why would he call your father? Why not 911? You resent that collective we. Who the hell is we? Right about now, you could swear it’s the entire world versus you.

Besides, you’re fairly certain Kaytee was still in her office at the time. She never leaves before 8pm at the earliest and makes sure everyone knows about it.

“You split your forehead open. Apparently, you were running a pretty high fever, too. Oh, and you were critically dehydrated, according to the doctor I saw this morning,” he frames the words critically dehydrated in air quotes. “He also said something about a light concussion, I think.”

You lift a heavy hand to your forehead, the tip of your fingers gingerly testing what they find there, a gauze dressing, held in place by medical tape.

Having the clinical explanation behind the multiple aches throbbing inside your body somehow eases some of the pain.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, unable to look him in the eyes with the harsh light behind him. “I need my phone. Can you give me my phone, please?”

“What do you need your phone for?” he asks casually, seemingly absorbed by something on his pants.

It’s a dare. You know that tone all too well. Today, however, you find that you don’t feel like playing. You want your goddamn phone.

Frankie cannot possibly have tried to reach you as you never exchanged numbers, but you want to call the motel. Find out if he came. What happened then. You want to know what time it is, what day, how much of him you’ve missed. You’re craving his touch, his skin between your parted lips, your heart pumping on empty, racing madly from the need for him, and of all the sensations making your body known to you, this one by far hurts the most.

The beeping sound accelerates, drawing Adrian’s attention to the monitor, then to you. His cold blue gaze narrows on your face. You try to slow down your breathing, hoping it translates to your heart rate.

“I need to call Ava. She must be worried.”

“Ah yes, your sister, of course,” he exclaims, feigning a bright mood, as if you’d just reminded him you’re traveling to Hawaii together next week.

Getting up, he walks nonchalantly to the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall underneath the TV set, hands in his pockets. The black screen dwarfs his lean proportions. His red polo enhances his pallid complexion. You avert your gaze, lest the monitor picks up your disgust like it does your nervousness.

“Yes, it’s true, she probably got very distressed, when you didn’t show up at all last night,” he agrees with affected concern.

There’s a foul taste in your mouth. Acid, rubbing alcohol, and something else. The glass is empty, but you don’t think you can lift that jug. Each one of your muscles is vibrating, waiting for the axe to fall. If only that fucking monitor could stop beeping.

“Remember back in October, when Kenneth went to New York over the weekend for the symposium at NYU? Well you’ll never guess. He saw your sister there, in some uptown restaurant, making out with her…” his upper lip curls, “with this older woman, her girlfriend.”

So this is it. He knows. All this time, he’s known. Since October, practically since the beginning. And he let you believe you had him fooled, that you had the upper hand on the situation, that this part of your life was yours. He lured you into a false sense of safety, a deluded feeling of freedom. And all the while, he’s known.

It’s really your fault, for forgetting that’s how things are with him. That nothing truly is what it seems. That he likes you scared, anxious. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’s no point in trying to control the beeping, now. In fact, given its cadence, you expect a nurse to barge in any minute.

“Polly’s not old,” is your answer.

“Yeah, whatever, they’re degenerates, both of them.”

“Where’s my goddamn phone, Adrian?”

“What do you want your phone for?” he barks.

The words are spat in your direction, and the sheer volume of his nasal voice startles you. Red blotches erupt on his cheeks and neck, his eyes are blazing with contempt.

“You need to call your fucking dealer? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed that you’re high half of the time?”

You remain perfectly still, holding your breath.You can feel your skin pulling at the medical tape in your hairline.

He doesn’t know shit. In fact, he’s scared. He’s so, so small.

“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you do every Friday night, ok? But can you at least be fucking discreet about it?”

The poison in his tone and his words corrodes your confidence.

“They will announce the senior partners in January, I cannot fucking lose your father’s business until it’s done, do you understand me? So whatever you do,” he points his index finger at you and stabs it through the air to accentuate each of his following words, “you be fucking discreet. More fucking discreet than that shitshow you pulled, do you get it? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Should you nod? Is he waiting for you to manifest your understanding of the situation?

You hate yourself for thinking, ever so briefly, that he might have been jealous, that he might have cared. Held down on this bed with all these cords, you feel like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, on display in a cabinet of curiosities, a mere object amidst a multitude of other trophies covered in dust and mold. You’ve always hated butterflies. They gross you out.

You allow yourself to breathe again when his posture relaxes. Looking down at his feet, with his hands on his waist, he shakes his head and huffs. The stance reminds you of Frankie, the difference in their proportions almost comical, like a circus monkey aping the brawny horseman, the one who gets top billing in the show.

Frankie had you pinned on a bed repeatedly, without ever making you feel like a study in entomology.

“Your dad is waiting for me, I’m already late,” Adrian says, coming toward you, “I’d love to stay a little longer, but you know how he is about golfing. Don’t want to keep him waiting!”

He pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. The pain darts through your skull in all directions, all the way down to your spine.

“Where’s my phone, Adrian?” you call one last time as he strides toward the door.

“You don’t need your phone, babe. What you need is to rest. Get those magical hospital electrolytes. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a wink.

And he’s gone.

Furious tears hang from your lashes. You focus on the plastic box on the tip of your index, and you begin to inhale and exhale, as deeply and slowly as you can. It’s shaky at first, but you’re encouraged by the decreasing cadence of the beeping.

Adrian and your father go golfing at 2pm on Saturday afternoons. Meaning you’ve been out for over fifteen hours. Without your phone, you have no means to assert the time. Your watch is nowhere in sight, neither are your clothes, shoes, jewelry, purse.

The room has a phone, but you have no idea if it’s connected. You don’t know the number to the motel. Hell, you don’t even know its name, only its location.

Frankie’s silhouette invades your thoughts, the size of him, the shape of him. His broad back, his strong shoulders, the line of his neck. The sensation of his hands grasping your waist. Their precision, their roughness. Their intent.

Is this how it ends?

Fresh tears swell under your eyelids. You quickly clench them close.

You did everything wrong. What an appalling idiot. You should have acknowledged you’d never make it there, not in the state you were in. You should have called the motel to leave a message, explain your absence, and promise you’d be there again the following Friday.

Now you have no means to reach him. You probably have lost him forever. The warm touch of his skin. His unique scent. His taste.

The beeping grows frantic. Heavy wet sobs heap up inside your chest. Your hand flies to cover your eyes. You anchor yourself to the throbbing pain in your skull and the prickling needle in your hand. To the faint clasp of the pulse oximeter on your index finger. Pursing your lips, you exhale.

Whether the phone is connected or not is just a detail. You can always signal someone with that little remote on the nightstand and have the option charged to the room. Ava’s phone number is the one you have memorized, she can come and get you, and when you manage to get out of here and get your phone back, you’ll replace Adrian’s contact info with hers as your ICE.

The point is: you’re not trapped. You’re not a dead butterfly in a glass case.

Your heart rate slows down.

Between the cords and the hospital sheets, you look up at the white ceiling, and do what you do best: you check out, slip back between the cracks, disconnect.

—

The pain from your head injury is overwhelming. You’d ask for painkillers, but that collective we still haunts you.

You expect Adrian to come back on Sunday. He doesn’t. Throughout the day, you fall in and out of sleep, a restless, feverish slumber crowded with violent dreams of flesh-eating monsters licking your bones clean.

On Monday morning, the doctor comes in to see you. A man in his early 60s with a thick mane of gray hair and a carefully trimmed beard, he calls you “sweetheart,” and when he raises his eyes from his tablet, he flashes you a perfunctory smile with blinding white veneers. He introduces himself as the head of the gastroenterology department. And a friend of Richard. He makes sure that you understand that his name on your chart is a favor to your father. His demeanor commands your respect, preferably by way of intimidation.

Whatever he tells you, you’ve already learned from the nurses who waltzed in and out of your room in a brisk and constant ballet throughout the weekend, to check with skilled, professional movements the multiple cords and tubes pinning you to your bed.

You suffered bacterial gastroenteritis, with severe dehydration, necessitating an antibiotic treatment, and, from your fainting spell, a minor concussion and a head injury. A thin split, on the right side of your forehead, perpendicular to your hairline.

You got sick. You fainted. You hurt your head.

After the doctor’s gone, you’re finally allowed to get up. Under the fluorescent ceiling light of the adjacent bathroom, you spend several minutes observing the seven stitches adorning your forehead. The thick black thread tied in neat little knots that look like dollhouse barbed wire. The visible indentation in your flesh underneath them. The kaleidoscopic and psychedelic coloration of your skin, spreading from your brow to your scalp.

One of the nurses assures you the scar will quickly fade and disappear. Just like you.

You find your belongings inside the narrow closet by the bathroom door. The slit of your pencil skirt is torn nearly up to the waist, and the blouse is bloodied. Your jewels are tucked inside your purse. You stand in front of the shelves, staring blankly at the black leather rectangle with the two gold C’s entwined on the front. One of the very first gifts you received from Adrian. You can’t remember if it was for Christmas, or your 30th birthday. Every Friday evening for the past three months, you’ve shoved it unceremoniously under your car seat. You hate that thing. It’s soulless, tacky, it begs for attention, it screams money.

Later in the afternoon, your mother comes to visit. She brings you magazines, In Style, Elle, Southern Homes, Vogue … At first, she doesn’t look at your face, and when she does, she crumbles into tears. You comfort her. You watch her pad the corner of her fake lashes with a tissue she pulls out of her Birkin purse, and reapply lipstick.

Adrian comes back on Tuesday, with a large bouquet of roses, a box of imported Belgian chocolates you’re not allowed to eat, and your phone. He doesn’t stay long. Before he leaves, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your lips. You wait until he’s passed the door to spit into the kidney dish.

Your father calls within minutes of his departure, with an apology for not visiting. Work, he says, the magic word that justifies everything, from the clothes on your back to his shitty behavior. You tell him the doctor has advised to rest for the remainder of the week.

In the evening, you finally text Ava. She calls you back immediately, which, beyond her audible concern, puts a lump in your throat. When she asks you how you’re feeling, it’s a minute before you can even speak.

You’re discharged on Wednesday, with a tube of antibiotics, a short list of food to favor and a much longer one to avoid.

Ava comes to pick you up. She brings you a change of clothes, a pair of baggy, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt that spells PRIDE in rainbow letters. You smile at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when you come out, she laughs like a child at her own joke. You laugh with her. It hurts a little, but the pain is worth it.

You’re still smiling when you ask her if you can keep the t-shirt, and her face drops. She hugs you, a bone-crushing hug with closed fists compressing your back, her face slotted into the crook of your neck. Her voice quivers when she answers that everything that is hers, is also yours.

You stuff the pockets of your jeans full of your things and leave your purse in the closet. With a little bit of luck, the person who will find it can get a good price for it.

On Friday morning, you drive back to the hospital to honor a 10:30 am appointment to remove your stitches. You’re led through a sprawling maze of corridors into a windowless room with baby blue walls, and instructed to undress to your underwear, which you don’t. Sitting on the examination couch, legs dangling in the air, palms rubbing on your jeans, you wait for the nurse to come in.

She doesn’t remark on your defiance. In fact, she makes a point of soothing your nervousness, introducing herself as Diane, complimenting the color of your sneakers. She promises that you won’t feel a thing, and you believe her. When she smiles, her irises nearly entirely disappear, and a wide-spanning arch of wrinkles appears at the corner of her eyes, like sunbeams drawn by a happy child.

While she prepares her utensils, she engages you in small talk, skillfully stirring the conversation toward the matter of your mental health and physical well-being. You’re well-trained too. You divert without shame or remorse.

True to her word, she makes quick work of it, and when she’s done, she hands you a mirror framed in a blue, rubbery material.

At first, you refuse to look, but she kindly insists. Her voice is gentle, angelical, her hands are warm when she lays them on your shoulders. She never once pronounces the word “scar.” She calls you “a beautiful and brave young woman.”

So you let her guide your hand upward until you’re faced with your image.

“See? Barely visible. Once the ecchymosis has faded, you won’t even be able to notice it. Just something that happened.”

As she stands behind you, her warmth radiates through your cold bones, and she smiles broadly at your reflection. You blink back your tears. You want to commit her words to memory, uncorrupted by emotions. Just something that happened.

Out in the street, a strong wind blows in gusts from the east, in an overcast sky. The damp smell scrunches up your nose. Even without the sun, the air is too warm for the season. When you get into your car, the first thing you do is crank up the AC.

That rotten hospital smell is still clinging to your skin and hair, you keep having these drops in blood sugar that leave you trembling like a willow tree and drenched in cold sweat. The whiplash from this morning’s anxiety does nothing to level your mood.

You glance at your watch. 11:30. You let your head roll back on the headrest. You can’t remember a time in your life when you were not exhausted.

You consider heading straight to the motel. Originally, you intended to go home first, change your clothes and apply some makeup. Cover up the giant bruise on your forehead, and do your best to look alive. It would be smart to put some food in you, too, and of course, to hydrate.

“Fuck it.”

You start the ignition, and merge into the midday traffic.

The drive is excruciatingly long. A week from Christmas, the traffic is terrible. Getting out of Tampa takes over an hour.

It’s the afternoon when you pull into the motel’s parking lot. Your eyesight’s unfocused, your nerves are raw, your shoulders pulled taut.

Of the three other cars parked in the lot, none look like the one you’ve always assumed to be Raul’s, an ancient white Jeep Wagoneer with a rusty back bumper.

As you try to ponder what to do next, the prickling of your healing tissues riles you up, convoking intrusive thoughts of your scarred reflection. The antibiotics drill a hole into your stomach, the discomfort creases your brow into a constant frown. Your right leg bounces continuously on the car floor.

You’re running on empty. Pure, solid stress is what’s holding you up.

Once again trapped, this time inside the carbon fiber box of your car, while the outside world is defined in movements. The course of the overcast sun across the pearly gray sky, and the ever-changing shades of the clouds chased by the eastern winds. The occasional vehicle driving past the motel on the secondary road. The trembling of tree leaves, birds flying over, lonesome or in flocks.

That decaying smell is everywhere in you, around you, but it might be your festering thoughts.

You’re too much, not enough, a disposable commodity.

Is this how it ends?

Sometimes before 7pm, the white Wagoneer pulls into the parking lot, followed a few minutes later by a red sedan. Raul’s short, bespectacled figure is recognizable through the windshield of his Jeep. Then, it’s the familiar sight of his blue overall as he climbs the flight of stairs to the reception. You slide down on your seat, you don’t need him to see you already stationed here.

Shortly after, a curvy young woman with a straight, blonde ponytail that goes down to her waist comes out and jogs to the red sedan. She gets in on the passenger side, and you wait until the car disappears on the horizon to exit yours.

The short walk from your car to the office should be muscle memory. Only today, the gravel feels steady under the flat soles of your Van’s, and your jeans allow you to take actual, proper strides. Carried by the momentum, you march into the room, opening the door so wide it bangs on the door stopper with an ominous sound of shaking glass panes.

Behind the desk, Raul lifts his head. It’s easy to tell by his puzzled expression that he doesn’t place you. And why would he? You look nothing like you usually do on every other Friday evening. Your clothes are casual, your face is bare, your features pulled taut by mental and physical exhaustion and an array of soreness and pains, your forehead shines in Technicolor, set off by a fresh, inch-long scar.

“Good evening,” you start with a tight smile. “I—“

A whole week. Seven days, and you haven’t thought this through. The liability that is your impractical brain appalls you, exasperation heating your temples. In the silence that ensues, the droning of the AC unit seems to grow louder. You smile again.

“I come in every week?”

Jesus.

“Oh yes,” he nods, his boot-button eyes boring into yours, “Friday nights, room number 2.”

“Yes,” you answer with a strained, cringy little chuckle, “room number 2. Is it–”

You wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans.

“I was wondering if the room was booked last week?”

“Yes, last week room 2 was booked. But you didn’t come, last week.”

“Yes, no, I was held back,” you hear yourself say. You wince before you add, “And, the— the tall man— the tall man who joins me, did he come, last week?”

“Yes. He came. He waited, two, maybe three hours. You didn’t come, so he left. No refund. Reservations paid in advance are not refundable unless canceled at least 48h—“

“Oh no, that’s fine,” you cut in, relieved he might have thought this embarrassing interaction was about money. “And is the room booked for tonight?”

Raul’s boot-button eyes linger on you for a beat before he lowers them to the computer screen on his left. The mouse clicks a few times, loud and suspenseful, as he operates the thing. You try to catch the reflection of something, anything in his round glasses. There are seven rooms, two cars beside his and yours in that parking, what can possibly take him so long?

If the bacteria hasn't killed you, the wait surely will.

“No,” he eventually declares, looking up at you, “it’s not booked for tonight.”

The answer falls on you like a guillotine. It rings out in your ears and you sway on your feet from the violence of the blow. You don’t know how to breathe.

“Do you want to book it?”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. Thank you.”

Back outside, in the muggy semi-darkness, your wobbling legs find the way to your car on autopilot.

He made no plans to come back. This time, he didn’t leave any note. This is how it ends. Between your lungs, the wild creature is bleeding.

You should turn around, ask if they have his full name, bribe Raul into giving you his contact info. You never thought of memorizing his plates, but you could always drive back to the Hole in the Wall, see if he’s been there, if he came looking for you.

You don’t. You won’t. You’re not entitled to any of it. He was never yours. Never yours to want, to long for, to miss, to hold.

All that’s left now is the abyss and the fear. You’re terrified. Of what lies ahead, the choices you’ll have to make, the answers you’ll have to give. The hollowness in your chest. The gap in your existence. The fracture in your years.

The before and the after him.

He has changed you. You changed yourself. You’ll never know if you changed him.

Stunned, you stand still by your car, cloaked in the velvety night, frozen in space and time. Your hand petrified on the door handle. Unable and unwilling to leave. Eyes riveted to the brass number on the door, glinting with a blurry glow in the soft yellow hues of the porch lights. Moths flutter fuzzy and silent into the light beam, oblivious to the drama of your story.

The rectangular window stands guard over your secret life. Behind the yellow curtains, your lonely silhouette awaits to come to life, poised and silent, seated on the edge of the bed.

That woman, young and brave . Want has made her bold and determined. In just a few moments, her trained ears will pick up the sound of an old truck engine drawing near on the empty road. Her existence will come into focus with thrilled anticipation. She will bloom out of her restraints at the sound of tires on the gravel.

“Oh god,” you whisper, whipping your head around, your grip on the handle white-knuckled as the red truck parks behind your sedan.

His massive silhouette comes out, and you clasp your hand to your mouth to muffle a dry sob.

It’s a trick of your overwrought brain. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a suede jacket over a dark t-shirt. The brim of his hat casts a long shadow over his face, but he��s moving fast, and in a couple of strides, he’s standing before you, hands on his hips. He’s smiling, a broad and bright smile. You catch a glimpse of a dimple you’ve never seen. A trick of the mind.

Oh but he’s here, in the flesh, your body knows before your brain comprehends his presence. The instant pull, the humming purr of the creature inside you, the blood level instinct.

“Hey!” he calls. He sounds out of breath. Like he’s been running. Running to you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out through your clenched fingers.

“What?”

His smile drops when you take a step back.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make it, I thought I could, but I couldn’t make it, and then I couldn’t—“

Your throat closes around the memory and you swallow hard, eyelids weighed by stubborn tears that refuse to fall.

He takes a step forward, tilting down his head. That scowl. That scowl, you know. You’re only too familiar with it.

“Then it was too late and I couldn’t reach you,” you finish.

“What happened to you?”

The low timbre of his voice reverberates inside your chest. His eyes flicker up to your forehead. Before you can think of anything to say, he cups your face with both hands and turns it to the side, towards the light. The whole sequence happens so fast that you trip on your feet and catch yourself on his forearms.

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he grits, leaning so close his breath fans your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper.

“Did he do that to you?”

“What?”

“Your husband. Did he do that to you?” he asks again, louder, this time. Separating each syllable.

“Oh no! No, I fell.” You bring the tip of your fingers to the sensitive mark. “The nurse said it will fade.”

“How did you fall?” he presses.

He doesn’t believe you. Like you could lie to him if you wanted to.

The tension from his frame resonates through yours, where a week’s worth of suppressed emotions and tears are piled up, waiting for a detonator that will bring down the dam. You push away his hands, your frown mirroring his own.

“I fell, ok? I’m here now, so let’s go inside.”

“I’m not– no,” he huffs, hands back on his hips, shaking his head. His boots scuff over the gravel, the grating sound loud in the empty lot, in the stifling night, and despite the dimness you can make out that scowl, ever present, splitting his gaze.

“You can barely stand.”

However relevant, his rejection burns your cheeks. You raise your chin, leaning against the hood of the car for countenance. For balance.

“I’m fine. The room is free. Let’s go.”

“I said no. I’m not fucking you. Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re clearly not well enough–”

“You don’t fucking tell me what I’m well enough to do,” you snarl with your heartbeat in your throat, pushing away from the car, sustained by your last shred of strength. “Don’t assume you know what I’m capable of.”

He stands in front of you, seemingly unmoved, impossibly tall, infuriatingly silent. Stoic, and you’re thrumming with frustration, standing stubborn and brittle in front of him. He gives you none of the myriad of micro-expressions that usually play across his face, that you read instinctually. You feel ugly, exposed, but you withhold his gaze, jaw clenched, breathing heavy through your nose. You might faint again.

The silence drags on. It’s a minute before he moves again, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is calm, when he speaks next, low and quiet, almost soothing. You don’t want it to be soothing. You don’t want to be soothed, you’re not done with your anger. He didn’t book the room, and now he doesn’t want to go in. You are a swappable vessel, after all.

“I don’t. I don’t assume anything,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

“I told you already, you cannot hurt me,” you snap, impatient.

“Wanna bet?”

You don’t need to. You know he could. Just not in the way he thinks he would. He’s already marked you permanently, deeper than any injury, any wound ever could.

“Listen,” he begins with a sigh.

“No, I get it, I look like shit and you don’t want to fuck me—“

“Alright, that’s enough!” he silences you with his index finger pointed at you. His voice booms in the dim parking lot, and you avert your eyes. Weariness washes over you, you fall back against the hood of your car.

His shoulders sink just a bit, the slightest drop in the tension pulling them taut. He steps closer to you, leans down, seeking your gaze, searching your face in the semi-darkness.

“Hey, why don’t we go for a drive?” he offers. “We can talk. Or not. We can listen to the radio. Or just drive in silence, if you want. Clear our minds. What do you think?”

Our minds.

He’s so close you can smell the clean scent of his t-shirt and the musk of him underneath it; you can feel your skin reaching out for him in feverish little tendrils you cannot control.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, ok.”

He smiles, a cautious, appraising smile. The light catches at the mahogany depth of his eyes. He reaches for you, placing a large hand in the small of your back, and whispers, “Alright, let’s go.”

—

The cab of the truck feels almost sacred. For months, it’s been your favorite daydream. Picturing him alone in the only private space of his you’ve ever seen, driving to you.

What are his thoughts, then? Are they of you? Are they happy? Are they hopeful?

On any other occasion, you’d relish the opportunity to be in here with him. You’d catalog and store up every tiny detail for future use in your fantasies of him. Instead, you’re sitting tight and rigid on the wide bench seat, pressed against the door, face turned toward the window, seeing absolutely nothing.

You hate yourself for that, too.

After a while, you risk a glance at the dashboard.

Judging by the analog dials, the truck has some mileage, but it’s visibly been well maintained. There’s no visible spots, no dust, no dents, only the patina of time. The vinyl bench seat is upholstered with a soft fabric whose colors have fainted after too many years under the Florida sun. There’s a cassette player and a cigarette lighter. The windows are manual.

The one on Frankie’s side is cracked open. The night air carries his scent over to your side of the cab. Leather, laundry, musk. You can’t escape it.

“Hey. You ok there?”

In the moonless night, you can only make out the sharp lines of his profile against the outside darkness of the country road.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He looks at you, brow pinched, but his expression is soft. Compassionate.

“C’mere.”

The truck slows down to a snail pace, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. You scoot over near him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches to your right and rolls out the middle seat belt across your lap, fastening it between your hip and his.

The truck accelerates to a cruising speed, and he wraps his arm over your shoulders, drawing you closer.

You let him, allow your body to slump against his, embrace his warmth, your cheek pressed against his chest. It’s solid and strong, a match for your skeleton of loneliness. The suede fabric of his jacket is smooth, worn in. You inhale him there. You rest a hand on his thigh, and slide the other under his jacket, to rest on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing. If you lie real still, you can feel the steady thumping of his heart.

“I’m not married.”

“Ok.”

The word is felt through your cheek as much as you hear it.

“The man I live with. He’s not my husband.”

“Ok.”

The nodding motion of his head nudges you a bit.

“And I really fell.”

He remains silent, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. The leather lining creaks inside his fist.

“I got sick, last Friday. I get these stomach bugs all the time, but this was a mean one. I tried to make it through the workday, but eventually I passed out. Like a corporate rendition of a Victorian damsel, or something.”

You chuckle, diverting the humiliating memory. Just something that happened.

He tightens his embrace.

“That when you hurt your head?”

“Yes. On the edge of the elevator’s frame. At work”

“Fuck. Did it hurt a lot?”

“Actually it didn’t? I was out. It hurt when I woke up later, in the hospital, though. I had this terrible headache. I didn’t know where I was, or when I was.”

You feel him shake his head as he asks, “Were you scared?”

How to put into words, that the only fear you’ve ever had, is to never see him again?

“I survived,” you answer with a shrug and a little, empty laugh.

If you were brave enough, if you had some strength left, you’d ask. How did he feel, when he got to the motel and found the door to the room closed. Why he didn’t book the room again. Why he still came tonight.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you lie.

“Mmh. And for real?”

You rub your cheek against the smooth suede, imprinting your soft smile into it. And maybe some of your scent for him to keep. In case, just in case he does care.

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

The truck cruises over the black asphalt, between the straight, stretching yellow lines.

Your next words come in quiet, but not hesitant.

“He wouldn’t hit me.”

“Ok.”

“That’s not what he does.”

He exhales slowly through his nose.

“What does he do?”

You bite your cheeks, already regretting this moment of weakness. The treason.

“He makes me doubt.”

“Him?”

“Myself. And him too.”

Your eyes clench shut. His chest flexes under your cheek as he hardens his grip on the wheel.

The truck drives past a gas station, through a small town. Neatly delimited square lawns, white houses with flags hanging on their porches, Christmas lights blinking through square windows, and you tilt up your head to look at him in the streetlights.

His outlined profile, his steady expression, everything about him feels safe and grounding. The beauty that radiates from him, from within him, sinks to your heart. It races madly, awakening the soreness in your bruised ribcage, and perhaps he can feel it, with the way you’re curled up into his side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your forehead. You bunch up his T-shirt in your fist.

Soon, the yellow lines unwinding endlessly in the truck’s headlights weigh down your eyelids. In the safety of Frankie’s hold, your mind and body slowly drift into a peaceful slumber.

“You ok? Want me to close the window?”

His voice is a distant whisper skirting the edges of your consciousness.

“No, ’m good,” you mumble. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Under your palm, Frankie's heart thumps loud and heavy.

—

When you wake up, the truck is still and silent. Engine cooled off, windows rolled up. The night is pitch dark. Frankie’s scent, heady, familiar, everywhere around you. Your cheek is resting on his lap, and his hand lies heavy on your waist. His breathing comes in even and slow. Both your seatbelts are unbuckled. Your feet are bare.

Aside from your legs, sore from being crammed into the length of the seat bench, you feel better than you have in a week, with your headache finally gone.

You sit up, take in your surroundings and his sleeping form, seated behind the wheel. He stirs, lifting an eyelid and glancing in your direction, the corner of his mouth tugged up into something that resembles a drowsy grin.

At some point while you were asleep, he drove back to the motel. Parked the truck so that the cabin faces away from the only source of light.

You stretch side by side, sleep-heavy limbs, comfortable silence. You watch him lift his hat and comb his fingers through his hair, a tender smile lifting the corner of your lips. You know the curls he hides there.

Of course, it cannot last forever. Nothing ever does. In a couple of hours, it’ll be daybreak. He’s always gone, by then.

You won’t make this uncomfortable or difficult for him. You slip your socks and shoes back on. You’re reaching for the handle when he stops you with a hand on your thigh.

“Wait. I need to talk to you.”

His voice is low and husky from sleep. You realize you have never woken up next to him. Never slept with him through the night. Probably never will.

You hum quietly, pivoting on the seat bench to face him.

“I can’t come, next week,” he says, searching your eyes.

Emotionless. That’s how you have to be. You know how to do this. Not when it comes to him, but you can try. You try your best, your very hardest.

“I understand.”

“I imagine you can’t be here either.”

No, you can’t. Thanksgiving at your parents’, Christmas with Adrian’s family. Always.

“No, I can’t.”

The following week, either. But you don’t share that.

This is when the two of you should discuss a practical means of communication. The awareness hangs between you, loud and unspoken. The consequences it would have on whatever it is that the two of you share. The shockwave, the shift in nature and intention. The names that exist to describe your situation, crass, overused, sordid. Tainted with lies and deception, secret texting, hushed phone calls, disgusting, undeniable guilt.

Frankie moves first, getting out of the truck and going round the hood to open the door for you. You slide out of the high cab into his arms, and when your feet touch the gravel, you wonder if this could be the last time he will ever hold you.

In the feeble porch lights, his face is a landscape of diffuse shadows. The dip in his collarbone draws you in, a beacon in a dark ocean. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his scent, taking in his fragrant warmth. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, graze your cheek along his pebbled skin. What if you stayed there? Tucked away forever. Disappeared to the rest of the world. Would it matter? Would he let you?

Your fists bunch the sides of his jacket.

“Kiss me, Frankie, please.”

“Yes.”

His first kiss is tentative, the plush cushion of his lips a soft press over yours, but they return immediately, hungry for a taste, for more, the tip of his tongue brushing against your parted lips.

All that you crave, all that you need is here, in his embrace, between his arms and his hands tugging at your waist, beckoning your body closer to his.

Your arms circle his neck, the tips of your fingers seeking his curls. His hand spans your back, finds your nape. He molds you into his chest, and with the way he’s pressing you against him, firm and commanding, you know this will be one of these moments that feed into your hopes. The delusion you’ve been nurturing since the first time you’ve faced him. The dream that he wants you to be his above anyone else.

His third kiss opens you up, tongue swirling around yours, and you keen, rising to your tiptoes, angling your head to take more, more, more and he gives. Hands gripping, tongue licking, crushed lips and guttural moans, he gives you all that you need like he needs it too.

You’re floating above the gravel, there’s no time, there’s no space, his body has no end and there’s no beginning to yours as he kisses away your fears, your doubts, your darkness.

Together, you stand entwined between night and morning, linked by chance, need and hurt, bonded by will and desire.

There’s no urgent hunger in the spanning of his splayed hands across your body, no rage in his kneading of the soft of your hips, or the swell of your breast. His grip is strong, but studious and thorough. He takes you in, your curves, your dips, the slopes and slants of your figure. Like he’s storing up the feelings and memories of you for when there will be no more, when you’re far and gone, away with your husband who is not your husband. There’s despair in his touch, but most of all, there’s foresight, and intent.

He’s untucked your t-shirt, calloused hand skimming up to cup your breast, thumbing the hardening peak of your nipple.

Once again, you find yourself pressed against the hard, cool metal of the truck, and like the first time, you’re frantic in his hold, but he’s in control. His thick thigh parts your legs, offering friction to the coiling need between your hips, that fire pooling liquid down your core. You squirm against the firm muscles.

“Want me to make you come, baby?”

He’s breathing into your mouth, and you whine in frustration.

“No, I want you inside me.”

“Shit, you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass, you’re not going to break me.”

You push away to look at him, a demonstration of strength. All talk, but you’re that desperate. He pulls you back into him for another kiss, chuckling into your mouth.

“You think I don’t know that?”

So many simple things you had never done with him before tonight, after months of lying bare and naked, to his gaze and his touch, inside and out. Driving, falling asleep, walking, his steadying hand nestled in the small of your back.

Behind the reception desk, Raul seems unfazed by this new development. The drawing pad blackened in charcoal is back.

“Room number 2,” Frankie asks, “for the night.”

It’s so wild to consider that the two men have never interacted, when Raul plays such an important part of your Friday ritual. You’d try to get Frankie’s full name, real name, perhaps, but Raul doesn’t ask. This is not that kind of place.

“I can pay,” you whisper into Frankie’s shoulder, tucking your t-shirt back into your jeans.

“I know you can.”

When he flips open his wallet, a small color picture pops out, next to his driver's license. The photo booth format is easily identifiable. In the snapshot, a bare-headed Frankie is holding a very young child. The picture is that of a moment, seized through movement, the kid holding the Standard Heating Oil hat in her chubby hands, likely mere seconds after having snatched it from Frankie’s head, who’s looking down at her, with a bemused grin, tousled hair.

It’s him, his distinctive, sharp features unmistakable, only he hardly looks like the man you know. There’s no trace of the grief he carries like a cloak when he meets with you. No crease splitting his brow like when he looks at you. Instead, his eyes glint with pride, creasing with a smile that dimples his cheeks, large and genuine. And the child’s round, plump face is brightened by the same irresistible dimpled grin, the same head full of wild curls, the same mahogany eyes.

You quickly avert your gaze, but you’ve seen enough. The guilt is physical, visceral, it squeezes your ribcage harder than the pliers. The pain has you wincing and you grip the reception desk for balance, but Frankie’s arm is already wrapped around your waist and he’s leading you outside.

In a trance, you walk beside him to room number 2. Your room. That picture-perfect image of fatherly love dancing before your eyes.

He’ll never be yours. The wild creature shivers between your lungs. The certitude shatters your heart.

Stepping inside, you’re rooted to the floor. Limbs too heavy to lift. Your blood has turned into lead. The fire in your core is a pile of ashes. You can taste it on the back of your tongue.

Frankie flicks up the toggle switch, and the room lights up in amber hues. It feels too big, the satin quilt, the brown carpet, the yellow curtains, everything is foreign and distant.

Behind you, he sets his hat on the desk, drapes his jacket on the back of the chair.

“You ok?”

His voice jolts you up. You turn around to face him, unshed tears hanging round and heavy from your lashes. After a beat, he takes a step towards you, and you feel that absolute pull tugging from behind your midriff.

His gaze drifts up to your fresh scar, where your flesh is tender, swollen and bruised. Yours travel down along the pebbled skin of neck, to the dip between his collarbone. A firework of freckles springs from the V-shaped collar of his faded blue t-shirt.

Carefully, he slides your t-shirt out of your jeans again. You lift your arms like a docile child, let him undress you. He places a hand, warm and calloused, beneath your sternum. His palm heats your skin, warmth seeping into you. It untangles something, there. Something you didn’t know was still bruised. You lean into it.

He stays like that for a while.

Then his hand skates up to the base of your throat. His cold hard stare finds your soft sad eyes.

“Do you get wet, thinking I could hurt you?”

“I trust you,” you answer, a nod contradicting your words. His gaze hardens.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t come tonight, then?”

You shake your head, blinking fast. You never mentioned that. How would he know your thoughts?

“Don’t you know I would fuck you on my deathbed?” he grits.

But you don’t know. Of course you don’t know, and how could you? Nothing in your life has ever prepared you for him, for this, for the strength of that pull, inescapable, for this obsession that has uprooted your life, your body, your instincts. Nothing has prepared you for the magnetism of his skin, the things you’d do to be in his presence, to breathe the same air, what you’d risk for his touch, what you’d give up for his attention, what you’d destroy for his affection . Your comfort, your safety, your future, your health. Your family and his, nothing fucking matters compared to the insatiable hunger of this wild thing inside your chest and its incessant chant of him, him, him.

Your chest heaves, but his grip is firm. He leans down, lowering his lips to your ear, where he whispers, “What’s your name?”

You close your eyes, the wild creature is gnawing at your chest, eating you raw from within.

“I want you.”

His hand lingers, travelling higher, fingers splayed across the width of your throat in a loose grip. You hope he tightens it. Like he does sometimes when he’s inside you. Tune out your mind, toss you into white-hot pleasure. Into oblivion.

He doesn’t.

He’s never truly been gentle with you before. Tonight, his kisses are languid, his touch soft and slow along your ribs. Delicate, when he reaches the swell of your breasts and slides down the cup of your bra, replacing the fabric with the palms of his hands. When he leans down into you, wrapping his plush lips around your nipple, sucking in the peaked bud ever so lightly, flicking the flat of his hot wet tongue around it, lips pursed, suckling.

Against your belly, you feel him harden. You shiver with arousal and anticipation, with exhaustion. With the weight of this week and the burden of your life. With pain, ache and soreness. With your empty body, and your empty cunt. With that creature in your chest that can’t be tamed or satisfied. Can’t even be named.

You shiver in his hold, for fear that this’ll be the last time. For fear that he’ll never be yours, that he’ll never want you the way you want him, with determination, with madness, without a choice.

“I want you inside me, Frankie please," you breathe out, and he backs you into the bed to lay you down on the quilt.

The fabric is cold under your burning skin, you shudder at the contact. He takes off your shoes, rolls off your socks. He slides your jeans down and off your legs, then your panties.

You sit up to watch him undress, his eyes of mahogany brown never once leaving your face.

He stands before you, naked, erect, filling your vision with this breadth, and you want to rip your beating heart out of your aching chest.

The bed dips and he’s crawling over you. Leaning down, he drags the crown of his head up along your belly, along the valley of your breasts, his hair a soft caress on your quivering skin. Your fingers twine in his curls, you get lost in the sensation. For weeks he has barely let you touch it, kept it out of your reach. Now the abundance feels decadent, your head sinks back into the mattress with a faint exhale.

Cautiously, he parts your folds with two knuckles. You bite down a gasp, tensing up. You can’t shake off that chilling dread, the one that trickles inside you, cold and piercing, when you think you’re losing him. But your body knows better, that sticky wet slick pooled between your hips, the coiling heat at the center of you.

“Stop me,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, “don’t let me hurt you.”

He inches the tip of his length inside you with a strained groan, hooking your legs around his waist. He tries to work you open with a few shallow thrusts, panting against your temple.

“Fuck you’re tight.”

“Please, Frankie–”

His frame tenses up under your palms.

“I’m trying, you’re too— fuck, you’re too tight. Let me eat you open.”

“No!”

That’s not what you want, not tonight when you have no strength to spare, no time to lose, no patience left out.

“I can—“ You trip over your words.

“What?”

“I can sit on it.”

Heat creeps up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. He gives you a quiet chuckles.

“Yea. Yea you can.”

He grabs your wrists and lifts you with easy strength. A few swift movements and he’s lying on the bed underneath you, your folded knees a straddle across his lap. You feel dizzy, like your blood can’t course along your veins fast enough, like it’s no match for his strength, for your arousal.

“Spit on it,” he says.

You circle his cock, smooth, heavy. It throbs into your hand. You take it all in, with a trance-like gaze, the coarse curls at his base brushing your skin, the round head, an angry shade of red, the ridges and pumped up veins along the length, the tip of your fingers that don’t meet around it.

“Come on, don’t be shy, spit on it.”

Bending down, you lick a broad stripe along the thick ridge of his underside, from his balls to the fat round tip, where the skin is smooth and his taste heady, and he hisses something you can’t make out. It shoots through you, his sound, his burning skin, his taste. The curled tip of your tongue slides inside the small leaking slit, collecting the pearly drops he gives you. Your eyes flutter shut. His hands grip your thighs above the knees as you take him into your mouth, his fingers digging, a bruising furrow, something desperate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your lips slide along him, up and down, tongue wrapped around his girth. With hollowed cheeks, you take him deeper with each stroke until your head is spinning and you slip him out, rueful, glassy-eyed.

His breathing comes in almost as heavy as yours.

“Sit on it, now.”

His voice sounds wrecked, like you must look.

“Yes,” you pant.

Hands braced on Frankie’s chest, you’re not that flimsy, empty shell. You’re that fierce creature inside your chest, the one that claws and purrs and spits and demands. You tap into the bottomless pit of its life force, tap into the rumbling of Frankie’s ragged breathing under your palms, and you take.

Eyes strained on the solid breadth of his chest, on the expanse of his amber skin and the darker circles of his nipples, on the constellation of soft brown freckles that turn your insides into a sticky leaking mess, you slide up his lap, part your folds with his hard cock, rub your clit over it.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, not for you, not really. To himself. Like the memory comes back crushing.

The bobbing of his throat, the low rasp of his voice, the wet sound of your slick smearing over his cock, it all builds up hot and prickly right under your navel.

Sweat breaks on your forehead, along your spine, down in the bow shape of your arched back.

You push away from the cradle of his hips, knees sinking into the creaking mattress. Raise yourself from his heat just enough to line him up, with his hands curled around your thighs, a steadying help.

You’re tight, but wanton-wet. He’s a gliding stretch along your walls as you sink down on him with all your weight, your cunt ready to collapse, fluttering frantically.

His thrashes back into the mattress, corded neck, strained muscles. Thick fingers bruising the tender flesh of your legs.

“Fuck wait, don’t move, don’t move. Stop moving, shit!”

You still, not like you can move anyway, the pleasure-pain has you numbed out, limp, blinded. Your head lolls back, your eyes roll shut. Your lower lip twitches with the tension and the stretch. He’s so big you forget how to breathe but this is what you wanted, for him to annihilate all the other pains.

A sound comes out of your parted lips. A grating against your vocal cords, a primitive vibration of the air that’s punched out of your lungs. It’s not you, it’s the creature mewling.

You can feel his cock pulsating hard and angry inside your belly. It’s a tidal ripple that travels up your chest. Your heart skips several beats.

His hands cup roughly around your breasts. You lean forward into his hold, hips swaying, slack mouthed. You keep him inside you, a deep roll, hipbones to hipbones. The coarse black hair at his base a harsh scrape against your swollen clit.

And suddenly, he fucks up into you. A hard shove, filling, merciless, into your cervix. You cry, nearly toppling backward and he sits up with a cinch, arms wrapping around your waist, catching you before you can fall.

“Too much?”

“Oh god yes.”

You’re crying, at last. Big, hot beady tears of salt rolling down your cheeks. Full, fucked out, filled to the brim. Everything that’s not him obliterated. Thoughts, emotions, sensations.

“That’s what you wanted, right? You want too much, baby?”

His voice is quiet and soft like silk, teeth raking along your throat. It’s almost a bite but not quite, tongue tasting your sweat, lips wrapping around your pulse point, barely sucking in. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his arms, forming little pink crescents you’re not allowed to leave behind.

You nod, you breathe out, “Yes, I want too much.”

He straightens up, your breasts are pressed to his chest, sweats mingling. His scent is overwhelming. That musk he exudes, a leathery spice, whenever you’re fucking. The scent of his desire.

His hand tangles in your hair. He makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Take it. Take what you want. Fuck, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you believe it, right?”

You try to tilt your face down, hide your tears, hide your scar. He doesn’t let you. So you give in. Because, what if you are?

“Say it again, please.”

“Look what you do to me, baby. Can you feel what you do to me?”

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he grinds you onto his cock, a slow, thorough grind, splitting you deeper onto him. It’s coiling fast, hot and heavy, right at the center of you.

“I’m gonna come, Frankie.”

“Do it. Come. Use me, make yourself come on my cock. Make yourself feel good. Take everything you need.”

He talks you through your orgasm as you tremble and crumble in his hold. It’s a high that feels like a free-fall, like you’re unraveling, like you’re never landing. Like your skin’s burning and your mind is the horizon.

You’re sobbing quietly when he carefully eases out of you, still hard. He carries you in his arms and you think you’re floating. You’re drained, boneless, falling asleep already.

He lies you down under the covers, tucks you in. Places a glass of water on the nightstand. Folds your clothes on the desk.

You don’t hear him dress up. You don’t hear him leave.

And in a few hours, when room service wakes you up, barging into the room, you won’t remember his forehead kiss.

****

218 notes · View notes

musings-of-a-rose · 3 months

Text

Weighted Blanket

Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 860+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

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

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

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

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

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

Will.

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?”

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

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

“Must have been really bad.”

“You don’t even want to know.”

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

“I missed you, sweetheart.”

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

“Let’s get some food in you.”

—----

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

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

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

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

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

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

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

—----

General Taglist:

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

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wysteria-clad · 1 year

Text

'Call your man by his first name and see his reaction' trend with triple frontier boys

a/n: aka them being your baby™

genre: fluff

paring: triple frontier boys x fem! reader; established relationship

------

Santi

"Hey, Santiago, can I have a cup too?"

You ask him for a cup of coffee when you see him in the kitchen making some.

"Who?"

"You"

"You never call me that," he looks at you half offended, half in disbelief.

"It's your name," you move closer to him.

"No"

"Can I have some coffee now?"

"No"

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"Coffee is only for the woman who does not call me 'Santiago,'" he stresses the 'not'. "You didn't call me 'baby."

You suck in your lips to stop you from laughing. "Aw, baby, are you mad?" you reduce the distance between you two and place a hand on his chest.

He leans down, and buries his face on the crook of your neck.

You smile and rest your hand on the nape of his neck, and trace his scar with your fingers.

He sighs in content, and pulls back after a moment and looks into your eyes with anticipation.

You lean closer to him, and then reach out your hand past him to grab the coffee cup on the kitchen counter and turn around.

"Really?" he shakes his head.

You take a sip, smiling to yourself. "Coffee is great, thanks, baby"

"Really?!" he shouts, watching you walk away from him with a teasing smirk on your lips.

"I love you!"

Your peaceful moment with his your coffee doesn't last long as he grabs you and flings you over his shoulder.

"Babe!"

He smacks your ass playfully, and carries you to bedroom making you laugh.

Frankie

"Francisco, cuddle me?" you look up from the couch, extending your arms at him in an invite.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Why would you be, Francisco?"

"I thought I was your 'honey', " He gives you his soft, puppy eyes, "your 'baby'."

Did he forget an errand or any important event?

"Am I in trouble? seriously?" he is confused, but he complies your request and lies down on the couch next to you, wrapping his arms around you.

"No, baby," you snuggle to his side, and bury your face into his chest. "I love you."

You smile when you feel a kiss on the top of your head.

"Te amo."

Benny

He was on a quick grocery shopping run. You were in your shared bedroom, sitting on the bed comfortably, telling him what else you needed.

"Benjamin, don't forget the chees-"

"What'd you just call me?"

"Benjamin"

"Why would you call me that?" he looks so offended.

"It's your name."

"It's not my name.." he lips parts open. The disrespect..."My name is 'baby'," he states as if it's the most obvious fact. He tackles you in a jump hug, pinning you to the bed and falling on top of you.

"You are crushing me, you, goof," you speak, smiling and still pinned underneath him. "Benjamin, get off me," you laugh.

Nope, try again. He doesn't even bulge.

You stifle a laugh, "Baby?"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Baby, get off me," you giggle.

"That's better," he pretends to get off you, then grabs your face, and presses his lips on the side of your face, giving you a loud, sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. He then gets off you, and walks out of the bedroom.

"Ben!"

"I'm baby!" he yells, making you laugh.

Will

"Hey, William. How was work?"

He just came home from work. You had arrived home two hours before.

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"No, William."

"Why'd you say that?" he looks at you like you had just shot him. "What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Sweetheart..." he follows you around the living room, "Speak to me, what did I do?" his voice is soft. He gives you the kicked puppy look, instantly making you feel bit bad.

"Nothing, baby. I'm sorry, how was work?" you soften your tone, and snake your arms around his neck. You stroke the back of his head with your left hand, and move your right hand forward to cup his cheek.

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.

You kiss his lips with tenderness and assure him you are not mad.

#wystie-verse #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia imagine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #will miller x reader #will miller imagine #william ironhead miller #william miller x reader #benny miller x reader #benny miller imagine #triple frontier boys x reader #triple frontier boys imagine #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier

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charliehoennam · 11 days

Text

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.

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

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darlingdekarios · 10 months

Text

bending to the honeysuckles.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,216 content: William "Ironhead" Miller x f!reader, reader has a prior drug addiction, drug addiction recovery, drug rehab, mentions of past abuse in a relationship, pining, fluff, Will is a simp, smut [oral, unprotected p in v]

while you insist you don't want a relationship, Will Miller falls for you like it's his destiny to do so. he's willing to meet you where you are while he waits for you to let him love you.

Life had been hell for Frankie Morales since he’d returned from Colombia. While he was able to keep decent control of himself for the first couple of weeks, the things he’d done caught up to him – they always did. He’d retreated into himself, away from his friends and into the confines of his house, numbing his feelings with whatever he could. At first, it was several beers every day, and when that wasn’t enough it was liquor. When the liquor wasn’t enough, he’d remembered what could truly help him – cocaine – and it had all just sort of spiraled from there.

Three months after his return home Frankie staggered into his birthday dinner with dilated pupils, a running nose and an air of confidence only to be met with an intervention from Pope, Benny, and Ironhead. The reminder of how pathetically few people cared about him stung initially, but he quickly remembered he deserved even less than that. He found himself in a rehabilitation program then, spending the next 90-days of his life with far-too-nice people trying to help him get his shit together.

As he expected, Santiago had taken up residence in his spare bedroom in Frankie’s absence, deciding to stick around in the states to ensure his best friend actually recovered this time, found a career for himself, and didn’t lose his house. He’d started attending a group session for recovering cocaine addicts the same week, and that was where he’d met you.

You were at least a decade younger, quiet until you were directly spoken to, and sarcastic and quick when it was your turn to talk. The message deciphered from your introduction of yourself was that you had just moved to take over your grandfather’s company, you were coming up on six years of sobriety, and you did not like to be around people. His second meeting, a week later and your six months of sobriety, you’d approached him at the end of the meeting to propose being his sponsor.

The two of you had been friends since. Wednesday nights you met for dinner before you made your way to group together, and Sunday nights you had a quick phone call to check-in with one another. As much as it helped Frankie to have someone outside of the Delta Force to understand his situation – that he trusted to understand him – it helped you just the same. You had moved to the area a month ago and finding people tolerable was difficult. He quickly became your closest friend, and he was more than happy to introduce you to the other people in his life.

When Will had first suggested coming along to group with Frankie to offer some support, it was a surprise when the older man agreed and mentioned you immediately, almost proud to have someone to introduce to the man he looked up to so much. You’d agreed it was fine to skip dinner that week so Frankie could come along with Will, almost relieved for the extra time alone between work and group. It gave you a chance to shower and change into something a little better than your pink work overalls, ready to meet the first additional person in Frankie’s life.

Frankie walked in much later than he normally would, and while you would normally jokingly call to him from across the room for cutting it close, you lost whatever wit you’d planned on using when your eyes landed on the gorgeous blonde following behind your friend. When Frankie spotted you he raised a hand to wave, which you returned feebly, eyes a little too focused on the newcomer.

“We’re cutting it close, I know,” Frankie breathed when he approached you, your senses suddenly returning and forcing you to your feet in politeness. “This is Will. Will, this is my friend I’ve been telling you about.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were late for your own birth, Frankie,” you greeted him with a quick hug, fixing your eyes on Will with a smile as you mentally swooned under the gaze of his blue eyes. “Nice to meet you, Will.”

William Miller did not get distracted.

When he had a responsibility – a job to complete – Will was laser-focused, in-control, and driven. Whether he was in an active combat zone or giving a speech to a group of veterans trying to rejoin society, he was always able to stay on the task at hand until he’d completed it – until he’d excelled at it. Tonight, his task was to support his friend, his brother, Frankie – and tonight was the first time in months he felt he’d truly failed at his task.

He couldn’t pull his attention away from you for the next two hours. No matter who was talking, even Frankie, Will found his eyes glancing to you, eager to see your reactions and expressions and your body language. On one particularly long-winded monologue from a woman about how she had just tried cocaine for fun, and it ended up ruining her marriage (she cheated on her husband, that’s what really ruined the marriage), you rolled your eyes in Will’s direction while mouthing:

“Are you having fun yet?” Will nearly laughed at the question but opted to respond with a much more situationally appropriate light smile and subtle thumbs up. Your eyes flashed with mischief as you mouthed again. “Liar.”

He couldn’t get you out of his head after that meeting and found himself asking Frankie if he could go with him again the next week, and again, and soon enough he was a regular supporter of the meeting, showing up early to set up snacks and coffee and keeping track of the sign-in sheet. Each time he found himself falling more and more into whatever trap you’d seemingly laid out just for him, and even though he really didn’t get the chance to talk with you much, his interest was sparked enough to want to get to know you more. It was after the fourth meeting he’d joined that he lingered in the parking lot with you even after Frankie had left.

That was the night he’d begun to understand the depth of his fascination with you. Sitting in his trunk bed drinking bottles of water Will permanently kept in his backseat he marveled in you as you opened up to him and showed him who you were…at least as much as you were willing to share. As much as he hung on your every word, you did the same for him, unable to look away from his face as he spoke and enamored by the things he told you about himself.

“I like hanging out in parking lots with you, Will Miller,” you’d complimented, eyes sparkling under the full moon’s light. “You’re good company.”

“Yeah, we should do it again sometime,” came his reply before he could stop it. Reaching to scratch the back of his neck, he opted to continue – there was no going back now. “Maybe the parking lot of a restaurant…after dinner?”

You felt your cheeks burn immediately and, even more embarrassing, the smile that spread across your face like the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day. All too soon, though, the clouds returned, the melancholy filling your voice. “I’d love to say yes but I…can’t. I’m not looking for anything serious right now with…well, everything. And I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

While it wasn’t the reason you’d given, on your drive home you had to think about the fact that Will Miller deserved far more than a recovering addict who was just figuring out how to really take care of herself. If you had only seen his thoughts on his own drive, about how long he’d wait until you were ready, you may have turned around and given into him.

Things settled a bit over the coming weeks. You offered Frankie a job helping you out with jarring the honey and making local deliveries for you, which he’d been happy to accept in the meantime until he could get his license back. It was nice to have him around – he was often the one to remind you to take a moment to hydrate, but he never bothered you while you worked. He even took it upon himself to make some minor repairs to your barn in some of his spare time. Another month had passed faster than you could believe, the time filled with settling into your business and spending time with Frankie and his best friend, Santiago.

Frankie had offered many times – at least once per week – for you to join them for drinks, or dinner, or at the beach. You’d refused every offer, unwilling to face Will again for fear of your wavering resolve. But this week, a Friday, it was different when Frankie asked you to join them before he headed out in the morning to spend his day making deliveries. The loneliness was finally catching up to you, and you figured some time out with other people would serve you well. Plus, despite the bickering you and Santi often found yourselves in, you knew Frankie surrounded himself with good people, and you could trust spending time with them. You agreed to let him pick you up at 7:30, and he agreed with a nod and a smile. Even if you had a miserable time, at least going would ensure Frankie’s happiness for the night.

By the time Frankie’s shitty truck had pulled into the driveway of the old farmhouse you now found yourself living in, you were moments away from sending a text that said you’d changed your mind, the nerves of your horrible day making you dread an unfamiliar place. As you pulled a jacket on and locked the door behind you a sigh released from your lips before you began to make your way to him. While you were finalizing your mental argument about whether it was too late to cancel you saw Frankie’s face peering out of the driver’s side window, an earnest smile on his lips. He was unrelentingly kind and made the decision you faced easy – there was no way you could cancel on Frankie Morales and sleep at night.

“Hiya, Crankie,” you greeted as you climbed into the front seat, rolling the window down before you’d buckled yourself in. Your use of the nickname you’d bestowed upon Frankie made the man shake his head, a quiet laugh sounding as he began the drive.

“Hi, abejita,” came his usual reply, glancing out of the corner of his eye to take in more of your expression. You’d obviously tried to get in the mood to go out, but the tired expression was one Frankie recognized – you probably just wanted to be alone tonight, and yet you were still seated next to him. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Of course he knew – he always did. The two of you had spent the last few months bonding over a similar addiction background, and it was nice to have someone that truly understood you. There were no niceties with you and Frankie, and it was the reason the two of you had become such close friends.

“Oh, you know me, Francisco…’I’ll sleep when I’m dead,’ yada yada yad,” you turned your head toward him, offering a falsely reassuring smile. “What’s your excuse? I swear there’s at least five more greys in your hair.”

“I only counted three this morning,” he matched your taunting, chuckling softly at your joking.

“Yeah, well, I’ve told you that you need glasses, and this just proves my point,” you joked, rolling your head back the other way to rest it on the cool glass of the window. “I probably shouldn’t even let you drive me around…talk about self-destructive behaviors.”

He laughed again and the comfortable silence set in, the rest of the drive to he and his friends’ chosen bar passing with light conversation about your days, and both of you agreeing to keep one another to the one drink maximum you’d set. Frankie thanked you for deciding to come with him, and it was a sincere show of appreciation – having someone unbiased and understanding of his situation there to support his recovery was important. And, truthfully – he was helping yours just as much.

Plus, there was the promise of seeing Will again. While it was annoying, it was also impossible to admit that the mere thought of seeing his pale blue eyes again in the flesh caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. It was ridiculous – you’d meant what you said when he’d asked you out a month ago, you didn’t want to pursue anyone or be pursued right now. That didn’t stop you from thinking about his sparkling blue eyes, or the lines of his smile, or how he’d looked at you like you were the only thing he wanted to look at. You wanted to see him, and could only hope, maybe cruelly, that he wanted to see you as well.

“What are you over there thinking about, abejita?” Frankie pulled you back to reality with a quiet voice as you pulled into the bar parking lot, glancing over at you briefly. “You didn’t complain about my driving at all.”

You smiled and shook your head, unwilling to admit to Frankie you’d been thinking about one of his best friends – one of his brothers. The question of whether Will had told them about asking you out flashed through your mind, and fortunately Frankie shifting his truck into park gave you a feasible reason to not answer his questioning. “Let’s go do this. And remember, if someone offers you cocaine in the bathroom…just say no.”

Frankie laughed in bewilderment nearly the entire way into the bar, a bright smile still spread across his face when the two of you made your way through the door. The sounds of Metallica from the jukebox confirmed Santiago was there before your eyes even landed on the mess of grey and black atop his head, drifting over to the golden locks of Benny Miller with his girlfriend sat beside him. As you walked toward their table you released a sigh of relief, though at the same time your stomach knotted in disappointment – no Will.

After your hellos and introduction to Benny’s girlfriend, Frankie excused himself to grab both of you a soda from the bar to start with – it was refreshing to see that this group didn’t even bat an eye at the two of you not ordering alcohol, and you had to mentally commend Frankie for his taste in company. Leaning on the counter height table with an elbow you met Santiago’s lingering gaze.

“You better not be standing to do what I think you’re going to do,” he warned, his words met with a mischievous smile from you. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing at your body language.

“Oh, I’m definitely standing to do what you think I’m going to do,” you taunted, sticking out your leg slightly to block him into the booth. “And you are just going to have to deal with it, Santiago.”

His hand twitched toward the glass of dark liquid in front of him, taking a sip as his eyes stayed on yours. You offered another smile, lazily drumming your fingernails on the table beneath you. Benny’s voice interrupted the stare down, both of you turning to look at him. “I’m sorry, what is happening here?”

“I refuse to subject the people of this bar to Santiago’s Greatest Hits playlist all night. I’m picking the next song,” you replied, offering another smile to the man you were blocking in the booth. Benny was the first laugh you heard, but from behind you another laugh rumbled – and Frankie still hadn’t returned from the bar.

“Nice to see someone keeping Pope in his place,” the older Miller brother commented from behind you, immediately sending a chill up your spine and a rush of heat to your cheeks. Forgetting to leave your leg planted you turned to greet him with a smile, eyes brighter than they should be for someone who’d turned him down a month earlier. He didn’t care to hide the smile he offered you back. “Sorry I’m late. Got a little hung up at work, hope I didn’t miss anything.”

Your willingness to spar faltered, and all you could manage under his gaze was a nod, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth. He turned to greet Benny, who had stood, with a hug before saying a quick hello to Danielle and offering her a gentle hug. Even Santiago got a quick version of a hug. You tried to ignore the jealousy that twisted your stomach.

“You were just about to miss the musical showdown of the century,” Benny remarked, planting himself back into the booth with an arm around Dani’s shoulders. “Someone is finally standing up to Santiago’s musical monopoly.”

“Just because you people don’t know how to appreciate the American classics,” Santiago began, ready to fling himself into a grandiose monologue before Benny beat you to the punch, entering an argument with the older man about the definition of “classics”. You took that as your sign to exit to the juke box, unnoticed by Santi, but not unnoticed altogether – William had followed closely behind you.

“Are you my escort for the evening, Mr. Miller?” you questioned, attempting a playful tone to cover the nerves you felt around him. “I don’t think I’d get lost on the way to show up Santiago. There’s too much at stake.”

Another laugh rumbled in his chest – it was nice to make someone laugh as much as you made him. “The buttons on that old thing stick sometimes, and I wanna make sure you can use it.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little slowing down your steps to join at his side and glancing up at him as you walked. He had to mentally remind himself not to wrap an arm around you, no matter how badly he wanted to. “You know, helping me figure out the machine makes you an accomplice. I wonder how Santiago will feel about your mutiny.”

“Probably about the same way he feels about most things.”

“Forlorn and personally affronted?”

He laughed again in response, siding up to the juke box with you. He allowed you a moment to get your bearings on the machine, and though you likely quickly realized his white lie about the buttons sticking, you didn’t call him on it. “I was happy when Fish said you were coming out,” he admitted, leaning on the machine on his side next to you. When you broke concentration to meet his gaze briefly, he had to remind himself to breathe.

“I almost cancelled. Had a bad day at work and didn’t want to look miserable and stupid,” you replied with a shrug, returning your focus to the juke box and flipping through albums. What Will wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet with you and talk to you about your day, to listen to whatever complaints you wanted to hurl to a listening ear – but it wasn’t the time or place. He lowered his voice as Santiago’s previous choice finished up.

“Miserable may be one of the last words I’d use to describe how you look,” he drawled, removing his appreciative glance from you to focus on what album you’d sought out. He felt you glance upward at him and could swear he heard the quick catch of your breath.

“You’re very distracting,” you joked, eager to break this tension. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly in an attempt to stifle the smile that was threatening to break under his attention, but it was to no avail – your burning cheeks gave away the fluttering in your stomach enough. “It’s impossible to put Santiago to shame when I can’t focus on this very important song decision.”

He hummed in understanding, nodding his head as he fixed his eyes on you again. Gazing up into the blue pools that waited expectantly you were met with a slightly raised eyebrow. It was infuriating how he managed to look effortlessly flawless. “Should I go back to the table and leave you to it, then?”

“No,” came an embarrassingly immediate reply. “No, just…shut up. Stand there and…keep…looking like a fucking magazine cover, but shut up.”

Will smiled first, a rumbling laughter sounding in his chest. It was impossible not to smile at the laugh you’d pulled from him, eyes taking in the lines of his smile at the corners of his mouth and own eyes. You felt the pull at your heart and had to swallow down the feelings building in your chest, forcing yourself to look back at the juke box – though the smile he’d earned lingered as well. He wanted to reach out to touch you in the short summer dress you’d worn, to hold you closer to him with a hand on your hip – but it wasn’t his place to do so.

Once you’d queued up your song choice you made your way back to the table with Will, glad to see Frankie had returned with a lemonade for you. When you slid into the booth you were delighted to have Will slide up next to you, the warmth continuing to pool from him. As he moved in a little closer, perhaps, than he needed to your song choice began to play over the speakers.

“No way she’s embarrassing you with Donovan right now, Pope!” Benny called, his laughter loud over the music. You smiled a victorious smile across the table at him, eyes bright now that you had confirmation at least one other person at the table agreed with you.

“She thought really hard about her decision,” Will added, taking a drink of the bottled beer sat in front of him. You nudged him with your elbow lightly adding in a playful eye roll.

“I took my duty serious,” you explained before turning your attention back to Benny. “At least someone in this group has good taste. Sometimes Frankie’s music is shit, too.”

“Hey now,” the named man intervened, offering a raspy laugh at your call-out.

“You could try to tell me I’m wrong, but you haven’t reached six months of sobriety yet and your opinions are, understandably, questionable,” you joked, giving him a playful nudge to communicate you were joking if it wasn’t clear.

“So, you have Frankie working down at the…is it called a bee farm?” Benny questioned, pulling Dani in closer to plant a kiss to the top of her head. In the far end of the booth Santiago rolled his eyes, scoffing out a laugh as Frankie nodded.

“Yeah, I took over the business…about five months ago now. It was my grandfather’s, and he passed away,” you explained, taking a drink of your lemonade and wishing you’d had Frankie get you something stronger to get you through the questioning. “I was looking to move, anyway so it…kind of worked out, though I’m not sure my grandpa would appreciate that phrasing.”

Will loved how easy it was for you to find your place in the group.

“Where’d you move from?” Dani questioned, sipping on her hard seltzer to savor it. “I don’t hear an accent, really.”

“Middle of nowhere Montana,” you answered, anticipating the next question. Might as well answer it before someone asked. “I’d been in a relationship but…well, it wasn’t a good one. I left him earlier this year and ended up in a rehab program for cocaine addiction. When I got out…I had a couple of months in sanctioned housing, but I needed a change of scenery. It wasn’t long after that the family lawyer called to say the farm and business were passed to me in the will.”

Will caught the way you chose your words carefully as you spoke about your relationship, noticing how your voice had a slight shake to them. The possibilities of your cryptic words tore into him, festering in quiet anger as he ran through what that could mean. It was possible you’d simply been incompatible, perhaps fighting frequently. It was possible he’d broken your heart by being unfaithful. Or, and Will seriously hoped this wasn’t the case, it was possible your ex had been abusive toward you. The thought made him dig his fingers into the table’s edge.

As he allowed the thoughts to consume him for longer than he’d intended the conversation carried on, Benny beginning to understand why his friends had spent the last few weeks talking up this woman. His thoughts were broken by Santiago slapping his fist to the table quickly.

“Let’s play a round of darts. Winner picks the next five songs. Loser deals with it,” he offered, reaching upward to run his fingers through his hair. With a shrug you finished your lemonade, offering a mischievous smile once again.

“Let me drag up a chair for you to sit in while we play so your knees don’t give out with all that standing, peepaw,” you joked, pulling a round of laughter from everyone at the table except for Santiago, of course, and none louder than Will. The latter took his cue to stand and let you make your way across the bar with Santiago, bickering back and forth as you went. His gaze lingered far too long to go unnoticed.

“I know our mom taught us that it’s rude to stare, Will,” Benny chimed in first, throwing back the remainder of the whiskey in his glass. Will returned his attention to the men and woman still at the table, reaching to scratch the back of his head as he searched for an answer.

“Just trying to hear her give Santiago a piece of her mind,” he attempted a cover, reaching again for his beer and swallowing a large drink. He immediately felt the familiar twist of guilt knot his stomach for his white lie.

“Bullshit,” came Frankie’s retort, a scoffed laugh pulled from his chest. Admirably, only a water sat in front of him still. Benny nodded his head in agreement, and even Danielle raised her eyebrow at the blonde man’s lie.

“You’re into her,” Benny concluded, setting his empty glass on the table. There was no point in trying to cover himself, and even if there was…it wasn’t in his nature to lie to his family.

“I’ve been into her since I met her,” Will conceded, directing another longing gaze in your direction. You stood with your arms crossed, the smirk on your lips evident even from the side as you watched Santiago struggle to take the perfect aim – his eyes weren’t what they used to be. He saw your mouth move and the glare Pope shot your way, and he wished he could hear what you’d chosen to taunt him with. “I asked her to dinner. A month ago,” he began, taking another drink. “Said she’d love to say yes, but turned me down anyway. Said she didn’t want anything serious right now.”

The genuine disappointment in his eyes had Frankie and Benny sharing a look – it had been a long time since Will Miller had acted so bent out of shape over a woman.

“It’s a recovery thing,” Frankie offered some comfort, reaching to pat his back carefully. “She’s afraid if she doesn’t get far enough and the two of you don’t make it, the disappointment will make her relapse. At least…that’s what I’d think.”

“You should have seen her face when she realized you were behind her,” Benny added. “That’s not a woman who wants to turn you down.”

“I’m going to wait for her until she’s ready,” Will sighed, pulling his eyes away from you to look at his brother. “I don’t care if that sounds stupid, or desperate. I’m gonna wait.”

On the other side of the bar, you’d tied with Santiago and split the next five song choices – two from you, one decided together, and two from him. While he made his individual choices after you, you made your way to the bar to order yourself another lemonade to take back to the table. It was while you stood there waiting that a man decided to bother you, standing far too close and making incredibly lewd offers that no one wanted to hear from a stranger.

“Why don’t you come on back to my table with me and my friends? We’ll show ya a nice time, darlin’,” he drawled, moving closer to run a hand down your arm. “Pretty thing like you needs something stronger than a lemonade, and a strong man to show you a good time.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, taking a step back which he chased with a step forward.

“’fraid I don’t take no for an answer, little lady,” he retorted, reaching to grab your arm and pull you closer to him. “You won’t regret it when I have you in my bed later, I can promise you that.”

A large, flattened hand on the back of the man’s neck cut his sentence off before more vulgarities could come through his lips. From behind the man, William Miller kept his icy gaze on your face, searching for any sign of true distress. When he saw the slight quiver to your lip his grasp on the man noticeably tightened, fingers digging into the sides of his neck.

“Let go of her arm,” he ordered, his tone free of any room for argument. It was a tone you’d not heard yet from him, and one you felt bad for anyone that was on the receiving end. The man’s sweaty hand released your arm, the red mark from his tight hold prompting Will’s jaw to tick briefly, a deep breath releasing from flared nostrils. “I should kick your ass for that, but that would ruin our night. Instead, I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologize.”

His eyes were burning into yours, yet he still didn’t miss the man’s attempt to turn and land a punch on his jaw. Catching the incoming fist with his free hand he pushed the man’s head downward, forcing it to the bar top as he twisted his arm behind him. Shifting his intense eyes to look at the back of the man’s head he shook his head, taking hold of the man’s hair to twist his face to look at you. If he was angry before, he was irate now – but he was controlling himself for your benefit. The man’s nose was unbroken but bleeding, and he spit blood onto the bar as he began to beg. “Look, man, we were just having fun…just let me go and she’s all yours.”

“It doesn’t look like she was having fun,” Will corrected, his grasp unfaltering. “I’ll give you one more chance to apologize to her.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, okay? I’ll leave, just let me go, man,” the man begged, breathing shaky and anxious as he feared the wrath of the man behind him. Will used his remaining grasp to lift the man straight upward again, pushing him toward the door with disdain.

“You should walk off this mood you’ve got yourself in,” Will began, moving to stand closer to you but keeping his eyes on the staggering man now. As the man made his way toward the door, Will left him with another parting threat. “If I see you back in this bar it won’t be good for you.”

Subconsciously William slipped an arm around your waist, turning you to face him as his other hand reached to lift your arm gently. The handprint around your wrist was now bruising lightly – barely there – but it was too visible for Will. His eyebrows pulled together in frustration, trying to steady his breathing and heart rate so he could ask you if you were okay. You beat him to the punch.

“Shhh,” you soothed, removing your arm from his hold and placing your hand on his bicep gently. Your eyes met his again, releasing a shaky breath once you realized how close he held you to him. Chests pressed firmly together you could feel the rapid beat to his heart and his fight for a normal breath – he needed to calm down, and Will being calm was far more important to you than a bruise. It’s not like this was the first one in your life. ��I’m okay, Will. I’ve had worse from bumping into the coffee table, it’s alright. Breathe with me.”

Storms darkened his eyes, his hands grasping at your sides now as his chest gave a solid heave. Brushing your thumb against his arm you reached your other hand to rest against his cheek. You pulled him backward with you toward the quiet hallway by the bathrooms, offering a gentle smile once you were alone. Drawing in a deep breath as your eyes remained locked on his you gave his arm a light squeeze, encouraging him to pay attention to you – only you, not on following the guy outside and knocking his teeth out.

He could follow orders, though – that was something that no situation could turn off in him – and he soon began to mirror your deep breaths, hands still clutching you to him. By the time he’d released his fifth deep breath his mind was less clouded with anger, but that didn’t mean it was clear. If anything, it was even more clouded, but now it was clouded with you. You’d never been this close to him. He’d never felt the way his fingers could dig delicately into your skin. He’d never felt your chest pressed to his.

He’d never been only inches away from claiming your lips with his – and that’s exactly what he did as the adrenaline rushed through him. Grasping your hips tighter he anchored you against him, his lips soft and rough as you stood frozen, a quiet gasp slipping through your lips in shock. The quiet sound brought Will back to his senses, immediately pulling away from the kiss with a shock-laced look of horror on his face.

“I’m…so sorry,” he began, though he still hadn’t released his hold on your hips, his eyes transfixed on yours. The concern behind his eyes was unmistakable – he was terrified of how badly he’d just messed things up with you – and yet that didn’t stop his cheeks from darkening slightly, or his tongue from running over his bottom lip briefly for another desperate taste of you. “I shouldn’t have – mmph.”

Your hungry lips cut off his words quickly as you grasped at his bicep, the hand you held against his cheek sliding to the back of his head to hold him closer. He returned your kiss like it was something he’d been waiting to do for years, his hands sliding to rest on your lower back and pull you into him completely. A pleasant sigh slipped through your lips as he ran his tongue across the seam, granting him access to explore your mouth. When he’d kissed you breathless, he withdrew from your lips, his own curving into a smile as he bumped his nose against yours lightly. Leaning his forehead to rest against yours he took in a deep breath, savoring the moment he'd fantasized over for weeks.

“I still don’t want anything serious,” you whispered, eyebrows pulling together in frustration at so many things, none of which were Will’s fault, all of which fell on you and your past. ‘Live in the moment!’ a voice screamed in the back of your head, begging you to see that the man in front of you was a direct pathway to happiness. You’d silenced that optimistic part of you long ago. “I’m sorry I just…don’t. I can’t.”

“Sh,” he cooed, sliding one of his hands to rest on the top of your back to hold you closer. He bumped his nose against yours again lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before looking deep into your eyes. “I know. I don’t care.”

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip lightly, a sign you were nervous and uncertain. “It’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I can’t even promise…what this would look like, Will.”

He shushed you again, shaking his head before he rested his forehead against yours again. “I will take whatever you want to give me for as many days as you want to give it.”

He’d followed through on his word throughout the weeks that followed, thankful that he had turned out to be a very patient man. Even with the generally negative outlook on life you maintained, always finding a fault in every situation – you couldn’t find one with Will. Yes, it was adorable that he’d show up at the farm during lunch to see you, wanting nothing more than to simply see you in “work mode” and to kiss you as he ran a thumb across your cheek to wipe the dirt away.

Frankie didn’t mind at all that you’d started up this…whatever it was with Will. He enjoyed the fact that both of you were happy, and he wouldn’t complain about the lunches Will dropped off when he visited. Frankie wasn’t the only one in the group to know about the time you spent with Will, of course – Will didn’t believe in keeping secrets between the four of them.

You’d joined them for nights out a couple of times since but remained purely friendly with Will while in the view of others. The car rides home were when he would kiss you breathless in your driveway, holding you close, greedy for every moment you offered him. Things had never escalated past heavy kissing and touching, and that was comfortable – you still felt you could quit him any time you needed to, and it was safer that way.

It was Frankie that had asked you to take a Saturday off with him to spend time with them at the beach before the weather started cooling off a bit for the winter. You weren’t really one for the beach, not having lived anywhere near the ocean or going into the ocean much for most of your life, but Frankie’s pleading brown eyes won you over. It would be cruel to leave Dani alone with the men, anyway. When you’d walked onto the beach with Frankie that Saturday afternoon, Will thought his heart was going to burst from his chest. You and Frankie had elected to keep your presence a surprise, which worked in your favor as he smiled the brightest smile he’d offered you yet as you made your way over to their umbrellas, chairs and towels.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he greeted, unable to help himself from hugging you. His voice was teasing as he continued. “You know I don’t like secrets.”

“Oh, well I’m full of ‘em,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around him and tilting your head to look into his face. “Like…I actually assassinated JFK, and I helped fake the moon landing. I admit it. All me.”

He smiled at your joke and allowed a soft laugh to leave his chest, shaking his head slightly as he released you before the hug lingered too long for your comfort. “I wish I’d known you were coming; I could’ve grabbed some lemonade for you. I’ve got water in the cooler, though, and I’ve always got a pack of those cashews that you like in in my truck.”

You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder, cheeks turning red under his thoughtfulness and sweet intentions with you. Before you could thank him, Benny had joined up with you, picking you up in a crushing hug as Danielle said hello from behind. Will had never really envied his brother until he got to witness your effortless acceptance of him, and the way Benny could hug you however he wanted.

“Benny, Jesus, you’re going to crack one of my ribs, you behemoth,” you laughed, gasping for air through his hug as you attempted to wiggle free. Benny placed you gently back on the ground and offered a wide grin, immediately draping his shoulder back around Dani who rested her head on him gently. “Hope you guys don’t mind Frankie bringing me along. I couldn’t leave Dani alone around all you men all day.”

“And that is so appreciated,” the named woman replied, here signature sincere smile on her face. “I am going to work on catching up with Benny’s annoying natural tanning abilities, if you want to sit with me. You don’t seem much of a ‘get in the ocean’ kinda gal.”

You did sit on the beach for most of the day with the woman, getting to know one another more deeply, your conversations free of the hindrance of men being present as the group of four gallivanted about the shore and in the waves. Every so often, Benny would yell a quick “hi, baby!” from the water, causing Dani to smile, roll her eyes and wave, a small laugh falling from her lips. It was well past 4 p.m. and the seventh time he’d done it when she gave a different reply.

“He’s an idiot!” she yelled back, her voice full of laughter and love for the man she’d spent just less than a year with now. She quieted her voice back before she added to you. “I knew that when I agreed to date him, though. I can’t complain.”

“You’re perfect for one another,” you asserted, watching as Benny smiled and blew her a kiss before returning to the group. Your eyes wandered, briefly, only to confirm Will had stopped in his tracks to gaze at you, too. Danielle wasn’t the only one with attention focused on her today. Several times now Will had reminded you – gently but firmly – to reapply sunscreen and drink water. As the men set to work on building a fire, he had called to you again to remind you about the water, pulling a quiet giggle from Danielle.

“That’s five times for that one, then,” she counted aloud, watching as you grabbed the water from beside you to take a large drink. “Benny and I aren’t the only ones perfect for one another. That man loves you, you know.”

You felt the heat in your cheeks and knew they must be several shades darker. You finished the bottle of water and released a deep breath before you chose your words, not wanting to be taken off-guard and say something stupid. “He doesn’t…love me. We just…we get along well.”

“He loves you, and no amount of self-deprecating denial from you is going to change that,” she remarked, taking another drink of one of several hard seltzers she’d had that day. You knew those things barely contained alcohol, but you also had to wonder if it was contributing to her willingness to be so open. “You should let him.”

“I should let him what?” you questioned, feeling the answer in your stomach before she spoke it.

“Love you. You should let him love you,” she replied, rolling her eyes with a soft laugh. “He seems pretty good at it.”

As you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth you turned your face away from her, noticing that the other half of this conversation’s topic had found his way back into the water alone. Finally cracking under the pressure you felt to be alone with him for even a minute you decided the ocean couldn’t be that bad, really, and made your way to the chilling water. You really didn’t want to find your way into the ocean, but if it meant time with Will, so be it.

You’d almost made your way to him when something touched your leg, sending you into an immediate panic as you made your way to him, essentially launching yourself into his arms as you screamed his name. William immediately cradled you against him, smiling down at you with an all-too amused smile.

“I’ve got you; I’ve got you,” he cooed, raising a thumbs up to the shore so no one worried after your scream before he brought that arm to hold you as well. “What’s the matter?”

“Something touched my foot,” you whined, unused to being in the ocean like this. The chuckle that rumbled through him shook his chest, his reminders to reapply sunscreen not influencing him – he’d gotten some color on his cheeks and nose. Even in your distraught state, it was impossible to not recognize how handsome he was.

“Well, there are fish in the ocean, honeybee,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement. His nickname for you caused your stomach to flip in the most annoying way, and you felt yourself curl into him more despite yourself. “What do you want me to do, hmm? How can I fix it?”

“I want to get out. Carry me out,” you stated, clinging to him. Whether it was him holding you that felt so good or genuine fear keeping you to him, he really couldn’t say. He nodded, but instead of going toward the shore he moved away from it, swimming out with you further. “William! I said OUT!”

“I thought you said you wanted me to take you further out!” he replied, his tone too full of amusement. You moved to wrap your legs around his waist instead, narrowing your eyes at him and setting your face to be serious, eyebrows furrowed. He wanted to lean in to kiss the lines. “Hey, hey, hey…” he cooed, turning his back to the shore and leaning his forehead against yours with a light smile. You could see the light freckles on his cheeks that the sun had brought out throughout the day, his eyes light in the fading sunlight as he gazed longingly at you. No one had ever talked to you as soft as he did. “’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You don’t need to worry about a thing as long as I am right here with you.”

His lips pressed to yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss briefly before he returned to simply leaning his head against yours. You lightly bumped your nose against his, resting your hands on his chest gently. It was impossible not to believe him. “Still not nice, William Miller.”

“I know, I just wanted you alone for a minute,” he conceded, angling his head to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. You couldn’t help but smile under his affections, maintaining that hard exterior proving difficult as his kisses chipped away at it. “I’m sorry, honey. Let me make it up to you?”

You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow in curiosity, slipping one of your hands to his bicep. “How do you plan on doing that? I was pretty distraught.”

“Let me take you home,” he offered, his eyes so sincere it hurt. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before he continued further. When you didn’t give him a response, he continued. “I have feelings for you.”

“Well…stop it,” slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your cheeks immediately burning at your own callousness. It was second nature to push people away now…especially Will, who was getting closer than anyone was allowed right now. Instead of being hurt, Will could only smile at your attempt.

“Yeah?” he questioned, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. His words came between kisses as he spoke. “You want me to stop?”

As the kisses grew deeper and you felt the warmth of arousal spreading through your body you had to shake your head, knowing he’d recognize the longing in your eyes and call your bluff if you insisted. He smiled as his hands slipped down from your sides to grasp your ass under the water, pressing you into him firmly as you shook your head and released a defeated sigh.

“You can take me to your house,” you conceded, running your fingers through his hair as you looked at him through your lashes, devouring him with an unashamedly lascivious look. His eyes lit up even further, finally listening and carrying you closer to the shore so both of you could leave the ocean and get to his truck as soon as possible. As you wrapped yourself in a towel and gathered the items you’d brought with you in a bag you ignored her quiet giggles, unwilling to even consider the conversation Will was having with the men behind you. You supposed you owed Frankie a conversation as well on Monday. Dani called to you to have fun as you walked to Will’s truck.

When he had you secured in his truck, he leaned to press a kiss against your lips as he buckled you in. He was a safe driver and had incredible reflexes, you reminded yourself of this frequently as he drove back with one hand rested on your thigh, kneading his fingers into the soft flesh occasionally. He pulled into his driveway sooner than he should have – he’d never speed with you in the car again – and immediately had you cradled in his arms again as he carried you into his house.

When he began to make his way up the stairs he finally spoke, trying to cover the happiness in his voice with seriousness. “You’re sure this is what you want?” You responded by reaching your head to plant kisses on his shoulder, trailing them to his neck as best you could as you nodded. As he opened his bedroom door, he gazed down at you finally, not taking another step forward just yet. “Have to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Will,” you confirmed, and those two words melted his resolve. He placed you on his bed carefully before he crawled between your legs, keeping one hand on your hip and cupping your cheek in his hand as he kissed you deeply. You returned his kiss immediately, just as desperate for him as he was for you at this point. His fingers began to work at the ties of your bottoms as he traced the seam of your mouth with his tongue, groaning appreciatively as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. When he was satisfied with the taste he’d received he released your lips, trailing his kisses to your jaw and neck as he removed the bottoms.

His kisses trailed lower on your neck, Will fighting the urge to suck purple marks into your skin in such an obvious place. Your hands ran up his back to the back of his neck and head, holding him closer as he trailed his kisses to your chest just as he’d worked that tie free as well, removing the fabric from your body and leaving you finally bare for him. He leaned back to run his eyes down you appreciatively, one of his thumbs rubbing gently over one of your nipples slowly.

“You look so fucking pretty in my bed,” he complimented before leaning forward again, claiming one of your nipples in his mouth with a flick of his tongue. He happily familiarized himself with each of your breasts, earning the most beautiful moans that had ever graced his ears from you as your hips pressed up into his in desperation for friction. When your hot core was met with his obvious erection in his swim trunks you moaned in unison, Will pressing his waist into you further. He released your nipple from his mouth to trail his kisses downward again as he whispered. “Bet you’re gonna taste fucking delicious mixed with salt water…”

His hand that had been holding your hip moved to spread your legs as his lips reached your hip, smiling against the skin before kissing it gently. Experimentally he spread your already soaking folds with a swipe of his fingers, groaning appreciatively as you gasped. “Will…”

“All this for me, baby?” he cooed, lowering his head to swirl his tongue around your clit before sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves lightly. “You always get this wet for me? Is this pretty pussy this wet every time I kiss you?”

You whined your confirmation as he ran his tongue through your folds, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as he finally tasted you. His name fell from your lips again and he nodded in encouragement before setting in on his first task of the night, devouring every inch that your hot core had to offer him. For as many times as you’d imagined Will’s head between your thighs, nothing compared to the way he tended to every inch of you, groans and grunts vibrating through his mouth as he fucked his tongue into your velvet entrance.

He had your legs shaking on either side of his head in no time, his lips curving into a smile as he connected his thumb with your clit, continuing to swirl his tongue inside of you as best he could. When your breathing became erratic and your hands reached to grasp his hair, he knew he had you on the edge, nodding in affirmation when you warned him you were going to come. When euphoria rocked through you with a loud moan your hips arched off the bed, giving him a much better angle to appreciate the nectar he’d earned.

The ceiling above you turned to a white light as pleasure rushed through you, your moan turning to a scream when he didn’t relent at your entrance or clit, continuing to stimulate you through your orgasm. By the time he’d crawled his way back up your body and removed his trunks you had come down somewhat, only enough to be somewhat aware as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds with a low groan.

“I can get a condom…” he offered, whatever his full sentence was intended to be cut off as you pressed a lazy, half-aware kiss to his lips as you shook your head, quiet please leaving your lips. Briefly arguing with the responsibility of the decision he was about to make. When you quietly begged him to fuck you again all reason escaped his mind, lining his already throbbing cock at your entrance before thrusting in carefully. Your wet heat welcomed him in like you were meant to do so, the heat of your velvet channel caressing him inch by inch until he was buried in you. He groaned low in appreciation as he pressed his lips to yours in a loving kiss, stilling his movements to give you both a moment to savor the feeling of him filling you. “Better than I could have fucking imagined…”

One of his hands slid carefully up your body to rest on your cheek, pulling you closer as gently as he could to claim your lips in a kiss as he withdrew from you almost completely before thrusting back in, grunting as your walls fluttered around him. As your lips and tongues entered a dance they had done so many times now your bodies came together fully for the first, his cock massaging your walls with each of his well-purposed thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him in closer, holding him against you as close as his thrusts would allow you. He pulled away from the kiss to bump his nose against yours gently before running it along your cheek affectionately, placing a kiss just below his ear when he’d reached the sensitive spot.

“Like you were made for me,” he whispered in your ear, his thrusts increasing in pace as he neared his finish much sooner than he wanted to. He reached to grasp one of your legs, sliding it so your ankle hooked over his shoulder so he could angle into you deeper. The new depths he reached pulled you closer to the edge, his thumb connecting with your clit again, causing your walls to flutter around him.

“I’m on the pill,” you offered, feeling a second orgasm approaching you as he rubbed steady circles around your clit and the velvet head of his cock brushed against the coveted spot inside of you, sensing the end approached for him as well as his thrusts became more erratic and desperate. Your quiet suggestion pulled a groan from his chest, his head turning to claim your lips again in a messy kiss.

“You want me to fill you up, princess? That what you’re asking me for?” he questioned between deep thrusts accompanied by deep breaths, his hand sliding from your cheek to your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your lips. “You tell me that’s what you want and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

You could only bring yourself to nod as you kissed him deeply, your own orgasm rushing through you as you moaned against his lips. Feeling your walls tighten around him he couldn’t hold his own release back, spilling his seed into you with a groan as he pulled away from your kiss to lean his forehead against yours. He could have told you that he was falling in love with you right then.

As you both came down from shared euphoria he rolled to his side next to you, wrapping his arms around his waist as he went to hold you against him gently. You listened to your instincts by tucking your face into his neck, breathing in deeply to steady your breaths as Will pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head and whispered quiet praises and thank yous to you. One of your legs slid up between his to cuddle closer, your arms wrapping around his middle as your eyes slid closed.

You probably could’ve fallen asleep right then, if his words hadn’t woken you from your peaceful lull. “I’ve got extra clothes and…we can shower before you change if you want.”

The sweet suggestion snapped you back to reality, and you forced yourself to let him know you'd have to go home now. In all honesty, it was the last thing that you wanted to do, but you were unwilling to relent just yet on your insistence to not pursue something serious. Will, of course, didn't want to tell you no because he wanted you to feel comfortable with him - he wanted you to know that he would listen to you, and support whatever you felt was best for yourself. That included you leaving him for the night, even when he wanted you more than he had any night before.

Not hearing anything about accepting a ride home from him, insistent on being independent for the night, you sent Frankie a text to grab you on his way back from the beach if he hadn't made it home already. 15 minutes later Frankie was in Will's driveway, a sympathetic look on his face as he waved to the younger man through the windshield as you climbed into the truck.

Will watched silently as the truck backed out of the driveway and you disappeared down the street, mentally vowing to himself that he would willingly spend as long as you needed waiting.

When November’s curtain call came and the evening chill of December rolled in, you’d found your match with William Miller, who was acting by his promise and providing you with consistency, with reverent tenderness. No matter what distance you tried to maintain from him he was just as unrelenting, finding ways through your obstacles day after day. He never pushed, never overstepped, but he was always there, ever willing to cherish you in entirety whenever given the chance. Lately those opportunities had grown, proliferating into prolonged post-coital kisses and embraces that could hardly be passed off as anything less than adoration any longer.

Falling wasn’t enough to describe the feeling – falling was too subtle. A plummeting nosedive, a cascade…an avalanche, a crashing meteor – so consuming it swallowed you until all that was left was Will, his affections blanketing you with unwavering warmth.

“Honeybee!” Will called as he entered through the front door, the sound of him removing his boots and setting them by the door causing you to smile as you crushed candy canes in the kitchen. All your meetings had been reserved for his home but today you’d offered to host him and his friends at your farmhouse for dinner – Christmas Eve dinner.

“In here, Will,” you replied from your place at the counter, taking a deep breath as you started sprinkling the candy canes atop the cupcakes you made for dessert. An immediate advantage to having Will in your home was the sound of the creaking floor beneath his large frame – even without shoes – meant you could hear him coming behind you. “Don’t mess me up, Will. This is serious business.”

A laugh rumbled through him as he delicately wrapped his arms around your waist anyway, resting his chin on your shoulder for a moment before turning inward, burrowing his face in your neck with a deep breath. He pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, assessed your response, and then repeated the motion when he realized you remained focused on your task, smiling into your skin lightly. When you finished you slid the cupcake stand back further on the counter for safety before turning in his arms, a playful smile lighting your features. It was only now Will noticed what remained of a candy cane in your mouth, his mind spinning already at the thought of what your lips must taste like now.

“Did I mess you up?” he questioned, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead with a quiet hum of appreciation as your arms found their way around his neck, not before your hands slid over his chest. He opted to forego the ugly sweater party – you knew that was coming – but he did at least wear a red sweater, the color bringing out the coolness of his eyes. Even in the winter he was managing to keep up plenty of color, but not enough to hide the redness to his cheeks as you held his gaze.

Sometimes he couldn’t decide if it was better you could hold his eye contact now or not – he still hadn’t grown used to feeling somewhat embarrassed just under a woman’s gaze. The way you removed the candy from your mouth with a pop and placed it in the trash behind you certainly didn’t help.

“Nearly, but I’ll let it slide seeing as it’s Christmas and all,” your fingers found their way into his hair, pulling him closer so you could press your lips to his in a gentle kiss. One thing he would never grow accustomed to was the clench in his heart whenever you initiated affection – some of his favorite kisses sparked by you.

“Christmas Eve, honeybee,” he replied when you released him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as best you could from standing on your toes. He tightened his hold on your waist to hold you against him tighter, relishing in your attention and uncaring about the inevitable mess that would transfer from your apron to him.

“Mm, you look handsome in this little red number, Will,” you teased, bringing more color to his cheeks. It was too easy for you now – you loved it.

“I wore it just for you,” he drawled, seeking out another taste of peppermint on your lips with a gentle kiss. The fact that you knew that was true only made your chest swell more.

“Well, you’ll have to wear something else for me, too, since technically…you are out of dress code,” you remarked, eyebrow raised slightly in a manner he knew to be playful. Whatever you had in store he would play along with, as long as it meant this mood you were in would continue, particularly with how the two of you had left things last time – an argument that had been eating at both of you for days.

"You’ll have to make a decision sooner or later,” he’d stated as he leaned against his truck in the parking lot after one of Benny’s fights, trying to appear much cooler on the outside than he was on the inside where frustration bubbled under his skin. He’d slipped – called you his girlfriend, and it had been too much of a reality check for you to handle. Despite his harshness he reached a hand toward you, beckoning you closer – you did not follow. A wild animal backed into a corner – hissing and feral and scared. So many questions remained in his mind about why it was so hard for you to accept love, but he’d never push for those answers. You’d give them freely in your own time. The topic at hand remained to be that Will had spent weeks earning your affection, and while he was patient, it had been worn somewhat thin. “We don’t spend the night together…months now and I’ve never woken up next to you,” he continued, eyebrows pulling together as he crossed his arms again. “And if that’s not frustrating enough, I can’t even slip and call you my girlfriend – to my brother – without you getting upset. I’m doing everything I can here, I just need you to give a little back. Anything.” Your lip had quivered, tears pricking at your eyes. Will hated to see you that way, hated to have caused it – it would gnaw at him in the days that followed, as would all the words that followed, so unimportant now. As much as the argument shredded his heart day after day the same was true for you – perhaps if he knew how guilty you felt because you were still resisting what was right in front of you, he could have gone easier on you.

Even now the guilt festered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unwilling to spark any sort of disagreement today. You reached behind you to the counter to grab a Santa hat before lifting it onto his head, smiling a sweet smile before flattening his hands against your lower back to pull you closer. He offered you a smile in return, withholding any fussing about the hat as his eyes met yours again. One of his hands left its position to lift to your cheek, callused fingers lightly dusting across your cheekbones. “I’m sorry about Friday night, honey. I shouldn’t be pushing you like that…I knew what I asked for when I asked for it.”

It was in your nature to lean your head toward his hand, your eyes drifting shut briefly to enjoy the moment. You only met his gaze again when you’d chosen your response, words leaving your lips quiet and sincere. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Will,” you sighed, leaning forward to lay your head on his chest, calmed by the familiar rhythm of his heart. “I do need to make a decision, you were right.”

“Yeah, but I…lost my temper. I raised my voice,” he rested his hand that had been on your cheek on the back of your head, stroking your hair and internally smiling at the streaks of flour leftover from your day in the kitchen. “I should never do that to you, there’s no excuse.”

“Apology accepted,” you whispered, burying your face into his chest to inhale the smell of him – saltwater and oak, subtle and resolute. He leaned to press a kiss to the top of your head, holding you for a moment before the day needed to continue. “Can you help me get the star on the tree and put presents underneath while I set the table? Dinner should be done by the time everyone else shows.”

He nodded, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before releasing you so you could get back to work. “You know at least one of ‘em will be late.”

“I included an extra twenty minutes on the cooking time to accommodate,” you quipped back cheerfully, removing your apron and hanging it on its rightful hook, giving the kitchen one final look over to ensure nothing was forgotten before setting off into the living room, remarking how Will needed to hurry because you had everything planned to the minute.

He’d never been more certain he loved you.

“Why’d you get a tree you couldn’t reach the top of, shortcake?”

You turned to throw him a look, cheeks burning with heat despite the amused smile that broke out across your face. He returned it with one of his own, straightening the Santa hat on his head before walking over to where you stood by the tree. He adored the mood you were in today, and wondered briefly if you were this way every Christmas. Your playful tone had returned. “Size does matter with some things, love. No one wants a wants a tiny tree with no needles.”

It wasn’t the first time that nickname had slipped, yet his chest still tightened. He wrapped his arms around you again, unable to resist pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulled you in close before lifting you up so you could situate the star atop the tree. Satisfied with the state of the living room you tasked Will with starting the fireplace, putting music on via the record player in the living room, and lighting some candles while you finished cooking.

It was easy being domestic with you.

Everyone’s arrivals staggered from there forward. Benny arrived next, early and eager to spend time with his brother, with an arm slung around Dani, smiling and remarking how fantastic your house was before giving himself a tour. By the way his eyes kept raking over her you could only assume they found a hallway to defile. Dani joined you soon after with a smile and offered to help in the kitchen, which you accepted with some relief.

As Will and Ben broke into a bottle of bourbon and eggnog (Benny had threatened not to come if there was no eggnog available), Santiago showed up – surprisingly not in an ugly sweater after weeks of talking trash about how his was going to put yours to shame. You opted not to even bring it up given the expression on his face – today was clearly not the day to pick at Pope – and instead greeted him with a sweet smile instead. Frankie was last – really to no one’s surprise – and everyone had found a seat at the table as you loaded it up with food.

Santiago had jokingly requested an entire turkey – the largest one you could find – perhaps as a challenge, and you’d agreed to make it without second thought. Frankie was simple and asked for macaroni and cheese, Benny sheepishly requested sweet potatoes and dinner rolls, while Dani was sensible and requested “any kind of vegetable.” Will had shown his sweet tooth by requesting something sweet for dinner, hence the cupcakes you’d finished earlier.

“This looks incredible,” Benny complimented, pulling his eyes away from the food in front of him to look toward where you sat at the head of the table. Frankie and Dani both voiced quick words of agreement while Santi nodded, checking his phone quickly. “You have to give a toast.”

“Oh, no,” you laughed, waving your hand dismissively as you shook your head. Your face burned so badly you felt like all your head had become was a flaming ball. “No one wants to hear me do a toast, seriously. Dig in before it gets cold.”

Ben crossed his arms and Frankie’s face set into concrete resolution. It was the younger Miller who spoke, tone unwavering and serious. You weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him be so serious before…even before his fights. “We’re not eating until a toast is given.”

“Will can give a toast,” slipped from your mouth, nervousness causing the words to spill freely – maybe a little too freely. With a nervous laugh you continued. “He’s basically the man of the house.”

Will’s eyes noticeably widened up at you to your right, his mouth falling open slightly in surprise as his cheeks mirrored the fire in your own. Ben’s head snapped toward Will, giving a light smirk as his brother stood, never pulling his eyes from your face as he lifted his glass from the table.

The toast he gave was short, and yet he still struggled to make it through its entirety. Several times he cleared his throat, feeling the tingle in his tear ducts that threatened to pour with each passing moment, each beat of his heart causing a tightness in his chest.

“And…” he began the final sentence, releasing a shaking breath as he looked around the table. His eyes settled back to you like it was the most natural place in the world for them to be. You reached out to where one of his hands grasped the edge of the table, sliding your hand atop his and giving a gentle squeeze. The simple act spurred him through the rest of his speech. “And here’s to hopefully many more Christmases with all of us together.”

Dinner went smoothly from there, the table’s mood lighthearted and happy as everyone ate, light conversations being passed around – which included stories from both Will and Ben about their Christmases growing up and the trouble they used to get themselves into. Once the table was clear the group relocated into the living room to sit around the tree to complete the Secret Santa gift exchange you’d all planned.

Santi gave Frankie the gift he’d gotten him first – a new fishing pole, a hat (it was the same one he’d always worn, just a new version – you had to wonder how many times he’d been gifted the exact hat), and a pack of new socks. Frankie was enthralled by each of them, saying they’d have to plan a trip soon. As a result Frankie went next, handing Danielle her gift in a bag (he’d tried to wrap it, truly…he gave up when half the roll had been used). Danielle’s face lit up at the various candles and candy inside the bag and waved the spa trip for two pass in your direction with a smile.

Dani gifted Santi with tickets to a concert he’d been complaining for weeks he didn’t secure tickets to, which brought his trademark soft smile to his face as he thanked her profusely. Not before multiple comments were made about how the group hoped there was seating in the venue, so he didn’t have to stand on his shitty knees the entire time, you announced you’d go next since Santi had already handed out his gift. Passing a sizeable box to Ben with a wink and a smile you leaned back against the fireplace, watching as the younger Miller tore into it with excitement.

“You did not get me an original Nintendo 64,” he exclaimed, eyes wide as he pulled the old console out of the box. As Will watched on his chest tightened as you smiled at Ben, the word family seeming to repeat itself in his mind.

“You’ve been complaining about how the new model isn’t the same,” you explained with a shrug, taking a drink of the cider you held in your hand. “I can’t wait to kick your ass in Mario Party.”

“Next weekend, you’re on. Hope you’re not a sore loser,” he smirked, digging through the games that littered the bottom of the box as well. Wrapped up in admiring his gift he almost forgot to pass the envelope he was holding to his own brother with a playful smile. Will laughed – your heart swelled – and as he opened the envelope, he shot his brother a smile. “I know we usually say no gift cards…but you’re impossible to buy for. Figured you could use it on dinner or…somethin’.”

The brothers shared another knowing look and smile before Will reached out to pat his back, mentally noting to give him a proper hug when they weren’t sitting later. Which left Will to give the gift he’d purchased for the only person that remained without…you.

He moved closer to you on the couch, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close as he slipped his phone from his pocket, glancing down at you first to offer you a smile. “So, you’ve been saying that you miss the snow…”

As his sentence trailed, he turned his phone screen so you could see it, the sight of a small, warm-looking cabin surrounded by snow and pine trees filling your eyes. You turned your head to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and questioning as your mouth opened briefly. Will beat you to talking.

“Now, obviously…I didn’t buy it, but I did rent it for a weekend…next month when there still should be plenty of snow,” he offered, crystalline eyes transfixed on yours as he spoke. “I thought we could take a nice trip…together, especially since that weekend will be your anniversary of going to rehab. It’s big enough for people to join –“

“Not a single one of us wants to be in that cabin with you two that weekend,” Santiago interrupted, quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of his head.

“…no offense, of course.” Frankie chimed in, elbowing his best friend.

“Oh, full offense intended,” Ben joined in, his words chased by a laugh. “You two in a cold ass log cabin somewhere in the fuckin’ Rockies? Count all of us out.”

Your cheeks burned at their teasing and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Will, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth briefly as you grasped his hand gently. There were a lot of words that ran through your mind in appreciation – three not-so-little ones squeaking quietly in the back of your mind. You tried to silence them – something you had to do often now. It was getting more and more difficult to do.

Everyone else was ignored, even their taunting. As was so often the case, it was only you and Will.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, melting at the gentle curve of his lips. Without thinking you leaned upward to kiss him once quickly and gently, a small action that quickly silenced the group. They knew it happened, but seeing it was far different than hearing about it.

It was thanks enough for Will.

Now the gifts had all been received you excused yourself to gather plates and cupcakes from the kitchen. Once everyone had plates with multiple cupcakes each, it was time to watch a movie – the choice of which was yours.

The movie you chose really didn’t matter – your focus was almost entirely on Will. Taking the loveseat close to the fire, Will had his arms wrapped around you tightly seemingly from the moment you’d sat down, pulling you back against his strong chest to support you while he balanced a plate of cupcakes on his knee. He left no room for you to protest such an obvious display of affection, keeping one arm slung around your shoulder and seemingly pulling you closer and closer by the second.

After everyone had eaten their cupcakes and really settled in, you had to wonder if the other men and woman in the room minded the state you found yourself in with Will. His arm remained around your shoulders, your hand reaching up to lace your fingers with his…which allowed you the ability to press kisses to his fingers with ease. Several times Will turned your head, to press a gentle kiss to your lips, your nose, your forehead…smiling earnestly each time and pulling at your heart.

Halfway through the movie Will leaned to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against the shell. The mint lingering on his to his breath and huskiness in his voice send a chill up your spine – you knew he felt it when a quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Let’s split the other cupcake on the plate.”

You turned your head to flash him an amused look, raising an eyebrow. “That’ll be your third one.”

“We’re splitting it,” he defended with a shrug of his shoulders, his other hand reaching for the aforementioned plate on the table beside the couch. “It doesn’t count.”

“Mm,” you smiled, taking the cupcake to unwrap it before taking a slow bite. When you offered it to him his eyes flashed with a look entirely indecent for company, his voice lower as he held your gaze. A subtle shake to his head confirmed what your mind had already begun to infer. “Gimme a bite.”

You fed him a bite slowly, eyes locked with his as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly, watching his pink tongue dart out to run along his bottom lip to collect the peppermint icing there. He offered another smile with an appreciative hum

“Would you two get a room?” Benny questioned over the movie, shooting his older brother a playful look. He wasn’t serious, he truly didn’t mind seeing his older brother finally loosen up a bit and be happy – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give him hell. It was, after all, the responsibility of being a younger sibling.

“They’re all my rooms, Benjamin,” you taunted, shooting the man a bright smile that Will took the moment to cherish. Taking another bite of the cupcake with a smirk on his lips he opted to settle back in then, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on the top of your head.

The two of you remained that way for the rest of the movie, his arms clutching you against his chest and rubbing gentle circles on your stomach occasionally. There was nothing stopping him from pressing kisses to the top of your head, either – which he considered fair, given that you were irresistible this close to him.

Santiago cleared out first in a haste, jaw clenching through his goodbyes which he seemed less-than-focused on as he checked his phone’s screen several more times. It was then that you offered a room to anyone who wanted to stay, which was quickly shot down by both Ben and Frankie who shared a knowing look.

“We do not want to be in this house when your…canoodling escalates,” Ben asserted, glancing between his older brother and you, who were now standing a few steps further from Will in an attempt to be less obvious. It was far too late for that.

With a hug and kiss on the cheek from Frankie and a promise to call you tomorrow, Dani gave you a gentle hug which was quickly contrasted by a crushing hug from Ben, who then only had to hug his brother goodbye before the two of you were alone. Will immediately wrapped his arms around you when the front door was shut, pulling you into his chest while releasing a deep breath.

He loved his brothers – but solitude with you was bliss.

“Let’s go clean up that kitchen,” he began, pausing his sentence mid-way through to press a kiss to your forehead. “Get it over with so we don’t have to worry about it, darlin’.”

You’d do almost anything he asked so long as he asked in that molasses thick tone.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, teasing him by pulling away slowly with a light smile on your face before you removed yourself from his arms, making your way to the kitchen with him following. When you began to run the sink to fill it you glanced to watch him lean against the counter to wait, his arms crossed like he was trying to control himself. Following his gaze your eyes landed on the cupcakes that remained (you’d made extra knowing he would be this way), and a smile passed over your features.

“I see you eyeballing those cupcakes, Mister Miller,” you teased, smiling further when he turned to you with red cheeks and a bashful gaze. You leaned across the counter to grab one, taking a slow bite as your eyes stayed on his. He wasn’t quite sure the cupcake was so important anymore. “C’mere and share this one with me before we do the dishes.”

He was good at following orders.

He didn’t need to tell you to feed him bites this time, you gladly taking up the task with adoration pooling in your eyes as you fed him almost the entire cupcake. He offered you a gentle smile as you reached upward to remove icing from the corner of his lips, popping the digit into your mouth with an appreciative hum before handing him the kitchen towel.

“I’ll clean, you dry.”

The rhythm the two of you entered was the same as every other way the two of you seemed to effortlessly fit together these days. Will could reach cabinets you couldn’t which made the task go much faster, and while he found himself quietly humming seasonal songs you soaked in the relaxation the sound brought.

“Today was good, yeah?” Will questioned from beside you, drying off another dish before placing it in its rightful place in the cabinet. “I think that’s the best Christmas this group has managed in years.”

“Benny said he’s going to pay me to make him those cupcakes every week. That Miller sweet tooth is something fierce,” you joked, rinsing out another glass. His cheeks reddened at your teasing. “Did you talk to Santiago? Something was up with him, he looked at his phone at least twenty times an hour, and he was bragging for weeks that his ugly sweater would put me to shame and then he just…didn’t wear one.”

“Mm,” he mused, taking another glass from you to dry it. “Pope is doing a poor job at keeping a secret he thinks he’s doing a great job at. He’s on edge.”

“Doesn’t he know better than to try to keep secrets from you?” you questioned, handing the last dish and turning to fix your attention on him as he dried it. At some point, damn him, he’d rolled the sleeves of his sweater up, and he looked so natural in your home it was starting to make you feel sentimental. Whole. “But today was great. We did a good job.”

“We, like I had hardly anything to do with it,” he hummed, smiling lightly as he put the dish away before leaning on the counter with his hip to face you. “It was practically all you. But…I’ve been telling you we make a good team.”

He reached out his hand gently toward you, pulling you closer to him to press a kiss to your forehead, not expecting a response. Wrapping your arms around his waist you stepped in as close as you could, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes. He held onto you tightly, shifting to lean his back against the counter to hold you closer. Flashes of the day spent together ran through both of your minds –you’d sat in his lap on the couch in front of everyone – because the living room didn’t have enough seats (lie) – but the feeding him bites of your cupcake was entirely optional.

Will loved you. It was a fact that was growing harder and harder to ignore by the day, the ache in his chest growing every time he heard your name or saw your face. He didn’t want to say his next words, but he had grown so used to them – so used to this routine now that he accepted when they needed to be said.

“It’s getting late. I should probably head out, before the idiots get out on the road.”

It was a long pause, putting William on edge for a moment as he waited for your words. Even hesitation like this wasn’t normal for you. Your voice was soft, slightly wavering as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

“I don’t remember asking you to leave.”

Will paused, brief confusion flashing on his face before he smiled lightly, clearing his throat as he gave a slight nod. He was truly doing his best not to look overjoyed, though that’s exactly what he felt. “Are you asking me to stay, honeybee?”

“I thought it’d be a good Christmas present.”

“Maybe the best one I’ve ever gotten,” he smiled, leaning closer to brush his lips over yours again. His hands slid lower, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your lips gently. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, at his desperation to be close to you now that the two of you were alone, and his poor attempt at hiding how happy he was. His hands slipping lower still he ran his fingers over your thighs, eyes searching your face for a response. You were getting far too good at the poker face you’d developed against him.

“Are you trying to take me up to bed this quickly, Ironhead?” you cooed, looking up at him with a hooded gaze through your lashes. You hoped your face remained straight despite the burn that surged toward your core – feeling a bit proud of yourself again as you noticed him swallow hard. “You’ll miss out on the matching pajamas I picked up for us…”

“I’ve waited all day,” he pointed out, dragging one of his hands upward to push your skirt up, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. You grasped the edge of the counter to steady yourself, his eyes glancing up into yours again as he began to sink to his knees, using one of his hands to lift your leg over his shoulder. “I’m still starving.”

An embarrassingly wanton moan fell from your lips, one of your hands reaching to slide your fingers through his hair as his hand slid up your thigh to push your underwear to the side. “Is this what you thought about all day, Will?”

“You know it is. That little stunt you pulled earlier wasn’t very nice,” he drawled, eyes hungrily running over your already soaked cunt. “Look how wet you are for me, honeybee. You’ve been thinking about me today too, haven’t you? You sweet thing.”

You whimpered as he ran his fingers through your folds, his lips curving upward into a light smile as he taunted you slightly – waiting for you to answer. “Thought about me all day and now you can’t stop talking.”

He chuckled as he leaned forward, running his flattened tongue through your folds with a low groan as you rocked your core against his face, his nose bumping your clit and causing you to moan. He set in on his task then, satiating the hunger he still felt by licking and sucking and kissing every inch of your sex he could, relishing in your fingers tangling into his hair as you threw your head back with a moan. “God, this is a Christmas present…” The muffled laugh he released vibrated through you, the sensation causing you to buck your core into his face with a gasp as you pulled his hair slightly. “Fuck, William, you’re so fucking…so good at that.”

He removed his mouth from fucking his tongue into your entrance to smile up at you crookedly, his lips and facial hair glistening with your arousal. Slipping a finger into your tight channel he turned his head to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Love when you tell me how good I make you feel.”

He began to thrust his finger into you as he connected his mouth with your clit, giving the sensitive nub a flick with his tongue before sucking it gently. You whined his name quietly, keeping a hold on his hair as you moved your aching core against his face and hand, already desperate for more. He groaned against your skin with a particularly slow swipe of his tongue, adding a second finger to begin to stretch you.

The tips of his fingers massaged against your walls perfectly each time he pushed them back into you, particularly against the perfectly blinding spot behind your clit. You cried out, hands grasping his hair to steady yourself as you rutted against his mouth desperately. His tongue circled around your clit again, one hand slipping behind you to cup your ass and hold you against him closer, his blue eyes still burning up at you.

“Fuck, Will, I…” you began, words trailing off with an uptick in pitch as your thigh began to shake behind his head. Ensuring he tightened his hold on you he nodded, flicking his tongue against your clit with more fervor. Not long after you moaned his name again loudly, your eyes rolling back as heat rushed through you.

He removed his fingers but continued to lap at your folds, groaning appreciatively at the taste of your release coating his tongue. When he’d drank enough of you down he began to kiss up your body again, holding you close by the hips with one hand and undoing his belt and pants with the other as his lips connected with yours again. You tasted yourself on his tongue and – damn it – all of the cupcakes he’d eaten that lingered as well. After pushing his pants and briefs to the floor and kicking them aside.

Before he could lift you to the counter you broke the kiss, trailing your kisses down his neck before sucking a light mark above his collarbone with a smile. His chest rumbled with a groan, his hands slipping to your lower back to hold you closer. Your hands moved to hold his shoulders, applying pressure to encourage him to swap positions with you, smiling as you looked up at him through heavy lashes.

“Where you goin’, honeybee?” he asked, voice heavy as he reached his hands toward you again. Widening your smile you reached to wrap your fingers around his hardened length, eyes flashing with adoration when his hips jolted forward to meet your touch, a low groan sounding in his chest again. As you continued to rub along his length you sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact as you ran your tongue along the slit of his velvet head to taste the precum leaking from him already. His hands immediately grasped behind your head, fingers lacing into your hair. “Fuck.”

You removed your hand, running your nails down his thigh lightly as your tongue traced the thick vein on his cock, a light smile tugging at your lips when he moaned out another profanity. You continued to lick up and down his length and suck only on the head briefly, enjoying the frustrated huff to his breath that grew as you teased him slightly.

His usual sense of self control was obliterated by his need to feel the warmth of your mouth around his length. Before you could pull your lips free of him again he grasped your hair tighter, holding you in place as he slipped more of his length into your mouth. “Do you like teasing me, sweet thing?” You moaned in affirmation around his length, managing to run your tongue around as much of his length as you could manage. He pushed more of his length into your mouth, head falling back briefly before he corrected himself, eyes meeting yours again. “This is what you want? For me to fuck your mouth?”

You moaned again and he took his command, thrusting his length into your mouth greedily and with almost embarrassing speed. He seldom got to enjoy the feeling of your mouth around his length as he’d always opt to bury himself in your tight cunt before he got the chance, but on these occasions when you insisted – when you wanted him to bruise your throat – he was never one to resist. When his velvet head hit the back of your throat and you gagged slightly he huffed out a deep, sustained groan as his cheeks flushed, one of his hands moving from your hair to cup your cheek and stroke it gently.

It only encouraged you further.

You reached your own hand to cup his balls, fondling them gently as he began to thrust repeatedly into your mouth – gentle as he could manage in his clouded mind. “Fuck, baby…” he began, hitting the back of your throat again and holding your hair slightly tighter to keep you in place for a moment. “God, you’re doing so good. You look so pretty. Going to make you feel so fucking good soon.”

You moaned around his length which spurred him to brush your cheek again before he returned to fucking your mouth, some part of his brain keening at the sight of you drooling around his length. He may have been a clean freak, but there were some messy sights when it came to you that he loved.

He continued to praise you while he enjoyed your mouth, lasting for several more thrusts before he removed his cock from your mouth, gently tugging you upward to your feet again. “Let me fuck you right here. I can’t wait for the bedroom.”

There was something so intrinsically commanding – and sexy – about his tone that had you scrambling to allow him to lift you onto the counter, removing your skirt and underwear and tossing them to the pile with his pants as you went. “You’re fucking me in every room in this house, William Miller. This is just the start.”

He used his hand gently to raise one of your legs and hook it over his shoulder, his other hand fisting his cock to smear your remaining spit around his length as he groaned at your words. Leaning forward he lined his cock up with your tight entrance, releasing his length to grab the hand towel on the counter beside you, holding the fabric behind your head gently as he pressed a kiss to your lips gently.

“Don’t want you hitting your head,” he explained before beginning to push his throbbing cock into your velvet walls, groaning deeply as he leaned his forehead against yours with his eyes screwed shut in concentration. You leaned your head back, grateful for the cushion of the towel and his hand rather than the cabinet as you gasped, keening at the feeling of his cock splitting you open again.

When he’d bottomed out in you he stilled for a moment, kissing you again deeply and hungrily as he enjoyed the feeling of being fully wrapped up in you again. When he released you from the kiss he lowered his head to burrow into your neck, breathing in the smell of you deeply as he began to thrust into you carefully, perfectly. Even with you on a counter he knew the perfect angles to enter you, each thrust knocking the head of his cock against either the spongey spot that made you moan or your cervix, which always made you cry out his name.

It was impossible for him to say which he preferred.

After thrusting slowly and carefully for a while, enjoying the steady beat of your heart against his chest and your pulse beneath his lips. He raised his head to kiss you again, picking up the pace as his tongue danced across your bottom lip again, a deep groan sounding in his chest when your walls fluttered around him. He was unwilling to release you from the kiss fully so he muttered against your lips – how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how wonderful you sounded moaning for him, how fucking perfect you were…

He was burrowing into your mind and heart now. You were letting him.

You intentionally clenched your walls around him slightly, wrapping your other leg around his waist to force him deeper into you, pulling what was practically a growl from his chest. His hand on your hip grasped tighter as he gave several deep, pointed, slow thrusts, his forehead falling to lean against yours as he released a shaky breath.

“Wanna fill you up again,” he breathed out desperately, fingertips digging into you roughly as his pace became sloppy. “Can’t stop thinking about seeing my cum leak out of your pretty pussy.”

“Will, fuck…” you moaned again, hands grasping his shoulders to help ground yourself somewhat, feeling the building pressure again and knowing euphoria approached. His hand left your hip to slide lower, his thumb rubbing quick circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves to coax you over the edge.

“You like that? You like hearing me talk about filling you up, my love?”

“Yes, Will, fuck, f-f-fu-fucking love it,” you moaned out, your eager-to-please tone scratching an itch in his brain and causing his pace to increase – he now pounded into you relentlessly, knowing full well you wouldn’t walk well tomorrow. He’d be here to care for you anyway.

“I know ya do,” he groaned, nipping at your bottom lip lightly. “Means you’re mine.

”You could only nod up at him as your lips stayed open, eyelids heavy. He managed a light smile at the sight, losing himself in the fantasy of filling you so often that one day it would really take and that the two of you would fill this big farmhouse with a family – one day, he thought. For now, he could at least enjoy claiming your womb in practice.

Your orgasm washed over you quickly and powerfully, walls tightening down around his cock causing him to stay buried to the hilt as you cried out his name loudly, eyes rolling back. He ground his waist against you best he could with your tight, hot walls spasming around him until his own release came, ropes of his hot seed spilling into you. He kissed you throughout your orgasms, pulling you in closer to his chest to have you as flush against him as possible.

He continued to kiss you repeatedly, gently, reverently, worshipful as both of you came down from your shared high.

“You still want me to stay?” he questioned quietly against your lips when both of you seemed to have your breath returned to normal. You offered a gentle smile, pressing a kiss against his bottom lip – it was lazy, tired. Some of his favorite kisses from you were such – when you had no energy left and you still tried to give it to him.

“Only if you carry me to bed, soldier.”

He smiled – one of his pure and genuine smiles – as he scooped you up into his arms bridal style, holding you closer to his chest as he nodded. Flipping the lights off, Will began to exit the kitchen to make his way to share your bed for the first time, before a final thought ran through his mind. For a moment he questioned if he should voice the thoughts – but he knew you wouldn’t judge him.

“…You want me to grab more of those cupcakes before we go up?”

masterlist.

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

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theunbearableweightofpedropascal · 2 months

Text

Best Friend's Brother

Will Miller x f!reader

Warnings: (infidelity, possible unlikeable reader/Will, fingering, p in v, creampie, no safe sex, dirty talk, cursing)

A/N: Don't mind most of my smut wear condoms. Also I needed more Will fics out there.

Summary: With enough liquid courage you tell your best friend's brother exactly how you feel about his fiance.

Word Count: 4.3K

“You know if you interacted with anybody here you wouldn’t have to read so many romance books.” Benny’s breath tickles your ear as your eyes are glued to the words on your phone screen. Your favorite author surprise dropped a new chapter and you retreated from conversation to read it.

“After I finish this chapter.” You barely pay any mind to your best friend.

“You said that 10 minutes ago.” For such a large man Benny has a talent for sounding like a whiney child when he wants.

You heave a deep sigh before placing your phone on the table. The moment your irritated eyes land on Benny he sheepishly slides two whiskey shots in front of you. Internally you’re already gagging but you shoot them back and grimace at the burning in your chest. The warm air of the bar did little to help the heat flourishing through your body.

“You couldn’t have grabbed me a soda.” Temporarily a frown is etched on your face until the bitter taste goes away.

“I drank it while you were reading.” His answer makes your head snap to him but before you could respond he abruptly stands. “Will!” His booming voice does little to disturb the patrons around you, but the name he calls makes the hair on your body stand up.

The two golden boys meet in the middle to hug each other and you try to calm your overactive mind. You could say you’ve had a lingering attraction to the older Miller brother, though it would be downplaying the amount of times you’ve thought about him.

When you first met Benny his brother was already away so you only knew him through the stories Benny would tell. From the way he described his brother, you thought he was too good to be true. But when you met him you were proven wrong, and soon you were under his spell.

“Hey, Buttercup.” Your thoughts halt when you feel Will’s hands squeeze your shoulders before taking the seat to your left. His nickname for you never failed to warm your cheeks, even if technically he had a fiance.

“Hi Will,” The cheery tone of your voice causes Benny to roll his eyes at your abrupt change of mood. You never brought up how you felt about his brother but it wasn’t hard for him to put together the pieces.

Benny checks his phone before telling the both of you he’s getting more drinks for when Santi and Frankie arrive.

“How’s the book going?” You playfully roll your eyes at the mention of your pipe dream from when you were 19.

“Still on page 3, inspiration has yet to strike.” His smile makes your heart beat so heavily in your chest you think he can see it.

“Hard to believe that,” His hands grab at the half-cold fries on your plate. “What genre are pushing for anyway?”

“Most likely historical romance,” The whiskey shots settle and you feel your body become lighter. “The old-timey English is hard to get into though.”

“Coming from the walking encyclopedia.” His words are slightly muffled by the fries he’s shoveling into his mouth.

“What’d we miss?” Santiago’s voice cuts through your conversation and you look up to find him and Frankie occupying the seats in front of you.

“Not much Benny’s getting the drinks.” Will rubs his hands on his jeans to rid his hands of grease.

As usual, the men around you dive into sports commentary as if they’re the analysts they watch on TV. In the meantime, you skim over the food menu trying to figure out what else you want. With two more people at the table, the heat from Will’s arm brushing against you makes you lean closer to him. If he felt the difference he didn’t let anything on.

Two pitchers of beer slosh against the plastic as it's being set down before a flight of whiskey is placed directly in front of you. An eager smile graces Benny’s face and you know exactly how this night is gonna go. As the two of you go shot for shot the three veterans look at you both in amusement.

“How’s the wedding planning going?” Santiago smiled as he nudged h

“It’s going,” Despite his lack of answer the way he feels is written all over his face, and everyone at the table knows it.

“It can’t be that bad man.” Frankie tries to give the benefit of the doubt but he unknowingly releases the floodgates.

“She told her family to send pictures of what they were gonna wear to the ceremony,” Will gulps the rest of his beer before continuing, “Then she proceeded to veto her grandmother’s peach pantsuit because it was too close to white.”

Everybody has variants of shock written on their face except you, though your reasons may have more to do with animosity. Melody, his fiance, had first been introduced two years ago. From the start, you could tell they weren’t right for each other, but your mouth remained shut until Benny brought it up.

Leave it to your best friend to be the one feeding into your delusions.

“And don’t get me started on the flower girl fight, she had both her sisters send test shots of their daughters.” You adamantly aim to keep your mouth shut, knowing the liquor has loosened your lips. The last thing you wanna do is rattle down the long list of reasons you don’t like his fiance, namely because she’s his fiance.

“You sure know how to pick em’ Ironhead.” Santiago whistles while he thinks of all his previous relationships.

“Maybe it’s just the wedding.” His tone was even but laced with something like doubt.

“Maybe it’s a glimpse into your future.” Benny tries to bring the lighthearted energy back by wiggling his fingers and mimicking a ghost.

A smile cracks Ironhead’s exterior at his little brother’s antics.

“Drinks anyone?” You look around the table watching them nod in agreement before taking off to the bar.

The counter is busy when you approach so you take the time to go over what you want. Two pitchers of beer and two Long Island iced teas. A hand connecting with your lower back causes you to swivel your head to accost the perpetrator, only to find Will. Relief floods through you but not for long.

“You’ve been quiet all night, it’s not like you.” Will leans his other arm over the bar, caging you in.

“Your brother’s been force-feeding my shots all night what’d you expect.” You hope you can stir him away with humor but he knows better and so should you.

“What do you think? Am I setting myself up for failure again?” The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. You know how he feels about this being his second engagement and nobody could blame him for wanting to be sure.

“Look if you’re happy what does it matter what those idiots are talking about?” Will’s eyes narrow and you give in to the voices in your head. “Honestly, she’s always lacked valuable character traits.” You avoid eye contact with the man next to you as you flag down a bartender to give the order.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” His blue eyes bore into yours and you find your eyes lowering to his lips.

“And how exactly am I supposed to bring that up in conversation?” Your conversation ceases for now as the bartender places your drinks in front of you.

A silence falls over the both of you even after you return to the table. Thankfully none of the other guys notice you averting your eyes from Will’s direction.

……………

All Will could think about was what you said.

Sure he noticed how self-centered Mel could be but it didn’t bother him because he had his fair share of baggage. Even when the guys were making their jokes about how she acted on a camping trip, he didn’t care. Yet the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t shake the feeling that this engagement wasn’t right either.

For the past hour, he’s been looking your way, hoping to catch your eye, but you purposefully avoid it. He watches you engage with everyone else until you feel his gaze burning and return to sipping on your drink.

He checks his phone only to find a string of complaints from Mel.

“I should get going.” Will reaches for his wallet and places enough bills down for the tab and tip. Much to the dismay of everyone else at the table.

“We’re supposed to be treating you man.” Frankie scrambles to get his wallet but Will waves him off with a charming smile.

“Next time.” He promises.

“We should probably head out too.” You peer over at Benny with pouty lips

“I can take you.” William wastes no time volunteering to get you alone, he’s never been one to squander an opportunity.

For the first time in an hour you look up at him and he can see the panic swimming in your eyes. You want to object but that would look suspicious so you nod your head and gather your things. Each of the guys hugs you goodbye before Will’s hand finds its way back to your lower back to guide you through the crowd.

You know it’s a friendly touch still, excitement swirls within you.

Outside the bar is just as crowded so Will’s hands remain on you. In fact, he slides his right hand around your waist to bring you closer to him. People walking past would assume the two of you were together the way you were glued to each other.

“When you said she lacked character traits, which specifically do you mean?” Will’s rough voice shocked you with how close it was to your ear.

“This feels like a trap.” You look up at him with suspicion.

“It’s not, I promise.” He laughs at your hesitance, “You’ve just never said anything and if you had…” He drops his sentence but you know what he’s implying.

“You really care about what Benny’s best friend thinks?” You jab his stomach with your elbow.

“You know you mean more than that to me.” He leaves no room for argument and you’re left speechless at his side.

You take a moment to digest his words because it isn’t the first time he’s said them, but it feels like it.

“Sometimes it feels like you care more for her than she does you.” Your voice is quiet. “And it’s not like I would be telling you out of the purest intentions.” The words leave your lips before you think better of it.

“What intention would you have?” You realize too late that he’s slowed the pace and now you’re standing face to face.

“For you to break up with her.” You see no point in lying, and it’s not like you’re the only one who feels that way.

“And that’s it?” Will looks down at you like you're his prey. Clearly, he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm.” You lied. “How away far is your car?”

“It’s right there.” He tips his head in the direction of his truck but his eyes and body don’t move from you.

After a few seconds, you turn to make your way to the car but Will’s hand prevents you from leaving your spot.

“Is that all you’d want me to do? Leave her?” That gruff voice is going straight is going straight down to your core.

“No.” Your eyes are glued to the ground.

For now, your answer seems good enough because he pulls you back into him for the remaining three feet to the car. He opens the passenger door for you and you take a short reprieve to gather yourself.

Of course, Will could read how desperate you were for him. Dread settled in the bottom of your stomach when you think of how awkward this ride is gonna be.

“Look I’m sorry, here I am criticizing Melody for her character-” You spew out your thoughts hoping to do damage control.

“I’m not upset Buttercup, when the guy's rib on Mel’s antics it’s one thing but when you say it…” He plays with the scruff on his chin before continuing, “Santiago has yet to be in a serious relationship, Frankie is working his way back from the doghouse, and Benny is Benny.”

Your giggle rings through the cabin despite the tense atmosphere and Will can’t help but join you.

“Seriously, I’m no better especially since I want to be in her position.” Your eyes are focused on your lap but you almost feel the wind from Will’s head craning towards you.

“You what?!” Based on his tone of voice he didn’t know that tidbit and you were the one to give yourself away.

“Shit.” You clasp your hands over your face as you feel the car pull to a stop.

“What do you mean you want to be in her position?” The fact that he softened his voice made this the stuff of nightmares.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory William.” You deadpan without bothering to look up.

“Indulge me.” You remove your hand from your face but keep your eyes locked in front of you.

You make sure he can see your eyes roll before you continue, “She’s worried about how everything’ll look to other people but if I were the one marrying you the only thing I’d be worried about is how much lingerie I could reasonably pack for the honeymoon.”

“How long?” The thought of your words causes pools of blood to gather below his waist. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Since I met you.” You say matter-of-factly. “I thought it was just a crush but it progressed over the years.”

“Why didn’t you or Benny say anything?” Will’s upper body almost completely faces you.

“Are you saying you would’ve been receptive?” You ask the question but you already have an inkling of what he’ll say.

“I don’t know-” Will feels like the rug was swept out from underneath him. He’d already had doubts but he was willing to settle, at least before you opened your mouth.

“Exactly.” You don’t let him finish in the hopes that he’ll pull back onto the road.

“To be fair I have a decade on you so legally speaking, it’s a little touchy.” Of all the times he graced you with his humor it was not appreciated right now.

“More like a decade and a half but okay.” Despite yourself, you smile while his drops at your statement.

“And yet that didn’t deter you.” Suddenly the cab feels small and you don’t know when but the two of you got closer.

“That’s because I never said it was a bad thing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Tonight you were full of surprises. Will thought he knew everything there was to know about you but he hadn’t seen this side of you. Your blown-out pupils and plump lips call out to him like a siren’s song. The faint scent of whiskey and strawberry chapstick wafts his way. Intoxicating is the only way to describe how you’re making him feel because the beers he had did nothing.

He doesn’t register his hand reaching out to rub his thumb along your bottom lip. The moment you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck he loses every thought,,,,,,

Will removes his thumb only to replace it with his lips. It doesn’t take long for you to kiss him back with even more vigor, this was your chance and it wouldn’t go to waste. You feel your bottom lip being sucked into his mouth but somehow he isn’t close enough. Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, bringing him closer while you tilt your head.

Your soft hands feel almost ticklish on the back of his neck and a deep groan passes his lips.

Will reaches out to your waist, pulling you closer until he feels your tits pressed against his chest. You make the lust-filled decision to swing your knee onto his other side and sit on his lap. The denim skirt you’re wearing rides up, almost showing him your panties.

A gasp escapes your lips when you feel what you thought was Will’s zipper. One look at his smirking face tells you you’re mistaken.

“Is that-” Your eyes zero in on where the two of you meet.

“Mhmm,” Will confirms your dream and arousal bubbles in your core. Before you can say anything he rolls his hips perfectly hitting your clit in just the right spot.

The sound that leaves your body is a culmination of all the years you’ve spent yearning for him, for a moment like this. You’ve never felt more desperate in your life. Quickly you lay your head in the crook of his neck and rock your hips back and forth. Your hands find themselves squeezing his biceps for purchase.

All of your breathless pants make him throb with need, as good as you feel like this he wants it all. Will inches his hand up your inner thigh, planting himself on your moving hips.

“Buttercup?” Will talks to you like he’s rousing you from sleep.

“Hm?” He watches you focus with your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip jutted out, there’s no better view.

“Want you to sit on it.” He can tell when you register his words because of the decline of your movement.

In all of five seconds, you’re clawing at his pants and all he can do is look at you. There’s no denying you’re gorgeous, sweet, funny. Now that he thinks about it he did care a little more for you than he should. Hell, sometimes you would go to him before Benny and he always felt great when he could problem-solve for you.

While he had been staring at you and daydreaming you managed to pull him out of his pants. If he thought your hands felt good before they feel even better now that they were stroking him.

“You’re so big Will.” Even your fantasies couldn’t live up to the real thing.

“Yeah?” Will rubs over your wet fold through your panties, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me right?” He slides your panties to the side before teasing your entrance with his middle finger.

“Whatever you want.” And you meant every word.

He barely has his finger in and you’re already clenching around him. With your hands now on his shoulders, you impatiently rock your hips showing him you’re ready. Will groans when he feels your warm walls clenching on his finger. He takes his other hand to your chin to bring you closer before telling you, “You’re perfect.”

Before you fully realize what he said he adds another finger to your aching core. Your eyes meet his almost pitch-black ones, and again you feel like his prey the way they bore into his. When he curls his fingers inside you you involuntary buck your hips for more.

You wonder if you’ll leave bruises the way your fingers dig into Will’s shoulders. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, his teeth slightly rub against yours before he deepens it. Dizziness fills your head from the way his fingers pumped into you to his warm tongue licking into your mouth.

You were ruined for anyone else after him.

The sounds in the truck consist of heavy breathing, moans, and squelching. A pit formed in your lower stomach and you felt like you were falling in it. You feel too much at once and you feel yourself pulling away from the kiss to calm down but Will moves to your neck. As he sucks and licks at your neck his fingers expertly pull you over the edge.

You would’ve fallen against the wheel if he hadn’t held you in his arms. He rubs his hands over your back until you come to. Somehow your orgasm felt like a shot of espresso and you’re right back on Will.

Without pause you sink down on his leaking tip and slowly inch him deeper. You watch his face while you do it and you almost miss his blue eyes, but he looks so much more hypnotizing. You couldn’t look away and neither could he.

Will couldn’t imagine his night would end up like this, not that he was complaining.

With you finally taking all of him you let out the airiest sigh before rocking your hips. Your knees were burning from the seats but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Will’s hands move down your back to grip your ass while you rock and bounce on him.

“Fuck,” He is the first to break eye contact but only to look at where the two of you meet. Your juices leave a ring on his dick and he almost cums at the sight. “I can’t wait to taste you next time.”

“Next time?” You try slowing your hips to comprehend what he just said but he picks up your slack. With his hips rutting into yours from below the pleasure must be clouding your brain to imagine things.

“You thought I was gonna let you go after this baby?” An unforgiving pace brings that familiar pit in your stomach that has you pawing at his covered chest. “You know me better than that Buttercup.”

Will’s hips sputter before you hear a guttural groan and warmth being shot into you. Even as he’s cumming he uses his hand to urge you to rock your hips against him. When everything slows to a halt all that’s left is heavy breathing from the both of you.

“Did you mean it?” You bring yourself to ask as you fiddle with your fingers

Will lifts his head from the headrest to look at you, “Of course I mean it.”

“You know you still have a fiance right?”

“You didn’t have to put off by that a few minutes ago,” His playful grin lets you know he’s only messing with you. “Seriously though it wouldn’t have lasted, I just didn’t think anybody else would want me.”

“I mean you make it easy.” You haven’t looked up at him yet.

“You’re one to talk.” Will tilts his head before giving you a kiss. “Let’s get you home.” Heat fills your face at his charm.

With a hiss, he slowly helps to lift you off his now softening dick. You’re quick to move your panties back in place before any of his cum drips out. He tucks himself into himself back into his pants.

Before he even turns on the car you’re lying across the the front seat and nodding off. He takes the jacket he always keeps in his car behind the seat and drapes it over you.

He takes a look at his phone and sees missed calls from everyone. It’s almost 3 in the morning and Will winces as he looks at the messages asking him where he is. Instead of staying here for another hour, he heads in the direction of your condo.

Your porch light is on when he pulls into the driveway in front of your house. One look over at you and he can see that you’re dead to the world so he searches for your purse. When he finds your keys he runs to open the door before circling back to pick you up.

Once in the house, he kicks the door closed then locks it. He already knows the way to your room since he basically set it up for you. In fact he moved most of your furniture for you, not wanting moving companies to take advantage of you.

Your room has clothes strewn on the floor in what looks like failed outfits you tried on. A laugh escapes Will when he realizes you ended up wearing a short jean skirt with a v-neck. It’s only two steps to the bed and he lays you down gently not wanting to wake you.

He tries replacing the jacket over you but your fingers have gripped it so he settles on laying the comforter over you. When he’s sure you’re settled he rounds your bed to sit on the other side, unlacing his boots. After that are his shoes socks, jeans, and shirt.

A relaxed sigh is let out the moment his back hits your bed. Although it makes no sense to cuddle, he saddles his body close to yours.

Bacon and potatoes infiltrate your nose the more awake you become. Last night quickly flashes through your mind as if your brain urged you to remember. Your room is exactly how you left it and the thought of Will seeing it sends shame through your body. Of the discarded clothes you pick up some lounge shorts to throw on.

Your hunger overpowers your drowsiness so you make your way to the kitchen. Will’s naked back is a welcomed sight anytime.

“Good morning.” He grins when you make an appearance next to him.

“Morning Buttercup.” The spatula he’s using to stir potatoes is cast aside so he can run rub circles on your lower back.

Now that the afterglow faded you wondered what direction this is heading in.

“I ended things with Mel this morning, she’s pissed to say the least.”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Guilt creeps into you now that your chickens have come home to roost

“I know, but I’m glad it happened.” Without waiting for your reply he's back to cooking like our conversation never happened. “You can sit down if you want it’ll only be five more minutes.”

The debrief call with Benny will be one for the books.

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

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