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coweye · 1 year

Text

Commitment Issues - Part 8

Pairing: Benjamin Miller x Reader

Words: 2.7k

Summary: When you try and take your friends with benefits relationship to the next level, Benny’s response isn’t quite what you were expecting.

AN: So I lied - I'm so sorry for the wait! Recently, writing hasn't come as easy to me and although it's almost a year late I hope you enjoy, this isn't the final chapter - I lied twice.

➢ fic masterpost

PREVIOUS PART

28th April 2022 - 37 weeks pregnant

Life playing host to the parasite that was soon to be your daughter had only gotten worse. Hard to believe, I know.

The gift that kept on giving made sure that you’d suddenly without any warning whatsoever have the overwhelming urge to vomit.

There was no rhyme or reason to her neat new little party trick but at any given moment your stomach said nope and you bought up whatever you happened to have eaten or as the case may be; be eating at the time.

Honestly, you weren’t a negative person by nature, but these agonizing eight months had taken it out of you.

Hell, you were in the process of drafting an eviction notice if this kid didn’t get out of you in the next two weeks.

Long story short, between this and the Benny situation you were not exactly the best of company, right now.

The boys and Val had all learnt this early on and for the past eight days, you had given up all pretense of a brave face, now you were bleeding and letting everyone who would listen know about it.

When Santiago, who had decided to stay in town until the birth of your baby, suggested a stroll around the mall, you had fixed him with the stare that would have had a lesser man running back to Colombia with his tail between his legs. Until, of course, he had sweetened the deal with fried chicken, his treat and coincidentally the only meal that you had yet to regurgitate.

So, here you found yourself with Santiago and William and a six piece bucket to yourself.

The change in company was a welcome distraction from dwelling on your non-existent love life at home with the love of your life.

After the thorn in your side that was Jasmine, reared her ugly head at the baby shower, you had pulled back into your protective bubble of distant and cold.

Benny, though confused about the message, received it loud and clear as he returned to the swing to find you inside and talking incredibly heatedly to Valerie. In the eight days that followed, he yet to confront you about it. Apparently old habits died hard..

The camaraderie that had come hand in hand with your truce had dissolved. You weren’t actively unpleasant, but you didn’t melt into his side, or nap on the couch with him anymore.

You had established boundaries, resolving yourself to the simple philosophy of anything you wouldn’t do with Frankie, you wouldn’t do with Ben.

It was simple… well kind of, every one of your moves was carefully calculated and exhausting.

For example, lying on the couch watching a movie with a leg rub? Acceptable.

Frankie would do that for your swollen ankle joint, hell, he had done.

However, lying on the couch with his body sandwiched against yours as you fall asleep, the hardness of him pressed into your backside; well… that was quite clearly a no, but I digress!

Boundaries were established and what almost was, had been completely and totally healthily avoided at all costs, creating the exact tenuous home environment you'd spent so long trying to avoid.

So, here you found yourself in the food court, slamming some fried chicken trying desperately to forget your woes.

“She’s too clingy…” Santi huffed in between a bite of his burger, talking mostly to Will as you had yet to peak up from behind your bucket.

“Maybe she just likes you and wants to spend time with you, god forbid someone shows interest.” You grunted irritably between bites, looking for a fight.

Both men turned to you in surprise, the whites of their eyes visible as they feared your outburst.

Santiago strategically paused as he searched for the right words before he began to speak again.

“You’re right … Maybe I’m too harsh.” Pope placated as he fixed you with a look of reproach, however, that only served to enrage you further.

He watched for your reaction as if you were an angry bear or a child throwing a tantrum. Truth be told, you weren’t strictly unlike either of those things at that precise moment.

Your brows narrowed, ready to unload and tell him all the reasons he was a dick before a cramping pain in your bloated abdomen overwhelmed you. Your eyes clenched shut as you breathed heavily through your nose, your ringed fingers gripped at the circular table in pain.

It was impossible for you to judge how long went by before the pain finally passed.

You took a further second or two to even your breathing before you resumed eating, succinctly dropping the subject that had injected fire into your veins merely moments before.

With a fry in your mouth, you glanced up to find both men watching you.

“What the fuck?”

“Are you okay?” They questioned in unison.

A moment passed as you swallowed your mouthful before you concisely answered your comrades. “I’m pretty sure I’m going into labor.”

“And … you don’t think we should be actively doing something about that?” Santiago pressed, looking as if he was ready to bolt.

“Labor can take hours and I won't be able to eat once it gets going…” You shrug, picking up another piece of chicken.

“What’s wrong with you?” Pope breathed, eyes wide before he palmed in his eye sockets in frustration, attempting to rub the stress you induced away.

Will had dragged his chair to your side, his eyes focused on his watch.

“Don’t worry so much… the book said until they're ten minutes apart … there’s no point going … to the hospital!” You explain in between bites of greasy chicken.

Your words do little to quell their panic as both men look as if they're ready to pull their hair out with worry.

“I’ll ring Ben.” Santi groaned as he stood up and reached into his jacket pocket before fishing out his phone. He turned dramatically with a finger pointed in your general direction. “You get her to hurry up - I swear to god, Y/N. If you’re eating when I get back, pregnant or not, I’ll drag you to that car. You’re not having your baby in the damn food court… estúpida, obstinada…” The man continued grunting curses at your expenses as he stalked off for somewhere quiet with cell reception to call the father of your child.

The silence that extended all of three minutes was too good to be true as Will watched your face as you ate for any sign of distress.

“Whilst giving Pope a coronary is always a good time… don’t you think we should go and get your bag and meet Ben?” Will’s voice was soft, the kind of soothing tone you’d seen him use to talk down shell shocked soldiers - it was both unassuming and laced with copious amounts of compassion.

You’d be damned if it didn’t just piss you right off.

With a quick shake of your head, you dropped the empty bone into the bucket with the rest of the carcasses and took a long sip of your drink.

“I’m good here … I can meet you guys there if you like?”

The pinch in his brow was quite simply incredulous, his concern was quickly outweighing his patience.

“If you think I’m leaving you both here, you’re insane.”

Chewing on the straw of your drink; your eyes locked with his. They were brimming with a concoction of confusion and concern, which if the clench in his jaw was anything to go by, was slowly morphing into exasperation at your lack of compliance.

“I … just need some time.”

“Y/N. All you’ve spoken about for the past week is how you want this to be over, wish granted - she’s coming and she’s coming now.”

“That’s what he said…” You uttered half-heartedly under your breath as you broke eye contact, no longer able to face his look of bewilderment.

On the red tray in front of you was a lemon scented wet wipe hidden among napkins and sauces, you tore open the former and gratuitously began scrubbing the grease off of your hands, actively ignoring the perplexed stare of one of your closest friends.

“Y/N, we need to get moving… will you just stop and listen?” Will snapped finally as he grabbed the wipe from your grip as you passed over your digits for the third time.

Your own patience had reached its end as his hand gripped your elbow, his intention to make good on Santiago’s threat and drag you out, clear and present in your mind.

The devil in question was making his way back to your table, all quick strides as he dodged the food courts clientele.

You wrenched your arm from his grip huffing in annoyance at the well meaning Miller.

“Fine. Let's go and get my bag, maybe we can grab an iced tea on the way to the car…”

Will nodded but you knew the mother hen would never allow a diversion from the mission at hand.

All was going well.

You were compliant as you strode through the mall, both men flanking you like a high priority asset as you clambered into Santi’s rental truck.

Hell, you were goddamn amenable as you unlocked your front door and grabbed the hospital duffel bag from the cubby under the stairs.

However, your cooperation waned somewhat when heading to the maternity ward as the guys tried to wheel your chair past the hospital's Starbucks.

Your palm, lightening fast, caught the break on the chair causing it to veer left right into Santiago’s shins.

“Ice Tea!”

“You’ve got a baby about to shoot out of your hoo-hah and you're stopping for tea?!” Santi huffed incredulously as he rubbed his shin.

“My contractions are 25 minutes apart, when they’re 15, I’ll consider joining the panicking cry baby club.”

“Panicking baby- huh!” Santi huffed rubbing his forehead. “You are not well, Y/N/N! You’re having a baby - Go and have it and then I’ll bathe you in fucking tea!”

“I’ll come back down and grab you one-” Will placated before Santi bent to remove the break on the chair, allowing Will to move all of two steps, before you slammed it back on, the rubber tyres screeched against the tile floor of the hospital lobby.

“Tea. First.” You huffed much like a troublesome child.

This time it was Will who leaned down to remove the break, having clearly decided you weren’t in your right mind.

So, you did the only thing you could; you threw your baby bag off of your lap.

“Y/N, stop being a goddamn child!” Will huffed, you had clearly pushed him to the edge, not that it had been particularly hard.

Ignoring him, you began to stand. They both watched on in horror as you slowly ambled your way to the end of the queue.

Leaning against the drinks fridge, you sighed.

Your spine was aching something awful. The poor timing of this kid resumed as a contraction wracked your body, sharper than the others, it felt longer but you had no way to be sure.

Will was at your side the second it overcame your body.

“Twenty minutes apart, please, Y/N. Come on.”

When finally the pain dissipated, your aching back remained. You weren’t proud of the weight you were placing on Will but the floor was the only other option.

“y/n?! … Y/N!” You heard Benny hollar before you saw him, his eyes were wild with panic as he rushed to your side. He patted his brother on the shoulder, before taking his place. “Baby, what are you doing? You need to get into bed.”

“I want… my … tea.” You huffed, breathing not yet evening out.

“Fine, we get the tea and we go straight up. How far apart are they?”

“Twen-”

The gush of amniotic fluid leaving your body cut the older Miller off, soaking through your jeans and unfortunately onto Benny’s shoes.

“You just pissed, she just pissed!” Santi cried in disbelief, his hands an almost permanent fixture in his disheveled curls at this point. It was hard to believe this man was a pressure player.

“It's not piss, it's her waters. We need to go, I’m sorry baby, you can have all the ice tea you want when it's safe for you both.” He bent down and caught your sodden legs, picking you up in one sweep.

If you weren’t currently covered in amniotic fluid, that story book firefighter carry would have set your loins ablaze.

Who were you kidding?

You were absolutely drenched in amniotic fluid and your loins were practically smoking.

Between writhing in pain as your uterus contracted to eject a literal watermelon and lusting over your baby daddy who you had spent the last eight days practically snarling at every time he dared advance, the journey to your delivery suite had been all but a blur.

Somehow all three men surrounded you, having coerced their way through the midwifery staff with their nefarious charm.

“How ya’ doing champ?” Santi questioned as you huffed on the oxygen inhaler handed to you by your midwife. A thumbs up was all you could offer as you groaned through the contractions that were now give or take five minutes apart.

“How about we use a bit of gravity?” The woman in control of the drugs questioned. A suggestion you were only more than happy to try.

Following her instructions and with minor assistance from Ben you were now on all fours, frantically inhaling the gas and air.

“We’re going to need to clear the room, anyone who isn’t the father needs to leave.”

You were so far gone, you didn’t care if they saw the business end of your cervix. All you knew was uncontrollable pain that wracked your body every five minutes like a sadistic egg timer.

Ben wiped at your forehead with a damp towel as tears escaped.

“You can do this, baby.”

“UGNGH.. It feels like I’m shitting a knife!” You cried as another contraction wracked your body.

“Not long now, gorgeous. Then we’ll have our baby.”

“I’m not ready.” You cried burying your face in the reclined back of the bed. You couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“You are-”

“No. We’re not ready. Things were … supposed to be fixed… I promised her.”

“Wha-”

“I love you, you stupid fucking idiot. I have done for like ten years… loved you from the second I heard your tone deaf ass singing that … crappy hick song on base. Ungh… And everything is so broken because I don’t want you … to just stay for the Bean, I want to be with you … because you want to be with me.” You cried, tears wracking your body as uncontrollably as the contractions.

“It’s all broken… I promised her and I fucked it all up. You … and Jaz can just live happily ever-” You cut yourself off with a low wail as another contraction wracked your body. It seemed to knock Benny out of his stupor as his hand rubbed your lower back.

It was a moment before you leveled out and remembered you were divulging your innermost thoughts but a moment ago, though you couldn’t find it in you to care.

Bigger fish to fry, and all that.

“I love you. Even if you are the goddamn most stubborn fuckin’ idiot I’ve ever met. You're the mama of my baby, yeah. It scares the crap outta me. Loving you. Damn near spent three months thinking up all the reasons we couldn’t be together cause it scared me so bad.” He huffed, stroking your hair. He helped you reposition on your back, as you breathed in another wave of oxygen. “I love you, Y/N. - I don’t do this. I don’t do relationships … because this feeling in my stomach when I think of you is fuckin awful. Sure I get the tingles when you smile at me or stroke my arm. But ninety-nine percent of the time, fucking nightmare, I worry if you’re happy, if you’ve eaten and now we’re adding an whole ass entire other person into this fucking clown show.”

“Gee… thanks.” You huffed in between breaths of gas and air.

Ben chuckled as he pushed the sweat sodden hair back from your brow. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours, the kiss was brief and nowhere near what was needed but it was all you could manage.

It was enough, you thought at that moment.

The promise, that everything wasn’t lost, there was hope ahead, it carried you through.

@sixshooter665 @queenie-b- @rambling-in-purple @anaaaispunk @miraclesabound @kravitzwhorehore @ahsokathearcher @xoxabs88xox @heresathreebee @psychadelichue @marauderskeeper @tanzthompsonn @mermaidxatxheart

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crazyk-imagine · 8 months

Text

Gym Crush

Pairing: Benny Miller x Gym crush!reader

Characters: Benny Miller, William "Ironhead" Miller, Francisco "Catfish" "Frankie" Morales, Santiago "Pope" Garcia, Gym Crush!reader, Samantha (reader's friend)

Warnings: Fluff, cursing (briefly), gym, gym things, reader is a trainer and trains with her friend, I'm sad, I know gym things because of work, Benny is like horny but also not, Frankie is a tired old man, Santi a big flirty hoe, I feel like Will feels like he has no personality :(

Word Count: 1,959

A/N: Not gonna lie, while writing this... I had a thought. This is the first part of the non-official series/ universe for the TF boys called (in my mind) "Gym World"

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The boys, Will, Santiago, and Frankie have always known when something’s up with the baby of the bunch. It’s hard not to.

It consumes him until he barely has anything left to offer. That’s why they knew this was something different.

Instead of running to the woman (he deems to be the woman of his dreams) he, instead, runs from her. Or, in better words, avoids her entirely.

Ever since they came home after their last mission, they’ve been living their lives the way they want to… or at least Frankie and Santiago are.

Will is slowly working a little more on himself, not wanting to scare off anyone else in his life like he did with his ex-fiancée.

And now, Benny’s life mainly consists of working out, preparing for his fights while working at his annoying side job as a convenient store clerk.

Today was no different for him, train and then go out for a celebratory drink.

Usually with the way he acts when he sees you, none of the guys want to come with him anymore and it makes sense since he’ll either stare while you work out and he thinks you don’t notice (you do) or glance in your direction and check to see if you’re getting closer, wanting to try and ask you out (never happens).

Will shakes his head, “you’re shameless.”

Benny hangs from the pull bar, smirking at his brother. “Better to be shameless.”

“Then?” Frankie chimes, finding himself intrigued.

“Nothing, just better to be shameless.”

"He's back." You move your headphones over your ear to hear your friend, Samantha better. "What'd you say?"

She purses her lips, "you know exactly what I said."

You smirk, "no I don't."

She groans and throws her head back. "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

"Next is the rower."

Your cheeky attitude quickly falls from your face.

Samantha points at your fallen expression and starts laughing.

Benny hides his humor when he sees you stomping over towards the rower.

You pout, strapping your feet in, “I hate this!”

She smirks, “I know! But we’re gonna do,” Samantha pauses, thinking about how bad she should torture you. “Three reps for five minutes with wall sits as your forty second break.”

Your eyes widen at her words. “No.” You shake your head, “nuh uh. No way.” You start to remove the straps.

“I have four back-to-back clients in an hour, and I need to be able to crawl and not walk.”

He drops down from the bar, wiping himself dry with the towel he keeps nearby (curtesy of Will).

Frankie nods to the older Miller, “you go get him, I’ll deal with Benny.”

Will sighs and runs after Santiago who’s trying to flirt with some of the other girls around. They’re not going for it, and he doesn’t want to have to talk to another security guard because his friends an idiot.

The younger Miller takes a step forward only to be stopped. “Ben, your fights in three hours we need to go.”

“I-” he sighs, glancing back at you. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

The next couple of days are quiet and you don't see much of “your” mystery guy, it makes you a little sad to be honest.

And then, there he is, as if he was reading your mind, he shows up with the other guys he’s almost always with.

"Guess who's back to cure you of your depression?"

You roll your eyes and shake your head, shoving Samantha away from you. “Stop it.”

She chuckles as you head out of the employee office, grabbing your phone on the way out. “I’m going to work out while I wait for my next client to arrive.”

She nods before heading out.

‘Maybe today’s the day.’ You can feel his eyes on you. You continue to think about what to do while stretching. You catch his gaze in the mirror and a decision’s been made.

Santiago smacks Frankie’s shoulder when he sees you coming closer. “What?”

The latter turns, “oh shit.”

“What’s going on with you two?” Will asks, glancing between the two of them, waiting for an answer.

Santiago points to the space in front of Benny.

He doesn’t see you there at first, focusing on finishing his last set before getting off the machine he was using. “Oh shi-”

You chuckle, crossing your arms. “Hey, there.”

“Hey.”

“I noticed you’ve been staring at me for a bit. You got something you want to say?”

If he were a cartoon, his eyes would be as wide as his head followed by a nosebleed. “It’s- it’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” You cross your arms. “I’m thinking you’re planning something hinky and quite frankly it worries me-”

His eyes widen even more. “No, no. I mean- I just- I didn’t mean to…” He pauses when he sees the way you try to hide your laughter. “Oh, you’re messing with me. Awesome.”

“Sorry, it was just too easy not to. But seriously, about the staring. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I- you’re really,” he gulps, “good.”

You raise a brow.

“I’m just saying, I don’t normally see people pushing themselves as hard as you do… or when your friend does.”

You chuckle, “that’s true. But it’s not really anything worth admiring, it’s your average trainer workout”

“Well, I can tell you that you do a damn good job. I’m impressed.”

“Well, consider me flattered. A handsome guy like yourself, commenting on my workouts, kind of makes a girl want to ask said guy for his number and make him her workout partner.”

He glances behind him before pointing at himself, earning a nod from you. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t joke about these kinds of things,” you pull yourself up on the pullup bar, something you’ve noticed he goes on more than anything here. “Which is something you’ll learn about, the more we talk.”

He’s never pulled his phone out of his pocket faster than he did right now. “You want to hand me your phone?”

“You’re gonna do this one handed?”

“No, I just wanted to try and impress you.” You jump down and smile at him.

He is more than willing to offer his phone to you. “I sent a text to my phone so now you have my number.”

“Great.”

“If I don’t hear from you before nine tonight, I can’t promise I’ll be as speedy with my responses.”

“So, I should text you now?” He jokes.

You shrug, “whatever you think is the smartest decision.”

The dopey smile on his face never leaves even after Santiago starts teasing him again. “Wow, I never thought you’d ever talk to her and look at you, you didn’t burst into a puddle of desperation.”

“Can I hit him?”

“No,” Will shakes his head, “you can’t, Ben. You know that.”

“She’s coming back.”

“What?” He whips around and almost bumps into you. “Hey, you’re back.”

“I am. I’m impatient and I want to go out with you.”

He owlishly blinks, trying to get his brain to move faster so he can understand. “Really?”

“Yeah. My friend would say I’m acting desperate and insane for asking the weird guy with a staring problem out.”

He scratches the back of his head, “you guys caught that, huh?”

You pinch your fingers together. “Little bit.”

“And you still want to go out with me?”

“Don’t read too much into it. Text me when you’re done here and when you’re free later.”

You turn around and walk away, leaving the Miller, Santiago, and Frankie speechless.

“I never thought I’d say this this,” Santiago pats the younger Miller’s shoulder. “Can you teach me how you- show me your ways, wise one.”

Benny shrugs him off, pushing him away from him. “Shut up.”

“Guess we’re done here?”

Frankie glances at Will. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s going home to shower and then call her so he can finally go out with her.”

Santiago shrugs, “I mean, I guess.”

“He’s right. If you two aren’t done, you’re on your own.” Benny throws his bag over his shoulder. “Come on, Will.”

You hit the call button, “Sammy!”

“What?”

“I did it.”

“I know you did; I was there.”

“I don’t know what outfit to pick you bitch.”

“How do you even know he’s going to call? Stupid question, I know. Moving on. Do you want to look slutty or a little conservative?”

“What makes me look better? Slutty or not slutty?”

“Where’s he taking you?”

“I don’t know.”

“How am I supposed to help you pick an outfit when you don’t even know where you’re going. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait- no.” You groan and are about to toss your phone down onto your bed when you get a text from Benny.

Hot Gym Guy

‘Wear something comfortable I don’t know if I already told you where I plan on taking you it's not gonna be some anything too crazy’ 4:36pm Sent Read

You smile holding your phone just a little closer to you.

Eye Candy

‘It’s like you knew what I was thinking’ 4:38pm Sent Read

‘Makes sense seeing as you’ve been watching me over the last few months every time you were in the gym’ 4:38pm Sent Read

He chuckles hoping this is going to be a good start to the date. He’s happy he kicked Santiago and Frankie out of the house now and thankfully Will had other plans.

Now he's debating calling you to invite you over or take you out to a restaurant followed by you coming over, not for anything that would be normal for his past self (as the other guys would say).

Hot Gym Guy

‘Would you rather do something fun and casual at my place or something new and different at a restaurant?’ 4:41pm Sent Read

You don’t think he has an ulterior motive because you know that he’s being genuine and asking you so you’re not uncomfortable.

Eye Candy

‘Are you a good cook because if not I think should go to a restaurant’ 4:43pm Sent Read

‘Not to offend you, I’d like to not have food poisoning tonight’ 4:44pm Sent Read

‘We should*’ 4:45pm Sent Read

Hot Gym Guy

‘I could whip up something decent and if it’s not up to your standards then we can either go out to a restaurant or have something delivered’ 4:46pm Sent Read

‘It’s up to you.’ 4:46pm Sent Read

You shake your head, even though Sammy really thought that he was creepy; turns out he’s really the sweetest guy you've ever talked to.

Eye Candy

‘Send me your address and I’ll tell you in person’ 4:51pm Sent Read

You knock on the door and wait.

The door opens less than a minute later. “Hey.”

You smile. “Hey.”

“Have you,” he clears his throat. “Have you made a decision?”

“I hope you're as good a cook as you are handsome.”

“Oh, baby. You have no idea.”

And let’s just say the next time you guys went to the gym (together, of course) everyone you knew was thanking all the gods that you two finally got together, until they realized that your guy's fawning was going to be ten million times worse because you’re together.

"Another day of him staring at her," Frankie comments, watching you two.

"How long are we going to see this?" Will asks, working on his bicep curls.

“I don't want to see him drool again; I'm going over towards the smoothie bar." Santiago walks away.

“I don’t know but I think we need to go back and grab Santi before he does something stupid,” the ex-pilot tells the older Miller.

“For fucks sake,” Will grumbles, putting the weights back in its place. “Let’s go.”

Taglist

@casa-boiardi

#triple frontier imagine #triple frontier imagines #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #benny miller imagines #benny miller imagine #benny miller fic #benny miller x reader #benny miller fanfic #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x you #benny miller x female reader #benny miller x fem reader #benny miller x fem!reader #crazyk-imagine

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melodygatesauthor · 1 year

Note

Benny miller with #7 romantic pretty please I think some Benny fluff is required

Home Safe

bbf!Benny Miller X f!Reader

Nonnie CONGRATULATIONS, you are the FIRST fluff request haha, I'm excited for this. I went with my bbf (brother's best friend) Benny. You are Santiago Garcia's little (adopted to stay all race inclusive) sister and you and Benny have been seeing each other in secret for a little while. - Prompt: “Call me when you get home, so I know you’re safe.”

Tags/Warnings: SFW, soft!Benny, bbf!Benny, reader is Santi's younger adopted sister, age gap (reader is 22, Benny is 35), fluff, cute shit

Word Count: 743

Benny groaned and shifted underneath you as the movie you were watching on Netlfix concluded. You sat up, looking over at him while he leaned forward and clicked off the television with the remote and then turned to look at you. It was hard to hide your downturned expression. Saying goodbye was always a heartbreaking ordeal with him. Sometimes you didn’t know when you’d get to see him again.

“It’s almost eleven. Santi’s going to lose his shit if you aren’t home in time.” He said, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your fingers.

“He’s not my dad.” You reminded Benny, as though he’d forgotten.

“He worries about you though. He cares about you.” He shrugged, “it’s better than not having anyone sweetheart.”

You pulled your hand away and stood up, “you’re starting to sound like you don’t want me here.”

“Honey.” Benny was fast to get up and wrap his large arms around you from behind.

He put his chin on your head and kept his hands around your waist. You giggled when his lips tickled the soft skin of your neck. You spun around, looking deeply into his eyes. He kissed you gently.

“I would love nothing more than to have you here every single day for the rest of our lives, but you and I both know…now isn’t the time.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“I know.” You kissed him again before walking over to the entryway where your coat and shoes were.

“You’re still upset.” He said in a cold tone.

You both loved and hated that Benny could tell when you were still irritated about something. On one hand, you wanted to be able to hide your feelings sometimes. Sometimes you didn’t feel like you necessarily needed to talk about what was bothering you, but other times, it felt good to know that he knew you so well.

You spun around, “yes, and I’ll remain upset until we find a way to talk to Santi. I miss you all the time.”

“Alright…” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. You watched in awe as he pressed a few buttons and held it to his ear.

“Benny no!” You shouted, grabbing it from him.

“Hello?” You heard Santi on the other line.

You froze, handing it back to Benjamin “shit eating grin” Miller.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Benny asked, making a kissy face at you.

“You called me, Ben. Everything ok? It’s late man.”

“Yeah I was just…” He looked over at you. You were shaking your head and running your hand vertically across your throat telling him no. “I was just wondering what you had going on tomorrow, was thinking about getting everyone together to go bowling or something.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

“So you called at almost eleven at night to ask about bowling tomorrow?”

“You know, I didn’t realize it was that late. My bad…so…wanna go?” Benny shrugged at you, to which you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah sure, I’ll see if…wants to join us.” You were excited when Santi mentioned your name, meaning you would get to see Benny tomorrow.

“Alright cool, night!” Benny hung up before Santi could respond.

You shook your head in disbelief, “I’m leaving.”

Benny gave you a soft smirk and a peck on the lips, “call me when you get home, so I know you’re safe.”

“Fine.” You agreed before giving him one more kiss and leaving the house.

When you got home, a short ten minute drive from Benny’s, Santi was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. He smiled at you.

“How was Chelsea?” He asked, gulping down some of his glass.

You shrugged, “she’s fine.”

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You knew instinctively that it was Benny, but you couldn’t look yet.

“Benny called, wants to go bowling tomorrow. You have any plans?”

“No, I’d love to go bowling.” You gave him a half-hearted smile.

“Alright cool.” He put the glass in the sink.

You went to your room after that and lay down in your bed. When you opened your phone you had a sweet text from Benny. He sent a picture with a kissy face.

Benny: I love you, let’s not rush things and mess it up ok? We will tell him when the time is right. We have our whole lives to figure it out. You: I love you too Benny.

Melody's Birthday Celebration

Masterlist

#benny miller #benjamin miller #triple frontier #benny miller fluff #benny miller headcanon #benny miller imagine #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller fic #benny miller x reader #benny miller imagines #benny miller has me in a chokehold #triple frontier headcanon #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction

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lilozzzyo3569 · 11 days

Text

Benny Miller X Female Reader

Synopsis: You are Benny’s best friend and decide to have a hang out night after his fights. Fresh off a win he comes to your place to celebrate

Pairing: Benny Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI, cursing, implied alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, use of affectionate nicknames, size difference, reader is much smaller than Benny

It was fight night! You unfortunately weren’t able to make the fight so you texted Benny to come over to celebrate.

You had just gotten out of the shower, when you heard your front door opening. You quickly wrap the towel around your body as you walk into your living room to see Benny taking off his shoes, as he looks over at you. You hold your towel as you say “and weighing at something like 200 pounds and standing at way taller than me, THE BEST FIGHTER IN THE WORLD and the crowd goes wild baaah” you smile as you pretend be an announcer making Benny’s face light up. He walks over to you and bends down to pick you and hug you. “Eeek Benny, you’re gonna break me” you giggle as Benny laughs as he buries his face into your hair, “Whatever short stack,” he puts you down only just now realizing that you are wearing only a towel making him slightly blush, “why are you not wearing clothes?” You chuckle “well considering I thought someone might be breaking into my apartment, I just ran out of the shower and-” you are cut off by the doorbell ringing. “Oh the pizzas here!” You open the door, overly excited since you were starving, Benny saw you open the door and take the pizza while the pizza delivery guy stared at you hungrily. Benny stood behind you giving the man a death glare making him look down ashamed, “um here” he said as he practically ran away. You turn around to pass the pizzas to Benny who was still giving a bit of a glare at the door making you look up at him confused, “were you giving him the glare Ben?” you gently hit his arm. “That guy was looking at you like you were the pizza,” Benny remarks as he goes to the couch with the pizzas. You roll your eyes as you go to the fridge to grab a couple beers and putting them in front of him on the couch on the coffee table. “I think I would notice if someone was looking at me like I was a pizza,” you stand in front of him with your hands on your hips, Benny looks up at you in your towel and still a bit wet causing him to choke a bit on the pizza he was shoveling down his throat. “You never notice because I am usually right behind you giving them ‘the glare’,” you roll your eyes and start to walk away to put on your pjs “ya now Benny I can take care of myself, I don’t need you to protect me from every man in the world.” you chuckle as you go to your room.

You come back now wearing one of Benny’s old shirts and sit on the couch next to him to snag a slice of pizza, as you see what Benny had picked to watch. You turn to see Benny looking a bit perplexed and no longer eating. “Hey is everything okay?” you ask a bit worried as you scoot closer to him and put your arm around his shoulder, Benny tended to be a bit up and down after a fight but never like this. He simply sighed “I’m fine, sorry just zoned out for a bit” he says trying to go back to drinking his beer. “Oh no ya don’t I know that look that wasn’t a zone out that was a deep thought, I know because I could little puffs of smoke coming out of your ears” you joke as you are now resting on your knees, turned towards him and holding his face to blow out the imaginary smoke. Benny starts to laugh as you almost climb into his lap, he puts down his beer and starts to tickle you, making you squeal in his hands. He ends up tumbling on top of you, making you laugh out of breath, “Benny-hahaha-you're crushing-haha-me” your eyes are closed and Benny is just looking down at you as he stops tickling you. You finally open your eyes to see Benny smiling down at you, “what?” you ask as he says “I missed you small fry.” Benny leans down and hugs you, essentially cuddling into your chest making you giggle as you two tangle your bodies together on your couch and he gets comfortable using you as his human sized pillow. “I missed you too, even though I saw you like two weeks ago” you stroke his hair making him sigh. “I know but I just missed you is all, and being around you and *cough cough*-sorry um I should go shower” and before you can respond Benny gets up and grabs his bag to shower. Benny comes back, hair wet, wearing a pair of gray sweats and nothing else, your breath catches in your throat making him laugh. “Like what you see?” you roll your eyes and throw a pillow at his head which he catches and responds menacingly “oh you’re gonna regret that” you giggle as you put down your pizza slice and stand up to look at him from across your living room and stare at him “make me.” Benny growls and charges at you picking you up and tickling you as you giggle and tickle him back in return struggling and squirming back and forth until you both end up back where you started on the couch. You end up on top of Benny straddling his hips, tickling the soft spot on his neck forcing him to groan unexpectedly, leaving you slightly shocked until he takes the opportunity to tickle you right on your hips. You laugh out loud and twitch causing you to accidentally grind down against his hips. You both let out an unabashed moan, until you both look at each other blushing. You and Benny look into each others eyes with shock and you whisper first “umm- *you chuckle* maybe I should get up,” Benny chuckles back and rasps “you don’t have to” as he gently starts to caress your sides. You lick your lips, before biting your lip making him groan and roll his eyes into the back of his head, “oh baby please don’t do that” you blush feeling exactly what you are doing to him making you blush even deeper. You chuckle and decide to flirt back with “well maybe I shouldn’t get up, considering you’re already seem …up” you giggle before looking away. Benny moves his hands up to hold your face and smile up at you. Benny licks his lips and says “would it be a bad time to admit that I have wanted this since the first time I met you?” You look down into his beautiful eyes, and respond "only if I can admit that I have felt the same way since your first fight." You smile and lean down to kiss him, as he smiles and grabs your hips to pull you closer, "maybe this would be a better conversation for your bedroom instead of the couch hahaha" he winks before picking you up as if you weight nothing. You squeak and hit his chest weakly "Benny hahaha!"

FIN

#benny miller #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #triple frontier #benny miller imagine #benny miller fic

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veritable-trash · 2 years

Text

triple frontier masterlist

*: smut, 18+, minors do not enter i will fight you!

Benny Miller

Golden Boy pt1 pt2*

They've were meant to be best friends forever but like everything they drifted. Can Benny find his way back to you?

Will Miller

Just You pt1 pt2*

She just knew in the back of her mind that if he took her hand, just once, her brain could find peace. Her knees might stop knocking against her desk. Just for a minute.

Frankie Morales

Simple

His mind is moving slow but his heart can’t help racing ahead, trying to break through his ribs to run to you. He’d always thought you too perfect for him. Not meant for someone so fractured, gutted and thrown out, but you hadn’t even noticed

Ask Request #1*

“I don’t know how you convinced me to do this.” hehehehehe

Honeyed Summer pt1 pt2*

Frankie's willing to play the long game with you. You aren't strong enough to resist the man of your dreams for long.

Santiago "Pope" Garcia

Orange Daydream

He's your best friend and he'd do just about anything for you, but what if things could finally be something more?

We Could Go All Night*

(Cont of Orange Daydream) Tonight it's you who can't seem to get a wink of sleep but Santi is more than willing to help you out :)))))

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pedge-page · 5 months

Text

Happy Hour

Part 1 to the Sharing is Caring series

Frankie Morales x F!reader free-use with the triple frontier boys

Summary: Frankie loves using and abusing his free-use pass with you. He’s got no problem introducing it to the rest of the guys.

Warnings: Exhibitionism, Voyuerism, Cucking, free use, unprotected sex, male masturbation, oral m-receiving, assisted masturbation, using beer bottles as dildos, indirect pussy eating (?), slight breeding kink, language

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Frankie invited the boys over for the summer kickoff Barbecue in your backyard. You spent all day preparing snacks and side dishes, setting up yard games and helping clean the pool, all the while getting praises by Frankie who found every opportunity to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you all over.

"You get enough beer for tonight?" He asks, nuzzling his nose against your neck, pressing kisses over your shoulder.

"Yup. I almost cleared out the shelf. You boys gonna have a good time, I’ll take care of everything else.” You lay your hand over top his which were caressing your lower tummy affectionately.

With how busy things had been getting recently, you wanted Frankie to get together with his friends again. He had thrown you such a wonderful girls night-in when you had your girl friends over last month, so making sure he and his buds were well taken care of tonight was your top priority.

“I think you'll have some fun too."

Frankie continues to nip at your exposed skin, his hand drafting up to the exposure of your off-shoulder frilly blouse, tugging it down with one finger. "Frankie, stop, I'm still cooking."

He ignores you, slipping his hand inside the elastic band and palming your breast, his hips pinning yours to the counter as he rubbed his hard-on against your ass. "Gonna do everything I ask of you tonight, aren't you?" His breathes huskily into your ear.

You remained tight lipped, unsure of what he had planned tonight, but having some ideas as to the sexual acts he'll want to get away with. You felt heat pool in your lower stomach at the idea of fucking in the powder room while the boys were outside, or having him finger you under the table while they ate. He's been pushing his free-use license further and further, making you simultaneously nervous and excited at how far he intends to use you for his pleasure.

"They'll...be here... any minute..." you whine, your body caving in to his touches as you breathe heavier. You feel his fat fingers dip below your naval, through the lining of your skirt and down your panties, fingering your clit softly to work your arousal.

"Nothing they haven't seen before, baby mamma," he groans. He removed his hand from between your thighs, bringing its stickiness up to dance on your lips. Your mouth happily parts at the intrusion and suck your arousal from his digits. He lifts your skirt above your hips, splaying your panty-clad ass on display, his lips never leaving your neck or cheek.

"Not a baby mamma yet, that's your job to make happen remember?" You smile, turning your head to lock your lips together. You feel a tap on your thigh and lift your leg to aid in his removal of your panties. He stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'm keeping these, need you nice and wet for us tonight."

The doorbell rings, and Frankie backs away from you abruptly, leaving you wide eyed, back now cold. The faint breeze from the open window whistling under your skirt and between your damp, exposed pussy. "Us?"

- - - -

Frankie greets each of the guys with a long awaited hug as they enter your home together. You tried to act like you're not dripping between your thighs as you kiss and cautiously hug each of them. It was Benny who scooped you up in his arms and twirled you around, your skirt lifting enough to show the lower half of your bare ass.

Santi bit his lip at the sight. “Keeping Fish good company I hope?” He asks as Benny set you down with a fat kiss to your cheek.

You hastily bring your skirt lower, tugging it down. “It’s been pretty smooth sailing since the wedding, hasn’t it?”

Frankie's hand skims the back of your rear, hand lifting your skirt back up over the side of your thigh, pulling you in to him like a little prize, fully well knowing everyone got a good look at you. “It’s been more than great,” he says. You could help but blush at the way he beamed at you with adoration. "Beer anyone?"

They pile into the backyard, sorting through the cooler of assorted bottles and cans while you sift through the kitchen drawers for an opener. You could overhear indistinguishable chatter from the group, their occasional glances back towards you in the house.

"Found it!" You call out, skipping out to the yard. "Let me," you offer, grabbing each beer from their hand and popping off the lid.

"Sweet of you, baby, thank you." Frankie kisses the side of your head. Then his voice changes an octave lower, whispering lowly into your ear: "Go sit on the chair right there and put your heels on the seat."

You shiver, pulling away to stare back at him incredulously. His face told you he wasn't playing, that this was the first of many things he'd be asking of you tonight. You gulp and did as he said, settling uncomfortably in the plastic lawn chair and bringing your knees up to your chest, desperate to keep your ankles together and closed so everyone couldn't see right your bare pussy behind your ankles.

Frankie leans next to you, bottle in hand. "Don't be shy. Spread 'em."

Your face felt hot red as Benny, Will, Santi and Frankie eyes bore down on your anxious figure. You muster up your courage and boldly spread your legs wide, skirt falling from your thighs entirely to your hip, glittering cunt now open wide for the entire backyard.

Benny whistles lowly. "Never gonna get tired of that pretty view. Damn. Lucky bastard.”

Frankie grimaces proudly, his hand cupping your jaw affectionately like a pet. "Keep 'em spread for us, okay babygirl?"

You nod, clit twitching at his praise, not even noticing when he hitches the rim of his bottle at your entrance. Your brows furrow, never breaking eye contact with his beautiful brown eyes as he pushed the bottles neck into your pussy, your arousal making it easy for the object to slide right through.

"Holy fuck," Will coughs, watching the way you cunt greedily swallows the tip with ease.

Frankie thrusts it in a bit, making you stutter your breaths with the increased fullness pressing inside, hands fisting the chair's armrests. He was coating the bottle and its contents inside with your juices, fucking you like it was a toy. He notices the resistance when your walls squeezed around its neck, smirking to himself, knowing you were comfortable and enjoying this with him.

Too soon, he slips it out of you, your hips slightly canter forward to chase the object that was just buried inside you. You felt empty, needy, denied.

Frankie smirks at your helpless state ad he brought the beer to his lips and titled back, chugging the new flavor of alcohol. "Tastes better like that," he says, licking his lips clean of your taste.

----

Frankie watches as you eagerly spread your legs further, leaning back in your chair with confidence so that your cunt hangs out in the open off the edge as each of the guys line up to coat their drinks in your pussy. The way your breath quickens, with each intrusion, how you lick your lips and look down at the sight of it disappearing into you, the mix of gentleness and roughness that came with each boy’s individuality—it drove him crazy how much you let him do this.

Santi rubs your cheek soothingly, very passionately fucking his bottle into you while never breaking your eye contact. You giggle along with him, rocking your hips with his steady thrusts until he pulls out and takes a long sip.

Will is far more gentle, rubbing the inside of your thigh with the pad of his thumb. He nudges your pearly clit with the rip, only swirling the top at the most shallow base of your walls. He likes the way you whine, wanting more, but his hand on your thigh is quick to keep you in your place. He slips the edge of the bottle along your folds to gather your dripping juices before retreat, giving you a little wink.

Benny dropsy to his knees, excited to have you so open for him.

“Be nice, Ben. That’s my wife you got there,” Frankie warns.

Benny rolls his eyes, pouting as his visible excitement tones down. You cup his face, knowing Frankie’s threat is a load of BS. “Don’t worry, Benny, you have your taste the way you like it.” You spread your legs even further, ankles now dangling over the arm rest, the cool breeze of the backyard swooshing through your folds.

Benny pushes his beer in as far as he can, making you gasp. You grab his shoulder to steady yourself as you rock your hips back and forth, letting his hands remain where it is while you fucked your exposed pussy on the neck of the bottle. He rams further inside, the body of the bottle beginning to stretch your cunt.

Benny’s eyes were wide, unsure if he wanted to watch your facial expressions or the scene between your legs. After a few more playful dips, he pulls out, immediately mouthing around the bottle and suckling every drop of your juices around the neck, with little interest of the actual liquid in the bottle.

The boys spend the evening standing around the grill, all taking turns to use you like a glorified bottle opener. Frankie keeps your panties tucked in the back of his pockets the entire time. He occasionally checks in on your reactions, making sure you’re still laughing and accepting their actions.

They came back after each sip, some taking extra care to fuck you with the bottle, hoping to get you to cum, other times just to get a fresh coating. Frankie watches your expressions each time, the way your jaw hangs open slightly, biting your tongue, quiet moans making their way to his ears. And each time, he forces the boys to stop, leaving your clenching around nothing, frustrated but wet beyond belief. He wanted you dripping, needy all night so they could get the most out of your gushing cunt.

At one point, you had to get up to serve their food, making them all sit around the rounded patio table and dishing their plates one at a time. Frankie helps place the portions on each plate as you take it to the table before sitting down himself. His hand runs up along your smooth thigh, skirt lifting with his wrist as he inches high and higher, before squeezing your ass possessively, looking up at you. You pinch his nose and move around the table, making sure all the guys have filled drinks.

You didn’t have your own “seat” at the table, instead going around to each of the guy’s laps and eating bits off their plate. While they ate with one hand, the other held a bottle, thrusting in and out of your spread thighs over their leg.

You currently had your arm draped over Will’s shoulder, spread open next to the table as he bounced you in his lap, his bottle nudging the sweet spot inside you. He split his attention evenly between Frankie and you.

The copious amount of alcohol in everyone’s system, including Frankie’s, made the rules of your use a little more lax. That—and they were all so pussy drunk off your juices mingling on their tongues, they couldn’t keep their hands off you.

You kissed along Will’s cheek, nipping his jawline and tracing patterns on his throat with your tongue as he fucked you on his beer. His languid thrusts making you feel hazy. The man had an exceptional talent at knowing the exact pace and pristine jolts to hold you on edge forever. He gave you soft smiles with sincere eye contact that made you flutter. “You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers in your ear.

Santi was a little cheekier, eagerly pulling you down on his lap. He taps the inside of your thigh, urging you to spread fast so he could get his drink between your legs. “This cunt is still so tight, hermosa. Frankie Papi not taking care of you enough?” he asks brow raising with a challenge towards Fish. Before you can deny him, he blows hot breath against your ear before biting the lobe, making you squeal quietly as he quickly thrusts his 11th bottle of the night into your waiting heat. He continues to dot his lips against your skin, nipping your collar bone. You can see Frankie’s eyes narrow on you two but he doesn’t say anything, letting his conversation with Will continue. His aligns his head perfectly over your top, peering down at your tits. He groans softly at the little jiggles of your supply mounds with each little thrust in to you.

You look over to Benny, who’s got no care to Will and Frankie’s convo and is instead anxiously bouncing his leg, dying to get you on him for his turn.

“Oop, I gotta take care of the baby boy,” you say quietly into Santi’s ear. He pouts briefly, rubs your clit with his thumb under the table so no one else can see. You bite your lips, wide eyed but aroused. He eventually lets you up.

Benny grabs your waist with strong hands and lifts you on to his muscular thigh.

“Eager?” You tease. You rub your hand over his strong abs and chest, grabbing his beef for him and putting right along your folds, waiting patiently for him to take charge. He doesn’t. “Want you to do it for me,” he says, smirking. You kiss his cheek and notch the beer into your cunt, moaning wantonly right in his ear. He shivers with arousal, bouncing the knee you’re perched on, the bottle neck slipping deeper inside you. His hand gropes your ass cheek, keeping you upright on him while his other arm feeds himself potato salad. he makes a poor attempt to shovel it in his mouth, dropping bits of it along your chest and down your tits.

“Making a mess on my girl, Benny,” Frankie chuckles.

Benny shrugs. Conveniently left with no more free hands, he dips his mouth down to your chest and licks a long stripe along the skin, slurping up the remnants of sticky food on you. You tilt back and laugh drunkly, fisting the bottle and shoving deep inside your cunt, panting breathlessly as your other hand messily rubs his blonde curls like a dog.

You suddenly glance back at Frankie, who is shaking his head at you in disapproval. Not from one of his buds eating food off your tit, but from your less than sneaky trial of trying to finally make yourself cum on the bottle. You pout, draw the neck out of your messy cunt, feeling your little nub twitch with remote. You’re making a big show of innocent eyes at your husband who’s been simultaneously ensuring you are both taken care of and neglected all night.

Frankie raises his hand and curls his finger at you in a come hither motion. You slide off of Benny’s lap guiltily, striding over to him in the sexiest walk you could muster. Chatter had died down as all eyes rested on you standing over Frankie.

He stares up at you, rolling your skirt over your ass so everyone could see. He presses a soft kiss to your throbbing clit, tasting a mixture of your sweet juices and the different brands and flavors of beer that have been inside you all night. You whine, trying not to flinch too hard at how desperate you need him to make you cum.

He pats your ass assertively. “You been good tonight so far.”

The power he possesses over you was something to behold: despite standing over him, and looking down upon him, his voice and eyes carried such a dominant force against you that it was clear to everyone else how much you not only submit to him, but how much you like doing so.

“Everyone else getting taken care of real good except me. That doesn’t seem right, does it, Querida?”

You shake your head. You knew the drill, knew the devious look in his eyes. His darkened expression points down to the ground only once.

Without missing a beat, you sink down to your knees on the grass, delicate hands immediately rubbings along his sturdy thighs in his khakis until you came upon the bulge in his pants. You rub your palm over, pressing your face to it, feeling the scratchiness of the material roll against your cheek. You give it a chaste kiss before unbuckling his belt and pulling the zipper down, freeing his erect cock.

When you finally push his tip past your tight lips, Frankie sighs relief before starting up the group’s conversation again. The boys shifted in their seats with their evident respective bulges pressing uncomfortably between their legs. They tried to respond respectfully to Fish, occasionally darting glances at you between his legs, working his length in and out of your skilled mouth. The little sucking noises from you interrupted his speech but he made no show of acknowledging you while you sucked his fat cock deep into your throat.

You could hear little coughs and grunts from the others, none of which sounded perturbed. They were all entranced by you, your obedience, submission to Frankie. Santi “dropped” his fork below the table, hunching over to get a good look at you with his mouth agape at the sight: resting back on your haunches, your glistening pussy dripping into the grass as you bobbed your head, hands resting on his knees to keep you from taking it all and choking on it.

He licks his lips and sits up, worried he took too long. Frankie catches his eye and mouths Does she look good?

Santi nods energetically.

Fish smirks, taking the opportunity to push the back of your head further onto his cock, making you gag loudly in surprise. Benny and Will’s voices go quiet as Frankie starts slowly forcing his cock deeper in your mouth, making you more verbal in your choking. When he releases the pressure, you pull up so that just the tip is suctioned between your lips, moaning obscenely. Your eyes are closed in bliss, taking him back down and returning your rhythmic bobbing.

After a few minutes, Frankie’s breaths are coming out short. He’s having a hard time paying attention to what the guys were saying. Just between the two of you, he gently caresses your jaw, letting his cock fall out of your mouth. You stare up at him, slightly teary eyed but full of lust and obsession. “My perfect little whore of a wife,” he mumbles affectionately. “Get up here and make me proud.”

You giddily climb to your feet and throw one leg over his strong thighs, sighing loudly as you straddling him. The texture of his pants feels heavenly against your neglected clit, rubbings your slick folds along his thighs with an arched back, ass peaking out for the boys to once again get a nice show.

Frankie taps your ass again, making you sit upright. He positions the swollen red tip of his member at your wet entrance. You sink down, taking his cock entirely in one motion. The hot, fat pressure of his cock stretching you fuller, deeper than any of the beer bottles could ever reach immediately has your eyes rolling, moaning out loud like a fucking whore as your body shakes, squeezing his dick tightly while your first powerful orgasm of the night washes over you.

He holds you tight as you spasm through it. “Oh shit—she just came,” Frankie laughs.

“Oh fuck. Didn’t even have to fuck that delicious cunt.”

“That’s hot, Fish. She was so desperate for it.”

“Fuck I’m jealous. I want me a wife like that.”

You continue to gently hump him, their praises falling deaf to your ear. His large, strong body felt good to relax in, putting your weight on top of him with no care as you chase your pleasure Hips swaying of their own accord as you whimper through the aftershocks, arms thrown wrapped over his shoulders.

He strokes your back soothingly. He wants you to settle from your much needed orgasm first. Frankie sits back a little bit, letting you lean forward. The guys are practically standing over the table, desperate to see the space where their friend’s well endowed cock is joined to his wife’s tight and pretty cunt.

He has the audacity to ask the guys if they’d seen the game this past Sunday, resuming their conversation as you continue to pickup pace. You roll your hips along his length, the delicious drag of his cock sliding in and out of you leaving you dumb on him, face pressed tight against his collar while he talks casually over your shoulder.

When Frankie starts to clench the meat of your hips and pull you down on his length a little harder, neither he nor anyone else at the table cares to talk anymore. He makes sure to fist your skirt over your waist as he drills his meaty girth up into you. They all stare, unblinking, at some point all having whipped their stiff cocks out and stroking furiously.

Frankie gets lost in your tight heat. You couldn’t care about the fact that the boys were jerking off to you and their best friend fucking—your focus was entirely on making your husband spill his sperm deep inside you.

The squelching sound of your pussy slapping down and your breathy moans can only be heard in your private backyard among your closets guests. He can feel the dampness seeping into his pants, darkening the fabric with each splatsplatsplat of your ass slamming down on his thighs.

“Did I tell ya’ll? We’re trying to get pregnant,” Frankie boasts proudly. He doesn’t stop the way his hips canter up overly excited to share that detail, hitting that spongy spot he had been purposely avoiding all night. A surprised yell escapes your lips, tightening around him in a vice grip. Soon after, you’re both cumming together, releasing long drawn out satisfied groans into each other’s open mouths as your sweet pussy milks him, the pulses of his member filling your womb with his milky seed.

The rest of the boys cum hardly a second later, pumping their veiny cocks furiously at the sight of Frankie’s pearly spend dripping from where the two of you are still connected. Through gritted teeth, they wring out the last dribbles of their cum before everyone is sitting back, panting hard, softened and relieved dicks resting against their full bellies.

- - - -

Notes: I just wanna say don’t fuck yourself with objects that aren’t specifically designed for sex, especially foods or alcohol, because you know… infections. That should be a given.

Permanent Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse

Please let me know if you would like to be added (or removed) from permanent taglist--which applies to any fic that I put more than 2 ounces of thought into.

432 notes · View notes

flightlessangelwings · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 2- Floor Sex

Benny Miller x afab!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 1.1k

Warnings- smut (18+ only), unprotected sex, established relationship

Notes- Benny is so fun to write smut for cause he can be playful or hot and desperate and it’s both so sexy! Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen

To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates

“Hey baby I’m home,” Benny shouted into the home the two of you shared as he kicked off his shoes and chucked his bag on the floor.

“In here,” you called back from the kitchen.

“Shit baby, you wouldn’t believe the asshole at the gym toda…” Benny’s thoughts trailed off when he walked into the kitchen and saw you.

You were just finishing with the dishes when he got home, but it wasn’t the cleanness of the space that caught Benny’s eye. It was you. You were dressed down in comfortable clothes, and his eyes went right to the tiny shorts you wore that barely covered you. The old tank top you had on barely covered you too, and Benny’s eyes widened when he saw your nipples peek out through the thin fabric.

“Fuuuuck,” he breathed before he lept at you like a leopard on the hunt.

“Ben…? What…?”

In a flash, you suddenly found yourself on your back on the floor with your boyfriend on top of you. All the breath was pushed out of your lungs and the cool tile was a stark contrast to your warm skin. But the weight of Benny over you was a comfort, and the way he immediately latched onto your neck with his lips made you moan softly.

“Sorry baby,” he mumbled against your skin with a smirk, “You look so fucking hot in that I can’t help myself.”

“Benny…” you sighed as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

He groaned as he kissed his way up the muscle in your neck until he took your lips with his in a heated kiss. Benny bucked his hips against yours as his cock stiffened more. From the moment he laid eyes on you, a rush of emotions went right to his dick, and Benny knew he couldn’t hold himself back.

Benny’s hands roamed all over your body, reaching for your breasts as he palmed them though the fabric of your shirt. You instinctively arched your back into his touch, desperate for more. Benny always knew how to make you feel so good, and you craved his touch just as much as he craved you.

You rocked your hips in time with his, the need within you growing rapidly. Benny grunted as he rubbed your nipples through the fabric and latched onto your neck once more. You cried out in pleasure as you felt yourself get wetter and wetter by the second.

“Fuck, Benny…” you moaned as you buried a hand in his hair and tugged firmly.

A low groan escaped from deep within his chest as he released your neck. Benny pushed himself up onto his elbows to look down at you for a moment. Lust burned in his eyes as you kept your grip on his hair; you knew how much he liked it when you pulled on his scalp like that.

“Shit baby,” he echoed you as he felt a fresh wave of desperation crash over him.

Too impatient to fully remove anything, Benny yanked your shirt down so that your breasts popped free over the hem and dove into you. He licked and sucked and kissed all over your soft mounds until he took your nipple in his mouth. You cried out loudly as you tugged at his hair once again, and you felt his rock hard length against your thigh as he rocked against you.

While he worked on your breasts with his mouth, Benny reached down with one hand and fumbled with the zipper of his pants. He lost some of his coordination while focusing on your pleasure, but he managed to free his cock from his pants without needing to break away from you.

Benny gave your nipple one last nibble before he relinquished his hold on your breast. You laid still as you waited for his next move, looking up at him with wanton need the entire time. Your hands dropped down to hold onto his arms and you felt the tension he held there as he stared back at you. His eyes roamed all over your figure as he took in the alluring sight before him. Your legs parted for him as he settled between them, and Benny took a moment and ran his hands up and down your inner thighs intu he reached your core.

“Fuck baby,” Benny murmured as locks of his hair fell into his eyes, “You look so fucking pretty like this.”

Too eager to strip you completely, Benny hooked his fingers onto your shorts and pushed them aside to reveal your dripping pussy. His breath hitched in his throat as he marveled at how ready and eager you were for him and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned as he leaned forward and nudged the tip of his length against your entrance.

“Oh God,” you cried out at the familiar stretch, “Ben…”

“I know baby, I know,” he murmured as he thrust himself into you a little too quickly.

You let out a loud cry, and Benny was worried he hurt you until you clung to his back and wrapped your legs around his waist. He peppered your skin with kisses wherever he could reach as he rocked in and out of you in a fast and heated rhythm.

A string of praises and curses left both your lips as Benny fucked you right there on the kitchen floor. Everything else in the world melted away as he thrust into you over and over again. All that mattered to you two was each other, and the feeling of being engulfed by the other was pure pleasure.

Benny snapped his hips harder against you, and the sounds of your moans only spurred him on more. And he knew he hit that perfect spot inside you when you screamed his name and tugged hard on his shirt.

“Fuck, fuck… Benny…”

He groaned your name as he sped up his thrusts until heat and ecstasy washed over you both. At the same time, you and Benny cied out as your climaxes hit simultaneously. Sweat lined your bodies as he pumped hismelf into you while you gripped him tightly with your inner muscles. Both of you clung to each other in desperate need for as much contact as you could get while you rode out your highs together.

When he was completely spent, Benny collapsed down on top of you and covered you completely. Together, you laid out in the middle of the kitchen floor, both too tired to move. Heavy breaths filled the air as you stocked his hair and he kissed the exposed skin of your shoulders.

“Should we get takeout?” you broke the comfortable silence, “I’m too tired now to make anything.”

“Benny laughed as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, “As long as I can have you for dessert,” he winked.

You slapped his face playfully as you laughed, “You are a menace, Ben Miller.”

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intheorangebedroom · 1 month

Text

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

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

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

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

Word count: 12.2k

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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

growup-thatbeautiful · 11 months

Text

where you go, i go

Tags: Benny Miller x Reader, Mentions of Trauma, Light Angst, Sleepy Mornings, Cuddles, Mentions of Violence, Clingy Reader

A/n: I missed Benny. thanks @princessmermaid1289 for the request!

Word Count: 1.5k

~*~

The thing is, Benny doesn’t always make it easy to leave for work in the morning. He works on his schedule at the gym, so he’s never in as much of a hurry as you are in the mornings. Which leads to its own problems.

Firstly, Benny is absolutely incorrigible in the mornings. He’s used to waking up early and getting ready to go, which can be fun when you’re prepared for it. You never would have thought that you would like having a boyfriend so full of energy and sunshine in the morning, but you’ve come to love how a grin lights up Benny’s face every morning that he sees you. It’s like he is always surprised to see you there like you might slip away in the night if he doesn’t hold you tight enough.

Secondly, Benny does absolutely nothing to discourage you in the mornings. So, when you wake up and don’t want to get out of bed, he’ll happily keep you beside him as long as he can. From whispered conversations in white bedsheets and morning breath-leaden kisses, Benny can’t seem to help you along with your morning routine. And if you do make it out of bed, he’s even worse. He’ll sneak up behind you and plant kisses along your neck exactly where he knows will make you weak, and that alone costs you at least 10 minutes.

Lastly, you have no desire to separate from him. Benny is comfort, safety, and home. It’s a wonder that you’re ever able to make it out of the house when his arms are so secure around you.

This morning specifically, though, it isn’t Benny’s fault that you’re running late. No, you can confidently say that you got yourself into the mess. You know better than to let Benny kiss you good morning with his hair tousled like that. His hands trace idle patterns into your skin, the chill of the air around you is nothing compared to the heat coming from Benny. You should know that once he starts, you melt for him, and then you’re stuck in his magnetism.

You’re right next to him while he brushes his teeth, leaning on his strong frame for support. When he finishes and makes his way into your tiny kitchen, you’re right behind him again, his calloused hand in yours. While he makes breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast, you make coffee, working silently in tandem. You know he likes sugar and milk in his coffee and he knows you need extra pepper in your eggs.

You can’t help but tug him close to you when you hand him his coffee, his hand automatically settling on the skin of your waist underneath the army t-shirt of his that you’re wearing. If it was anyone else, you would feel self-conscious, but that faded around Benny a long time ago. He kisses you again, his breath tasting like mint toothpaste, his free hand moving to cup your face gently. The sigh you let out into his mouth tells him just how deeply you want to be with him all day.

Benny grins at you when he pulls away, and he lightly sets the coffee mug down on the counter beside you. “Honey,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist before tilting your face up to face him. “Why don’t you stay home?”

“I can’t just skip work every time I want to hang out with you,” you protest, leaning into his warmth easily. “As good as it sounds.”

“Why not?” Benny’s low voice resonates against your cheek as he pulls you in closer, his hand smoothing over your hair gently. “You could come to the gym with me and watch me train.” The usual cockiness is in his voice, but you know it’s a genuine offer. Plus, you would be a fool to give up a chance to watch him train.

“I can’t,” you say again, if only for argument's sake. Really, it never takes much convincing for you to stay with Benny. Not when he’s looking at you with those eyes.

“Then I’ll come to work with you,” he offers. “Cathy always says she wants to see more of me.” The boyish twinkle in his eyes is so hard to respond to without agreeing to everything he says.

“Cathy’s in love with you,” you bluntly state. “And she’s got claws to grab hold of you.”

“I’ll be careful,” he solemnly replies, trying to hide his grin unsuccessfully. “Where you go, I go.” Despite his grin, you can feel the gravity of his words. You know the weight of them; they’re more than an empty promise. When you first met Benny, he was a shadow of the man he is today. You don’t know all the details- he’ll tell you when he’s ready- but you know that something bad happened on a job he went on with Frankie, Santi, and Will. They came back without Tom and without anything to show for his death except for a trust fund and a starburst scar through Benny’s stomach.

But you also know that Benny made a promise to the guys. He lived a great part of his life sprinting to catch up to the space behind Will’s shadow. His whole life, he’s been following Will, the ever-devoted little brother.

First, he followed him onto the high-school football team. For years, the Miller name dominated their small town’s talk. Little Benny Miller was just as talented as his brother, a force on the field, and a gentleman too.

Then, he followed Will into the army. Head first, head down, headstrong. Benny, you know, didn’t think twice before signing his name on those papers so that he could do unspeakable, secret things in dark places of the world. Benny doesn’t talk about it a lot, and you don’t ever ask him to, but you know from the sleepless nights and the nightmare-ridden ones that the scars lining Benny’s body go deeper than the skin.

And though you’re sure it won’t be the last time, Benny finally followed Will into the jungle on that goddamn trip. They all lost things there, but from what you’ve heard from Frankie and Santi when Benny and Will go off together and come back with red eyes Benny lost a little bit of his light on that trip. He was- and still is- the most optimistic, selfless person you know. He’s always the first to crack a joke or give an easy smile, but there’s less behind his smile than there use to be sometimes. Maybe it can’t be fixed, maybe this is something that he has to go through on his own, but you’re not going to let him wander without something holding him to the ground and guiding him back home.

So when he says that he’ll go where you go, you know that it’s his way of telling you that today he needs you to be that person for him. Benny can’t simply ask for help when he needs it, it’s against his hardwiring. This is as close as he’s going to get, but you know him well enough to know to take the offering that he’s given you.

There are only so many people that Benny will follow. You don’t know if it’s coincidence or some deeper connection that made you feel how you feel on a day when Benny needs you, but you thank whatever it is.

“Okay,” you agree, running your hands along his arms. “I’ll stay home today. But you get to be the one to call my boss and tell her I’m sick.” It breaks your heart a little bit to see the surprised smile that fights its way to Benny’s face. For how long you’ve been dating, Benny doesn’t ever seem to think that you’ll stay when things get hard. You’ll just have to keep showing him.

“I’ll make it sound believable,” Benny promises. “And if I reach Cathy I’ll make sure to tell her hi.”

“You better not,” you warn, placing your hand on his cheek and tapping lightly. “Do you want me to call Will and the boys over?”

There’s no one else who knows Benny as well as you do. They’ve all been through hell together, so they can bring Benny out of anything.

Benny hums in consideration and grabs his quickly cooling coffee, taking a sip before he answers. “Make ‘em sweat. I’ll take some time with my girl before those assholes come and make a mess of it.”

“Okay,” you agree. “You have a phone call to make.”

“I guess I do.” Benny doesn’t seem quite convinced to let you go yet, and you can’t help but savor the moment. His arms around you, words whispered into the crown of your hair, the smell of his cologne filling your senses.

“Beny?” you mumble against his chest, and he looks at you, his expression honest and pure and everything that he is. “I think the eggs are burning.”

“I’ll make you some more,” he says, laugh lines around his eyes become more prominent. “Let’s just stay like this for a little while.”

You could never say no to that. For however many mornings you’re late to work, you think it’s worth it to have Benny there for you.

To be there for each other.

#benny miller #benny miller x y/n #benny miller x you #benny miller x reader #benny miller x female reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #benny miller fic #ben miller #benjamin miller #benny miller fanfic #benny miller fanfiction #nova writes #triple frontier boys

229 notes · View notes

coweye · 9 months

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Commitment Issues - Part 9

Pairing: Benjamin Miller x Reader Words: 5.0K Summary: When you try and take your friends with benefits relationship to the next level, Benny’s response isn’t quite what you were expecting.

Warnings: Finally there's warnings again! Slight Angst, NSFW - respect the 18+ pls, cuteness.

So, this fic has always been close to my heart.

I wrote this two years ago about a guy I was seeing but wanted more from. (Full disclosure, he’s no Benny Miller and luckily I didn’t have his baby.) It was a way of daydreaming the way my life could’ve gone. I never could’ve imagined you guys would embrace it the way you have and it honestly warms my heart so much that there are people out here waiting for an update. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.

A few months ago (the not-Benny) actually asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend. Spoiler alert - he’s really not boyfriend material. So, much as I suspected, it didn't work out, because men aren’t written by women in real life. I’m not surprised or sad, I’m happy I know for sure but it feels like I’ve come full circle and I think it's time I give our girl the ending I didn’t get.

I love you all so much and words can describe how much I appreciate your support.

➢fic masterpost

PREVIOUS PART

Life in the past 48 hours had been… surreal.

You had confessed your love for your baby daddy and then found out that he reciprocated those feelings all before doing the equivalent of pushing a grape out of your nostril.

A baby.

A gorgeous baby girl.

Gorgeous didn’t quite cover it, yet finding a word that described the transcendent beauty of the soul you’d brought forth into this world escaped you, as did a name for the said beauty.

For the time being the angel made human was currently known as TBD or more affectionately Tee. The two of you had been trying out names but a new baby and totally requited feelings didn't automatically cancel out a life-time of bickering.

Your problem was there wasn’t a name you’d heard that actually sounded like her and Ben, god love him, had a habit of picking names from a nursing homes register; Ethel, Millicent, Edith - I could go on.

He liked old fashioned names, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though it didn’t lend itself to easy compromise.

So, Tee, she remained with test names thrown in sporadically with hopes that a winner would stick, ideally before her 18th Birthday.

Whilst the name vetoing annoyed the hell out of you there wasn’t any real friction. The name discussion never became heated, if a name was vetoed you moved on to the next accepting the decision of the other person.

It was a healthy co-parenting dream.

Despite the pending conversation that loomed over you both, things weren’t awkward - quite simply because you didn’t have the time for it to be!

Mia (Nah) didn’t leave you much time for it.

Whilst she was a dream for sleeping, the time afforded to you both was spent sleeping or preparing the house for her awakening. She was beautiful, but exhausting - a lot like her father.

So it only made sense that when you got your first minute of peace, after a long nap, now in your own bed and fresh pajamas; that the innermost workings of your heart would come to the surface.

To the backing track of Modern Family, you planned and plotted your conversation word for word. Time allowed for dramatic pauses and longing gazes were of course included. When you began planning his lines you realized enough was enough and rose from your bed.

Sure, after looking in the mirror, you’d had better days for your self confidence - ones where you weren’t rocking an adult nappy. But beggars couldn't be choosers and if you let it run in circles anymore you were afraid your brain would just combust.

There was a huge part of you that was excited after all this was years in the making, but then that small, human part of you was screaming at you to temper your expectations.

How often does someone get everything they want? When did your life become a fairy tale?

You didn’t think Benny would flat out turn you down, but what if he couldn’t live up to what had been in your head.

For the first time, in a long time, you decided to ignore your brain - self preservation be damned.

With a turn on your heel in a matching silk pajama set and a goddamn adult nappy you proudly began your descent down the stairs.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for when you rounded the corner.

There on the sofa he lay, utterly shirtless. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him like this, in fact you’d actively avoided his fights after you had ‘broken up’ for this very reason because one look at those rippling shoulders would’ve tanked any remaining resolve or feminism left in your body.

It would also be remiss to add that your daughter lay on his chest for what you assume was skin-to-skin time. Somehow, it both melted your heart and stoked a fire within you - having a child was strange. Since when was being a good Father a kink for you?

“Pssst.” You whispered under your breath, trying to get his attention without waking the bean. It took another two tries before he finally looked up confused and then fixed you with that beaming smile.

“Well… good mornin’, Mama.” His voice was deep from lack of use and he looked utterly exhausted yet his smile was as big as ever.

You couldn’t help your own grin at his words as you pressed your attack and kneeled at his side. For a moment your hand stroked at the valley of her spine, before your palm came to rest on his bare shoulder.

How the hell could two people so clueless make something so absolutely perfect?

After a moment or two spent lost in pure adoration you lifted your gaze to Ben. His eyes hadn’t left your face since he became aware of your presence.

You couldn’t help it.

Now was the time for words not for actions that had made this hole you were currently buried in, and yet …

You let yourself get lost in those eyes and pressed your lips against his.

It was soft.

Softer than anything the two of you had ever known.

Neither one of you pushed for more, you simply indulged in the closeness that had been hard won to come so easily. The hand not cradling your daughter to his chest, rose to hug your cheek as you parted.

“Where did that come from?”

“I’ve been meaning to do it since the hospital, but the nap helped me put my ducks in a row, I guess.”

Benny rose into a sitting position, slowly, mindful of the sleeping infant on his chest.

He laid her in the moses basket at the foot of the sofa and pressed the white noise machine. Mozart began playing softly, lulling her into a deeper sleep.

Finally, Benny turned back to you, his eyes serious. “I wasn’t sure if you regretted saying what you did… if it was the heat of the moment… y’know the fear.”

You contemplated for a single moment.

“I meant every word.”

The problem with you and Benn had always been that you both approached your relationship with one foot out the door, whoever cared the least won. It was the way you both protected yourself.

It was only now you were realizing the commitment issues had gone both ways, for a time at least. It was easier if you played with no skin in the game, there was nothing to lose. But now, you had everything to lose and you didn’t want to waste a single moment playing the stupid games you’d wasted so many years of your life devoted to.

“Every word?”

“Every. Single. One. Especially the ones about your lame singing.” You couldn’t help your grin that snuck out as you teased him.

“Lame? I’m sorry it's that gruff, sexy singing that made your ass love me.”

“God. I wish I could take it all back, but I do Benny, I fucking love you.”

All through your back and forth he’d been advancing. It was as if your words prompted him to pounce. His hands were planted on your cheeks, as he gave you a part of himself in an all consuming kiss.

It was like he was trying to explain all his feelings, all the hurt and frustration and love he’d felt in one kiss.

As his tongue brushed yours and his hands trailed the sides of your body to pull you against him, your hands found his shoulders as you attempted to pull him closer, as if that was even possible.

The two of you had been at war for so long, so afraid to give eachother any part of yourself. The air was thick with emotion, your hormones were all over the place as tears began to leak from your eyes.

Relief, joy, love - you couldn’t name one emotion entirely but it was some combination of the three. With your kisses you promised to start anew, to fix what was broken and forget all the hurt you had caused one another.

You were going to do your best for her, for your Joy.

Unable to stop yourself, you grabbed at the waistband of his sweats, finding the warm skin of his toned stomach. That seemed to bring him back to reality as he grabbed your hands and placed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily through his nose in what you assumed was an attempt to gather his self control.

“Angel, you’re gonna start something you can’t finish, by my reckon… for at least 6 weeks.”

“Let me take care of you.” You breathed, dropping your kisses lower to his neck.

“No, baby. We’re doing this right. I’m not gonna cum in your mouth and then leave you to carry on with your day aching in both ways - at least not till you can return the favor in mine.” He kissed your forehead chastely, as if he hadn’t just promised to eat you out the second your pussy was healed.

“Benny.” You whined.

“I don’t care Y/N. We’re doing this right, I’ve fucked this up too many times.”

“I guess 6 weeks isn’t too long… right?”

WRONG.

FOUR WEEKS-ish LATER

No closer to a name. - LIST OF REJECTED NAMES : Charlie, Charlotte, Catherine, Joy, Ruth, Charlotte, Courtney, Jennifer, Rosamund, Rosalie, Rosemary, Roselyn, Rosalind, Rose, Bella.

5 ADULT Diapers.

64 BABY Diapers.

57 Bottles of Formula.

32 Days of Blue balls.

The newest development since the clearing of the air was that Benny had proposed dates.

For the first time since reproducing you got dressed up (in jeans and sweater) and went and got tacos and it was… nice.

It was just like the old days back when you were just friends, only now there was a baby at the table and he’d proudly hold your hand.

Though, it was still Benny. So he constantly teetered on the edge of gentlemanly courtship as he caressed the meat of your thigh as the two of you sat closely in the booth; and you loved it.

You had been on about five PG13 dates since and life was kinda perfect, your daughter was beautiful and whilst picking a name was a struggle, it was coming along.

So it was fitting that your perfect life shattered around you on a random Saturday morning.

“Sure Jaz, I’ll meet you at 11…. Okay, see you soon.” You heard from the man currently cradling your daughter in his arms as he gave her a bottle.

God, you wished you had more faith in your shiny new relationship, that you didn’t immediately jump to anger.

Alas, rage was an old ally and you leapt into his eagerly awaiting arms.

Every single doubt and unfair suspicion raised to your tongue as he turned to face you. He fixed you with an easy smile, clearly none-the wiser about the eye of the storm he was currently wandering into.

“Ben... I’ve gotta’ ask. It's been weighing on me for months… but who the fuck is Jaz?”

He blanched, his eyes looking down to your daughter as if she at 4 weeks old was capable of critical thinking. It clearly wasn’t what he was expecting when it left your mouth. He looked… somewhere between embarrassed and guilty.

It was then your eye caught the bottles that hadn’t been rinsed. They were abandoned on the marble, left to sour. That all but sealed his fate.

Sure, if you weren’t actively plotting his and his secret girlfriend's demise, you may not have overreacted. But in that solitary, ugly moment, that basic lack of regard he held for you and your relationship was encapsulated by his inability to complete the singular god forsaken chore that was his.

The guy didn’t have a chance to respond before you were at the sink filling the washing up bowl with foamy water. The aroma of sour milk as you unscrewed the bottle lids only served to stoke your fires as you all but threw the stinking bottles in the water, splashing yourself with suds as you did.

“Do I have to do everything?!”

“Y/N…”

“Sometimes, Ben…”

“What the fuck - can we just rewind or can you explain what exactly it is you think i’ve done?!” He is incredulous as he places your daughter in her soothing swing chair, his arms now raising in surrender.

“You need me to explain?” You huff, stoney in disbelief at his gall.

“For god sake Y/N… leave them, I’m gonna get to them after this one.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve learnt not to believe you when you say things and do the complete opposite…”

“Do the complete opposite?” You heard clear as day the anger building in his voice. “If you wanna say something, then fucking say it!”

“FINE! I’ll say it! “ You slammed the last bottle in the bowl and turned round, wiping your hands on a tea towel as you fixed your gaze on him. “I thought you were happy taking it slow, I thought you wanted to be with me. But no, Jaz. AGAIN..”

He let out a light laugh, one that held no humor. “Christ sakes, Y/N - Jaz is a client! - I’m a fuckin’ personal trainer!”

“SHE’S- Oh-”

“Yeah - Oh.” His arms were crossed across his chest and his eyes had hardened.

“I - I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“To go from a soldier, to a fighter, to a glorified crossfit instructor … just a little humiliating, Y/N.” His voice was flat and dejected as he spoke.

At that moment, you were utterly ashamed.

“Ben… I am so -”

“Yeah. You’re sorry. But that's the thing, no matter how much I apologize or tell you how I feel about you, it's never enough. Y/N why are we even bothering when you clearly still don’t trust me.”

“Ben, I-”

“No, Y/N. It's not fair. I’ve been a good Dad and to be completely honest I’ve been a pretty stellar boyfriend, and yet all I get from you is fuckin’ accusations!”

You hadn’t seen Benny this angry outside of the of the ring in a long fucking time. Yet you weren’t afraid of him as he came to stand before you, you knew Ben.

“I can’t do this. Not if you’re gonna hold on to every doubt you have about me and whip them out every time I do something to piss you off, I’m not perfect Y/N.”

“I’m trying… Ben it’s not-”

“No. Listen, I told you. I told you how hard this was for me.” He stood before you, his shoulders sagged in defeat as his eyes shone with unshed tears. “I fucking poured my heart out to you, baby. I only want you and if you can’t trust that, then this isn’t going to work out and we need to stop and just be parents, because I’m not gonna live my life like this - instantly guilty for whatever shit your head dreams up for me.”

He picked up his cap from the dining room table and bent down to place a kiss on your sleeping daughter's forehead before he swiped his hair back from his face and placed the cap on top. Your fingers were aching from the grip you had on the counter.

“Well, I'm going to have some adulterous sex with my side piece Jasmine. Then I might swing by Flanagan’s on my way home for a threesome with an old flame. Who knows might make it a goddamn foursome!” Benny strolled out, he didn’t slam a single door. Always conscientious of the baby.

Goddamn you felt like shit.

It was hard to admit that you were wrong.

All joking aside, you weren’t used to it. You never went into battle half cocked, which meant all arguments were mentally vetted before you championed a cause. But no matter how you sliced it, this time you were unequivocally wrong.

You had come at him with such anger. God, you should’ve just calmly asked him who Jasmine was. Why did you automatically assume the worst?

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda - Didn’t do any good now.

Simply put, you had been a dick, to a man who had been nothing short of amazing to you.

It was as you stood frozen leaning against the counter top that you began to realize you’d never fully forgiven Ben for what happened a year ago. The toll that had taken on your self worth and your confidence.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. You had promised yourself when starting this back up you’d forgive everything from the past, but you supposed that was hard when he’d never really apologized.

That was petty, you reasoned.

You knew he was sorry.

The two of you had jumped straight back into dating, deciding to try and have the perfect love without the deep connection which came from talking through the nitty gritty.

How could you be so surprised when it bubbled up in these ugly ways?

Deciding to resolve these difficult thoughts with Benny when or if he returned, eased the ache within yourself a tiny bit.

Placing the baby monitor beside your sleeping daughter you decided to prepare yourself for that conversation.

You made it through one life affirming shower and half of your skincare routine before her wails demanded your presence.

“Mommy’s coming baby.” You spoke through the monitor using it as a walkie talkie. It was hard not to flash back to your service days as you used it. You were half way down the stairs reminiscing on the good ole days when you weren’t a complete asshole, when you heard a male voice whispering to Tee on the monitor.

It was instinctual; you didn’t even think, you just moved, taking the stairs two at a time, stopping only to grab a weapon or, as it is more commonly known as, a broom.

“GET AWAY FROM HER ASSHOLE.” You wielded the broom like a hockey stick ready to swing on the assailant. As you rounded the corner and were stupefied to find Benny there with your daughter, his eyes wide as you entered the room ready to assault him.

“Y/N?!”

“BENNY. OH MY CHRIST. I thought - “ In a single moment you instantly drop the broom and grab your baby from his arms, planting kisses all over her face and head.

“Oh my god, you scared mommy, Tee. Yes you did. My heart, oh fucking christ. I didn’t expect you back.”

“What can I say - I didn't fancy the orgy today.”

“Daddy’s very funny, Sienna.”

“Sienna… Sienna Miller?” Benny narrows his eyes over the top of his Starbucks takeout cup.

“Veto.” You both say in unison despite your argument.

Tee whined in your arms, amping up for a wail.

“She didn’t finish her bottle before she fell asleep earlier.” Ben pointed out to the half empty bottle waiting to be washed up. Your stomach dropped at the mere sight of the cause of your hissy fit earlier.

“Are you hungry, beautiful girl?” You crooned to your baby after a pause. Adjusting the robe you had thrown on after your shower. “I’ll feed her and then we can talk?”

He nodded, his face giving nothing away. It was strange to be stonewalled by Ben. Usually every thought that crossed his mind was mirrored on his face.

Taking a seat in the love chair you’d set up in the lounge for this exact purpose you exposed your breast. You had been doing a half breast half formula feeding pattern so that Ben could pitch in.

She latched on quickly, but never as quickly as she did the bottle. A tiny part of you was disappointed, as you’d always had images of breastfeeding your child. But with a low milk supply you’d had little option but to supplement with bottles, but beyond the bonding aspect you had no qualms with the bottle.

Tee was slowly falling asleep as she drank and after about five minutes she was gone to the world.

Feeling guilty all while, you held her to your chest after rearranging your robe. You should be speaking to Benny about your regrettable words earlier and yet you couldn’t force your legs to move. Telling someone you had been a complete dick wasn’t a fun thing to do.

So it made sense after about ten minutes of hiding that Benny appeared with the moses basket in toe for your sleeping angel.

You nodded thankfully and silently you handed her off to him, making sure that your entire chest was covered.

He placed her in the far corner of the room, far enough away that your voices - if they were kept below a shout - wouldn’t wake her.

He took a seat to your right, there was about a meter between you. It was all so stiff, like a business meeting as you each waited for the other to speak.

“So.” He muttered avoiding eye contact.

“I’ll start. I’m sorry Ben. You didn’t deserve that.” His eyes rose to meet yours. “I want this to work. I meant it, I want to leave it all behind and I thought I could - just forget everything, I mean. But I can’t. I think, well, I think we need to talk about it.”

“Y/N-”

“No, Ben, please. I’ve thought about this for like twenty minutes in the shower.” You left your seat to sit beside him. “I know you don’t like… feelings. I don’t either, it's awkward. But, I need to get through this to get over it, y’know?”

“I think I do.” He nodded. You took his hand in yours.

“I’m not making excuses, I’m sorry I lost my shit this morning. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. When I heard her name, I was right back there. Pregnant and alone and just completely unsure about everything; in love with a guy who I didn’t think felt the same. It was terrifying … And I’ve never told you that. It messed with my head everything that happened last year.”

“Right back where?... When you heard her name?”

“At the baby shower.”

“Oh Y/N, you should've asked!”

“Why? We weren’t together.”

“I started as a PT about a month after Christmas. After I found out and the hospital - It's a hell of a lot safer and the pay’s more steady. I’m still training with Will but the fights are gonna’ be … fewer. I wanna be around.” His hand clutched in yours tightened his thumb on your fingers forcing you to look up.

“You’re such a good Dad. I’m so sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t” Your hand rose to his face.

“I am so sorry. I haven’t said it have I? But I am. That night you told me you wanted more and I shut you down, I broke your heart. I don’t want anyone else, only you. I need you to hear me.”

“I do Ben, I do.”

“No, Y/N. I want you to be my wife, I want you to have more of my babies. You’re the only one for me, I think of you when I wake up, before I go to sleep - there hasn’t been a day in the past ten years I haven’t thought about you. I will never hurt you like that again, I fucking promise you.”

Tears sprung to your eyes as your heart began to heal, it felt so full as you sat beside him basking in his words.

“I fucking love you Benny.” You grabbed his cheeks pulling him into a kiss. It started off lighter before it began to deepen.

Teasingly you flicked your tongue against his gaining access, biting his lip you pulled yourself onto his lap to get a better angle on your exploration of his mouth. Through his jeans you felt him begin to swell as he pressed against the linen of your robe.

It had only been three weeks, but you were desperate for him to be inside you. Compromise was the name of the game.

He pulled away from your mouth, which you were fine with, you knew the words about to leave his lips. Which is why you decided to be persuasive as you trailed kisses down his neck.

“Baby, no, you’ve only just had a baby, c’mon.”

Smothering kisses against his warm skin, he smelled deliciously of the Calvin Klein aftershave he always spritzed on before leaving the house. You moved your hips against his, which prompted him to grab them. His large hands splayed across your ass, holding you still as he attempted to maintain some semblance of self control.

“You can’t go inside, but we can still have fun.” You whispered into his neck. “Besides, you’re the injured party, I have an apology to make.”

“Well…” He moaned as you playfully bit at his warm flesh “You were mean as hell, baby.”

With Benjamin's help you shrugged the linen dressing gown from your shoulders. Instantly you were completely exposed before him. His eyes zeroed in on your swollen breasts, sure he’d seen them in passing but never so freely exposed and at eye level.

Hands gentle as always rose to cup them. Those gorgeous fingers skirted around your nipples making your hips rut down against his hardened member.

“Sensitive.” You explained before he placed kisses on them. He kissed along the underside of your breast before lathering his tongue around your nipples. His gaze lowered and his palms skirted along your sides before they landed on your ass.

You couldn’t help your self consciousness, the last time this man had seen you naked you’d been a size Y/S. Now you had some fresh stretch marks and a stomach still swollen from your child.

However, all your self consciousness went out the window the second he squeezed at the meat there and pulled you down against his jeans, his hips thrusted up in time, almost unintentionally.

The fabric was causing some delicious friction against your clit, yet you wanted more.

“Is this okay, you’re not in pain?” He asked resting his forehead against yours.

You kissed his lips as you held onto his jaw.

“No. I want more.”

“You can’t have more, your sweet pussy needs more time before I ruin it.” He smirked before claiming your mouth with his tongue, putting all his filthy promises behind it.

“No, but you can.” You leaned backwards and began to undo his zipper. His hands came up to stop you before he remembered your words from earlier.

Finally, you set him free. He was bigger than you remembered, straining up against Ben’s belly. You couldn't resist as you rubbed your bare heat against him. You were sopping as his cock came away wet.

Benny groaned, one hand squeezing the meat of your ass and the other staying firmly on your hip, just in case you tried something. You grabbed his chin, joining your mouths in a deep kiss, once more you dropped your hips, your clit bumping against the head of his cock in the most delicious way before you slid along his shaft.

Once again he groaned, this time into your mouth which you greedily swallowed up. Playfully you bit at his lip, touching your tongue once more to his just to give him a preview of how talented it could be.

He began to help you as he pushed his jeans further down his thighs frantically as you moved off of his lap and fell onto your knees between his legs.

Your mouth watered as you stared at his pulsing cock, now covered in your own wetness. You couldn’t help a smirk as his head dropped back on the couch as he tried to give you space to work.

Slowly, playfully almost, you stroked his length and you couldn't help a small smirk as his hips thrusted into your palm. Right where you wanted him, he was fighting a losing battle of control.

With no warning you leaned down and swiped your quick tongue along the head of his cock. If the groans had added to the flood below the belt, the broken call of your name had you practically gushing.

Leaning forward to get a better vantage, you sneakily pressed your heel into your clit. It alleviated some of the pressure but nowhere near enough.

All at once you took his length into your mouth, his cry was absolutely gorgeous as he grabbed at his own thigh.

Your tongue lathered the veins that hid on the underside of his cock. It was wet and messy and he was quickly falling apart in your mouth.

He was fighting the urge to fuck your mouth as he gripped at his thighs in solidarity, you wanted him to bruise the back of your throat with his thrusts.

You reached up and grabbed his hand, currently grabbing at his thigh and placed it into your hair. It was an open invitation, to let himself go. To stop being so polite and sorry, to go back to fucking you the way he used to.

It was an invited he RSVP’ed immediately. His hands immediately began guiding your face up and down his cock, pushing your face down so that the head of his dick nudged the back of your throat.

Your gag constricted around his cock which made his head roll back in pleasure. His hand loosened its hold on your hair, almost asking permission.

With a roll off your eyes you dropped your head harder than he had, his cock was practically in your esophagus, but it showed him you could take it.

“Yes, baby. Fuck - you suck cock so good.”

Unable to help it you grinded against your heel, desperate for the sweet relief of his touch, but unable to receive it.

You noticed the pressure building as his stomach began taut as he continued fucking your face.

Taking back control, your hands found his balls and rolled them between your fingers caused him to groan as that pressure increased.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna-” His cry was all you needed as you as you took his entire length in your mouth. You fought the urge to gag as you reminded yourself to breathe through your nose. His come spurted hotly down your throat as you swallowed every damn drop of it.

@sixshooter665 @queenie-b- @rambling-in-purple @anaaaispunk

@miraclesabound @kravitzwhorehore @ahsokathearcher @xoxabs88xox @heresathreebee @psychadelichues @marauderskeeper @tanzthompsonn @mermaidxatxheart

#benny miller fic #benny miller smut #benny miller x reader #triple froniter #triple frontier fanfiction #benjamin miller #benny miller #benny miller x you

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crazyk-imagine · 11 months

Text

How an Argument Ends (Benny)

Will // Frankie // Santiago

This idea came to me out of nowhere. I’m happy to have been able to write so much with my three-day weekend!

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- It started off over something stupid

- You knew it, he knew it

- Then he said something he shouldn’t have and didn’t realize it at the time

- You didn’t blow up in his face, wanting to give him time to cool off

- He didn’t, then you blew up

- You leave him alone and give him the silent treatment

- He doesn’t leave your side and doesn’t stop following you around

- He keeps asking you questions, waiting for you to break

- It takes you a couple of days before you crack

- At that point you and him sit down, to have a long talk and say your apologies

- He may or may not have persuaded his way into some really hot makeup sex

- That also lead to Benny saying some very heartfelt things which, may or may not, have led you to crying (happy tears, of course)

- That freaked him out because he thought he might have hurt you or said something wrong

- Lying in bed, you two face one other

- It gave you two the opportunity and time to make up for all the missed laughter and inside jokes you two make on the daily

#Triple Frontier #triple frontier imagines #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier headcanon #Benny Miller #benny miller imagine #benny miller imagines #benny miller headcanon #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller fic #benny miller fanfic #crazyk-imagine

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 8 months

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Synopsis - They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to four guys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the boys told you they loved you.

Pairing - Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Santiago Garcia, Benny Miller x Female Reader.

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - is it weird that I have sort of compared each boy to a room in the house? maybe! but we're rolling with it, because it worked in my head. this is the first of a few fics like this, much like Tethered, Time and Tranquility - I have a few different TF boy comparison ideas. love these babies so much. <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You follow the laughter floating down the hallway into your backyard. Standing against the doorframe, you watch as the boys double over in amusement while Benny reenacts the time Frankie fell in your pool. Their faces are illuminated by the golden glow of the fairy lights adorning your deck, moonlight shining down.

"And none of you helped me! Hermosa had to come and rescue me! At least I know who loves me the most," Frankie chuckles, tilting back in his chair to catch your eyes.

You make your way over and kiss him on the cheek, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I don't think there was ever any debating that. You've always been my favourite," you coo, ruffling his hair gently.

"Give us a break," Benny teases. "We all know I'm your favourite, sweetheart."

Santiago scoffs and jabs Ben in the ribs, yelping when the younger man elbows him in retaliation.

"Cariño, put them out of their misery. Tell them I'm your favourite."

You catch eyes with Will, who's grinning at you across the table. He doesn't even have to say anything. He raises his eyebrows and winks at you, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. You can't help but smile back.

"I mean, Will is currently very high on the list, because he built this table for me today."

Everyone groans as you and Will laugh, knocking on the table to check his handiwork.

"You did a good job," Frankie praises, kicking at a leg to see if it holds.

"I built your couch!"

"You can't build a couch, Ben."

"He did! It needed assembling!"

Benny blows you a kiss, thanking you for the assist.

"I did most of the painting," Santiago chimes in.

"Until your weak ass knees gave in," Frankie laughs.

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

"Me and Hermosa tiled her bathroom. That took fucking forever."

"Frankie, I told you that I'd call a guy for that, and you told me you were the guy."

"You can't tell me those tiles aren't gorgeous."

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

"You're right. They are. I admire them everytime I shower."

"Ooo, tell us more," Benny teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Pervert," you and Will say in unison, both shaking your heads.

You settle into the chair next to Frankie, popping the cap off your beer.

"I honestly don't think I'd have any furniture without you guys. This house wouldn't be a home if it wasn't for you."

All of their attention is on you, focusing as if you're the only girl in the world. You feel like it sometimes, when you're all together.

"I can't believe you've been moved in for an entire year," Santi muses. "Feels like only yesterday we were helping you unpack all those boxes."

"Time flies when you're having fun," you beam at him.

As the evening settles and the sun begins its descent, you start to think about just how many parts of the boys live in your house. The furniture, the paint, the lights. At least one of them helped you with basically every single element. You think of all the memories filled with happiness and laughter that have happened here over the last year, and your eyes well with tears. You meant what you said, earlier. Your house wouldn't be a home without them.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

You're tangled with Ben on your newly assembled couch, a cheesy romcom acting as background noise. We have to test it out, he'd said. Just in case.

So here you are, nestled into his side, strong arm slung over your shoulder to pull you closer. You sip your drink, paying virtually no mind to the movie. You're making a mental list of all of the things you still need to do for the house - tile the bathroom, buy a lawnmower, paint literally every room. But the couch is a start.

"I can hear the cogs turning in that brain of yours," he laughs, pinching your side. "We're supposed to be relaxing. You know, really getting a feel for the couch."

"Right, right. Sorry," you chuckle, nudging him with your shoulder in retaliation. "Just thinking about all of the shit I've gotta do."

"Hey, we've got plenty of time. And you've got four guys ready to do whatever needs to be done. There's no rush."

Exhaling loudly, you realise he's right. There is no rush. Yes, you may have a never ending list of things you need to get done, but there's no time limit. You can take each job as it comes.

You turn your attention back to the movie, discovering that it's actually half decent. By the time you're an hour into it, you and Benny are laughing along. It's a sweet coming of age story, two teenagers falling in love for the first time.

You watch as the two characters share a kiss, all clumsy hands and unsure touches. You smile, and start to think.

"This bringing back memories, Ben?" you tease.

"Oh yeah. First time I ever made out with a girl, I couldn't get her bra undone. I was trying to give her a hickey at the same time, and I snapped the clasp against her so hard I made her bleed. Safe to say, we didn't make out again."

Both of you are crying with laughter, vibrating the couch with it.

"I can see the image so clearly. Teenage Ben with his frosted tips and his puka shell necklace. Bet you broke some hearts, huh?"

"Shut up," he chuckles. "I got tonnes of girls back then."

"I'm sure you did," you joke, pinching his cheeks.

He pinches your thigh and pulls you closer, settling back into the cushions.

"You know, I've never had one," you say after a while.

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

Ben pulls away and turns to face you, looking at you incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Never got one as a teenager. Now I'm a grown ass adult, I always warn my partners not to leave marks. Guess I just missed out on the whole hickey thing."

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

You quirk your brow and turn your body towards him, putting some distance between you to look at him properly.

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

He laughs, and the sound makes you smile so wide it's blinding.

"No games, baby."

"No?"

"I believe getting a hickey as a teenager and having to figure out how to cover it up in embarrassment is a rite of passage. And I'm weirdly sad you missed out on it. So, I'm offering to give you that experience."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Exactly. Because I am a kind, selfless, giving guy."

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laugh. "Show me what you've got, makeout king."

He chuckles at the nickname, but grabs your thighs to pull you closer. Benny plants a knee between your legs and leans over you, using a strong hand to hold onto your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, and brace yourself for his lips.

Instead, he takes his time. He noses up your neck, and then traces the path with the tip of his tongue. He blows onto your heated skin, making you shiver. Humming at your reaction, he leans in again, and connects his lips to the spot underneath your ear, kissing it softly.

"Benny," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"Whatever you want, baby."

Benny picks a spot on the side of your neck and sucks. When he's satisfied, he grazes his teeth over the mark, and uses his tongue to soothe the sting. Your eyes roll back, and you cant your hips into his knee between your legs.

You both lose yourself in the moment, chests heaving and breath panting. You separate yourselves to look at one another for a moment, neither of you breaking the gaze.

Suddenly, you burst into a fit of laughter, unable to stop it escaping. Within seconds, Benny joins you. Before you know it, you're both crying tears of joy, sides hurting and abs aching.

"Oh shit," you choke out between giggles. "How the fuck am I gonna cover this up?"

"That's half the fun, baby!"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking his side. "You're the worst."

"I love you too," he grins. "You're the best."

And when the rest of the guys ask what happened the next day, you and Benny discover that you make good improv partners. No one questions your elaborate story involving the couch and a runaway screwdriver. Benny winks at you cheekily, and you can't help but smile.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

Repeated knocking at your front door breaks you out of your reality TV induced haze. You check your phone for the time. 8:34pm.

You swing it open to be met with the sight of Francisco Morales. He has Ava perched on his hip, fluffy pink backpack held in his other hand.

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

"Hermosa, I'm so sorry for just dropping in with no warning. I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"Can I bathe Ava here? We're having some sort of plumbing emergency in our bathroom, and we can't get a guy out until tomorrow. I want her to have clean hair for when I take her back to her Mom's."

You wink at Ava, who sticks her tongue out at you cheekily. You mimic her and smile, glancing back to her Dad, who looks like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders.

"Of course you can," you assure, reaching over to grab Ava from Frankie's arms. "Come on, baby girl. Let's get you clean!"

Frankie exhales a sigh of relief, and follows the two of you upstairs, locking the door behind him.

"Frank, did you bring shampoo and stuff, or shall we just use mine?"

He unzips the backpack and pulls out a couple of bottles.

"I have shampoo, and conditioner, but no body wash or anything."

You root around in your cabinet, finding a bottle with a label that contains words like sensitive and hypoallergenic.

"Vanilla and chamomile. Is that satisfactory for you, my princess?" you tease, grinning when Ava beams at you at the nickname.

You turn the water on and start to run the bath, trying to ignore the way you can feel Frankie's eyes on you as you bend over the tub.

"Bubbles, or no bubbles?" you ask, already knowing the answer. "Right. Stupid question."

"These tiles are hideous," Frankie says from behind you.

"Thank you, Frank. Appreciate it," you tease. "I'm gonna call a guy about getting it all retiled."

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

You look at him in confusion, before realising he's very serious.

"Do you... know how?"

"Hermosa, it's not rocket science. We can figure it out together."

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

"Okay. As long as you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't."

You smile at him before leaving and disappearing downstairs for a minute, trusting Frankie to watch the water.

"Where did you go?" he asks on your return.

"I just put a towel in the dryer, so it's warm when she gets out of the tub."

Frankie steps over to you and cradles your face in his hands, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. He's always been good at that - saying so much without saying a word.

"Princesa, you need help?" you ask, laughing as she struggles, head stuck in her shirt.

Soon enough, Ava's sat happily in all the bubbles, splashing around in the warm water. You and Frankie sit on the floor next to the tub, legs tangled and bodies pressed together. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you.

"Thank you for this. Seriously. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"It's no problem, Frankie. I love seeing her. Wish I saw her more."

"Me too," he says quietly.

You look up at him, and grab his chin so he meets your eyes.

"You're a damn good Dad, Francisco Morales."

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

"You are. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing a good job. I mean, look at her. She's happy, she's healthy, she loves you so much. What more could you ask for?"

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," he laughs, dipping his hand into the bath water to splash you. You splash him back, and before you know it, the three of you are completely soaked. Completely happy.

You eventually get around to cleaning Ava's hair, shampooing and conditioning as carefully as you can. She loves the fact she gets to use your body wash, and slathers herself in it, making you both smile.

You wrap her in the dryer warm towel and sit her in your lap on the floor, rocking gently as she snuggles into your chest. Frankie pulls you both against him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The three of you sit for a while, peaceful and content.

"I know I don't tell you enough," Frankie murmurs. "But I love you."

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

"You don't always have to say it out loud, but I know. The way you smile at me across a room, the way you always have one eye on me when we're in public, the way you trust me with Ava. You tell me you love me in a million different ways, every single day."

"I love you," he says again, surer this time.

"I love you. Both of you. So much."

When Ava falls asleep in both of your arms, you convince them to stay the night. The next day, she can't stop telling everyone about the best sleepover ever, with her Dad and her best friend.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

You're completely in your own world. An upbeat, catchy melody hums from the radio and radiates around the room as you slide across the tiles in your socks. You grab your mixing bowl from the cabinet, picking up the bottle of vanilla extract too.

Your hips are swaying, head nodding, feet tapping along to the beat. The sunlight is beaming through the kitchen window, keeping the room bright and warm. There's flour covering every possible surface, sugar sprinkled over the counters. An array of bowls, cups and spoons litter the worktops - a visual representation of your efforts. You've barely even began baking, only just having measured your ingredients. You've set yourself up for an entire day of preparation, ready for the exciting occasion.

You're humming away to yourself, completely oblivious, when two hands plant themselves on your hips from behind. You shriek and throw your elbow backwards, connecting with the person's ribs. You spin around to face your attacker, only to be met with the sight of Santiago Garcia hunched over.

"Fuck!" he groans, clutching at his side.

"Shit! Santi, fuck. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Welcome home to me, I guess," he laughs breathlessly.

"Are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Santi. I thought you were an intruder or something. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow!"

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

You finally calm your rapid heartbeat down enough to register what's happening. You grin at him, before running and jumping into his arms, holding onto him as tight as possible.

"I missed you so much," he breathes into your hair. "Four months is too long."

"I've been counting down the days," you whisper into his neck. "We all have."

He finally puts you down to take a good look at you.

"You look good, cariño. This dress is real pretty."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

He laughs, twinkle in his eye. The sun has kissed his skin while he's been away. He looks tanned, glowy, alive.

"Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up naked in your hot tub."

"Good times, huh?"

"I hate you," you chuckle, smacking him on the arm.

Santi looks around, and takes in the scene before him. Ingredients scattered, bowls full, oven preheated.

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

"Nothing? You've measured everything out. The oven is on."

You're trying to figure out a way to cover this up, to make up a lie as fast as possible, but it's no use. He can see right through you. You might as well be transparent when it comes to the boys.

"I'm making you a cake," you mutter quickly under your breath.

"What was that? Hmm?"

You roll your eyes and scoff, but give him what he wants.

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

"Yeah. I wanted to do something special for you coming home. Tomorrow."

"Sorry, cariño. I didn't know I was coming back early. Thought I'd make the most of it and surprise you."

"Well, now your surprise cake and your surprise party aren't a surprise anymore."

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

The two of you laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulder.

"Thank you, cariño. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"I wanted to. I'm so excited that you're back, Santi. There's so much I've missed doing with you."

"I made a list."

"Of?"

"Of things I wanted to do with you when I got back. It's what kept me going - thinking of going to that lunch spot with the sandwiches we like, our annual road trip to Cali. It kept me sane."

You turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up and press your forehead to his, both of you exhaling. You stay tangled together for a long moment, enjoying each others long awaited company.

"You know what was on the top of my list, though?"

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

"Fine, fine! Whatever you want, Santi. You can paint my kitchen if that's what your heart desires."

"It is," he grins. "I can think of nothing I want more. We'll do it this weekend."

"Okay," you smile. "Now, about this cake..."

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

"I love you," he tells you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone.

"I love you too. So much, Santi."

The two of you spend the afternoon baking Santiago's cake, singing and dancing around the kitchen. You turn a blind eye to him licking the spoon and sticking his fingers in the icing. You're just glad to have him back, annoying you again.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

"Can you pass me that screwdriver please, honey?"

You would, but you can't take your eyes off the man currently kneeling on your bedroom floor. His chest is glistening with sweat, warm in the morning sun. The light illuminates the room in balmy hues of gold, shadows dancing across your faces.

You and Will agreed to dedicate today to building all of your flat pack furniture. You've been sleeping on the floor for weeks, and it's finally taken a toll on your back. So, Will showed up bright and early, ready to tackle your bed, dresser, nightstands, desk, and whatever else presented itself. You were barely awake, still in your pyjamas, sleep heavy in your veins. But the sight of Will, toolbox in hand and smile on his face? That's enough to motivate anyone to assemble furniture all day.

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

He smirks at you like he's reading your dirty thoughts. He probably is, knowing him. If anyone you knew turned out to be telepathic, it'd be Will. You're convinced he was some sort of psychic in a past life.

"You okay over there?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You need a hand?"

"Come hold this up for me while I screw it in."

You shuffle over to sit next to him, leaning over to hold the piece he's gesturing towards. He's trying desperately not to look down your shirt, and you're trying desperately to ignore the way he smells like heaven.

"C'mere," he murmurs under his breath, scooting backwards so you can get closer to the bed frame. He grabs your hips and pulls you so you're sat between his legs, holding onto the wood steadily. He wraps his arms around you from behind and gets to drilling, placing the screws in perfect rows.

Every now and again, he stops to press a kiss into your hair, or onto your cheek. You smile every single time, heat creeping across your chest. He eventually changes his path, trailing the kisses down onto your neck, shoulders, back. You're breathing so heavily you wonder if you're about to pass out.

"I like this colour," he whispers into your ear.

It takes a moment for your mind to register what he said.

"...Hmm?"

"The colour on your walls. I like it."

"Oh," you murmur. "Santi helped me pick it. He was only gonna do the kitchen, but then we were on a roll, so we ended up painting every room in the house."

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you and encouraging you to relax. You lean back into him, resting your head on his firm shoulder.

"This place is really beautiful, you know," he says lowly. "It's so... you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"The best thing. Beautiful house for a beautiful girl."

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

The two of you sit intertwined for a while, reveling in the comfort the other person brings. After a while, Will speaks.

"Okay, strong girl, you wanna help me put the mattress onto it?"

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

"I mean, I could do it single handedly... but sure, I'll help you."

"That's my girl."

You both make light work of the mattress, picking it up and throwing it onto the frame effortlessly. Will helps you put on your sheets and pillows, standing back to admire his handiwork.

"We did a good job."

"You did a good job, Will. I just sat over there and stared at you the whole time."

"Thought I felt eyes on me," he laughs.

You don't know where it comes from, the sudden honesty. It creeps up your throat out of nowhere, clawing to escape.

"I'm always looking at you."

Will turns to look at you, confusion written across his face.

"No matter where we are, or what we're doing. The most interesting thing in the room is always you."

His features soften, gentle smile tugging at his lips. He strides towards you and cradles your face in his big hands.

"I love you," he tells you so sincerely it makes you want to cry.

"I love you, William Miller. My love for you is just so... overwhelming. Some days I just want to scream it from the rooftops. I don't know what else to do with it."

"Give it to me," he says without missing a beat.

"What?"

"All the love. Don't throw it into the abyss. Give it to me. I want it."

You grin at him, a bright, blinding thing. He reciprocates, before leaning down and smashing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your knees give out from the sheer love he's kissing you with, both of you tumbling to the floor.

You pull his shirt over his head, exposing his gorgeous, sun soaked skin. He's so broad it makes you clench your thighs together. He tugs your shirt off and throws it across the room, paying no mind to where it lands. The two of you don't separate your lips for more than a second.

He's rutting his hips into yours, the friction making you dizzy. You try and push his jeans down, fingers fumbling with the button. He takes pity on you and shoves them down himself, adding them to the pile of clothes scattered across the room.

Will wastes no time, throwing his boxers behind him and pulling your underwear down your legs. He pushes into you with effortless ease, both of you ready and eager. You unanimously groan in relief, panting rapidly. You claw at his shoulders, leaning up to connect your lips.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, hips gliding into yours.

"I love you," you gasp, resting your forehead against his. "I love you I love you I love you."

Will slides a hand down your body to rub quick circles between your legs, dipping his tongue into your mouth as he does it. He's swallowing your moans, licking the whines from your lips. He can't get over how sweet they taste.

"Come for me, honey. Give it to me, good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

You back arches off the floor, nails scratching down his back. Your vision goes white, stars clouding your view. Will groans, deep and low, spilling into you. You both ride out your highs while Will murmurs sweet sentiments into your ear, against your skin, into your mouth.

He collapses onto you, smothering you with his weight. You don't mind. Every part of your body is touching a part of his, and it still isn't close enough. It'll never be close enough. You could sew yourself into his ribcage, and you'd still want to be closer to his heart.

The only sounds that can be heard are two sets of heaving lungs. When you've snapped back to reality, you thread your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails across his scalp and smiling when he leans into your touch.

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why did you just build me a bed, and then fuck me on the floor?"

He takes a moment to register what you've said, before breaking out into contagious laughter. He's vibrating against you, both of you high on each others company.

"I didn't even think," he wheezes. "Fuck, we're idiots."

"You can say that again," you chuckle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Will rolls off and lies next to you, linking his fingers with yours.

"You ready to keep building?"

As much as you'd happily stay where you are forever, it would be nice to have actual furniture in your bedroom.

"Let's do it," you say as you sit up.

You scramble around for your clothes, both of you beaming at each other as you get dressed. You walk over and wrap your arms around his neck, looking up at him.

"I can't wait for you to move in."

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait either. Two more months and my lease is up. Then you're stuck with me forever, honey."

"I wouldn't say stuck. More like the luckiest girl in the world."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Shut up," you laugh, grabbing the toolbox. "Let's build our furniture, shall we?"

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"You've made this place really beautiful, you guys."

"Beautiful house for a beautiful girl," Will grins at you across the table.

"Ugh, I hate when they do that," Benny complains.

"Do what?"

"Look at each other like that. It's like they're communicating through their minds, or something."

"We're silently talking about you, dipshit," Will teases, jabbing his brother in the side.

"Before the Millers kill each other, we bought you a present, hermosa. Think of it as a one year housewarming gift."

Frankie hands you a large rectangular parcel, wrapped carefully. You rip open the paper, discovering a large, ornate picture frame. In it, is your favourite picture in the world.

You and Will's first dance.

Frankie had taken the picture, unbeknownst to the two of you. You're both swaying to the music, arms wrapped around your husband's neck, completely lost in each other. Around you, the lights twinkle as your closest friends and family look on in awe.

"Frankie," you breathe. "Thank you. All of you. I love it so much."

"We thought you could hang it above your fireplace," Santiago offers. "In that big empty space."

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

"It's like the final piece of the puzzle," you whisper. "Now our home feels complete."

You trace your fingers over the frame, overwhelmed with adoration for the four boys staring back at you.

"I love you all," you tell them, glancing around the table. "So much."

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

The chorus makes you beam so bright, you're convinced your smile can be seen from space.

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

543 notes · View notes

rhoorl · 6 months

Text

Are You on Mute?

Pairing: Benny Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

AO3 Link

Summary: You’re working from home and on an important call when Benny returns from the gym and has other plans for you.

Warning: Smut, with some plot? Established relationship. Oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V (practice safe sex IRL), Benny Miller comes with his own warning. Unbeta’d. I wrote a lot of this on my phone so forgive any errors. A/N: Benny was just hanging out in my head waiting his turn as I write my other fics and then got impatient and kicked down a door and was like, hey, can you write something for me? So, this is it. I could not think of anything else until I got this down on paper. Here’s the initial mood board that got this idea kicked off.

You groan when your alarm goes off. The monthly meeting with your international-based team is the reason you’re up at this ungodly hour. Luckily, Benny is still fast asleep, curled on his side facing you. It takes everything in you to not lean over and brush the hair out of his face, but you don't dare disturb his peaceful slumber.

His hair has gotten so much longer since you first met. He’s never confirmed it, but you’re fairly confident now that he's intentionally grown it out over the past several months thanks to an off-hand comment you made one of the first times you trimmed his hair as a favor. You still remember how mortified you were when you let it slip that you thought he'd look hot if he grew it out. As embarrassing as it was, it finally gave him the push he needed to ask you out.

He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake up as you slip out of bed and pad over to the bathroom to get ready. Checking your phone, you remember that this morning consists of back-to-back meetings, including your department’s all-hands call where you are on tap to share your team’s updates for the month.

Since getting your promotion, your boss has been trying to give you more and more responsibility and this meeting is one of them. Even though you loathe public speaking, you appreciate the opportunity. And Benny is your biggest cheerleader too, so proud of not only how quickly you’ve been able to move up the ranks, but that you're finally back doing something you love.

Since you are going to be on camera quite a bit today, you decide to actually do your hair and put on some light makeup – a far cry from your usual work-from-home routine where you couldn't be bothered to put on contacts most days. You head into your walk-in closet, closing the door behind you so you can turn the light on and not disturb Benny, whose snores you can hear through the closed door.

You want to stay comfy so you decide to keep your sleep shorts on and just change your top to something professional. Oh, the joys of only appearing from the chest up in a small box on a screen. You grab your favorite sweater, laughing to yourself at the exchange you know you’re bound to have with Benny. He’s going to ask you how you can wear a sweater in Florida during the summer and you will remind him that it's because he and Will insist on keeping the house at a frigid temperature.

Heading back out to the room, you slip off Benny’s shirt you slept in and put on your bra followed by your sweater. You finish off the look with a necklace Benny got you for your birthday. He stirs a bit, stretching his long limbs and reaching for your spot in the bed as he yawns.

"Hey sleepyhead, got that early call, go back to bed," you whisper, leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead as he mumbles something about how pretty you look and turns over.

You rush to the kitchen to brew yourself a cup of coffee and grab a muffin your neighbor dropped off over the weekend. Settling into your desk you reach for your favorite pen and notebook, log onto your computer, and click on the calendar invite to launch your first Zoom call of the day.

The meeting drones on and on. About a half hour in, the door softly opens and Benny pokes his head in. He's thrown half of his hair up in a bun, the bottom section flowing down to his shoulders. He's dressed for the gym wearing a cut-off shirt and basketball shorts. Just the sight of him sends a delicious shudder through your body, remembering how he expertly took you apart last night.

"You on mute?" He mouths to you, eyes moving to your laptop.

"Yup," you quickly glance over.

"K, well, I'm gonna go to the office real quick and then the gym. Should be back by lunch."

"Sounds good."

"Love you. You're gonna kick ass today babe."

You smirk, looking over to him, "Thanks, Bun. Love you too. Say hi to Will."

He laughs at your nickname for him and softly closes the door.

The meeting ends early so you have time to get up, stretch, and refill your coffee. As you wait for it to brew you look outside, admiring the flower beds. Deciding you're due for a change of scenery, you relocate your things to the kitchen table for your next meeting.

________

You're second on the agenda to speak, the nerves starting to build as Tim from operations gives his update. Your boss pops into your shared chat with some words of encouragement that make you smile.

Your senior vice president then announces that you're taking over for your boss for today's update, congratulating you on your recent promotion. You take a deep breath, click yourself off mute, share your screen, and begin going through your PowerPoint deck.

You feel yourself absolutely crushing it, thankful that Benny let you run through your presentation the night before. You only have a few more slides left when you hear the garage door followed by the slam of Benny's car door a few moments later. He opens the door, stopping in his tracks when he sees you at the kitchen table.

“Sorry!" He whispers while wincing, looking apologetic.

Your eyes shift quickly from him back to your screen as you continue on with your update. Off camera, you wave him in so he tiptoes inside and drops his bag. Glancing up at him, you clear your throat, trying to not react. He clearly had a vigorous workout, his shirt clinging to him like it's painted on. He also has all of his sweaty hair wrapped up in a low bun.

A mischievous look flashes in his eyes, seeing how affected you are by the sight of him. You can feel his gaze on you as you continue. On another quick glance up you see him pulling his hair out of the hair tie, shaking his locks loose before flipping his head down and back. It's honestly not fair how good his hair looks after doing this, hair perfectly tousled and messy.

You lose your train of thought, pausing for a second to grab a sip of water to compose yourself. It doesn't help that you can see Benny out of the corner of your eye leaning against the kitchen counter looking at you. You just know he has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, loving the effect he has.

"Ok, I think that covers our updates. Any questions?" You ask, looking across the boxes on the screen for any follow-ups.

You groan to yourself when Renee from HR has a question, she never listens and always makes people repeat themselves on these calls. As you listen to her question, you look up from your screen to see Benny. He's got a dark look in his eyes and a half smile as he starts to peel his shirt off revealing the six-pack he's been working so hard on, much to your delight.

You let out a shaky breath before responding to Renee as he saunters around to sit opposite of you across the table, drinking the last of his water bottle. You see the bob of his Adam’s apple out of the corner of your eye.

Despite his intense stare, you cannot bring yourself to look at him, instead pressing your thighs together for some relief. The slick starts to pool in your underwear.

"Great, well, wonderful update, we'll move to events next," your senior vice president chimes in, continuing down the agenda.

You click the mute button and let out a shaky breath.

"You on mute?" Benny whispers in a voice lower than his natural register.

Leaning forward, you bring your elbows to rest on the table making a fist with your hands in front of your mouth to hide your lips as you talk.

"Yup."

"You're fucking amazing you know that." His eyes soften as your eyes shift to him, so much adoration on his face.

"Thanks, baby. And thanks for not making noise in the kitchen. But make yourself something to eat, you must be hungry."

"Oh, I'm starving sweetheart," he winks and you whimper. He's teasing you and having fun at your expense. "It was so hot watching you, boss lady. I'm just sittin' like, that's my girl, she's a badass."

You smirk, amused at how turned on Benny gets when you're in work mode despite the fact he really doesn't understand what you actually do. It was sweet how enthusiastic he always was in his encouragement of you and your pursuits.

"Well, thanks. But seriously, we have like another half an hour left so don't wait up. Eat.”

His tongue glides across his bottom lip as he cocks his head to the side, looking slowly from your eyes to your lips. “If you insist.”

He slides the chair back and drops to his knees, crawling underneath the table. You figure he must have dropped something until you feel his hand wrap around your ankle, causing you to yelp.

“Fuck you scared me,” you said behind clasped hands.

“Shh…you’re in your meeting,” he murmurs as he trails kisses up your calf, making you giggle.

You try hard to keep a poker face and not react as you feel both of his calloused hands grasp behind your knees. He keeps kissing up and down your legs, his stubble tickling you.

“B-baby, what’re doing, I’m on a call,” you’re nearly panting. He’s shuffling to readjust to find a better position. You know he can't be comfortable since his tall frame barely fits underneath the table as it is.

His mouth is greedier now, skimming up your knees to your thighs. He stops briefly as he moves his hands up to the waistband of your shorts. Again, you are trying to keep your face neutral when all you want to do is let your eyes roll back in your head and let him hear how much he is turning you on. Benny always loved how vocal you were. As his long fingers curl underneath your waistband you feel his frame move up as he tries to pull down your shorts.

“Shit,” he hisses as his head hits the table. “Fuck.”

“You ok?” you move your head down to look at him, finding his bright blue eyes looking up from between your legs under the table.

“Yea, uh…little help?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, bringing your index and middle finger to rest over your lips as you try to not move your mouth too much while you tell him you can’t fucking believe you’re doing this right now.

He palms your pussy causing you to exhale sharply. “You seem pretty ready to me,” he chuckles, tapping your hip so you can lift yourself up and help him take your shorts and underwear off in one move.

Your breathing is picking up now as you sit there bare, Benny between your legs, as you listen to Don from facilities drone on and on about…parking spaces? You honestly aren’t sure and have tuned out the meeting completely.

“Babe,” you whine, waiting for his next move as you slouch in the chair a bit to give him a better angle.

His fingers come to your folds, spreading your lips apart. You hear a low, guttural sound coming from under the table, making you squirm with anticipation over what he may do next.

He’s made strides in his oral game since you’ve been together. You suspect Frankie has something to do with it, knowing his friend has to have given him some advice or tips. Some of the new moves he’s put on you in recent months sound a lot like what Frankie’s girlfriend mentioned once when all the girls met up for a night out. Regardless of how he’s gotten there, you have benefitted from his willingness to practice and get better.

He licks a long steady stripe up before stopping to focus on your clit, flicking his tongue as his large hands come to knead your soft flesh from your hips to your ass. You rock into him off instinct, and you’re dying to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair and tug his face closer to you.

The steady murmur from the call suddenly stops and you refocus to see everyone staring at their screens like they’re waiting for someone to talk. It’s then you register Renee repeating a question directed to you.

You pull yourself off of mute, clearing your throat and trying to keep calm as you reiterate a point you previously made during the call. Meanwhile, Benny starts fucking you with his tongue. You cough to stifle your whimper, and you reach down to grasp Benny’s hair and pull him off of you. He kisses your thighs and you can practically feel his smirk, the smug bastard is loving this.

When you’ve sufficiently answered Renee’s question, you put yourself back on mute, triple-checking your screen before you chastise your boyfriend. “Benjamin Spencer Miller, you are a fucking menace.”

He snorts, “You love it.”

He starts working you over again, your breathing picking up as you stare at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of your computer screen. Benny can sense your frustration. He moves back to your clit, one of his fingers breaching your folds and pumping in and out of you, a second finger added not too long after. You lean back in your chair, bringing your palm over your mouth as you moan into your hand.

“Ok, well team, great updates from everyone. I’ll give you all back some time in your day. Have a great one.”

With a tight smile, you quickly wave to everyone on the screen before abruptly slamming your laptop shut and sliding your chair back.

Benny crawls from under the table, hands on the ground as he looks up at you, his chin glistening from your slick. His hair falls over his face, covering his eyes as he shakes it off.

You cock your head to the side and roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“You loved it,” he moves to kneel in front of you, his hands resting on your hips as he rubs circles. “Plus, I had to get you back,” he winked and then winced as he straightened his torso.

“Your back is killing you isn’t it,” you run your fingers through his hair.

“Yea, it really fucking is, that angle was shit” he laughs.

“Well, how about we go somewhere more comfortable?”

“When’s your next meeting?”

You look at the clock on your oven, “Don’t have another one til 1.”

“I guess that will do,” Benny says as he gets up and you see his shorts tented.

“Babe, that’s like in over an hour from now, I’m not gonna last long once you start again,” you giggle into his kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He works your sweater up and over your head and undoes your bra with one hand, eliciting a groan from you as he cups your breasts once they’re freed.

“It's not enough…could have you all day and it still wouldn't be enough,” he smiles into your kiss, walking you backward down the hallway to your shared bedroom.

Once you get to the room, he kicks the door shut behind him. “On the bed.” As you shuffle yourself up the bed he tilts his head from side to side. “Over under… three.”

You roll your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Benny. Seriously? You’re gonna make a bet on how many times?”

“Over or under three,” he persists with a mischievous smile.

You rest your elbows onto the bed, as you ponder your response. “Push.”

“Clever girl, Will teachin’ you about sports betting behind my back, huh,” he laughs.

“Benny. Please don’t talk about your brother while I’m naked, that’s like the biggest tease.”

He throws his head back laughing. “Sorry. Anyway, where were we?” He arches his eyebrow.

You open your legs for him, running your hands up your thighs as he takes off his shorts and practically sprints over to the bed, making you giggle. He has such a knack for oscillating between hot and sensual and downright goofy and you love him for it.

It doesn’t take very long until you’re screaming his name as he takes you apart with the deliciously lethal combination of his tongue and his fingers.

“There’s one.”

He doesn’t even look up at you as he starts again. Your grip on his hair presses his face so close to your pussy that you hope he’s able to breathe. You buck your hips up as he brings his forearm to rest on your lower stomach helping pin you down. It doesn’t take long until you feel the pressure starting to build as you spill over the edge.

“Two.”

You bring your hands up to your face, brushing your hair out of your face, and giggling. “I can’t believe you’re fucking keeping score.”

He chuckles as he skims up your body, stopping every so often to kiss or nip along the way. You can feel how hard he is as his dick rests along your thigh. He now moves his attention to your breasts - one of his favorite parts of you. You roll your eyes knowing that he stopped here because his competitive ass is definitely going to make you come one more time before he actually fucks you.

He alternates palming your breast and teasing your nipple between his thumb and middle finger. For your other, the one he realized long ago is the more sensitive of the two, he uses his tongue to flick over your hardened nipple before taking the rest in his mouth. He keeps at this for a while until your brain starts to short-circuit and your breathing grows ragged. You’re thankful that Will isn’t home because you can't help the sounds Benny is pulling from you.

“Three.”

“Ben I swear to God if you don’t get inside me right now.”

He looks up at you, a coy smile coming across his face, “Yes, ma’am.”

He shuffles to line himself up, and just as he’s about to push himself in you bring your hands to his shoulders and roll him over so you’re on top.

“Oh no, I get to play a little too,” you bite your lower lip as you lower yourself on him, both of you letting out a groan.

He brings his hands to your thighs, trailing them up your body. “Fuck, you’re still so fucking wet. You feel so good, baby.”

You start to rock, loving the way he feels. It’s his turn to throw his head back now, whimpering as you pick up the pace. The room is filled with squelching sounds and your combined moans.

“C’mon baby,” he pants.

“Fuck, Benny. S’good, I’m so close.”

He snaps his hips up a little harder and you feel him deeper, finding that spot that you never knew existed until Benny.

“B-Benny, fuuuuck,” you scream as you fall over, whimpering in his ear and you come again. It takes a few more thrusts before you feel him fill you up, a ragged moan coming from deep in his throat.

You both still for a moment, catching your breaths. He kisses you, cupping your face with one hand as you thread both of your hands through his hair to keep him where he is as you work through the aftershocks.

When you finally pull back, his eyes dart between yours before a mischievous smile comes back across his lips.

“Don’t you say it, Ben.” you roll your eyes, laughing at his feeble attempt to not crack up.

“Ok, I’m sorry.” He snorts before kissing you again. He groans slightly as you pull off of him and sits up on the bed, pulling you to his chest. “I love you.” He kisses the top of your head. “And I’m so proud of you, boss lady.”

This nickname still makes you laugh. It was refreshing to have a partner who not only cared about your career aspirations but who encouraged it and cheered you on.

“I love you too Buns.” You rub your fingers along his chest.

“You know who’s amazing?”

You laugh. He's going a bit overboard with the praise. “Who…me?”

He shakes his head. “No babe, me. I made you come four times. I win!” He pumps his fist.

“Jesus, of course, you’d say that,” you laugh, smacking him on the chest before cuddling into him, your safe place. “Shit, I really need to get back to work.”

“Anymore calls today?” He raised his eyebrow.

“A couple, but I’m taking them from the office because I know you can’t fit under that desk.”

“Ooo sounds like a challenge,” he waggled his eyebrows, tickling your side as you both laughed.

A/N: If you made it this far, thank you for reading! I’m still dipping my toes into the smutty waters, but how can you resist Benny?

I’m tagging @musings-of-a-rose @itspdameronthings @bloodyinspirationaldemon @laurfilijames @secretelephanttattoo @anavatazes @undercoverpena @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @trulybetty because you all either commented or reblogged my mood board - sorry if you didn’t want the tag!

#benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x reader #benny miller x female reader #benny miller #triple frontier fic #triple frontier

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