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starsexplodeatnight · 2 months

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Tf141 guys x Reader

Okay, Sooooo

I don’t know what this is per say, just

John Price x Florist!reader

Kyle Garrick x Dog-walker!reader

John Mactavish x Nurse!reader

Simon Riley x Preschool-teacher!reader

Price first!!!

This old dog is not having a good day. The first time you two meet? He’s looking to order a sympathy piece… a fallen solider. So, he’s not in the best mood when he enters your shop.

Then, you come out the back with your sweet smile. It feels like lip balm on chapped lips, soothing the cracks splintering his heart in this moment.

“Hi, I’m *Name*. Welcome, how can I help you?” With a soft look on your face.

Fuck him, he needs the kindness. You’re so understanding when he tells you, not overly patronizing just… kind. Understanding. You’d have to be, having to make arrangements and funeral pieces as much as you do.

While you’re quickly piecing the arrangement together you talk to him, just a natural flow of conversation. He does pause when you ask. “What do you want in the arrangement? What would you like it to look like?” “Sympathetic?” And you laugh. “Fair enough.”

He likes that laugh.

You hand him the arrangement and tell him how to take care of the flowers to make them last longer. Then give him this sweet, sweet encouraging smile…

Yeah, he comes back a week later. Up front asks: “You want to get dinner Love?” Makes you flush, your co-workers in the back giggling until you shoo them away. “That sounds lovely.”

‘Love really does bloom, doesn’t it?’ He muses.

Generally? Your life together is sweet.

You’re together for about a year before he proposed. He’s a man, he’s old enough to know what he wants. He wants to wake up with you ever morning with the safety of that ring around your finger. That, if anything ever happens to him? He could still provide even in his absence…

You hate it when he talks like that but, accept that you need to be realistic… deep down? It makes you feel loved. A painful, sorrowful, love.

He helps you when he can. Whenever he��s home? He’s at your shop helping you get any extra work done so you can spend as much time together as you can while he’s not deployed.

You need help assembling an arbor for a wedding? He uh- he has carpentry skills… let him help, love. He builds you the sturdiest arbor in the industry!

Deliveries? He’ll run those, he’s got time. He doesn’t mind. Warms his heart a bit to do some good delivering flowers to people… they get so happy when he shows up with flowers.

He helps you set up the flowers at weddings! He also refuses to do anything that puts him within the vicinity of the bride and her party! They mistook him as a stripper once, never again. Never again. He’s a happily married man, thank you very much!

What kind of male stripper wears a hat like his any way? Wrangler jeans and a L.L Bean shirt that’s probably older than the bride!!! It was actually very cute to see how steamed he was after that…

You make sure to give HIM flowers. Most men don’t get flowers until their funeral … You don’t want that to be John. He melts a little when you bring himself home flowers you arranged yourself just for him.

You’ve looked up and seen him leaning on the table with a rose between his teeth. As soon as you made eye contact, he wiggles his brows. It made you crack up, he did it just for that reason. A rare moment of silliness from your John.

Will judge other brides choices when you bring home the files for the weddings you’re hired for. But, nothing will ever compare to your wedding to him in his eyes because your wedding was the best. Ever.

He saved your bouquet, dried it and framed it. Gave it to you as an anniversary present.

He then played your wedding song and you two slow danced in a circle together…. Sigh…

Gaz!:

Kyle was on his morning run when he saw you. Across the street with a few dogs, you looked so fucking happy, that made you look so fucking pretty.

You’re wearing an over sized t-shirt, sweatpants and look frazzled as you wrangle 4 dogs at once. You don’t even notice the Adonis across the street as you try and regain steady footing as the dogs all do their best to keep you on your toes.

Brock the 3 year old yellow lab was a puller… and he is CHONKY so you didn’t have much time to pay attention to anything else.

Kyle now tries to ‘bump’ into you. Timing his run to make a meet cute happen. Fuck him if he’s already done his run and doesn’t see you only to spot you once he’s on his door step sweaty and gross! EVERY TIME!

He’ll try and go again even though his legs are burning. This? This stunt catches the dogs attention, not yours. You’ve got 5 today and they HAUL ASS to go see Kyle. And you’re just dragged to his feet.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! They’re all friendly, I swear!” You wheeze, Kyle laughs. “Don’t worry Luv! S’fine. It’s cute,” He’s not looking at the dogs, despite the Jack Russell ‘Shermie’ making eyes at him.

Ah ha! Kyle has ingratiated himself! He get’s so pumped as soon as he gets home! You invited him to walk with you! ‘Anytime!’ Fuck yeah! He does a fist pump and dances foot to foot.

He finds dogs are a good judge of character and, these dogs? They love you. And you are devoted to them despite them not being yours. He finds those qualities incredibly attractive.

Generally? You two are cute.

He’ll take the high energy dogs on jogs for you when you meet up. He can keep up with them! *subtle flex*

He despite his athleticism? He likes the small, slow dogs. Like the blind, cross eyed Shi tzu ’Louie’ and the grumpy old Bassett ‘Geraldine’

It gave him ample time to walk leisurely and talk to you… You, Gaz and Geraldine went on many walks together.

He love, love, loves whenever you send him a selfie of you and one of the dogs! He’s got a whole folder of them and the newest picture you send? That one is always his newest Lock Screen.

Has worn a dog papoose and, has carried a dog while wearing a dog papoose. He is not ashamed, you thought he looked cute. And he takes all compliments of any kind. Hell yeah he looks cute, thanks baby!

He loves those prissy little toys. ‘Teddy’ the Pomeranian is one of his favorites, Teddy just loves being held. Oh, Kyle looks so attractive holding that spoiled little poof… he’s so sweet and caring with it too. Fuck!

He holds you if one of your regulars dies. Losing an animal is hard, especially when you’d been walking that dog since it was a puppy… he’s here luv, it’s okay. His eyes are misty too because, he cared for that dog too.

He get’s a Bassett stuffed animal, ‘R.I.P Geraldine, you helped me find something worthwhile.’

He proposes to you that night.

You have a little Bassett hound topper on your cake as a small tribute to the dog that helped you get closer…

He will and HAS gotten between you and an aggressive dog. He doesn’t like hurting animals but, fuck if he was going to left anyone hurt his baby and her charges! Tries to beat the piss out of the owner.

His wedding gift to you? A dog. Not just any dog! He wanted to get you one that will keep you safe while he’s deployed and one that will help you handle your charges. So he get’s you a very highly trained Belgian malinois.

Her name is Gracie and she helps you both sleep better at night…

Soap!:

Oh, oh Soap. He get’s lambasted during a mission and gets put into hospital. His nurse? An over tired, over worked, grumpy woman who will not put up with Tom-fuckery during her shift.

In rolls in Soap: a battered pile of tenderized meat who immediately attempts a pick up line while she’s trying to make him comfortable. Oh, it’s going to be a long recovery.

Every goddamn shift! He’d light up every single fucking time you walk into the room! Oh, it makes you want to smother him with a pillow -cute aggression-

It’s not fair! You wanted to hate him! Be the grumpy bitch nurse and go on with your day! But, he makes it hard!!!

He seems so genuinely interested and not some creepy perv hitting on a nurse! He asks you how you are in such a genuine way, he leans in to listen, retains information! He does try and rile you up but, only because he thinks your ‘angry face’ is ‘cute’ the bastard! Who gave him the right to call you cute!?

And he loves, despite how angry you present yourself. You are the gentlest nurse, you care, you’re still a good nurse despite trying to act as jaded as the older nurses. You remember he does like certain foods, you get blood on the first draw and you always know what he needs…

God, it’s tumbling down the slippery slope faster than you ever imagined. You weren’t supposed to catch feelings! That’s not allowed!!! But when he’s finally discharged? He finds you, and offers to walk you home instead of going with his friends to celebrate his discharge.

He knew how much it meant to you for him to acknowledge what you’ve done for him… even behind the tough wall you put up.

He’ll always remember you stayed far past your shift to watch him when he spiked a fever and was critical…

You two are sour and sweet.

He rips those jaded glasses off your face and gives you a big kiss.

You’re kinda just- not codependent! but, something on the healthier side of that. You have a comfortable rhythm. He’ll go out with friends at night, stalling until you come off your shift and he can pick you up.

He gets to spend time with friends, you get to walk home knowing you’re safe at 2 in the morning… even if you have to steady him on the way home after one too many pints.

He has bought a sexy nurse costume for you. He mainly wants you to wear it, he has worn it as well…

He loves your stories! You have the best stories! He’ll sit you on the bar so you can regale his mates that story of that guy! “You know- that guy! The one that got that thing stuck up his ass!” “Which one?”

Sometimes you just, put your hand over his eyes. He looks at you with such fucking love it’s ridiculous. He just pushes further into your hand when you do this.

He will lie down and offer to be your dummy if you need a refresher on anatomy. Wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis.

It’s a personal victory whenever he makes you laugh.

He is lord and savior to the children in the hospital. He will come to visit the children’s care unit, full gear. You find him, and he is their god. They cling to his arms and legs, he’s still moving around, strong enough to keep on going even with 7 kids clinging to him.

He will use his little minions to his own personal advantage. Make them give you, like drawings and paper flowers just to see you smile. And for his own amusement.

It’s like Syd the Sloth and the tiny sloths.

He tells you he can’t wait until you have your own… you never imagined you’d actually ever get baby fever after working as a nurse again… Johnny makes that happen.

He makes you cry when he’s deployed. Wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Oh, lass. Don’t cry! I ‘Ken you can put me back together if I come back in pieces.” He tries to joke, only makes you cry harder…

He holds you a little tighter after that one.

He never wants you to have to put you through that, ever. He cringes every time he remembers he said that… that he thought it was okay to joke about putting you through that.

Marries you after he comes home from deployment. He comes back in better shape this time too. He’s got to be careful now, doesn’t he?

Ghost:

This man? This man falls for a preschool teacher.

He’s just sitting in the park, minding his own business when he see’s you pass with your little class walking behind you like ducklings. Fuck, when was the last time he’d seen someone so pure?

Your preschool was just on the edge of the park and you, with a few other handlers, were letting the kids explore the park under supervision. Their ‘task’ is to find the ‘fauna’ of the park!

Imagine his surprise when more than 4 of the little crotch goblins run up to him specifically. He thought he was scary to the little kids, well apparently not! You rush over to his rescue when you see them using him as a piece of playground equipment.

Oh, he looked so confused. Frozen like a deer in headlights as you stifle your giggle, peeling the 4 year old girl off his lap. “I’m so sorry!” “No, s’fine… cheeky buggers.” The kids all giggle, eager to play with him again.

Ghost then adds it into his schedule to mosey past your school every afternoon. You always know when he does because it’s always at recess and all the kids (except a few) flock to the fence to say hello to ‘Mr Ghost.’

He feels like a celebrity… softens his prickly heart to see all these sweet kids admire him… he thinks so poorly of himself, then he looks at these kids and you? You all look at him with such adoration…. Makes him feel like a human being again instead of a war machine.

And you look at him with such love. You find it sweet he takes his time to come see the kids, graciously accepting their pictures they drew of him.

He was kind of awkward at first, he’d stood ramrod straight like he would with his old drill sergeant and informed you of his record. He wasn’t a creep, he was in the military, and this was his little… respite from all the bile he had to face.

You couldn’t turn him away. You welcomed him every time you saw him over the fence. He remained behind the boundary of the fence and was . He was very grateful you didn’t think he was a creep and trespassed him from walking by.

You two were blissful.

You asked him out on a date. He asked you how many children you wanted… so sweet. lol

He finds you absolutely beautiful, bouncing one of your students on your hip whenever he stops by. He can’t help it. He can’t wait until you have kids of your own, you’ll teach them to be such wonderful human beings. He’ll teach them how to defend themselves and he’ll keep you all safe.

He becomes a bit of a helper around the preschool whenever he’s not deployed. He’s certified in cpr- why not? He mostly just watches the class room to see if any kid is doing anything wrong and preventing anyone from choking.

Kids take turns sitting in his lap whenever he’s sitting. He acts like he doesn’t care but you know he adores it.

Little girls will bring him stuffed animals and by the time class ends he’s surrounded by every stuffed animal in class. He remembers all of their names too. Oh, you can’t help it you get cute aggression with him!

Will walk around with your lipstick prints all over his balaclava. He will dodge envy attempt to wipe them off. They’re his!

After a long day, he’ll help you clean up the class room. In his mind he’s playing this scenario out, like you two are cleaning up after your own kids.

Hates the moms. He hates every single one of of the moms. They’re annoying. They’re coming after his fine ass because they didn’t find a man that treat them right, like he does you and he’s not putting up with it!

Asks you to give him hickeys once. ‘‘But love, yes.’’ After you tell him ‘‘no!’’ “We work in a preschool!” “And? They bite each otha’ all the time.” “Simon!”

He is their god, part 2.

They laugh at all of his stupid jokes, which in turn makes you laugh and now he’s a smug bastard.

Vibes with Bluey, you two watch it together. Aims to be like Bandit when he’s a dad. Takes it as a compliment when you tell him. “You’re pretty much a dead ringer for him already love.” Like, stunned for a second before he’s kissing your temple.

He hates deploying now.

All the kids cry when he does, it’s awful. Then, it makes you cry too. You were trying so hard to be strong and now you’re crying along with them.

Makes him feel like a worse monster than he thought he was.

Tada! Idk what this was! But there ya’ go! Enjoy!

#cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john price #task force 141 #tf141 x reader

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honeybleed · 2 months

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content & warnings: fem!reader, modern au, florist!reader, deliveryman!eren, mentions of ex bf reiner, eren is kinda ooc real cocky and annoying, smut (oral f. receiving, unprotected missionary) porn no plot mdni

author’s note: i hate y’all 😭 tagging @kingkonoha & @merakidoll since they were feigning for this real bad

word count: 1.8k

Thursdays had to be the slowest day of the week for the store. Quite frankly, even if you were being paid to man the tills, it was boring you out of your mind.

After graduation, you figured you’d return home for the summer then start looking for proper jobs in the fall as well as move out with your savings.

But for now, you’d settle on moving back in with your grandmother who lived in the apartment on top of the florists, that had been passed down from generation to generation.

You were slightly on the fence. You’d grown up with flowers your whole life but you didn’t want to take the store from her hands.

There was more to life than being in this sleepy old town, just watching philandering men buy crappy bouquets as if that was a balm to the ugly rash of infidelity.

You were drawn out of your train of thoughts as you swilled the caramel candy around your mouth, as the bell from the front door chimed.

But your nose wrinkled in disgust when you caught sight of who it was.

“Got a delivery for you.” The voice called out as he dumped the heavy boxes beside the door. “I’ll be on my way now.”

“Come back, you jackass!” You barked. “What the hell makes you think I can lift that shit to the storage room?”

“Beats me. It’s your problem now, I did my job.” He shrugged as he made his way out with a dismissive wave.

You slammed the magazine shut and trudged over to pick up the heavy boxes.

It was funny because the kids you grow up within the same neighborhood tend to be your best friends. Or even a crush.

That was the complete opposite with Eren Yeager.

His mother Carla worked as a florist in her twenties with your grandmother as her boss.

So much so that Carla went back to college to get a degree in business and started her service that provided transportation and delivery for florists all across the state.

Anyways, from the day you met Eren Yeager in kindergarten when he poured water on the clips on your hair causing them to rust, you hated him.

And he seemed to get off on pissing you off throughout your lives. Luckily, you caught a break when you moved out of state for college. But now it was impossible to avoid him since your jobs were intertwined.

“One last thing.” He piped up.

“What?” You grumbled.

“I heard you ended things with country boy.”

You squinted.

“Reiner?” Then a smile began to tug at the corners of your lips. “What Yeager, you been askin’ about me?”

Eren’s eyes immediately widened as a tint of pink dusted his cheeks.

“N-no! I just heard from Hisu! That’s all!”

Historia wouldn’t go and blab about your breakup unprovoked. Eren must’ve been sniffing around and she always had a soft spot for him, telling him anything he wanted to know.

“Well, yeah.”

Breakups hurt and you were close to throwing your dignity out the window to beg Reiner to stay. But he said you were just so distant and difficult ever since you came back from college.

That whatever he did wasn’t enough for you.

You felt terrible. You often thought Reiner would be the man you’d grow old with. You screwed up.

But what was done was done. And he meant no hard feelings. The two of you were in two stages of life.

“Shame. He musta lost his mind to let a girl like you go.”

“Give me a minute…” You said as you rose from the seat to turn the open sign to closed, lowering the blinds as Eren leaned against the wall.

At this point, he wasn’t delivering shit from work. Just dropping off dick. But to be frank you didn’t care. He showed interest and you needed a distraction.

You hopped onto the granite counter as Eren sunk to his knees almost immediately, his emerald eyes glinting as he looked up at you through his lashes in such reverence and awe.

You drew a sharp intake of breath as you felt his soft and plump lips press trace the sensitive skin.

Biting the inside of your cheek as you watched him. His gentleness and hushed voice were making goosebumps rise across your skin.

He continued to nuzzle and kiss your inner thigh, veering closer and closer to your core.

He couldn’t help but smile internally at the fact he was this close. And he knew he was going to make sure you would never forget his touch. Ensure that this was going to linger in your mind for the next few days.

His large hands climbed up to caress your hips as he leaned forward again.

“Why aren’t you wearing panties?” He said with a smug tone.

“Just didn’t feel like it.” You shrugged, but the way he murmured it, barely an octave caused a deep heat to pool in your gut.

It was usually a reflex of yours to cross your legs when a throbbing feeling overcame you however Eren seemed to keep your legs pried open.

“You like goin’ commando?" He teased, making you jolt and hiss when his teeth grazed the skin.

“Sometimes…” You chuckled.

His lips twitch into a small smile at your response, feeling a sense of amusement and excitement.

"I can see why," He muttered, trailing his fingers up your thighs. "It's much easier to play with you this way."

A stifled moan fell from your lips, knuckles paling from how harshly you were gripping the counter as you felt Eren’s fingers delve into your wet heat, gathering the slick juices from your glistening folds.

"I've been craving the taste of you since you came back.” He said with a sly smile on his face as he withdrew them to suck obnoxiously.

You knew Eren was annoying but you had no idea he was a tease like this. The mere sight and sound of him sucking his fingers loudly was making your heart race.

Without warning, the man downright delved between your legs, underneath your skirt.

Involuntarily causing you to grind your heat onto his tongue when he gave a long, languid stripe on your core. Your fingers having a death grip on his brown tresses.

You shivered, your nerves set alight as you felt his tongue twirl around and suck the folds.

Almost with abandon, he wrapped his lips around your hardened clit, alternating to run the back of his tongue across your flesh.

“Eren…!” You gasped out, eyes squinting shut as your thighs quivered.

Eren felt a wave of satisfaction when he heard your breathy moans and felt you shake and shudder when the tip of his tongue drug across your soaked slit.

He moved his hands to your hips, gripping them in place in an attempt to stop you from moving.

"Does that feel good, baby?" He spoke, voice muffled and causing vibrations against your core which nearly made you fall out.

“S’good…!” You whined, practically yanking the roots of his locks which only spurred him on.

He didn’t need to ask if you were close, what with the way your thighs suffocated him and the way you writhed.

“That’s it…” He said darkly as your juices gushed into his mouth. He pulled away, not wanting to push you over the edge.

Though you were satisfied, there was still a primal urge within you craving more. Maybe it was the culmination of the tension you all had.

Eren let out a gasp when you shoved him with force onto the tiled floors.

“Easy there…!” He chuckled but he couldn’t lie that your eagerness made his already hard cock throb.

He slapped your bare ass cheek under the wrinkled skirt as he grinned.

“You know just how to get me goin’, don’t you?-“

The wisecrack died on the tip of his tongue the moment you fisted his shaft, freeing it from his jeans and designer boxers.

He arched his back as he let out a hiss at the grip around his cock, feeling a surge of pleasure and desire shoot through him as you rubbed his tip against your folds, gasping.

Without another word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and flipped you over, positioning himself between your legs. He ground his hips against yours, sliding his cock up and down your slick folds before finally plunging into you, feeling the tight heat of your sex enveloping him.

“So fuckin’ tight and wet for me.” He said with a strained voice, the sound of bare skin slapping bouncing across the walls of the dim store.

Eren grunted in satisfaction as you whimpered and whined, feeling his pleasure build as he thrust into your velvet walls with increasing intensity.

He set a rough and relentless pace, driving into you again and again, his hips snapping against yours.

"Moan for me, angel," He breathed out, gripping your hips tightly as he continued to relentlessly pound into you. "Let me hear how good I'm making you feel."

Your eyes wrenched open slightly and you looked up at Eren, his hair was slightly mussed, probably from burying himself between your legs earlier, and sweat was trickling down his temple as his chest heaved.

His nose and cheeks were slightly flushed red, he was nearing his peak.

But you’d never seen Eren like this before. It almost felt like this was a forbidden sight to you. His eyes glazed over as his eyes raked over your bunched-up shirt, exposing your breasts.

You reached out a hand to cup his face, and you traced the pad of your thumb along his lower lip. The simple action had Eren’s cock throbbing as he let out a whine.

“Shit, you’re sucking me in like crazy…” He said with a strained laugh, his hand gripping your wrist. “Want me to go harder? Like it when I fuck you like this?”

You nodded vigorously, gasping as your head felt hazy with arousal.

His thumb brushed down to circle your clit lazily which teetered you off the edge.

Eren let out a guttural growl from deep within his chest, as you cried out his name, feeling your walls clamping and fluttering wildly around his length.

His fingers dug into the flesh of your waist, his pace becoming more frenzied as he drove into you with increasing intensity. He felt his release building.

"Let go for me baby," He said lowly, as he pinched your nipple as continued to pound into you. "Cum for me now."

With one final thrust, he felt your walls spasm around him as you reached your high. Moments later, he exploded within you, spilling into you and painting your walls white.

He choked out as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and you simply draped an arm over his shoulder.

After a moment, he lifted his head to meet your eyes with a cheeky grin.

“I wanna do it in the bed next.” He chuckled.

“Earn it, Yeager.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle slap on his back as you leaned in to brush your lips against his, him leaning into it.

authors note: 👨🏽‍🦯 i’m a sellout but we move, reblog if u enjoyed 😭

#aot smut #aot x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger #eren yeager smut #aot x female reader #aot x y/n #snk x reader #eren yeager #snk smut #aot fanfic #aot drabbles #⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nara scribbles

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

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I Could Care Less

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You were fundamentally the ball and chain Daemon so badly wanted to saw off his ankle. The ditzy cunt, he called you. He'd realize it spoke truer than he thought, considering you knew how to handle matters of society, yet had no idea how babies are conceived.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, self-indulgently yucky!daemon, smut (dub con, virgin!reader, vaginal penetration, degradation kink, humiliation kink, corruption kink, sadism, hair pulling, slapping, breeding kink, creampie), typos, etc.

A/N: felt like being ruined so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ MINORS DNI Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui

The maester before me froze in his place upon hearing what I had just told him.

"Princess," he turns to me, halting his search for his equipment, "I beg your pardon, but did you say," his face contorts, "you have never shared a bed with your lord husband?"

I furrow my brows at his tone, unsure of why he sounded so shocked. I wait for him to speak something further, but he only looks at me expectantly. I pull my head back slightly. A thin trickle of embarrassment rises up my neck due to his expression. I refrain from shrugging but I do shake my head, "I... yes. I don't see why that is a problem."

"You don't-" he starts but then cuts himself off with a deep sigh. The old man makes a sound then slowly walks over to me, "my lady," his eyes widen, "I cannot help you with balms or herbs-- no amount of balms or herbs meant to aid conception will, if your maidenhood is still intact."

I raise a brow at him, "but I am not a maiden, maester, I am married."

"So you have shared a bed with prince Daemon?"

I do not respond to him but I do sigh.

He gives me a grave expression, "if you wish to fall with child, you must share a bed with your husband."

I suck in a breath upon hearing this. A line forms between my brows, "but, maester Abner, my husband does not even like being around me."

He looks away and huffs in defeat. He brings his hands together, "perhaps," he tilts his head to the side, "if you were clear about your intentions, the prince would be... tempted to indulge your desires. After all, your husband is well-abled and hot blooded."

My face contorts at his words.

"Perhaps you can think to use your womanly traits to persuade him."

Must he make such obscene remarks?

I clear my throat and nod vapidly, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation. "Very well," I quickly dismiss, "I will do as you instruct."

Maester Abner nods and greets me farewell as I hasten for the door. Just as I was about to leave however, he calls out and says, "oh, my princess! Do also make sure that you both peak after."

I raise my brows at this. He does not clarify so I simply nod.

"It is imperative," he raises a finger, "inform your husband. He will understand."

With that, I set off, more confused than ever as to how I would ever have a child at this rate.

I place a hand on my belly and mutter a quick prayer under my breath. I can be persuasive. I shall try my best.

Daemon is most likely with his Gold Cloaks at this moment. It will not take much to find him.

It's not a far travel, but it does take a while for me to reach the training grounds. The moment I spot the practicing troops, I suck in a breath and saunter through. The soldiers that spot me make way, some offering greetings in regard, some not. I make it a point to greet all of them in return regardless. It will be easier to have them on my side later if I find it difficult to convince my husband to return home with me.

I spot Daemon, sitting on a table laughing with his fellow men. Everyone around him clamps their lips shut and stand to bow to me. I dutifully return the greetings.

Daemon is the only one left seated. When he finally turns to me, his face is nettled. He rolls his eyes as I curtsy at him. He groans, "what is it, ditzy cunt?"

The men around him stifle uncomfortably at his name calling.

I ignore it, having been used to it at this point, "I would like to have a word with you, my prince."

He releases a breath and turns back to the table before him, "then by all means, don't let me stop you."

The men at his table watch him as he takes a drink from his cup. He slumps over on the table.

I huff and grip my hands tightly as he orders the men around him to sit down. They do so with reluctance.

"I would prefer it if I spoke to you privately," I mutter while stepping forward.

"And I would prefer," he raises his head, though he doesn't turn to me, "that you fuck off."

A long moment passes. It's painfully clear that he wasn't going to budge. I impulsively decide, then, to just get on with it. So, I suck in a breath and blurt out, "I want a child."

The men at the table turn to statues.

Daemon raises a brow and peeks from over his shoulder.

"I've spoken to maester Abner about it. He says he cannot help with the matter, and that we must share a bed."

Daemon furrows, then finally turns to me. His lips curl, "you've come to me after speaking with your maester?"

I watch as he narrows his eyes. I nod, "yes."

Daemon releases a wry chuckle. He rubs his lap then stands, "and what did the old fuck say, hmm?"

A ripple of dread spreads when my husband walks over to me slowly. I clench my jaw when he presses closer into my space, then begin to step back, "I mentioned before..." I word carefully, "maester Abner said that if I wish to fall with child, I must share a bed with my husband."

I flinch when he suddenly leans towards me.

"To do what exactly?" he coaxes with a taunting glint in his lilac eyes.

The question, for some reason, makes my stomach roll. I step back further and clear my throat. What else would we do anyway? There was only so much you could do in bed.

And yet, I find no confidence when I retort, "to sleep."

Daemon straightens up and makes a disingenuous face. "Ahhh," he raises his brows, "is that what your beloved maester told you? You truly live up to the name I gifted you, ditzy cunt."

I do not respond to him.

He tilts his head and leans on his right leg, "let me ask you a question, lady wife," he motions to nowhere in particular, "if one of my men had an issue with land, what should be their first course of action?"

I knit my brows and his rapid change of topic. I release a breath, "well, what is their issue with the land?"

He shrugs, "what issue can you think of?"

"Many issues," I retort, "title, portioning, labor, drought. There are a great many things issues that cou-"

Daemon cuts me off with a raise of a finger. He links his hands in front of him, "which of that could you help them with?"

I give him a look, offended by his insinuation of incompetence, "my father is lord to a great stretch of land. I could help with any issue that is posed."

"Yet clearly, your father did not teach you the most important thing."

I scoff, "lord husband, my father is-"

"Remind me again," he waves his hand impatiently, "why did you go to your maester?

I clench my jaw, "because, prince Daemon," I retort sternly, "we have been married for a while, and still I am not yet with child."

He gives a deep sigh, the deepest and most exaggerated of sighs that I have ever heard him give. And then he laughs. He laughs so hard that the whole room turns to him, if they weren't already turned to him, to us, to begin with. He laughs like he heard the silliest of jokes. He laughs from his diaphragm and shakes with his whole body.

Finally, he sighs again then catches his breath.

"Your whole purpose is to sire children," he rambles, walking over to me.

I have no opportunity to step back this time around because he grabs me by the arm and rips me into him. His breath is hot against my cheek as he mutters against me, "and yet they betray you by hammering ledgers and chastity into your head."

I whimper when his grip tightens.

For a moment, I can only hear my pulse as he looks at me, as he assesses me like a hawk would a mouse.

"Tell me one last time why you came to me, little girl?" he speaks under his breath.

I give a breathy response, "I... want to have a child."

And when I say he drags me all the way back, I mean he drags me all the way back. It didn't feel like a wife being escorted by her husband at all, it felt like a captive being lead by a captor.

I am in front of our shared bed, though we had never shared it before, when he finally releases me with much force that I nearly topple over.

I catch my breath and stare at him as he stalks over to the nearby table to pour himself a drink. He does not turn away from me as he does this, not even when he grabs the ewer and fills his cup.

He takes a sip of wine then raises his drink to me, "lift your skirt up."

My face drops in horror. My chest tightens and my hands protectively grip my skirt. I whisper violently, "I beg your pardon?!"

Daemon purses his lips into a frown that then lifts into a smirk, "I won't I repeat myself when I'm quite certain you heard what I said."

The prince takes another sip of his drink and begins to walk over. I let out a faint yelp when he suddenly chucks his cup to the side, making its remaining contents splatter to the ground and the metal object to clank against the floor.

He wipes his lips as he inches nearer, "on your belly, ditzy cunt."

I am enraged and mortified. I muster out with as much conviction as I could, "I will do no such thing."

Daemon laughs and stops in his tracks, "won't you?"

I gulp heavily.

He giggles, "and why ever not?" He lifts his nose, "is it too indecent for the lady?"

I shift uncomfortably and quip, "I was raised with honor."

"Ah," he throws his head back and holds in a laugh, "I would have never known. Not when you walked into a camp of men, unchaperoned, practically begging your husband to fuck you."

My jaw drops. I am so shocked my his words I don't even know what to say.

He laughs louder, but the next moment, he is upon me. He grabs my arms and I immediately fight back, only to find that I was powerless against him. He chuckles where I squeal. He forces my arms down and keeps me still as he explains through a hot breath, "allow me to disillusion you, little girl."

He rubs his nose against my neck and my skin pricks all over. "If a woman wants to have a child, and she's lucky, she gets her husband to bend her over and shove his cock into her, over, and over, and over again until she's crying from her eyes and her cunt."

My entire body burns at his vulgarity.

"But if she's not lucky," Daemon chuckles as I continue to try and rip out of his clutch, "she gets another man to do that for her."

The next moment, he releases me and I pull away as quickly as I can. I end up falling onto the bed because of this. I bounce on my spot as I look up at him, too petrified to move.

"That is what you want from me," he grins, lifting up his palms as he peers down at me, "you want me to pump my come into you and ruin your petty honor so that your body is molded perfectly into the vessel that will bear my seed."

I'm at the brink of tears.

I expected his venom and his thorns but still, how could he speak so horribly to me?

"So?" my husband says, linking his hands in front of him, "do you still want a child?"

I heave heavily, feeling tears prick in the corner of my eyes, "you're a brute."

Daemon laughs insensitively, "I'm sure you already knew that."

I did. I do, gods I really do. Hearing it face to face still stung though. I cannot help that I am still gobsmacked by his tawdry, lascivious words. I try not to let my emotions get ahead of myself, so I attempt to calm down with deep breaths.

I turn to my skirt when I am unable to contain the tears any further.

Daemon feels his stomach bubble in excitement at the timidity.

He shifts in his spot as he becomes increasingly more uncomfortable with the constraints of his trousers.

"How do I know you're not tricking me?" I mutter.

Daemon feels his pulse in his pants. His lips curve. And though there was a softness in his expression, it was overpowered by flares of debauchery. After all, there was a prize before him, willingly calling out to be corrupted. Who is he to ignore the call?

"I am a great many things, but a liar is not one of them."

I turn to him, shivering when I see his faint smile.

"I have no use for lies. If I must resort to treachery, then I'll grab Dark Sister and be done with it."

My nostrils flare as I will myself towards serenity.

His smile widens. His loins burn at the recognition of defiance. He will enjoy putting that out.

"Think about it," he offers, "you want a child? One that will grow in your belly? How will it get there? What's it going to take to make that happen? A magic potion from your maester?" He narrows his eyes, "if that was the case, why'd he send you off to me?"

I avert my gaze to really take a moment to ponder on his words. The more I thought about it, the more logical it sounded, and it was horribly late realization. My ears begin to burn and my heart wishes to escape the confines of my chest.

"Will..." I pipe up. My voice falls into a whisper, "will it hurt?"

Daemon raises his brows, and demands (though he hears it), "pipe up."

"Will it hurt?" I speak louder, digging my nails into my fingers.

He holds back a grin, "you know, you really ought to look me in the eye when you speak to me."

I suck in a deep breath and repeat once more as I turn to him, "will it hurt?"

Daemon presses his lips together and shrugs, "only if I want it to."

I shudder at this.

He chuckles, "doru-borto genes," stupid mouse.

I feel my tears travel down my neck.

Daemon thinks of smearing it on the sheets.

"Will I be with child after?" I muster up the courage to ask.

The prince licks his lips and shrugs once more, "perhaps. Perhaps not."

A dreadful prolonged moment passes.

I don't have much of a choice, now do I? My poor heart that had only just calmed begins to race when I hear Daemon tapping his shoes on the floor. The next moment, I find myself blurting, "I trust in you, lord husband."

Daemon's shoulders shake in amusement, "a miscalculated judgement."

I turn away from him and huff, "you're incessantly making this harder."

"As I should," he snorts, "I assure you, you would not enjoy me if I wasn't."

I feel my face burn at the insinuation I would enjoy any of this. How could he expect me to enjoy something so lewd? I shake my head and heave, "maester Abner said something else."

He hums, "I doubt it's anything useful."

I clench by jaw and decide not to say it then.

Daemon does not like that. "Well, mouse," he barks, "spit it out."

"He said that must both... peak. It is imperative."

I turn away from him when he laughs. He bends over in amusement and clutches his stomach, "what darling naiveté."

I say nothing to that and he only continues to laugh.

It becomes painful at a point, and so I cut him off but misjudge my bravery, "shall I-"

I also make the mistake of turning to him as he straightens up. It is then that I spot the bulge behind his breeches. I quickly turn away and blink rapidly.

"Shall you?" he calls in question.

"Shall I..." I whisper lower each moment, "turn over and... lift my skirt?"

I dare to turn back to him when he doesn't respond. Upon seeing his expression, the wretched glint in his eyes, the wolfish grin on his lips, I decide not to fuel his flames any further and merely do as he had asked of me.

Slowly, I roll over, feeling the mattress dip as I turned to my chest. My legs dangle from the edge and my feet barely touch the ground. I curl my toes and slowly pull my skirt. My breath strains as I hike the fabric up to my waist, leaving my smallclothes on full display. He laughs all over again. I sink into the cushions and bring my face into my hands in shame.

"An eager slut, aren't you?" he sniggers.

I push my face deeper into my hands, muffling out, "don't call me that."

I jolt and squeak when Daemon grabs my hips and barks, "what was that, slut?"

I do not respond, and it seems that was the incorrect course of action.

A loud crack and squeal reverberates in the room. He slapped my hind like he meant to discipline me.

He did.

I squeal again and grip at the sheets when he yanks me from my hair and lifts my head up, "answer!"

I grow rigid and feel tears instantly spill from my eyes. My breath is caught in my throat, and so my response is quite broken, "I-I-I said don't call me that."

Daemon releases my hair and my head drops. I bury my face in my palms. His hands then go back to my hips and I cannot control the sound I make when I feel him rub against me harshly.

"Oh, you don't like that?" he hisses as his groin moves into mine. I stuff the sheets into my face in order to keep my silence. Daemon digs his fingers up the curve of my flesh then yanks my smallclothes off.

He pants when he pulls away. I hear him march many paces back, "is it too unnerving to know it's true, wife?"

I do not move an inch even though I no longer feel him against me.

Daemon licks his lips at the sight before him. A weeping cunt. Pretty.

I vaguely hear the shuffle of fabric.

"Touch yourself."

I hold my breath. I do not move. I am tenser than ever.

He effectively frees his erection then looks back up. When he is not obeyed, he lets out a guttural growl, "you've never played with your cunny either, pet?"

I do not respond.

My belly tightens when I hear his footsteps. My neck strains as I grunt in response to the feel of his fingers assaulting my core. He moves with such ferocity, I cannot help but press my thighs as close together as I can to repel him.

"This is where it feels good," he announces as his one hand sinks into the cushion while his other toys with a nub that sends sparks all over my body. I begin to feel myself burn and grow uncomfortably drenched as his fingers rub and dip around my flesh. "Remember when you touch yourself after this, stupid girls like you can only peak to the thought of their husbands breeding them."

A coil in my belly begins to wind uneasily. It only calms after Daemon pulls away. I have an opportunity to catch my breath when he does.

But then his hands come to my waist and I feel his hardened length glide against me.

Daemon lets out a string of incoherent noises then his one hand leaves my side. He uses his free hand to grab his member and slaps it against the leaky entrance in spite. The feel of each hit sends ripples through my body. I whimper when he flicks harder.

A croak rips out of my lips when my thighs are forced apart. His hands are excessively rough when he does this and speaks, "arse up, ditzy cunt. Or else I'll fuck you there instead and you won't get the prize you want so badly."

He slaps his hand on my bum when I do not immediately oblige to a command. It elicits a deep cry from my lungs. My skin stings at the contact and with pained noise, I do my best to lift my parted legs and push myself on my toes. The imprint of his hand lingers on my skin.

I'm throbbing all over at this point.

Daemon grabs himself again and points his tip to the plump folds before him. He groans freely where I attempt to contain myself. I feel him lather his member in the wetness that was now spreading all over my skirt and thighs.

Daemon thinks of dragging this out and continuing with torture.

I feel him poke into me a couple of times, easing in teasingly, shallowly entering back and forth before he hisses and speaks.

"Nyke kostagon daor iderēbagon lo jaelan ao naejot sagon adhirikydho lēda riña iā daor," he sighs as he composes himself for a moment, "ziry iksos issare bōsa pār eman ryptan mirros sīr... merbugon."

I can't decide if I want you to be quickly with child or not. It's been long since I have heard something so... hungry.

I scream into the sheets when I feel rip into me.

"So..." he heaves and rubs the fleshy part of my hips, "fucking desperate."

If I hadn't heard myself make the sound that I did, I would have never known it was possible for me to make it. I sob into the sheets, tasting the coarseness of the blankets against my tongue as I do so. I feel the salt from my eyes trickle into my open mouth. I feel snot build in my philtrum. I really don't find it in me to clamp my jaw shut after.

Daemon begins to thrust into me at a punishing rate. He pounds with much vigor and little regard. I feel so full with each blow. I feel so stretched out; somehow it feels delicious. It makes all my nails claw into the surfaces it can reach. The crackling sparks inside me intensify as I progressively lose my breath. With every hit, something soft and tender in me is attacked, leaving my body in tremors.

He pants in sync with his pummeling. My whimpers and groans are at a few seconds delay.

He latches his hands tightly on me and beats into me with singular purpose. Even through the obscene noises we were making, the slapping of skin was very much audible to my ears and it amplified the heat burning across my body. What kind of heat that burned in me was now indistinguishable.

My feet are barely on the floor as he hoists me up and stuffs himself in and out of my folds. It get increasingly harder to not simply succumb, and yet I find it nearly impossible to relax against his abrasive touch.

"So wet and tight," he growls, "so eager to be molded by my cock."

I yelp when he shoves into me once a bit more forcefully.

"What d'you think, come slut?" he jeers, "are you going to make me a kepa quickly, or shall I bully you a bit more before you carry a dragonling in your womb, huh?"

The only response he gets out of me is heavy breathing and high pitched squeaks.

He rips into me harder again, coaxing out a cry that claws my throat. I progressively grow weaker against him.

"You will answer when I spoken to," he forces.

My cheeks rub against the sheets. I feel tears, snot, and saliva pool into the cloth. At this point, I am a convulsing mess against him. I suck in a breath through my watering mouth then shudder in response, "p-please-"

He titters then releases one hip to grab my hair. He rips my locks away from my face as he croons, "I don't think we're understanding each other, squeaky mouse."

He yanks my hair back, lifting my head uncomfortably, causing me to choke on my spit. I wail in response to his careless pulling. He leans down and maniacally heaves, hips not ceasing their ministrations at all, "r'you going to make me a father like a dutiful bitch or not?"

I choke on a moan before I can respond. My breath is shaky when I say, "yes."

I feel an unmistakable tension reach its acme deep inside me. My breath shortens even more.

"Good. Don't fucking disappoint me then, darling," Daemon exhales, releasing my hair, making me helplessly faceplant. He digs all his fingers into my sides again.

After three quick breaths, I am broken.

My terse body reaches its capacity and I shatter against myself, against him, quaking, fluttering, weakening. I drool all over and shrivel up tightly. My belly breaks into a million tiny pieces and my mind goes blank. All that's left is, "Daemon, D-Daemon, Daemon-"

And he loves every second. He feasts in the feel, in the tightening sensation around him. He takes in the smell of depravity and feels his ego inflate.

He savors every minute reaction and, in all his wickedness, quickens his pace, snapping his hips harder.

He feels every shiver and jolt. He relishes every mewl and screak. He makes sure the crash is at its most violent, the peak at its height, before letting himself come undone. And when he comes undone there's so much come.

His momentary self-control was well worth it, considering the noises that echo through the chamber.

Daemon doesn't get sloppy, not at all sloppy as he pumps his flaming arousal deeper and deeper, but he does go a tad weak when he hears his name get called the way it is. What can he say, the sound of his name gets him going.

I am a melted disaster. I am a lump of quivering sobs. I am a puddle of lewdness.

The sensations that I felt magnified inside me when I felt Daemon's release. It was ironic that 'peaking' was now clear to me, considering I couldn't see straight through the tears blurring my vision. I found myself speaking the prince's name as though it was the only word I knew.

The pleasurable feelings from mine and his release were now wearing off and quickly becoming immensely uncomfortable.

I could barely even make a sound at this point. My mouth was drier than sand.

Eventually, when Daemon's movements relent, I finally find reprise and slowly even my breathing.

Daemon releases heavy huffs and gulps loudly. After a moment he reaches a stand still.

I am unsure if the feel of his hands rubbing against my butt was real or not.

My legs tense and core sharply flinches when I feel him unceremoniously pull out of me. Immediately, I feel hot liquid ooze out of my tenderness.

The yelp that leaves me when my soreness is slapped is immensely different to that of the ones I made earlier. It is weak and hoarse. It is telling of how powerless I was in this moment.

And though I would think it is apparent, my husband still had little regard for me as he leans down to my face and whispers, "can't you feel yourself leaking?"

I jolt and whine his name out in a plea when I feel him touch my aching core that he just hit seconds ago. I feel his fingers swirl the overexerted area. I feel like crying all over again.

"You're wasting my seed, you know. You ought to do something about it if you really want a child," he says before pulling away.

I don't find it in me to move after coldness crashes onto me. Not after that, nor after I feel my womanhood twitch as more evidence of Daemon drips down my legs. I don't move even when hear the shuffling of clothes and the crunching of footsteps.

The marching sound travels farther back and soon enough I hear the creak of the door.

"Next time you come demanding things from me, come slut," Daemon wipes his fingers on his thighs, "remember I won't be so gentle."

The door slams shut.

#daemon targaryen #daemon fanfic #daemon smut #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x you #hotd smut #house of the dragon smut

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yurababy · 2 years

Text

—angel or devil?; y.jh

synopsis being friends with seventeen had many perks, one of which being helping one another with indivudal needs. every member was fine with it, the trust between you and the group being so strong, but why did jeonghan never want any help?

notes yoon jeonghan x afab!reader, 5.5k smut + a lil bit of angst/fluff? reader is “shared” between the 13 members.. idk how to put it, idolverse, switch!reader, switch!jeonghan, brief mentions of the other members, and their dicks, consensual slapping but only once, jeonghan calls reader dumb, use of whore/slut, reader is adressed as “girl” multiple times

➤ i’ve posted on ao3 before but never tumblr so hi. hoping to come here more often if enough ppl like this D: i have a small draft of a dancer!hoshi au that i was hoping could be a full thing one day... and many more svt thoughts so pls send me asks!! enjoy <3

taglist @kayleeshinee @thinkinboutwonu @nothingwasnotfound @rubyhoons

“you’re insatiable,” joshua chuckled.

“no, i take advantage of my opportunities.”

the two of you were in shua’s room, him picking out a shirt for the day while you sat on the edge of his bed. the members had made plans to split up long-awaited errands, from trying out new noodle flavors to finding a lamp for chan’s room.

hooking up with 13 of your hot friends was convinient. you all trusted each other, having known one another for years, and being in the idol industry allowed little time to deal with personal needs. being able to play off a blowjob as a friendly hangout made things easy, because all it was was a friendly hangout.

with an included handjob.

even if they were your friends, being so close was an easy reminder that they were just men. 13 men. in one place. they were closer than anyone you knew, and it was nice to know they all somewhat tried to be responsible of their place.

all, but one.

“at least it’ll be 3 equal groups, i feel like the group i’m put in always has more work to do.”

“how come 3? who’s not coming?”

you looked up at the boy, catching a slightly annoyed smile on his lips. “jeonghan got out of it because he has a wish coupon.”

some people think seventeen are just too good at being entertainers, that it’s all fake for the camera. in truth, they’re the exact same when it’s just them. jeonghan is known to be a cheater, but he’s cunning. he values promises and remembers everything for his team; for himself. so when jeonghan made everyone coffee after a long day in the studio in 2019 followed by a chorus of “we owe you one, jeonghannie-hyung!”, he, like you, couldn’t let an opportunity pass. so on the one day the group decided to come together to get work done, jeonghan reminded everyone of his kind deeds and was allowed to stay home. you had stopped questioning the team’s ethics after a while. no matter how well you knew one another, it was nothing like the 13 of them. you were nowhere near close enough to have “wish coupons”.

so yes, you did know them pretty well, you did hook up with the members, but there was one you had yet to really get with. none other than yoon jeonghan himself.

he was impossible to figure out. maybe it was because he didn’t want to ask for “help,” or maybe it was because there was nobody he could trust like his members. joshua knew it was a little bit of both, but it was also a little bit of jeonghan being himself. a tease. wanting you to come and get him. so if joshua told everyone not to argue with the second-oldest’s request, it was just him being a good best friend.

joshua had thrown on a classic button down at this point, putting a lip balm in his bag as he looked back at you. “leave like, at least 10 minutes after us.”

“i know,” you smiled. you never know.

“we’ll get going then! you know how to cook if you want to eat anything,” his voice got a little deeper as if he was hiding a laugh, “or if you want to be eaten.”

“what the hell jos-”

the door shut with a series of giggles.

༺♡༻

eaten is an underestimate.

wanting jeonghan when he was right there was almost painful. eye contact as you sat with the other members. hands brushing against each other’s when reaching for chopsticks. he definitely knew what he was doing to you, a devilish smirk below his angel eyes, waiting for you to retract your hand first.

but jeonghan had to be an angel, because god was truly on your side that day.

finding a bathroom in a dorm of four units shouldn’t be as difficult as it was. most of the doors looked the exact same, the members cleaning them in order to post up new decorations. your favorite bathroom was the third unit’s— seungkwan was very particular with the hand soap scents. as you made your way down the hallway, you suddenly heard a pained noise.

jeonghan is the only other one here. jeonghan’s room is in the fourth unit.

your quest to find the bathroom was quickly forgotten as you opened doors to find jeonghan’s room. across the door you were about to open, you could hear soft crying, making you dash towards the door you suspected led to jeonghan’s room.

in your hastiness, you pulled the door open without a knock, scanning the room for jeonghan.

he wasn’t hard to find.

half-naked body splayed out on top of a pillow, your eyes made contact with his own, wet and slightly alarmed. you tried to not move your vision any further, beginning to back away towards the door, until you heard his broken voice.

“y/n,” the boy breathed, stopping you in your tracks.

you whispered back, “jeonghan.”

“can you help me?” it was so simple, said in a pleading voice. the silence surrounding you two was interrupted by your light steps towards him before you planted yourself into the edge of his bed. he had been sitting up by now, pillow still in between his legs just below his cock.

“you’re.. are you sure?”

“yes, y/n, god yes”

be a quick thinker. don’t ask dumb questions.

“what do you want me to do, jeonghan?” you held eye contact as you wiped his flushed cheeks dry.

“anything you want.”

that was all the confirmation you needed before guiding him towards the back of his bed, letting him rest against the pillows as you settled between his legs. his shirt was slightly oversized, not enough to get in the way but still an annoyance.

you took the hem between your fingers and looked up at him. “can we get this off?”

jeonghan’s eyes were closed and his lips were parted. a peach blush glowed on his face as he tried looking at you through his lashes. “cold… i get cold easily.”

for some reason the admittance made you grin, not being able to stop your hands from traveling up into his hair because the boy looked so different, so small. “tell me what’s off limits,” jeonghan demanded more than asked. you didn’t think too much about it.

“nothing gross. play with me, make it hurt if you want. let out whatever pent up frustration you have. i’ve been waiting too long to care.” he gave a small nod and slowly blinked. a true angel.

“such a pretty boy, maybe the prettiest out of them all. why’d you have to be such a tease, hm? could’ve done this so much sooner.”

his breathing was heavy and your faces were barely inches apart. the tears had been long gone and his eyes were more opened, albeit dark and half lidded. if you hadn’t been so close, you would’ve missed the way his lips began to curve upwards. such a tease.

“well, we’re here now, baby. why don’t you do as i asked? use that mouth for something else.”

well, you could play that game too.

“baby, if you want something then you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that. i could use my mouth for something like this,” you paused to act out an example, closing the gap between you two to press your mouth just upon his, taunting his lips to see if he’d make a move first.

that time, you felt his smile creep. “or, i could do this.” you smiled back before lowering your head to his neck, this time kissing his skin. he didn’t try to hide the low moan that escaped his lips when you bit down and sucked a bruise into the area.

jeonghan seemed to have had enough by then, as he snaked his fingers to your hair, softly pulling you off of his throat as if giving a warning. you were slightly taken aback by the change in demeanor, but he casually tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows.

“are you dumb or a brat?”

oh.

the hand carding through your hair suddenly yanked your head down, jeonghan using his other hand to discard his shirt.

“i’m pretty sure i asked you to help me, not bitch off. you want specifics? i’m gonna cum twice today, okay? be a good girl and suck me off.”

you obeyed, placing one hand at his base followed by your lips wrapping around his tip, but you also took it as a challenge. you wanted to break yoon jeonghan. in order to do that, you had to give him the best blow job of your life. the other 13, it didn’t have to be competitive or too sexual. but jeonghan and you already had tension, so finally relieving it was bound to be intense.

contrary to popular belief, yoon jeonghan didn’t give a fuck.

if he was enjoying it, he’d be loud. if he hated it, you’d get a blank stare under raised eyebrows. his pride didn’t get in the way of pleasure, but pleasure wasn’t easy for him to get.

hookups weren’t his thing, relationships got messy as an idol. it wasn’t like he hadn’t done either, but his transparency disappointed and scared away most. he was frustrated. but you,

you were pretty good.

eye contact seemed to be a regular thing between you two. you stared each other down even as your head bobbed on his dick, as you made a show of licking a stripe up the shaft, as you planted kitten licks on the tip. his hands once again found your hair, forming a makeshift ponytail. jeonghan hadn’t had a blowjob in a while, let alone a good one, so he knew he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like.

breaking yoon jeonghan was easy if you did it right.

you knew you had because he broke the eye contact first. you slowly took inch after inch of his cock, showing him your limits. when you were so close to reaching his base, jeonghan’s hands in your hair abruptly pushed your head down his length, tears welling into your eyes as you eased into comfort. the sight made jeonghan throw his head back against the pillows, his loudest moan being released. after that, he used one hand to guide your mouth up and down, moans more frequent and high pitched. his noises did something to you too, pride welling up in your chest as your mouth vibrated around his dick from your own moans.

“cum.. a-ah, m’ gonna cum, don’t stop,” he heaved out, voice slightly frantic. it was almost mesmerizing, him being a dominant tease one second and pathetically mewling the next. your left hand found his balls, feeling around and eventually trailing a feathery finger up his body to his nipples. rolling the nub between two of your digits seemed to do the trick, his grip on your hair tightening then the hand falling to his side, a loud cry of your name, and his cum shooting down your throat.

you swallowed as much as you could, catching your breath but making sure you can catch the boy in a fucked-out state. if he was gorgeous before, he was ethereal now. you shifted closer to him, making sure to not taunt his sensitive cock as his eyes stayed shut. your hands found his jaw, then his ears, then his slightly damp hair before finally swinging around his neck, your head pressed against his chest.

“y/n,” he whispered, aware of the distance between the two of you. you felt his gentle touch wiping his excess fun from your lips.

“so beautiful, hannie.” he shut his mouth. “all that big talk for someone who can’t even ride his pillow?”

“fuck… off, baby, you think you can ride any better?” even through his high you could tell the chill of the room kissed his skin. he sounded exhausted already, but you knew better than to think this was ending anytime soon.

“i think i can, angel. who would’ve guessed you’re a little pillow prince? wanna crumble under me one more time?”

you don’t think you’ll ever be able to figure this guy out. when he spoke, his voice was molasses, deep and slow like he was talking to a toddler. “maybe i do. does my baby want me to fuck her instead? seventeen’s slut? right? or,” his hands crept under your shirt, brushing against lace, “just a whore for me?”

his cold hands made you shiver. the lingerie was on before you had heard about the members’ plans to go out, just as a fun surprise for whoever caught you. “it’s not usually like this. you know we’re all just friends.”

he cocked a brow at that, playing with the flowery fabric under your shirt. “oh? what does that make us?”

“too many questions,” you murmured, giving in and removing the top, leaving you in the pink bra and matching panties hidden by shorts.

he raised an eyebrow at you, signaling you weren’t quite done yet. you climbed off the bed to tug off the bottoms before propping yourself onto his lap.

jeonghan’s hands found the curve of your ass, running them upon of the lace while your arms found their place around his neck again.

“my my, what a coincidence. the whore is all dressed up. do you walk around like this everytime you’re here? does a different member find you every time? how do they fuck you, baby?”

you tried testing him. “so good. mingyu’s so big, soonyoung has so much energy, jihoon is so good at talking. especially shua. he may be the better version of you.”

the smirk that had been resting on jeonghan’s lips twitched. he moved one hand up your back to the clasp of your bra, swiftly undoing it and letting it fall into the space between your laps.

“shua can do that, too.”

breaking yoon jeonghan was to figure out which buttons to push in order to rile up his indifferent self.

“can shua fucking handle you?” he spat, the rest of his body calm as the hand near your chest moved towards your breasts. “does he put a dog leash on you to get you to shut up? aren’t you here to help?”

breaking yoon jeonghan was not just watching his body fall apart beneath you. breaking yoon jeonghan was challenging him back mentally until he couldn’t take it.

“shua likes to choke me. shua’s hands are bigger than yours and his dick is thicker.”

jeonghan scoffed, tracing his pointer finger around the skin of your nipples. “not longer?”

“maybe the same length. jun’s is longer and thicker.”

“tsk tsk, cockslut. didn’t you say i was the prettiest?”

break him. see how far he can go.

“what good does a face do during sex?”

test his limits.

that one got a slap delivered to your cheek with the hand that had previously been on your chest. you couldn’t suppress the moan that swam past your lips, the hand fondling your ass toying with the hem of your panties.

“fucking slut.” he sounded out each syllable once again like a preschool teacher. “maybe you’re right. but let me ask you this.” your panties were pulled down and his fingers greeted your wetness which gained a low chuckle from the man. “you wanna get fucked or not?”

not good enough. “weren’t you the one coming to me asking for help?”

he had quickly regained his composure, gripping your jaw with a sly smirk. “don’t worry about me, baby. i’m yoon jeonghan. i can fuck whoever i want.”

“i have 12 other guys waiting to fuck me everyday, you responded, not sounding as assertive as you would’ve liked.

“but aren’t you curious, sweetheart? you don’t wanna complete your set? satisfied with 12?” his fingers began to rub around your clit, hand from your jaw reaching towards his side table to nimbly retrieve lube.

is it worth it to wait this long? should i tell him to fuck me already?

you didn’t need to contemplate an answer when you felt dripping wet fingers around your clit. anything on your mind was cut off by your loud moan, relieved at the touch.

your sudden needy whines only made him laugh more, a finger teasing your entrance. “maybe if my face wasn’t so useless during sex, i would’ve gone down on you.”

“jeonghan, hannie, please. i’ll be so good, m’ sorry-!” he cut you off with a finger inside you, thumb caressing your clit at the same time.

“maybe next time, darling. if you learn to behave, that is.”

you buried your face into his neck, holding it there before lifting your head towards his ear. “i’m fine, i’m ready. i’m already opened up.”

he slowed his fingers. “who was the last one to fuck you and when?”

“ch-cheol. it was.. like.. maybe six a.m. i don’t know. i fell asleep here after the movie we watched.. last night.. so he just carried me to his room.”

“then why was hao the last person out the door?”

“so many quest-” your eyes met for the 100th time that day and you could tell he was truly curious. “…he just wanted to kiss. said he was still sleepy.”

jeonghan sighed, turning you over gently so he was on top of you. he fully pulled your panties down, holding the fabric in his hands for a few seconds before throwing them to the side.

“sure, i’m a pillow prince. i don’t do this shit. i promise you, i could. i’m doing it for you right now. pretty girl, this clearly isn’t going anywhere, hm? so let me fuck that attitude out of you and we can do it again sometime. am i clear enough for your useless brain?”

“yes, hannie.”

“safe word?”

“..melon.”

yoon jeonghan is forever a mystery to you.

he smiled, sickeningly sweet like a stash of ahloween candy, and brushed your hair away from your eyes. “good girl. let me kiss my pretty baby.”

he planted a hand under your thigh and the other beneath your head as your arms familiarly met the back of his neck. the action allowed you to pull him in, smiles on both your faces as your lips finally met.

you knew part of the reason you had this arrangement with your friend is because you were all sure nobody would get attached in the wrong way. but that was before you had ever gone the whole way with jeonghan , when he was everywhere around you but nowhere in reach. you had kissed the rest of them, for comfort, for pleasure, for fun, but why was it so much different right now?

right now it was so soft. it was giggles while catching your breaths, it was sucking the life out of each other, it was your fingers ghosting his locks and the pads of his against the smooth of your skin. it was his silk touch, his silk lips, his silk hair, his silk voice.

when you pulled away once more, you smiled at him, the moment too soft for you to care about your failed seductiveness. “when do i get to be fucked, hannie?”

yoon jeonghan, the mystery.

if you thought shua was the switch of seventeen, or rough, next to jeonghan, shua was vanilla.

shua was rough, but sweet with his words. a gentleman, everyone would say. jeonghan’s twin flame.

jeonghan was mean.

“so eager to have my cock in you. thought it wasn’t big enough? thick enough?” he leaned towards his side table again, opening a drawer to get a condom before rolling it onto himself.

“w-was lying, han. it’s perfect, you’re perfect. fuck me already,” you choked out, once again taken aback by the switch in personality.

he was so hot when he was mean. different from the other members. he did it so causally, almost expressionless. “i’ll destroy you, sweetheart. good girls don’t lie. i hate liars. only reason m’ still in a room with you is cause’ someone has to fuck some sense into you. seems like twelve dicks still can’t tame you.”

with that, he flipped you over, earning a yelp from your mouth as you were pushed into the bed, jeonghan telling you to get onto all fours. a hand was harshly hit onto your ass before jeonghan lined himself up with your slit and slipped his cock in.

“let me know when i can move, sweetheart,” the velvet of his voice melted into your ears. after a few moments, you murmured a green light and bottomed out, hands resting on your waist. you pressed the upper half of your body more downwards, eliciting a groan from jeonghan as he watched your back arch.

“you may be the slowest member yet,” you pushed your luck, deep breaths as you felt him pick up the pace.

when silence had grown just enough for you to think you wouldn’t get a response, jeonghan landed another slap into your ass, kneading the red after the hit. “good things come to good girls to wait. if you’re going to be a bitch, i have no problem slowing down a little more. maybe just stopping. how’s that, bunny?”

you guessed it was a rhetorical question because he suddenly sped up, the erotic sounds and skin slapping almost making you dizzy, but jeonghan had other things in mind.

fisting your hair, he yanked your body parallel to his, maneuvering his hands to play with your tits. “you were all talk when it was time to speak shit, but when i ask you a question you’re an idiot? think you can still handle me?”

you tried moaning loud in response, being it was the easiest option, but jeonghan’s fingers met your mouth and they were slipped between your lips. he chuckled as you sucked, pulling them out shortly after and replacing the wet digits onto your nipples in return for a whine. he tsked in response, but he sounded disappointed.

he pushed your body back down into its arch, pulling his dick almost all the way out of your cunt and holding it there for a moment. “what’s going on in your mind, sweetheart? wanna hear your pretty voice.”

“you- you fucker, just move-ah!” jeonghan slammed back into you, sucking in a breath from above.

“tell me, y/n,” he thrust in and out slow much to your (and his, but it was his choice) frustrastion.

“are you really able to help 13 of your friends get off without ruining your bond with any of them? are you good enough for them? for us?” he pulled your hair once more, your bodies meeting as he leaned into your ear.

“for me?”

it did sound a lot more complicated than it was, but the group wasn’t uncomfortable at all and nor were you. you knew you weren’t a fucktoy, in fact they helped you almost as much as you helped them. it was just an easy way to get around a difficult problem— for some members, like vernon, it was more of a one or two time thing, but for others like soonyoung, you never knew what to expect. high sex drive or not, they were all just a group of respectful men you knew you could trust. they were all hot, you especially knew, but the thought of ruining your bond hadn’t come up since your small crush on dokyeom.

well, there was no bond to ruin between you and jeonghan until now.

it was just a game. of course the two of you were friends, getting lunch every now and then and comfotably hanging out with other members, but him being the only member to not initiate anything with you had put an inevitable space between your relationship.

you had generally been closer to the older members, especially jisoo, yet the hookups you had with all 12 had never been this intimate. but, anything more than a friendship and casual hookups with jeonghan would mean the arrangement you had with every other member would be destroyed just because jeonghan finally came around to fucking you.

well, shit. that was a thought for another day.

you turned your head so that your faces met each others, half-open eyes still giving away your gentle smile. “that’s what i’m here for, hannie. if i’m not good enough, then make me.”

“cute, but i’d rather you prove it. this is for me, remember?” with that, jeonghan pulled out of you, your cunt clenching around nothing as you huffed out of frustration. he rolled over, fixing his pillows as he layed back so nonchalantley you had to hold back a scoff. finally, his droopy eyes slowly greeted yours, one side of his mouth lifitng. “i told you i don’t like liars, right? if you think you’re any better than me, come and get it, baby.”

ah. you really needed to watch your words around jeonghan— joshua wasn’t lying when he said the older remembered everything to his advantage. you were practically drooling for him at this point, eagerly climbing onto his lap as his hands found your waist. being as he was just inside you, it was an easy slide when you sunk back onto his cock.

jeonghan’s moans were louder than you thought they would be. wanting a reminder, you didn’t let the pleasure faze you as you rolled your hips.

just as you had began to move, jeonghan’s phone on the table beside his bed began to chime. jeonghan’s everlasting love for his members would never let him silent his phone. you peered over as a favor, trying to make out the caller id.

“it’s seungkwan-ah,” you breathed, setting a slow pace to stop the two of you from getting overwhelmed.

“pick it up, please.”

you knew from the games he played with the members, but jeonghan was a master at manipulation. he catered his way of speaking to everyone, being able to analyze even a cashier he’d never see again. it was the “please” that threw out any rational hesitance from your brain as you leaned into jeonghan’s body, extending your arm to reach for the phone.

you answered the call. “hello?”

“hyung! is there- y/n?”

oh. you forgot about how you were going to explain that it wasn’t jeonghan answering the phone. this seemed to be the boy in question’s plan all along, a dimple on his right cheek deepening on his skin.

“oh… seungkwan! jeonghan is in the shower.. so i picked up for him! what’s up?”

you heard a faint voice in the back, seungkwan responding to the mystery person with a really? before placing his focus back on you. “wonu hyung told chan that shua hyung said you were leaving the dorms? did something happen?”

you looked at jeonghan, his smile growing wider as his eyebrows knit together. you knew he would mock your inability to lie if the circumstances were different.

“i got kind of hungry… and took a nap.. what did you need from jeonghan?”

seungkwan seemed to not care enough to look into your story, taking a second to remember what he called for. “oh! if you’re near the kitchen, can you check which cereal box is empty? hyung said he really liked this one brand.”

you looked at jeonghan for help, and instead of a cereal brand answer, he moved your arm away from his face and whispered, “you’re going too slow, baby.”

he then placed his hands back on your waist, bringing you up and down his cock, making you clamp your hand over your mouth.

“y/n?” the phone spoke.

for a second, jeonghan seemed to have mercy on you, halting his movements so you can talk into the speaker. “um… cinnamon toast c-ah! crunch!”

it wouldn’t be jeonghan if he was that easy on you. he slammed you back down onto his cock mid sentence.

“oh? i thought hyung hated cinnamon… oh well. thanks, noona!”

you rushed a quick “bye” before hanging up and throwing the phone on the other side of the bed, jeonghan giggling below you.

“fuck you,” you gritted, seeing as he’s no longer helping you get off.

“you already are, babe.” you knew he was trying to rile you up as he had been, but you wanted to cum so bad. he seemed to have taken notice of the whine you let out, thumbs smoothening along your back. “let me help you.”

“no!” you stopped his wandering hands. “this is about you, not me.” you bounced on his dick quicker, placing your focus onto the pleasure laced into jeonghan’s voice as you did so.

“that’s true, my baby’s so smart. i think you deserve a reward.” you could tell he was getting close, his breath hitching through his words and his eyes fluttering shut.

even with his eye sight falling in and out of darkness, he was able to locate your breasts, not allowing for you to hide a mewl. just as he began to knead the skin, his tip found your g-spot, evoking a high-pitched moan from you.

“jeonghan… i don’t know how much longer i can wait,” you managed to get out, his hands traveling around your body. he enclosed them around your waist one final time.

he pushed your back, drawing you closer to him. “come here, y/n.”

you made it easier by leaning in, feeling his lips latch onto your neck. “help me just a little bit more,” he breathed onto your skin, sucking an angry red mark, then making a show of the action by licking his matching cherry lips.

you took his face into your hands, resting your forehead against his for a moment. “yoon jeonghan,” you heavily exhaled, a shy grin threatening to materialize, “i hope you always come to me. i hope this isn’t a one time thing. i hope you never sign an NDA again. i hope i’m yours.”

“mine, mine, only mine. out of 13, just mine. and i’m only yours.” his face contorted in something like lust, something you didn’t want to believe was lust. you could be just his. you were willing to do that.

“cum with me.”

with that, you released onto his length, not without a loud cry of his name. he thrusted into you twice more before he too came into the condom, a broken moan slipping past his lips.

for a few moments the two of you stayed like that, breathing against each other before you heard him call your name.

“should i run a bath?” he suggested. you made an approving noise, pulling off of his cock but not missing the hiss that came from the boy. he extended a hand to your own, letting you intertwine your fingers with a tired smile. jeonghan led you off of the bed, out of his room and into the hallway towards the fourth unit bathroom.

ah. it was right next to jeonghan’s room.

after getting the bath ready, the two of you slipped in, your body flush against his chest.

“i hope you weren’t lying.”

he broke the silence, caressing your shoulders in a gentle massage.

“about?”

“you and me. i don’t want you to be shy around me. this is a thing now. i’m an option.”

you leaned further back on one of his shoulders, his arm resting over your collarbone as you looked back at him.

“it’s not you who’s the option, it’s me. hannie, i’ve been waiting for this, i just didn’t know if you wanted it. when you need me, i’m here. sex or not, you know you’ve always had me. this thing with the members, it’s not complicated. if anyone finds love, then we’re back to just normal friends. same thing goes for you.”

“what if it’s you?”

you froze, taken aback at the boldness, but jeonghan had already began rephrasing his words.

“i’m not saying i’m in love with you,” that one hurt, but what did you expect? “i mean what if one of the members start liking you? or what if you start liking one of them?”

so much for him being an option.

“it won’t happen. they’re all adults, they won’t do anything more than a blowjob if they think they’ll somehow get more attached. and me,” your eyes fell on his fourth finger and the ring that circled around it. you can’t be selfish, that’s not what you’re here for. you shifted your gaze onto his, trying to provide some sense of reassurance to support your words. “don’t worry about me.”

“whatever you say, my princess.”

his, out of 13, he said you were his. you want to be his. could you be his?

“anything for you, my prince.”

#jeonghan imagines #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #jeonghan scenarios #svt fic #jeonghan fic #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #svt smut

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softlyspector · 2 years

Text

Solid Ground

Summary: Benny likes you a lot, you like Benny a lot. Both of you are determined not to get that.

Pairing: Ben "Benny" Miller x Reader

Word Count: ~13.2k

Warnings: idiots in love, pining, canon level violence, PTSD, mental health issues, panic attacks, mild harassment and threats of violence

A/N: Thank you for reading! Again, I am so very aware I’m writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That being said, please let me know what you think!

The afternoon is slow, hot.

Like most afternoons at the bar.

The Florida air is so heavy and thick with humidity, it feels like something you could swim through if you really tried. There’s a lethargic weight in the air, like you’re slowly sinking into the mire of your own life, the dreariness of the mundane and the everyday.

All the folding doors are open onto the deck that overlooks the lake, umbrellas open over the tables to keep the sun at bay. But the only patrons, a group of older men that come in at the same time everyday to drink together, currently sit inside beneath the lazily rotating ceiling fans.

The only balm against the pain of manning a tiny bar in a small town that hardly saw any customers during the endless afternoon shift, is that the owner doesn’t mind you reading on the clock if there are no customers that need your attention.

John likes you well enough and knows you’re competent. He also knows how slow things can get, but refuses to close up shop during the afternoons. He’s ran the bar the same way for forty years, and he’d be damned if he started doing things differently just because the town’s population and tourist traffic had shrunk a little.

So, once your regulars are taken care of, happy with beers and lowball glasses of whiskey straight, you take a seat on the barstool behind the counter and prop open your book against a bottle of tequila.

Sweat drips down your spine as a warm, heavy breeze drifts through the bar, bringing you the scent of lake water and sunshine. A local rock station plays lowly from the overhead speakers, and a peace settles between your bones. The low conversation and sudden loud chuckles from the regulars, along with the buzz of crickets and cicadas, the lap of water against the wooden poles of the deck, make for good background noise.

The front door opens and you glance up, trying not to look too excited, too giddy. But a smile pulls at your lips despite your best efforts.

And Benny Miller smiles openly at you, unabashedly happy to see you. He beelines toward you, waving at the regulars who all know him by name in this small town.

They know Ben Miller the MMA fighter, Ben Miller the soldier.

But they also know him as Benny Miller the troublemaker, as Will Miller’s little brother Benny.

“Hey, Ben,” they call and he glances over his shoulder to flash that famous Benny grin, hyena wide and begging for trouble.

The breeze carries the scent of Benny’s soap and cologne to you. Though he’s in jeans and a t-shirt, you can tell he’s just finished up at the gym, the edges of his hair still damp beneath his usual backwards ratty cap.

“Hey babe,” he coos at you, dropping a battered copy of the last book you’d loaned him onto the counter before rounding the bar to envelope you in a hug that nearly knocks you out of your seat.

“Easy,” you remind him even as you fold one arm tightly around him, smoothing your fingers down his spine, that clean soap and earthy smell that’s distinctly Benny wrapping around you. “Hey, pretty boy.”

He clings onto you, his nose pressed against your temple, for just a tad too long. And you have to tap his back with a laugh when your lungs feel like they might collapse.

He skims his lips across your forehead before releasing you, grinning big and wide at you as you snap your own book closed to give him the attention you know he's about to demand. “Miss me?” he asks as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the counter.

“You don’t give me much of a chance to miss you, Miller,” you say, raising a brow at him. “We see each other almost every day.”

“And ya miss me every single day,” he confirms to himself with a nod, nudging the book he deposited on the counter closer to you. “I liked this one.”

“Really? I’m a little bit surprised,” you pick the book up and flick through your worn copy of Stephen King’s Carrie. “Why’d you like it?”

“Big fan of goin’ out with a bang,” he grins, leaning over the counter to brace his forearms against the bar and drop his head. You can hear his leg shaking where he bounces it against the floor on the other side of the bar.

You shake your head and take the book to stack on top of your own. “You want another one or are you good for now?”

“Sure, what d’ya got for me?”

“Why don’t you come over to my place and you can pick something yourself?” You offer. “And you know you don’t have to get something else right away? You can take a break.”

In the months you’d known Benny, he’d never struck you as a reader. But a couple of weeks ago he’d suddenly asked for a recommendation. Benny, you’re almost positive, has undiagnosed ADHD, so his sudden interest in something like reading had surprised you, though you'd been happy to recommend something to him. You were more than happy to have an excuse to invite him over to your place, if only to look through your book collection.

Benny preferred motion and action to something like sitting down with a book - MMA, fishing, running - literally anything but sitting down for hours on end. Stillness and silence did not suit Benny and you almost wonder how it was that he was getting through your books so quickly.

Whatever the reason for his foray into reading, you're glad for it, glad to have someone to talk with about books.

“Nah, I’m good,” he laughs. “I got you to keep up with now.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you have to be competitive about everything?”

“Yeah.”

“You want anything today? Or are you just bored again?”

“No,” his eyes flick over you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Just knew you’d be missin’ my company.”

Benny never orders anything, not since the day you met him and not unless he hung around long enough for the dinner crew to start drifting in. He mostly just came in to keep you company - as he put it, or annoy you - as you’d put it.

“That so?” You can’t help but grin, shifting in your seat to cross your arms over your chest, “And who told you that, huh?”

He smiles wider at you. “You always gotta be so mean to me?” He jokes, lifting his gaze and peering at you from beneath his lashes, eyes wide and open and so pretty it makes your breath stall.

You glance away from him, skimming your thumb over the pages of your book instead, to avoid meeting his eyes, a gaze that hid absolutely nothing from you. “Any other thoughts about Carrie?”

“Not about her, no.”

“What about then?”

“Thinkin’ about how I’m so smokin’ hot you can’t even look at me.”

You flash your eyes back up at him, “Careful, Ben, I might think you’re flirting with me.”

“Oh, honey, trust me, I’m trying.”

You reach out and touch a yellowing bruise at the edge of his temple. He winces against your touch. “Maybe. Good thing I think you’re pretty when you’re a little rough around the edges, huh?” You try not to think about how he leans into your hand, reaches up and holds your hand to his face, even when you press your thumb harder into the bruise.

Benny Miller had stormed into your life for the first time a few months ago. It had been raining, a temperamental, torrential rain that had the bar’s parking lot flooded in minutes.

He’d swung through the door mad as hell, his lip split, his cheek cut and bruised, soaked to the bone. His t-shirt had clung to him in all the right places, ridges of muscle and padding visible beneath. Cerulean blue eyes had been nearly eaten up by the black of his pupils.

A bandage had been wrapped around his upper arm, partially undone and spooling down his bicep, boots thumping against the worn floorboards as he closed in on you at the bar.

You had wondered for a half a second if you should be afraid of him, alone in the bar as you were, even the regulars kept away by the horrible weather.

But he’d only sat at the counter and brusquely ordered a beer. Those blown out pupils - so easily mistaken for fury, had held something deeper.

Fear.

He had been terrified of something, fingers drumming nervously on the bar, a shake in his hand.

“Little early for that, isn't it?” You’d asked, watching his brows tilt up as he ran a hand through locks dampened and darkened by the rain. “Rough day?”

“Sweetheart,” he’d said, his voice low and graveled with just a hint of a twang. It was a voice that had made you melt, that softened everything inside you into mush. “You have no fuckin’ idea.” He sounded exhausted, breathing hard and fast like he’d just got done running a race.

You’d raised a brow at that and handed him the beer you poured from the tap. For a few long minutes, you only watched him sip his beer.

Veteran, you’d marked him out easy.

And he needed a distraction - so you chatted at him, telling him about how you’d rewatched Top Gun recently, mindlessly talking as the tension slowly rolled out of his shoulders and his grip on the glass loosened until his fingers weren’t quite so white with pressure.

You still wouldn't be sure, even months later, if he’d heard a word you said that day. But your voice alone had seemed to be enough to ground him.

“I got a first aid kit here. Want me to take care of that for you?” You had eventually offered when his breathing stabilized, nodding at his busted cheek. “So you don’t go home with an infection. Gangrene or something.”

He’d barked out an unexpected laugh at that. “Don’t think I’m at risk for gangrene,” he snorted.

You shrugged. “Want me to or not?” His only answer had been a sheepish nod, an offering of his face to you with a jut of his chin.

He hadn’t told you what happened and you hadn’t asked. You had only moved around the counter, cleaned the cut and stuck a butterfly bandage over it, dabbed the blood from his split lip where he'd worried a wound open with his teeth. You had changed and rewrapped the bandage on his arm. The gauze was old and clearly hadn’t been changed in awhile.

And while it looked like he’d been shot, you hadn’t mentioned it.

“What’s your name, honey?” he’d asked you when you finished, his voice saccharine to your ears, slow and sweet and so low, like gravel wrapped in sunshine.

And, oh, you’d liked that. Liked how he sounded when he called you honey. Liked the slow, sweet drip of it.

You gave him your name, and he’d repeated it back to you, like it was something vital that needed to be committed to memory, your hand still on the curve of his bicep, your body still very close to his. “Ben,” he’d informed you, even though you hadn’t asked for his name in return. “Benny Miller. You knew around here?”

“Been in town just a couple months. But just started workin’ here.”

“And you always patch up customers like this?” He’d asked, the last dregs of anger and fear lingering around him dissipating fast, a smile that you would come to know as his signature look spreading over his face.

“Only the pretty ones, Miller.” Without realizing it, you’d gravitated so very close to him, his thighs bracketing your body but not touching you as you worked on his face. Something warm had bloomed between you then, that made you step back and look away, that made you take your hand off his arm where his skin was so warm it burned.

Something bloomed between you that would make Benny hang around for the rest of your shift, that made him walk you to your car, and come back the next day and the next day and the next…

“Not pretty,” he'd disagreed. “Handsome? Yeah. Hot? Fuck yeah.”

You laughed, watched him beam with pride at the sound. “With eyes like those? Ben, you’re pretty.”

And ever since that day, he’s made a point to stop in the bar during the afternoon. He claims he has time with the way his training schedule works out and you can’t really complain. Benny makes good company. He’s a good storyteller, loud and energetic and fun, and always interested in whatever you have to say even if he doesn’t always remember what exactly you say.

He’s become a constant presence in your life, a fast friend that stuck. And soon enough, it became hard to imagine your life without him, without his regular appearances at the bar.

More often than not he hangs around until your shift ends, walks you to your car, still talking, before asking you to take a drive with him.

And you always find yourself saying yes.

Benny can talk. He chats constantly about anything and everything - MMA, baseball, anecdotes from his time in the military, his little family of friends. Lately, he talks with you about the books he borrows, movies you watch and rewatch together.

The military thing comes up suddenly and without preamble, like it's something everyone already knew about him, ingrained into his identity. And although he openly tells you about his service, there’s a pain that lies beneath, something that he’s not yet come to terms with, a crinkle in his brow that concerns you.

Some days, his hands shake a little.

Some days, his breathing isn’t ever quite even.

Benny is going through something, and you think he hasn’t told a soul about it.

You quickly felt at home in his passenger seat, going too fast down country roads, listening to him talk, radio all the way up, windows all the way down.

Sometimes you go to the lake, sometimes to an empty, open field that Benny seems to know well - sitting in the back of the jeep with the seats down until the stars come out.

You’ve spent almost all your free time with Benny over the last few months. You go to baseball games together on the Fridays he doesn’t have an MMA match, and spend most Saturday mornings fishing together. His face is usually stained yellow and green from the previous night, broken blood vessels blooming purple and red, a cut to the cheek and above his brow. You always call him pretty and he always pretends to hate it.

You’ve gone to Topgolf together more than once and been kicked out each time for being too loud and rowdy and drunk. He’s taken you to the shooting range and taught you how to handle a weapon though you insist it's not knowledge you want or need, while Benny insists that it is.

He somehow becomes your best friend, worms his way inside your heart, in such a short period of time that you can’t imagine your life without him, especially not in this town.

Now, Ben leans back when you pull your hand away from his face, flexing not so subtly. You can tell by the way he sits, the bunched coil of muscle in his forearms twisting as he settles more fully in his chair, chest puffed out.

You roll your eyes at the display. Ben’s flirting is about as subtle as a hammer to the head.

“Well, actually, babe, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Invited you to my fight and you didn’t show. You’re making a bad impression with my buddies. They’re starting to think I made you up.”

He says it so casually, almost like it’s a joke, a megawatt smile still on his face, but you can tell Benny is hurt. Your heart gives a painful thump and you cast him a small smile in return. “I told you I wouldn’t be able to make it, didn’t I?”

“Sure ya did,” he whines, leaning forward again, “But I thought you meant it in a faking me out kinda way so I’d be surprised.” Before you can respond, he continues, fidgeting with a loose bit of wood on the counter. “What was so important anyways? You have a date or somethin’?”

You slap his hand away from the wood before he can damage the scarred bar more than it already is. Benny never stops moving, fidgeting, usually destroying napkins and paper drink coasters and straw papers in droves as he talks to you. “Yeah, actually. And what happened to that fidget thing I got you? The pop-it?”

And the stress ball, you think. To help with whatever he was bottling up inside, waiting for the emotions to shake up and erupt in a bout of anger instead of dealing with them beforehand.

Benny ignores your question and goes deadly still, the vibrations echoing through the floor from his bouncing leg ceasing. “You serious?”

You feign nonchalance, twisting the liquor bottles in front of you so their labels face out. “Yep. So serious. We fucked in the parking lot and he bought me Taco Bell after,” you deadpan.

Ben laughs, the sound loud and unapologetic, so very Benny it makes something in you ache. But there’s something else in that laugh too - relief. “Really, though.”

“For real,” you say.

You had gone on a date, but it had been a bad one. One in which you had been bored out of your mind. One in which your date talked at you and not with you. He had been so low energy - or maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe you’d just been comparing him to Benny, who made everyone seem low energy.

You’d had dinner and left. There hadn’t been any random detours to the batting cages or a race against time down back roads, no here, honey, lemme show you this ice cream joint by the water-

It had been a date where you thought of a different guy the entire time, wondering if Benny was looking for you at his fight, wondering if he was getting his ass handed to him or making some money with a win.

The truth is - Benny terrifies you.

You’re terrified of him, you’re terrified of the way he makes you feel, of the heart pounding, blood warming way he looks at you.

And you know that he wants something from you.

And it's something you aren’t really willing to give.

Benny is a flirt, a curl of energy that bounced from thing to thing with surprising ease. The only constants in his life were his family and the military and fighting - and you do not fit into any of those spaces.

Benny loses interest in things at a rapid rate, and you’re sure you’re just another stepping stone, something that would only hold his attention briefly.

And you do not want to become just another thing that Benny Miller lost interest in.

You don’t want a night with him, especially if it meant losing him after, of losing these conversations, these moments, all the things you’d done together and shared. You don’t want to lose his friendship.

Friendship for Benny is made of much sturdier stuff, long lasting and fierce.

And if Benny wanted more than that, he’d just tell you. He’s one to take the things he wants, or at least ask, instead of letting them fall into his lap.

So you keep him at arm's length, knocking him back a step or two each time he hints at something besides this thing you have with him now. And meeting his friends, going to one of his matches, feels too close for comfort, feels too personal and raw and vulnerable.

You would lose Benny and the things truly closest to his heart if you were to let that happen.

Besides, you’ve been left alone before and you aren’t keen on it happening again.

He rolls his eyes at you, “Uh huh, sure.” Benny drums his fingers against the bar, though he doesn’t sound particularly convinced. “Listen, I get it's intimidating -,” he starts when you scoff at his assumption, “Hold on! Let me finish! I know it's intimidating but I’m always fine. And it would mean a lot to me. And the guys.”

You soften. That he thinks you don’t want to go because you don’t want to see him hurt, makes your chest ache.

“Oh believe me, Ben, I’d love to watch you get your ass kicked.”

He flashes a smile at you, yanking the ball cap off his head to toss onto the counter. You lift a brow at him as he laces his fingers together against the back of his head, arms wide. “Oh yeah? Perfect opportunity right in front of you then,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “But I’m usually the ass-kicker.”

You’re always surprised at just how much room Benny takes up, the space he occupies without a care in the world, summer gold skin washed out in the low lighting of the bar. You also really don’t mind the pull of the band of muscle in his arms, or the way his shirt rides up so you can see the flat of his belly, the dark trail of hair. “Of course you are,” you roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus only on his face.

Benny’s expression splinters, his smile fading for just a second, brows tilting down. “Is it something else? Why don’t you -,”

He’s interrupted when the front door blows open and your name is called. You cringe, John’s horrible son Victor violently thrusting into you and Benny’s safe little world. You'd hated Victor before you met Benny, for the way he looked at you, the slimy innuendos he made, but you hated him even more after.

He and Benny had gone to high school together, hated each other then too. And Victor never lets Benny forget that he thinks he’s trash.

“Oh, and Miller is here too. How wonderful,” he snaps, the smile he’d been directing at you turning to a scowl when his gaze lands on Ben.

Benny bristles immediately, standing up and knocking his stool back but not over. “What the fuck is your problem?” He asks loudly. “You always got some shit to say to me.”

“Just wondering how you can get drunk in the middle of the day, everyday. Don’t you have a job?” Victor’s eyes flit over Benny’s broken face, the bruises that never quite faded. “Oh. Right. You get the shit kicked out of you for a living.”

“Better watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he snarls, the converstaion of the regulars in the corner coming to an abrupt halt. Benny’s never afraid to defend himself, and he certainly wasn't afraid to make a scene while doing so. “I don’t lose much.”

You hold out a hand when Benny starts around the counter. “Benny,” you say gently, “C’mon. Stop it.”

Victor stops next to you, his hand going to your hip and you force yourself not to jerk away from his touch, as he intentionally tries riling Benny up. “Yeah, Miller. Stand down. We all know how good you are at following orders and not using your brain.”

Benny’s chin tilts down, eyes on Victor’s possessive hand against your waist. Something goes dark in his gaze and this time he does come around the bar.

You move quickly, grabbing Benny’s hat off the counter and both your books before shoving Victor’s stupid ass behind you as he laughs. “Fuckin’ idiot, it's like you want to get the shit kicked out of you,” you mutter at him as as you step in front of Benny. He's fuming, leaning against you, pushing with a gentle strength, unwilling to hurt you to get to Victor.

Benny would never hurt you, but he looks like he’s considering shoving you out of the way. His eyes go cold as he watches Victor over your shoulder and you don’t turn because you don’t want to know what gesture he’s doing behind you. You press into Ben, leaning hard against his solid frame, laying one hand flat against his sternum. “He’s not worth it. Let it go. For me, Benny?” You plead with a calm you don’t feel, “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. Leave this asshole to man the bar.”

He smirks at that, sliding an arm around your shoulders, holding you hot and tight and close against his chest. You swear you can feel his heartbeat. “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, the lilt of fury still lingering in his voice. You pull out of his arms and he follows you out of the bar easily when you tug him after you.

“You always do everything you’re told, Miller?” Victor calls after your retreating backs.

“Fuck you,” Benny snarls over his shoulder. “Only when she’s the one asking.” And he sounds almost proud.

Proud that you chose him, proud that you commanded him.

Something in you shakes, that this hot headed man listens to you.

You keep one hand behind you, tucked into Benny’s elbow so that he doesn’t get any ideas about bolting back to give Victor the beating he very much deserved.

“I hate that fucker,” he says when you finally pull him outside to cross the parking lot towards his jeep, his hand trailing down your arm to lace his fingers with yours. “Always have. Made all the girls uncomfortable in school. And the way he fuckin’ talks about you-,”

“I hate him too, Benny,” you interrupt. “But he’s my boss’s son, what am I supposed to do?” You pause by the driver’s side door and reach up to tuck Benny’s hat back onto his head, cradling your books against your chest as you stroke some stray hair back from his forehead. “Go easy, darlin’. He shouldn’t fuckin’ talk about you that way either. Fucking snob.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, breaking your heart just a little bit. “But you don’t hear the shit he says when you aren’t around. I should have knocked his teeth down his throat weeks ago.”

You close your eyes briefly, hearing every horrible thing Victor has ever said to you about Benny. Namely that he was stupid and mean and not worth the time you spent on him. “Yeah, well, ditto,” you say bitterly, blinking up at him, the last argument fresh in your mind.

“He’s a loser and he always has been. He’s lucky he has Will for a brother and feels like he needs to play catch up and get out of his shadow or he wouldn’t have made it out of high school.”

Benny watches you, eyes darting between the bar’s door and you, his expression souring by the second as he monitors you. “Don’t,” you warn.

“Not gonna,” he says innocently.

“Liar.”

“Why don’t ya wanna come to my matches?” He asks abruptly, remembering what you’d been talking about before you were interrupted.

You sigh, “It's not that I don’t want to. I’m just-,” you fidget on the spot, trying to decide how to put it, wiggling your fingers at him. “-I just worry about you.”

It isn’t untrue, just not exactly the reason you didn’t want to go.

“Bullshit,” he says, calling you out.

“Benny,” you say gently, ducking your head to avoid his eyes. “I-,”

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. I got you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. I got it. You don’t want to,” he yanks open the door and you’re forced to stumble back a few steps as he climbs in. The engine roars to life and Benny rolls the window down to look at you. “Forgot. Got this for you. Meant to bring it in with me,” he says, handing out something rectangular, wrapped in pink paper.

You take it from him, peering up at him before you abruptly tear the paper and he groans, “Don’t open it now.”

But you just keep shredding the wrapping paper until a book is revealed to you, a limited edition of one of your favorites. “Oh,” you say, running a finger down the cover. You’d been looking for this particular edition for over a year. “Oh, my God! Benny, how’d you find this?”

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. You like it?”

You clutch it to your chest. “Fuck. Yes. Thank you.” You stare at Benny, and he stares back at you, the sweltering heat pinching at your skin. Since when did Benny go hunting for obscure books? Since when did he read in his limited free time?

“Fuck, Benny. Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I just don’t know how to explain it right. Can I ride along? Lemme go tell Victor to fuck off and we can go to my place for your book. Dinner on me?”

You know John won’t mind, not if you leave a note that you needed to leave an hour early and that his useless son came in before he was supposed to.

The grin that cracks open Ben’s face could end wars. “Never gonna say no to that.”

Benny really isn’t sure what it is about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame, that first time he met you - dripping wet and mad as hell when he stormed into the first bar he came to.

He’d just freaked out in a gas station convenience store - panicked and panicked and couldn’t fucking breathe for a full minute before he was able to leave - all because someone was too close to him and he was trying not to put his hand through a freezer door or through the guy’s fucking head.

He hadn’t.

He hadn’t and had been proud of that fact until he was back in his jeep and that tightness in his chest still wouldn’t go away, even though he was safe, even though he’d never not been.

Benny had had half a mind to call Will, to ask him to come pick him up because he didn’t think he could drive, felt like maybe he was having a fucking heart attack.

But then the anger set in, the irritation that now, after everything - this was happening to him.

It was just another thing to add onto the shit that just kept stacking up. He’d heard about guys going through this when they came home. Fuck, he’d seen Will go through it.

But why him?

Why now?

After all these years? After he’d been home for so long?

Just because of the Colombia trip? It wasn’t even close to being the worst thing he’s been through.

Just because one of his closest friends, a man who was like his brother, had been killed in front of him?

Fuck off.

It’s not the first time - it hadn’t been that bad -

For a while he hadn’t realized what was happening to him - why his chest would go tight and the air in the room felt like it had suddenly evaporated.

Fuck, he doesn’t want to be having panic attacks, doesn’t want to think about what he went through, doesn’t want to think about why this was suddenly happening.

And if he doesn't look at it, it can't hurt him. If he doesn't look at it, it would go away.

So he ignored that it was happening at all. Even though it was happening more and more frequently.

Still, that day, his chest was tight, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might explode.

The anger suddenly burned up the tightness, made him so pissed off at himself for being so weak, that he knew he’d be no good in training, and decided to go for a drink instead.

No, he hadn’t punched anyone that day.

And that was good, something to be proud of.

Everything else? Shit.

The cut on his cheek was from an unregulated fight in some fucking parking lot the day before, the bandage around his arm unchanged since he got home from Colombia two weeks before.

Nothing had felt right since they got home. It was worse than before, worse than when he was discharged from service.

Fighting in parking lots? He hadn’t done that shit since high school. Everything felt like it was twisting down and away, the tentative grip he held on his life slipping away with every second.

His first instinct was to do something stupid, to go find a fight or break a speed limit.

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

And so the bar it was.

And you had been there - an unsuspecting buoy in a restless storm, so calm and rock steady, his exact opposite in so many ways.

The immediate sharp burn of your presence, the steady way you’d looked at him, unfazed by the roll of anger that he tried to keep a lid on, how you’d not asked him a damn thing about what happened to him - why he was so torn up and spaced out and mad.

He probably wouldn’t have been able to answer you anyways.

You talked to him as he nursed that beer, told him about a movie you’d rewatched recently - something old and he wishes he could remember now what it was - Top Gun? Back to the Future?

No idea.

Then you’d asked if you could help him out - one nonsensical, calm brow raised.

He’d known in that moment, that he’d never be able to quit you, so suddenly and quick, like a flash of lightning - something inside him locked into place.

But Benny had always been that way with his loyalty, a gut instinct that he trusted implicitly.

He knew you were a person he should keep.

It was like when he’d known that his life would never be the same five seconds into his first day of basic training, like he’d known fighting was what he wanted to do the second he stepped into the ring that first time.

He knew.

Benny knew you were for keeps, that you were going to stick inside him like a burr, something that would be painful to rip out - just like fighting, just like the military, just like Delta.

You’re something he can’t quit.

You’re something unchangeable and steady in his life. You become one of his constants only hours after meeting you.

And he doesn't want you to quit him. Benny wants you to want him too. He wants you to hold on tight, to claw your way into him and make a home there.

But fuck, do you make it difficult.

You are adverse to him making a move, knocking him back again and again. If you hinted that you wanted more he’d shoot his shot but you don’t indicate that.

And that’s fine, it really is.

He’ll be friends with you and nothing else if that’s what you really want.

But that thing you lodged in his heart? It has sharp edges and its starting to fucking hurt, to ache, to bleed.

He spends all his time with you - you’re like a drug he doesn’t want to quit.

And when he’s with you? That’s when he finally breathes normally again, when his blood settles down and he feels like Benny again - he can forget about what happened in Colombia, he doesn’t have to think about the spray of Tom’s blood when he was shot.

He starts spending all his time with you, you become his best friend so suddenly it's almost shocking.

He stops fighting in back alleys and parking lots, and he can tell Will is relieved by the set of his shoulders when the bruising on his face actually gets a chance to fade. He can tell that you are relieved, because you note how his hands aren’t as shaky, you note that the bruises fade and that he doesn’t space out as much, breathing like he’s run a fucking race completely out of the blue.

That fucks him up so bad too, that you’ve noticed the panic.

Still, you don’t come to his matches, you don’t meet Will or Santi or Frankie.

Maybe he’s just something temporary to you even though you have become a constant to him.

And that’s never happened before, and it terrifies him.

He’s always been the one to call the shots in his own life - he’s never had to wait for someone to decide on him. Benny has always been the temporary thing, jumping from relationship to relationship with ease.

And fuck if he isn’t trying to tell you, to light the path so he can shoot his fucking shot. He started reading, and even though he’s coming to enjoy it a little - just because you light up like the goddamned sun when you get to talk about books - it's not easy for him. It takes concentration and frustrated brain power. He thinks for a while maybe you don't get it - but fuck if him taking up reading isn't a flashing neon sign of attraction, of trying to impress you and relate to you, he doesn't know what is.

He looked for a fucking book for you with an intensity he reserved for fighting, for missions, hunting and bidding and cajoling until he got it. Until he felt like he won a fight when he found it.

For you.

Now, he watches you unlock the front door of your apartment. He holds the screen door open for you as you fiddle with your keys, eyes locked on the curve of your jaw as you talk, intoxicated by the scent of you, the movement of your mouth, the flash of your teeth.

He’s pressed close to you, the heat of your body radiating into his as he leans into you.

One thing he really appreciates about you? You’re good with how he expresses himself - the too loud way in which he lives his life, the way he likes to touch.

Too many relationships had soured early - not that he was planning for the long haul but still - because he was too much.

Too loud, too brash, too quick to temper.

You’ve never told him he’s too much, never told him not to be the way he is. You say gentle things like easy to remind him not to squeeze you too tightly in a hug but that’s it and sometimes he needs the reminder, forgets his own strength.

But you never tell him to stop, you never say that he’s too much.

“Jesus, Benny,” you say now when the door finally swings open and you lurch inside. “You’re heavy.”

He grins and toes his shoes off by the door as you do the same. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all, tucking himself behind you as he follows you to the kitchen.

He loves your little studio, loves that he can see everything about you in one room, your bookshelves and your pink sheets patterned with tiny little strawberries, your vintage coffee table saved from someone’s trash and the stickers you’ve pressed into your kitchen cabinets.

“I’m going to cook something.”

“We can definitely just get takeout though,” he says, throwing himself down onto your couch with a groan.

He doesn’t need to look at you to know that you’re rolling your eyes. “Ben, one day you’re going to be old and all that shit is going to catch up to you.” He hears you shuffle closer, and then you lean over the back of the couch, peering down at him, “And then you’re going to come to me and complain that I didn’t warn you and feed you better.”

“You still gonna be hounding me when you’re old and gray?”

For a second, your face cracks, an unreadable expression crossing your face before you smile again, some of the light gone from your eyes. “Sure,” you say, voice careful, “Someone’s gonna haveta.”

“We can order pizza,” he says, trying to decide why the look on your face, that flash of uncertainty, made his chest tight, why panic is starting its slow unpredictable crawl up the back of his throat.

Maybe because it reminds him that you’re temporary. Maybe that’s why it's hard to breathe, why Tom’s face and the flash of blood imprints into his mind, why Will’s face stark white while blood drips down his side darts behind his eyes.

Maybe you wouldn't be around to remind him, maybe you aren't planning to be.

Benny relies on very few permanent things, always moving, going, tracking forward and leaving most things behind.

But there are essentials - fighting, Delta, the military - and now, you.

He wants to ask why you’re looking at him like that but the tightness in his chest is rising and he can’t speak.

You place a hand on his chest, and it's heavy and good and it steadies him. His breathing stabilizes. “No pizza. I’ll make spaghetti.” You nod at your bookshelf, “Anything you want is yours, okay? When you’re ready.”

And you walk away, back to the kitchen counter, searching through the fridge for ingredients.

He’s glad you leave him, struggling to find the right rhythm in his breathing even though the breaths come easily.

Since when did people leaving scare him so fucking bad? Since when did anything scare him this fucking bad?

He wonders why you hold him at arm’s length, keeping yourself away from the most important parts of his life, of himself.

Maybe you know you’re too good for him.

He hears what that fucker Victor says about him, that you’re too good to be keeping company like Benny, that he’s an idiot and always has been.

Benny isn’t sure how much of it you believe.

When the pain eases, he stands and pulls himself to your bookshelf, scanning for the most battered copies.

You abuse your books, but only the ones you like, the ones you read again and again, filled with notes and tabs and folded pages, covers shredded to bits. That’s how he knows you love roughly and hard, and it makes picking something out so easy.

The cover of Carrie had been picked apart.

He thumbs out one of the more ruined books and glances at the title - Howl’s Moving Castle. Something clearly for kids. Even better - it’ll be easy to get through.

When he shows you, you smile - “There’s a movie too! We can watch it when you’re done.” You turn back to the stove, “You always have a way of reading my favorites.”

God, the things you don’t realize.

Hours later, when you’ve eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, settled onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn, he decides to try to ask you again about why you didn’t want anything to do with the things that were really important to him.

“Be straight with me for a minute,” he says, turning onto his back so he can look up at you, his head pillowed on your thigh. “Why don’t you wanna come to my matches? Why aren’t you keen on meeting the guys? You don’t have to but I want a reason. It’s important to me. They’re important to me. You're important to me.”

You look startled at his admission but quickly recover, shaking your head as you press your fingers down the center of his chest, tracing slowly back up to his shoulder, across his collarbone. He bites down the urge to say something about just how much you liked to touch him.

“Can you try?” He pleads.

You pause, and Benny waits, even though he’s never really been a patient person. But for you, he'll try.

“I’ve just never been good at being close to people, Ben. It’s hard for me not to feel like the rug is going to be ripped out from under me,” you card your hands through his hair. “I moved here alone. I’m always alone. It’s easier not to be so attached.”

“You think I’m gonna cut and run?”

You don’t answer for a moment and the only sound is that of the movie playing quietly on the TV that neither of you have paid attention to in a while. “No,” you say eventually, carefully. “You aren’t one to abandon your friends.”

Benny, he tries to understand, what that meant you thought about him, that you don't want to come any closer than you already are.

Friends.

He would have to be okay with that.

But it’s late and he’s tired and your hands feel nice when they thread through his hair. “I kept the pop-it,” he says suddenly. “I know I ribbed you about it but I kept it and it helps. It’s actually starting to fuckin’ fall apart because I use it all the time.”

He uses it when he reads your books, so his hands are busy.

“I’ll get you a new one,” you say, like the fact you would means nothing.

You barrel through the front door of the bar, the crash of music and laughter and pool balls clacking together assaulting your already delicate ears, a headache lingering from the day you’ve had.

Benny hadn’t come in during your afternoon shift and you’d been stuck alone with Victor for a majority of that time, your pleas for help via texts to Benny going unanswered.

“Thanks for coming back in,” John says when you meet him at the bar. “Some fucking fight just let out and Sal’s is closed tonight so we got their usual folks too. Promise this is a one time thing,” he adds.

“No problem,” you say with a smile, swinging through the office door to drop your stuff and clock in. You catch sight of Victor as you pass back through the kitchen but avoid his gaze. “Hey, where d’you want me? Bar? Floor?” You ask John when you meet him back by the bar, tying your apron around your waist.

“I need you to take those tables over there,” he points to the far corner. “They haven’t been served yet.”

You nod and cross the bar, trying not to think about Benny, about how goddamned much you’d missed him and how any effort you’d made not to let him worm too closely into your heart had been severely thwarted.

Your Benny hangover coupled with the amount of time you’d been forced to spend with Victor alone has you on edge, tired and unhappy.

You take care of the couple sitting quietly together and a group of chatty girls before you move on to your last table, a group of guys. One of them, a blond with close cropped hair and a beard, looks strangely familiar. He tilts his head at you, like he knows you too and can’t place you.

Ignoring the feeling, you plaster a smile to your face, the pounding at the base of your skull increasing in intensity.

“Hey, sorry for the wait,” you start, laying down some napkins. “We’re a little bit understaffed tonight. What can I get for you?”

One of them, a man with fathomless, dark eyes and gray streaked brown curls, opens his mouth when a familiar voice says your name.

You start to turn just as Benny slams into you from behind, knocking the breath out of you. You jolt into the table as he wraps an arm across your chest, one of your hands coming up to hook at his elbow, to steady yourself. “Benny? What are you doing here?” You turn your head to find him grinning widely down at you, beaming at you like a ray of sunshine, happy to see you beyond what is reasonable.

“Could ask you the same thing, honey. Weren’t you here all afternoon?”

“I was but we’re understaffed so I got pulled back in. What are you doing here?” You ask again.

Benny’s face is a masterpiece of pain. He’s bruised up again, a scarlet cut above his cheek and near the line of his jaw, violent violet bruises starting to turn a painful shade of black and green. “Celebrating. I fuckin’ won tonight! Knockout within a minute,” he crows, looking proud. “And our usual place was closed.”

And John’s words come back to you - some fucking fight just let out and Sal’s is closed tonight so we got their usual folks too. “Congratulations,” you say softly, realizing who the people at the table must be, realizing why Benny had been absent that afternoon.

Normally he told you when you had a fight but you don’t remember him saying anything about this one. He always made a point to invite you, even if he knew you’d say no.

Embarrassment pools in your belly, realizing how long you’ve been letting him hold you, how you’ve only looked into his eyes, his grip so comfortable to you that you hadn’t noticed.

You frown as Benny finally releases you to sit down beside the man who looked familiar to you before. You suppose he looks familiar because he is. He can be no one else but Benny’s brother, Will. “I take it you’re who Benny’s been spending every minute with.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you try to joke, trying not to bolt away from the lot of them, as the careful separation in your mind between your Benny and Benny’s real life crashes down. “Ben’s got so many friends.”

“Not friends like you though,” says the man with those dark eyes, something unreadable brewing in his expression, his voice like ice. Benny shoots him a look that says fuck off.

Ben introduces you by name and then says, “My brother, Will.” He slaps the blond man he’d slid into the booth next to on the back. “Santiago,” he points to the salt and pepper haired man and then the man with the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, “and Frankie. Better known as Pope and Fish.”

“Nice to meet you,” you manage to say. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“So have we,” Santiago says, his tone still crisp. “Nice to know Ben hasn’t been hallucinating you these past few months.”

You suddenly feel like a mouse caught in a trap as you glance at each of them, the hardness in their gazes as they look back at you.

Of course they wouldn’t be keen on you. Benny is like their little brother and you’ve been avoiding what is essentially his family for months, for no good reason at all, at least not in a way that made sense to anyone but you, though Benny had tried to understand.

Your throat tightens and you open your mouth to respond when Benny cuts in, loud and gruff as he always is, “Fuck off, Pope. Leave her alone. Tell her what you want so she can get back to it.”

You glance at them apologetically, avoiding looking at Ben, ignoring his outburst. “Beers? First round is on me.”

“You don’t haveta do that, sweetheart-,” Benny starts, his voice infinitely gentler when he addresses you.

“Yeah, I do,” you interrupt him. “Anything else?”

A chorus of no’s resound and you nod without looking at any of them before briskly walking away. Your hands are shaking as you pour the beers, deciding at the last second to put in for a plate of nachos too. You’d hoped to avoid them, but you should have known better, that in a town so small you’d be bound to run into them at one point or another.

You just don’t want it to hurt when Benny moves on, or for it to at least be as painless as possible.

But that’s not what it looked like to them, not what it looked like to Benny.

Fuck, he must think you don’t give a shit about him, not really.

It wasn't like it fucking mattered anyways, the hurt is coming for you whether you let the closest parts of his life sink into yours or not.

Benny has charmed his way inside you, his friendship like the serrated edge of a knife, cutting deeper and deeper until removing it would be to sentence you to death.

You swipe at your eyes though you aren't in danger of tears and shuffle the beers over on your tray for the nachos before starting back across the bar. You’ve halfway there, paused near one of the wooden support beams so a large group can pass you on the crowded floor when Victor stops by you, awkwardly leaning against the pole and blocking your way. When the group has passed, drunkenly shouting their way out of the bar you grit out, “What do you want?” You're irritated that you’ve had to spend so much time with him today, and that he’s still bothering you.

“Miller’s here,” he says, an accusation in his voice, like you personally invited Benny just to piss him off. Jealousy drips off him. “And you got his table.” Like you'd plotted that too.

“Yep. Won his match. They’re here to celebrate,” you start to move away when Victor leans into your free arm and forces your shoulder back against the beam.

Your breath flutters in your chest as you look up to meet his eyes. “What’s your problem, huh? Why do you hate me so much?”

“You know why. You talk shit about my best friend,” you snarl up at him, something feral rising up in you and chasing away the calm you were known for.

But Victor has pushed you to your limit over the last couple months and you can see the glee in his eyes at getting a rise out of you. You were rapidly approaching your breaking point with him.

He barks out a loud laugh, and it's not pleasant the way Benny’s is. A couple of people turn to look at you but quickly go back to their own conversations. You squirm, trying to get your shoulder out from under his weight. An ache has started to creep up your arm.

“Best friend. Right. Like Miller wants anything but to fuck you. You’re just a conquest, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you,” you say lowly, not willing to admit how that bites at you, how that is exactly what you’re afraid of.

Victor clocks it though, sees the break in your expression that confirms his accusation. “Haven’t put out yet have you? He’ll get bored eventually,” he says, finally pulling his weight off of yours, an ache twisting down to your wrist. “He’s always been that way. I know you’re new to this town but trust me, he tricks everyone with the golden retriever act. Hell, just fucking look at him. Military, Special Ops, can’t stop fighting to save his life. Always in trouble and looks to his brother to tell him up from down.”

You can’t help it, you glance over at their table, Victor’s breath hot on your cheek when he leans in to whisper. “Not exactly stable. Never has been. How long til he does something like that to you?”

Benny and his friends are staring at you across the dark bar. Will has a hand on Benny’s arm, keeping him in place, his fingers white with the effort.

“See, even now he’s itching for blood.”

You wrinkle your nose and turn your face into his, refusing to look away from Victor’s beady eyes. You’re so close your noses almost touch, but you refuse to back down. You bare your teeth at him and grit out, “Another word. One more word against him, and Ben will be the least of your problems. You think Benny’s temper is bad? You’ve been fuckin' trying me all day and I got nothin’ to lose.”

You step closer and grip your tray in both hands to shove into his stomach hard. The glasses rattle but don’t fall. He makes a soft oof sound but doesn't look away, doesn’t back down.

It takes a minute but his eyes drop and he steps back. “You’ll find out the hard way what kind of fucking people they are. All of them.”

The fucker can’t even look you in the eyes as he says it.

You roll your eyes and move away. “Fuck you, coward.”

Your hands are shaking again, but for a completely different reason as you approach the table.

Victor’s starting to get bold, and it's starting to worry you. How long until his obsession with you and your relationship to Benny becomes unhinged? It already kind of is, the way he follows you and watches you, the way he’s been trying to turn you against Ben for months now, the touches and the passing remarks - it's all headed to something unsafe.

For all Victor’s talk, Benny has never made your shoulder ache, has never crowded you or tried to intimidate you or made you uncomfortable.

No, it's not Benny you have to worry about.

You pass the beers out, the plate of nachos, when you stop at the boy’s table. “All on me,” you say more cheerfully than you feel, unconsciously stepping closer to Benny where he sits at the end of the booth, pressing the back of your hand into his bicep, reassuring yourself that he’s there and real. “Yell if you need something else, okay?”

“Hey,” It's Will’s voice that stops you from pulling away. “You okay?”

You glance around as Benny covers your hand with one of his and squeezes your fingers reassuringly, gaze turned toward the bar, eyes tracking something.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “What, Victor? He’s a piece of shit but he’s harmless,” you say with more conviction than you feel.

“Hell of a stare you got,” Santiago says, sounding impressed.

Frankie chuckles and meets your eyes, “Yeah, wouldn’t want you lookin’ at me like that.”

And fuck, you wonder if they heard. If Victor’s voice could have traveled that far. You pull away from Benny’s hand when he tries to tangle your fingers together and say, “Well, I just get protective sometimes.”

You tuck your tray under your arm and turn to walk away when Benny tugs you back, “Sure you’re okay?”

“Golden,” you answer with a smile but he doesn’t look convinced.

And when you glance at the others, you know they overheard you and Victor, because all hostility is gone. They watched you go toe to toe with an asshole for Benny, and now they know they’re missing some vital piece of the picture as to why you hadn't been around, the thing that really kept you away from them and Benny’s matches.

And they’re too skilled, too observant, not to pinpoint exactly what it is.

Benny might not know you’re in love with him, but his buddies suddenly do.

Victor continues to bother you throughout the night but you try not to let it affect you, you try to stay calm despite your earlier threat, if only so there won’t be a scene and Benny can enjoy his win.

The boys, when you stop by their table, have warmed to you entirely. They joke with you, rib you just like Benny does, and the fold you’ve been trying to avoid being dragged into has engulfed you in seconds.

So when the bar finally clears out and their table is the only one left, Frankie gestures you in. “Sit down here for a minute, you’ve been workin' your ass off.”

“Wasn’t too bad,” you say, slipping into the booth next to Benny and Will. “But it's definitely the busiest this place has ever been.”

“So how come you don’t come to the fights?” Santiago asks.

“Pope-,”

“Maybe you guys intimidate me,” you say with a shrug of your shoulder. “I know how important you are to Benny.” You nudge an elbow into Ben’s ribs, “I’m just some waitress.”

They laugh and you feel better, like maybe they might even like you. Benny scoffs loudly at your declaration, and you kick yourself for never meeting them before. Even if you lost Benny, you don’t want to hurt him now. “Just some waitress?” Benny rolls his eyes. “Honey, fuck off,” he says fondly.

“So tell us how you ended up in this shithole town,” Will says. “And how you got this one so whipped,” he locks an arm around Benny’s shoulders.

Benny doesn’t try to deny it, looks a little bit smug, almost happy at the accusation.

“I’m from a small town, different one, did the big city thing, fucking hated it. Ended up here.” You ignore the other question, not really sure how to answer it anyways, but you don’t comment when Ben drapes his arm across the top of the booth behind you.

“Not back home?” Frankie asks you.

“No one at home to go back to,” you say, revealing more than maybe you should. “Found I liked the company here anyways.”

The conversation rolls along easily from there. They’re funny and loud and affectionate with each other in a way that makes your heart hurt. There’s a closeness there that makes you happy, and jealous that you're witnessing so rare a love and bond.

And it makes you feel stupid, because they’re so welcoming to you, they tug you into the center of them and it feels like you’ve always belonged.

Eventually, John calls you away from the boys, wiping his hands on a dish towel - the exact opposite of his son, cordial and funny and kind.

You aren’t sure what happened to Victor to make him so bitter, if he really just has a problem with you and Benny in particular.

“We should be heading out anyways,” Frankie says, laboring to his feet after Santi stands.

You get hugs from all of them, a kiss to your brow from Benny. “We still on for tomorrow?”

Saturday morning fishing, you would never miss it. “‘Course, always.”

“And we aren’t invited?”

“How about beers at Sal’s tomorrow instead?” you offer, not willing to give away your morning alone with Benny.

Santi and Will share a look that Ben doesn’t see, too busy examining the ridge of your shoulder where a bruise is forming from being locked against the beam.

“Sure, we can get you back for the beers tonight,” Will says, one big hand pressing between your shoulder blades briefly.

“No-,”

“Yeah, we are,” Santi says. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

You watch them file out, Benny turning to hug you hard, breath pressed out of your lungs at the intensity. “Fuck. Thank you,” he says. “For putting up with them.”

“They’re nice.”

“Glad you met ‘em? They’re meatheads but they mean well.”

“They do and I am.”

Benny is almost to his jeep when he decides to wait for you. He wants to be with you, to ride along to your place and sleep on your couch like he has so many times before - so he can see you grouchy and soft in the morning sunshine before you get ready, drink coffee with you at your kitchen table.

God, he’s going fucking soft.

Domestic.

It feels weird but right.

He waits along the side of the building where the back deck of the bar wraps around to the front stairs, the lights that normally line the walkway already out.

He watches John leave, entrusting closing to you and Victor.

Quiet descends, the chirp of the crickets loud and sweet, the sounds of safety and home, when he hears a crash.

Then -

“-fucking stupid. What do you see in him?”

“Why the fuck do you care, Vic? It’s not like I would want you, if I didn’t want Ben.”

His brain statics, not sure he heard right. You want him? Is that what you implied?

“And what’s so fucking wrong with me, huh?”

You snarl back, “Fuck. Really? You’re an asshole and judgemental.”

“It’s not judgement if it's right. Call it like I see it. Ben Miller is -,”

He doesn’t get to hear what he is. “You’re crazy,” he hears you shriek. “Fucking crazy! Even if he was everything you claim, I still wouldn’t want you!”

A rage builds in Benny, and he’s about to move, to come to your aid, when Victor starts muttering lowly again - the conversation seems to peter out into something civil.

Then - the sound of something slamming, a rattling of drink glasses, and low talking. “Fuck off,” you growl suddenly. “You know how fucking brilliant you have to be to make it to where he did? Where all of them did?”

“Luck. And brawn and brother that would do anything for him.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, “I quit. You can finish closing alone. If your dad asks why I fucking quit, you can explain it to him.”

The front door flies open, smacking back into the wood paneled wall as you go trudging down the steps and across the gravel of the lot.

Victor follows you, catches up to you and jerks you to a halt. “Just give me a chance,” he pleads with you. “One chance. I can make you forget about him. You’ll see what you’re missing.”

“No,” you say. “You couldn’t. No one can.”

Benny’s vision goes red as the hand around your arm tightens, but he freezes when Victor continues, speaking something that Benny is afraid is almost uncomfortably close to the truth of his life.

“He’s a fuck up and a loser and would have been in jail for something stupid years ago if he didn’t have his brother trailing him around and forcing him to make something of himself. It’s a good thing that kid got shoved into the military because he never would have made it otherwise. You’re just going to let him drag you down too.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, you’re pining away after someone that’s never gonna measure up to you. You’re brilliant. He could barely fucking read in high school.”

You jerk out of Victor’s grip, shaking your head and stalking across the parking lot, but he follows you.

Under normal circumstances, Benny would have been across the lot and in that motherfucker’s face in 5 seconds flat, but he can’t move, he’s frozen, watching the tension in your shoulders knot up.

God, he’s waiting for you to agree, to turn and say that he’s right.

But you don’t, you keep moving. And when Victor touches you again, snags at your elbow, every bit of restraint he has dries up.

He lurches away from the wall and stalks after the pair of you. He saw the bruise on your shoulder, he knows that Victor is the worst kind of dangerous to you - that and you’re his fucking girl.

No one is gonna do fuckin’ shit to you without reprecussions.

He’s nearly reached you when -

You turn and land an elbow into Victor’s stomach, he crumbles, curves at the waist and you bring a knee up to crack into his face. He goes sprawling backwards onto his ass as you tower over him with your shoulders thrown back.

God, that was fucking hot.

He’s so proud of you, impressed with the absolute fury contorting your features.

His girl, a fighter.

Of course you fucking are. You’re his.

And he likes this mean streak in you, likes the feral protectiveness that bubbled up.

“Fuck you,” you say and he’s never heard such venom in your voice, such protective laced violence. You glance at him suddenly, looking startled to find him standing there before you lean over Victor’s crumpled, prone form. “I warned you Ben’s temper wasn’t the one you had to worry about, didn’t I? You don’t know a goddamn thing about him. Or me. And if you ever say another word against him in my presence, you’ll get much worse than a bloody nose. Understand?”

“What’s your fuckin’ problem, bitch?” Victor’s back is still to Benny, has no idea that he’s there.

Benny reaches down and hauls him up by the back of his shirt, gets the satisfaction of seeing him go white with fear, of hearing a squeak pass his lips in surprise. “Just makin’ sure you’re listening to the lady,” he says, jerking him roughly into place before smoothing Victor’s shirt out carefully. He gestures to you and crosses his arms, “Go on, sweetheart. Tell him.”

You grit your teeth at him, and Benny decides yeah, he really likes you mean. “I'm a bitch, huh? Because I won’t fuck you? Fuck off. I asked you a question - do you fuckin’ understand or don’t you?”

“Yeah, shit, I got it. You want to be Miller’s special girl so bad it makes you look stupid. He’s not the settling type, babe.” He snaps at you, refusing to acknowledge Benny.

“Damn, so much fucking confidence for someone who’s about to have his ass handed to him,” Benny growls.

“Fuck you, Miller, like you even need the excuse. You aren’t gonna do shit. Neutered after all these years, huh? Contained to a cage.”

Victor yanks out of his grasp and spits at your feet before turning to walk away. But he couldn’t have really expected to do something like that and get away with it.

Running on autopilot and adrenaline and rage - Benny yanks him back by the collar of his shirt and breaks his knuckles against his teeth, breaks the nose that you weakened with your knee. Victor falls again and Benny picks him up by the front of his shirt, slams him into the nearest car.

He brings his mouth to Victor’s ear, feels the tremble and shake of fear. “Ever touch her again, speak to her again - hell, even look at her - I’ll fucking kill you. Got it?” And then lowly, barely a whisper, "She's mine."

He drops Vic to the ground, watches him stumble back and skitter away.

As soon as he’s rounded the corner to the back deck of the bar, Benny turns and wraps his arms around you in a crushing hug, and doesn’t let go even when you tap your fingers against his spine.

“Benny, easy,” you breathe out but you cling onto him harder, and Benny realizes how shaken you are, how scary it must have been to have a man follow you across a dark parking lot. “What are you still doing here?”

“Waitin’ on you, honey. Good thing too, though I think you had it handled. Hell of a swing you got.”

He finally lets you go, your eyes going to his bloody hand and you sigh. “God, we’re both gonna have assault charges," you murmur, tracing your thumb over the broken skin.

“He ain’t gonna say shit. He’s gonna tell everybody he fucked you and went toe to toe with me over it. He’s a liar and little bitch,” Benny says, curling his arm around your waist, his blood settling when you lean into him, hand against his chest. “He’s not going to fuck with you anymore.”

You peer up at him, your gaze still holding a lingering fear, “Thanks for having my back. You coming home with me?”

He nods and you gesture him around the side of your SUV.

When you’re both settled, you turn your keys in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life, but you don’t pull out. You turn and stare at him through the dark, the AC wafting his hair gently. “What?”

“Did you mean that?”

“What?”

“You said - you said she’s mine. Was that just some macho bullshit or did you mean it?”

Fuck.

He licks his lips, thinks about lying, when he shakes his head, looks down, and sniffs. He’s tired of pretending. “Yeah. I meant it.”

It immediately feels like a mistake to say it, and the now familiar icy clutch of panic closes a fist over his lungs, like he can’t breathe, like you are going to tell him to fuck right off.

Like you’re going to yank the rug right out from under him.

He’s done losing constants. He’s done losing the world around him for nothing.

His lungs seize and he feels that familiar stupidity, what a stupid fucking thing to panic over - not killing, not gun shots, not fighting - but losing people.

“Hey,” you say, pressing a steadying hand to his arm. “It’s okay. What’s got you bothered?”

He reminds himself that you already know about the panic even if it’s never been directly addressed, and it hasn’t been too much for you yet.

“You’ve -,” it comes out in a gasp and so he stops, takes a minute to breathe, to ground himself against your fingers when they tangle with his. “You keep batting me back, honey. It’s okay. Just don’t leave. I meant it but it doesn't have to mean anything to you.”

“You think I’m gonna leave?” You ask quietly, “Why? I’m always thinkin’ the same thing about you, Benny.”

His head thumps back against the headrest. “Something’s wrong with me,” he says. “Don’t know what.” One hand rubbing at his chest like it might help the ache ease.

You give Benny a moment to collect himself, for his breathing to even out, for the shake in his hands that he normally tries not to let you see to stop.

“When did it start?”

“We - fucked up mission in - we lost someone. Ever since it's like - I start thinkin’ I’m gonna lose everyone, everything. Got better since I met you.” He glances at you, shakes his head. “Comes and goes, I guess. But anytime it feels like something’s changing or someone is pulling back it’s like - fuck - it’s like I can’t stop seeing blood.”

“You think you’re gonna lose me?”

Benny laughs, his hyena-like wild laugh that you’ve come to love more than anything, “Yeah. Yeah, all the time,” he says. “You have a way of just - you keep knocking me back. You don’t want anything to do with what’s important to me - like you don’t really want anything to do with me and -,”

“Benny you aren’t exactly…you aren’t someone who stays. But you stay with your friends.” You squeeze his fingers, “I would rather be your friend - so I can keep you.”

He stares at you, wide blue eyes tracking your every minute move, adding up what you just said in his mind. You look away from his eyes. “You have a couple things you keep close - I don’t fit into that. And I’ve lost people before. I’m alone and I don’t want to keep being that way. I would rather keep you like this.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “And what if that’s bullshit? You fit in just fine. Too well maybe. You never said shit because you thought what? I’m feeling casual about you?” He huffs out a sigh. “I spend every goddamn free second I have with you, or thinking about you. Not just anyone I’d start reading for. You know what it took for me to find that fucking book for you? God it was worse than chasing down fugitives.”

You scoff dismissively, not willing to believe yourself special. You’ve heard that one before. “Yeah, I know how guys like you are, hon. I know.”

“The fuck’s that mean?” He says, not really a question, turning fully to you, pushing you back into your seat, hands lifting to frame your face, large and hot and calloused against your skin. “Lemme tell you something, honey, it only took me a couple hours to know you weren’t something I’d be able to forget.” His eyes flick over your face, “Nah. Never. You are one of my constants.”

“Oh yeah? And what makes me so special?” You say with a roll of your eyes.

“Well for one you just punched the shit out of someone for me,” he says. “And just about everything else. Everything we get up to. We compliment each other. You understand me. We have fun together and you never tell me to be quiet even when I probably fuckin’ should be. You’re my best friend too.”

You reach up and hook one hand against his wrist, trace your thumb over the veins there, softening a bit. “Serious?”

“Yeah. Fuck, yes.”

You nod and move your other hand to his chest. “You punched the shit out of someone for me too.”

“Shoulda happened a long time ago.”

You smile at that and then frown. “You should talk to Will. About the panic attacks. It’s okay that you’re going through something. We’re here for you. But no one’s going anywhere. Not me, not anyone.”

“I’m not either,” he says, ignoring your suggestion for the moment, clearly not wanting to think about the panic attacks or his brother. “I’m not going anywhere either. Trust that.”

And you do.

Benny’s never lied to you and he certainly isn’t cruel. You tug him closer, press your forehead to his and breathe him in until he seems like he’s back to himself.

The closeness is familiar. It doesn’t feel strange to be wrapped up in him like this, you and Benny are this close all the time and it’s always felt right, natural.

“You want me, babe,” he says suddenly, only ruining the moment slightly, and you hear the grin in his voice.

“Fuck off.”

“I heard you. I know you do. S’okay, I want you too.”

When his breath ghosts over your lips and your breathing hitches hard, he surges forward to kiss you roughly.

Its a desperate kiss, one that sears into you, that lights your veins on fire. You push your hands into silky wheat hair, tugging at the strands until Benny shoves back the center console and drags you into his lap, presses you close and tight, his heartbeat matching yours. It’s a little awkward, your jaw smacking into his nose, Benny grunting before you find a good position, giggling the whole time before he’s kissing you again, the heat of him so good around you.

Broad hands splay over your back, trace the line of your spine as you push your hand inside the collar of his worn shirt.

But just as quickly it softens and Benny Miller is smiling into you so hard he can’t really kiss you properly.

“Been waitin’ for this so long,” he says, his mouth brushing yours with every word. You jerk him forward by the back of his neck, pressing him as close as you can, laughing into him.

“Have ya?”

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, hissing when you press your thumb into one of his bruises, a bad habit you don't want to quit. “Yeah, shit, I have been. Stupid gorgeous and puts up with my shit.”

You grin, “Sure do, pretty boy.”

He doesn’t correct you, just fastens those cornflower blue eyes on you and asks, “So you’ll be at my next match?”

“‘Course. Can’t wait to see you get your ass handed to you.” You pull back to stroke his cheek, trace a thumb over his bottom lip.

He kisses you again and this time it’s deep and controlled and so good, familiar and unexpected rolled into one.

Feels like home, like there’s solid ground beneath you for once.

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