#ben miller x fem!reader

[reveluving]

Hello how are you? 😊 I have something in mind for the movie triple frontier 

Like imagine Ben Miller x girlfriend shy reader and both your infant son is a mommy boy, waiting Ben after the MMA fights, being both his good luck charms

a/n: Baby, I've been busy. But overall? Pretty swell, thank you for asking! And this ask? A Benny ask with a shy!reader? With a child??? FAWK, it made my entire WEEK(S), so I cannot thank you enough! 😭❤️ Hope you don't mind me making them husband & wife instead, and take care!

warnings: lovestruck benny, fluffy family-focused, brief mma-level violence & explicit language!

» fancy reading another triple frontier fic? check out the m.list!

“Alright, alright, make way, comin’ through.” Frankie demanded, with him on the left and Santiago on the right as they kept you in the middle.

The two stayed vigilant, ensuring no one was close enough to bump into you, let alone your bundle of joy slung to your chest. When one did stand too close, despite accidentally, Santiago hissed, “Watch it.”

You chuckled, already used to their rugged behaviour because it was all to keep you unharmed.

Completely unharmed.

Despite the curious eyes that weighed on you, yours remained on his—Bubba’s, rubbing his back and making silly faces at him, with him none the wiser of anything beyond his mother’s presence, given the baby earmuffs on him. Instead, he reacted to your attention excitedly, displaying his gummy smile.

Will was already at the front row seats when you arrived, giving you a side hug and asking you about your and Bubba’s wellbeing like the protective brother-in-law he was.

“Hey, lil’ man, you hangin’ in there?” Will smiled at his nephew. Despite the earmuffs, he immediately recognized his uncle and squirmed against your chest, gurgling. Will, letting out a deep and hearty laugh, gently ruffled Bubba’s baby hair before offering to hold him, “C’mon.”

You loosened the carrier, and Will took Bubba into his arms, and as if on cue, in came the boisterous announcement on the microphone, “I bring you, Ben Miller!”

Many cheered, some booed, but you? You just couldn’t wipe the lovestruck smile on your face, watching him enter the arena, carrying himself with sheer confidence that whether one was a fan or not, they couldn’t deny the aura he exuded. 

If anything, Benny basked in the jeers, because his wins, many in a row, said it all. Plus, he was the lucky son of a gun blessed with a wife to die for, a son he couldn’t be any prouder of, and the best ride-or-die group in his circle. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

He looked past the crowd’s outstretched hands for taps and middle fingers of his rivals’ fans, searching for the eyes that would hold so much love for him, like he had hung the moon for her—for you—which he found amusing because he would stare at you the same way, though, bolder than your bashfulness could muster.

It wouldn’t take long to find you, kudos to his brother for saving the front-row seats way earlier, and he made sure to keep his eyes on you as he took off his shirt. Tossing the fabric onto the seats near you, he immediately pulled you into his chest, his smile widening upon watching a shy one gracing your lips, even more so as the spectators whooped at the mushy display.

He greeted you with that flirty tone of his, “You taken, pretty girl?”

Benny’s smile morphed into a grin, pumped up like the tournament was nothing more than another typical Tuesday to conquer and bring home victory to his beloved family. 

The uncontrollable bundle of excitement in his brother’s arms caught his eye, and Benny was quick to scoop his son into his arms. 

Benny couldn't be any happier, being in his element with the people he truly cared for. With his son in one arm, the other around you. He let Bubba tap his little pudgy hands on his stubbled face, his babbles of ‘ma ma ma’ soothing like a balm, before kissing his forehead, then turned his attention to you.

“Watch me.” He whispered in your ear.

“Always.” You replied, kissing his cheek, and Benny quickly closed the gap between you for a kiss. Benny, with his bulky boxing glove, had the courtesy to block the view of where your lips touched from the crowd, giving you some sense of privacy, despite the knowing cheers from the onlookers.

He couldn't help with his own amusement, seeing you press your face into his shoulder before planting a little kiss on his son's forehead, and just like that, his good luck charm, despite already being activated from the moment you walked in with Bubba, was now cranked to the max.

Ever the charmer, Benny flexed his muscles for you, even as he ascended the steps and into the cage backwards, and even then, even as he faced his rival, the smile never left his face. Just more… evil. More sinister, like he had already seen the outcome of the fight, and as he delivered the first sharp swing, Benny knew, like usual, his good luck charm has never, and will never fail him.

His focus only strayed during the one-minute breaks, looking over to see you holding Bubba, his little tiger, giving him reassuring smiles and mouthing ‘I love you’s and ‘you can do it’s, and he believed you. 

He always does.

And Bubba? Oh, Bubba, watching the little man bounce on your lap like there was no tomorrow, not only having his sweet mother holding him close but also watching his father being cool. Who cares about a bunch of guys heckling him beyond the cage when he had his son’s support?

Before he knew it, with determination coursing through his veins, plus his rival’s attempts to embarrass him for being a softie before the fight rang in his head, the announcer hailed Benny as the winner and raised his arm, prompting the spectators to go wild the same way they did when he knocked his opponent out. 

And even with his weary muscles and bones, he sought after you, just like you did him, Carelessly throwing the towel he used to wipe his sweat to the side to meet you in the middle for a kiss. He sighed as he pulled you against him, only breaking the kiss when Frankie and Pope approached, plus Will with Bubba before passing him to his brother.

Bubba giggled as Benny rubbed his forehead against his, then made grabby hands for you. Benny chuckled, “Always wants his mama, just like his old man.”

You smiled warmly, picking Bubba up before snuggling into your husband’s side and partially hiding from the crowd, “Clingy boys.”

“Your clingy boys.” He corrected with a grin before leaning in for another kiss.

Benny could have all the wins he could want, if and only if he did it all for you.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: I enjoyed making this so, so, so, so damn much, it only took me a day HEHE! Don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, a drabble

Summary: you and Benny have been dating for a little over three months when you finally agree to go hiking with him.

Pairing: Ben Miller x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: @nicolethered, this is a very humble gift for you, my dearest, dearest friend. I know smut is not my strong suit (unfortunately), and I wish I could present you with a much better gift, because you deserve the absolute fucking best, but I did do my very very best to give you the Benny I think you might like. You've given me and this fandom so much. Happy birthday season, ily ♥

I'm tagging every one, I hope no one will mind, because I managed to sneak in a little bit of plot, and, of course, subliminal mentions of Frankie 😜 (I can't help myself)

Count: 2.8k

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A drabble: Proud Mary

You’ve got to give it to this country, it really knows how to do autumn. And autumn is the one thing you love but could never fully enjoy in Paris. A city with a dense urban fabric, there’s not enough space for nature to perform its flamboyant swan song in crimson and golden gradient, the parks and public gardens too tidy, too tamed to your taste. 

In your late 20s, you would rent a car and spend the last week of October by the Normand or Picard shores, on your own, and revel in the colours you’d find along the road. Until you met Éric and, a couple of years into your relationship, he started demanding you stay by his side and accompany him as he attended the many parties and diners of the rentrée littéraire, the most important time of year for French publishers. 

That memory belongs to another life, however. Almost to another girl, it seems. 

Comfortably sitting on the leather seat on the passenger’s side of Will’s truck, your forehead pressed against the window, you take in all the shapes and shades of trees and bushes you can’t name in any of the languages you know. Your new boyfriend’s solid presence next to you, driving under the fiery canopy of an undergrowth country road. A little too fast for your liking, but that’s just how he does everything and, to be honest, you don’t mind, really.

Benny likes the outdoor. He thrives amidst nature. As soon as you two started dating, back in July, he began asking you to come with him on hiking trips upstate, exploring national parks the size of your hometown. You can spend entire afternoons picking pebbles and shells underneath the chalk cliffs of Picardie’s coast, silently observing the rising tides of the Channel, but you’ve never gone hiking, so to speak. You didn’t even own a good pair of walking shoes until you had to gear up for this trip.

This time you said yes, your heart wrapped in an unknown, warm embrace at his enthusiastic and spontaneous reaction. A wolfish howl and a little jump, before he grabbed his phone to text his brother that he needed to borrow his truck, the Mustang far too precious to drive on graveled and dusty country roads. 

What convinced you to come is precisely this: the undeterred fondness with which he steadily reacts, every time you try and push back. The space and time he never fails to give you to be you and do your things. 

And, of course, the prospect of a real North-American autumn. You don’t care what everybody says, you just like autumn. It is, hands down, your favourite season. You’ve debated it over countless times with Rosie, who, of course, only loves summer, laughing at her perennial final and closing argument, “you can’t prefer fall because it’s basic, and you’re not.” 

She says fall, you say autumn. Inches and centimetres, flat and apartment… 

Besides, autumn has Halloween. And that’s the one holiday your gothic heart not only tolerates, but love. The hypothesis -the hope- of being visited by the dead, once a year. You were never good with closure, goodbyes or mourning. The concept of the departed lingering about you keeps you going. 

In an essay about death and its perceptions throughout history, you once read that the idea exists, in one form or another, in many different cultures throughout the world. That it’s about the living convoking the dead to help them prepare as they enter winter. 

Winter sure is bleak. Christmas’s supposed to be fun, you suppose, if you have a functioning family. Which you seldom ever had. No, winter is not your thing.

No light, no hope. 

You wonder what this winter is going to be like. Probably the best you’ve had in a long, long while. 

You’ve got pure sunshine sitting next to you in the truck.

A khaki cap worn backward over his overgrown blond strands, his last haircut a distant memory, he’s wearing his usual worn-out dirty blue jeans that have you questioning whether he owns a second pair, and a faded blue shirt over a camouflage t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, his strong forearms on display. His massive frame dwarfs the spacious cab of the truck. 

He hooked up his phone to the car’s stereo and Johnny Cash’s Live at Folsom is blasting through the old speakers, his own baritone resounding in the cab and sinking into your chest as he sings along to The Long Black Veil. It’s one of your favourite songs from this album, and you can’t get over how fond of this man’s voice you’ve become in only three months. It’s warm and comfortable and when you try to describe his laughter, the only word you can come up with is “luminous”. 

He sings more and more often when you’re around, and you wonder if you can consider it a tangible proof of your fast-growing intimacy. Or perhaps he’s always singing, and the only reason why you get to hear it more often is because of the increasing amount of time you two spend together. It doesn’t cross your mind you might be the reason why he constantly sings. 

Forgetting about the landscape for a moment, you set your gaze on your boyfriend, his tall figure and his soft face. His brow furrowed over his dark eyes, mirroring the lyrics’ somber melancholy as he joins in the chorus. 

She walks these hills in a long black veil 

She visits my grave when the night winds wail

You found a common ground in music with blues, folk, old country and vintage rock. Old habits die hard and at first, you feared he would impose on you the music plastered in loud album covers on his band t-shirts, Kiss, Metallica, Iron Maiden. You’d been agreeably proven wrong. For that’s not Benny. Benny makes everything easy. Benny adjusts. 

You reach out for his thigh and give it a little squeeze, affection expanding your chest. His expression shifts immediately as he takes his eyes off the road to look your way, flashing you a flirty wink and a toothy grin. Oh, he’s a performer, alright.

You can’t help but laugh and skate your hand a little higher along his leg. 

Hank William’s Alone and Forsaken is next in queue on his playlist, but Benny’s mind is not on the music anymore. 

Every so often, his eyes leave the open road as he throws sideways glances at your thighs with about as much subtlety as a kid trying to nick candy from the kitchen cupboard, and you observe this little choreography with a bemused smile. 

“You know I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing leggings in the city,” you say halfway through the song.

“That’s a shame because your legs look damn good in it. And your ass–” he trails off, narrowing his eyes with an explicit humming sound. 

“But what’s the difference with my black jeans, for instance, the skinny ones?” you ask casually, as if he just didn’t light up a small fire in your core. 

“I don’t know. It’s just— it’s not the same,” his voice drags and dips lower on the last words.

It sounds like he’s still singing even when he talks. You start to blush like a bashful teenager, so you immediately counter, opening your legs wider and propping your left knee on the bench. 

His eyes return to the road, with a shake of his head and a chuckle that says you’re not playing fair.

Ike and Tina’s Proud Mary come up on the stereo and momentarily interrupt the game. 

“Oh I love this song!” you exclaim as you lean forward to turn up the volume, “sorry, but I’m gonna sing.”

“Why you’re sorry? You got a nice voice.”

“How would you know that?” you whip your head towards him with an accusatory look. 

“Heard you sing under the shower. I love the smell of your shampoo,” he provides with an apologetic, endearing smile.

“Well I’m singing to this, anyway,” you reply, now downright flustered. 

The song still at its spoken preamble, your voice is a little shaky as you tune in to the first Nice and easy. 

You flick your eyes up to Benny’s and find him already staring you down with a hungry look.

But there's just one thing…

Pulling on the safety belt to give it some slack, you slide on the bench to get closer to him, his eyes flicking rapidly between the road and your lips.

You see we never do nothing nice and easy… 

You rest your right hand on his inner thigh and bite down a victorious smile when he sharply inhales, straining his gaze straight ahead.

We always do it nice and rough…

Your voice turns husky on the last word, a smile lifting the corner of your lips. Head tilted upward, you softly speak into his neck, letting your breath fan the thin blond hair on his nape, and rear back just enough to see them stand up. 

So we're gonna take the beginning of this song…

You scoot closer still, pointedly pressing your breast against his side, his hands gripping the steering wheel, a growing bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. 

And do it easy…

You poke out your tongue, tracing the shell of his ear, nipping at his earlobe, as he draws in a sharp breath with a hissing sound, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white.

But then we're gonna do the finish rough… 

The last word comes out of your throat in a rumble, your hand quickly sliding over to his throbbing erection as you cup him through his pants, pressing down with the flat of your palm.

This is the way we do–

“Ok, that’s it!” he barks, and your laughter tinkles.

—

The truck is parked on a light slope where Benny steered it precipitously, on the side of the road, coming to a halt in the middle of nowhere, barely deep enough into the woods to hide it from view. You slide on the leather bench when you move your leg to straddle him where he came to meet you on the passenger’s side. Your leggings lie on the car floor in a rumpled heap next to your new hiking shoes, and you grasp the headrest to regain your balance. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” he pants, unbuckling his belt before raising his hips to slide down jeans and briefs in one hurried motion. He’s fully erect now and his smooth cock bobs against his clothed belly.

“I was only singing,” you object, giving the blond curls at his base an innocent little scratch before taking him in your hand.

He feels heavy and warm between your fingers, and you want to play with it a little, but he already ripped open the condom’s wrapping in his haste. You take it from him, with a breathless whisper of “lemmedoit”, and you push him against the seat back, pinning him under your gaze to make sure he looks at you when you lick a broad stripe into the flat of your palm, and give him a couple of hard, long strokes. 

“Fuck, woman, just let me inside you, already,” he exhales, his head lolling backward against the headrest. “When you gonna let me fuck you without a rubber, baby?”

You’ve only ever let one man do that, and it’s not something you want to be thinking about right now, so you shut him up, plunging forward and moulding your lips onto his, fisting him harder. He deepens the kiss immediately, licking inside you like a starved man, fucking your mouth with his tongue as he sits up straight and grips your ass, kneading your soft flesh. 

He pulls out to ask, “You wet for me, baby?”

“Huh huh,” you answer, nodding, chasing his lips, but he’s not done talking. Benny likes to talk. 

“Good girl,” he says through another cocky smile, “gonna fuck you fast and good.”

You’d have slapped Éric for calling you a “good girl”, instead you feel another rush of slick pooling down your core, trickling down your spread thighs, as he slides you back on his lap by the flesh of your bottom.

“Been wanting to rip them leggings off your ass since I picked you up this morning, you won’t be able to walk when I’m finished with you.”

You want to shoot back that it defeats the purpose, but he doesn’t let you, skating through your folds and sliding his rough fingers over your entrance, rewarding you for what he finds there with a broad smile. You jump lightly at the exquisite breach when he slides two digits inside you, a hand still loosely wrapped around his length, the one holding the condom lying limply on the car bench. 

“Fuck, listen to that,” he says at the squelching sounds of your wet pussy, as he roughly thrusts his fingers in and out, thinning your clit, his eyes darted down onto where he’s opening you for him. All you can manage is a lewd moan and a hooded look.

“Come on, baby, wrap me up and put me in,” he orders in his musical voice.

He’s still fucking you on his fingers, and you chase his hand a little longer, rocking shamelessly into it, before you finally comply and unroll the condom down on his length.

“Don’t tell my brother what we did in his truck.”

“Jesus fucking– what exactly do you think we talk about when we–”

You can’t finish your sentence, for he just knocked the air out of your lungs, shoving his cock inside your warmth all the way down, after swiftly withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, seizing your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. Benny moves surprisingly fast for a man of his size and his strength. Must be all that training for the fights.  

Your forehead drops against his, your head heavy and weak with the sudden spearing sensation. There’s been no nice, straight to rough, his feet are planted firmly on the car floor and he fucks up into you at a dizzying pace, holding you down on his cock with both hands around your waist, a nearly bruising grip, and for a moment there’s nothing you can do but take it. Thinking about how much you like that he’s always in such a hurry to give it to you. 

“Shit, that sweet pussy of yours,” he groans into your mouth, before kissing you again, and he makes it messy, bestial, licking into your mouth with unbridled hunger, it’s absolutely delicious, the way he devours you, always. Somehow your brain resurfaces and you brace a hand on his chest, tugging his hair harshly with the other. You know he likes it, when you pull, and scratch, and bite, and he groans with delight at the sting.

Fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, you shuffle your knees closer to him and start meeting him, rolling your hips in rhythm, fucking him right back, earning yourself a low and strained “fuck yeah” that reverberates in your stomach, the friction of the leather burning your skin.

His right hand skates around your curves to the cleft of your ass, and he tentatively presses there, but you shake your head no, and his voice is like sandpaper on wood when he asks, 

“When you gonna let me fuck that gorgeous ass, baby?”

You tug on his hair harder, then let go, cupping his chin and sliding two fingers in his mouth to silence him. When he responds with an unexpectedly soft suckle, your cunt clenches around him, and his eyes flutter shut, his head rolling back as he groans.

You bear down on him and grip him again, as tightly as you can, and his hips fall out of their rhythm, his fingers clutching your ass in a twitch. You make a mental note of it, so you can give it to him again, later, before biting his jaw for good measure. 

He puts all his strength into the following thrusts and a loud moan escapes you. You might not be able to walk once he’s done, after all. 

“Make me come, Benjamin, I don’t want anyone to walk on us.”

He gives your fingers a hard suck and releases them with the popping sound you’ve come to associate with him.

“Ok but I’m fucking you again as soon as we get there, from behind. And I’m coming on your ass.”

He slides down over the edge of the seat and place both his large hands back on your hips, grinding you back and forth on his cock, ruthlessly, like you weight nothing, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. He’s stroking deeper, harder, brushing against that spot that makes you lose it, the angle is mind-bending, your vision turns white and you brace your hand on the car’s window, your whining voice desperate when you try to warn him,

“Oh shit Benny, I’m gonna come, shit, gonna be loud, can’t hold it–”

“That’s right, baby, sing for me.”

****

Taglist (thank you 💕): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin

[pimosworld]

Just say the word

Pairing-Tf boys x reader (one shot)

CW-18+, NSFW, MDNI, established polyamorous relationship, light teasing, edging, voyeurism, orgasm denial, exhibitionism, possessive tf boys, mentions of smut, fingering, soft dom Will, soft dom Santi, soft dom Frankie. Unsuspecting victim ( poor Jack) he’s innocent in this I swear.

Summary- The boys decide to have a little fun at your expense.

WC- 1.7k

A/N- Set in the (story of us) universe but can be read as a stand alone. I feel like I’ve neglected this bunch since I finished the story and I miss them and their delusional little bubble. Please enjoy this ficlet set some time after the story of them ends and their relationship begins.

[Series Masterlist]

Not beta read

It feels weird being back in your normal spots. Nestled away in the corner booth in the dimly lit bar. All five of you crammed in like nothing has changed. Except it has. 

  This thing forming between the five of you for the last several months. No rules, no pressure, just the four of them not being able to let you out of their sight for more than five minutes. It’s intoxicating and overwhelming and you love it. 

  You are situated between Frankie and Santi, Will on the other side of Frankie sharing glances. Knowing tells as you squirm in your seat. Santi’s hand squeezes the plush skin of your thigh while Frankie rubs soothing circles against your knee. It all looks so normal to anyone walking by. They’ve been teasing you all night, switching places as they grab more drinks at the bar or head to the bathroom. 

  Will grins as he watches you fidget, not so subtly rubbing your legs together at the thought of his hands so close to where you needed them most. Not less than ten minutes ago he had you pleading into his ear like you were telling him a secret. His fingers tracing up and down the seam of your panties, wetness pooling against the fabric as you chased his touch. 

  Goosebumps raise on your arms as Santi’s fingers slip just past the string, curling in so precisely, you half to clear your throat to stifle the moan that crawls up the back of your throat. 

  “Ya ok sweetheart?” Will says and the look you flash is equal parts beautiful and terrifying all at once. 

  Santi kisses your shoulder, such a sweet endearing gesture to juxtapose the absolute filth that is happening below the table. “She’s fine.” A look to Frankie, something unspoken passing between them as the corners of Frankie's eyes crinkle with a smile. 

  You bite the inside of your cheek as his thumb presses against your clit. Dropping your head to your hands to wipe the sweat from your brow. 

  “Just say the word baby and we’ll stop.” Frankie’s voice in your ear luring you into the lion's den. You weren’t going to lament that easily. 

  Your hand drifts below the table, palming at the growing bulge in his pants, you yelp when he smacks your thigh. His palm soothes the spot as you let out a shaky breath. 

  “Hands where I can see them sweetheart.” Will commands. 

  “Fuck you.” 

  “Thirsty?” Ben’s voice cuts through the pounding in your ears. His one hand with a refill pitcher of beer, the other gesturing behind him as he mouths ‘be nice.’

  Following close behind with an empty glass is a familiar face. Not one you don’t want to see on any given day,  but right now you’re struggling to breathe normally. 

  “Fucking Jack.” Frankie bites out and you regard him with a quirked brow. 

  “I thought you liked him.” Your head turned in a whisper and he just lets out a deep sigh. 

  It’s not that he doesn’t like him so much as he knows how much the guy likes you. Judging by the grin etched across his face as he approaches the table. 

  Santiago withdraws his hand and you whine at the loss, disguising it with a cough as Ben shoots you a worried look. 

  Everyone reaching for the cold glasses as Jack slides into the booth next to Ben. You watch Santi from the corner of your eye, slowly taking his fingers in his mouth. The others preoccupied with greetings as he hums at the taste. 

  Your mouth agape at the filthy show of dominance. He takes a sip of his beer, his dark eyes on you as he swallows and you watch the way his throat bobs. 

  “You’ll catch flies that way cariño.” 

  You tamp your mouth shut as heat licks up your spine. 

  Frankie slides you a beer as a peace offering and you let out a breath hoping the torture is over with your new guest at the table. 

  Jack says your name and you probably look a little wide eyed when you say hello. Sounding a little too happy to see him. Completely unaware that whatever tension building right now is not directed at him. 

  “Haven’t seen you guys here in awhile.” He says as he pours himself a beer. 

  “We’ve been…busy.” The boys snicker as Ben hides his smile behind his glass, unbeknownst to Jack. 

  “What have y’all been up to? Any hot dates recently?” 

  The boys stay quiet, shooting each other looks as Frankie’s hand starts inching it’s way up your thigh. 

  He nudges Ben with his elbow. “Oh come on, spill. I know you’ve at least got some.” 

  Ben laughs it off, eyes flicking to you and memories of your date the previous night. He looks shy almost as he rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.” 

  You’re starting to gauge their annoyance at his presence. 

  Frankie doesn’t falter as he pinches the fabric between his fingers and you clamp your thighs shut. Your sandals clicking loudly on the floor. 

  Santiago laughs, motherfucker…with a stupid grin on his face and Will has to bite down on his lip to keep his at bay. 

  “In fact.” Jack starts up again. Pointing at Santiago.  This guy doesn’t quit apparently. “Last time I saw you here you had some hot blonde in your lap.” 

  He drops his head to the table and for his sake he looks apologetic. “I don’t recall.” The redness creeping up his neck and the simmering tension below the surface. 

  Frankie relents when he notices your obvious discomfort. They’ve been edging you all night and now this Jack off had to come and ruin all the fun. 

  “What about you honey? You seeing anyone?”

  Bingo

  His attention on you, a wide smile on his face. He draws his fingers up and down the condensation on his glass and you have the sudden wild thought to pour it on you. Anything to escape this fresh hell. 

  He wasn’t an unattractive man. Tall, broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Gorgeous head of dark brown hair that was always kept neat and combed back. He’s a firefighter so he’s got a great build and he can on occasion make you laugh. 

  Which is perhaps why the rest of the table looks as though they’re three seconds from choking him. 

  Frankie’s hand flexes a little on your thigh, Ben cracks his knuckles and stares straight ahead at Will whose jaw is so clenched you think he might break a few teeth. 

  And Santiago…looks as stoic as you’ve ever seen him. Too calm. 

  “Baby.” Frankie’s voice and the startling use of the pet name brings you back to the present. “He asked you a question.” His head tilted in waiting. 

  You fumble for words you’ve never actually spoken out loud. Not knowing what the right or wrong thing to say is. “I’m…keeping my options open.” 

  That seems to be the right answer for now. Santiago gives you a reassuring squeeze as he resumes drinking his beer. You can feel Frankie relax next to you and Ben’s shoulders aren’t reaching his ears. 

  Will still watches Jack, who obviously can’t take a hint. 

  His tongue dragging along his teeth as he eyes you from across the booth. For the sake of his safety you don’t want to let him finish whatever thoughts he has running through his head at your admission. 

  You slap your hands down on the table. “I’ve had too much to drink.” Signaling to Frankie and Will to slide out so you can relieve yourself, or at the very least get some space between you and Jack. 

  Someone has the nerve to pinch your ass before you exit the booth and curse low under your breath as you retreat to the restrooms. You were absolutely going to kill them when you got home later. 

  —

  The blatant flirting, the casual use of your sacred nickname, the way he’s not so subtly checking out your ass as you walk away. 

  The guys aren’t certain but Jack acts as though he’s not in clear immediate danger. But he’s a firefighter so the regard for his life is skewed toward running at a problem and not away from it. 

  As you round the corner disappearing from view he focuses his attention back on the table. Whistling low under his breath as he shakes his head still oblivious to the rage closing in on him. 

  “I still don’t know how one of you hasn’t snagged that yet.” Jack says offhandedly as he downs the rest of his beer. 

  Ben takes it from him and Santiago flinches, unsure of what the younger man will do as he calmly slides it out of reach. 

  It’s one of those intense moments. In the wild we freeze it in photographs and videos. In the images there’s a predator, perhaps a cheetah staring unblinkingly at a gazelle, who stares back with a look of surprise and terror. 

  “How do you know we haven’t?” Ben’s body turns to face him as he clears his throat. 

  He stutters a little, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Look if I’m moving in on anyone’s territory you just say the word-“ 

  “You are.” Will says without specifying whose. 

  Will stands as you make your way back to the table and Jack stands with him, waving goodbye. Frankie stays seated, not yet able to hide the evidence of his arousal. The whole display not doing anything to compress his excitement. 

  The guys all shift as you slide in, Will taking his seat next to you as Frankie throws his arm over your shoulder and he can see the wheeler turning in the poor man’s head. You never stood a chance.

  “Leaving so soon?” Your sweet voice doing nothing to disguise your obvious guess at what just transpired. 

  “Ugh…ya I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” He offers a tight lipped smile before walking away with his tail tucked. 

  Frankie’s laugh jostles you and you move to slap his arm as he grabs your wrist. “Play nice hermosa.” 

  You huff as you pry it out of his grip. “What did you guys say?” 

  You’re met with mostly silence and their grins at each other and just like that you’re right back where you started the night. Them, teasing you…and you loving it. 

  Will’s hand slowly creeps up your thigh,bunching the fabric of your skirt in his hand as he leans in close. “Now where were we sweetheart?”

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist - @luciferiorbxtch @alwaysdjarin @meveispunk @casa-boiardi @evyiione

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[romanarose]

Puzzle Pieces Drabbles: part 2

Ben Miller x Fem!Reader

Fic Summary: You're dating Tom, a whirlwind romance that came at a low point in your life. Within months, you live with him and he's not as nice as he was in the begining. Tom does things that upset you, Benny finds a way to make it better.

Chapter Summary: Tom won't come look at your tomatoes. Based on a tumblr post I cant find.

Warnings: IDK what to call this but it's def shitty behavior throughout. Will progressively get worse during the series but let's start with this. Drinking. Someone not appriciating your excitment.

A/N: This will be a short series of comfort drabbles where Tom does something shitty and Ben makes it better. No smut. I'm at a low point rn and just want softness.

This is my submission for Triple Frontier Write-a-Thon !!! come join in the fun and follow @triplefrontier-anniversary to find more fics!!!

************************

“TOM!!!!!” You scramble up from your garden patch to where you were tending to your plants, standing to see Tom and Ben drinking on the porch.

Tom turns, looking worried. “What? What happened?!”

“My tomato’s bloomed!!!” You say with a wide grin, giddy with excitement.

He relaxes. “Oh my god. Is that it? Woman, you scared the shit out of me.” He went back to his grilling.

Your shoulder slump a little. “Sorry… I was just excited…” You point to your garden. “It’s just… the tomatoes!!!” Ben is watching curiously, but he doesn’t say anything.

Tom flips a burger. “Uh huh. That’s nice honey.”

Ben asks a question now. “The tomatoes?”

Muttering, Tom explains with a wave of his hand. “She was trying to get the tomatoes to grow forever.”

“So will you please come see them?” You try to get him to come over, but he just looks over the railing.

“Uh-huh, they look great.” 

Your hands drop to your side. “Tom, you can’t even see them.”

“They look… so cool” Is he… laughing? He’s laughing at you. You don’t turn to look at Ben, you couldn’t bear to see him laughing at you too. So, you simply go back to your garden, tending to the weeds, trying to immerse yourself in the classical music you heard helps plants grow. You don’t even hear him walk up to you at the garden bed.

“Oh!” Your startle when Benny kneels down next to you, getting in the dirt with you.

“Shit, sorry.” Ben chuckles, his floppy dirty blonde hair falling in his eyes. You wonder if he ever had an emo phase. “I wanted to see the tomatoes”

You roll your eyes but laugh. “You don’t want to see my tiny green tomatoes.”

He is completely sincere, blue eyes shining in the summer sun as he smiles. He has a pretty smile. “I do, actually.” You ignore the flutter in your chest.

So, you show them to him, Benny sounding very impressed as he looks. He tells you how his therapist wanted him to try getting plants to have something to take care of, briefly mentioning that he feels like he was always the one being cared for. He chuckles when he says ‘guess I’m not responsible enough to keep a succulent alive’, but you can feel the truth behind his words. You offer to help him if he wants to try again. Benny lights up at that.

You want to know what he’s in therapy for, why he feels like he’s not responsible enough for a plant, you want to know so much more about him… but you don’t ask. Ben isn’t your boyfriend, Tom is. You loved Tom, you were going to marry Tom. Ben… Ben was just a nice bonus, right?

***************

Remember, if they dont care about the things you care about, they arent the one!!! someon will care <3

follow @romana-updates for more!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction@itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @missdictatorme @rubyfruitjungle @axshadows @pimosworld @casa-boiardi

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[writtensturn]

enamored | m.s

PAIRING : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

GENRE : fluff! bsf matt, love interest.

SUMMARY : matt and his bestfriend learn to know more about their feelings.. with eachother.

!WARNINGS! : use of y/n & cursing.

ִׄ˚ • 𖥔 ࣪˖ ⭑ ₊ ⭒ *ೃ༄

y/n and matt have been bestfriends for years, they met in highschool and haven’t gotten close until senior year. after that they’ve spent of their time together, she got along great with his two other brothers nick and chris who she treated like her own. when their youtube career took off and they moved out to california, the two were a little crushed since they always hung out. it started off as y/n saving enough to fly out and spend weeks with them to matt buying her business class tickets and having her stay even longer, sometimes she gets spoiled with first class. a couple weeks into her staying at the sturniolos her and matt went out for icecream.

“no don’t do that” she smacked his hand from touching the radio volume

“im just saying there’s better artists than tyler the creator” matt’s voice echoed back to her, and with that she gasped.

“so you mean like mac miller” she scouted out his favorite artist getting under his skin as they drive to the store

“exactly” his attitude shot back at her with a small smirk

“uh no by better you mean frank ocean, daniel ceaser, and mm maybe childish gambino. oh! don’t forget about the love of my life dominic fike” y/n said back to him quickly her smile growing bigger as she spoke

“and that’s where i keep my mouth shut” matt added back, before pulling into a spot infront of ralph’s. her and matt got out of the car as she walked around the front, her steps aligned with his walking in sync. her eyes looked up to the moon and how it shined down on the two, matt and her walked in the doors him heading to the frozen isles knowing exactly where it is while she was still getting used to the town. the two walked down the isles and he stoped infront of the ice cream.

“uhhh” matt managed to get through his lips as he looked cluelessly at the many flavors and combinations, he spotted one of her favorites and moved to open the door to grabbed it.

“take this” he said not looking aiming for her arms, having her moving forward so she could take it from him. she looked at the flavor of ben and jerry’s and smiled while shaking her head, knowing it was her favorite. matt continued to look his eyes wondering to figure out what he wanted.

“cmon slow poke i don’t have all night” she said fixing her stance and letting a breath out

“yeah what better do you have to do” matt said grabbing his half baked and pushed her shoulder to start walking out of the isle with his hands on her shoulders, as he walked slowly behind her.

“uhh i don’t know anything but that” she smiled as she walked to the self checkout, she scanned her ice cream holding in her head before grabbing matt’s from his hands and scanning it. she pressed everything while matt took his wallet out from his back pocket and got out his card, she quickly swatted his hand.

“you flew me out let me pay for once” she groaned as matt’s eyes looked into hers

“no” he said back sternly, and that was the end of discussion. he tapped his card, grabbing the receipt leaving her annoyed. they walked out moving back to his car, once she opened the door and sat in matt started it and pulled out. she watched his hands as he pulled into a spot further back where there weren’t a lot of cars or lights, she put on frank ocean humming around as she took the spoons they took from the house out of the cup holder and opened the top of her ice cream, and m took a couple bites.

“close my eyes and fall into you, you. my god shes giving me pleasure” she sung softly, she turned to feel matt’s gaze on her. she looked at the way his hair fell perfectly above his eyes, his blues staring into her own. she feels a feeling in her stomach she’s never felt with matt before, she lets in a shaken breath.

“what” she let out softly loud enough for matt to hear

“you just” he said letting out a content sigh as he tilted his head and his hand came up from his lap and was placed on her chin, wiping off a drip of ice cream on her lip. as matt’s thumb ran across her lip, her expression immediately dropped her heart beginning to beat a little faster and that feeling in her stomach growing. maybe it was the music, or the late hour but suddenly her world fell around him.

“matt” she whispered again as he hand fell from her face returning to his side

“hm” he replied softly his eyes pouring into hers again

“um” she shook her head with a smile trying to shake off the feeling as she leans over the arm rest, wiping some of the chocolate from his face. matt let out a small laugh, his eyes never leaving hers. she watched his expression turn serious his head tilting as they were inches apart, she watches him flutter his eyes at her before licking his bottom lip.

“can i kiss you.” matt’s voice moved to her ears, a pit in her stomach started to form. her lips parted, his question shocking her. all the years they’ve been friends they’ve never once been intimate, had a moment or took anything seriously. sure they were hugs and soft cuddles but this, never.

“yes.” she whispered back at him, her eyes flickering from his to his soft pink lips that moved against hers. his hand came up to rest on her waist, hers moving to his face. it was sweet and warm, as she pulled away she looked at him with a smile, quickly turning into a laugh.

“matt” she shook her head leaning back into her seat

“what” he smiled back “i’ve wanted to do that for the longest time” he shook his head looking down into his lap

“you should’ve just-“ she was caught up by his subtle quick moves leaning over her and kissing her quickly again, and again.

“matt!” she was able to mutter threw his quick kisses, laughing at his lips on hers moving to her cheek and coming back to lay against hers again this time for longer and more gentle.

“god i love you” he said leaning his forehead against hers, the relief of letting it out. they’ve said i love yous before but this time was way different, it wasn’t quick and over the phone or saying goodbye it was in the moment.

“so what do you want this to be” she let out a small laugh under her breath as her eyes looked up into his as he left more space between them.

“whatever you want this to be” shooting his sweet smile back at her making her smile even more.

(do you guys want this as a series)

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting.  Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

*

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

*

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

[flightlessangelwings]

My Boys

Frankie Morales x fem!reader x Benny Miller (Messy Pile of Affection universe)

Word count- 1.9k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), mmf threesome, established relationship, pegging, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving, hint at f receiving), soft dom reader, sub!Frankie, praise, pet names (babe, baby), fluff, feelings, no use of y/n

Notes- A bonus for Peg That Middle Ages Man Campaign!!! Thanks again to @wannab-urs for putting this event on!! And while this is et in MPoA-verse, this can be read on it's own since it's just smut lol! But I love writing this thruple so much so I'm happy with how this turned out! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on new posts!!

~

“Shit…” you breathed as you soaked in the sight before you, “You guys look so fucking hot right now.”

Benny looked up from where he concentrated on Frankie in front of him and smirked at you, “So do you, babe,” he winked.

You bit your lip as you grinned back at one of your boyfriends. The way his gaze bore into you made your skin tingle. Absentmindedly, you ran your hand down the front of your body, testing Benny with a squeeze of your breast before you grabbed the dildo that sat snugly in the harness you wore- the only thing on your body. Benny let out a soft moan at the show you put on as his cock twitched just against Frankie’s face.

Between you and Benny, Frankie was positioned on his hands and knees, just as bare as both of you. His skin glistened from sweat from the fingering you just gave him, and generous amounts of lube dripped from between his asscheeks. Benny had watched as you prepped Frankie for your dildo, his hand stroking his cock the entire time as he enjoyed the show the two of you put on.

“You alright, Frankie?” you murmured as you caressed his back, running your hand up and down his spine.

“Great, babe,” Frankie smirked as he looked over his shoulder, “Fuck you do look hot with that strap!”

Heat rose in your skin as your tone dropped, “I like you on your hands and knees too, baby.”

“Fuck, me too!” Benny interjected enthuastically.

Frankie turned back and looked up at Benny with his mouth open. His mouth watered at the sight of his cock, so beautiful and yet just out of reach of his lips. “Ben…” he breathed. 

In a rare display of soft tenderness, Benny cupped Frankie’s face, running his thumb across the soft stubble as they locked eyes. From behind, you still ran your hands up and down Frankie’s sides in a soothing manner. Heavy breaths filled the room as the three of you stayed hypnotized by each other. Hands roamed all over, touching and caressing wherever you all could reach.

It was you who finally broke the silence, “You ready, Frankie babe?” you asked in a hushed tone, yet one that still held all the need you felt as the tip of your dildo tickled the skin of his ass.

He let out a low groan, “Yes,” he replied to you as he adjusted himself slightly, “Fuck me, baby.”

Benny let out a low groan of his own as you coated the dildo once more in lube and positioned yourself. “She’s gonna fuck you so good, Fish,” he moaned, knowing first hand just how proficient you were with your strap.

You glanced up for a moment and gave Benny a knowing smirk before you turned all your attention on the toy that you had poking at Frankie’s entrance. Before he could come up with a clever comeback to Benny’s comment, you pushed the tip in, causing any thought he might have had to vanish from his mind.

As Frankie moaned loudly, all he could think about was how good the stretch of your cock felt as you slowly pushed into him. You kneaded and spread his ass as you watched the toy disappear into him inch by inch until your hips met his ass. Benny too watched in awe, frozen in captivation.

“You doing ok, Frankie?” you asked in a whisper as you gave him a moment to adjust.

“Y-yeah,” he whimpered as his arms trembled to keep him up. He then looked up to meet Benny’s piercing gaze, “Your turn, Ben.”

“Fuck…” he breathed as Frankie’s mouth dropped open for him in an invitation.

Without a word, you gave your hips a thrust, catching Frankie and Benny both by surprise. And the sound that Frankie let out went right to your core and made you clench around nothing. “Fuck,” you echoed Benny’s curse under your breath as you thrust again, pushing Frankie forward this time.

As he lurched forward, Frankie aimed himself right at Benny’s hard cock, and the moment he was close enough, he wrapped his lips around it. Benny gasped as the warmth of Frankie’s mouth engulfed him, and he grabbed his shoulders to make sure he didn’t let go.

Together, you and Benny found a rhythm on either side of Frankie. The slow thrust of your hips made a squelching echo in the room as Frankie’s moans were muffled by Benny’s cock in his mouth. Benny, however, moaned loudly as he felt Frankie’s tongue along his length. And you couldn’t help but moan as you watched your boys in front of you.

Picking up your pace, you felt the room warm as the need grew exponentially. Overwhelmed with emotions, you reeled your hand back and slapped Frankie’s ass hard as you thrust even deeper into him. The moan he let out, while muffled, still filled the room as Frankie jolted forward in surprise. Benny’s eyes widened as he watched you rock your hips harder and faster into your shared boyfriend.

“Shit baby,” Benny groaned, “Do that again.”

“You like that, huh?” you purred as you did exactly that. Slapping Frankie’s ass again, both men groaned and you felt dizzy from how hot it was. “Yeah… I think both my boys like that,” you added as you slapped Frankie once more, squeezing it hard this time.

“Fuck…” Benny growled as his own hips stuttered into Frankie’s mouth, driving his cock down his throat.

Frankie had never been so helpless in his life. And he had never been more turned on. Though his own groans and moans were muffled by Benny’s cock in his mouth, he knew you both could tell he was enjoying this. The muscles in his ass clenched as he squeezed your dildo as you thrust into him over and over again, mirroring the way both he and Benny would fuck you.

Benny could feel Frankie’s moans around his length, and it sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. “Shit…” he groaned as his mind went blank too. Normally Benny had a lot to say during sex, but tonight he was speechless. Watching you fuck Frankie while his own cock was deep down his throat was almost too much in the best way possible. 

“My boys are so fucking good for me,” you cooed as you grabbed Frankie’s hips to angle yourself differently. As you gave one harsh thrust, Frankie’s mouth dropped open, allowing a cry to spill out unmuffled. “That’s it,” you purred as you started rocking your hips back and forth again, “That’s my Frankie baby.”

“Fuck, baby,” Benny’s eyes started to roll back into his head as he felt his climax start to build, “I’m the luckiest fuckin’ guy to get you two… Ahh… Fuck….” The way Frankie groaned into his cock sent wave and wave of pleasure up Benny’s spine. And Benny couldn’t help but thrust his hips into his mouth in time with your thrusts. “Fuck I’m gonna cum…”

That was the only warning Frankie got before Benny’s cock exploded in his mouth. He gagged for a moment until he closed his lips around his cock and sucked hard, letting his boyfriend ride out his orgasm in his mouth. He was rocked back and forth by your pounding on the other end, but Frankie concentrated hard on swallowing every last drop, not wanting anything to go to waste.

“That’s it, Frankie baby,” Benny cooed as he gave one last thrust. 

You stilled yourself for a moment, burying your dildo deep inside Frankie as Benny slowly pulled out of his mouth. You allowed him to take one deep breath as he tasted fresh air for the first time, but then you started up again. “Let us see you cum now, Frankie,” you murmured as you reached around and wrapped your hand around his cock.

Frankie’s moan filled the room as he was able to voice his pleasure for the first time that night. He leaned forward, resting his hard on Benny’s chest as he listened to the sweet nothing’s he whispered in his ear as you pounded into him. 

Pumping his cock at the same time, you let out a moan of your own as you listened to the chorus of your boys together. Even after having cum, Benny wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked it lazily, sending chills up his spine and overstimulating himself. And you couldn't help but notice.

“Fuck…” you breathed as you clenched your jaw and sped up your pace.

“Fuck!” Frankie cried out as the sensations almost got too much for him, but in the best way, “Baby…”

“Cum, Frankie.”

That was all it took to send him over the edge. Gripping into Benny for dear life, Frankie came hard with a loud groan. He saw stars as you thrust into his sweet spot over and over again while you worked his cock with your hand. And feeling Benny as an anchor only added to the emotions. Frankie made a mess between their bodies as his seed splashed them both. 

With a final grunt, you thrust fully into Frankie once last time, pumping his cock to squeeze every last ounce of orgasm from him before you knew he had enough. Heavy breaths filled the room as you leaned forward, resting against Benny as well.

“I’ve got you, babes,” Benny murmured as he wrapped his arms around you both, awkwardly holding his boyfriend and his girlfriend in his arms, “Fuck that was so hot,” he added in a whisper.

“Fuck yeah it was,” Frankie replied with an exhausted laugh.

You just hummed with a smile on your face as you enjoyed the feeling of Frankie under you. It was almost as if you could feel the cock inside of him, much like the way they each liked to stay inside of you for several moments before pulling out.

Benny was the first to open his eyes, taking in the sight of the two loves of his life in his arms, “I love you guys,” he blurted out.

“I love you too,” you blinked your eyes open.

“I love you guys too,” Frankie groaned as he pushed himself up, causing your strap to pull out of him in the process of adjusting to see you both. 

He turned to you first, cupping your face and placing a deep, passionate kiss on your lips. He swallowed the moan you let out, and savored the taste of you on his tongue. Then, Frankie broke away with a gasp for breath before he turned to Benny and kissed him the same way. Hand roamed all over each other as you leaned in and joined in on the kiss. The three of you became a puddle of lips and tongues as you all tried to kiss each other at the same time, emotions overpowering the fact that it was awkward and messy. But that was perfect for how the three of you always were.

This time, it was Frankie who broke the silence as he turned to you, “Now how about Ben and I eat your sweet pussy until you can’t fuckin’ think anymore, baby.”

You whimpered in response as your skin tingled and warmed. In the heat of the moment, you almost forgot that your own needs weren’t taken care of. 

“Shit I love when you talk like that, Frankie,” Benny groaned, “But I am starved so…”

[awritessomething]

I have absolutely no ideas for writing whatsoever pleaseplease leave requests!!! Smut, angst, fluff, whatever y’all want I can probably do.

Ill write for these people and probably more that I forgot (all male character x fem!reader) :

Formula 1:

Max Verstappen

Lando Norris

Oscar Piastri

Charles Leclerc

Pierre Gasly

Lewis Hamilton

Carlos Sainz

Daniel Riccardo

Mick Schumacher

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

David Rossi (preferably young)

Marvel:

Bucky Barnes

Tony Stark

Thor

Sam Wilson

Deadpool

Steve Rogers

Spiderman (Tom Holland, Andrew Garfield, Miguel O'hara)

Call of Duty

Keegan Russ

Simon "Ghost" Riley

König

Phillip Graves

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Star Wars:

Anakin Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Luke Skywalker

Han Solo

Outer Banks:

JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron

Topper Thornton

John B. Routledge

Harry Potter:

Harry Potter

Cedric Diggory

Draco malfoy

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

Blaise Zabini

Regulus Black

Severus Snape

Tom Riddle

Sirius Black

Lorenzo Berkshire

Oliver Wood

The Walking Dead:

Glenn Rhee

Daryl Dixon

Rick Grimes

Carl Grimes

Sports:

Joao Felix

Jude Bellingham

Brock Purdy

Leon Draisaitl

Jack Hughes

Vince Dunn

Mitch Marner

Connor Bedard

Wayne Gretzky (young)

Miscallaneous:

Jack Champion (Ethan Landry)

Patrick Bateman

Batman (Christian Bale)

Johnathan Crane

Finnick Odair

Josh Hutcherson (Peeta Mellark, Mike Schmidt, Sean Anderson, Clapton Davis)

Rodrick Heffley

Colby Brock

Sam Golbach

Tristan Dugray

Dylan O'brien

Bellamy Blake

Patrick Dempsey (Derek Shepherd, Ronald Miller)

Joe Goldberg

Timothee Chalamet (Wonka, Paul Atreides)

Minho (The Maze Runner)

Keanu Reeves (John Wick, Neo, Alex Wyler, Dr. Beckham, Julian Mercer, Ted Logan)

Jim Halpert

Farkas

Ulfric Stormcloak

Miraak

Ben Schnetzer (Max Vandenburg, Brad Land, Russ Sheppard)

Ralph Macchio (Daniel Larusso, Johnny Cade)

Dallas Winston

Sodapop Curtis

Robby Keene

Zuko (atla dallas liu)

Jet (atla sebastian amoruso)

Cillian Murphy (Johnathan crane, jackson rippner, Neil Lewis)

Evan Peters (all ahs characters, Luke cooper)

What I wont do:

Pedophilia

Beastiality or anything animal-y

Waterworks

Male reader (sorry)

Character x character

Threesomes or anything not 1x1

Character x oc

Specific body types (i just don’t see the point)

Daddy/mommy kinks

Incest or stepcest

(I’ll prob have to add on but its midnight rn)

[jessicaslittlelovesickmess]

Once upon a dream

Warning: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of cheating, mention of death, hurt comfort

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!reader, Tess Servopoulos x Fem!reader, Tess Servopoulos x Joel Miller

The only thing Emily ever wished for was a family, to be the mother she never had to two sons and a beautiful daughter always three children specifically.

Emily always had dreams of becoming a mother one day but it was never in her stack of cards so she shortly gave up the idea. Her dreams would always be just dreams not until she met Y/n, she was everything Emily had ever dreamed of in a spouse.

Only Y/n wasn’t hers

They had met at a local cafe after Emily had accidentally bumped right into her forgetting her coffee as she left in embarrassment. Y/n went straight after her with the drinks in hand never guessing she would end up at her brother’s workplace the bau.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Hotch asked confused Emily froze before turning around to face the woman. “You know each other?” She asked so unlike herself Penelope would’ve laughed Derek too “Aaron’s my older brother, you forgot your coffee” Y/n smiled.

Fast forward six years later

Emily going from blind date to hookup after hookup to get her mind off the now married woman who she still imagined a life with. Two sons and a beautiful daughter she told herself or even just one child would suffice maybe a cat if children wasn’t an option. She loved Y/n so violently it made her sick and everyone could see from a mile away- everyone besides Y/n although she loved Emily just as fiercely.

When Emily had “died” the other woman was inconsolable it damaged Aaron knowing he had a hand in this by not telling his sister the truth. Instead watching as the woman got married quickly to the first person who showed her simple kindness and their marriage seemed was almost out of convenience. Having met the woman while away trying to escape the life she once knew in Virginia moving to Boston and back again.

Y/n Hotchner became Y/n Servopoulos

Aaron couldn’t watch as his sister saw Emily for the first time once more after apparently being dead, how her hands trembled and eyes watered. The echo of her heels as she quickly left, Emily broke down that day one thing was certain nothing would ever be the same.

Y/n soon revealed she was pregnant with a little boy that shattered Emily’s entire world but she was happy for the woman. Though she couldn’t help but laugh when the baby was born looking just like his Uncle, to Emily Y/n was glowing and Tess well she was there.

Her son was named after an old friend Alex.

Theresa and Emily never got along always classed as competition in the other’s eye but they remained civil around Y/n never wanting to upset her. When Y/n was pregnant a second time Tess was around a whole less always giving Emily a chance to be by the pregnant woman’s side.

It was tough at first trying to win over the woman but Emily had her ways she would beg for Y/n’s forgiveness

A second boy named after his Uncle Aaron, Benjamin

Emily stood beside the woman until Ben turned two, Y/n and Tess were getting a divorce so Emily had the boys whenever she could. Tess had met someone while she was working away from home, some man named Joel from Texas. Joel Miller the same man who did the renovations on their holiday home who even had a daughter of his own.

It wouldn’t be until another year when a move would be made there was a routine the children had made that included Emily. You both would cook dinner- well you would cook and after spending time together you both would get the boys ready for bed and tuck them in. This night however as Ben snuggled into his pillow his little hand reached for Emily’s “stay mama” he yawned as the woman went to stand.

Tears spread on her waterline as she gazed down at him “of course my sweet boy” she smiled and once the kids were asleep you both retreated to the living room. Cuddling on the sofa watching some shitty reality tv show you gazed up at Emily “thank you” was whispered against her jaw. “What for?” She glanced down at you “for everything, for staying” soon enough your lips had met before you were on top straddling her.

Dreams slowly stopped being dreams another two years later when you and Emily had gotten married with just the team a few friends and your two sons as guests. Emily was over the moon to have a family to call her own, to have a reason to go home just knowing she was needed filled her with pride. Emily had gotten a taste of motherhood and she wanted more as you both laid bed post bliss she brought it up she wanted another child.

Two sons and a beautiful daughter

Her dreams were now reality as you welcomed Olivia into the world, Olivia Benson the Senior having to be the one to drive you to the hospital while Emily was away. She held your hand until your wife burst through the doors with the team behind her, you would birth a daughter who was the perfect mix of you both.

A little girl with Emily’s nose and eyes while she had your hair and mouth, Emily couldn’t help but pepper your face in kisses. “You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you” it made her think if she would ever be in this position if she hadn’t bumped into you that day.

Yes you were the bosses little sister but you had lead a similar life in a different town what if ran through her mind until she felt your cold hand on her cheek. She smiled brightly down at you as she leaned down to kiss you softly ignoring everyone in the room “thank you” she whispered.

“What for?” You chuckled tiredly with a dopey grin “our family” Emily held onto your free hand “I love you Y/n Prentiss” ignoring Hotch rolling his eyes fondly.

“I love you most Emily Prentiss”

Dreams do come true to those who wait Emily found.

[sugolara]

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

Feat. Katsuki Bakugo x Shoto Todoroki x Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

An ongoing series.

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down its borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's too late for some people. The dead have risen and are looking for revenge.

Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, updates thursday/sunday, slow burn, cross-posted on ao3, wattpad, qoutev

BEING HEAVILY EDITED

Inspired by, ''The Walking Dead''

playlist!

" Space Junk - Wang Chung " Wolf - First Aid Kit " Into The Black - Chromatics " My Life In Rewind - Eagulls " Hush - Trills " Bad Before Good - Dayone " Run Boy Run - Woodkid " You're So Cool - Jonathan Bree " So Bored - Gorgeous Bully " Operations - Duster " Blue Light - Mazzy Star " Civilian - Wye Oak " Can't Stop - Red Hot Chili Peppers " Sweet Child O' Mine - Guns N' Roses " Skyfall - Adele " Struggling Man - Emily Kinney (original: Jimmy Cliff) " The Last Pale Light In The West - Ben Nichols " Up The Wolves - The Mountain Goats " Blackbird Song - Lee DeWyze " Be Gone Dull Cage - Kiev " Into Dust - Mazzy Star " Warm Shadow - Fink " Tomorrow Is a Long Time - Bob Dylan " Poison Tree - Grouper " Rhymes Of An Hour - Mazzy Star " You Are The Wilderness - Voxhaul Broadcast " Running - Delta Spirit " People, Turn around - Delta Spirit " The Lion's Roar - First Aid Kit " Pain - Boy Harsher " The Setup - Favored Nations " The Old Death - Ben Nichols " Revolution - Red Shahan " The Man Who Sold The World - Nirvana " Beautiful Mess - Balian " The Day The World Went Away - Nine Inch Nails " Mr. Splitfoot - Paris Motel " Empty Words - Bowery Electric " No Longer Making Time - Slowdive " Step Away from the Cliff - Blue-Eyed Son " Paradise - Silverberg " Take Care (To Comb Your Hair) - Ty Segall " Glad I Had a Friend - Galt MacDermot " Machine Gun - Portishead " Shadows of Planes - Duster " No Peace at All - Aldous Harding " Save Us from Ourselves - Digital Daggers " I'm No Heroine - Emily Wells " Salt in the Wound - Delta Spirit " It's All Right - Sam Cooke " To Build a Home - The Cinematic Orchestra " 6 Underground - Sneaker Pimps " Edge Of The World - Dayshell " Bye Bye Bye - School of Seven Bells " Arsonist Lullaby - Hozier " It's All Over - Johnny Cash " The Stars Just Blink For Us - Say Hi " Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division " Knockin' On Heaven's Door - Guns N' Roses " Runnin' Down a Dream - Tom Petty " Fly Like An Eagle - Steve Miller Band " You Are Not Alone - Mavis Staples " Welcome - Harmonia & Eno ‘76’ " Hope We Can Again - Nine Inch Nails " outside - Oneheart " sleepless - Odyzon " Alesund - Sun Kil Moon " Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd " Don Abandons Alice - John Murphy " Wicked Game - Chris Isaak " Rule of Rose OST - Playing Airship " 1908 - Repulsive " I Shall Cross This River - The Black Atlantic " Easy Way Out - Low Roar " Wherever You Are - Ulrich Schnauss " Waitin' Round to Die - Townes Van Zandt

table of contents:

Season 1: Episode 1: Begin Episode 2: Not alone Episode 3: Gone but not forgotten Episode 4: You belong in this world Episode 5: Because all life is precious Episode 6: Musutafu, we'll meet again Episode 7: Izuku: I'd always thought there be more time

Season 2: Episode 8: During these two weeks Episode 9: Diopside, like your eyes Episode 10: For the first time in a long time Episode 11: Almost complete Episode 12: Determined to survive, stay alive Episode 13: Fear Episode 14: Katsuki: You are going to beat this world

Season 3: Episode 15: Away with you Episode 16: Three months ago Episode 17: Slowly withering away Episode 18: Don't die, not yet Episode 19: How long before I’m alone Episode 20: Nothing else to lose Episode 21: Shoto: Everything you would be will be gone

Season 4: Episode 22: Trouble Episode 23: For however long that'll be Episode 24: Searching Episode 25: The fallen city Episode 26: Stay who you are Episode 27: All together Episode 28: F/n: With you beside me

Season 5: Episode 29: Here Episode 30: Cruel Episode 31: Too loud Episode 32: Back on road Episode 33: All is lost Episode 34: Safe in your arms Episode 35: And so it begins Episode 36: At stake Episode 37: Sorry or whatever Episode 38: Familiar eyes

Season 6: Episode 39: A relief Episode 40: Upcoming trouble Episode 41: Never to easy Episode 42: To good for death Episode 43: Old memories Episode 44: A stroke of luck Episode 45: Be aware Episode 46: Bait Episode 47: A thump in my heart Episode 48: Belong to me Episode 49: One step closer (Towards you)

Season 7: Episode 50: Sorston Episode 51: Tenderness Episode 52: Here to stay Episode 53: The start Episode 54: Crushed Episode 55: Reporting to duty Episode 56: Good morning and goodbye Episode 57: An end to sorrow, grief & regret Episode 58: On the move Episode 59: Confirmation Episode 60: The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

Season 8: Episode 61: Not who you were Episode 62: Just you and me Episode 63: The Plaza Episode 64: The other side Episode 65: To be ready Episode 66: You're here Episode 67: So long, my dear Episode 68: Discard me Episode 69: Secrets you'll soon share Episode 70: I wish you nothing but the best Episode 71: For as long as I live Episode 72: Goodness and kindness can't survive, at least not in the world I dreamed of

Season 9: Episode 73: I'll see you in a while Episode 74: So wait for me Episode 75: Hushed secrets

To be continued...

Book one: Welcome To The New World Book two: To The One You Left Behind

taglist: @mikeyswifie @k0z3me @sky-angel101 @stevenknightmarc @nahwajinswhore @mn-0p @a-helen113 @azrral @mary-jinx @chixkadee @flowers-4-you @im-the-groot

[anitalenia]

━━━ 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 ₓ˚. ୭

pairing: Ben Miller x fem!reader

synopsis: Ben Miller was a reckless man at times, always taking on more than he could chew just to prove himself more than he already has. After he got shot on a simple recon mission, and didn’t even acknowledge the possible consequence of his actions, you were sent into a tizzy. It wasn’t until you were taking a relaxing bath in the lake did Ben come to you to reconcile, taking you in the water to prove to you he’d never leave.

content includes: unprotected sex, sex in water, lake sex, dirty talk, pet names like baby, pretty girl, honey, sweetheart, some angst at the beginning and middle, aftercare-ish, make up sex, near death experiences, reader oblivious to the dangers of a random lake, fingering, titty play, nipple sucking + biting, p cumming in v, overstimulation

warnings: sexual content 18+, bad words and cussing, mentions of guns, bullets, gunshot wounds, and blood. a little inner turmoil too but who doesn’t love that.

authors note: honestly, I love me some Benny fr 😫 also, probably made this a lot more dramatic than it needed to be but oh well.

LINKS ੈ♡˳·˖✶ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 | 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒔

⤷ BY THE LAKESIDE, continue reading

BENNY’S HEADY STARE BURNED INTO you from across the fire, heavy with guilt and glittering with the orange flame of mild annoyance. His strong jaw was clenched, dirt smeared on his cheeks and clothes, his hands in tight fists inside his hoodie pockets. He was angry with you for being angry with him, angry that you were making him feel guilty for what reason? He didn’t know, and that made him all the more irritated.

You could feel it, his blue eyes boring into your skin and washing over you like hot oil; it made your flesh prickle. You refused to acknowledge him though, sat next to Pope as the both of you leaned back on a tree stump. Your body ached but your heart was shattered, and you could do nothing but stare into the orange flames with a tense frown, your eyebrows furrowed and lips tight together as the heat warmed your nose and cheeks. The group of five was silent, basking in their own aches and pains, almost scared to say anything and break the tense silence that had comfortably settled over them like a weighted blanket.

It was quiet besides the sounds of a crackling fire and the buzzing of crickets; the occasional ruffle of the trees when a soft breeze would dance through them. Nothing really needed to be said between each other, at least not until the next day. Everyone was still recovering from recon gone terribly wrong; still tense and jumpy at every little sound that sparked around them. This was true, but you were oblivious to the real reason why no one wanted to speak quite yet, for it was clear that the tension brewing between you and your beloved had everyone on high alert, sharing uneasy glances between each other and fiddling with leaves and knifes to distract themselves from it.

The fire hissed out smoke and ash like it was regurgitating the effects of your own anger back at you; right in the middle of you and Benny as you couldn’t sit next to him like nothing was the matter. You stared into the flames intently, absentminded and irritated. The memory of earlier that day kept replaying in your mind like some shitty movie; and you were forced to sit there, a front row seat to the unraveling of your own sanity.

Benny, being cocky like he could be, walking out onto an open road with guards standing right at the gates, thinking his own mortality was just a mere suggestion, that he could just survive a flurry of bullets aimed at his head like his life was limitless. Thankfully, all he had gotten was a bullet in the forearm before Will was gunning the guards down to save his idiotic younger brother. You were thankful he was alright, that some mystical force orchestrating your lives had not cut all his strings just yet, that they let him spend just a little more time with you. But… you couldn’t even begin to describe the pain and panic in your chest when you saw Benny fall down to the gravel, like you had just been shot your self.

You saw the way the dark red pigment of his blood poured into the gravel like his very life force was swimming away from him, the way his face twisted in pain and the way he crumbled to the ground. It was like your whole existence and being had been frozen in time, your body going numb and your mind going blank as your whole life flashed before it like a taunting joke. Your heart stopped beating and your mouth went dry as all you could do was watch from your position in the tree line, your ear piece buzzing with four panicked voices at once like muddled chatter.

It was the worst feeling you had ever experienced, and ever since you couldn’t get rid of that sick feeling in your stomach that made goosebumps rise on your arms, or swallow away the dryness in the back of your throat.

Even then, even if you could’ve recovered from the incident, Benny himself couldn’t admit that what he did was wrong, especially not to you. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that he could’ve died, left you all alone with nothing but the ghost of his memory. After he had patched up his arm, he bounced right back like nothing had gone wrong in the first place. He didn’t reassure you, hug and kiss you and make all your worries go away like he was supposed to. You weren’t sure he remembered you were even there, camouflaged in the brush way up in the trees, unable to leave your post and possibly ruin the mission even further. You were forced to wallow in your own terror, unable to speak and unable to breath, scope shaky from your trembling hands.

And then, and then, the boys found themselves laughing about it just a little while after, on the trek back to the campsite, once Ben was better and too riled up with adrenaline and excitement to consider your feelings. It was almost like they were mocking your worry from where you lingered behind them; you knew they weren’t but you couldn’t see it any other way. You didn’t find it funny, you didn’t even understand how Benny could just brush it off like he didn’t just almost ruin both your lives forever. How could he be smiling like he didn’t just stomp on your soul and rub it in the dirt? How could he be laughing like his own arrogance and stupidity was the funniest thing in the world?

You had been distant ever since, sitting in this one spot and avoiding anyone who tried to talk to you. Benny had even tried to, sensing your bad mood and wanting to fix it. But his concern had come far too late, and you didn’t feel like entertaining him and his ego. So you brushed him off just as he did you, giving him a curt just leave me alone that had his skin going cold like someone had poured a bucket of water over his head. The boys could sense your vexation as well, and even they weren’t sure what had soured your mood so much but they knew better than to pry. They gave you your space, even set your sleeping bag out for you when you isolated yourself at the bonfire with that steely frown on your face.

That had been four hours ago, in the orange glow of the sunset when even the sun couldn’t stand Benny’s indifference any longer. Now, it was late at night, stars twinkling in the dark sky and the full moon staring down at them, witness to your depression. The group was surrounded in darkness and trees only illuminated by the soft glow of the fire, tense and tired as their muscles melted down and their guards softened, sleep weighing down on their heavy eyelids. Gnats buzzed around the fire light and even buzzed past your ears, but you weren’t tired, just frozen.

Benny Miller had been in a confused slump over that time, gradually getting more and more frustrated the longer you refused to talk to him, or fuck, even look at him. There was nothing worse in this world to him than your sorrow, and usually he was the one coddling you and kissing your tears away, rocking you in his arms and protecting you from anything that could’ve hurt you. Shit, even when you were mad at him at least you acknowledged him, screamed at him, called him an inconsiderate asshole and anything else you’d say just to hurt him. But this, this he had never seen.

You weren’t yelling, staring at him with bloodshot eyes and red cheeks, rocking in his strong arms or crying on his shoulder. You were just there, a couple feet in front of him that felt like miles away, thinking about something that had you stressing yourself out and had you pissed off at him along with it. It was the not knowing that irritated him the most; you weren’t talking to him about it to try and fix it, just soaking in it like a hot bath until you were drowning in the idea of it, whatever it was. You weren’t letting him save you, comfort you, hold you and make it all better like you usually do. You were just a cruel statue, and he couldn’t stand it, racking his brain for what he could’ve possibly done in the span of five hours to have you hate him completely… and there was nothing. He had absolutely no clue, and it made him want to punch the ground and take his anger out on something.

But all he could do was stare and hope it bothered you enough to look at him, maybe even tell him to stop. But you were too enraptured in your own mind to give him the time of day, and it made him feel sad and angry and sick to his stomach that you were this mad at him. He felt guilt and regret bubbling in his gut for something he wasn’t sure he even did, and he wanted so badly to vomit out all the apologies and sorry’s you wanted to hear, anything to have you be with him again and make all these bad feelings disappear. But he had a sneaky suspicion that all of his inner turmoil was just some spiteful part of your punishment for him, a consequence you intended from the start.

His mind was just circling and circling, jumping from conclusion to conclusion, replaying the days events over and over and over like he’d find a missing clue to his crime the longer he searched. But it was nothing… nothing, nothing, nothing, and he couldn’t fucking stand it.

You could see the dark outline of Benny’s legs peeking through the flames, and you found yourself staring at his calf’s before you could stop yourself. You forced your eyes to not look further up despite wanting to, knowing it was best. You did love Benny, you loved him a lot, so much so that even if you were mad at him you still subconsciously yearned for him; it was a deeper part of your mind reserved solely for Ben Miller that had been programmed to love every bad part of him ever since you met him. It was sending shocks throughout your body and pulses in your brain, wanted so badly to look at his face, run your hands through his blonde hair and kiss his chapped lips. It made your skin feel cold without his arms around you, your lips tingle at the memory of connecting with his. And it was that love for him that always made you break so much sooner than you wanted to.

But not this time. This wasn’t one of your normal arguments when Benny would forget to text you, forget what you needed from the store, or eat all the food in the fridge without asking. This was life or death and he had just tiptoed his way into the latter, and you weren’t going to break this time, cry and hug and say you’re sorry. You needed space, you needed to think and try and gather some strength back so you could talk to Benny in the morning. You weren’t going to let this slip, let him off the hook like he didn’t almost die and then forget to tell you about it.

You were going to be strong and you were going to let him suffer just as you have suffered.

You turned your head to Pope who was sitting next to you, his legs outstretched in front him and his hands in his lap, fiddling with a stick like it was the most perplex thing in the world. He had some blood stained on his green cargo pants and gray t-shirt, and you couldn’t believe you didn’t notice it before. You swallowed at the sight of it, an anxious feeling sparking up in your chest like a flare until you managed to look up at Pope’s face instead.

“Hey, Pope?” You mumbled quietly, not wanting to speak too loud and scare away the calm.

Pope was almost startled by the sound of your gentle voice, lost in his own head as he thought over battle strategy as always. He turned to you, curious with what you had to say since you hadn’t spoken in quite some time.

He hummed in response, a soft look lurking in the shadow of his brown eyes as he looked at you, not wanting to set you off any further.

“You guys can go ahead and sleep, y’know. I’m gonna go down by the lake and try to wash all this dirt off me. I look a mess.” You gestured down to the dirt matted on your clothes with a small smile, trying to joke with him so he knew you weren’t angry with him or the other guys.

You had seen the lake when you had set up camp the day before, walking around the perimeter as a safety precaution. Right now it seemed like the perfect escape, away from Benny, away from the light, and away from the temptation. You could feel your resolve crumbling, the pull in your gut was taut like a rope wrapped around both your waists, begging you to get up and plop yourself in Benny’s lap like you always would. He was pulling you closer and closer with every long minute that dragged by whether he knew it or not, and you knew the longer you stayed around Benny the quicker it would fall, and you’d be right back in his arms like you were the who did something wrong. You couldn’t let that happen, you just couldn’t. If Benny wanted to talk to you he would have to come up to you, apologize to you for being the stupidest man on the planet and almost giving you a heart attack.

Until then, you just needed some alone time.

Pope nodded his head, eyes flickering around your face and the way you half-assed a smile. He could see the frazzled look in your eyes though, and despite not wanting anyone to drift off from the group he could see the faint desperation on your face; he knew you needed some space.

“Okay, that sounds good. Take a knife or something with you, just in case. And if something happens—“

“I know. I’ll scream as loud as I can like I’m not a trained military soldier with skills of her own.” You interrupted with a playful roll of your eyes, already pushing off the ground and standing up on your own two feet. You felt your limbs pop from being locked in for four hours straight; the stretch felt good on your sore thighs and arms. Everyone looked at you as you stood, disturbed by the noise. Even Frank, whose eyes had been closed under the rim of his cap, in a soft sleep against a tree, looked up at you, moving his hat out of the way.

Benny couldn’t help the hope that piqued in his heart, thinking this was finally the moment he was waiting for. He stared up at you, his eyes running over your frizzy hair, noting the dirt on your hands and neck but still an Angel bathed in the golden light to him. He was expecting a confrontation at least, or even a look cast his way that he would knew what it meant. But nothing, you just walked towards the tree line like he was nothing but a ghost in the forest, haunting the camp fire with his lamentation.

“Where do you think you’re goin’, young lady?” Frank asked in a playful stern tone, making you crack a small smile at him.

You turned your back to look at him, “I’m going for a swim. Don’t wait up.”

You turned back around and stepped over Pope’s legs, the sight of blood in your peripheral, heading in the direction of the lake with twigs and leaves crunching under your boots.

“Ay, be careful, hermana.” Frank pointed at you in warning, but you just waved a hand in the air in acknowledgment before putting them in your jacket pockets, walking further into the night and staring at the ground as you went, the frown back just as quick as it left.

Benny sank down once more, staring after you like a lost little puppy with some bite behind his bark. He grind his teeth with a small scoff at your behavior, looking away from your back as it disappeared into the darkness, away from the light and away from his eyesight. His chest felt sore like it had just been stomped on, taking heavy breaths to calm himself down as he settled back against a tree, taking a hand out of his pocket and adjusting his hat on his head like a comforting reflex.

Will shared a look with the other two, smacking a knife against his palm from where his elbows rest on his arched knees. They all wanted to say something but knew it was in their best interest not to, especially when it came to butting into Benny’s relationships like they knew better or something. At least, that’s how Benny always took it.

Will shared a knowing look with Pope and Frank, who got the message.

“We’re gonna head off to bed, alright guys? Don’t stay up too late. Remember we have to be up before Gomez if we want things going smoothly this time.” Pope, always the levelheaded leader, gave Benny and Will a pointed look once he got off the dirt, putting his hands in his pants pockets. His dark hair was dusty with dirt, blood from Bennys wound dried on his shirt and pants.

Benny just nodded his head once, not listening to a word.

Frank got off the ground as well, glancing at Benny sympathetically as he adjusted his cap on his head just as Benny did.

“That means no more shootouts, eh?” Frank grinned, making a jab at Benny as he slapped Pope on the shoulder with a light shove. Benny saw as he walked past Pope and to the direction of the sleeping bags just a few feet away, annoyed with the sound of laughter because all he wanted to do was sulk in his misery.

Pope chuckled at that, turning back to the pair of brothers.

“Besides that, it was good work today. We got a lot on shit on Gomez and tomorrow’s gonna be the day we get his ass. For real this time.”

“Yeah… I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Santi.” Will exhaled, looking up at Pope with a tired expression, bags under his eyes and blonde hair a ruffled mess. He slapped the blade against his palm once more, feeling pessimistic from the mishap that happened earlier today and not having much confidence in Popes plans for tomorrow. Shit never went according to plan with them, should’ve learned that from the last time.

Pope just nodded at that with an understanding expression, knowing that was a conversation best left unopened. He looked back up at Will, “Get some sleep. The both of you.”

He turned with a lingering look to Will, then glanced at Benny before fully turning around. He started towards the sleeping bags where Frank was already passed out with his hat over his eyes, giving Will and Ben the space they needed to have whatever discussion they needed to have, always unable to show vulnerability around anyone but themselves.

A few beats of silence passed besides the crackling of the dimming fire, Benny anticipating whatever advice Will obviously had for him. He wasn’t clueless, knew Pope and Frank only left so him and Will could have some sort of heart to heart and so that Will could share his perspicacious advice and wisdom. Honestly, Ben wasn’t even sure he wanted to hear it. There was no advice for a man who didn’t even know to use it, especially one it would hold no real value to. Besides, Benny really didn’t want hear his brothers advice on relationships.

Benny glanced at his brother, who just stared into the fire with a dull gaze.

“So what? Gonna give me some relationship advice now? You’re a little late, bud.” Benny grumbled with that southern accent of his you loved so much, the flames flickering in the cool warmth of his eyes as he leaned back against the bumpy tree trunk with a heavy sigh.

Will cracked a small smile at that, shaking his head as he looked to his left at his stone faced brother.

“Nah, man. Nothin’ I say is gonna make it any better.” Will mumbled, turning his head to look at the empty darkness in the trees where you had disappeared into, licking his chapped lips.

“But whatever you did, bro, she’s pissed. You gotta handle that.” Will exhaled, looking back at the side of Ben’s face where sweat had beaded alongside his hairline.

Benny side eyed his brother as Will patted his shoulder encouragingly, getting up with a tired grunt and putting the knife in his pocket.

Benny looked up at him, his skin hot from the fire and his heart beating steadily in his ears. He gave a stubborn shrug of his shoulder in response, an ache shooting down his left arm at the movement.

“She can be pissed all she want. I ain’t runnin’ after her every time there’s a stick up her ass.” Benny said stubbornly; but even he knew that was bullshit. Benny would follow you anywhere and has, for reasons less than this. He just couldn’t help but think you were being completely unreasonable about the whole situation; expecting him to chase you down like a dog, kneel at your feet and beg for your royal pardon and make him atone for his sins. But it pissed him off even more because he would, if that’s what it took to hear your voice again, to be able to look into your eyes again and feel your hands on his. He’d kiss your shoes and lick the dirt off of them in that’s what it took, beg for your hand and never stop spewing apologies. All you had to do was ask.

But no, you just treated him like he was the worst person you’d ever met, avoided him like he was a parasite leaching off your love and he couldn’t fucking stand it. He was more than that, you were more than that. Your anger chipped away at his pride like a brick hammer second by second, and he hated that sick feeling twisting in his gut that made him feel lightheaded.

And Will knew it just as much Benny did, which is why he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly at that, looking back at his brother with a cocky little smile that rubbed Ben the wrong way.

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Ben stared at his brothers back as he walked away into the shadow, Will’s words lingering in his head because he knew his brother, especially him, wouldn’t believe Benny’s bull shit if he handed it to him.

Benny rolled his tongue on the inside of his cheek and clenched his jaw, looking back down at the fire as his neck tensed with irritation. He didn’t want to be the one to reconcile things, too stubborn and prideful and ignorant to his own error. He was still pissed at you for reasons unknown, one part of him frustrated with your silence but the other part aching to reach out to you despite his own bull-headedness. He hoped you’d appear from the tree line and curl up next to him with an apology on your lips, wrap your arms around him and lay your head on his shoulder and fix his broken world. But no, he knew that wouldn’t happen from his spot glued to the dirty ground, alone by the camp fire spitting out ash like it was yelling at him.

He knew what he had to do, just wished he hadn’t.

The lake was beautiful, bathed in the silver light of the moon with the stars reflecting in the black water like a kaleidoscope of gems. They stared back up at you, twinkling in your eyes and you couldn’t help but be in awe of it.

It was a large clearing inside the valley of a mountain, hidden away like it’s beauty was almost too much for Mother Earth to find. You couldn’t see how far back it went, only the black tree line that blurred with the edge of the water quite a ways away from the shoreline you stood at. The water was calm and still, so different from your racing heart and shaky hands. It was cooler here, cooler in the dark as the gentle breeze swept through your cheeks and tingled your neck.

The air smelt of lavender and dirt, earthy and natural, and you inhaled a big breath through your nose as the scent calmed you. Purple flowers littered the shoreline, tall and vibrant with stones hidden along the outskirts. You could hear the buzz of crickets in the tall grass, see the bright yellow dots floating along the air like the fireflies were beckoning you into the water.

It had been beautiful when you discovered it a day prior, when the sun was shining down on the blue water and the trees reflected in the horizon, birds dancing in the sky. But, here, now, nightfall was a whole different experience entirely. You felt like you had been pulled straight into movie with the way a light sheet of mist covered the ground and overlapped your boots, cascading along the surface of the lake.

You sighed happily, a smile making its way onto your face as you realized this was exactly what you had needed. The stress in your body began to fade as your skin thrummed, eager to finally go in the water and feel it’s soothing waves wash over you, wash over your mind and clear the muddled thoughts of Ben Miller from the crevices of your brain. He haunted your thoughts too often, had burrowed himself inside your heart and mind like a virus.

Your skin felt itchy and hot from the humidity of the forest as you quietly walked to the edge of the water, not even a soft wave crashing into your boots as you stared down at your murky reflection through the mist, the croak of frog sounding from somewhere around you.

Your hair was frizzy, tied back in a loose bun that morning that had fallen apart during the day, dirt and sweat smeared across your cheeks and neck and your lips cracked and dry. Your eyes were dull and your lips were pulled into a frown, a faint scratch on your collarbone from when a branch had nipped you. You were only joking when you said it, but you looked a mess.

You frowned even harder at that, disappointed with your appearance and how manic you looked, all because of a person who had all this power over you without even knowing.

You took a step back at the thought, not seeing the point in wasting anymore time as you managed to find a seat on a rock and slip off your combat boots. Your body was sore for some reason, and upon taking off your socks and standing up to take off your thick black pants, you noticed the faint yellow color of bruises dusted along your thighs and knees. You knew they had to have been from you being stationed on a tree top for hours, staring out your scope with it pointed right at Gomez, just in case he did anything you didn’t like; having to stay perfectly still.

Gomez, yet another crime boss in the middle of a lawless jungle terrorizing innocent people. You and your team had been tracking him for a while, even had one failed bust way back when. But tomorrow, tomorrow you were going to finally take him down after a long three day reconnaissance mission. But now, now you were here, standing in front of this beautiful lake with your clothes in a pile next to you. You didn’t have the time to think about tomorrow because then you couldn’t focus on the now.

The soft wind felt so good on your bare skin, running through your hair you had let down and caressing your flesh with a gentle hand. For the first time that day you felt content, bathed in the glow of the moonlight as it shined down on your naked form, littered with dirt and cuts and sweat.

You tried hard to push Benny into the back of your mind as you took gentle steps towards the water, leaving your negative thoughts in the dirt. As you reached the shoreline, skin dotted with goosebumps, you tentatively dipping your foot in as a chill swept through your skin at the cold sensation. The cold against the hotness of your skin felt like a much needed smack to your nervous system.

You took a calming breath, ignoring the sting of the cold water as you walked further into the black lagoon, your legs and thighs and hips being enveloped by the mist and welcomed in by the still waters, until you were waist deep and your toes were digging into the gray sand underneath the water. A shiver prickled your sweaty skin as a tickling sensation ran up your spine.

You felt weightless, floating in air as your muscles relaxed like melting candle wax, the water swishing around your arms in soft waves as you softly moved them around you, feeling the lightness slip through your fingers. You closed your eyes, basking in the coolness of the water as a peaceful silence buzzed in your ears. The breeze ran through you and chilled you to the bone, but the cold felt nice against your buzzing skin, gave you something to think about other than Benny.

You walked a little further in until the tops of your breasts were floating in the water, the anxiety you had melting away as you dipped your head back in the water, letting the droplets slide down your forehead as you lifted your head back up. You couldn’t help another shiver as the water poured down your back and shoulders, trickling back into the lake. You felt cleaner already, could almost feel the sweat and dirt on your skin evaporating as the memory of that day washed away into the lake.

However, as you stared at the water around you, you couldn’t help the longing that pulled at your heart at the thought of sharing this experience with the one person you wanted so badly; have his strong arms wrapped around as you splashed in the water, stare at the moon nestled between two mountain peaks with your head on his shoulder and love swelling in your chests.

You could feel yourself frowning again at the thought, your eyes beginning to blur with tears as your emotions finally overwhelmed you. The thought of him dying, actually leaving you alone, ash in a vase… it had your stomach in knots as hot tears starting running down your cheeks.

You brought a hand out of the water and wiped away the tears falling, the droplets splattering into the water with the action. You couldn’t help but feel silly for crying over something that didn’t happen, but you couldn’t even fathom the thought of Benny dying, and all the stress from that day had finally dawned on you in the moment you had no more distractions from it. Your chest burned and your nose was starting to become sniffly, lips trembling as you brought a hand to your mouth to muffle the sob that shook your shoulders.

You closed your eyes and tried to take a calming breath, eyelashes wet against your cheeks as you felt tears slipping down your neck. You loved him so much, put his life higher than yours and cherished him more than he knew. But he was so fucking reckless, always trying to one-up Will or prove himself to his friends like he needed to prove to them he belonged. Even in those underground fights of his you’d always be anxious when he’d come back home with a broken nose or busted lip, standing on the sidelines and flinching every time he got knocked down. His pain brought you pain, and you just wished he’d realize that, take precautions, just be fucking careful.

You sniffled some more as your tears died down, hugging yourself as you opened your eyes again and stared at the moon, praying to whoever was up there they could watch over your boy, please please please let him be okay.

You felt the water moving behind you all of sudden, your body stiffening in high alert as the small waves smacked into your back. You turned your head ever so slightly, listening for anything.

Then, you heard the deep breath of someone a couple feet behind you, exhaustive and oh so familiar. Your chest almost burst, stomach falling at the realization of who it was.

“Can you look at me, please?”

Your eyes widened at the soft voice of Ben Miller behind you, gentle like he was trying not to scare away a baby deer, but still scratchy from his deep voice and accent. You couldn’t believe he had followed you out here, cornered you in the water like you were one of his boxing mates, leaving you no where to go but to him.

Your eyes flickered around the water like the waves held the answers you seek, hoping they’d pull you under the surface and bury you in the ground until you were hidden from his sight completely.

You sniffled as quietly as you could, subtly wiping away the last of your tears to gain your composure back, thankful the lake made it look like water cascading down your cheeks. You didn’t want Ben to know you’d been crying, knowing it would only make him feel bad and make him less prone to take you seriously.

You angled your head so he could hear you clearly, but you didn’t dare turn around even if your heart beat faster at hearing his so close behind.

“Please just go away, Benny. I don’t wanna talk to you right now.” You said quietly into the air, knowing your voice would crack if you spoke any louder. The buzzing of crickets chirped around you, the light fog slowly moving past your shoulders. You could feel your eyes stinging again at the presence of him, your arms wrapped around your chest to comfort yourself as another breeze had your skin prickling. You tried hard not to cry, a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow away.

Benny clenched his jaw at that, not wanting to lose his temper with you as the sweet sound of your voice he’d barely heard all day washed over him and made his skin tingle. He was only a few feet from you, staring into your wet hair despite wanting to come closer, not wanting you to run away from him like you did the last time he approached you. The water was cold, up to his stomach from the height difference between you, but if this is what it was going to take to get your attention.

His heart fluttered for you, yearned to wrap around you, his stomach in knots at the sound of your scratchy voice. He knew that voice, knew it all too well and knew you better than you thought. His hands itched to bring you into his chest, wrap his arms around you and shield you from the cold, surround you in his love and concern and finally let himself breath again. His lungs felt muffled, like water was clogging his chest and filling in the space there.

He clenched his hand, itching to touch you.

“Will you just stop that shit, already? Why are you crying?” Benny had to stop himself from scoffing at that; fuck no he wasn’t going to leave. He took a small step forward, furrowing his brows at you as the cool air chilled his bare skin.

You clenched your jaw, feeling that tense feeling in your bones as you suddenly felt too overwhelmed at the situation. You planned for this conversation in the morning, not right now in the middle of the night, in the middle of a lake, in the middle of no where.

“I wasn’t crying.” You sniffled again, tone firmer, but even you heard the crack in your voice that couldn’t convince anybody that that was the truth. You stared at the water, the weightless, joyous feeling you experienced earlier replaced with a dull sorrow… it made the water feel bland and the buzz under your skin turn to fuel for your annoyance. But… you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction at the fact Benny had actually managed to approach you. Usually, you were the one having to initiate things, so this was a surprising reprieve.

Benny knew that was an obvious lie, fist clenched as the urge to walk up to you had his arms twitching.

“Come on, don’t lie to me. Can you just turn around, please? I’m fucking begging you here…” Benny sounded borderline desperate, still keeping his voice low as he stared at you in desperation, heart jumping when he saw the slightest movement from you. He really couldn’t fucking stand this, teetering on the edge of confusion and unfamiliarity. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to make you feel better. He felt useless and horrible, just standing there while you obviously cried.

You swallowed thickly, eyes closing in consideration of his plea as another tear managed to fall down your cheek. Benny always knew how to get to you, he really did. It pained you to hear him be so distraught, that your body instinctively tired to turn around and run to him, kiss his cheek and meld into his chest like a vine growing from a root.

You opened your eyes, bright from the moon, then tentatively turned around in the water with your arms crossed over your chest. He couldn’t really see anything anyways. The sound of the water swishing around you sounded dreamy, if only it wasn’t given during the situation.

Benny’s eyes were stuck to you, frantically running over all the skin he could see to make sure you were alright. Your hair was slick down your back, water falling from your shoulders and cascading down the smoothness of your skin. You’re eyes were pink and veiny, cheeks puffy and lips a darker red. He frowned at the idea of you crying, almost reaching out to you but catching himself.

He sighed heavily, “oh, honey…”

You gazed up at him, eyes running over his bare chest, chiseled with muscle and the occasional scar, then to his strong jaw and greasy blonde hair messily slicked back on his head. Your eyes had lingered on the white bandage wrapped his left forearm from the where bullet had shattered his skin there, and you felt your stomach jump and legs go weak. Benjamin looked at you like you were fragile glass, eyes dark and worrying, brows furrowed and lips downturned. The moonlight shined down on him like he was a diamond, bright and tantalizing, and you hated how gorgeous he looked when you were still a little pissed at him.

At the sound of his pitiful voice you felt your eyes burn again, lips frowning as you tried hard not to cry at the very sight of him and that stupid wound, another wave of sadness crashing through you as your chest swelled up and your eyes went blurry. You missed him, had missed his touch, missed his voice, missed his slicked back hair. You couldn’t imagine feeling like this for the rest of your life, which was almost a very real reality.

It was almost like a dam had broke within you as your emotions crashed through you once again, your hand flying to your mouth as a sob wracked through your body and tears rushed down your cheeks.

Benny felt his own flood of emotions as he quickly went towards you, water splashing around you both as he scooped you into his arms and held you tight against him, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your back. He felt your tears run down his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist and burrowed your head into his heart, the warmth of him comforting the entirety of you. You held onto him tight as he murmured words of comfort into your hair, hand rubbing the expanse of your back soothingly.

“Shh, sweetheart, shh. It’s okay, baby. Just breathe for me…” His deep voice rumbled against you, a low and comforting thrum that managed to calm your hiccuping breaths, the sound of his beating heart and the vibration of his voice against you like medicine for your soul.

You took slow deep breaths in, adjusting your head so your cheek laid on his chest and you could feel the cool breeze on your warm face. Your eyes were still closed, sore from crying as you sniffled some more. You tightened your hold around Benny, unable to stop yourself from acting out on the giddy feelings he gave you, like his bear hugs alone made flowers blossom in your chest and made your lungs feel like they would burst into daisies.

Benny squeezed you back despite the sharp ache in his arm, laying his chin on your head as he felt your breaths stop shuddering, whispering the occasional shh as he resumed rubbing the skin on your back like he was petting velvet. He felt sick to his stomach that you were in so much distress, heart beating quickly as worry kept pumping out of every artery.

He didn’t want to confront you yet; not even giving a damn to if you were in this much pain about it. He just held you and you let him, feeling refreshed and warm and like you were coming back home after a long vacation from it.

The water trickled around you melodically, and the sound of it felt nice against your pounding ears. A few beats of comforting silence passed as bugs chirped and wind whistled before you found your voice again.

“Please don’t die…”

Benny heard your scratchy voice croak out something tiredly, your breath hitting his tan skin. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at you.

“What’chu say, baby?” He asked, feeling yourself curl into him tighter than you were before, snuggling your head into his chest. He let you, arms still tight around you.

You sniffled some more, opening your eyes and staring out at the water as words just left your mouth before you could think.

“Earlier today… you got shot. You could’ve died and you didn’t even care and what was I supposed to do—“

Benny could feel your shoulders start to shake again, feeling more confused than ever as he interrupted your oncoming sobs, shhing you and rubbing your back some more just as you liked.

“Hey, it’s okay, honey. It’s alright now, shhh.” He had a confused look on his face as he thought about your words; thinking about earlier when he got shot, thinking about how you started acting funny after that, thinking about how much of a god damn idiot he was for not realizing it before. He clenched his jaw and shook his head at himself, holding you tighter against him like you’d fall out from under him if he didn’t. He was so fucking stupid, his chest wringing in pain at the thought of what he had done.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby… you know that ain’t never gonna happen.” He mumbled, voice thick with remorse.

You cried softly a little while longer, until your throat ached and your eyes swelled. You took a hand and shakily wiped away your snot and tears, almost humiliated with yourself that this interaction had gone exactly like you didn’t want it to.

You found yourself calming down again though, really this time, as you picked your head up from under Benny and took your arms out from around him. Your bare breasts were smushed up against him, but this wasn’t a situation where either one of you needed to acknowledge it, far worse things lingering on both your minds.

Benny let you separate from him, his arms dropping down to your waist as he stared down at you curiously. He felt terrible for what had happened, knowing now why you acted the way you did. At times, Benny forgets his life is just as meaningful to other people like it was to him, forgets that he has someone who cares for his well-being and someone who loves him fully. He wasn’t used to being the priority all the time, hence he always carried this reckless attitude with him because if he died, at least it was only him who would. He didn’t even think about seeing if you were okay after it happened, assuming he was okay and that meant you were too. He felt like he had just crushed the world in his hands on behalf of your pain, genuine guilt swirling in his tummy as his sad eyes ran over your tear-ridden face.

You sniffled some more as you leaned back to look at him, your eyes flickering to his arm at the bandage he wasn’t supposed to get wet. You felt lighter again after crying it all out, like the blanket had been pulled off you and you were ready to get out of bed. You knew he felt guilty, seeing it dawn on his eyes as he looked you, felt in his hands glued to your waist like the water was going to carry you away.

You took your hands out of the water and brought them up to cradle Benny’s face, the water sliding down his neck and chest and making his skin shudder from the coolness of it.

“You were stupid. You could’ve died, thank god you didn’t but what if you had? I would be alone, you would’ve left me alone. I can’t be without you. You can’t ever die on me, Benjamin, I mean it.” Your voice was soft with urgency, staring into his eyes and making him look down at you as you spoke. He could hear the pain behind every word and closed his eyes to calm himself down, wanting to hug you again and soak up all your pain for himself if he held you tight enough. He hung onto your every word, taking a small step closer to you as the consequence of what’d he done stared into his face.

“You have to be more careful, even if you think you don’t have to be. You have to be careful for yourself, for me, for us, for the guys. You have no idea how scary it was seeing you fall to the ground like that and not being able to run over and make sure you were okay. I felt like… I felt like the whole world had just caved in on me and-and… just don’t ever do that shit again, okay?” You gently squeezed his cheeks for emphasis, your voice raw from all the crying you’d done. You looked deep into his eyes, flickering between the two, before you felt his hands come out of the water and cradle your face, his hands much bigger on your cheeks that they covered your jaw.

He brought himself to you, your hands slipping down to his chest as he looked down at you with a somber expression.

“Hey, hey, you listen to me. I will never leave you, woman. I’ll always come back to you, when have I never? Don’t you know after 2 years that you got me already? I couldn’t die if I wanted, you fucking own me. If I died and left that behind I’d be the stupidest motherfucker I’ve ever met.” His accent bled into your skin like sweet honey, thick with emotion but still trying to make you smile for him. You could hear the earnestness in his soft tone as he stared down at you with those fierce blue eyes of his, bright and dark and full of love.

You felt relief at his words, melting against him with tired limbs. You were glad you had gotten that off your chest, feeling reassured. Benny got even closer to you, his head just above yours that you had to look up at him to see him.

“I’m sorry, baby. You know that, right? I love you. Man, I love you so fucking much…” He rasped out, gently squeezing your cheeks underneath his warm palms as he spoke, his hot breath hitting your nose as you felt your heart flutter like a petal in the breeze; happy and weightless, bound by nothing but love and direction.

You felt another tear fall down your cheek, a small smile stretching across your pink lips as you picked your hands up and wrapped them around Benny’s neck, bringing him down until his forehead touched yours. You couldn’t describe the happiness you felt at that, his big hands sliding down your wet skin to wrap around your waist again, pressing you against his naked body with ease.

“I love you, too. I’m sorry for being such a bitch.” You laughed gently, the sound twinkling in Benny’s ears as a smile cracked on his own lips.

He had his eyes closed against you, nose bumping yours as the feel of your warmth surrounded him. He could feel a familiar spark stirring in his belly as you breathed against him, bare chest against his and your arms around his neck.

“I love you…” He murmured huskily, giving your nose a small peck, then your cheek, until his head was resting in the crook of your neck, rocking you against him slowly as the pair of you stood in the lake in a romantic embrace.

You couldn’t help but smile widely at that, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter until you were so close to him neither one of you could tell where his heart started and yours ended, interlocked as one.

It was silent for a while besides the sounds of nature and trees around you, the water still once more as neither one of you wanted to move away, content in each others arms, skin on skin and heart to heart as your face was laid on his broad shoulder, eyes closed as you pet the nape of his neck.

Feeling him against you after so long without him felt bizarre and needed, your nerves on high alert as your skin purred. You felt happy again after a long day of not feeling anything, and you couldn’t be more grateful that Benny was here with you, in your arms and holding you like you did him. Of course, there was always that possibility that one day he wouldn’t be, but for now you were satisfied with what you had, happy with the outcome of the now as you stroked the back of his neck and latched onto him. The combination of his breath against your cold neck and his fingertips doodling on the small of your back had your body tingling pleasurably, both of you sensing the heavy shift in the air.

You squeezed Benny a little harder, breasts pressing into him as your lips brushed against his neck, his hands digging into your flesh as he inhaled heavily. You felt electricity spark in the air as the two of started to get antsy, hands itching to explore more of each others skin and feel the energy thrive under your fingertips.

His hands squeezed your hips under the water as you slowly moved your hand down to his shoulder, igniting a trail of goosebumps that sent a pleasurable spark straight down to Benny’s cock. He swallowed thickly, breathing heavier against you in soft pants.

You both could feel the excited thrumming of your hearts in your chests, hands eager to touch as they moved from your hips to your waist, from his neck to his shoulders. The air felt hot and humid as you breathed each others air, skin buzzing and tingling with unforeseen desire.

Benny gulped, licking his lips as he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you out off the water slightly as he pressed his lips into your ear. You inhaled sharply at the sensation, burrowing your cheek into his as he spoke, your breath just has heavy his as it brushed past his ear.

“You want it?” He breathed against you hot and heavy, the feel of his semi-hard cock rocking into your hip as your pussy tightened around nothing, slick with want underneath the water and begging to be filled by him already.

Your hands explored his chest and arms hungrily, nodding your head with a simple, “mm-hmm.” Unable to speak words as the thought of his hard body against yours had your mind fogging with salacious need.

He clenched his jaw at that, sliding his arms down your body until they slipped under the water, gripping your thighs and easily wrapping them around his narrow waist. You tightened your legs around him, a hand coming up to clench onto his hair as he brought a hand up to lay flat against your stomach. The water splashed around you at the motion, but Benny didn’t care about the cold droplets splashing onto his warm skin as he brought his lips to your ear again.

You bit your lip, eyes closed in ecstasy from his skin on yours alone, your bare pussy rubbing up against his happy trail just beneath his belly button, his cock running up against your inner thigh, taunting your wet hole like it knew it belonged there. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing, your thighs tense as your clit throbbed almost painfully, sending distress signals to the rest of your sensitive body.

“You want my cock inside you, baby? Hmm?” He rubbed his nose on your neck, hand sliding up your stomach until it was grabbing your right tit, pushing it and massaging it like it was cookie dough in his big hand. He always loved playing with your tits, mesmerized by the softness of it.

You gasped softly at the sensation, your body highly sensitive as your lower regions basically ached for him, your clit pulsing as it rubbed against his stomach with every little movement. You instinctively took your hand out from around his neck, your hand sliding to cover his much bigger one that molded your right breast, encouraging him to squeeze it harder as pleasure jolted through your stomach at the sting of it.

Benny loved the weight of your breast in his hand, picking his head up and looking at your face right next to his. You had your eyes closed and lips parted slightly, gripping onto him like he was your lifeline. He felt hot and needy, feeling your pussy lips rub right above his thick cock, your legs tight around him as you clenched around nothing, craving him just as much as he craved you.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” He rasped out with that fucking accent of his, eyes heavy with want as he breathed hotly against your cheek, watching for every little movement of pleasure that crossed your face and enjoying being the cause of it. You let out another small whimper, and he felt it run through his skin like a current. He always got off on the pleasure he gave you, and the fact that he was barely doing anything to you yet just showed how needy you were for him, just as he was for you.

You dumbly nodded your head, lost in the feeling of him as you held on tightly to the back of his hand, almost guiding the motion of it as he rubbed your breast in circles.

“Hold on a sec…” He muttered huskily, putting his hand back down to hold your thigh against him. You could’ve pouted at the loss of him, stuck in a daze already, feeling the water swish around you as he turned his body around with you attached to it, walking forward until you felt a hard, cold sensation dig into the expanse of your back.

Your eyes opened groggily as you breathed heavily, tightening your thighs around Ben’s waist and pushing his cock harder against you in desperation.

You could only assume he had leveraged you between himself and one of the rocks along the water, feeling the wet cold of it poking into your skin and making you shiver. Your arms ran over his broad chest, water sliding down his skin and back into its origin as you leaned back against the rock to look at him fully, staring up at him with those pretty eyes that were practically begging him to do something to you.

He was big and tall, all muscle and man as he looked down at you with hungry blue eyes and a heaving chest, cast in the moons shadow as water softly dropped from the ends of his blonde hair onto his shoulders. The silver mist circled around you both as the wind whistled between you, the trees rustling above you. He was so handsome and pretty, so everything and most definitely all yours. You could feel another jolt of excitement shoot through your nerves like a wildfire at the sight of him, tracing your fingertips against his warm skin.

Benny looked down at your provocative eyes, dark with lust as your thighs pushed him further into you like a magnet to its match, his hands going above your head and trapping you between his forearms as he braced himself on the rock and leaned down towards you, smelling grass and lavender on your skin.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders as you were shroud in the darkness of his shadow, his head covering the view of the moon as he leaned down towards you with a predatory gaze.

“You love me?” He said against your lips when your eyes began to close at the erotica of it all, eager to feel his lips on you, his tongue on yours, his thick cock buried deep inside you. Your pussy couldn’t help but want the same thing, throbbing almost sufferingly in longing for the stretch of him. You almost whined against him at the feeling, frustrated and desperate to feel something, your impatience always such a nuisance.

“You know I do, Benny…” You whispered back as he stared down at your mouth when you spoke, your hands gliding up to his shoulders as he licked his lips.

He felt satisfaction tingle down his spine at the want in your voice, cracked and needy just as he liked it. Your hands gripped at him as your thighs squeezed around his hips, trying to push him harder against you. He brought a hand down from the rock, wrapping it around your jaw and forcing you to look up at him.

You didn’t fight it, enjoying his dominance a little more than you’d admit, feeling any fight you might’ve had in you dwindle into nothing as you looked up at him with slanted eyes and parted lips, bewitching him even further as he glanced down at your parted mouth.

“You my girl?” He hummed against you, his hooded eyes looking over your face as he made you look at him, fingers digging into your cheeks. His voice was low and gravelly with a dash of a southerners charm, making your pussy pulse fervently for something, anything. Benny’s accent always had this hold over you, especially when he sounded like that. Your skin crawled with arousal, nodding your head once more to appease him as the need to satisfy him overcame your need for words.

He smirked at that, taking a step closer to you as he finally leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, adjusting your head for you and turning it upwards towards him. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as your eyes closed, your hands flying up to his hair and pulling at the golden strands. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, knowing his was too.

He groaned hotly into your mouth at the sharp sting in his head. sucking your tongue between his lips as you let out another whimper. He took his hand off from your jaw and slid it down your body, his rough hand grazing over your perked nipple and making you jolt against him. You felt him smile a little at that, his hand continuing down but making sure to feel every pore and inch of your skin as it did.

You found yourself following his lips when he would move a little too far back for your liking, your hands pushing his head down into yours as you breathed in his air, his mouth hot and wet against yours as your tongue played with his, not caring for decorum as you moaned against him once more. The kiss was messy and hot, all swollen lips and tongue like they’d been separated for a millennia, reacquainting with one an other as a small trail of spit slid down your chin. Benny and you both liked it that way, aroused by the depravity of it all.

He slid his hand under the water, his knuckles grazing your inner thigh as his fingers eagerly found the space between your thighs, your lips slick and smooth as he pushed two of his fingers through until they were enveloped in the warm slick of you, moving in and out of your hole as you stuttered against his lips with a shaky gasp. He wished he could hear that familiar squelch he would if you were on his bed, legs spread and soaking his sheets.

For now, this would have to do as the water smacked around his moving arm, your head thrown back against the hardness of the rock from the much needed intrusion as you cried into the air louder than necessary. Your nails scratched down to his shoulders, toes curling behind his back as your body arched up into him. Your body felt weightless and heavy all at once, stuck between a rock and a hard place as you gasped for air, the drawl of his long fingers inside of your most sensitive place sending pleasurable sparks throughout your body.

Benny didn’t stop to stare at you like he usually would, too pent up and horny that he just kept moving his lips down to your wet neck when you separated form him, tasting salt as he licked the droplets off your skin. He wanted no space between the two of you, wanted you against him and wanted to taste your skin, gone far too long without that luxury. As he fucked his fingers into you, knowing you could really only fit two, he felt your soft walls clamp around his knuckles as he stroked every ridge he felt with his fingertips, memorizing each one he counted as he sucked into your skin.

“Oh, fuck… Benny…” You whined as he took his other hand and gripped your breast, licking down your collarbone and arching down, putting your hard nipple into his warm mouth and licking it with his tongue. One hand was on the rock as the other was in his hair again, holding his head against your tit as he sucked on it, his eyes closed as he massaged the piece of skin where his mouth didn’t reach. He moaned against it, loving the taste of you against him, his teeth nibbling into your areola as you gasped at the sting of it.

His fingers stayed as deep as they could go inside of you, never quite pulling out before Benny would thrust them back in, pushing into your upper wall and pressing down on that one spot that had your limbs stiffening and your eyes welling up with tears. You felt so good, feeling your whole body light up like a firefly from the pleasure he gave you, ringing through your body and pulsing at your core. It almost hurt feeling so good, the small groans Ben let out as he sucked on your nipple doing nothing but making it worse for you.

You couldn’t stop the moans that rang out from your mouth, shrill and never ending because of the overstimulation of pleasure Benny was giving you, from your sore nipple his hot tongue played with to your throbbing pussy gradually reaching its climax. It was a wonderful combination you hadn’t expected to ruin you so quickly. But there you were, whining like a bitch as your hands clutched his hair, eliciting another deep groan from Benny that had your whole right side shaking with painful elation.

You felt his rough fingers slide in and out of you, coaxing you to cum as your toes curled behind his back and your eyes blurred with tears. Your pelvis felt so tight, bunched up in a knot the longer Benny stroked your insides like he was writing a message on your walls only he would know.

“Ohhh, Benny… feels so good, please, please, please… aghhhh…” You gasped out as your stomach tightened even more, his fingers moving quicker inside you in response to your high pitched pleas. He could feel his own pleasure from you stirring his cock even harder, the sound of your moans and breathy gasps making his spine tingle and his balls tighten. He just wished he had you in his bed, where he could see your cream ring around his fingers and cock as they slammed into your gaping hole over and over and over until you begged him to slow down.

He picked his head back up from your bruised nipple, bringing his lips to your ear in a hot whisper, “Come on, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, pretty girl, come on…”

Just as soon as he said that you felt that knot in your stomach snap like a cord, your mouth flying open in a silent scream as your eyes closed, thighs tensing as wetness gushed out of your hole and all over his hand, blending into the water around you.

You breathed heavily from the throbbing in your lower half, your muscles melting against Benny like warm syrup. He kissed your cheek softly, lovingly, giving you a minute to calm down from your high as he gently pulled his fingers out from you and brought his hand to your side, massaging the skin there. He cuddled his head into your neck, his chest against yours as a nice breeze blew around you; it felt refreshing against your hot skin as your vagina throbbed and your thighs trembled in the after shock of your orgasm.

You loosely wrapped your arms around Ben as you breathed heavily, your heart pounding in your ears. You enjoyed having him against you, comforted by his closeness instead of overwhelmed by it, holding him close as you caught your breath. Your cheeks were hot and your thighs tense still, but you could still feel Benny’s hard dick poking into you under the water, and you wished so badly to see it like you had many times before, see the pink head swollen with need as precum beaded out of the tip, then you’d lick it up as it drizzled down to his heavy balls. You felt another wave of arousal quickly stir in your tummy again at the imagery, tightening your hold on him.

“You okay, honey? You ready for me now?” He spoke softly into your ear, caressing your sides as he waited for your consent. He was so painfully hard; seeing you get so riled up was always all he needed.

Your throat was dry as you swallowed, thighs tightening around him to beckon him forward. He didn’t fight it, falling right into you and clenching his jaw at the feeling of your pussy rubbing up against the base of his strong cock.

“Just fuck me already…” You mewled, wet and clenching all over again at the muscle memory of how good he felt inside you.

Benny didn’t even answer, reaching down and grabbing himself from under the water. He was hot and heavy in his hand, guiding himself to your entrance and pushing past the stickiness of your folds. He clenched his jaw and groaned at the feeling of his tip prodding at your tight entrance, eager to push in and slam into your warmth, give you both what you’ve been yearning for.

You gripped his shoulders as you felt his thickness push into you, a sharp cry ringing out at the stretch of him. Benny bit into your neck, muscles flexing as he picked his arm back up from the water once he was inside you, moaning quietly at the feel of your tight wet walls squeezing around him.

“Fuck…” He groaned into your skin, pulling back out despite your walls squeezing him in, then sliding back inside as an attempt to loosen you up a little more for him.

“Oh my god…” You breathed out wistfully, tremors of indescribable pleasure coursing through you at the feel of his cock moving inside of you, back and forth inside of your tight hole that cried for him. You stared into the sky absentmindedly, unable to breath as he rocked a little harder inside you, one hand next to your head to stabilize himself against the rock and the other gripping your forearm as he hid his head inside your neck, panting against you.

He soon developed a rhythm, the water smacking into your skin as his hips went back and forth, his cock bullying it’s way inside your dripping cunt as he mumbled obscenities into your ear. He was lost in his own pleasure, slamming into your soaked pussy as his balls slapped against your ass.

“Fuck, baby. I’d never leave you… could never leave this good pussy…” He grunted into your ear, his lips brushing against it as you basically sobbed from the intensity of his girth slamming in and out of your hungry pussy. Your arms clutched around him as you jolted against the rock from the force of his hips slamming into you, moans cracked from every movement that had your lungs shaking.

You moaned and cried, shrill and unashamed into the night as he fucked you, fucked you against a rock with his grunts and groans hot against your skin. You felt so beyond good and filled, your pussy clenching around him like it wanted to keep him inside your forever, which you know you did. He was so big, so long, his balls slapping into your ass and that vein that ran along the underside of his cock rubbing against your walls.

Your tits bounced against him as he pushed into you, angling his hips to hit that spot inside of you that had you keening for him.

“Fuck, Benny… you feel so good, baby…” You whined in his ear as he brought his hands down and gripped your thighs, pushing you hard against the rock so he could really pound into you, the waves smacking in between your stomachs.

“Yeah? My cock feel that good, baby?” He teased, biting the skin of your neck as you let out a sharp whine, throwing your head back at a particularly hard thrust that had your thighs tensing and toes curling in on themselves. You almost went cross-eyed, staring into the stars as you felt your orgasm approaching once more, your skin buzzing and your throat so so dry as you gasped for breath. All you could do was breath in Benny’s scent and air, and it intoxicated you, made you clench around him harder.

“Yessss, It feels… feels so good…” You babbled as he pressed your thighs up a little higher, feeling his balls tightening the more you clenched around the length of him. His skin felt hot, cut up from your nails as you scratched at him, blonde hair a ruffled mess. He still couldn’t quite grasp the situation, how quickly things seemed to have unfolded between you. He was just glad it was over, but the sharp pain in his arm was a dull reminder of his truth; that he had fucked up but now he was making up for it. He really couldn’t even think, moaning into your neck as pleasure sparked down his spine like fireworks, his stomach tightening as he knew he only had a short while left before he’d bust inside you.

“I’m gonna-gonna cum inside that pussy, baby. You want that don’t you? Yeah, fuck, I know you fucking do…” He grunted into your ear, pulling all the way out until the tip of him was at the edge of your entrance, then slamming back in until he was buried to the hilt. You almost screamed at that, moaning so loud you swore birds flew from a tree in the distance. You were always able to take all of him, from his tip down to the base until he was balls deep inside your sweet pussy he loved so much. There was no fucking way he was ever going to leave this pussy, not today, not tomorrow, not until someone tore him away if they even could.

“Yes, yes, I want it, please, please, please…” You pleaded desperately, knowing it wasn’t long before you’d cum all over him once again. He groaned against you, big hands digging into the plush of your thighs as he quickened his pace, brows furrowed as he concentrated on getting you both to the place you needed so badly to be.

Then, with no warning, you suddenly felt the dam in your tummy break as your orgasm flooded around Benny’s cock from where he was nestled deep inside you, releasing a long moan as your back arched into his and your sore nipple rubbed against his skin. You panted, feeling spent and completely overstimulated as your thighs twitched and body slumped against him.

He came with a hot groan a short moment after, encouraged by the tightness your pussy gave him as you creamed around his length for the second time that night. His cum shot up into you and it made you hiss at the tingle it gave your sensitive legs.

He fell limp against you, breathing hard as he rested his sweaty head on your shoulder, the water lukewarm against your pruned skin as you held him against you, petting his hair as your thighs dropped down lower on his waist. You both could feel exhaustion taking over, but at the same time you both needed to just feel each other once again.

A few peaceful moments passed after your orgasms while the pair of you caught your breaths, racing hearts dying down to a calming thrum as the cold evening air cooled down your hot skin. Your thighs felt sore and achey, back probably bruised from the sharp corners of the rock you’d rubbed against. The space between your legs still throbbed, and when Benny slowly slipped out of you you couldn’t help but feel empty from the lack of him, frowning at the uncomfortable feeling running through your core that missed the feel of him.

You could hear the buzzing of flies and the chirp of crickets ring through the air, the moon bright and daunting in the sky as you stared up at it. You gently smiled as Benny gave your neck a tender kiss, stroking his back as he settled his hands on your waist once more.

You held onto him tight as he cleared his throat, his eyes heavy and his body satisfied and spent. His arm ached like a motherfucker, a thin patch of pink peeking through the soaked bandage but he didn’t care. If anything, every time he would look at the scar there he would always think about this moment, how beautiful you looked in the moonlight, remember your moans and the way you felt around him, remember that there was someone out there who really loved him like he deserved. He was grateful for you, loved you more than you knew. He couldn’t believe that you ever thought different.

You sighed blissfully, gently reminding Benny that the two of you needed to head back, not wanting him to feel rushed. He just nodded, but didn’t let go of you, still hugging you to him like you were the ghost of someone he once loved. You didn’t complain, just hugged him back because you needed this just as much as he did, needed to feel his heart beat against yours and feel his breath wash over your shoulder. You smiled at that, closing your eyes and resting your head against his shoulder as he did you, feeling content as another cool breeze wrapped around your molded forms.

You shivered against him, but he just held you tighter, his heart swarming with his love for you as he vowed to never worry you like that again.

thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. and always remember that you’re loved and important <3

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, epilogue

Summary: It's the dawn of a new life for you and Frankie, amidst the ruins of your former respective lives. He made a promise to you, and to himself: that he would fix everything. But can everything be fixed? Are you ready to let go, and let him? And how will you deal with your homesickness?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader

Rating: disgusting fluff & explicit fifth 🔞

TW: non-descriptive allusions to past abuse and self-harm

A/N: Dear orange besties 🧡 Happy Frankie Friday ❤️‍🔥 This is the end. I am sorry it took me so long, and if anyone is still hanging in the orange bedroom, I am sorry this is so long. It's most likely bad planning on my behalf; it's also because Gabrielle was never meant to stay. I'm so scared I'll never be able to write anything else because this story fucking drained me. It's one thing to smash the keyboard and reblog unhinged gifs, but I'm very uncomfortable expressing my feelings publicly, mainly but not only on account of my ass getting very gothic, very fast. So if I've hidden some dedications at the end 🧡 But I want to say here, to anyone who's ever read and/or interacted with me and/or this story (likes, comments, reblogs, asks): THANK YOU 🧡 From the bottom of my gothic orange heart. Thank you 🧡 I really hope you like this. *presses post now and runs to hide*

Word count: 20k (I– listen, I'm sorry)

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Epilogue: Songbird

Summer

The summer is laced with sawdust. It’s everywhere.

In your nostrils, the blond, warm, toffee-like scent blending with the smell of the overworked electric sander’s gear. It’s in the sound of his boots scraping the kitchen tiles when he comes in through the backyard screen door to get a beer in the late afternoon sun. It’s in the texture of his tanned, freckled skin, soaked in with his sweat, catching at your fingertips when you run your hands over his forearms, before you lead him to the bathroom to get him cleaned up. 

It’s in the longer curls of his hair, on his cap and all of his clothes, and more often than not, it’s on your clothes too, when you join him outside the toolshed, to make sure he’s wearing the protection goggles you bought, and the dust mask he takes off the minute you look the other way. 

And you don’t know it yet, but you will forever associate it with his kisses. Languid, unhurried, they don’t lead to anything more than simply kissing. His hold on your body loose, his large hands spanning the expanse of your skin, his plush lips teasing yours, tongue swirling inside your mouth. You float together for what feels like hours, until you’re left deliciously disoriented.

And no matter what you do, it always ends up in the bed, dusted between the celadon sheets he chose for you. It scrapes at your shoulders and the round of your ass when you arch up from the bed, bucking your hips into his face. 

But that’s August. 

July is spent mostly at your place. 

Your first days together are lost to the haze of your brain. Wrapped in the hushed, draped atmosphere of your small apartment, you let him take all that he needs. His lips only ever leaving your lips for your skin, sucking in harshly, leaving new marks, his kisses more teeth than tongue. 

His body moulded around yours, inside yours. Sweat, spit, spend and slick. His palms relentless, roaming your body. Restless fingers digging into your curves. 

On Monday morning, the drive to the bookstore is tense and silent, his brow deeply creased, that tick of the jaw you haven’t forgotten. But there’s a life for you, here. One that you are looking forward to living. One you have to be able to afford. 

In short, you need to go back to work.

Out in the street, by the double-parked truck in front of the store, his emotions bleed into his kiss, fingers threaded in your hair holding you still in their grip, his bite on your lower lip nearly drawing blood, and you have to whine yourself out of it. 

You offer Suzanne a short apology, disarming in its sincerity. 

“I’ve been very ill, but I’m better now,” you say, and she silently nods because it is quite plain to see. You are better. There is life in your face and light in your eyes. She can’t possibly miss the marks on your skin, but as usual, she chooses to keep to herself and you carry on with your tasks and your day, quietly humming. 

Going through the backlog that built up during your absence, your mind wanders back to his kiss, its urgency contrasting with your relief. Beyond the tiredness weighing down your bones, deep down, you had been waiting for him. Like you always did. Sitting at the pitch-dark bottom of your exhausted heart, the knowledge that he’d be coming.

When you leave the store in the late afternoon, you find him there, standing across the street, arms folded over his chest, his tall figure, dark and intense, leaned against the truck’s hood. 

Goosebumps break out along your arms when you step together into your apartment, chilled air hitting your skin. On one of the bedroom window sills, the ancient AC unit is softly droning. Behind you, Frankie leans down to kiss the raised skin on your nape, whispering, “I fixed it, hope you don’t mind.” Not giving you time to answer, he nips at your neck and tugs at your shirt, but you turn around and stop him with your searching gaze. 

“Please, Frankie, talk to me.”

The night slips away in whispers, two quiet voices rising from under the baby-blue sheets in the cool darkness. What went down at the bar, who said what, how he got hit. When he’s done, you press him further than you think yourself able to handle, for his sake, but all he gives you is, “I don’t regret anything” and “I will fix it.” You believe him.

In the silence between his words, you lie still. You listen, you understand. His needs, the proximity of your body and the soothing contact of your skin, to be cooped up with you in the smallest possible space for as long as it takes for him to absorb the fact that he hasn’t lost you. That he never did. That he never could. 

So, the days pass. Sweat, spit, spend and slick. Stifling heat and sleepless nights. 

You bite your tongue every time you look at his weary face, every time you want to argue that the daily three hour commute to his workplace is far too long. He’s not flying yet. So you let him. 

Until July 23rd. 

Off on weekends, he picks you up on Saturdays, but today is Thursday and a quick shudder of panic runs down your spine when you step outside into the scorching heat and find him parked there. You scrape your knuckles in your haste to roll down the iron shutters, but it’s only when you join him that you realise what’s different: he’s waiting inside the truck. 

Elbow propped on the door through the rolled down window, he starts the engine as soon as you get in and the entire hold lights up with his smile. 

“Hey baby, how was your day?” he beams from underneath the brim of his cap, “Wanna go for a ride?”

When he pulls out an hour later onto a Brooklyn street you don’t recognise, your heart is pounding too fast, already. You have a notion of what this might be about, but you can’t bring yourself to hope you are right, even when he turns to look at you with that smug grin you haven’t seen in a long while. 

“Where are we?” you rasp, your voice cracking around the words.

“Climb here, baby, you’ll get a better view,” he smiles, tilting his head down and slapping a hand on his thigh. His smile deepens, to his dimple and to his eyes hidden behind his aviators, at the familiar, tell-tale sight of your pulse thrumming wild under the soft skin of your neck. 

But your chest feels too heavy, it’s pinning you down, tears prickling your eyes at what you’ll see, so he unfastens your seatbelt, then his, and reaches to haul you onto his lap with that easy strength, that surprising softness. 

The steering wheel bites into your lower back and you can’t peer out the window, instead you crumble onto his chest, your fingers twisting his shirt and your face buried in his neck, your own personal safe place. And anyway, you don’t need to look, you know what’s out there. 

A tall brick building, its brown facade streaked with iron fire escapes. 

A dry sob quakes your frame, and you feel the pressure of his large hands on your back, their warmth flowing through you. You remain limp in his embrace until he can talk around the memory choking him. That of a young man, driving up to basic training in his sister’s VW, wondering where he would have taken you if you only had more time to spend together. Daydreaming on the promise of later. 

More time then. Now years to erase. Rewrite and live again.

“Alright baby, alright,” he breathes into your hair, “how ‘bout we go to Coney Island?”

It’s bright and busy and loud. It’s rowdy teenagers laughing over the crashing ocean’s waves. It’s neon rainbows and blaring pop music and kids’ high-pitched screams on convoluted rides. It’s his hand splayed wide and protective in the small of your back, steering you through the crowd. It’s cotton candy on his lips, and sticky sugar on your fingertips; it’s a black and white photo booth stripe underneath the Wonder Wheel, split up in two, the upper half tucked inside your wallet, where a torn paper with faded ink used to be. 

It’s your life, now, and for the second time, you’re not standing warily on the outside. 

That night, he drives back to his place. That night, he’s out of the truck in a beat and you barely have time to climb down before he grabs the back of your head and the swell of your ass. He tastes of candy apple, sweet and sour, licking into your mouth, and his scent fills your lungs. He carries you inside with your arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into the strong plane of his back. 

That night, in many regards the first, you don’t make it to the bedroom. He puts you down in the living-room and he throws a couch cushion on the floor, shoving you down onto it, kneeling between your thighs, tugging roughly at your clothes and you scramble on the smooth leather to undress him. 

Leant over you, his grip on your wrists a bruising one as he pins your arms along your sides, fucking into you at a blinding pace, sweat dripping down his sideburns, your legs entwined around his, your breasts bouncing with each thorough trust. 

“Fucking look at you,” he grunts, again and again and again, and you come so fast, so hard, your back arching off the leather at a painful angle, but he doesn’t slow down. He fucks you through your high, and when you come down he’s already asking for “another one, give me another one.”

—

The phone keeps sliding down between your sweaty fingers. You swap hands, waiting for Dolores to pick up through what feels like a thousand ringing tones. 

The relief in her voice is audible, which confirms what you expected: she’s heard about the fall-out between you and Rosie. And soon enough she’s scolding you as if you were still the schoolgirl she first met 20 years earlier, and you realise you missed the mother nearly as much as you did the daughter. 

“Dolores, I just need to find out if she’s working next Tuesday. We need to talk, but I’m scared she won’t answer if I just call her. I need to see her, Dolores.” 

Her voice drops to a conspiratorial tone. 

“Just come home for dinner on Monday night, ok?” 

You get there half an hour early and wait, sitting on the edge of the couch, the back of your thighs sweating on the crocheted quilt draped over the cushions. 

A whole month without talking to each other, the longest ever you’ve spent without communicating in a way or another. Even back when you had no money to spare for transatlantic phone calls, you had never let such a long stretch of time come between you. 

You shoot up at the sound of her keys in the lock, looking at Dolores with sheer panic, and it doesn’t help that she reciprocates your look. 

Rosie darts inside the cramped apartment, grumbling in Spanish about parking in the Lower East Side, and stops short on the living-room threshold at the sight of you. 

Your rehearsed speech remains stuck in your dry throat. She crosses the room in two strides, dropping her bag to the floor, rushing to hug you with all of her strength. 

You breathe in her scent, shea butter, white musk, eyes shut to hold back your tears.

“Oh, Gabbi! I thought you went back home, I got so fucking scared,” she whispers, and under your clenched fists, her back is heaving.

Home. Did you always have so many of those? 

There’s a lot to unpack, but neither of you will let the other one talk, let alone apologise. Strongheaded as ever, Rosie, however, makes sure you listen. The panic that triggered what she calls her “disproportionate reaction.” The guilt and regrets behind her silence. Her misplaced pride. 

Atoning has always been easy for you, too easy, in fact, but you offer her words that have never passed your lips before. Words you now feel confident enough to fathom, and pronounce out loud: “I do need you.”

The two of you speak in turns until Dolores sits you down at the dining table, and then you keep talking with your mouths full. She’s cooked enough food to feed you both for a month, but you still eat most of it. 

It’s past 11pm when the chatter subsides. Stifling a yawn, she offers to drive you home. 

“I’m not sure, Rosie,” you start, uncertain, apologetic, “it’s quite the detour. He lives way up north,” you add as a way of explanation. 

“And is he going to succeed where we all failed and get you to drive your own car, Gabrielle?” 

You giggle with sheer delight because everything is different but nothing has changed, her beautiful black eyes alight with a mischievous flicker when she pulls out her phone to type in your new address. 

—

“Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just buy a table from Ikea or something?” you risk, putting on the construction gloves he’s handing you. You look down at the solid oak planks sticking out of the truck’s tailgate the two of you are about to carry to the backyard through the kitchen. 

He huffs and pauses dramatically, with an ostentatious roll of his eyes.  

“It would be cheaper, Gabrielle, but it wouldn’t be good. My girl is not eating off some cheap wooden melamine in her own home.”

Considering his frugal lifestyle, you were surprised to find out money is not really an issue. His pilot income, while not extravagant, is still sufficient by most standards, and it adds up to his veteran pension, making for a comfortable living. However, you know there are monthly installments for the mortgage. There’s food, electricity, gasoline and all this goodman premium quality wood.

You’ve offered to pay him a rent and share the common expenses, which has earned you another huff, followed by a sarcastic, “sure, I’m gonna have you pay fucking rent. How about you keep your money and get a car, big girl from a big city?” 

The suggestion punctuated by a nonchalant wink, before his plush lips found the slope of your shoulder, with a sharp scrape of teeth. 

You’re Alice, falling down the white rabbit hole, discovering him all over again, only everything feels safe because you know you’re landing in your own private wonderland. 

His quiet confidence, his occasional cockiness. His deadpan jokes quietly delivered under his breath. And the deeper you dive, the more you learn, the more you melt. 

His humble selflessness, his kind attention to others. His practical, methodical, efficient thinking. His sharp mind and keen eye. His determination. What little remains of the hermetically sealed lid, and the hard shell underneath the soft one. The limits to his patience, too. A threshold not to be crossed, but only where others are concerned. 

His playfulness when he whispers filth into your ear at the most unexpected moment, in the most inappropriate places.

It’s all intoxicating, unknown yet familiar. 

You’re like a flower seed that has lain dormant for years, finally blooming under his benevolent care. 

Nights are short and the right kind of exhausting, and you’ve never felt better. You dress in colourful shades: daffodil yellow, marigold orange, poppy red. 

As soon as you moved in, at the end of July, it started with shelves for your numerous books to join his collection. Most of the novels in two editions: one in French and one in Spanish. The Master and Margarita now standing in view, next to Le Maître et Marguerite. 

More shelves in the bedroom closet for your clothes and shoes, and a large standing mirror to check your outfit in the morning. 

Electric shutters installed on the bedroom window, so you can sleep in the dark – your shocked gasp met by another soft huff, when you found out about the price. 

And one Sunday morning, a dusty cardboard box he brought in from the garage. The orange curtains flowed out of it in a musty puff of air, dust particles floating in a sunbeam and you smiled at each other in silence, crossed-legged on the hardwood bedroom floor. 

You closed the distance between you to straddle his lap, the position quickly becoming a habit to deal with just about anything, from joy to frustration to fear to contentment. 

At the bottom of the box sat a green plaid shirt. He pulled it out as you wrapped yourself around him. 

“Doesn’t fit me anymore,” he murmured against your temple. “You can have it back, baby.”

You handwashed the shirt and the curtains with unnecessary care, and helped him hang the latter on the bedroom window. 

They clashed violently with the rest of the room, and you stood in silence, wrapped in their orange glow, Frankie’s chest pressed to your back.

Just like your grandmother, his mother was a seamstress. She’d sewn them. 

“It was her favourite colour,“ he’d said. And he’d never mentioned her again. 

You looked at them, unsure. Hadn’t you already lived too much of your life in the past? 

“The colour’s really– loud, Frankie. Are you sure about this?” you murmured. 

He lowered his face into the crook of your neck, as he so often did, and his lips brushed at the shell of your ear, the thin hair on your nape standing with the rush of air when he spoke. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you in this light, baby.” 

He pressed his body harder at your back so you would feel just how much he meant it, expertly unfastening your button fly, his hand inside your jeans shorts, travelling down your belly where heat spread in its wake like a wildfire.

You leaned back into him, closing your eyes and smiling at his appreciative grunt when the tips of his fingers met the dampness pooling in your sensible underwear.   

“You’re gonna sit on my cock now, Gabrielle. I want to watch you come in the orange.”

Afterwards, as you basked, naked, sated, exhausted, in the familiar glow, you tried and failed to affect a casual tone to ask him about the one thing that had been taunting you since you’d first been in this room, back in June.

“Why is this bed so big, Morales? How many women have you fucked in here?”

He’d scrunched up his face, feigning hurt before flashing his dimple.  

“Believe it or not, just the one with the French accent.”

—

Some time around mid-August, you come home from work to a faint smell of fresh paint hanging in the house. The loud, now familiar buzzing rumble of the Makita guides you to the small office next to the master bedroom, where you find him looking dishevelled and bright, his grey t-shirt stained with white paint, the power-drill cooling in his hand. 

The walls are clean, freshly painted in a luminous white. Underneath the single window overlooking the backyard, where he’s hung the blue drapes, a small wicker sofa is covered with a plastic screen he hastily lifts off and starts folding. Your two Modotti prints hanging on each side of the room, one over a tiny desk where he’s placed your laptop and a round cactus in a blue china plant pot, and the other over a breathtakingly beautiful mahogany display cabinet, that already contains all your photographic treasures. 

“I didn’t make this,” he explains sheepishly, tilting his chin toward the piece of furniture as you run your fingers over the sophisticated marquetry work. “Izzy helped me find it. D’you like it, baby?” his left hand twitching nervously, the plastic screen creasing noisily. 

You shake your head awkwardly in the middle of the cosy room. It looks like you. A refuge of your own. Love and gratitude swelling in your chest, laying heavy on your lungs. At a loss for the proper words to express a feeling so simple and earnest. 

“Frankie, I never… I never had anything so beautiful. Why– what is this all for?” you murmur, your voice unsteady.

“For when you need space,” he simply answers with a sweet, puppy-eyed face.

—

With early September comes the relief of cooler nights, and Frankie launches himself into yet another building project: lounging chairs for the backyard. 

“Who taught you how to do all that?” you keep asking, and he grins bashfully, the shadow of another dimple on his left cheek, his answer always the same. 

“I don’t know, baby, I just taught myself.”

Of the two wide, sturdy chairs he’s crafted, you only use one. Evenings are spent stargazing, sipping beers and talking, your bodies intertwined, sunk into each other’s scent. Oblivious to the street noises, hiding away in a world of your own. 

When you join him in the backyard with two beers on a chilly Friday evening, nothing indicates it will be any different. Until you lay your head on his chest and feel the constricting tension inside it. 

Is it because of your insatiable fascination with everything that touches him? Curiosity killed the cat, your mother would always tell you, enough that you ended up living your life forever treading on the edge of most relationships. 

Is it because he found his own equilibrium readjusting your imbalance? 

Whatever the reason, from the moment you curl up into Frankie’s side, you can tell something’s off.

Pressing yourself closer to him, you slide your hand under the hem of his t-shirt and bring it to rest over his scar, grounding him with your touch.

Only then, Frankie starts talking. 

His childhood in San Diego, growing up with a hot-tempered sibling and the shadow of a mother, her melancholy, her obsession, her passing… all the way back to his parents getting married. The happy memories only borrowed, reimagined through faded photographs. Absence, forever unanswered, hanging over him like a chiming mobile. The father he never met.   

Holding your breath, intently listening to a story he had so far only ever told in scraps, you’re struck by the realisation that both of you grew up without a father. Gone, already, before you were born. 

Under the canopy of the purple urban night sky, Frankie, at last, confides in you about his ghosts, his fears, his rage. About the strangeness of moving through life with questions in lieu of bearings, of being older than his father will ever be.

And when he’s done talking, when his words have run dry, you take the hand he runs over his face and bring his palm to your lips. You hold on to it tight for balance as you climb on top of him. Vulnerability altering his face and it carries you back to a windy Brooklyn street on a forever ago Monday morning, it slices through your heart, bittersweet, sharp-edged. You once felt so helpless to erase the crease of his brow. But that was forever ago. 

You lower your lips to it, and with a kiss you absorb all the pain it withholds. In the still of the night, in the near darkness, a fleeting light glimmers in his dark eyes, the sliver of a swelling tear. 

You cup his face, and you whisper, “I’m so proud of you, Francisco Morales. My man.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. It trickles down your spine. 

You tug lightly at his shirt and he offers no resistance, sitting up and letting you slide it off above his head. 

Another kiss to the side of his nose, to the edge of his jaw, to the heart-shaped bare patch of his beard. Down along his neck, and he’s the pliant one, for once. Over the slope of his shoulder and to the dip between his collarbone, his suprasternal notch, where you lick and linger. Your palm pressed to his scar. 

A scrape of your teeth over his nipple and you feel him thicken between your hips, until his hands grab hold of your legs and he rasps, “Not here.”

He carries you back inside your home, through your kitchen and down the hallway to your bedroom, your legs hitched around his waist. Lays you down onto the bed where he spent too many nights avoiding sleep so he wouldn’t dream of you. 

In the heat of your mouth, under the caress of your hands, with the sway of your hips, Frankie is whole again. 

—

Autumn 

Your happiness makes him giddy. A grown man, a veteran, and every time he looks at you, shuffling over to the bedroom, a dance in your steps, or when he hears you sing along some classic rock tune as you prepare coffee on Sunday mornings, he’s fucking giggling.

He’s done some things he would have deemed ridiculous, no, downright crazy, only a few months ago. He’s picked his T-shirt from the laundry basket after you’d slept in it a couple of nights, and wore it to work. He washed his hair with your shampoo to carry the scent of you; he kept it long because you asked him to. He’s taken this colourful thing you tie your hair with, and wore it on his wrist all day, breathing it in every time he’s alone.  

He, who’s never been late anywhere, can’t make it on time to work anymore, despite waking up earlier than ever before, because he can’t tear himself away from the sight of your tranquil, sleeping face. 

And in the evenings, he brushes your hair. He’s discovered a birthmark on your nape, a little red fleck hidden in your hairline. On some days, he can’t think of anything else, counting down the hours until he can see it again. Press his lips to it, eyes closed in rapture. 

He doesn’t give a fuck how it looks, or what his friends or anyone would think if they knew. He’s longed all his life to experience that blissful balance with you. The one you two settled in so rapidly, with such ease. 

By 4pm, he’s done with his working day and he drives home. This once was a dreaded hour, but not anymore. Evidences of your presence are scattered all over the house. 

In the bathroom of course, your French cosmetics and lotions neatly aligned in the small cabinet, two towels, two robes. The small room constantly smells of you. 

In the bedroom, in the way you leave the bed open when you leave after him in the morning, the comforter folded over, in stark contrast with his military bed-making habits. 

In the living-room, whatever book you’re currently reading lying on the coffee table. Framed pictures of you and Rosie smiling at him from the bookshelves.

Foul smelling cheeses in the fridge. Your tin mug drying on the rack next to the sink. Two knives, two plates, two forks. 

A house that feels like home, at last. 

Instinctively, he understood your need for independence and learnt to navigate it. A big girl from a big city indeed, he’s known it all along. You’ve only had yourself to rely on for most of your life. And he gets it. 

So in spite of his primitive impulse to provide for you in every way, he refrained from protesting when you expressed the will to pay for food, and gas whenever you get the chance. You can be stubborn, if you need to be. He’s learnt that too. 

You sometimes go to the movies alone, or visit art exhibitions, and there are the occasional girls' nights out in the city. 

When you come back home afterwards, it’s a real treat, one he can’t get enough of. He feasts on your buoyant tales of what you’ve seen, experienced, discovered or learned, on your eagerness to share it with him. He could listen to you for hours. He does.

Some other times, however, you feel small, your anxiety crawling back out from within, settling to the forefront. You’re still the same girl he met, vulnerable, incredibly courageous. Seeking his reassurance. 

And he’s equally happy to make sure you get both space and safety. The single most important purpose he could ever be entrusted with. 

Out in public, in the street or amongst friends, you two never hold hands. There’s a modesty about you and him. 

Still, it’s always his hand in the small of your back before crossing the street or going through thick crowds. It’s brief, stolen knowing glances, fingers intertwined under a diner’s table. 

When you think no one is watching, you tuck yourself into his side, his large hand gripping your hip. As if you can’t live in the open, yet. As if you’d rather hide your happiness from the rest of the universe, lest it be taken away again. 

And there are his eyes; they always find yours. Watchful and intent, years of training and acquired instinct put to use to protect you, keep you close. 

But your behaviour doesn’t matter, anyway. The organic pull between your two bodies is far too obvious to conceal. 

He hasn’t stopped, he never will, leaving marks on your skin. Blooming flecks of his love peeking out just barely from under the collar of your shirts, for you to carry and never forget you are his. You squirm in his hold when he pulls in your skin, hard suck, sharp teeth, squirm and whine in pleasure-plain. 

He brands you. He admits it now. His love flushes your blood to the surface of your skin. He does that to you. You let him. 

Something alien, unbridled, something he can only identify as pride has him puff out his chest whenever he sees you in his clothes. 

As if he hadn’t built rows of shelves to accommodate yours, it seems you’re always wearing his. None of his plaid shirts are safe, you even wear them to work, only to change into one of his t-shirts the minute you come home. 

He pretends to mind, knowing you love that game. Only one day, in early October, you dig up a military tin trunk containing his army stuff in the garage, and you start wearing the things you find in there too.

The first glimpse of you in a green jersey has his stomach turn. Too upset to speak, he watches you leave with it for the day, willing his disapproving glances to be eloquent enough. 

But a portrait of him in his dress uniform pops up on your desk, next, in a brand new fancy frame. And a little over a week later, on a Sunday morning, he walks in from the backyard to find you in a US Air Force shirt, one of his early ones, and the fact that it actually suits you, fits you like one of your own thrift store swag, oversized in just the right way, has his temper simmer. 

He walks straight to the stove where you’re cooking scrambled eggs, his boots thumping heavily on the tiles. A sweet smile curls your lips when you turn around to face him. However sweet, it doesn’t stop the words from shooting out of him, nor contains the anger in his warning. 

“Ok look, I don’t want you to wear those– things, Gabrielle. I don’t want any of it to touch you, entiendes?”

The Spanish slips right out of him, but you hold up your smile, and hand him a mug of freshly brewed coffee. 

“I really love the Morales name tag,” you simply state. 

He grabs the mug by reflex, thrown off by your unfazed reaction. Raising on your tiptoes, you place a kiss on the bare patch of his jaw. 

“I’m proud of everything you ever did, Francisco,” you add in earnest. “But I’ll take it off, if you don’t like it.”

The blunt honesty of your answer immediately deflates him, and he swallows thickly at the first sliver of your skin when you unbutton the shirt to reveal your naked breasts. 

—

Familiarity hasn't killed this miracle. Even when, in the intimacy of your house, you’re never more than two feet apart. Skin on skin from the moment you rush home at night until the moment he ruefully passes the door in the morning. 

On his lap is where you sit most of the time, and he fucking loves it, sliding his hand underneath the hem of your clothes, pecking kisses in the curve of your neck, under your ear, where the scent of you is heady, feeling the weight of you shift against his body when you talk. 

Your hand on his thigh when he drives, his arm on the back of the seat when you take the wheel. Brushing your teeth side by side before bed. Curled into his chest, slouched on a pile of pillows to watch movies on his computer (he’s offered to buy a television, but you declined). Your legs propped over his when you read together on the couch. 

At night, in the ridiculously oversized bed, your bodies lie entwined. You need him around you to fall asleep, need him to crush you with his weight, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You run so hot,” you mumble with delight, seconds before tipping over into unconsciousness, your voice heavy with your day. 

You taste so good, he murmurs against that spot he likes too much under your ear, his kisses rippling in shivers along your skin; you taste so good, he moans into your mouth, never sated, never pulling back first; you taste so fucking good, he grunts into your cunt, pinning you down on the rumpled linen. 

You’re here, at last, for him to love and to revere, for him to taste, taste, taste.

He had you in his truck, pulled over to the side of the road in a rainstorm, on the way to an upstate farmers market. He had you in the garage, against the hood cooling down. He had you in a bathroom stall in the Guggenheim, his mouth fastened over yours to keep you quiet, his fingers buried inside your cunt. 

He has you in the storage room in the back of the bookstore, more often than he should, when Suzanne’s not there on Saturday afternoons and he can’t wait for you to come home. When you come around him, he calls you his good girl. 

He had you in your room; you sat him down on the wicker sofa, rucked up your pretty dress and rode his thigh clad in raw denim, “Remember the first time you made me come, Francisco?” 

He gripped your ass so forcefully your skin bore bruises for days, and you gave him that sound, that two-tone moan, straight into his ear and then you dragged your teeth along the column of his throat. He flung you down on the carpeted floor and fucked you limp. 

He had you in the bathroom, more times than he can count, and in there, whether rough or languid, he always fucks you with a delightful, ironic revenge. 

He ate your cunt on the dining table like you were the main course in a fancy dinner, and then he flipped you over and fucked you so hard you cried out his name. 

He brought your shoulders up against his chest, clasped his hand over your mouth and fucked you harder. 

You bit his fingers and clung onto his arms, your nails carving lovely pink crescents into his flesh, your entire body jerking when you came again, your cunt gripping him and you sobbed as he filled you up. 

He dropped to the floor, exhausted, chest heaving, drenched in sweat, and you crawled over him, curling into his side. 

When he fucks you with such feral rage, you’re soft for days afterwards, as if relieved by the reminder of his intensity. And just like with everything you need, he’s only too happy to provide. 

“Frankie—” you breathed out, but you trailed off and you hugged him tighter, and he thought you were about to say it, those three little words you spoke daily in a million different ways but never with actual words. 

But you stopped short, once again. 

He often wonders if you’ve ever told them to anyone. To Rosie, you might have, even Will, perhaps. To Ben, he’s now certain you didn’t. 

He can’t tell why it’s so important to him to hear them. After all, he’s never pronounced them either. Not in English. Not when you’re awake. 

But this isn’t only about a shared feeling. He knows your family never taught you how, and the thought makes his body ache. 

—

In the weeks leading up to Halloween, you grow more and more excited, decorating the house, scheming about matching costumes. It doesn’t even occur to him to deny you any of it, he’d dress as a pink bunny if you asked him to. Even though, given what you have labelled “your fascination for all things morbid,” he can tell a bunny isn’t in store. 

Here he is, falling in love with you all over again. Your childlike enthusiasm, your unabashed enjoyment, your bubbling excitement. These are the things he lives for. 

At long last, he gets to introduce you to his sister on Halloween’s eve. Out of town for most of the summer, Izzy’s invited over you for dinner, but the evening doesn’t play out in the least the way he thought it would. 

You pretend otherwise, but your silence betrays your nervousness on the drive to Manhattan. His doesn’t talk either, tense and anxious until you get out of the truck and he can splay his hand on your back, feel you loosen under his touch. 

For weeks, months, he imagined the two of you vibrantly sharing your similar views on politics, when in fact the interaction remains polite and policed, at first, nearly distant. 

Until you zero in on a couple of old pictures displayed in his sister's apartment, in the hallway to the bathroom. 

Izzy’s entire demeanour shifts. She’s delighted to provide you with embarrassing anecdotes on “babyface Frankie.”

“Look at this lanky teenage boy,” she grins, and Frankie, a grown man, a veteran, Frankie feels his heart skip a beat and trip over the sight of your wide eyes filling with tears. 

Back at home, in the dark bedroom, you open up. Tucked under the comforter, wrapped in his arms, with your head resting on his chest. Those are the moments in which the words you had to swallow down all your life come easy. 

“It’s because of the dead,” you begin. “It’s almost like a promise. That they can come back and walk amongst us for one night. I know it’s childish of me, but I would— I would like to see my grandparents again. Especially now. I can’t even lay flowers on their grave.”

He pulls you in closer. Waits for you to keep going, hoping you will. Guessing you are being mindful about his own ghosts. Adamant not to press, he simply gives your hip a light squeeze. 

When you resume, your voice drops lower. And you tell him everything. 

Your mother got pregnant during her senior year in high school, and sought an abortion her mother didn’t let her get. Taking you in when you were born, she watched as your mother left home in rebellion. 

“It was wrong of her. My mother had the right to decide,” you say in a little voice, and the implication makes him physically sick, a foul taste sitting in the back of his throat at your resignation. 

You go on to describe your happy, albeit short years with your grandparents. The orange curtains, summer vacations by the ocean, your grandfather teaching you how to read a map and ride a bike. 

And how it all ended abruptly with your grandmother's death. 

You had to go live with your mother, then, and as you briefly recount some of your most difficult moments, you make excuses for her. It wasn’t that bad. I was too sensitive as a kid. I wasn’t her choice. She was only 23 then. 

Your father had long bailed, and again you provide reasons and excuses. You chuckle sadly when you mention two half-sisters. “Strangers,” you say. 

You’ve long severed ties, with all of them, and it’s probably better, you say. For your mother, anyway. For you too, you have to believe. Some days, some days still, you can’t help it. You look her up on social media. Just to see. Make sure she’s ok. 

Frankie listens. His heart bleeds inside his hallowed chest. Pieces of you falling into place to the muted sound of your voice, your words crawling under his skin. 

I’m sorry. 

Please. 

I never had anything so beautiful. 

And when your voice dwindles at the evocation of a step-father coming into your life when you were seven, when you finally fall quiet, what Frankie hears in your silence makes his inside curl and burn up with a vengeful rage. 

But you’re done talking for the night. You circle his waist and soon, your breathing evens out, your body easing into sleep with little, jerky movements. 

Frankie lies in the opaque darkness of the room, clenching his jaw until the physical pain takes off a bit of the edge. Eyes wide open to the memory of the first time he touched your breasts, on loop in his brain. 

Is the man still alive? You certainly are wise to keep that part to yourself. You really do know him well. Because that would be the one kill he would never regret. 

The following morning, he stays in bed until you wake up, and you don’t question his presence, even if he should already have left.   

He follows you into the bathroom, steps with you into the tub and washes your body, towels you off, brushes your hair. 

You let him. 

—

“How old is Santi, again?” you ask from the bedroom. 

Frankie spits the mouthwash into the sink and straightens up with a heavy sigh. 

You know how old Santi is. But there’s something else on your mind, something that’s been eating at you, causing you to be distracted since the invitation to the party arrived in the mail. Something that’s compelled you to avoid eye contact since you came back from work, today. Something you’re keeping to yourself, probably trying to protect him, if he had to guess.

“He’s turning 37, baby,” he answers, imperturbable, buttoning up his worn denim shirt, leaving the last two buttons open.

“Oh yeah, right. Yovanna told me she invited Rosie,” you continue, “but she didn’t mention who else’ll be there—” you trail off.

There it is. Who else will be there. Or rather, who won’t be. 

“Too many people for comfort, that’s for sure,” he chuckles, stepping out of the bathroom to join you.

Standing in front of the large rectangular mirror he’s built for you, you’re fiddling with the little strings tying your dress at the waist, and the sight of your silhouette in profile has his breath hitching. You don’t often dress up, but tonight you’re wearing a black wrap dress that looks like an oversized smoking jacket, with a plunging neckline and a whole lot of leg. 

You wore dresses all summer, short or long, but as the days got shorter and the air got cooler, you went back to jeans and pants only. 

“I don’t like tights,” you explained once. 

And whatever you wear is fine; he can snap your fly open with two fingers, but seeing your legs clad in the sheer black material does something to him. Something that shoots straight to his cock.

“Damn, baby,” he whispers, and it’s all he manages.

“I don’t know,” you wince, “I have those smart black trousers, perhaps I should chan–” but you fall quiet because he’s come to stand behind you, his broad frame towering over your tall one, his head dipping into your neck. 

His mouth stops half an inch short of your throat, and the magnetic pull it exerts on your skin lifts his lips in a satisfied grin. He draws back, the movement imperceptible, and it’s as though your skin reaches out. Like witchcraft. 

“Frankie, would you like me to wear fancier clothes?” you ask in a small voice, finally looking him in the eyes through the looking glass. 

You lean your head back to rest against his shoulder, and he reaches for your legs, his palms lightly trailing down over the smooth fabric.

“No, baby” he starts, and he watches the goosebumps breaking along your neck at the sound of his voice. “What I want is irrelevant, you wear whatever makes you feel good. Only tonight, I won’t mind if you decide to wear that,” he finishes. 

His calloused fingers span up your thighs, catching at the thin material, all the way to your mound. The tights press into it, and it’s fucking delicious. When you close your eyes, two of his fingers travel downward along your constrained folds, and the low grunt that rumbles from his chest is met by a whimpering sound you can’t hold back. 

His left hand slithers under the side of your dress to find the swell of your breast, teasing your nipple with his thumb.

“We’re gonna go to this party, and everyone there will be looking at you in this dress. Your breasts… your legs… your eyes… your smile…” a stroke over your seam with each word whispered into your ear, and your eyes flicker, you buck into him, “and I’m gonna look at them looking at you while I decide how I’m gonna ruin you and these fucking tights the minute we come home.”

He dives into your neck, pressing his plush lips to your soft skin, giving it a hard suck for good measure. 

Santi and Yovanna’s place stands out from the row of neatly aligned houses. Light pouring out from every window, music, warmth and laughter spilling into the bleak November night. 

His hand finds your back when you climb out of the truck and join him on the sidewalk. You’re wearing shiny black heels he didn’t even know you had. They make you taller, slightly shifting the familiar landmarks of your body at his side, and he thinks the entire party will be able to see it on his face. 

Pride, like the sun reverberating over the surface of a placid ocean.

It’s that ability of yours to overcome your fear, to go headstrong against it. He won’t ever get over it. You’re more courageous than some men he’s fought alongside, and he often wonders if this could be the main reason why Will held you in such high regards. 

And yet, you’ve chosen him to be the one who gets to hold you when you can’t be brave. Most of his life now revolves around being worthy of that.

But tonight, you carry your head high.

All of Pope’s friends and colleagues will be here, save for three of them, and their absence will, most certainly, noticeably stand out. 

Yovanna personally called Frankie to inform him she had taken it upon herself not to invite Tom. Ever the suave diplomat, Santi kept loosely in touch with him after the incident at the bar. But he knows from Santi that Yovanna strongly disapproves of the lasting bond between them.

On the subject of the Millers, however, Santi remains tight-lipped. Frankie assumes they still hang out on a regular basis, probably on Friday evenings, at the bar, where himself has become persona non grata. And he bears no resentment for that, not towards anyone.

However, and even if he would never admit it to you, he misses the two men. He misses the bar, and perhaps most of all, he misses the fight nights. Benny’s jokes and Will’s expressive silence.

He’s texted Benny. Back in September, for his birthday, and his message remained not only unanswered, but unread. He tried again, a week later, and then a third time, to no avail. 

He tried Will, next, and the phone rang out for what felt like a whole minute before he got sent to voicemail. The next morning, Will called him back during his morning commute. A smooth move for a clever man, Frankie thought. He hung his head as he listened to the short, non-committal voicemail that didn’t require any follow-up. Not exactly a rejection. Definitely nothing of an invitation. 

He can tell you miss him too. Miss them. Small telling details permeating your daily life. You change the station every time CCR comes up on the radio. A wistful sigh that punctuates your impressions of an art exhibition. 

So when the invitation came, he picked up his phone again. 

But he knows your presence tonight implies a choice on Pope’s behalf. You’re smart enough to have it figured out, and he doesn’t need to ask you how you feel about it. He hears it in your short replies, sees it in the taut line between your shoulder blades, feels it in the tight squeeze of your small hand around his —a first, in public. 

And yet you step into that party with your chin up and he wills his confidence to seep into you through his touch, to convey it with the pride lighting up his eyes whenever they set on your beautiful face.

Trust me. I will fix it.

The front door is open and you step together into the crowded living-room, where the furniture has been taken out or pushed against the walls to make space. 

Santi rapidly walks up to you to greet you warmly. Beaming, clean-shaven, sharply dressed in a black suit, black shirt, no tie, he looks perfectly at ease in this social setting. But then again, he’s at ease everywhere, whether it is a luxuriant jungle or a parched desert.

Behind him, Yovanna flutters from guest to guest, shining bright as a Tuscan summer sun with all the standing lamps bouncing over the golden sequins of her short, long-sleeved dress. In his peripheral vision, Frankie catches your relieved smile. When she rushes to hug you, you hand her the bottle of champagne you bought two days ago. 

“I don’t know the first thing about champagne,” you’d said, “I just took the most expensive one,” an apologetic shrug he eased up with a lingering kiss. 

Yovanna takes your jackets, complimenting your outfit, and you slowly small talk your way through the crowd over to the other side of the room, where a bar has been set up and a young woman with short dark hair and tattooed hands mixes drinks. Frankie recognises her from the bar, where she sometimes works as an extra. 

He watches over you, intently, through the endless parade of familiar faces coming up to him for a chat. Veterans, friends, vague acquaintances, and nearly all of them enquire about Benny’s whereabouts. 

Your tense body feels small, pressed up against his side, and your grip on your glass is white knuckled. Every so often, he gives your waist a discreet but hard squeeze, and flashes you a reassuring wink.  

Rosie walks in about an hour later, cheerful and bright in her deep-green jumpsuit, moving with confidence through the room to join you and turning heads along the way, as if it were her own birthday. 

A quick peck on your lips, on Frankie’s, and she turns her attention to the barmaid to order a mojito. You untangle yourself from him, and begin to sound more like yourself as you chat with your friend. Soon, you’re too absorbed in your conversation to notice his glance darting toward the front door across the room every time someone steps in. 

A couple of hours into the evening, the alcohol helping, people get loser and louder, and Pope cranks up the stereo. Frankie hangs down his head to hide his grin at the familiar, aggressive playlist, that Yovanna promptly changes. 

Rosie has left your small group and is chatting animatedly with a young officer he’s seen working with Will at the VA, confirming Pope’s invited everyone he’s ever met. 

You’ve already had two whiskeys while he’s still sipping on his first beer, when he feels your hand travelling down from his side and sliding into the back pocket of his jeans. 

Your gentle grasp on his ass broadens his dimpled smile, and he basks in your gaze for a brief moment, before he turns to you. 

“You’re so pretty, Francisco Morales,” you whisper, and he gets the feeling that you waited for him to look at you to tell him just that. 

“Ok,” he chuckles, “are you drunk?”

“Just a little bit,” you concede. “But I don’t need to be drunk to appreciate what I see.” Your voice drops along with your smile when you continue, “I— I look at you, and I can’t believe you’re mine. Are you really mine?”

Frankie takes your glass and puts it down on the bar next to his bottle, so he can grip your hips and steer you toward the wall. You may be a couple of inches taller than usual, but he still towers over you, and his broad shoulders hide you from the rest of the room. 

“I’m yours, baby,” he murmurs. “All yours.”

His lips brush your cheekbone, and he cherishes the slight tremor of your skin under the tickle of his whiskers. It is new. It belongs to your new life together. 

“Would you still ask me to leave with you?” you ask again, bunching his shirts with shaky hands. 

“I would ask you over and over again a million times, Gabrielle,” and he presses his forehead against yours, “I wouldn’t change anything. Except for the rain.”

He places his palm over your collarbone and his thumb comes to rest on your pulse. 

His fingers slide and curl around your nape. Time stills, fading out the sounds and lights of the room around you. He presses his lips to yours, pulling you flush to his chest, and you immediately open up for your man. 

The smooth, malty taste of the whiskey blends in with yours, it goes up to his head and shoots right down to his cock as he licks into you with the same need and hunger he once did on the fire escape, swallowing your doubts along with your moans. 

He does want to leave with you, he wants to leave with you right now, spare you the pressure and the plastered smiles, take you home, brush your hair, feed you. Massage your body from your feet up to the crown of your head, rub your legs through those goddamn tights, feel your slick dampening them, have you come in them once, twice, if he can pace himself, watch your legs twitch in pleasure in the sheer black fabric.  

But he has to wait. Wait just a little longer. There might still be a chance. 

His self-control wears thinner yet when you push away from the wall to mould your body into his, when you whine as you meet the growing bulge in his pants, your leg hitching up along his. Is it a trick of the mind, that he can feel the smoothness of your tights through the thickness of his denim? 

Fuck he can’t give in, he has to wait, stall for more time, the injunction coming from the back of his brain, barely reaching his consciousness. 

He’s already fucking your mouth with his tongue when Pope’s voice rings out on his right, music and lights leaping back into focus, like sandpaper grating his senses. 

“¿Qué haces, pendejo? Jesus! Get a room! It’s not that kind of party.” 

Frankie quickly pulls away from you with a gritted “fuck,” but not so far that you can’t bury your face into his neck. 

Pope’s smug laughter drums on his nerves, adding to his frustration, and he’s about to lash out when he feels you giggling.

As if summoned by Pope’s sarcasm, Rosie appears beside him. 

“They’re unmanageable,” she quips, “you just can’t leave them unattended.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re one to talk!” you retort with a smirk. 

Drawing away from you, he’s reaching for your glass when he sees your features drop. Your eyes widen, strained on the front door, and in an instant, it’s all over your face. Your mouth falls open, you suck in a sharp breath. He doesn’t need to turn around to check what —who— you’re looking at. He knows. He understands. He no longer has to wait. 

Rosie and Pope see it too, whipping their heads to the left to follow your gaze, but you're already walking forward, quick, steady steps. Frankie pivots slowly, in time to see you fling yourself into Will’s open arms.

Oblivious to the couple of men coming to greet him, he picks you up with ease, splayed fingers across your back, and one of your heels drops to the floor. He closes his eyes, for the briefest moment, squeezing you tight in his brawny embrace. 

Frankie doesn’t hear you, but he catches his friend’s answer, spoken through a wistful, brotherly smile that transforms his entire face. 

“I missed you too, Elle.”

—

The dam breaks. The minute he parks in the driveway, the fucking dam gives. 

“Keep your seatbelt fastened,” he orders and he kills the engine. 

With a quick, deft gesture, he unbuckles and slides next to you over the truck’s bench, caging you with his upper body, sinking his face into the curve of your neck to inhale, deeply. His breath pushes back out of him with a grunt like a threat. It rumbles in his chest first, before it rattles inside his throat and fans over your skin. Your skin that raises and reaches out for him. It’s your scent, your smell, and he wants it to be his. 

In your sitting position, your folds feel denser, trapped inside the black nylon material of your tights, and you grab the door handle when he starts rubbing fast circles over your clit, threatening grunts into your neck, scraping teeth, lapping tongue.  

You come in a matter of minutes, head shoved into the headrest, lips pinched to bite down your throaty moans, breathing heavily through your nose, the windows blurred with a transluscent fog. 

He carries you inside, swung over his shoulder, it’s playful but it’s not, it’s a want, it’s a need, a fire that flares in his loins, a dam that finally gives.  

He tosses you onto the bed and you bounce with a little shriek. He takes off his boots and climbs onto the mattress, kneeled before you, strips you down to your tights, knocking your hands away every time you try to undress him, until you understand what he needs and you lay back on the bed, become soft and pliant and let him take it. 

There’s an indentation at the base of your throat where he sank his teeth while you came under his hand in the truck, and the heat in his loins settles down a bit. 

The nylon of your tights brushes smooth and sleek when you rub your legs together, pressed knees, shifting hips. 

Framed by the dark halo of your hair, your face looks pale and eerie, like the slippery ghost he used to dream of, sunk into a restless sleep after rage-fucking women he did not see. 

He parts your legs with his frame, spreads your hips with his breadth. The nylon is dense and brushes louder under his calloused palms and digits, heavy and hot and underneath, your skin too is burning. 

The need to feel you is too heavy, the scent of you heady, he wants it to be his, his scent oozing off your skin, organic evidence that you’re his. He slides off his t-shirt, unbuckles his belt to ease off the pressure of the scorching hunger, it burns in bright anger between his hips, he doesn’t know how to tame it.  

He crawls above you, dives onto you, teeth and tongue and spit and need, scraping your earlobe, your jaw, your lips, biting into the column of your throat, biting new marks and new indentations, would you still ask me to leave with you?

His in every scenario, every dream, every reality. 

Between his lips, the hardened peak of your nipple is hot, still cooler than his mouth when he wraps it around the hard bud and sucks it in, squeezing your other breast, calloused palm, calloused fingers, his.

His teeth find your hip, the soft swell of your flesh, the hard bone underneath and you writhe and arch up into it, his name rumples your lips, the K rips from your throat, ripe, hot, thorny. 

His forehead presses through your tights and into your belly, the little swell of it below your navel, sweat dampened curls of his hair leaving a sweat dampened spot, his scent permeating the fabric, infusing your skin. 

He pulls back, calloused fingers hooked under the back of your knees catching at the nylon, sliding your calves over his shoulders, smooth fabric, hot skin, bright need. He spits on your clothed cunt and rubs it in, blends his saliva with your slick, hot, liquid, sticky.

His strokes are not gentle, they’re rough and needy, your fingers gripping his wrist to ease the roughness and he frees it with a twist, strong hand raising your arms above your head to pin them into the soft mattress. His face right above yours, sweat beading at your temples, on your pinched brow, his sweat dripping into your mouth, opened slack, your tongue pulled out and greedy. 

You come as rough and hard as his strokes, your head trashed back, corded neck, folded in two, twitching legs like squirming snakes of nylon wrapped over his shoulders. 

His forehead pushes down on your collarbone, infusing you with his sweat and his scent, where he can feel your orgasm blazing through your bones and your flesh and your skin.

The heat grows brighter between his legs, angrier, consuming, swelling along his cock, thickening. The urge to taste, and he pushes up from your heaving chest, releases your arms, your fingers a frantic scrabble over the white sheets. He’s pulled back in, instantly, drawn to the wet spot between your legs, dark and leaking nylon covering your cunt. 

He dives in to cup it in his mouth, too hot and burning, to taste it, claim you, and it’s a bite, instead, rough and needy, and you jolt, his name scratching your throat like sand, “Frankie!” and he sucks in, rough and needy, saliva and slick, too hot and burning, would you still ask me to leave with you? 

He sits back to undress your legs, the nylon a smooth drag along your skin when he peels it. He’s holding his breath, holding his spit, the taste of you and him swirling around his tongue, coating his palate.

His mouth travels up your leg from ankle to hip, in bites and licks, your skin hot, hot and smooth and tense between his lips, hot skin and hot lips, and he bites into it, sharp, unrestrained. 

He sees it flicker across your face and in your eyes, wide and glazed, the moment you register what he’s doing, when he twists the sheer black fabric around your wrists, tugs on it, elastic, raising your arms above your head, shuffling along your body, your head caged between his thighs, and ties it to the headboard.

He hears it from the outside, the voice that comes from the back of his skull to ask you if “You ok with this?” and when you nod, the voice insists. 

“Words, Gabrielle,” a warning and a need. 

“I’m ok, I want it, please–” you breathe, sand in your throat. 

“You don’t ever have to say ‘please’ to me.” 

He steps off the bed to get rid of the rest of his clothes, eyes strained on you, hot and flushed and tied up and burning under the dark halo of your hair, bruises and marks of bright red scattered over your skin, you can leave all the marks, high-pitched two-tone moans of your want and your need carving his chest, his. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” more growls than words, kneeling between your spread legs, spread folds shining and slick, pressing on your knees, down on the mattress with both hands, calloused palms, calloused fingers, smooth, burning skin. 

The back of his two middle fingers slides along your seam, liquid and sticky and it’s an easy glide into your pretty cunt, hot and burning, deep and slow and then rough and curling, dark eyes sunk into your dilated pupils.  

“Wanna taste how good you did for me, baby?”

You nod and he growls, curling deeper inside, so you nod again and you “Please, please Frankie please—“

“Don’t fucking say please to me, Gabrielle, I’ll give you everything you need,” and he pushes his fingers into the heat of your mouth to smother the word, calloused fingers, hot tongue gliding and swirling, a sharp bite of your teeth and he hisses, would you still ask me to leave with you? 

“I got you, I got you,” more grunts than words, and he lines himself up, doesn’t wait and sinks in, sinks his thick cock into your tight cunt, down to his base, rough and needy, sweat dripping down his back, high-pitched moans. 

Large hands framing your hips, keeping you still under his thrusts, bruising, sliding over your belly where he’s shoving his cock into you, Frankie, can you feel yourself inside me? Slowing down just enough to feel you trembling around him, soft walls, warm cunt, grinding deeper inside under his palms.

“You feel so fucking good, Gabrielle, I can feel your sweet pussy fucking squeezing me,” his eyes drawn to the odd angle of your shoulder blades poking under your skin.

His hands find the headboard, bracing forward, lying heavy into you and he thrusts in and out, rough and needy, your legs bracketed around his waist, your knees hitched along his torso, hot, smooth burning skin, sweat dripping, “oh god, Frankie.” 

“That what you needed, baby? For me to fuck you like this?” ramming into your cervix, tight cunt clenching, hot, wet, his. 

Your head pressing into the pillow, you push away from the comforter, clutching his cock, hard and thick and ramming, and you nod, and you remember, you say “yes, Francisco,” and he’s fucking losing it, pounding harder, sinking deeper. 

Calloused fingers curled around the headboard, white knuckled, taut muscles shifting under his skin. 

Your high rips through you, through a cry, two-tone moan, eyes rolling, empty bound fists clenching, arms jerking against their binding, hot tight cunt gripping him in its endless flutter.

“Frankie, Frankie—“

“That’s it baby, just like that,” growls and grunts and words, “just like that.”

Years spent and wasted wishing he could carry you inside him, before he started wishing he could rip you out like a poisonous seed.

Your heartbeat pulsating under his chest and your cunt thrumming around his cock, the air you draw in gulps filling his own lungs, limbs entangled, sweat on sweat. This is as close as it gets to slicing his chest open to fit you inside it. 

Static fills his brain, the room spins around him in orange waves and he comes like a whip, hot, liquid and sticky, pumping his seed into you, further, deeper, teeth clenched, eyes shut, a hissed curse in Spanish, through waves of orange. 

His. 

—

Winter

Everything you once dreaded, everything he once hated, you are now looking forward to experiencing, side by side. 

It’s not your first Christmas with Dolores and Rosie, but it’s the first time you don’t feel like a rescue puppy, stepping inside the camped apartment with your arms full of presents and your man at your side. 

Everywhere you go, you feel legitimate. 

Everywhere he goes, he feels at ease. 

For once, Izzy’s in town for New Year’s Eve, and he doesn’t think twice before accepting her invitation to what she promises will be a quiet and cosy family dinner at her place.  

She ends up so drunk, Frankie has to put her to bed before you can go home. 

Fairly tipsy yourself, you sober up fast when he carries you over to the bedroom and bluntly declares he’s going to fuck you into the next year.

“Which one?” you joke, “cos technically it’s already next year, big man Morales.”

“2050, baby,” he answers with a cocky grin, unbuckling his belt. “Now get naked and spread those legs. I wanna see everything.”

January brings snow and icy northern winds along with the prospect of flying again, his six-month probation drawing to an end. 

And one evening, it brings you home late, freezing cold, and particularly irritated. 

“I had to wait 15 minutes for that damn bus because of the snow,” you fume, hanging your damp coat on the wall rack by the door. “How does this fucking country get so fucking hot in the summer, and so unbearably cold in the winter?” 

He briefly considers arguing it’s not as much the whole country as just some states, but he wisely opts for compassionate silence. 

You turn to face him, pointing a menacing index in his direction.

“You know what, America? You win. I’m getting a fucking car.”

“Don’t call me America in front of Izzy, if you wanna live long enough to drive that car,” he advises you with a raised eyebrow, his smile widening to his dimple.

He takes the following Tuesday off, and the two of you head back to Autoland, where a blond woman about your age welcomes you and introduces herself as Julie. 

A brief conversation is all it takes to ascertain that Julie is far more competent than Gary could ever dream to be, but the sheer idea of having to explain what you’re looking for once again prompts you to enquire about him. 

“Oh, Gary’s in jail,” she tells you with a hint of a smile. “Embezzlement. Didn’t end well,” she adds, and her lips stretch into a satisfied grin. 

Twenty minutes later, you leave the dealership with a decent bargain and a pre-owned Ford Fiesta in forest green. 

It’s only when you come home the next evening, your hands warm and your clothes dry, that Frankie measures just how relieved he actually is. 

And you won’t admit it, in fact, he’s fairly certain you make a point of complaining about finding a place to park near the bookstore, but he can tell you’re happy too. Happy and proud, because the following weekend, he catches you calling Will to tell him you’ll be picking him up at his place to drive together to the Met.  

A four-month hiatus hasn’t altered the tightly woven fabric of your relationship with Will. You fall right back into your cosy routine of monthly trips to the city to visit exhibitions, followed by drinks and endless talks at McSorley. 

Emboldened by his blunt questioning habits, you don’t walk on eggshells the first time you find yourself alone with him.

“How is Benny doing? Does he know we’re seeing each other, today? How does he feel about it?” you ask after quickly gulping down your first half-pint. 

His steel blue eyes dive into yours and you do your very best not to shrink on your wooden chair.

“Benny’s fine, ok? He’s good. He–” he seems to consider his next words before he continues, “We had a few conversations about it. It’s not easy, he doesn’t really wanna talk. I told him about your history with Fish. He’s still a bit angry, but he’s coming around. I think deep down he understands.” 

He pauses, and when you don’t say anything, he keeps going. 

“But I don’t think he’ll be able to hang out with him for another couple of months, at least.”

Hang out with him. No mention of you, there. As often with Will, what lies within the silence matters as much as his spoken words. 

You get it. You can’t have it all. But you are genuinely relieved to know he’s doing well. And that there’s hope for the two of them. 

It doesn’t occur to you that you only hear what you want to hear.

—

The first banging noise jolts you out of sleep. You sit upright in the bed, dishevelled, confused, not quite awake. Your heart is pounding painfully inside your rib cage, pulsating in your eardrums.

Instinctively, you reach for Frankie. Your hand fumbles under the comforter, only to find an empty spot where he should be lying next to you, and you whip your head around to his side of the bed.

It’s the middle of the night, yet it’s not as dark as it should be. The living-room lamp is on, casting a feeble light inside the bedroom, enough for you to distinguish Frankie’s dark silhouette standing awkwardly by the bed, slowly opening the drawer of his night stand.

Another rattling sound comes in from the kitchen. Metal on tiles. Your sleep-dazed brain identifies the noise as that of one of the bar stools being dragged across the floor. Frankie tilts his head in your direction and silently brings his index finger to his lips. 

Now you’re wide awake. 

Panic trickles down your lungs in icy streaks at the realisation that someone has broken into the house, but it doesn’t compare to the horror that seizes you when Frankie stealthily pulls out a gun from the open drawer. 

He’s still looking at you, the yellow glint from the hallway reflected in his ink-black eyes, his finger pressed to his lips. 

Before you can process what’s happening, Frankie’s moving toward the corridor, his gait precise and absolutely silent, broad shoulders hunched and tense in his downward hold of the gun with two hands. You want to protest, tell him to stay here with you, but your entire body has gone rigid, disconnected from your brain. You’re glued into place. 

Eyes opened so wide they might pop out of your skull, you watch him disappear into the hallway, and in the dead of the night, you can hear the door of the fridge being opened. 

Years from now, you will still remember thinking that this is a fucking nightmare.

You brace yourself for gunshots, a fight, more clatter, but it’s Frankie’s voice that comes in next, resounding into the January night, angry, loud and… surprised?  

“What the fuck, man?”

It snaps you out of your trance. Untangling your legs from the heavy comforter, you climb down the bed and slip on your sleeping shorts before you dash towards the kitchen, and you’re still walking down the short hallway when you hear him.

“Oh fuck, ‘m sorry, Fish, ‘d’ I wake you up?”

Benny’s booming baritone. Audibly shitfaced. 

You see Frankie first, standing in his black boxer briefs, his gun hanging from his hand. Following his angered stare, your eyes fall on Benny, who’s tall silhouette is partly hidden behind the opened fridge door. His face peeks out from above it, a nasty-looking bruise blooming red and purple around his right eye, accentuated by the angled shadows. 

His gaze is unfocused, dazed, and when he sees you, an unfamiliar melancholy blurs it a deeper shade of blue. He closes the fridge, a tall boy of IPA in his hand, and he straightens up like a little boy at Sunday school, his lips curling around a drunken smile.

“Hey, baby. How are you?” he slowly slurs. 

“Jesus fuck,” Frankie grits, hanging his head, and your mind reels, you’re not sure how to handle the situation. In fact, you have no idea how to deal with it.

Walking up to your man, you curl your fingers around his forearm, and the tension you find under your touch does very little to temper down the alarm flaring in your chest. Your hand slides to his wrist, his own hand a tight grasp around his weapon. You don’t dare lower your eyes to it. And it’s probably just a trick of the mind, the way you can see it shine from the corner of your eyes under the crude ceiling light. 

You don’t dare look at Frankie either, so you keep your eyes strained on Benny, who’s swaying on his legs, and ask in a shaky voice you don’t recognise, “Hey Ben. What are you doing here?” 

“He still got a spare key,” Frankie growls in his direction, and you hold on to his wrist a little tighter. 

“Won my fight, tonight,” Benny drawls with pride, as if this were a perfectly rational explanation for his presence in your kitchen at 3 am, and, visibly satisfied, he proceeds to crack his beer open.

“And how the fuck did you get here, Benjamin?” Frankie asks, his tone so aggressive it makes you jump.

Benny takes a long sip before he simply shrugs, “Drove my car, the fuck is this question…”

“Oh god,” you breathe out, and between your clutching fingers, Frankie’s muscles loosen. 

Finally looking up at him, you’re shaken by the emotions playing across his face, far more complex than the upfront annoyance in his voice. 

Frankie himself is not sure how he feels. 

Relieved, at first, to find Benny instead of someone else, something worse. Fuck knows he could have shot down a stranger on sight, had they tried to come anywhere near you, and he’d rather you never see what he’s capable of with a gun.  

Why, then, is he shaking with anger? Is it, deep down, the relief to see him at all? Could it be because Benny came to see you, and not him? 

Most of his jealousy and resentment towards his friend had been drained out of him when you curled up on his naked chest, back in your apartment, over half a year ago. 

He’s well aware of the lasting affection you continue to harbour for his friend, that the concern plainly etched on your face at the moment only serves to demonstrate further. And if it’s not exactly pleasant to think about, his confidence and the daily evidence of your shared love sweetens that bitter knowledge. 

What’s a lot more difficult to stomach, however, are Ben’s lingering feelings for you. He can’t blame the man, he himself never got over you, and he had fifteen years to try to. 

“He’ll come around,” Will had promised. Only Ben’s little stunt tonight makes it impossible to ignore any longer the one thought he has so far deliberately avoided. He broke his best friend’s heart, with a self-righteous determination, without an ounce of regret. 

Benny takes a step in your direction, beer dripping on the tiles from the can, askew in his bruised hand, and Frankie sighs heavily. 

As you release his arm to go to Benny, he tries to slide the gun in the back of his jeans before realising he’s in his underwear. He sets it down on the kitchen table, where it hits the wooden surface with a muted thud. 

“Aww baby, I really missed your face,” Benny mumbles as you grab the can from him, handing it to Frankie. 

“Ok, let’s get some water into you,” you answer, holding his shoulders straight to deflect the incoming hug. 

You lead him to the couch on the other side of the room where you sit him down, while Frankie fills up a tall glass with tap water, and you wait for him to join you to whisper, “We can’t let him go home like that, baby.”

Benny’s muttering incoherently, and Frankie bends over him, taking his legs to pivot him into a sleeping position, his feet sticking out of the couch. 

“No, of course, not. He’s gonna sleep here. I’ll drive him home in the morning.”

He lets you take off Benny’s sneakers while he returns his gun to the night stand drawer, but when you don’t come back to the bedroom, he can’t resist the urge to go see what’s going on.

He’s still in the hallway when he stops short at the scene before him. You’ve draped a plaid over Benny, already fast asleep, and you’re threading your fingers through his hair. A token of your affection, a tender gesture he saw you demonstrate before. In public. You lean down to place a soft kiss on his forehead, and when you stand up and turn around, your eyes find his, instantly. 

He doesn’t wait for you, he can’t, not when he knows you’re seeing right through his gritted teeth, right through the nauseating guilt sitting at the back of his throat, and he goes back to bed, where you soon join him. 

He opens the comforter to let you in next to him, and as you slide underneath it, you tell him, “Scoot over, Frankie baby, tonight I’m the big spoon.”

—

If there’s one thing Frankie has always envied Ben for, it’s the speed at which he pulls through any type of hangover. Mild, brutal, soul-destroying, it makes no difference. The man’s up at the crack of dawn, and by 8am sharp, he’s out the door for his daily run.

Maybe it’s the age difference. But Frankie was never this prompt to recover, even when he was younger. Maybe it’s good genes. He’s seen Ironhead getting shot and still complete the mission with dashing excellence. 

Today, however, as Frankie leaves the safe-heaven of your body, warmly tucked under the duvet, and walks into the living-room with a pack of Tylenol, a little after 6 am, he finds Benny quietly snoring. 

His bruised eye has turned a violent shade of purple, bloody crusts flacking around his injured knuckles. 

Frankie knows exactly who Ben was up against last night. A bulky giant of a man, a force of nature, a major household name in the MMA circuit. 

He’s been keeping track of Ben’s defeats and successes. This victory is one that counts. Important enough for him to get hammered in celebration. So important, he had to get behind the wheel and come to tell you about it in person. 

It’s another two hours of aimless silent roaming around the house, brooding, mulling over what he’ll tell him when he wakes up, if anything, before he decides to start cooking breakfast. 

When Benny begins to stir on the couch to the clanking noise of the frying pan, Frankie focuses on the stove, keeping his nervousness in check. In his peripheral vision, Ben sits up with a hissed curse, and gulps down two tablets with water.

He’s just done lacing his boots when Frankie places a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him on the coffee table. 

Keeping his eyes to the floor, Benny mumbles in a thick voice, “Thanks, but I’m leaving.”

Frankie’s answer shoots out of him before he can think it through. “She’s gonna want to know you ate something.”

Benny tilts up his head toward him in slow motion. He meets his eyes with a cold, hard stare, and Frankie wouldn’t be surprised if he leapt from the couch to take another swing at his face. 

He holds up his gaze, until Benny lowers his head and starts eating up. Cleans up his plate in complete silence and drinks up to the last drop the mild coffee Frankie’s prepared for him.

And when he’s finished, he gets up without a word and walks towards the front door to pick his jacket from the floor. Fiddling with the breast pocket, he pulls out a keychain and places it on the kitchen table as Frankie observes him, jaw cocked to the side, arms folded over his chest. 

His hand is on the doorknob when Frankie speaks again.

“You had 5 hours of sleep, man. I don’t think you’re sober enough to drive,” he says, pushing up from the counter. 

“Yeah, right,” Ben huffs, “I’m not leaving my car here. Not coming back to pick it up.”

“Alright, let’s take your car, I can ride the bus home,” Frankie says, grabbing his cap from the coat rack.

—

Somehow, he can always tell whether you’re awake or asleep if he’s with you inside the house. Today, he knows you hear them leave together. 

The drive is tense, to say the least, Ben’s leg bouncing up and down nervously as he shifts, restless, in the passenger’s seat, darting sideways glances at him, most likely waiting for an opportunity to lash out. 

But the early Sunday traffic is fluid, and Frankie a smooth driver, leaving him nothing to grasp. 

When Frankie pulls out in front of his house, Ben’s out of the car before he kills the engine.  

In turn, Frankie unfolds slowly from the low seat. The crisp January cold bites his cheeks when he gets out and locks the door. He risks a glance in Ben’s direction. 

“Hey, Ben, wait up,” he calls, white puffs of his breath swirling from his lips.  

Benny stops and reluctantly turns around to face him.

“Congrats on your win, last night,” he offers. 

Ben answers with a dismissive, “Sure,” and Frankie throws him the keys across the roof of the Mustang. 

He snatches them mid-hair in a smooth catch. A bittersweet reminder of their past synchronicity. Their ability to communicate wordlessly. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Frankie asks quietly. 

“What, the fight? Which one?” Benny sniggers. 

“Ok,” he nods, ducking his head under the brim of his cap.  

Ben takes a step towards his front door, but immediately turns around.  

“You wanna know what really hurts?” he barks, his loud baritone thundering in the empty street. “Why didn’t you say anything? After that first night at the bar? You let me fucking parade her to you, guys, and you didn’t say shit.”

“Yea, I don't know, Ben,” he whispers, hanging his head. “I’m sorry. I really am.” 

“That’s all you gotta say? I’m sorry?” Ben retorts, crossing his arms. 

“Look, it’s complicated—“ he starts, but Ben interrupts him.

“I was supposed to be your best friend, that’s pretty fucking simple to me.”

“Ok, listen,” Frankie counters, raising his head and looking straight at him, “I don't know what you know, or what Will told you, but I thought she’d forsaken me. I guess I didn’t see the point of telling you. And by the time she–” he reconsiders, tongue darting to lick his bottom lip, careful not to imply your responsibility, “by the time I found out what really happened, it was already too late.”

“Yeah, well, it still doesn’t add up, Fish,” he argues, prepping his forearms on top of the car roof. “If a girl ghosts you, why wouldn’t you warn your best friend?”

Because she’s not that kind of person. Because she seemed happy with you and you with her. Because I never quit loving her. 

Because I could never give her up. 

“Like I said, man, it’s more complicated than–” he tries again, but Ben cuts him off, again, adamant to get it all off his chest, and if his tone is not exactly aggressive, it’s not particularly friendly either.

“Ten years. Ten years we’ve known each other. We went through fucking hell together, and you still fucking chose her over me. Twice.”

“Yea well, I went through another kind of hell for losing her, Ben, you just gotta take my word for it,” Frankie states with a pointed finger at him and a warning in his rising voice that Ben seems to hear, because he leans back just a bit. 

He softens up to add, “But it’s done. So now what?”

“Fuck, Fish,” Benny answers, softer, “if it was that bad, why’d you never say anything? You never mentioned her, not once! I’ve seen you wasted, high as a kite, buried in pussy and you don’t share that?”

“No, Benjamin, I do not share that. Not with you. Not with anyone.” 

He marks a pause, inhaling the cold morning air to maintain control before he can continue. 

“Look, I'm sorry I did you in like that. I let you down and I feel shitty for handling the whole situation like I did. You were my best friend. You still are. But I’d do it all over again to get her.”

He winces at his poor attempt at an apology. 

Benny remains still for a beat before he leans again over the car roof, joining his hands. 

“So it’s like, true love, and shit?”

“Yea. True love and shit,” Frankie nods.

“Well, this I understand,” Ben concedes, unusually quiet. “She’s something. You lucky son of a gun.”

—

Everything you once dreaded… 

Well, you’ve always dreaded January. It once freed you from Éric, but you still associate the dark, short days with loneliness, and a fast, spinning downward fall into depression. This year, however, you haven’t thought about it once. Not until this morning, that is, when the looming dread rose anew, expanding inside your constricted chest, hindering your breathing. 

The fluffy duvet drawn up to your chin, you’ve lied still as the dead, your ears strained to the sounds coming from the other side of the house. 

You fully woke up when Frankie left the bed, depriving you of his reassuring heat, after three hours oscillating between sleep and consciousness, always acutely aware of his unnaturally stiff body lying wide awake between your arms. 

You mentally followed his barefoot stride, amplified by the early morning peace, the events from the previous night flooding back to your tired brain like rising waters. 

Listened to nothing but silence for an excruciating long time, the growing tension emanating from him thrumming along the walls all the way to your hiding place. 

Hiding, is what you were, and once more your mother’s reproachful tone rang out in your head, “tu ne fais que t’enfuir.” 

“I’m a big girl from a big city,” you murmured to yourself. You were not hiding, they needed to talk, you were merely giving them the necessary space, but nothing you told yourself could ward off your anxiety. 

When you walked into the living-room, after they’d left, you scrunched up your nose at the acrid smell of alcohol. And something else. Something you didn’t want to remember, so you pulled the curtains and opened the two large windows to let in the brisk winter air.   

That’s when you noticed his phone, face down on the console by the front door, where he leaves it when he comes home. 

You disposed of the leftover coffee in the sink and prepared a fresh pot, strong, to your taste. 

While it brewed, you folded the plaid and straightened the couch cushions. You cleaned the stove and washed the dishes, wiped them dry and returned them to their cabinets. 

When there were no more traces of Ben’s presence in your home, you stood by the counter, staring blankly at the microwave, double dots blinking between the red digits. 

Now, it’s nearing 11am. You’ve been alone for three hours. 

Uncertain about the distance between Frankie’s house and Benny’s place, you’ve no idea whether Frankie’s absence is too long or perfectly normal. You could put your mind at rest, even just a bit, if you only checked it out on your phone, but the idea itself irritates you. You’ve lived here just a few months shy of three years. When will you be as capable of navigating the city as you are in Paris, going about the metro and streets on sheer instinct, visualising entire neighbourhoods and calculating routes without the support of technology? 

Driving your own car is bound to achieve that, you tell yourself, stepping gingerly into the tub. 

Why does the entire house feel colder when he’s not there? This is nothing unusual, he’s rarely home when you get ready for work on weekdays, and it’s a beat before you realise you’ve left the living-room windows opened. 

The water runs over your face, set to scalding hot and high-pressure, and you wish it could drain out your thoughts. Perhaps, if you’d see them floating at your feet, you might be able to sort out your feelings. 

When he pulls out in the driveway 20 minutes later, he steps in through the front door to find you sitting by the kitchen table, arms crossed and shivering in one of his sweaters. There’s little to no difference in temperature between outside and the room, he notes with a frown, and his eyes land on the table in front of you, where his black gun stands out against the clear wooden top. 

He stills, fingers on the brim of his cap, elbow raised mid-air. 

He’s in so much fucking trouble.  

“Hey, baby, how–” he starts, before you cut him off sharply. 

“Are you ok?” you ask, more briskly than you intended. 

You clear your throat, willing your hoarse morning voice to sound softer when you ask again, “You’re not hurt or anything, are you?”

“No, baby, I’m good,” he answers, taking a few long strides towards you. “I’m sorry, I meant to call you before I got on the bus, but I think I left my phone here. And the ride home took forever, I don’t know how you had the patience to…”

He trails off, standing in front of you in his jacket, awkward and rigid. For the first time ever, he’s not certain of what you need. And something tells him he’d better step back until you’ve expressed it yourself.

The tension hangs heavy between you, but once your eyes have scanned his face and confirmed he’s alright, your lungs open up just a notch. 

Unfolding your arms, you lower your hands onto your lap, rubbing your clammy palms dry over your denim. 

His eyes quickly flicker to his gun and back to your face, and he takes another step closer.

“Ok,” you shoot, straightening up in your chair, your gaze plunging into his, “can you please tell me why we have a gun in the house?”

It’s not the question that’s driven you mad since they left the house earlier, but this one is considerably easier to formulate. 

His demeanour shifts immediately. He straightens up, planting his hands on his hips. 

“Listen, baby, it’s perfectly legal, alright? I got a permit, and you know I know how to use it.” 

He has the good sense not to point out the gap between your respective cultures, fully aware of your position on the matter of gun control anywhere in the world, but you’re standing up already, stubbornly facing him. 

“Whether or not you got a permit doesn’t make any goddamn difference to me, Frankie. I want it gone.”

He lifts off his cap, slowly runs his fingers through his hair, and you falter. 

This is not going the way you imagined, you didn’t intend to come at him with such aggressiveness, and your tone doesn’t reflect your confusion, certainly none of your fears, it only gives away your conflicted feelings. 

Sucking his teeth in, he tilts down his head, and his eyes disappear. 

“The gun’s not going anywhere, Gabrielle,” he hears himself state, and his point-blank refusal to comply derails you completely. 

“What kind of threat is there that requires that you keep this thing in here?”

“Intruders, burglars, some junky high on bath salts…” he enumerates, shaking his head.

You mirror the movement before you counter with what you expect to be a foolproof argument.

“And what if Benny did something stupid? He was drunk, what if he’d jumped you, for a joke? What if you’d hurt him?” 

Frankie's head shoots up, dark eyes devoid of all light staring you down with a hard gaze that has you swaying on your feet. He’s never looked at you like that, except… Except that first night at the bar. 

And like that first night at the bar, he can’t stop his mind from reeling into the wrong direction, despite your face telling him something entirely different. 

“Is this what this is about? You’re concerned I might have hurt him?” 

“Of course I am!” you answer, puzzled by his reaction. “Look, I’m sure you don’t need a gun. If ever someone breaks in, you can probably subdue them–“

“That’s Ironhead’s thing,” he cuts in.

“Well, you can knock them out, then–”

“That’d be Ben,” he all but spits out.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Frankie!”

You throw your palms up in irritation, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes that only fuel your exasperation.

Back in June, in his truck, he’d told you that he’d been too quick on the trigger, more often than not. Is that what you’re hinting at? Are you doubting his ability to keep you safe?

“Gabrielle, just drop it, ok? I’m asking you to drop it,” he warns, his voice a low threat that brooks no argument, and in turn you dig your heels in. 

“I can’t just drop it, Frankie, I’m sorry but–”

“Please,” he grits through his clenched jaw. 

Something gets stuck in your throat. You’re trying to breathe underwater. It’s escalating too quickly. 

You try to blink the tears off your prickling eyelids before they start running down your cheeks, you want to stab your nails into the back of your arms and draw blood, but the urge to touch him overthrows everything and you place your hands on his chest, palms down, splayed fingers, anchoring your body to his, grounding him to yours. 

“Frankie what’s happening, are we fighting?” you articulate around a repressed sob. 

His hands go to yours instinctively, covering them entirely, and he can’t tell which one of you is shaking, can’t explain how what he means to say is so far removed from the way he expresses it.

“No– no baby, no we’re not fighting, I just need you to understand–” he tries, but it’s too late, your words spill out in moving waves.

“Please, I don’t wanna fight, please, Frankie, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Benny barged in like that, I’m sorry, I don’t want him to hurt you anymore, I don’t want you to hurt yourself—“

“Baby, I’m fine, I’m ok,” he says, comprehension downing on him as your first tears roll down in rivulets to hang from the line of your jaw.

He closes the distance between you, cupping your face to rub them off with a stroke of his thumbs, standing so close your eyes flicker between his. 

“I’m sorry I overreacted—”

“Fuck no! You didn’t over— hey, listen to me Gabrielle, you didn’t overreact, I did,” he says, holding your head up when you try to hide. 

Your hands slide underneath his jacket and find the plane of his back, you bunch up his t-shit in your fists. 

“You just gotta let me watch over you the way I know how, baby, that’s all I ask, that’s all I need, for you to let me take care of you. I know you’re a big girl from a big city—“

“Oh but I’m not,” you cry, pressing your face into his neck, your next words muffled against his collarbone, “I’m scared, you left the room and I got so scared, and I don’t know if I’ll ever fit in here, there’s always something to remind me I don’t belong—“

The spectre of your departure resurfaces and Frankie hisses a sharp breath, a Pavlovian reaction to a pain stimulus. He focuses on the shape of you between his arms, the scent of you enveloping him, the taste of you only a kiss away. 

Broad hand cradling the crown of your head, he leans into your ear, his voice dropping to a low, soft murmur. 

“Last night was scary. You’re exhausted, we both are. We can talk about it later, ok?”

“Don’t leave me, Frankie, don’t leave me alone, I need—” you sob. “Merde, I feel so fucking stupid.”

His lips brush a smile against your temple, eyes closing at the contact of your skin. 

“Hey, I got an idea,” he says. “How about we take a trip to Paris, this spring? You can show me around the city? What do you say?”

He’s been thinking about it for a while, but has so far found himself physically unable to discuss it with you. The whole idea could backfire. What if going back there reminds you of everything you still miss? 

You’d said a purpose. And a goal. 

Between his large cupping hands, your face feels like an evocation, and he’s drawn in, endlessly, on a loop, back to you, to your skin. 

To the way it trembles between his pursed lips. A peek of his tongue to harvest the salty beads of your tears, to swallow the fear and sadness he vowed to see disappear, and you cling onto him with a murmured plea. 

“Take me to bed Frankie, plea–“

“Don’t you fucking say it,” he growls, and he crashes his mouth onto yours. You open up for him, sliding the thick jacket off his frame, knocking the worn-out cap off his head. 

—

The weak January sun, white and crisp through the treasured curtains, fills the bedroom with a hushed shade of orange, weaving together past and present. 

His first thrust inches into your tight warmth slow and measured, and he pauses between your hips to let you adjust. 

His hand a gentle grip around your jaw, he turns your face to the side and traces open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, a tender suck at the base of your neck, a hard bite on the slope of your shoulder, it makes you writhe underneath his body, crushed into the mattress by his weight, and you keen, legs bracketed around his waist, knees folded high around his torso, heels digging into the meat of his ass, urging him deeper. 

You need him rough and you need him now, you want to feel sore tomorrow and the day after, you want his girth remodelling you into the shape of him, only him, forever him.

But he controls the pace. Attuned to your reactions and the sensation of your clenching walls around him, clutching him, blending pain and pleasure, your entrance catching along his length. 

He shifts above you, tilting your head further to the side, the hardened tips of your nipples a soft drag against his skin, and you can’t breathe with his chest crushing your chest and he knows it, knows you want it this way. He moves inside you. Just a bit, not enough. You moan and you hear it through your need, through your want, like you’re running a fever, like a tiny, needy animal.

“Shhh baby,” he purrs in your ear, forehead to your temple, “I can’t move, I have to open you up for me.” 

The words scorch your skin. You burrow your nails into the taut muscles of his back, eyes shut so tight under your pinched brow you see stars, his lips raising goosebumps all over your body on their trail along your jawline.

“Frankie Frankie Frankie–” you say Frankie like you say please, and your cheek sinks deeper into the pillow.

“Shhh, you're gonna get it, baby, you're gonna get it.”

Your hips buck against the restraint of his mass, and it slips out of you, inaudible, weak and quick, too quick for you to stop it.  

“You looked so hot with that fucking gun, I–”

He stills with your earlobe trapped between his teeth, licks it better before he lets go.  

“What did you say?” 

The unwilling confession, making sense of your earlier fury. You shy away from the truth, a whining “non” stuck inside your throat, you try to hide from it, from him, the heels of your hands covering your eyes when you breathe out, “Nothing.”

His smile curls into your skin through a scrape of his whiskers, and he sinks into you, sudden, rough, deep, all the way down to the centre of you. 

You bite down your moan, pleasure-pain, head trashed back into the pillow, clenched teeth corded neck, pinned down underneath the overwhelming weight of him and everything he means to you.

“I heard you,” he groans, grinding into your heat, “I heard everything.” 

Everything you once dreaded. The contour of your fears, retraced, redefined. Innocuous, beyond the confines of his arms. 

—

Spring

“Can you fly this plane?” you whisper excitedly, adjusting your seatbelt. 

His eyebrows disappear in the overgrown curls hanging low on his forehead. He stills in his seat to stare at you.

“Baby, it’s a Boeing 767.”

“So yes?” 

The stewardess announces the imminent take-off for Roissy-Charles-de-Gaulle, her words nearly unintelligible through the buzzing noise of the overhead speakers.

“No, I can fly military aircraft, like C-12 Huron or MH-60 Black Hawk or–”

“So you could probably fly this one too?” you cut in. 

“No, Gabrielle, I can’t,” he huffs in disbelief.

“Have you ever tried?” 

The crease between his brow deepens, his eyes searching yours, scanning your face for any trace of teasing. 

“I– what? ‘Course not!”

“Aha!” you exclaim, triumphant. “So you probably can. You just don’t know it.”

He watches you bend forward to place a thick book in the seat-back pocket in front of you, and shifts his hips once again, trying to accommodate his breadth into the seat, before his eyes fly back to your face. 

His heart leaps into a painful somersault, like a punch in the sternum that radiates up to his neck and down to his gut. Backlit by the plane’s oval window, your dark profile looks like the Victorian cutout portraits in your treasure cabinet, and it’s like he’s known you his whole life and the ones before, like he’d find you in every reality he’s ever known, and all the ones he hasn’t. 

He lowers down his head, remembering to breathe. Something settles down inside him. A gnawing anxiety that had been steadily flaring since he’d book the tickets. He’d find you. In every reality. 

“Do you really need to be this fucking cute?” he mutters.

“I’m not cute, Frankie, I’m serious! Now tell me, how do you feel about spending the next 7 hours crammed into this seat?”

A flash of pink as the tip of his tongue peeks between his parted lips. A wink.

“It’s ok. I’m used to fitting into tight spaces.”

—

Small. 

Everything looks small. 

The entire city has changed. New, modern infrastructures, subway lines extensions, bicycle lanes everywhere, roadworks on every corner and a new mayor.

All of it, small. 

The streets are too narrow, the ceilings hang too low, the cars look like toys and the buildings like doll houses frozen in time because nothing measures up to Frankie’s height, breadth, or dimple. 

The man shrunk your old world when he expanded your horizon.  

You walk down the streets that saw you becoming who you are through happiness, loss and pain, strutting about like you know something no one else does. 

The Airbnb you picked is on the south side of the place Gambetta. The Marais was appealing. More expensive but more central, fancy but not too much, but you finally decided against it. The 20e arrondissement is your neighbourhood, your home. It’s where your grandparents are buried. 

There’s something incongruous, bordering on comical, about playing house with him in the tiny, typically Parisian apartment overlooking the Père Lachaise. The kitchen’s a corridor, and there’s no way for him to fit comfortably inside the shower cubicle. The bed is a full size, and if you knew not to expect anything bigger, Frankie’s eyes widened in bewilderment at the doll-sized bedding. 

“Gonna break that thing,” he grunted, testing the mattress. 

The first time you step into the métro, you take in the particular stench, and the realisation that you missed even that pulls at your chest with a sharp pang. But the nostalgia is smothered by the sight of Frankie squeezing into one of the narrow seats of the line 3.

The first couple of days are spent sightseeing the touristic landmarks of the capital, following the military schedule you’ve drafted. You don’t even try to hold back as you recount the many anecdotes behind every famous church, park or building, giving him what you self-derisively label, “the leftist historical tour of Paris.” 

If there’s one place where you’ve always had enough space to be you, unapologetically so, it’s with him. 

Here, you don’t need any maps, apps or directions, and Frankie diligently follows, listens, asks follow-up questions that prompt more thorough explanations, drinking up your self-confidence. 

Sure, Paris is nice. But it’s not the buildings he's looking at. 

His big girl. Growing up on her own in this big city.  

Hiding, yet standing tall on that fire escape, your heart rabbiting under the pulse point of your neck, bravely withholding his gaze. Leaving the party with him, your smaller hand squeezing his bigger one as he parted the crowd for you, for the two of you. 

He’s only ever had eyes for you. From the very beginning.

With his preference for modern art in mind, you’ve arranged the third day around the visit of Beaubourg, then the MaM halfway across town, which will bring you near the Eiffel Tower, you announce over breakfast, and that’s when he gently puts his foot down. 

“Baby, take me to Orsay, will you?” he asks softly. “I wanna see that blurry painting you told me about. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don't really give a— I don’t really care about the Eiffel Tower and all that stuff. I’d rather go to the cemetery. Or see your high school.”

You look up from your tartine, a toasted piece of bread stuck in your throat that you try to gulp down, and you stare at him blankly. A fixed, intense gaze that has him flinching, creasing his brow, has he fucked up the whole thing now?

“You wanna see my high school?” you repeat, and when he nods, you add quietly, “Do you really need to be this fucking cute, Morales?”

Your high school, your university, the bars in Pigalle and Ménilmontant where you hung out as a student, your favourite bookstores, antique stores, bridges, museums, artist’s studios, paintings… 

It’s been decades since you’ve walked the narrow, quiet lane where your grandparents rented a three-room apartment. Years of repressed emotions have confused your recollection, and you breathe uneasy and short because you don’t recognise the grey stone building where you supposedly spent your first years. 

Frankie holds your hand. You lean into it. 

Later, walking in silence towards the family grave along the pebbles alleys on the east side of the Père Lachaise, you keep your head down and the tendon in Frankie’s jaw is pulled taut, ready to snap. 

But his gaze, strained on you, is warmer than the late March sun that draws pale, ephemeral patterns under your feet through the lush green foliage of the century-old chestnut and lime trees. 

His arm wraps around the haunched slope of your shoulders. It’s heavy. Grounding. He draws you in to his side, and pecks a kiss on the crown of your head, your hand sliding inside the back pocket of his jeans. 

You look up at his sharp profile, and he’s more beautiful than any of the works of art you’ve shown him this past week, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen. 

The bare-patch on his jaw calls to your lips, but instead you reassure him, “I’m good, Frankie,” because his bashful, dimpled smile makes you, because in his arms, you are. 

The sprawling, romantic necropolis has remained the same to you, a place of solace, a refuge, a hideout. 

The wardens are blowing their whistles to signal closing time when you reluctantly leave the cemetery. It’s cold now, the sun has given up and recessed behind pearly grey clouds. 

Back in the small rental, Frankie follows you to the cramped bathroom when you go wash your hands. He watches you, leaning against the sink counter, crossed ankles, crossed arms. Tense muscles and knots.

“Where’s your mother now? Does she still live in Paris?”

Your eyes dart to the door frame on your left, on instinct, but Frankie’s massive frame is preventing any form of deflection or escape. Your body stiffens, you focus on your hands.

“Last I heard, they moved to a new fancy apartment they bought in les Batignolles. That’s in the 17e arrondissement,” you add, like that means anything to him. “But I’m not taking you there, Frankie, I can’t.”

“Not asking you to, baby. I want to know if he is still around.”

Your chest hollows under his words, hands clutching the beige towel. The faded scar tissues on the back of your arms itching like a million microscopic blades picking them open.

Everything you never said, never told anyone. Everything you convinced yourself never really happened, or wasn’t really that bad. Everything you kept inside, thickening the walls of your heart, weighing you down, because the only person you needed, and who you asked for help, had called you a liar. 

Under his creased brow, his eyes are black as midnight sky. They’re looking straight into you. Contemplating that thing you lost, like a constituent piece that fell off and you replaced with something else. Aloofness, distance. Orange curtains. 

He pushes himself up to his intimidating full height and you recoil involuntarily, but he doesn’t let you. He grips your face with both hands, his palms scorching your cold skin, and between them, you’re fully exposed, bared, left with nowhere to hide, nowhere to bury your secrets.  

“I will hurt anyone who tries to hurt you, Gabrielle. Do you understand? Say that you understand.”

His words are quiet. Firm, steady, collected. 

“I understand,” you whisper, and you clasp his wrists so you won't feel the ghost weight of his gun between your hands. “I want you to.”

He nods. 

“You are mine.”

You nod. 

You know you are. 

—

Everything looks smaller. 

Shrunk down by his height, breadth and smiling eyes. 

The city hasn’t changed. But you have. You know something no one else does. 

—

The day before you fly back, you meet for lunch with Laura outside the Hôtel de Ville. 

She hadn’t minced her words –she never does– expressing her disappointment when you’d announced you wouldn’t come back at the end of your hiatus. But everything has long since been forgiven. 

Sitting across the dark-haired woman in her early fifties, you chat excitedly over sushi you forget to eat. Crammed into a ridiculously tiny metal chair on your left, he feels the bespectacled gaze of your former boss scrutinising him.  

Within hours after you landed in Roissy, your accent had thickened. Today, it has reached an all-time high. It’s the longest Frankie has ever heard you speak in your native language. 

Your voice sounds higher, in French. You speak so much faster, with a lot of hand gestures punctuating the throaty sounds cascading from your pretty lips. He focuses on his chopstick skills, trying his very best to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. 

It’s clear the two of you are more friends than colleagues. You had described her as your mentor. And from the dynamics he observes, there is obvious mutual respect. Which partly explains your instant hatred for Tom. 

Laura thinks you look different. You might have put on some weight, you say. She shakes her head, grinning knowingly. That’s not what she meant. 

Under your shirt, nested in the curve of your neck, sits a bruise in the shape of his teeth, blood underneath the surface of your skin blooming like a red peony. 

The waiter clears the dishes and Frankie walks up to the counter to pick up the tab. 

Laura leans closer to you over the narrow table. 

“Je comprends que tu n’aies pas voulu rentrer [I understand why you didn’t want to come home],” she starts, and with a tilt of her chin towards Frankie’s solid figure, she adds, “Bien joué, Miss Tourneur [Well done, Miss Tourneur].”

She gladly agrees to give Frankie a tour of the Bibliothèque, a historical institution situated on the fourth floor of the central city hall. In the elevator, your heartbeat gallops up your throat. The life you chose, the life you once led. 

The spacious reading room’s concave wooden ceiling is like the upside-down hull of a ship. When you step in, you’re overwhelmed by the faint musty smell of old books, mingled with that of the dusty carpets. You missed that too, but the feeling no longer tears at your chest. 

A few former colleagues come to greet you, and you watch Frankie and Laura from the corner of your eye as she explains, in her approximate English, what your work as a librarian entailed, praising your skills and knowledge. 

Frankie watches you too. He knows he’s doing a poor job of concealing his pride. He couldn’t care less. 

Before you leave, you lead him up to the rooftop of the building through narrow metal stairs. Culminating at a 48 metres height, in the very heart of Paris, the vantage point offers a breathtaking 360° view over the urban canopy of tin roofs. 

“Whenever I’d get a chance,” you tell him, “I’d come here for my lunch break.”

“Hiding again?” he grins. 

“Hiding again,” you admit, “but not only. I’d look up at the clouds, and if I was lucky enough to see a plane fly by, I would pretend you were flying it.”

Years of chasing the shadow of him, years of searching for traces of you. 

—

“Thank you for bringing her back!”

Rosie’s attempt at casualness is not fooling either of you. Frankie flashes a mock military salute and hauls the luggage into Rosie’s car trunk, hiding his grin behind the decklid. In all fairness to Rosie, he wasn’t so smug himself, on the day Pope drove you to the airport. 

It’s not a long drive from Newark, but the car progresses slowly through the late afternoon traffic. The New York City skyline stands out in orange hues. Everything is too big again. Too large. Too tall. But it’s fine. Everything’s on scale. 

The keys to the house jingle in your hand before Rosie exists the New Jersey turnpike, and you’re first to pass the front door, Frankie heaving the luggage behind you. 

You’re so exhausted you could sleep for days, but you’ll have to open the store tomorrow at 10am. 

Frankie goes straight to the bedroom and you hear the heavy thud of your suitcase hitting the floor, followed by the softer one of his rucksack. 

When you join him, bringing two glasses of water, you find him lying on the gigantic bed, arms sprawled, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

On scale. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” you ask him, crawling onto the bed next to him, curling into his side. His arm wraps around you. 

“I sure did. That tour guide really knew her shit. Easy on the eyes, too.”

You chuckle tiredly, his chest rising and falling slowly under the palm of your hand. 

“Could we go to Rome, next year?” you ask. 

“We can go wherever you want, baby.”

“Even— even San Diego?”

He pauses for a beat before he answers. 

“Sure. Anywhere you want.”

You scoot closer to tuck your face into his neck, and you lie together in silence for a little while. A pleasant heaviness is slowly claiming your weary limbs. 

“Why does the trip back always feel longer?” you mumble. 

“What are you talking about?” he shakes his head, a smile in his voice, “You slept the whole flight.”

Your cheek resting against the slope of his shoulder, your hand on his thigh, one day he would tell you, that being airborne with you had been the best part. 

“It’s true,” you shrug, “I guess I just couldn’t wait to come back home.”

***

Bonus: Frankie & Gabrielle 🧡

Source

****

Dedications 🧡

Kelli. You started all this, but where do I start? I don't know if you remember the first letter you ever sent me, and what it said, and I don't know if you remember when I first told you about this orange bedroom idea, last summer. But I do. You’ve held my hand, like you always do. Your guidance and validation and support saw me through. Because you’re impossibly generous, with your time and patience and advice, you’re unbelievably kind, intelligent, talented and insightful. I’ve learnt so much from you already, about writing, about myself. You inspire me to reach higher. It's exhausting, but I love you for it. Oh yeah, and you beta-read this fucking monster too! Everything that is good in me this story, is good thanks to you. You turned my black heart orange. Kelli, I love you 🧡 @frannyzooey

Dreamy bby, my purple beauty, my beloved, my angst master genius, how many times have I come to you crying and whining and complaining, telling you I was giving up? Please don’t answer, it’s too fucking embarrassing. You kept my head above water, with love, kindness and humour. What did I do to deserve you? Beats me. Also I'm sorry but I love you more. Ha! Thank you 🧡 @dreamymyrrh

Ren, you’ve pulled me out of the ditch in a heartbeat more times than I care to count, because you are a genius and a wonderful friend. You are the reason I found a home in this fandom. You are my Reine, and I adore you. Thank you 🧡 @the-ginger-hedge-witch 

Nicole my love, I know I’m repeating myself, but you are the first person ever to read the first chapter of PTMY. I sent it to you for your opinion, but really for your encouragement because I was absolutely terrified, and you delivered, you always do, you beautiful, beautiful friend. Thank you for your investment in this story and its characters. Watching you go from team Benny to team Frankie to team Benny and team Frankie again is seriously one of the greatest achievements of my life! Thank you 🧡 @nicolethered

Cee my darling. You gave me the final push to press post and you haven’t stopped encouraging me and supporting me since. You've lent a patient and kind ear to my doubts and fears, you’ve given me the most thoughtful feedbacks a friend could ask for, you let me stand on your shoulders, you give me strength to stand up for myself. In many ways, I carried on because you gave me the validation and self-confidence I so desperately need(ed). Thank you 🧡 @fuckyeahdindjarin 

Deadmantis. Girl, Frankie really owes you one, because Gabriele stayed mainly thanks to you! I owe you an even bigger one for the love you’ve given them, and the orange bedroom. You know them like no one else. Your asks have fuelled me, they still do. I could never repay you, but please know that I am infinitely grateful to you. Thank you 🧡 @deadmantis

Lua. You rascal. You gave me the levity I so badly needed in a thick river of ANGST. I’m very selfishly hoping you never stop making me guilty by dropping Benny into my ask box. A million thank you 🧡 @pedrit0-pascalit0

And to my two favourite Anons, 🍻 and 🥖, I fucking love you to pieces. Thank you thank you thank you 🧡🧡🧡

****

Taglist (thank you 🧡):  @elegantduckturtle  @mashomasho  @lola766  @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine  @nicolethered  @littleone65  @bands-tv-movies-is-me  @the-rambling-nerd  @saintbedelia  @pedrostories  @trickstersp8  @all-the-way-down-here  @deadmantis  @hbc8  @princessdjarin  @harriedandharassed  @girlofchaos  @gracie7209  @mrsparknuts  @mylostloversbookmarks

[pimosworld]

The story of us chapter 4

Triple frontier boys x f!reader

Summary-Set before you and the boys are officially together and how it came to be.

CW-18+,MDNI,angst,fluff,comfort,mutual pining, illusions to sex. No further warnings as to not spoil the story

WC-3.6k

Chapter summary-Benny takes you on a date.

Notes-See series Masterlist for full story notes. This chapter is so fluffy I couldn’t handle it. Benny being his sweet adorable self and Frankie being a tad jealous.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter IV Going steady ————————————

You don’t know how you ended up in this situation,Your back pressed against Frankie’s chest as he winds his arms around you pulling you closer, Benny is placing soft feather light kisses up your legs as you’re trembling trying to keep your nerves at bay. You’ve never felt so exposed and aroused at the same time. You can feel Frankie’s growing bulge pressed into your back as he kisses and nips at your neck,the sensations of both of them too much and not enough at the same time. Frankie squeezes your breast through your lace bra causing a small gasp to leave your lips as Benny breathes a hot breath just over where you need him the most. You ball your fist in the sheet as you attempt to keep your whines to yourself. 

  “She’s so responsive and we’ve barely touched her.” Frankie’s voice in your ear is dripping with lust as he glides his hand down your stomach.

  “You should see how wet she is, Fish, it’s a beautiful sight.” Your lace panties are soaked with your arousal and you should be embarrassed at how on display you are but your body is on fire. Desperately wanting them to touch you more and more. 

  “I don’t need to see Ben,I can just feel.” Frankie slowly trails his fingers down lower tucking just above your waist band, you arch your back into his touch as you gasp for air. It’s like the air can’t reach your lungs and suddenly you're panicking. How did you get here? What is happening? 

  Your vision is starting to blur and you think you may be having a panic attack as you jolt upright…alone in your room. You’re in your bed, still fully clothed from last night as you try to gain your bearings. 

  The early morning sun is just starting to peek through your windows as you calm your breathing. You lay back with a thud on your pillow as you stare at the ceiling unsure of what just transpired. 

  Did you seriously just have an almost sex dream about two of your best friends? 

  Grappling with the fact that you’re upset it ended so soon. You had a boyfriend less than 24 hours ago. It’s too soon to be having these thoughts, or maybe it’s too late. 

  You need a shower and some food and maybe a therapist to help figure out these thoughts, but first shower.You make your way to your attached bathroom and peel off your clothes from last night, stopping first to admire yourself in the mirror. It’s the first time in months despite your dream that you’ve felt this good. Mike had completely destroyed your self esteem, it wasn’t like you to feel such negative thoughts about yourself. You’ve always been confident in your appearance and the way you carried yourself. It’s like you’re looking at a new person but somehow the same person from before. 

  As the hot water washes over you, you can wash away all the things you’ve held back for the last several months. It’s not bittersweet at all,knowing your boys all but forcibly removed him from your life so that you could live a better one. 

  You can’t kick the feeling from your dream, what it felt like having them touch you, or imagine what it would feel like as you draw your fingers between your legs. Touching yourself where you wanted Frankie to, as he almost did before your brain rudely ripped you from your fantasy. Your fingers aren’t nearly as big and long as his as you slowly pump your fingers, your thumb drawing circles around your clit as your breathing picks up. Soft whimpers of his name leave your lips as you come down from your climax. 

  ****

  “Remind me to never sleep on the floor again.” Santi groans and stretches his back as he sits up against the couch. Silently cursing himself for not jumping on the guest bedroom before Will.

  “Well at least you didn’t have Ben's foot in your face all night.” Frankie is somehow sandwiched between both of Ben's legs and unsuccessfully tries to pry the younger man off. 

  “I slept great.” Ben's muffled voice into the couch pillow is barely audible. 

  Will saunters into the room looking pleasantly pleased with himself and definitely well rested.

  “I’m gonna start some coffee, and see what she’s got in the fridge for breakfast.”

  “I’ll help,I need to get off this hard floor before I end up stuck here.” Santi isn’t sure what creaks the most when he stands,the floor or his bones and he can hear Benny chuckling into the couch pillow. 

  “I’ll go check on sleeping beauty.” Frankie tosses the younger man aside so he can stand and stretch. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and pick up the living room.” He groans but obeys. 

  Frankie knocks lightly on your door awaiting a response before he slowly opens it. You’re not in the bed obviously as he takes in your clothes from last night leading a trail to the bathroom. He can hear the water running through the small crack in the door.

  He hasn’t been in your room in awhile as he makes his way over to your dresser, a small smile tugs at his lips as he stares at the photo of the five of you in delta. You’re sprawled across them as they hold you up, Ben insisted on the photo and Tom begrudgingly took it not wanting to be a part of the “shenanigans” as he put it. 

  He’s pulled from the memory as he hears you crying? Of course you’re upset, the dramatics of the entire night probably caught up with you this morning. He hopes you’re not having second thoughts but how could you want someone like Mike back in your life. They should leave when you’re out of the shower to give you some privacy. 

  Your cries turn to whimpers and he faintly hears his name, suddenly his feet don’t work as he’s rooted to the spot in your room. 

  “Frankie.”

  He’s absolutely sure of it now and he still can’t will his feet to move, he wants to move toward you but that would be inappropriate. Maybe not more inappropriate than what he was currently doing. He knows what you’re doing in the shower but he can’t let his mind wander too far into why you’re saying his name. If he does he’ll have a hard time explaining the growing bulge in his pants or why he’s been in your room for so long. 

  The sound of the shower turning off finally has him moving quickly out of the room before you emerge from the bathroom in whatever state you’re in that certainly wouldn’t help him. 

  “Did you help our girl wake up?” Benny says from the kitchen island already eating of course. 

  “What!…no she was awake, she was in the shower.” He’s stammering over his words as if they had any idea what he heard. 

  Get a grip man

  “She’ll be out soon I’m sure.” Will looks at him awkwardly over his coffee mug as Frankie slides up next to Benny. 

  Santi hands him a mug of black coffee as he raises an eye at him. “ You look like you need this…maybe too much tequila last night?”

  Frankie takes off his signature cap as he runs his fingers nervously through his hair. “Ya maybe.”

  ****

  The smell of coffee and bacon wafts through your house as you make your way to the kitchen. 

  Santi,Frankie and Will are settled at your kitchen table engaging in quiet conversation. The sight is so domestic and welcoming you can't help the smile that spreads across your face. You missed this so much, it’s hard to press down the pang of guilt that you feel for shutting them out of your lives for someone who didn’t deserve to be a part of it. 

  You don’t have time to comment on Benny missing from the table before you’re  being hoisted in the air causing you to yelp in surprise. 

  “Jesus Ben put her down.” 

  “She’s fine Will, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

  His strength never ceases to amaze you and right now with your dream still fresh in your mind, you wished he would do anything but put you down. 

  “I’ll be fine after some coffee and food.”

  He places you down and turns you to face him as he places a kiss on your forehead. His hands suddenly feel hot on your skin as you stare into those baby blue eyes. Somewhere behind you you hear a throat clear and Benny releases you from his grip.

  “Coffee and food coming right up sweetheart.”

  Frankie sends an interesting look towards Benny but casts his eyes down to his plate once he meets yours. You know he has no idea what you dreamed of or what you did in the shower but you can’t help shake that feeling,like he knows something. He can’t possibly know. 

  “I see we have a thief among us.” Santi grins sickeningly sweet at you as he sips his coffee. 

  “I’m sorry, did I take something from you?” You reach across the table to grab a piece of his bacon as he captures your wrist playfully. 

  “Oh no no, you can’t have my shirt and my bacon.” 

“I’ve taken temporary ownership of this shirt,technically that’s not stealing.” There’s a glint in his eye as he slowly lets go of your wrist. 

  This is a very dangerous game you’re playing 

  “Breakfast is served and coffee is just as sweet as you.” Benny slides into the seat next to you with a plate twice the size of yours. It never ceases to amaze you how much that boy could eat. 

  “Someone’s laying it on thick.” Frankie half mumbles to himself, you don’t catch it but the rest of them do as you all finish your breakfast in silence.

  ****

  “Will I swear if you try and wash those dishes I’m never gonna let you leave,you’ve already done enough.” You gently wrap your arms around his waist and pull him from the kitchen sink.

  “Alright sweetheart but I will be back on my day off to fix that hole, I’m not taking no for an answer.” You raise your arms in defeat knowing that there’s no point arguing once he’s set his mind to something. 

  Being alone sounds like the last thing you want right now but you know they’ve got things to do and you can’t ask anymore of them, at least not yet. Santi leaves first promising to check on you in the coming days. 

  Frankie hasn’t quite been himself since the night before but promises to call you, he said he needed to talk to you in private which wasn’t out of the ordinary but something about it left you feeling uneasy. As Frankie and Will make their way out Ben has made his way into the kitchen to help you clean, so uncharacteristically like him. 

  “Ben let’s go, Frankie is our ride.” Will glances at Ben, words unspoken between them in silent communication. 

  “Ugh ya just give me a minute I’ll be right out.” Will hesitantly waits in the door but acquiesces to head outside. 

  “You don’t have to help me finish, I promise I’ve washed dishes before.” He seems nervous suddenly quieter than you’ve ever known him to be. He looks over his shoulder ensuring you’re alone. 

  “ I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab dinner and a movie later?” 

  “I’d love to, but I thought the guys were busy tonight?” You haven’t looked up from the dishes so of course you don’t notice him staring at you, hoping you’ll see in his eyes what he’s truly asking without having to say it out loud.

  “No, I…meant maybe just you and I?” You stop for a moment to look at him. It’s the first time since last night that you feel something growing there. A side of him that’s vulnerable and sincere. 

  He’s holding his breath and he’s not sure how long it’s been, seconds or minutes awaiting your response. It’s torture and he thinks maybe he’s misread this whole thing and that Santi was right. He’s completely screwed this up and now he’ll have to live with the awkwardness of your rejection. Maybe he can move to another country like Santi does every few years and you’ll forget he ever asked.

  “I’d love to.” Whatever this is, you know you can’t second guess yourself anymore. You’ll dive headfirst into new territory because the butterflies in your stomach are telling you to leap. You can’t help the laughter that escapes as he lets out an audible breath. 

  “I’ll pick you up at seven, dress casual.”

  “Oh so you’ve had time to think this through, I’m impressed.” His cheeks grow hot at the flattery as you dry your hands and stare deep into his eyes, he leans in pulling you into a hug as he inhales your scent. The honk of Frankie’s truck snaps you out of your blissful moment and you can hear his silent curse as he releases you from his arms. 

  “I’ll see you later,Honey.” 

  Watching him walk the short path down your steps doesn’t feel bittersweet anymore. There’s a new excitement there of what’s to come. 

  ****

Golden Girls

                                 I've got a hot date tonight 😋

  Pope 🙏🏼: Sounds nice who's the lucky guy?

                            Haha obviously it’s Honey

  Bro:Don’t be out late you have training early 

          Ay ay captain 🫡

  BDM🐈🐠:Goodluck 

  I don’t need luck I have my boyish good looks 😏

  Pope🙏🏼: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

         Poor choice of words 

  Pope🙏🏼: I’m serious 

                I will be on my best behavior

****

  It’s actually pretty embarrassing how much time you’ve spent trying to find something to wear tonight. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in all your various outfits over the years. Your room looks like a bomb went off as you desperately tried to finish getting ready and notice it’s already 6:45. This is supposed to be a casual date, so why does it feel like you’re going to a highschool dance with your first crush. 

  You finally decide on jeans and a black v neck blouse, heels are definitely too formal so you opt for some strappy black sandals to match. It’s just dinner and a movie get a hold of yourself.

  The doorbell rings a moment later,not to your surprise. You all couldn’t shake the punctuality of being in the military. It dawns on you that you didn’t even bother to ask where you were going or what movie you were seeing,not that it mattered but curiously you wonder what sort of date would Ben plan for you. Not some tinder date or a girl he just met but you.

  When you open the front door you’re greeted by a very smiley handsome man with a bouquet of flowers. A very large bouquet. 

  “I didn’t think it was appropriate to let myself in two nights in a row.” It’s bold of him to try and joke about the previous night's events so soon and perhaps a mistake when your mouth falls agape. But he’s relieved at your laughter as you grab the bouquet with one hand and playfully smack his chest with the other. 

  “Did you buy the entire floral shop?” You tease as you make your way to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase, it’s on a shelf you can’t reach, never bothering to bring it down since Mike never bought you flowers. 

  “I didn’t know if you had a favorite but you don’t seem like the rose type so I picked the rest.” He walks up behind you pressing his back to yours as he reaches above you for the vase. Your heart stops for a moment as you fill the vase with water,he’s barely moved an inch and you can feel the heat radiating off his body. 

  “These are beautiful,thank you.” You turn to face him and finally take in his appearance. He’s wearing a black button down and jeans, his hair is slicked back. You’re so used to his mussed up golden locks that it takes you aback. 

  “We’re matching like those couples who’ve been together a long time.” Oh my god what did you just say. Evidently you want to make this as awkward as possible before the date even starts. 

  “I mean…I don’t mean we’re a couple, it’s just we’re matching and.” He can’t help but laugh, your nervous rambling actually puts him at ease. He had been so nervous all day that it hadn’t occurred to him that you were in the same predicament. 

  “Sweetheart don’t worry, we can pretend to be one of those couples…it’ll be our little secret.” 

  “Oh I’m glad you find this amusing.” You lightly shove at his chest and move to grab your purse from the kitchen table. “By the way I never asked where we’re going.”

  “Well you know that theater downtown?” You nod patiently waiting for his response. “Once a month they show old movies and I know how much you love Romeo and Juliet, so I figured we could see that.” He shuffles nervously on his feet, watching your movements as you stare blankly at him.

  “We could always do something else if I totally misread this.” It’s your turn to laugh now because of course he remembered how much you loved that movie and why you settled for so long you’re unsure. 

  “I would love to pretend to be a couple and see Romeo and Juliet.” You clasp your hands together and pop your foot as he looks at you unamused.

  “Okay so you think this is funny, well dinner isn’t as romantic unfortunately, I figured since we’re going to the movie first we could get burgers at Jim’s diner down the street.” It’s a relief that you’re not going to a fancy dinner honestly, you don’t think your heart could handle much more. 

  “As long as we share a milkshake like those pretend couples do.” 

  “Sure thing Honey.”

  ****

  You and Ben were having too much fun pretending to be a couple. It helped calm your nerves though. It wasn’t awkward at all when he held your hand to walk into the theater or when he placed his arm around you so that you could rest comfortably on him while you watched the movie. He even went as far as feeding you popcorn despite your protests.

  You could tell that he watched you for most of the film, as hard as he tried to hide it. Every time you looked at him during one of your favorite parts it seemed he was already looking at you. Enjoying the way you were so at peace. He could definitely get used to this. Nothing about it felt wrong, it felt like coming back to a place you had lost. 

  You shared a chocolate milkshake like he had promised and couldn’t contain your laughter when the waitress said you made a very cute couple. 

  He held your hand as he drove you the whole way home and you secretly hoped he wasn’t pretending anymore. 

  “I’ll walk you up to your house like a true gentleman.” Oh, you assumed he would at least want to come in for a little but maybe this was some act to take your mind off the breakup. Maybe you had misread the entire thing and soon things would go back to the way they were. He can sense you’re spiraling, but you’re already opening the car door to evade this embarrassment. 

  “Hey,talk to me where did you go?” He’s practically chasing you as you try to reach your doorstep. 

  “I just thought you might want to come in for a little but…it’s nothing I’m just being sensitive.” Now is absolutely not the time to cry as you try and look anywhere but his concerned eyes. He slowly grabs your hands so as not to startle you as he rubs soothing circles on your wrists. 

  “I would love to come in and stay and continue being a pretend couple but Will has me on a strict schedule and I promised him I’d be home to get some rest.” You can’t say you’re not disappointed but definitely relieved.

  “Sorry I may have overreacted. It's just been a crazy 24 hours.” He laughs and shakes his head as he pulls out his key to your house to let you in. “I promise our next date I’ll stay for as long as you want me too.” He starts the walk down your path and you swear you could get used to him walking away.

  As you close your front door, you’re met with a knock on the other side. He’s standing there waiting on the threshold and you couldn’t wipe the confused look off your face if you tried. 

  “I forgot something.” You don’t remember him bringing anything and you don’t have a chance either as he steps into your space grabbing your face with both hands as he leans in and kisses you. Instinctively you lean into it as he cradles your head and wraps an arm around your waist pulling you into him. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt and maybe a little like Romeo and Juliet. As you part ways to catch your breath he’s just staring at you with a wide smile on his face.

  “Pretend couples always kiss.” 

  Yes, you were in a very dangerous game. 

Prev/Next

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

@luciferiorbxtch @casa-boiardi @alwaysdjarin @meveispunk @littlenosoul @evyiione @spngingerbread21 @shesa-riott @quijano5702 @the-fox-den @saturn-rings-writes @romanarose

Tagged a few extra who I thought might be interested in chapter updates

[romanarose]

Puzzle Pieces Drabbles part 1

Ben Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're dating Tom, a whirlwind romance that came at a low point in your life. Within months, you live with him and he's not as nice as he was in the begining. Tom does things that upset you, Benny finds a way to make it better.

Warnings: IDK what to call this but it's def shitty behavior throughout. Will progressively get worse during the series but let's start with this. Drinking. Messing up something that you spent time on. Emotional cheating and eventually some kissing cheating. Im not doing full series warnings because I don't know what everything will contain. We'll do it chapter by chapter.

A/N: This will be a short series of comfort drabbles where Tom does something shitty and Ben makes it better. No smut. I'm at a low point rn and just want softness.

*****************

Tom was supposed to text you before he brought people over.

It wasn't that you disliked his friends, they were all very kind and respectful of your home. If one was dropping by or it was a spur of the moment thing it was no big deal, but you didn't like having all of them over without warning. There was laundry on the couch and no snacks ready. You were sure they'd be drunk.

"Hey baby!" Tom greets loudly as he walks in, finding you in the kitchen putting some chips in a bowl. He squeezes your ass as he kisses you. You didn't like when he did that around others, he said he was just showing off his sexy girlfriend.

"Hi!" You kiss him back, so excited he's home early you don't mind the booze on his breath. You turn around and set the bowl at the kitchen island, smiling brightly at Frankie, Will, Santi, Ben and a few friends you only sort of knew. It was Ben your eyes lingered on the longest, he was your favorite, always so much fun when he came over.

Ben grinned at you. "I see you finished the puzzle!"

"I did!" Sliding to the kitchen table, giddy to show off your project, you grab the corners. The puzzle was huge, a giant baby Yoda puzzle you were proud of after all the hours spent on it. Ben was over a few days ago when you were working on it. "Look!" You'd seen it on tin tok, practicing pulling a puzzle off the table and keeping it intact. With pride, you hold it up for Tom and his friends to see, beaming. A few so's and ah's came from the guys.

Tom laughed. "oh, is that what you were doing instead of laundry?" And you catch Will glaring at him.

You mumble an apology, and begin to try and lay it down when Tom insists you hold it up again. For a moment, you're happy he wants to see your hard work.

Until he smacks it down.

You watch in shock as all the pieces tumble to the floor, clattering at the tiles. Heat burns at your face in embaressment, unable to look up to see who is laughing at you, because some people are.

When you hear Frankie shout 'What the fuck, Tom!', Tom retaliates that it's just a stupid puzzle from a stupid show.

You're ashamed at having been excited for something Tom thinks is stupid.

The argument escalates but you can't see, kneeling down to pick up the mess. Fuck, the floors needed to be washed too. Tears burned in your eyes and you willed yourself not to cry. You hear Frankie say he needs to step out, and out of the corner of your eye you see Will taking him outside, being the only one who could match his height and weight.

You're tears blur your vision, you don't even realize someone is helping you clean. Wiping them, to see Ben on the floor with you picking up the last few before standing and putting them in the box. Christ he was tall.

"Thank you." You whisper, sniffling.

"Don't thank me." His voice was deep, a thick southern drawl you liked. He sat at the table. "C'mon, honey, let's get started."

When you stand, you look at him in confusion. "Huh."

Ben smiles at you. "The puzzle. Ain't gonna let you do this without me a second time. I love baby Yoda."

Tentatively, you sit at the table with him and get to work on fixing your puzzle. Chunks were still intact, so it wasn't a complete wash.

By the time the guys came back in, you were smiling and laughing again, halfway through the puzzle once more.

**************

That's it, super simple.

I know I should be doing my DBF Joel fix today but I've had an awful time and just want soft rn

I'll do a separate tag list for this bc it's Garret, not Pedro or Oscar so lmk if you wanna be tagged.

or follow @romana-after-dark for updates

Tagging a few people I know read Benny fics

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction@itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @missdictatorme

[wysteria-clad]

The Kiss stays on

paring: Benny Miller x fem! reader; established relationship

warnings: suggestive themes, but nothing explicit

genre: fluff

a/n:

Benjamin Miller being the best boyfriend ever 🤧❤️

------

Right when he was about to leave to hang out with the guys, you put on your favorite red lipstick and kissed him—his neck, his jaw, and his lips.

You wanted to do it as a joke—a teasing.

It was one of the nights where the guys hung out together, to catch up, to reminisce, bully eachother playfully—and whatever it is a band of brothers do usually.

His hand slides down to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss.

You pull away after few seconds, reminding him he had to leave or he would be late for it. But he tugs your waist, pulling you closer to him again.

"Babe, you are gonna be late," you manage to utter those words, your lips parting in a half moan, half sigh as he sucked on the sweet spot behind your ear. It was an excuse for yourself mostly. You knew if he continued, you won't be able to stop.

But his hands don't let you go. His fresh cologne, the hotness of his wet mouth on your tender skin was too much. His large hands slides up to cup your breasts under your top.

Your breath hitches in your throat. "Baby, I'm seriou-," you yelp slightly feeling the sharpness of his bite on your hot skin. You let an unrestrained moan.

Abruptly, he pulls away. It's definitely gonna leave a bruise.

Even though you told him to hurry and leave, you groan internally at the lack of...his touch at your proximity.

He has a knowing, satisfied smirk on his face. Satisfied with how much he has turned you on without uttering a single word.

That teasing bastard.

He turns around to leave.

"Wait, you have my lipstick on your face."

"No, the kiss stays on" he swats your hand playfully when you reached out to wipe your lipstick marks. His eyes glints with pride.

"They are gonna make fun of you-"

"I don't care, they know the rules. Let them see how much my girl loves me" he smiles down at you and tilts your face up by placing a finger under your chin.

My girl.

It doesn't matter how long you've been with Benny. Everytime he called you 'My girl', it melted your brain into warm goo.

He kisses you again, but this time without teasing you. It's quick, yet somehow it feels longer than three seconds to you.

Loving Benny Miller was exhilarating, yet calming and sweet.

You are always home with him. Isn't that what everyone yearns and strives for? To find a home in the one you love, a safe place to unravel and rest. To be yourself and let your every walls down, until you are nothing but the core of who you truly are—in all your imperfect, messy glory.

Loving him made you feel like teenagers in love, yet old married couple at the same time. That was Benny Miller to you.

You smile, watching him walk away with your scarlet marks on him, wearing them proudly.

He shuts the door.

Few seconds later you call out, with the urgency of life or death. "Baby!"

The door opens immediately, he stands at the door way, subtle panic and concern on his eyes. The lines on his forehead eases when he sees you are fine, "What's wrong?"

"I love you"

You breathe out, in relief, as if someone carried the deep, darkest secrets of the universe all their life and now they can breathe in peace.

His steel blue eyes softens, his lips curve upwards, easing into a sweet smile.

You wish your eyes could take pictures. You wish you could show everyone through your eyes to see him in the way your eyes did—with adoration and love. But again, you are glad you are the only one who get to see him like that. Your Ben, your lover, your sweetheart, your everything.

If you were in a cartoon, you are pretty sure tiny hearts of pinks and reds would swirl around your head.

You walk towards him, and you stretch out your hands to touch the sides of face. You press your lips on his cheek. Another lip mark.

He lets you mark him with your ink of scarlet possesiveness and crimson love. "I love you too, darlin'." His voice is dangerously low, and sends your aching core throbbing. "Don't touch yourself till I come back," there it is, the charming, teasing smirk on his stupid, handsome face. "Or you'll be punished."

Don't say it. You really shouldn't say it. Well fuck it. You want to rile him up too. "Yes, daddy." You bat your lashes at him and smile sweetly. Two can play this game.

He groans. Something like frustration and lust flashes in his eyes. But he should meet up with the guys, which he starts to think if he really should or not.

With a smirk, you watch his bulge tent his pants. Before he could change his mind, you shove him out of the door with a light laugh.

"You saucy minx!"

You lock the door. "Tell the guys I said 'Hi'"

"You are cruel."

"I love you too!" you grin.

Oh, he cannot wait till he comes back and punish you for this.