#benny thots

[dameronscopilot]

dee wud it be too much to ask if u cud write a small drabble of benny doing unspeakable things to me with the gloves he had on in the movie? just,,, something about him wearing them,,,,

GOOD LORD IMAGINE BEING TIED UP AND BLINDFOLDED AND HE TEASES YOU WITH THEM

Keep the Gloves On

Benjamin "Benny" Miller x f!reader

Summary: You want to explore a new kink. Benny's happy to oblige.

Word Count: 750+

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, blindfond, bondage, glove kink, masturbation, fingering, anal play, squirting, choking kink, oral fixation

If there’s one thing Benny Miller will never say no to, it’s the opportunity to indulge when you tentatively mention wanting to explore a kink. 

It’s how you ended up here—shivering with anticipation, spread out naked atop your bed, your wrists tied snugly to the headboard, your vision obscured by the silk sleep mask covering your eyes.

You have half a mind to be slightly embarrassed by the amount of arousal that’s already gathered between your legs and wetly dripping onto the sheets. But it’s worth it to hear the subtle hitch in Benny’s breath when the mattress dips under his weight as he climbs toward you, gazing at your eager cunt.

And the moment he first makes contact with your skin, spreading your thighs further apart, you can’t help the way your back arches as excitement crawls up your spine at the feeling of what you’d asked him for—the gloves.

You’ve always had a certain fixation with Benny’s large, callused hands—the way they stretch your holes open, the way they press into your body, the way he wraps them around your throat. 

But recently, you found a pair of black leather gloves while sorting through his old tactical gear, and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about them.

Benny loved the idea, naturally. 

But as he slips his hands beneath you and grasps the globes of your ass, you arch your toes, firmly pressing your head back against the pillow as you wonder how the fuck you’re going to last. While the restraints and blindfold sounded like something sexy and fun to pair with this in theory, in reality, the combination has your senses so on edge, you’re already gasping with desperation. 

He slides his hands up your sides, and the foreign feeling of the cool material dragging across your skin drags a needy, shameless whine from your throat. 

Benny chuckles warmly, “You like this, honey?” 

And you try to respond, you really do, but all you can offer him is a wanton moan when he begins to palm at your breasts, your nipples stiff and sensitive as he rolls them between the pads of his gloved fingers. 

Benny brings one hand to your neck, caressing your throat and squeezing before running his thumb along the curve of your jaw. Instinctually, you turn your head into his touch, your jaw slack, and he presses two gloved fingers into your mouth. 

You gag a little at first, not yet used to the feeling of the excess material between your lips, but you soon find a rhythm sucking on his leather clad digits.

“Oh fuck,” Benny groans from above you, and you know he’s reaching into his own pants right now at sight of you moaning and writhing while he finger fucks your mouth, drool running down the side of the glove.

You could come like this, tied up and blindfolded, sloppily bobbing on Benny’s fingers, listening to his surprised grunt of pleasure as he wraps his other gloved hand around his cock, revelling in the feeling of the material stroking against his shaft. 

But he’s not done with you. Not yet.

First—

You’re not prepared for the shout that falls from your lips as Benny finally slides two spit-soaked, gloved fingers into your cunt. It feels so fucking good, damp tears begin to soak the silk material pressed against your eyes. 

“More,” is all you can get out between sobs of pleasure, and Benny quickly obliges, stretching you open with a third digit.

“Holy shit, baby,” Benny breathes out, voice hoarse as he watches you begin to fuck yourself on his fingers.

He hastily shoves off the mask covering your face, his eyes wide, lips slightly parted as he stares down at you in wonder before leaning down to kiss you hard.

When Benny pulls away, you watch as he places the forefinger of his free hand into his mouth, coating the leather with his own saliva. And when he reaches around to tease at the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks, the feeling of the tip of his gloved finger slipping into your ass while he arches his fingers inside of your aching pussy sends you hurtling over the edge. Clear liquid gushes from your cunt as you come, your vision going hazy with the force of your orgasm as it washes over your trembling limbs.

“Keep the gloves on,” you pant out to Benny as he climbs on top of you a moment later, his throbbing, leaking cock hanging heavily between his legs.

[littleferal]

i am once again thinking about benny having nipple piercings

[navybrat817]

We'll call this Titillating Tuesday.

The Triple Frontier boys are part of a military program where they're each paired with a reader for breeding purposes.

Except Tom. He isn't invited.

Could also work with the Cap trio.

That's all, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️

[thotsofadepravedwoman]

Benny Cross is the type of guy to reach back and teasingly squeeze your thigh while you two are on a ride just so he can hear your giggle.

Alternatively,

Benny cross is the kinda guy to squeeze your thighs whenever he’s between them cause the feel of your plush flesh sends all thoughts out the window. For the both of you.

[marmie-noir]

I completely blame @dameronscopilot for this because I cannot get over how great their Garrett content is in general, but THIS GIF. THIS. GIF.

You know what that looks like to me?

You, being a brat, sassing Benny all day. And he's patient, likes banter, but it's getting to the point where his shoulders are tensing a bit and you keep running your damn mouth.

Looks at you with a little smirk and promises, "Need me to fuck that attitude out of you? Because I will, keep running that pretty mouth." And you, never one to back down, give a sassy, "Bet you fucking won't." AND HE DOES THAT. The smirk, the eye roll, the crossed arms. You are done for when Benny has that look, like he's a little amused and a little frustrated because damn does he love you and your fire, and he knows when you act like this you want something he is all too willing to give. And you certainly don't have an attitude the next day.

That is all, I'm going to go chug some water now thanks.

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Game

Tagged by @trulybetty who has ESP and somehow knew I was going to spend way too much time in my weekend update talking about WIPs so she tagged me. I think - that’s what’s I’m going with. 😝 And @tinytinymenace who did more titles then I planned so I have to match because there are standards in delulu land. 🤭

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

(I will have to bend this rule a bit, there’s too many WIPs so I’ll do the 15 most recent ones. Is that a lot? Yes but so am I 😉)

Water (As of five minutes ago @magpiepills is to blame)

You Promised

Keep me warm

You sent me what?

Weddings 101 with Dieter

Two sides of the same coin

Pleasure Principle

Front Office Adjunct

My first drop of Sugar

It's Incidental

Din's in the Neighborhood

Remember Francisco

Living with Benny

Laughter, Longing, Loving

Don't play with me

So...Yeah it's a long list. I have lots of ideas, not all of them are fully baked. Some of them don't even have all the ingredients. But they're there. 😄

NPT: @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @grogusmum @sin-djarin @for-a-longlongtime @megamindsecretlair @pedroshotwifey @theywhowriteandknowthings @frenchiereading @avastrasposts @legendary-pink-dot @morallyinept @papipascaaaal

Sorry if you've already done it. ☺️

[intheorangebedroom]

Pedro and Garrett groomed by Mira Chai and photographed by John Balsom

Oh Nicole I wish you'd heard the GASP I let out when I opened this. THANK YOU, it put me out of commission for a while.

Obviously I'd pick Frankie a million times over, but I definitely wouldn't say no to a FishBen sandwich either....👀

🧡HAPPY FRANKIE FISHBEN MILLER MONDAY🧡

[twsssmlmaa]

I have come to the conclusion that if you liked this

Then you 100% fell in love with this little shit

But there’s a third step. Head over heels for this baby boi

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. If you think I’m wrong… you’re wrong this entire thing is a work of art :)

[dameronscopilot]

okay another one because of who I am.

I’m thinking about Benny and how he would behaved if he was…blindfolded.

18+

let me take this one step further—Benny's blindfolded, but you're still the one laid out bare for him across the sheets, wrists bound and tied to the headboard.

you watch as Benny feels his way across the naked planes of your body. he takes his time—more than usual—running his callused fingers across the soft, supple skin of your breasts, mouthing at your pebbled nipples, nosing at your bellybutton, nipping at your hip bones. it's like he's trying to memorize each part of you with his lips and tongue, painting a picture with teeth and saliva.

he can't see the way your mouth falls open, the way your eyes are half-lidded as he dips lower between your legs. all he can rely on are hearing the breathy sounds as he teases you, feeling the quivering of your thighs and the dampness at your core as he slides a finger in.

[whatthefishh]

Mona, I feel like today we have both been oddly tame compared to the last few days so I'm going to share a thot with you, and I demand (affectionately and with no real obligation) a thot in return.

Right now I'm thinking about Benny Miller because I really want to start working on the mini series I have planned with Santi's sister (Reader) and him being in a secret thing.

I'm imagining Benny popping over because he forgot something the night before during dinner, and Santi is out doing whatever Santi does during the day. You're in the hot tub and Benny sees you just sunbathing, relaxing. He wasn't expecting to see you there...alone.

Oh boy....

So he steps out onto the patio, walks over to you and can't help joining you (despite having no trunks, he just gets in naked.) Imagine the way you would just melt into him the moment he gets in the water knowing big brother isn't home to stop either of you. You just collide you lips into his, his hands are running along your back and pulling you in tight.

You're excited by the feeling of his cock pressing up against your inner thigh, you start rutting on him.

"Been looking forward to getting you alone sweetheart." He would whisper in your ear, voice rough with arousal.

He slides his hand into your bikini bottoms and slips a finger between your slick folds. You let out a quick gasp as he pushes it into you.

"Oh, honey, you're awful cute when I have you all flustered, aren't you?" He says, sliding his finger over your walls.

All of a sudden you hear a truck door slam shut, and panic takes all the feeling from your body.

Santi's home...

yeah we’ve been pretty slutty ngl

Miss ma’am, I don’t know how to react rn lmfao

if I was Santi’s sister (fml I don’t wanna think like that) I would pounce on the idea of him not being home, too, knowing he’s so fiercely protective of anyone he considers family!!

So… you’re going to write this one, right???!!!!

I will return the smutty favour as soon as I can (which is when I get back to my laptop lolol)

[reveluving]

am I in dire need for some thoughts about our fav men rn?

absolutely.

yall know what to do

I'm in desperate need for either:

Rick

Stephen

Ed

Benny

Price

Clyde

y'know the drill; it can be fluffy or sexy, or both (pls). a prompt or an essay is up to you 🧎🏻‍♀️. go go! 📭

[thotsofadepravedwoman]

Benny 1000% wakes up in the middle of the night just to watch your face as you sleep cause he’s just so in love and doesn’t really know how to say it :((((((

[gloopdimension]

dedus wearing biker gormas jacket:) i think she's definitely the type to just let u wear it if youre cold.Like he has all that fluff (as an aside i like to think he has hibernation cycles that were maybe fucked up from the vault, and can temperature regulate really well in the cold for that) so she doesn't super need it.And it smells like her.

AHHHHHHHH THIS IS SUCHA SWEETYS THOUGHT oughouuiuwhuewuguw<3 she so so would esp for dedusmuln.. ohhh my goddd gorma hibernation cycles are so good . shes got thebody of a bear why not the hibernation of one..! Ouuuuu he'd love looove seeing dedus all happy up in his jacket and watching her tendrils jitter from the joy[and perhaps the cold..!]. Ohhhhh that thang would reek of gorma in the best way possible

[lanegritaalma]

Did I just fuck up on accident thinking these Benadryl weren’t coming for my neck? 🤔 Maybe maybe! But this sleep is going to be atomically satisfying 🥰

[kittyofalltrades]

I'm writing fluff...tell me how I decided that Button was the absolute cutest nickname for Benny Miller. That tall ass deep voiced man....Button.....Idk if I can use that but damn it's cute.

[jolapeno]

in the locker room

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie masterlist

summary: when you join him for benny's fight, frankie appears stressed. you have an idea to de-stress him.

warnings: TF canon compliant. explicit smut/oral m! receiving. my spellings (written on phone) wordcount: 1.6k

an: dedicated to @rhoorl who I wound up yesterday with this. babe, ily and our thot chats.

Waiting feels like a whispered question in a room of time.

Phone in your palm, glancing as you watch the text change from received to read—smiling, locking it as your grin is caught in the reflection of the screen, illuminated, proof that once again he does this to you. Has this effect on you—makes you a little reckless.

Your nose catches another whiff of the slightly off citrus disinfectant. The ones doing its best to smother over the stench of old sweat and socks. It lingers, attempts to embed itself in your clothes, lets you walk away with the reminder you were here.

A part of you hopes to walk away with something a little more than a reminder. A memory, maybe. Tapping the back of your phone against your palm, nervousness begins to ebb over the adrenaline from sending the message.

Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting—

BANG. 

Leaning against the locker, metal sinking into your bones past clothing and skin, you pocket your phone. Listening to it, the door shutting behind him, his gait in those boots—heels clicking as he rounds the lockers and spots you.

Frankie drinks you in. Does so like a man starved, parched—as though he wasn’t seated beside you moments ago before you excused yourself. Before you made a beeline for a different door that wasn’t the ladies' bathroom.

He's looked at you like he's wanted to devour you since the night you met, and all the nights that have been since. Even if he has, plenty and plenty of times. The look doesn't waver, it doesn't lessen.

Now, it's just embroiled in love, affection, care.

“You alright?”

Nodding, he comes closer—more lines deepening around his brows, eyes; shoulders almost hanging like earrings they’re so high up.

“Querida, what are…”

As soon as you can, you pull him close by his jacket. Brown, worn—cuffs rolled up and suede greet the pads of your fingers as he moves close to you with ease.

Still, Frankie frowns.

Still, he’s weighed down by something, irked by it. Brain totting things off that he won’t share or spill—just offers hollow smiles and barely-there glances.

“You look stressed, baby.”

His jaw ticks, just when your palm cups his cheek—thumb brushing over the patch. The little heart you trace when you can, that your thumb finds when you’re kissing him, when he’s so canting his hips and making you sing.

But, you suspect he’s still not caught on. Not grasped why you’ve sent him a mayday message to meet you in an old, smelling locker room. 

“Baby,” you whisper, more sweetly—a slice of sultry to it. Like a cocktail you hope he’ll drown himself in.

Chewing his tongue as he averts his eyes, storing secrets and hiding terrible truths from you. Things you’ll pull from him in time, retrieve. Probably wish you hadn’t, too.

But it’s not why he’s here—not why you want him here.

You don’t want to talk, to find out.

“Wanna make you not stressed.” 

Swallowing, you see it shift and feel him freeze. His eyes slide back over you, almost snapping to you as his hands rest on your hips.

“Here?”

Smirking, you tilt your head. Offering nothing, saying nothing.

It’s then you feel Frankie’s hands. Those large, capable and fucking perfect hands sliding around your waist, pushing you flush with the locker and his frame. Little to no space between you. Soft stomach against yours, your thumbs fingering at the suede of his jacket as you stare into his eyes. 

“Want you in my mouth, Morales.” 

“Jesus, fuck.” 

Hands sliding down over the curve of his stomach, eyes not wavering, never leaving, your palm runs over the growing bulge in his jeans as you tell him. As you describe to him how bad you want him, how it’s all you thought about—that having him in your mouth would make your night, your day.

“—so, can I, Morales? Can I suck you off in here?”

“Yeah, baby. Fuck. ‘Course you can.”

The thank you comes out on its own, escapes in a whisper as his head tilts around yours to glance at the door—the sound of cheers echoing down the corridor, leading here, cutting through silence and held breaths. 

It’s with ease his belt undoes, clanging and clattering; his jeans open next, zip grating against teeth as you slide it down, pulling the fabric down next—just enough to free his straining cock.

“We gotta be quiet, baby.” 

And he snorts, offering a roll of his eyes. Hand taking yours as he helps you descend to your knees—the floor hard, cold as it crawls in past your jeans. But, head level with him, your mouth waters at the sight of him. All of a sudden desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue, to feel him kiss the back of your throat and coat the back of your teeth in his pleasure.

It’s teasing the way you wrap your fingers around him, lightly pumping, making him groan somewhere deep inside of his chest—a grumble in Spanish, one that makes the corners of your mouth lift as you clear your throat.

“You’ve got such a nice cock, Morales,” you whisper, leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the tip—salty tang lingers on your lips when you kneel back. Watching as his hips buck, cock twitching in your hand. 

“You want to come in my mouth?”

It’s a murmur, an array of letters merged together to say please as you slide the tip of his cock inside your mouth, your smirking lips closing around it. Hearing it, the hiss from his teeth; but, you pull from him. 

Hearing it—the tortured sound that feels like a reward. But the prize is the way he looks a mess already. His lips were already parted, nostrils already slightly flared. That line between his brows gone, something you’re more pleased about than the sounds.

It’s why you lick a stripe up the base, smile at the pained fuck he lets escape. Taking him back into your mouth, fully, no games. Feeling his hand on the back of your head, before his grip tightens as you take more of him, feel him deeper—tears pricking at your eyes as spit begins to soak your chin at your enthusiasm.

Flicking your gaze up, you find his hidden under the shadow of his hat, the angle different—but you know his forehead is smooth. The furrows of whatever had caused them to melt away on your tongue as you taste what you crave. All salty tang and stress, it seeps into your throat as your head bobs and cheeks hollow.

Because it’s a reward to do this for him. To do this to him.

To have him like this, relaxed and yet tense. 

“Fuck, y’so good for me.”

The crowd masks over the sinful sounds of your mouth working him. You only lift off to catch your breath, letting the tip trace your swollen lips as you stare up at him, finding him transfixed, unable to see anything but you.

Fingers swipe over your chin, cleaning the spit from it, showing it you glistening on his fingers. “Don’t make a mess.”

The command—you’re sure has ruined your underwear. The same fabric that would provide so much relief if you could angle yourself to gain some friction.

Moaning, you clutch the base of him, mouth close to taking him as you breathe, “I love your cock, Frankie.”

Angling his head in a ‘yeah?’, his words are stolen as you slide him down your throat. Knees shuffling closer, you nudge them against the tips of his cowboy boots, hands around the back of his jeans for leverage. You feel it, the familiar fabric you’ve got in your palm—the one you’ve had chafing on your thighs when you’ve been bare and wanting; the one which you’ve picked up and washed with your clothes.

And it’s that familiarity that makes you moan, makes you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, as you hear him curse in a deeper, more gravel-filled voice.

You love him, love this—love this thing between the two of you that you’ve never had with anyone else. It's like an inferno, consuming, not yielding even as time ticks on between you. There's only trust, understanding—a hard honesty, but the two of you work to keep there every single time.

Then, there's the fact that you know from the sounds he’s making he’s getting close. It makes your skin warm, pussy flutter; it makes you tempted to slot his boot between your thighs and ride him. Especially as you notice the sweat shining on his forehead, it twinkling under the shitty fluorescent lights when he rests his head against the metal behind him.

Fuck, it spurs you on. 

That and the taste of him reaching his pinnacle—how it’s stronger, tangier; his moans louder and less reserved. 

“Fuckfuckyesqueridafuck—“

The expletives flow freely, not held back or restrained. They practically echo, becoming a song that only your ears get to hear as his hand tightens and you watch his other fist clenched at his side.

Then you feel him at the back of your throat—him filling your mouth. Breaths ragged, pulled from him as you slowly continued to bob, not wanting to waste a drop, to not have everything you could.

You don’t consider moving until he loosens his hold on the back of your head, until his eyes unclench, and you’re washed in soft brown. 

He slips himself free from your lips as you swallow, his palm cupping your chin and jaw as he tilts you to look at him. 

“You alright?”

Nodding, you trace your thumb over your lip. “You feel better?”

He hums, for a moment looking all at peace as his hand aids you to your feet. You believe him, believe it—the hum. Looking away, for less than a second, allowing him to stuff his softened cock into the confines of his clothes as he redresses.

Then you see it.

The shadow in his eyes, the thing that had been there when you’d made it just for the last round of Benny’s fight. When you’d kissed his cheek and he’d gripped your hand and said he’d missed you—even if he'd seen you this morning.

Breath shaky, you fold your arms loosely. “You need to talk to me when we get home, don’t you?”

Not saying anything, not needing to, he pulls you close, unravels your arms and kisses your forehead. 

“I love you, querida.”

“Lo sé, Morales.”

Because you do.