#woke up this morning with a huge urge to draw him??? lol

[mildcrow]

i love making my c!philza design the most tired individual

[i-am-the-ass-admiral]

quiet worship

benny miller x gn!reader

tags: smut (18+ please), feelings, tenderness, morning sex, penetrative sex, no explicit descriptions of reader parts (when i saw gn i mean it lol), adoring benny, soft benny, switch benny if you squint, praise, established relationship, pretty much pwp but it’s so soft omfg, hand appreciation, touching, kissing, 

notes: posted late, sorry for errors

length: ~2.9k

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You wake slowly, warm and saccharine. Crisp morning light reflected off the snow outside spills over long limbs tangled with yours but you don’t see it yet. A dream leaves you wound tight, aching and wanting and almost ready to rut against the thick thigh between yours but you leave it off. At least for now. Eyes closed, you take a long, deep breath. Everything smells familiar. Like faint ozone as the space heater kicks on, like fresh cotton sheets. Salt and earthy masculine soap and sleep-warm skin. For a moment, you hold the scent in your lungs, content to exist with it for a while. When you let it out, your body relaxes. Somehow molds into the broad chest under your arm. You tuck in your cheek, a familiar steady heartbeat threading faintly to your ear. It’s almost enough to lull you back to sleep except the body under yours stiffens with a light gasp and you open your eyes.

When you look up at him, Benny’s face still seems impassive. Strands of hair stick up in places or fall over his eyes and just underneath you can make out the faintest line between his brows. Gently and without a thought, your fingers circle where they lay. Nonsensical patterns that slowly but surely draw Benny back to your world. Like you, like a mirror his first instinct as he wakes is to breathe deep. You smile to yourself and distantly wonder who learned it from whom. Then those eyes—oh, those eyes—blink open and catch the morning light and just like that, he smiles. 

“Creeper,” he teases, and you huff. Nothing smart to say as his sleep-rough voice skates down your skin. “You watchin’ me sleep?”

He curls his arm around you and pulls you close even though you pinch his side. 

“For like two seconds,” you smile back. “You’re not that pretty.”

Benny’s soft look breaks into a full grin and his chuckle makes you bounce. 

“Liar. ‘M gorgeous.”

You rolls your eyes but kiss his chest. “Every day of the week and it makes you a huge pain in the ass.”

You can see some of that familiar fire sparking in Benny’s eye as his brain comes back online. 

“Sounds like someone woke up ’n the wrong side of the bed. Those’re fightin’ words,” he drawls.

That drawl brings back your dream. The same tone that ended up muffled in your neck, taunting and teasing as he thrust into you and your fingers dug into his broad back. Just the vague memories are enough to make your thighs tighten involuntarily. Without fail, Benny can pick up what you want—usually without a clue otherwise but that was probably a dead giveaway. Or maybe it’s the black overtaking your eyes, the sharp edge to your smile, the growing heat at the crux of your hips—whatever it is, Benny sees it. And he’s never been one to shrug off a rousing morning round. 

“Oh you do got a little fight this mornin’, don’t you?” he teases, pinching your leg where he can reach it. He tosses his chin in that familiar way that drives you crazy and says, “C’mon darlin’, you want in the ring?”

You snort, “You’re ridiculous,” but it’s the invitation you were hoping for so you untangle yourself and slide up over his hips as he pushes the blanket down. While he’s not wrong, sometimes you do like to fuck like Benny fights, this morning isn’t that morning. Something about it feels fragile and soft and you want Benny to feel that too. For all his hard edges, there’s a molten core to him—he just needs a little direction to find it. 

In the beginning, it took a while for you to be comfortable on top but Benny—sweet man—built you up as far as you needed. It’s in the way his bright blue eyes widen and the sort of breathless smile that spills out of him—it’s all the encouragement you need. He’s half-hard behind you already, and his eyes flit avaricious over every inch of you. If you let him, he’d take you as hard and as fast as you want. Or, if he’s feeling particular, as hard and fast as he wants and christ do you see stars then. The trick is to get him to follow when you want something slow and sweet. 

So, lead by example. 

His hands lay wide and warm over your thighs, grip tight already, but you pry him loose and thread your fingers together. He doesn’t look confused like you thought he might, just pleased to be under you. Happy for contact. Then you flatten one of his hands back against your thigh and take the other higher. Bring him to your lips and kiss the pad of each finger. You watch him from under your lashes, wondering if he likes what he sees, catch as his lips parts and a soft needful sigh escapes him. The sound sparks warm embers in your stomach. He presses against your lips with his index finger, asking entry. You refuse. Not yet, anyway. Instead you flatten his palm against your face and nuzzle your cheek in his grip. God, the length of his hand spans from your chin to your ear and it makes you so warm. Unsteady. Almost formless save for the shape his hand gives you. Hot emotion rises in your throat and for a moment you close your eyes again and breathe—in and out, nice and slow, enjoying his quiet adoration until you feel solid again. 

This is one of the only times Benny is quiet. You cover his hand with your own and drag him lower, so his fingers trace the column of your throat and the top of your chest. Normally Ben is full of stories. Vivacious. Filled to the brim with potent emotion both good and bad. You’ve gone with him through so many of those feelings it’s almost second-nature to you now to anticipate how he would react to something. But this…you never got used to. Like this, when you lead, he falls into a kind of quiet awe that leaves you trembling. How do you hold something like that in your grasp? How can you even begin to plumb the depths of hushed worship that stare back at you when you catch his eyes?

The answer is you can’t. Sometimes it’s even overwhelming—Benny will give all that you ask, all that he has—all you can do now is guide his hand lower. You pinch your nipple with his fingers and gasp softly and that calls his other hand to your waist without instruction. Answering your unspoken desire. Covering each of his hands with one of your own, you let him roam wherever he might and guide him in turn. Silently, your head falls back and your eyes close. Why look at anything now when you could feel it instead? Callouses catch in your skin, fingers grasp, tease, somewhere along the line you lose yourself in the feeling. Drunk on the texture of his hands and the timbre of his voice as he lays praise at your feet.

“So pretty like this,” he says. “Love how you feel, darlin’ can I have you?”

You can’t answer with words but you can nod. One of his hands leaves and you immediately miss the heat of it but the way he spreads the other and touches you from throat to groin is enough to keep you distracted. Long fingers avoid the place you want him most—part of you is thankful, part impatient. Between the two of you, there’s not much patience to be found at this point. There’s the drag of a drawer, a click and a shuffling of sheets but it’s not until Benny adjusts his legs and you feel his cock stiff and hot against your ass do your eyes open again. 

He’s there—open and wanting as he always is. But there’s a hint of vulnerability, something doleful and tender in those blue eyes that leaves you breathless. 

“Can I?” he pleads, and it’s only then you catch the slickness coating the fingers that left you. 

“Please.”

It’s been so long together and still he asks (begs) like it’s the first time. You move at the same time—he reaches for you as you reach for him—but he finds you first. A tug; you fall forward. Plant your hands on his chest and lift your hips for him and long, thick fingers slide slick into place where you’re aching for him. 

“Benny…” You draw his name out low and slow somewhere between a whisper and a moan. “Ah, god—” 

“That’s it, baby—” He works you open by rote, all your pieces memorized; urges, “c’mon, you can take me, can’t you?”

It’s as close to begging as he’ll get for now—though if you wanted to hear it you know how to make him beg so prettily—but it’s more than enough for you. You scramble for the lube he found, slick him up just enough to ease the slide and sink down onto him as slow as you can.

Christ, he’s so much. You should’ve let him open you more. Should’ve let his hands do the work instead of falling for the wrecked sound of his voice, but a part of you likes the way it hurts at first. It’s tightness and pressure and it builds in your gut until you’re seated flush against his hips and he’s grit his teeth so hard you could almost hear it. His heart pounds under your hands and his thighs shake but he waits, oh he waits—

“Good boy,” you whisper, “thank you, baby. So good for me.” He whines in the back of his throat, hips twitch and you hiss. “Be patient for me.”

And he is. Patient, just like you asked. Until you give an experimental thrust and just that alone has him throwing his head back into the pillows. God, the line of his neck exposed and taut looks too good—you set your teeth and suck mark after mark into his skin. Wait long enough in-between to see how pretty the purple blooms; by the end you’ve bitten a garden and he’s trembling. You kiss him, finally, despite the morning breath and all—it’s worth it for the desperate way his tongue draws you in and only when you’ve tasted the way he needs you now do you move. 

He moans your name like a poem. Soft and repetitious, sprinkled with praise and curses as you take him in and out over and over. The pace is maddeningly slow for both of you but you can feel his restraint in the way he quivers, how he grits his teeth and hisses, and you have to make it worth it for that. If you were to ask Benny, he would say it’s always worth it, no matter how he gets to have you. But oh, for his patience, he deserves something good. Aching, slow, you clench and squeeze and thrust until your legs begin to feel like jelly and you’re closer to the edge than you thought you’d be by now. But it’s the morning. It’s how he holds you in his eyes, how his hands grip your hips or tease or pinch that finally pulls you apart.

“Benny, baby,” you pant, “more, more please—”

You don’t even get to finish asking; he’s dying to fill you, take you, give you everything you want. He plants his feet behind you and the tension in him has wound so tight he almost dislodges you with his first thrust. You groan high and sharp and he does it again and suddenly that’s all you can feel, all you can think. More more more Ben please there—maybe you say it out loud, maybe you don’t. You’re not sure of anything except the heat and breadth of him inside you—the sound of sex and the nonsense coming out of your mouth and Benny’s worshipful silence. The edge is so close, it’s right there, you just need something to take you over but you don’t know what and you can’t think to ask; too cock-drunk and desperate for anything Ben will give you to give it a name. 

But Benny—clever boy—he knows. 

God even the look of him leaves you undone, and he knows it. His head tips back but body strains up toward you as if he wants nothing more than every inch of contact you’ll give him. Without a word, he pulls you down for another kiss. Bites at your bottom lip and savors the way you moan and slips a hand between your bodies to join his cock. Your hips stutter as he strokes you with perfect pressure, tearing you apart inside and out with sure hands and steady rhythm. 

“Ohhh—” So much. “—just like that Benny baby please—” It’s exactly what you needed; smart clever sweet man he knew just what you needed. “—right there, don’t stop, Benny ahhn hah—”

“Fuck,” he growls, drags you down and into his mouth, his molten center finally melding with yours, “fuck, are you gonna come for me sweetheart? Let me make a mess a’ you?”

It’s that—god it’s exactly that and his tongue and hands and cock splitting you open and the desperate worship on his face that finally sends you reeling. You want him to make a mess of you; you don’t ever want to be clean again, not if it means you can keep him like this. Pleasure pulses through you in waves, shaking you to your core; toes curling, body dripping—you scream with it. Tears bite the corners of your eyes. You curse in tandem, a hoarse crescendo punctuated with each deep, perfect thrust. 

You writhe, desperately, embarrassingly, but the way Benny moans and thrusts unerringly into your heat sets you alight with ecstasy. Pleasure knots tight in your core, zips out to every extremity, the tips of your toes and fingers and lips. So hot you’re sure your kisses must burn him. Your body bucks mindlessly, bows into him for all the contact he craves, a glorious pressure and heat—

His voice breaks over your name and you feel him empty inside you. He buries himself in one last-ditch thrust, crushing you tight to his body as you quiver and shake and clench in your aftershocks and god feeling him so deep and so hot is almost enough to send you over again. You’re on another plane, flying high above your joined bodies but it’s the beat of his heart and the sound of his breath and the touch of his hands that gentle you back down to find him waiting. As you slump into him, his arms curl around you and he holds you there. You’re not sure how long—you’re still reeling—but he cradles you with all the tenderness in the world. Presses your foreheads together and strokes your back as his hips (and yours) finally roll to a stop. Spent and exhausted. 

When your eyes flutter open you find him waiting there. Big pretty blue depths waiting to swallow you whole. Without a second thought, you brush the hair from his forehead and fall in. Kiss him soft and long and slow. His fingers thread along the back of your neck and he seems content to stay buried inside you until you say otherwise. You’d let him, too. For as long as he wanted, if he asked. That’s somewhat frightening, the implications of it all, but it’s something you’re learning to accept. You love him—sometimes it’s just easier to show than to tell. 

When at last you pull away from his kiss, you find you can’t meet those eyes again. Not yet. Something hot and tight chokes your throat and you bury your face in the crook of his neck instead. Silently begging for him to understand. 

And—without fail—he does. You can feel some of his concern in the way his arms wrap around you again but he pets your hair and lets you feel for as long as you need. And from the way his heart still pounds against yours, you know he’s right there with you. Faithful to the end. At last you let out a long satisfied sigh and slide off his hips back to the spot at his side you’d left behind. 

“Helluva wake up call,” he teases, voice light but careful. 

“Couldn’t help myself,” you smile, tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re in my dreams then here in person all gorgeous like this—it’s all your fault.”

He laughs and kisses your fingertips when they stray too close to his mouth and you feel the last of the tension drain out of him. 

“Yeah, guess I had that comin’.”

“Well…it’s not all your fault.” You pause, stuck in a moment of vulnerability, but you keep your smile. Benny deserves to hear it. “I do love you, I’m sure that has something to do with it.”

It sounds flippant—you don’t mean it that way—but Benny’s face breaks into the widest grin you’ve seen in days. 

“Ass,” he chuckles. His soft melted center heats him all the way through, a pleased pink dusting his cheeks above his goofy smile as he murmurs, “I love you, too.”