#benny miller

[musings-of-a-rose]

I Don't Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) - Chapter 1

Pairing: Benny Miller x f!reader nicknamed "Juni"

Word Count: 3600+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I've had this idea in my head for well over a year and with the Fallout show being dropped (and absolutely AMAZING), I figured now was the time to post it! So this is a Triple Frontier/Fallout crossover au. Huge shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to probably hours of audio at this point of me talking myself through this fic. And to @deathbecomesnerds for listening to me prattle on about video game fics and giving me her own advice.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

I Don't Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) Masterlist

May, 2067

"We're so proud of you, honey!" My mom hugs me tight, my cap nearly sliding off my head with the force of it.

"We knew you'd get top marks!" My dad claps me on the back and pulls me in for another tight hug, my cap fully falling from my head this time.

"Thanks, Dad." My mom hands me back my graduation cap and I put it back on my head, attempting to get it to stay put as I look out over the crowd of people.

"There's my favorite graduate."

I spin, nearly falling over in my heels but Benny catches me, chuckling as I right myself. His smile is wide and bright, but there's something else. I can't quite place it.

"What a coincidence. My favorite graduate is here too," I bop him on the nose and he chuckles again. He moves to kiss me but then his eyes shift over my shoulder and he backs up, clearing his throat, no doubt having made eye contact with my dad.

"Ben, will you be joining us for dinner?" My mom asks.

"Uh, sure. Save me a seat."

My mom squeezes my shoulder. "We'll see you at dinner, honey."

I give them each a hug before they leave, turning back to Benny. He immediately pulls me to him, kissing me deeply before pulling back.

"Can I take you somewhere?"

"I'll go anywhere with you, Benny."

He takes my hand, so small in his large one, and leads me through the crowd to his old truck. He opens the door for me and helps me in before hopping in the driver's seat. I scoot next to him and lay my head on his shoulder, Benny laying his arm across the back of the seat. We drive for a bit before turning into our neighborhood and pulling into the empty park. We get out and he takes my hand, pulling me towards a juniper tree that was in a field next to the playground. He pulls me to him and kisses me again, my cap long since forgotten in the cab of his truck.

"Why are we here, Benny?"

"Don't you remember this tree, Juni?"

I smile up at him as I glance at the tree. "How could I forget? We met under this tree shortly after I moved here. It's why you call me Juni. Like juniper." I gesture at the tree.

He smiles at the memory. "We were what...5?"

"Yeah. Such a long time ago. Now look at us. 18 and heading to college."

There's an awkward silence and I look up at him. "Benny?"

He rubs the back of his neck, not quite looking at me. "About college."

I step back from him. "You're not going through with the sign up, are you??"

He holds his hands out, trying to placate me. "Look. Will is already there. He flew through basic and they're putting him in a special force if he keeps it up-"

"There's a war, Benny-"

"Exactly. And I know we aren't there yet, but we both know there will be a draft eventually-"

"You don't know that!"

"And if I sign up voluntarily, I get some say in where I go. I'm a way better shot than Will so I think I can make it into his-"

"No. No! I can't...I don't....I'll go with you!" I'm fighting back tears, my voice catching in my throat.

Benny shakes his head. "No, sweetheart. You need to go to college. You're too smart. Get that masters in..what was it...bio-nuclear agriculture practices? Sciences?"

I shake my head. "I don't care. I want to be with you! Unless...do you not-"

Benny's face becomes serious. He cups my face and forces me to look at him, his eyes so bright but worried. "Don't think that I don't want you. I do. I want you forever and always. But I have to do this. I have to get ahead of it. This way, I can watch Will's back too."

My tears break free, sliding down my cheeks. "I'm scared, Benny. I can't lose you."

"You won't lose me."

"You'll find some other girl and...and..." Benny cuts me off with a kiss, my tears rubbing off onto his face. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple, plain gold band. Not too thick.

"Benny?"

"Look, I'm not forcing anything on you. I can't do that to you, especially signing up for the army. But I did make this promise ring. And, in a few years when you're all graduated, if you still want to, I'll add a rock to it and we'll get married."

I hold the small band in my palm, touching it with my fingers before looking back up at him.

"This was not the best proposal," he chuckles and I do too, despite everything.

"It wasn't a proposal. It's a promise. How about you promise to come home to me in one piece?"

"I can promise to try my best."

I nod. "I'll take it."

Benny slides the band onto my finger and pulls out a thicker band from his pocket and hands it to me. I slide it onto his finger, winding his hand in mine and for a moment, we both just stare at our hands, feeling the weight of our futures.

"When you get your own power armor, make sure to send me a photo!"

Benny smiles. "Fuck yeah I will!"

10 years later...

Benny and I had stayed faithful to each other over the last 10 years. My friends never understood why I didn't want to go out partying, dating around. "He said he didn't hold you to anything!" They'd complain. But I would just shake my head. Benny holds all of me, always has, since the day we met under that juniper tree. He took one look at my scared face, alone in this new neighborhood, and took my hand, told me everything would be ok and that we were friends now.

He'd have to be the one to leave because I never would.

We met up over the years, sometimes being lucky his off time would line up with mine. We'd make the most of our time together, Benny preferring to spend as much time as possible between my thighs and I wasn't going to complain about that. But every time we talked about adding a rock to the band, his face would get worried. He said things were heating up with the war and he didn't want me tied down if something happened to him. I told him ring or no, I was already tethered to him.

Then, about 3 years ago, he told me he was saving up for that rock. That it would take him some time. I didn't care how long as we were already married in my mind. Our times together became less and less as the Sino-American War waged on, both sides at a stalemate.

Then finally, in May of 2078, a few weeks after I graduated from Vault-Tec University with my Masters in Bio-fusion Agriculture, Benny knocked on my front door, already on one knee when I answered it holding up a beautiful diamond ring in exactly my style. Once he slid the ring on my finger, I pulled him inside, not making it past the front entrance way before we were tearing each other's clothes off, Benny burying himself inside of me as I try to not slide across the floor.

We were married that same night.

He had to leave a few days later, but we made good use of our time together.

2077

Around late August, Vault-Tec moved my research lab from the city proper to a smaller research lab just outside the city. It worked out fairly well as it was stationed near the vault that was basically up the hill from my parent's suburban home. The one I grew up in. I liked being out of the city. There were less soldiers here, people were stressed still but it wasn't as violent.

The beginning of October rolled in, bringing cooler weather and the start of my favorite season. Morale, as a country, was low, so people took to decorating for Halloween early, the decorations helping people to smile a little more. But nothing put a smile on my face like Benny showing back up, his entire unit, including his brother Will and their other "brothers" Frankie, Santi, and Tom, all returning to their homes.

We spent a couple weeks together before the phone rang in the middle of the night. Benny yawns, picking it up with a grunt, his back immediately straightening out at whomever was on the other end. All I heard was "Yes, Sir," before he hung up.

"You're leaving?" I ask, grazing my fingers across his bare back.

"Yeah," he turns, pulling down the comforter to reveal my bare chest, his finger tracing lines around my breasts, my nipples hardening at the touch. "But not for long. They just want us to escort a higher up when they visit Boston."

"Sounds serious."

He nods, his hand sliding lower, under the covers and pressing between my thighs. "It is. Very serious."

"So..d-do you have t-to leave?" It was hard to focus, the pressure between my legs building the longer he caresses me.

He leans in close, kisses me softly. "Not before I make love to my wife."

He leaves about an hour later, my inner thighs sticky with him, my heart racing not with bliss but with worry that he won't return.

October 23rd, 2077

I wake to birds singing outside my bedroom window, ringing in a beautiful Saturday morning. I roll out of bed, get ready for the day before heading over to my parent's house to stop in for a surprise breakfast. However, my parents were gone, headed into Boston for an appointment, according to our Mr. Handy robot, Hawthorne. In the meantime, the robot had made me breakfast, which I sat and ate, looking at the newspaper but not really taking it in.

I get bored of the paper and set it aside, flipping on the tv, hoping to catch something interesting. I really miss Benny. His absence this week has been weighing heavily on me.

"...followed by flashes, blinding flashes, sounds of explosions. We're trying to get confirmation but we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate stations. We do have coming in, that's uh...confirmed reports, I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detinations in New York and Pennslyvania. My God-"

The TV cuts out and I sit there, momentarily stunned at what the news anchor just reported. Nucelar explosions? That can't be right. But then the siren rings, it's high pitched wail sending goosebumps across my skin.

"Ma'am, I think you need to head to the Vault," Hawthorne advises.

I shake my head to snap out of it, quickly running for the door. When I get outside, soldiers are already in the streets, the vertibirds flying towards Boston.

"...If you are registered, head to Vault 111 immediately!" A soldier yells through a megaphone as my neighbors run screaming in the street, some towards the path that will take them to the vault. Others stay in their driveways, cowering in fear.

Someone pushes past me and I fall, scraping my palms on the pavement. I scramble up, just making it to my feet before someone else collides into me, yelling at me to move my ass. I take one last look around and run to the vault, my bare feet thudding across the dirt path.

I pass neighbors with trunks of clothes scattered everywhere, the husband pleading with the wife to leave everything and just run. My heart is nearly beating through my chest as I make my way up the hill, a small crowd gathered in front of the gate to Vault 111. An angry crowd, yelling over the loud wail of the siren and the whoosh of the vertibird propellers.

"If you're not on the list, you're not getting in!" An official looking man yells at a couple who is standing in front of him, the man shifting his weight to his back foot.

"I'm getting in there!" He starts to move forward, but then the high pitched whine of a mini gun starts up, the soldier in power armor, standing at least a foot over the man, pointing it at him.

"Ok, ok, fine!" The man puts his hands in the air and stands aside, his wife following.

The crowd starts to push together, but I force my way through them, yelling to the soldier.

"I'm on the list!"

"Back away! Back away!" The power armored soldier aims again and the people back away, but only a couple of feet. The uniformed soldier looks down at me, clip board in hand.

"Name?"

"Miller." I give him my first name as well as Benny's and his rank.

"Ben Miller's wife? Head on in. Quick!" He waves me through, but I pause for a moment.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No ma'am. Now please, head inside!"

I look out at the crowd of people, now trying to shove each other to get inside, the gate starting to groan with their press. But the one face I want to see, Benny's, is nowhere to be seen.

I'm sure he's ok. I mean, he's a soldier, in an elite group. He's just guarding some fancy higher up in Boston. I'm sure this is just a precaution. I turn my back on my neighbors and run, as fast as I can, to the platform. Another soldier waves me over and points to the platform, where I stand between some neighbors with a baby and the Hendersons, the people who live across the street from my parents.

My parents. They're on the vault list too. Maybe they got into one nearer to Boston? Is that even how this works?

"Almost there!" One of the other people shouts as we wait to be lowered into the vault. I look out over the tree tops from our place on the hill, the Boston skyline gleaming in the distance, my heart hurting that Benny isn't here with me. I'm sure it's nothing, but I'm still terrified.

BOOM!

The ground shakes violently. My eyes reflect the mushroom cloud that explodes over Boston, it's dome slowly floating up into the sky as its sounds reverberate through my body. I can't help the scream erupting in my throat as a violent wind comes whooshing at us a moment later, the city already in flames. The ground below me moves, lowering us into the vault. We all duck just in time, the wind and fire flowing over the space we took up moments before, the whole cement tube rumbling and shuddering with the force of the detonation. For what seems like an eternity, we're in pitch black darkness, the creaking of the pullies lowering us and the sounds of our own whimpers and whispers, the baby crying our only sounds to accompany us down into the vault.

Then light appears as we settle into place, our platform locking in. The gate in front of us opens and a man in a lab coat beckons us forward from the end of the ramp.

"Welcome to Vault 111! Step this way for registration."

"What happened to all of those people up there?" Someone asked.

"Please, let's just get you registered, and through decontamination, and then we can address all your concerns!" Labcoat offers as he gestures towards a woman in a bright blue jumpsuit, yellow stripes down the middle and around the hips like a belt, giant yellow numbers on the back that say 111.

"They're all dead, you idiot. That was a nuclear bomb!" Someone else replied.

"No it wasn't. I bet that was just a trial. This is all practice." He argues back.

"That heat didn't feel fake," someone else pipes up.

Gone. They're all gone. Benny...No. No, I'm sure he's safe, made it to his own vault. All those fancy rich people had vaults. I'm sure he made it in time and I can contact him once I get checked in. I'm sure the vaults all have a way to communicate with each other. Right?

I take a shaky step forward, wiping the tears from my cheeks, willing them to stop for at least check in. I head to the lady Labcoat indicated and she smiles warmly at me. I give her my name and she runs a finger down her list, tapping on what I presume is my name.

"There you are. Mrs. Miller, female. Is your husband-" she glances back down at the list. "-Benjamin, here?" She looks back up at me, a soft, friendly smile on her face, which falters as she looks at me.

"I...he...he was on a m-mission wi-with..."I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "My husband is Lieutenant Benjamin Miller. He's in Delta Force. He and his squad were guarding some higher up when....do...do you have any...I mean, do you know..." I can barely choke out words, my mind on Benny but also his brothers.

The woman smiles at me. "I understand. I don't have any information here, unfortunately. All they gave me was this clipboard and some boxes of jumpsuits. But I'm sure once you get through decontamination, they can find out for you. Ok?"

I nod, sniffling, feeling the sob trying to burst out of me. The woman looks me up and down, reaching into one of the boxes around her before handing me a folded up jumpsuit that I'm assuming will look just like hers. "There's a bathroom down that hall on the right. Go ahead and get changed, then head down this hall to the next man in a labcoat. Ok?" I take the uniform from her, attempt a small smile, but my face doesn't move. She gives my hand a little squeeze before I make my way to the bathroom.

I quickly change, zipping up the blue jumpsuit. That woman sure is a good judge of size. This thing fits me like a glove. I gather up my clothes and head down the hall she indicated, taking one last look at the giant vault door, huge and solid, before heading towards the next Labcoat, who was beckoning me to him.

"Hi, Miss-"

"Mrs. I'm Mrs. Miller."

He smiles, but it's...unsettling. Something about his eyes worries me but I can't quite put my finger on it.

"You can leave those here," He nods towards the wad of clothes in my arms and points to a large bin off to the side. "We require jumpsuits from all vault dwellers."

I quickly toss my clothes in the bin, just trying to get through this quickly so I can get more information on Benny. My hands are shaking and I'm holding back vomit, willing my brain to not replay what's happened in the last 15 minutes.

He smiles again. "Thank you, Mrs. Miller. If you'll follow me." He turns and heads down another hall, turning to enter the 2nd doorway. Inside the room is rather large and cold, and I shiver, holding my arms around myself as the Labcoat walks further in. There are what looks like pods, about 6 on each side, facing each other. They have a myriad of tubes and pipes coming from them, a little control panel standing next to each pod. The doors appear to open up as opposed to a normal door. We stop in front of one of them, the door standing open for me, and Labcoat gestures to it.

"If you'll just hop in, ma'am."

"What is it?" I look inside and see some cushions, sort of like a chair if your were standing. I glance around and notice more people coming in, all of them standing in front or getting into a pod, donning the bright blue jumpsuits.

"It's a decontamination chamber. We have to make sure everyone is clean and free of radiation and other unpleasentries before we allow you into the vault. For vault health and security, of course."

I nod. "Makes sense. I do have a question."

He looks irritated but then that smile is back. "Yes, ma'am?"

"When I get through here, I'll be able to talk to someone about my husband? He's a lieutenant in Delta Force and I think he may be in another vault."

"Absolutely. Our communications specialists can help you with that."

A sigh of relief escapes me. "So you can communicate with other vaults?"

"Oh yes. Sort of like a telegram. If he's in a vault, we'll find him ma'am. Now if you'll just step into the pod, we can get you through decontamination and one step closer to finding your husband."

My eyes glance around the room, seeing everyone else hopping into their own pods. I'm so nervous, that vomit starting to make it's way back up my throat. And I fucking need Benny. He can't be dead. The possibility that I'd have to face a future without him is nearly unbearable. I turn back to my pod and get inside, nestling myself down into the cushions. Labcoat taps a button on the panel and my door starts to close at the same time as the others. My breathing picks up, air visibly puffing out and I swear it's colder in here than it was in the room.

"Now just relax and you'll be clean in no time!" Labcoat smiles at me.

I take a deep breath, my thoughts only of Benny as my world goes black, my mind slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing I feel is my skin freezing, my body going hard, preventing any sort of movement.

I'm coming, Benny.

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @heartpascalispunk

#benny miller #fallout #ben miller #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller x f!reader #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #benjamin miller #benjamin benny miller #garrett hedlund x reader #garrett hedlund x you #garrett hedlund characters #garrett hedlund character fanfic #garrett hedlund character ff #garrett hedlund character fanfiction #fallout fanfiction #crossover au

[rhoorl]

Delta Landscaping Extra | Benny's IG

So in Chapter 16 of Delta Landscaping, there are a few mentions of Benny's Instagram account. A couple of months ago I was talking about this with @undercoverpena and sent a few photos I was using as inspo and she made me a little mockup of Benny's Instagram for me (below the cut).

Thank you so much for making this Jo, you are a creative whiz and I love all of the Instagram stuff you've done for Do Me Yourself! I'm so happy with how this turned out!

That latest photos really caught Vanessa's attention...and Cousin Joel who heard about it by way of Sarah.

If you look closely you'll see a reference to the skate party Olivia threw for her twins back in Chapter 12!

#delta landscaping #benny miller #benny miller imagine #triple frontier #thank you jo you're amazing and ily lots!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Sooooo…….how do you think Benny boi would handle being caught half-naked from out the shower by his darling?? He’s showering after winning his match-up she thought he was finished but to her surprise…….. this scenario has been stuck in my brain 💀💀

Adrenaline.

oh baby... thank you for this.

warnings - smut. cursing.

Masterlist. Inbox.

"Ben? You in here?"

You walk through the locker room, looking for your partner as you go. Eventually, when you reach the showers, you hear the water running.

"Babe?" Benny yells from behind the curtain. "That you?"

You pull it back and pop your head around, trying to keep your eyes on his.

"It's me. I'll just wait for you on the bench out here."

Before you can blink, a strong hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you into the shower, water drenching you immediately. You shriek, swatting at his chest to try and escape.

His palms find your hips, plastering your bodies together.

"Need you," he murmurs into your ear, brushing your hair away from your face. "Can't wait until we get home."

"I'm soaked," you whine.

"You will be."

"Asshole," you laugh, resting your forehead on his sternum. "I like this dress. Dry."

"Stop worrying," he soothes, rucking the material up and over your head, throwing it onto the tiled floor. "Let me take your mind off it, hmm?"

He pulls your underwear down your legs, chuckling when you step out of them willingly.

Benny places your hands on the wall, kicking your feet apart. Pressing kisses down your spine, he sighs softly, grabbing handfuls of your ass as he goes.

"Fuck, this is what I needed. You, all pretty and pliant for me. So good, baby. Such a good girl."

Benny lines himself up and slides home in one smooth movement, both of you gasping in unison.

"That's it," he coos. "Take it, baby. Like you know you can. Like you were made for it."

You drop your head onto your arm and let him mould you however he likes, clearly needing the outlet. He gets like this, after his fights. He vibrates with the energy of it, looking for a release in any way he can get it.

You've become his favourite solution.

"Ben," you whine. "Fuck, babe."

"Yeah, honey. Keep saying my name just like that, please."

Benny's rhythm is frantic, frazzled, rushed, but he still manages to hit exactly the right spots. He knows your body like the back of his hand, that much is clear.

"Close," you choke out, trying not to swallow the water that still beats down. "Benny."

"Come for me, pretty girl. Give me all you've got. Please. I want it baby, that's it."

His honeyed words send you over the edge, muscles tensing and eyes rolling back. Benny joins you, groaning lowly against the wet skin of your back.

You both try to catch your breath for a moment, Ben reaching over to turn off the water. You spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

"Better?"

"So much better," he chuckles.

You're about to respond when you hear the locker room door open, the sounds of multiple heavy footsteps filling the room.

"Benny! Champion! Where you at?"

You look at him with wide eyes, both of you realising the hilarity of the situation. Benny reaches out of the curtain to grab his dry shirt from the bench, tossing it to you and wrapping a towel around his waist. You throw it on and follow him out towards the boys sheepishly, knowing you're not about to get away with what you've just done.

"There you are!"

The boys look between you and Benny, putting the pieces together.

"You two are ridiculous," Frankie laughs.

Santiago winks at you as you bury your head in Benny's shoulder, laughter bouncing off the lockers around the room.

#benny miller x reader #benny miller smut #benny miller fluff #benny miller #benny miller imagine #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fluff #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #benny miller x reader smut #benny miller x you #benny miller x female reader #benny miller x y/n #frankie morales x reader #will miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier x reader smut

[gayghoulsthings]

I could take them...(not in a fight)

#i want all of them frfr #frankie morales #william miller #will miller #santiago garcia #benny miller #pedro pascal #charlie hunnam #oscar issac #garrett hedlund #triple frontier

[intheorangebedroom]

Happy 5th anniversary, Triple frontier, part 2 🧡

Five years of being so fucking tired and just wanting to go home.

Five years of Santi strutting his stuff.

Five years of this king keeping a ledger.

Five years of this very sexy golden retriever pup.

Five years of Tom getting what he deserves a headache.

Five years of the best pilot there is.

Five years of talking us his chopper through it.

Five years of sass.

Five years of him driving and it driving me feral for some reason.

Five years of going rafting with the corpse bros.

Five years of not so cold-camping with the bros.

Five years of FishBen.

Five years of no one ever calling him Frankie throughout the whole movie, ever.

Five years of a damn good soundtrack.

Five years of gifmakers working wonders and doing miracles with the darkest movie ever made 🧡

Five years of incredibly talented writers sharing their stories, from fluff to angst to Big Man Morales smut 🧡

Five years of the husband one, the Pilot™️, the one and only, five years of our Frankie baby 🧡

Part 1 🧡

#happy 5th anniversary of your theatrical release #this doesn"t even start to scratch the surface of everything I love about this movie #the pilot™️ #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #yovanna #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #will miller #ben miller #benny miller #adria arjona #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #long post #Spotify

[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. ❤️

#titillating tuesday #navybrat thots #william miller #will miller #benny miller #ben miller #santiago garcia #frankie morales #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #william ironhead miller #santiago pope garcia #frankie catfish morales #tom isn't invited #he knows what he did #tw.breeding #that's all lovelies #go about your business

[theanothersherlockian]

ok maybe i’m seeing too much into the picture and maybe someone has already pointed it out BUT

i can’t help but notice that everyone has a drink in front of them except Frankie.

Will has the blue beers (2) , Benny the red one in front of him and the other red one (2), Santi has the blue one (3) and Tom drinks the red beers in front of him.

What about Frankie you might ask, well on the scene where they all leave Frankie is driving. Frankie was the designated driver of the night, he couldn’t have a drink. His space on the table is empty because he’s responsible to get them safe.

idk love the detail jeje.

#frankie my beloved #my triple frontier boys #frankie morales #pedro pascal #francisco morales #triple frontier #santiago garcia #will miller #benny miller #benjamin miller #oscar isaac #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fanfic

[bloodyinspirationaldemon]

We do not talk enough about the fact that everytime all five guys are in the jeep in Triple Frontier, Benny gets stuffed in the fucking boot

The epitome of youngest sibling energy

#triple frontier #garrett hedlund #benny miller #pedro pascal #frankie morales #charlie hunnam #will miller #oscar isaac #santiago garcia

[for-a-longlongtime]

🚨 Triple Frontier concept art + "new" old photos! 🚨

I'm so excited about this! During a TF search spiral (don't we all have those?) I actually hit gold when I stumbled across Greg Berry's website. He was the Production Designer of the movie and made a book as something for the crew to look back at - and as an intro to the film.

It's really worth a look, because it has gorgeous concept art, pictures of certain spaces (the bar, Lorea's house) before they shot and how they envision it to be. There's also an image for the storage container, but this seems to be considerably smaller and different than what they ended up using.

CHECK OUT THE FULL BOOK AT https://www.gregberry1.com/film/triple-frontier

Obviously, there are also pictures of the guys which we've never seen those before. YAY!! Or actually - I shared a cropped pic of Benny with some friends and I noticed that one made it onto a Garrett fan IG already the other day, haha. But aside of that... gorgeous 'new' old stuff. I've cropped those images from the website for your convenience, so hope you'll enjoy! I don't own any of this obviously, it's all Greg Berry (bless him), so if you share these pics elsewhere please credit the man and link to his site... it's only fair!

HELLO Francisco putting on his tact vest 💜 Some close ups (nobody likes you Tom, go away):

Benny, Santi, go find your caps!

Fucking love this picture. Why were we robbed from this happening in good light? Francisco... check you out.

Let's see some more of Santiago:

Love love love. Here's when they find Lorea:

Have some Will crops.

And last but definitely not least - where are the Benny girlies at? You're getting FED:

Bonus picture: the shot below from an interview with Mark Russell about the VFX in TF

Once again, definitely go check out the art book - it's gorgeous!

https://www.gregberry1.com/film/triple-frontier

#triple frontier #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #francisco morales #santiago garcia #benny miller #william miller #we don't talk about Bruno- I mean Tom

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Here is the entire article about Triple Frontier 2.

May I remind you all that Oscar recently said there is a project in the works with Pedro? Please say it’s this!

I may die a small death if this happens.

#triple frontier #triple frontier 2 #triple frontier boys #frankie morales #santiago pope garcia #benny miller #will miller #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #charlie hunman #garret hedlund #Youtube

[stealfromthedevil]

Ugh, they're just too much! Always Benny for me, but I can appreciate how beautiful the rest of them are.

#triple frontier #benny miller #william ironhead miller #santiago pope garcia #frankie catfish morales #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #oscar isaac #pedro pascal #these men are killing me #god damn 🥵

[dameronscopilot]

#triple frontier #benny miller #santiago garcia #will miller #frankie morales

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

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

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

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5k

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

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

Masterlist. Inbox.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I built your couch!"

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

"He did! It needed assembling!"

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

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

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

Santi shoots daggers at him, both of them chuckling.

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

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

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

You shrug, squeezing him tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Living Room. Benny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Had what?"

"A hickey."

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

"Seriously?"

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

Ben smiles at you, mischief rife in his eyes.

"You want one?"

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

"What game are you playing, Benny Miller?"

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

"No games, baby."

"No?"

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

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

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

You pause for a moment, watching his face carefully.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

"Whatever you want, baby."

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

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

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

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

"That's half the fun, baby!"

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bathroom. Frankie.

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

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

"Hey, you guys. You okay?"

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

"Anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"What?"

"Don't call a guy!"

"Why not?"

"I'll do it."

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

"Do you... know how?"

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

You deliberate for a moment, looking at him carefully.

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

"Of course I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me too," he says quietly.

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

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

He goes to protest, but you cut him off.

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

Frankie stares at you for a moment.

"You're right."

"Can I get that in writing?"

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

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

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

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

"You tell me everyday, Frankie."

"I do?"

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

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Kitchen. Santiago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks slowly, before winking at you.

"Surprise."

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

He knows what.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

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

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

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

"Good times, huh?"

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

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

"What are you making, cariño?"

You survey the kitchen quickly before answering.

"Nothing."

He smiles, Cheshire cat style.

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

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

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

"What was that? Hmm?"

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

"I'm making you a cake."

He looks genuinely surprised, gentle smile gracing his face.

"You are?"

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

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

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

"There's a party too?"

"Shit."

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

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

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

"I made a list."

"Of?"

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

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

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

"What?"

"Painting your goddamn kitchen."

You laugh, pulling back to look at him incredulously.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly. This colour is fucking awful."

"It's not that bad."

"It's terrible."

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

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

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

"Can I help you?"

"I can think of nothing I want more."

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

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

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The Bedroom. Will.

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

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

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

"Honey?"

"Shit, sorry. The green one?"

"Please."

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

"You okay over there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...Hmm?"

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

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

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

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

"Is that a good thing?"

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

"You're a smooth talker, Miller."

"I learned from the best."

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

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

You flex your biceps, making you both laugh.

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

"That's my girl."

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

"We did a good job."

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

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

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

"I'm always looking at you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will?"

"Yeah, honey?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You ready to keep building?"

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

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

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

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

He grins at you, pecking your lips.

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

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

"Can I get that in writing?"

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

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

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

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

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

"Do what?"

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

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

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

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

You and Will's first dance.

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

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

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

"It's perfect," Will agrees.

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

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

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

"Love you, hermosa."

"Love you too, cariño."

"Love ya, baby!"

"I love you, honey."

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

@kmc1989 @modernperplexity @sia2raw @pimosworld

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fluff #triple frontier x you #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier smut #santiago garcia x reader #benny miller x reader #will miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia #benny miller fluff #frankie morales fluff #will miller smut #frankie morales #benny miller #will miller #triple frontier fanfiction #will miller fluff #santiago garcia fluff #santiago garcia smut #frankie morales smut #benny miller smut #pedro pascal #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund #oscar isaac

[rhoorl]

Are You on Mute?

Pairing: Benny Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

AO3 Link

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The meeting drones on and on. About a half hour in, the door softly opens and Benny pokes his head in. He's thrown half of his hair up in a bun, the bottom section flowing down to his shoulders. He's dressed for the gym wearing a cut-off shirt and basketball shorts. Just the sight of him sends a delicious shudder through your body, remembering how he expertly took you apart last night.

"You on mute?" He mouths to you, eyes moving to your laptop. 

"Yup," you quickly glance over.

"K, well, I'm gonna go to the office real quick and then the gym. Should be back by lunch."

"Sounds good."

"Love you. You're gonna kick ass today babe."

You smirk, looking over to him, "Thanks, Bun. Love you too. Say hi to Will."

He laughs at your nickname for him and softly closes the door.

The meeting ends early so you have time to get up, stretch, and refill your coffee. As you wait for it to brew you look outside, admiring the flower beds. Deciding you're due for a change of scenery, you relocate your things to the kitchen table for your next meeting.

________

You're second on the agenda to speak, the nerves starting to build as Tim from operations gives his update. Your boss pops into your shared chat with some words of encouragement that make you smile.

Your senior vice president then announces that you're taking over for your boss for today's update, congratulating you on your recent promotion. You take a deep breath, click yourself off mute, share your screen, and begin going through your PowerPoint deck.

You feel yourself absolutely crushing it, thankful that Benny let you run through your presentation the night before. You only have a few more slides left when you hear the garage door followed by the slam of Benny's car door a few moments later. He opens the door, stopping in his tracks when he sees you at the kitchen table.

“Sorry!" He whispers while wincing, looking apologetic. 

Your eyes shift quickly from him back to your screen as you continue on with your update. Off camera, you wave him in so he tiptoes inside and drops his bag. Glancing up at him, you clear your throat, trying to not react. He clearly had a vigorous workout, his shirt clinging to him like it's painted on. He also has all of his sweaty hair wrapped up in a low bun.

A mischievous look flashes in his eyes, seeing how affected you are by the sight of him. You can feel his gaze on you as you continue. On another quick glance up you see him pulling his hair out of the hair tie, shaking his locks loose before flipping his head down and back. It's honestly not fair how good his hair looks after doing this, hair perfectly tousled and messy.

You lose your train of thought, pausing for a second to grab a sip of water to compose yourself. It doesn't help that you can see Benny out of the corner of your eye leaning against the kitchen counter looking at you. You just know he has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, loving the effect he has.

"Ok, I think that covers our updates. Any questions?" You ask, looking across the boxes on the screen for any follow-ups. 

You groan to yourself when Renee from HR has a question, she never listens and always makes people repeat themselves on these calls. As you listen to her question, you look up from your screen to see Benny. He's got a dark look in his eyes and a half smile as he starts to peel his shirt off revealing the six-pack he's been working so hard on, much to your delight.

You let out a shaky breath before responding to Renee as he saunters around to sit opposite of you across the table, drinking the last of his water bottle. You see the bob of his Adam’s apple out of the corner of your eye.

Despite his intense stare, you cannot bring yourself to look at him, instead pressing your thighs together for some relief. The slick starts to pool in your underwear.

"Great, well, wonderful update, we'll move to events next," your senior vice president chimes in, continuing down the agenda.

You click the mute button and let out a shaky breath.

"You on mute?" Benny whispers in a voice lower than his natural register.

Leaning forward, you bring your elbows to rest on the table making a fist with your hands in front of your mouth to hide your lips as you talk.

"Yup."

"You're fucking amazing you know that." His eyes soften as your eyes shift to him, so much adoration on his face.

"Thanks, baby. And thanks for not making noise in the kitchen. But make yourself something to eat, you must be hungry."

"Oh, I'm starving sweetheart," he winks and you whimper. He's teasing you and having fun at your expense. "It was so hot watching you, boss lady. I'm just sittin' like, that's my girl, she's a badass."

You smirk, amused at how turned on Benny gets when you're in work mode despite the fact he really doesn't understand what you actually do. It was sweet how enthusiastic he always was in his encouragement of you and your pursuits.

"Well, thanks. But seriously, we have like another half an hour left so don't wait up. Eat.”

His tongue glides across his bottom lip as he cocks his head to the side, looking slowly from your eyes to your lips. “If you insist.”

He slides the chair back and drops to his knees, crawling underneath the table. You figure he must have dropped something until you feel his hand wrap around your ankle, causing you to yelp.

“Fuck you scared me,” you said behind clasped hands.

“Shh…you’re in your meeting,” he murmurs as he trails kisses up your calf, making you giggle. 

You try hard to keep a poker face and not react as you feel both of his calloused hands grasp behind your knees. He keeps kissing up and down your legs, his stubble tickling you.

“B-baby, what’re doing, I’m on a call,” you’re nearly panting. He’s shuffling to readjust to find a better position. You know he can't be comfortable since his tall frame barely fits underneath the table as it is. 

His mouth is greedier now, skimming up your knees to your thighs. He stops briefly as he moves his hands up to the waistband of your shorts. Again, you are trying to keep your face neutral when all you want to do is let your eyes roll back in your head and let him hear how much he is turning you on. Benny always loved how vocal you were. As his long fingers curl underneath your waistband you feel his frame move up as he tries to pull down your shorts.

“Shit,” he hisses as his head hits the table. “Fuck.”

“You ok?” you move your head down to look at him, finding his bright blue eyes looking up from between your legs under the table.

“Yea, uh…little help?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, bringing your index and middle finger to rest over your lips as you try to not move your mouth too much while you tell him you can’t fucking believe you’re doing this right now.

He palms your pussy causing you to exhale sharply. “You seem pretty ready to me,” he chuckles, tapping your hip so you can lift yourself up and help him take your shorts and underwear off in one move.

Your breathing is picking up now as you sit there bare, Benny between your legs, as you listen to Don from facilities drone on and on about…parking spaces? You honestly aren’t sure and have tuned out the meeting completely.

“Babe,” you whine, waiting for his next move as you slouch in the chair a bit to give him a better angle.

His fingers come to your folds, spreading your lips apart. You hear a low, guttural sound coming from under the table, making you squirm with anticipation over what he may do next. 

He’s made strides in his oral game since you’ve been together. You suspect Frankie has something to do with it, knowing his friend has to have given him some advice or tips. Some of the new moves he’s put on you in recent months sound a lot like what Frankie’s girlfriend mentioned once when all the girls met up for a night out. Regardless of how he’s gotten there, you have benefitted from his willingness to practice and get better.

He licks a long steady stripe up before stopping to focus on your clit, flicking his tongue as his large hands come to knead your soft flesh from your hips to your ass. You rock into him off instinct, and you’re dying to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair and tug his face closer to you.

The steady murmur from the call suddenly stops and you refocus to see everyone staring at their screens like they’re waiting for someone to talk. It’s then you register Renee repeating a question directed to you.

You pull yourself off of mute, clearing your throat and trying to keep calm as you reiterate a point you previously made during the call. Meanwhile, Benny starts fucking you with his tongue. You cough to stifle your whimper, and you reach down to grasp Benny’s hair and pull him off of you. He kisses your thighs and you can practically feel his smirk, the smug bastard is loving this.

When you’ve sufficiently answered Renee’s question, you put yourself back on mute, triple-checking your screen before you chastise your boyfriend. “Benjamin Spencer Miller, you are a fucking menace.”

He snorts, “You love it.” 

He starts working you over again, your breathing picking up as you stare at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of your computer screen. Benny can sense your frustration. He moves back to your clit, one of his fingers breaching your folds and pumping in and out of you, a second finger added not too long after. You lean back in your chair, bringing your palm over your mouth as you moan into your hand. 

“Ok, well team, great updates from everyone. I’ll give you all back some time in your day. Have a great one.”

With a tight smile, you quickly wave to everyone on the screen before abruptly slamming your laptop shut and sliding your chair back. 

Benny crawls from under the table, hands on the ground as he looks up at you, his chin glistening from your slick. His hair falls over his face, covering his eyes as he shakes it off. 

You cock your head to the side and roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“You loved it,” he moves to kneel in front of you, his hands resting on your hips as he rubs circles. “Plus, I had to get you back,” he winked and then winced as he straightened his torso.

“Your back is killing you isn’t it,” you run your fingers through his hair.

“Yea, it really fucking is, that angle was shit” he laughs. 

“Well, how about we go somewhere more comfortable?”

“When’s your next meeting?”

You look at the clock on your oven, “Don’t have another one til 1.”

“I guess that will do,” Benny says as he gets up and you see his shorts tented.

“Babe, that’s like in over an hour from now, I’m not gonna last long once you start again,” you giggle into his kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He works your sweater up and over your head and undoes your bra with one hand, eliciting a groan from you as he cups your breasts once they’re freed. 

“It's not enough…could have you all day and it still wouldn't be enough,” he smiles into your kiss, walking you backward down the hallway to your shared bedroom.

Once you get to the room, he kicks the door shut behind him. “On the bed.” As you shuffle yourself up the bed he tilts his head from side to side. “Over under… three.”

You roll your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Benny. Seriously? You’re gonna make a bet on how many times?”

“Over or under three,” he persists with a mischievous smile.

You rest your elbows onto the bed, as you ponder your response. “Push.”

“Clever girl, Will teachin’ you about sports betting behind my back, huh,” he laughs.

“Benny. Please don’t talk about your brother while I’m naked, that’s like the biggest tease.”

He throws his head back laughing. “Sorry. Anyway, where were we?” He arches his eyebrow.

You open your legs for him, running your hands up your thighs as he takes off his shorts and practically sprints over to the bed, making you giggle. He has such a knack for oscillating between hot and sensual and downright goofy and you love him for it.

It doesn’t take very long until you’re screaming his name as he takes you apart with the deliciously lethal combination of his tongue and his fingers. 

“There’s one.” 

He doesn’t even look up at you as he starts again. Your grip on his hair presses his face so close to your pussy that you hope he’s able to breathe. You buck your hips up as he brings his forearm to rest on your lower stomach helping pin you down. It doesn’t take long until you feel the pressure starting to build as you spill over the edge.

“Two.”

You bring your hands up to your face, brushing your hair out of your face, and giggling. “I can’t believe you’re fucking keeping score.”

He chuckles as he skims up your body, stopping every so often to kiss or nip along the way. You can feel how hard he is as his dick rests along your thigh. He now moves his attention to your breasts - one of his favorite parts of you. You roll your eyes knowing that he stopped here because his competitive ass is definitely going to make you come one more time before he actually fucks you. 

He alternates palming your breast and teasing your nipple between his thumb and middle finger. For your other, the one he realized long ago is the more sensitive of the two, he uses his tongue to flick over your hardened nipple before taking the rest in his mouth. He keeps at this for a while until your brain starts to short-circuit and your breathing grows ragged. You’re thankful that Will isn’t home because you can't help the sounds Benny is pulling from you.

“Three.”

“Ben I swear to God if you don’t get inside me right now.”

He looks up at you, a coy smile coming across his face, “Yes, ma’am.”

He shuffles to line himself up, and just as he’s about to push himself in you bring your hands to his shoulders and roll him over so you’re on top. 

“Oh no, I get to play a little too,” you bite your lower lip as you lower yourself on him, both of you letting out a groan.

He brings his hands to your thighs, trailing them up your body. “Fuck, you’re still so fucking wet. You feel so good, baby.”

You start to rock, loving the way he feels. It’s his turn to throw his head back now, whimpering as you pick up the pace. The room is filled with squelching sounds and your combined moans. 

“C’mon baby,” he pants.

“Fuck, Benny. S’good, I’m so close.”

He snaps his hips up a little harder and you feel him deeper, finding that spot that you never knew existed until Benny. 

“B-Benny, fuuuuck,” you scream as you fall over, whimpering in his ear and you come again. It takes a few more thrusts before you feel him fill you up, a ragged moan coming from deep in his throat. 

You both still for a moment, catching your breaths. He kisses you, cupping your face with one hand as you thread both of your hands through his hair to keep him where he is as you work through the aftershocks.

When you finally pull back, his eyes dart between yours before a mischievous smile comes back across his lips.

“Don’t you say it, Ben.” you roll your eyes, laughing at his feeble attempt to not crack up.

“Ok, I’m sorry.” He snorts before kissing you again. He groans slightly as you pull off of him and sits up on the bed, pulling you to his chest. “I love you.” He kisses the top of your head. “And I’m so proud of you, boss lady.” 

This nickname still makes you laugh. It was refreshing to have a partner who not only cared about your career aspirations but who encouraged it and cheered you on.

“I love you too Buns.” You rub your fingers along his chest.

“You know who’s amazing?” 

You laugh. He's going a bit overboard with the praise. “Who…me?” 

He shakes his head. “No babe, me. I made you come four times. I win!” He pumps his fist.

“Jesus, of course, you’d say that,” you laugh, smacking him on the chest before cuddling into him, your safe place. “Shit, I really need to get back to work.”

“Anymore calls today?” He raised his eyebrow.

“A couple, but I’m taking them from the office because I know you can’t fit under that desk.”

“Ooo sounds like a challenge,” he waggled his eyebrows, tickling your side as you both laughed.

A/N: If you made it this far, thank you for reading! I’m still dipping my toes into the smutty waters, but how can you resist Benny?

I’m tagging @musings-of-a-rose @itspdameronthings @bloodyinspirationaldemon @laurfilijames @secretelephanttattoo @anavatazes @undercoverpena @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @trulybetty because you all either commented or reblogged my mood board - sorry if you didn’t want the tag!

#benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x reader #benny miller x female reader #benny miller #triple frontier fic #triple frontier

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, prologue

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 

This is the beginning of what you wished had no end.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 See series masterlist for extensive a/n blurb and especially for trigger warnings. Tread carefully. Ily 🧡 Please be gentle, I'm terrified 🫣

Word count: 5.1k

[series masterlist] * [next]

Prologue: In The Beginning

He comes to you every Friday. 

He gets in after dark. He is gone before dawn. 

In this shady motel on the outskirts of town, where no one will recognise your car. The curtains are yellow, and the carpet is brown. There’s a dollar store painting of the Appalachian above the bed, and the tap runs either trickling and scalding or high pressure and cold. 

You hated that in particular, in the beginning. Now you don’t care. You don’t wash him off your skin anymore. Not until you’ve got no other choice. 

Because he can’t mark you, you’d been firm on that point, he likes to come on your skin. 

When he’d finally spoke, that very first time, he’d told you he was Frankie, but you assume it’s not his real name. Which is fine, you didn’t give him your real name either. 

“Frankie” had been far subtler than you, regretful, perhaps, you like to entertain the delusion, when he’d hinted that you couldn’t leave any trace on his body. 

And, in the beginning, you couldn’t imagine that it would ever matter. 

You were wrong. 

You were wrong about a lot of things, in the beginning. 

—

Friday night. Again. 

The swinging door creaks on its hinges to let in the regulars at random intervals. Mostly men, mostly middle-aged, mostly unshaven. Mostly clad in the working-class uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt. Few of them sit around the round wooden tables. The bar isn’t large, there’s only four of those.  

When they come in small parties, the men favour the two pools on the right. They’re lined with blue felt. The casing is made of plywood. No one ever plays darts, no one ever feeds the jukebox. Its electric cord lays unplugged on the floor, coiled like a sad sagging tail. 

If they walk in alone, they tend to sit at the bar. Head turned toward the giant television screen hung on the wall to their left, where younger men in more colourful uniforms fight, run, kick or throw balls in all shapes and sizes. Its noise is at the forefront, the middle-aged men’s conversations a low humming sound that falls into the background. 

The long and angled bar itself takes up most of the rectangular room’s space. The counter is stripped-down to the bare minimum. Stainless steel, easy to clean, practical. Four beer taps and a gambling machine and beyond the counter, a large mirror with three rows of dusty liquor bottles. 

Food is served, occasionally, as evidenced by the paper napkins dispensers and the two yellow and red plastic condiment bottles on each table. 

The barman runs the place on his own. You drink here every Friday evening, and you’ve never seen more than six customers at once, you included. Admittedly, you might not be very observant. 

Being observant requires endurance, far more than you possess and are willing to deploy and direct towards others. You’re not selfish, not in the least. But you’re tired. You’ve been tired for years. There’s no rational explanation for your exhaustion. No honourable, awe-inspiring, valid ground. You don’t even know what wears you out. It might be sadness, disappointment, or boredom. Or all three in equal parts. All you know is that, come Friday night, your head needs the support of the gray wall behind you.

The creaking noise on your left signals the arrival of another customer, stomping in with a sure gait. Your eyes stay shut. You don’t come to the very aptly named Hole in The Wall seeking the company of other people, whoever they may be. 

You come here to hide for a few hours, between the styrofoam ceiling and the dusty carpeted floor. To drink your week away in peace, but not in nerve-racking silence. Alcohol, you found out at a young age, has interesting properties: it blurs out the sharp edges of your dark thoughts in just the right amount. 

Back in spring, when you stepped in here for the very first time, you looked comically out of place in your corporate attire, and you did raise quite a few eyebrows from the other patrons. Five months later, they must have learned to see past the charade of your overpriced clothes, because none of them pays you any mind anymore. It’s better than anonymity: it’s casual indifference.

You loosen your grip around your tall cocktail glass and let the condensation drip down onto the cardboard coaster. Reluctantly, you lift your weary eyelids to locate the square napkin lying somewhere on the table and dry your fingertips on it.

That’s when you see him taking a seat at the counter, directly across from your small table. 

Years from now, you will still remember the precise circumstances of your first, brief encounter, even though you’re not fully paying attention yet. Nothing indicates tonight will be any different. Nothing suggests you are about to live through a pivotal moment in your existence.

Details will stand out, however. Mostly visual, surprisingly, given the dim lighting of the place. The back of his trucker hat, midnight blue plastic mesh, flattening the dark curls on his nape. The washed out denim of his shirt, worked-in, greenish in the diffuse artificial light, pulled taut across his back, as he sits facing away from you. 

The square shape of his shoulders is backlit against the bar’s mirror. Your empty gaze finds the solid slope of his broad silhouette, and you let it rest there, lazily following his movements whenever he picks up his glass. It’s the same comfort you find when you rest your empty head against the hard wall. It’s aimless, inconsequential.

Later, on different kinds of Friday nights, the sight of his muscles bunching as he tugs off his shirt will bring you back to this very moment. The thought will reshape into a sharp, wistful ache deep inside your heart. What would have happened, to you, to him, if he had chosen to stop for a drink at another bar, somewhere further down the road? What if you had done the same, back in April? 

For now, your mind is blessedly blank.

Does he catch your reflection in the mirror? Does he feel your gaze on the back of his head? 

After a while, how long, you cannot tell, he pivots slowly on his stool, grounded and dense. Slowly, like a mountain would if a mountain came to life and decided to walk into the ocean. He doesn’t turn around completely, just enough to look at you, one of his arms still propped on top of the counter. 

The right side of his face is darkened by the shadow from the brim of his hat, but you can make out the pronounced crease in his brow. His eyes are black, and unfathomable, like the ocean at night, but alight with a bright glimmer. They find yours instantly. 

Something shifts inside your rib cage, something close to the heart, close to pain. 

You feel exposed, entirely bare. Your breathing subsides, you cannot move, trapped in a nightmare-like stretch of time as he glares down at you, immobile, impressive, gigantic. Dark eyes boring into yours. You’re drowning in them. 

You don’t want it to end. 

Inevitably, he breaks eye-contact, and swivels back toward the mirror. He sits still for a few seconds, before grabbing his glass to finish his beer in long gulps. 

You watch him lift his hat and brush his hair to the side with a large hand, and he’s out the door less than a minute later, without so much as a glance in your direction, a conscious choice, given the minute proportions of the place. 

He leaves you sitting there, with your brow pinched and your empty drink, struggling to understand the rippling effects of his massive presence on your body and your brain.

You bring your fingers to your chest and rub them over your sternum, where the shifting sensation continues to prickle. 

Neither a second drink nor a third helps dull the feeling, but a fourth one is not an option if you want to get home without a DUI. 

It follows you into the darkness of the deserted parking lot, on the drive home and into the glass prison of your clinically clean apartment. It’s there when you get into bed, when you lie wide awake at 3am next to your sleeping fiancé, and it’s still there when you wake up, hungover and sore, four hours later. 

Nestled between your lungs. The memory of his cold hard stare. Of his soft sad eyes. 

It bypasses your most foolproof diversions of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain. Your attempts at hard work and your compulsive distractions. It robs you of your appetite, of your lucidity, of your ability to rest. It corners you in the first floor toilet of your office building on a Thursday morning, on the verge of a panic attack, until you consider calling your sister for help. 

Ava would figure it out. She’d get you out of that loop in which you’ve locked yourself up, she’d know what to say. With her crude words and her unforgiving formulations, she’d admonish your silly overreaction and dismissively rebuke your daydreams over a mundane interaction, probably throwing in something about your heteronormative fantasies. 

Dude, you’re all worked up because of a staring contest with a rando in a dive bar? she’d say. She’d toss the rhetorical question at your face, you can hear her as if you’ve already sweated through the conversation. 

She’s often harsh but she’s always right. 

And normally, you’d be seeking that out. For your little sister to bully some good sense back into your nebulous brain. 

But something has shifted. 

Dark curls, thick fingers, flexing shoulders. Solid arms. Cold, hard stare. 

He abraded something on the surface of your skin, and you don’t think you’re capable of withstanding Ava’s sarcasm in your current state. 

By the following Friday, you feel so vulnerable you consider going to another place, or not going out at all. 

Only, the alternative is worse. 

You walk into The Hole in The Wall convinced that your unsteady gait is betraying your apprehension, squinting to adjust to the dim light of the place. The bar is nearly empty, as always, save for a couple of bearded graying men you vaguely recall having seen here before. They all look the same to you, anyway. Another thing you hate about yourself.

The barman tells you to sit while he prepares your drink. The gesture is kind but uncustomary, and it only serves to increase your uneasy feeling. 

Within an hour of waiting, because that's what you've been doing, you register with an icy trickle of shame dripping down your sides, you realise he won’t be coming. 

That man’s presence here last week is the very definition of sheer happenstance. Nothing more. Nothing else. If anything, you’ve been a nuisance to him, ogling him while he was simply trying to unwind with an afterwork drink. 

You’ll never see him again. 

And it’s fine. You’ll move on, drift back into drifting, avoiding at all costs to process what happened to you when you met his gaze. The tree hiding the forest. 

When you walk up to the counter to order your second drink, the question slips away from you. 

“Can I have the same thing the man in the trucker hat had last Friday, please?”

The barman looks up at you from the tray of clean dishes he's pulling out of the dishwasher and he huffs. He’s handsome, by most standards, you notice for the very first time. Very tall, and broad, green-eyed with a three-day stubble. He’s probably a couple of years above forty. His head is shaved bald. He’s manly in a burly, albeit fatherly way. 

“Oh sweetheart, d’you know how many guys with a trucker hat I see here every day?”

It’s not meant to make you feel small, his tone is gentle. It’s a straightforward, factual answer. 

“What do you wanna drink?” he asks when you don’t answer. “Tired of that G&T yet? Cos I got good beer. This is a beer place, you know? Wanna try a light blonde, to start? Something stronger? An IPA?”

What do you want. You’ve been drinking gin all your life because that’s what your mother always has. Starting at 5pm in the afternoon. Would you, indeed, like to try a light blonde? Something stronger? An IPA, to start? 

It’s a brand-new world unfurling in front of you, a yellow brick road paved with what-do-you-wants.

“Sure,” you nod, “I can try an IPA.”

—

The barman goes by the name of Mark. He’s also the owner of The Hole in The Wall, you learn. Bought the place two years ago, after a painful divorce. A cliché, he adds, with a charming, self-deprecating smile.

The interaction’s short and altogether not unpleasant, and the beer, to your surprise, is fresh and enjoyable. It’s much tastier, in fact, than the cheap, tepid gin you’ve been sipping so far. It gets you drunk just as fast, but this time when you leave the bar, your mind is quiet, if not at ease. 

The following week, a heatwave hits the Tampa Bay. The melting asphalt sticks to your leather soles, like your sweaty clothes to your clammy skin, like your brooding mood to your dampened dreams. In a couple of days eventually, August will draw to an end, but the summer won’t end with it. It never truly does. It taunts you all year round, a sweltering reminder of how much you hate living here.

And if it wasn’t for the humidity, you’d be jogging the short distance between your car and the cool haven of the air-conditioned bar. 

You push the swinging door forward, eyes shut in anticipation of the blinding darkness and you stand in the entrance for a few seconds. The familiar and comforting smell of moldy dust mixed with beer yeast greets your senses as you take in the chill air grazing your naked arms. 

And then you reopen your eyes. 

He’s here. 

Trucker hat, blue jeans, gray T-shirt. Different clothes, same silhouette. He’s sitting at your table, his position a magnified echo of yours two weeks ago, hand loosely wrapped around his pint, seemingly asleep with his head propped against the wall. 

Mark looks at you and tilts his head in his direction, wiggling an eyebrow with a silent question of “Is this the guy you were asking about?”

Your breathing’s so loud you think everyone must hear it over the droning television. Mark’s brow furrows with incomprehension at the alarm widening your eyes, and you anchor yourself to his face, walking toward him in slow motion, climbing on the first high stool you reach.

“Hey. You ok?”

You stretch your lips in a wince of a smile.

“So? What will it be today? Wanna try a Free Dive? It’s local.”

You nod in silence, but then he grabs a large glass, and you ask tentatively, “Can I have only half a pint?”

Fuck, your mouth is so dry.

Behind you, to your right, you feel more than you hear the man shift in his chair.

Mark sighs, his left hand paused on the tap handle. 

“I don’t have beer glasses this small, sweetheart. Get a pint, the first one’s on me, okay?”

You reiterate your silent nod. He places the beer in front of you, and you swallow the first swigs too quickly. The back of your throat throbs with the fast flowing intake of the cold liquid, or perhaps it’s because of the frantic beating of your heart.

He’s getting up now, you can tell by the friction sound of the chair dragging on the carpeted floor, and your frightened expression turns downright pleading as you hear him close the distance between you.  

He’s at your back, sliding his thick naked arm past yours to return his empty glass to the counter. His movements are slow, deliberate. You get a whiff of his scent, a masculine musk, with a faint smell of laundry detergent, it’s wholesome, safety, comfort. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Looking at you with intent.

He’s so tall you have to lift your chin to hold his gaze. Hard cold stare, soft sad eyes, it’s swirling violently inside your exhausted chest and he’s leaving again already, walking toward the door like nothing just happened.

He pulls it inward and you watch him exit the bar into the dusk light.

Did he come back for you? Are you going insane? 

Sixty-seven seconds. Sixty-seven seconds is the time it takes you to decide your next move. The one that’s going to forever change your life. The one that could be everything or turn out meaningless. 

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Mark, sliding your handbag on the counter and you stand up to follow him outside.

The sunset sky is a pink shade of orange. Shadows are stretching long onto the asphalt, drawing a distorted world upside-down. 

He’s not here anymore, you waited too fucking long. You quickly scan the parked vehicles on the other side of the road to your right, and the parking lot in front of you, but it’s empty, save for your anthracite sedan, a black truck and what you assume must be Mark’s old SUV, because you see it every week. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, pressing your fingers to your sternum. 

You look to your left, where the parking ends. There’s a white utility vehicle advertising a plumbing service and a dark blue city car. Beyond them, the lot extends into a narrow stretch of gravel behind the small rectangular building. There’s a pile of junk, and the tailgate of a red truck.

Your hand drops to your side and you start walking toward it, going around the white van. 

He’s there. He’s waiting for you by the front of the red truck, behind the building. His hands propped on his waist, head down, hidden under his cap. 

You keep walking toward him, the sound of your shoes on the dirty ground grating your ears, but you stop short when he raises his head, fuck he looks even taller at this distance, with his elbows spread.

It’s like he senses your apprehension, or perhaps he shares it, because he folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself. 

For the very first time, you can fully make out his face. Strong features, a strong curvy nose, a patchy beard peppering a sharp jaw, and plush lips. Your gaze follows the solid column of his neck down to his suprasternal point peeking above the V-collar of his worn-out t-shirt, before it’s drawn back to his eyes.

He stands there perfectly still for you to detail.

Above you, the sky has turned a rusty blue. The humidity is stifling. It’s Friday the 30th, 2019, 8.17pm.

“What do you want?”

His voice is deep, and low, barely louder than a murmur yet intense, his words full and round. 

The question, however legitimate, hits you square in the solar plexus, right under your aching sternum. You fear that if you don’t speak fast enough, he’ll leave you again, alone with the memory of his soft sad eyes and his hard cold stare. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, and god, if it’s true, what are you doing here? 

He huffs, and it’s the very sound of disillusion. His eyes grow dimmer, you think you’re not the one darkening them. Unfolding his arms, he removes his hat and takes a step closer, then another. You could touch him, if you reached out with your arm stretched. 

He looks at you like he’s already seen how your story ends. 

You could back away. You don’t. 

He moves slowly, thick body thrumming with undiluted strength and unreleased tension, eyes searching yours, giving you the time to leave, should leaving be what you choose, should you turn around and run before the hanging threat breaks like dark stormy clouds and drench you soaked. 

He slowly moves forward until he’s towering over you, until his chest touches your breasts, until the pilled cotton of his t-shirt catches at the satin material of your blouse. His scent floods your senses, he leans down into the curve of your neck and inhales you there, long, deep, unhurried. You hold your breath, still, in turn, for his exploration, nails digging into your palms, heart tripping.  

And then, he touches you. With his lips, a feather-like caress over the soft skin under your ear. Your eyes flutter shut, your thoughts are suspended.

“This what you want?” he murmurs.

His words sink under your skin, they harden your nipples, raise goosebumps on your nape in the muggy evening heat.  

“Yes.”

The cap falls onto the gravel. His hands go to your hips. Clutching you there with a rough grip and he’s tugging you closer, flush to his chest. He licks up a broad stripe along the line of your throat, pivots with you in his arms and backs you into the side of the truck, you have to grab his forearms to keep your balance. 

A guttural sound catches in his throat, like a grunt he tries to hold back, for your touch, for the taste of your skin, for your pliant docility.

Your head rolls back, you’ve gone weeks without a skin on skin contact, and now this man is hunched over you, his body swallowing yours, this stranger who’s infected your dreams with his cold hard stare and his soft sad eyes, his mouth roaming the expanse of your throat, short beard prickling your skin, and the shifting sensation inside your chest drops to your core where it catches fire.

His kisses are lips, teeth and tongue, rough and scraping at you raw in all the right ways, they trail up along your neck, under your jaw, and when they find your lips, he presses you harder into him. He tastes like beer, unfamiliar, you want to get used to it. 

The seams of your blouse strain when he pulls it out of your skirt with an impatient tug. His hands slither under the hem and find the naked skin of your back. His palms are strong, rugged and scalding and his fingertips calloused, they make your skin sizzle underneath their pressing, crackle like snapping wood, like fireworks at a summer county fair, like sweet candy wrapping. 

You're leaking hot and sticky between your hips, responding with your entire body, opening up for him, letting his tongue in past your lips with pathetic grateful little moans, winding your arms around his shoulders, over the cording muscles of his back, musky sweat dampening his t-shirt. The thick, solid shape of him, that got etched behind your eyelids.

You’re a want and a need and an empty flutter, entangled with him, whoever he may be, his tongue swirling inside your mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, his splayed hands covering your back, his knee spreading your legs open. 

He’s voracious, harsh in his own need, snatching from you what you’re already willing to give, angling your head with a sharp pull on your hair to deepen his kiss, grunting his approval when you moan at the sting. 

Arousal keeps dripping down your fold where his thigh prods firm and brawny against the black material of your skirt that hinders the pressure. 

He growls, frustration rumbling low and menacing inside his throat. He grabs your ass and squeezes, thick middle finger pushing against the fabric of your clothes into the cleft between your cheeks and you jolt, leaping forward further into him. His belt buckle bites into the soft flesh of your belly, right where you're burning empty and wanting and shameless for him. You feel him hot and hard against your hip, and he tightens his hold, cages you within him. 

He’s big all over, larger than life proportions, you surrender to the fact with your lust-drunk mind, from the height of his frame to the girth of his sex, from his grip on your senses to the sorrow in his eyes. 

It blooms inside you like pain, blossoms of mahogany red spreading along your limbs in relentless waves, the power he already wields over you and you don’t even know his name.  

You buck between his arms, a first and very last attempt at freeing yourself, unconvincing with the scrap of your fingernails along the pebbled skin of his neck, and you press back into him again, squirming against his throbbing length, offering him some friction.  

He pulls out all of sudden, breaking the kiss, and you're left panting, ankles swaying, you’d drop to the gravel without the support of the truck, still sun-warm in the early evening, yet colder than his feverish body. 

He shakes his head with a silent no, his shoulders heaving, a wordless warning hissed through his clenched bared teeth. The simmering anger under the surface only makes you want him more, the unyielding restraint shining dark in his eyes.  

But it’s over. You know it. He gave you this, and took it back. With shaky hands, you smooth down the wrinkles of your blouse where he’s bunched it in his fists. You lick his taste off your trembling lip. You will not cry. 

He shakes his head again, you watch him through welling tears, confused, eyes flickering between his. 

Behind him, the city car’s engine revs up to a start, aggressive headlights backlighting him. His throat bobs up and down in chiaroscuro as he swallows hard. You know what you must look like in the crude white light. Supplicant, dependent, awaiting. Disheveled by his hand. Tires grate on the gravel as the car reverses away from you into the night, and with it the headlights, leaving you standing in the brown city night, urban semi darkness, and you see him shut his eyes. 

He smiles, a puzzling, sorrowful lift of his plush lips, and a new sort of ache washes over you. You raise forward on your tiptoes to peck a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His entire frame quivers for you. A muscle clenches in his jaw, the deepening crease in his brow redefines his traits in shadows. 

He leans into you, like he wants you but he doesn’t want to want you, like he’s giving in but not entirely, because giving in would be the end of him, of you.

The flat of his palm to the swell of your breast, and he kneads your soft flesh, slowly at first, growing urgent. The back of your head hits the truck’s window when he pinches your nipple, hard, with two fingers, and you bite down a moan. 

He’s engulfing you again, lips latched around your other nipple, tongue swirling and licking through your blouse and your thin bra and you hold on to him, you cling to his frame when he bunches up your skirt around your waist, leather boot nudging your foot to the side, cock throbbing on your hip, slick dripping down your walls. 

“Stop me,” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. It’s not a dare, it’s not a plea, it’s your last chance to back down before the free fall. 

Your pulse stutters, you arch into him without hesitation, but he pins you back against the truck with his chest, cupping you through your underwear and he curses into your neck at the sticky leaking mess he finds there.

Your naked leg hitches up rigid and tense against his leg, curled fingers, curled toes, and he hooks his index into the cotton of your panties. 

A brief stroke of his knuckles into the soft, smooth dip between your sex and your inner thigh, unexpectedly tender, before he parts your soaked lips with his two middle fingers, coating them in your sticky slick desire, and he sinks them inside your empty cunt. 

You crumble around the intrusion, forehead hitting his collarbone, slack-mouthed, a short exhale of a silent “oh.” He brings his left hand to the crown of your head and cradles you there, while his fingers pump in and out of your heat fast and rough. His thumb glides through your folds and starts rubbing at your clit, deft and precise, and you shudder between his arms, you slump into his hold. 

He keeps stroking your hair, gentle soothing sounds murmured into your ear as he fucks you raw with his hand, attuned to your moans and your every reaction, gauging what you can take before his fingers curl deeper inside your cunt, merciless, thumb pressing tight circles on your bud at an increasing pace.  

Your breathing comes in ragged and short while his intensifies. It’s pouring into your ear hot and overwhelming and you’re dissolving. Sweat beading at your temples, heat raising from his exerted muscles. 

You focus on the sensation of his flexing muscles under your clawing hands to stave off your building orgasm, it’s growing bright and blinding, searing and violent but it’s inevitable, and soon, too soon, your release flows hot and sticky into his hand. Your whines resound inside his chest but he keeps going, low husks of shhh, come on now, that’s it, until your trapped body trashes with the overstimulation.  

It’s like he can’t let go, pressing his nose heavily to the side of your face, and you struggle to resurface, blood thrumming in your veins, his angry cock pulsating against your hip. 

You let out a dry sob when he slides out of you and the rubber band of your panties slaps your sensitive skin. You don’t miss the flat drag of his tongue licking your taste off his palm, you furrow your fingers deeper into his arm with a short clench of your eyes. 

“Fuck,” your hear him quietly groan, and his fingers disappear into his mouth. 

You want to stay tucked up against him, curled up into his hold. You could live the rest of your life there, you think, between his hands and his scent, between his chest and his truck. 

You lock your ankles and your knees, hoping they will not fail you and you stand, pushing away from him and into the side of the truck. You readjust your skirt, slide it down, palm it smooth. Brush the damp hair from your forehead with the back of your trembling hand.

In your peripheral, he’s leaning down, picking up his hat from the ground and combing his fingers through his hair before he sets the cap back on his head.

You look up dazed and heavy-lidded and you brace yourself before meeting his gaze, cold hard stare, soft sad eyes, and he says,

“I’m Frankie.”

****

Bonus (having déjà vu? that's normal 😝 Gonna use this gif at the end of every first chapter I manage to yank out of my crazy in love brain):

Taglist (thank you 🧡 if you don't wish to be tagged anymore, just drop me a DM 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @nicolethered @littleone65 @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @mylostloversbookmarks @its-nebuleuse @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @all-the-way-down-here

#tonight you belong to me #happy frankie friday #tybtm #Francisco Catfish Morales #frankie morales #the pilot™️ #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales / fem!reader #frankie morales / you #frankie morales / ofc #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #frankie friday #will miller #benny miller #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #triple frontier fanfiction

[romanarose]

Triple Frontier Write-A-Thon

Hosted by @romanarose and @for-a-longlongtime

Hello everyone! March 13th of this year is the 5 year anniversary of Triple Frontier, a movie that was underrated but very precious to all of us. To me, it is a comfort movie and something that through fics and fandom has helped me process a lot of things. 

Charlie Hunnam announced recently that there is potential for a sequel and he is trying to get it in production and has signed on as a producer. Me and @for-a-longlongtime want to both drum up a little noise and celebrate this media we all love so much!

How it works

Write a fanfiction of Triple Frontier, following the content rules listed below. This is for both art and fanfiction. We encourage you to utilize twitter or instagram if you’d like to share either, and #triplefrontier or #triplefrontier2019 on any site you post on. If you don’t want to make art or write, we encourage you to use social media platforms with the hashtags to help make some noise.

We are highly encouraging LGBT themes and for you to think outside of x f!reader. 

All fics that fall under the rules are encouraged, so if you write Santiago Garcia x afab!f!reader, that’s great! But we’d like to take this time to encourage gay/bi pairings, trans readers, or even trans interpretations of the boys. Branch out!

When you post, tag @triplefrontier-anniversary on tumblr and we will reblog it there. We also may reblog onto our main, so consider tagging one or both of us so we know what’s up! Please follow that page to see what other people are writing! In the tags, please tag it triple frontier write a thon, just to make everything easily found.

If you want to post art that tumblr doesn’t allow like nude art, link the content in a tumblr post, like a twitter link, and we’ll reblog that!

If you exclusively write on ao3 or wattpad or other, you can either make a link on a tumblr post and tag us. Other option is to message me (RomanaRose) privately and I’ll make a post and link you and reblog it to the page.

Rules

We will run from March 1st to March 14th. Fics and art posted before or after will not be counted.

This is not a dark event, sorry! Some of us enjoy dark content but wanted to keep this particular event mostly non-dark. That being said, we will allow dub con in the context of mild alcohol use, power dynamics etc. Kidnapping/arranged marriage etc is fine as long as consent is given for anything sexual. Mostly we are looking to avoid non-con/violence. If you have questions, don’t be afraid to reach out to us!

All participants must be 18+, although smut is not required

No incest, including Millercest. None of the usual ‘no’s’, such as underage content apply in addition to no dark.

We have the right to exclude any fic that makes us uncomfortable. It’s our event.

However, we will NOT be excluding people for personal biases, unless it encroaches on our boundaries. I.E. If we have you blocked, please don’t try to enter the event. However, if we’ve had petty beefs or you and one of our mutuals don’t like each other, we generally will include your work. This event is to promote Triple Frontier, not about us.

LGBT themes are highly encouraged, not required.

Tom is allowed. We’re not gonna tell you not to include him if that’s what your little heart desires. However, we highly encourage that your work includes at least one of the usual 4

Leave me alone I love Arrested Development, RIP Carl Weathers.

We hope everyone has fun and this drums up more Triple Frontier fics, in which we are severely lacking!

Remember to reblog and comment to support artists!

Please come to us with any questions!

#triple frontier #santiago garcia #will miller #william miller #triple frontier fanfic #benny miller #ben miller #frankie morales #frankie friday #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #fishben #ironpope #benjamin miller #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #male reader #x reader