NOTES: read part one here. This is a part two that quite literally no one asked for but I had to finish her up and get it out of my drafts.
TW: smut, cheating (on bf!Hughie), kinda heavy and sad, it’s 100% consensual but reader has a lot of regret throughout—not for the sex but for the cheating, one instance of spitting, Ben is almost sorta a sweetie to her
MASTERLIST
His apartment smells like smoke and worn leather, just like it always does.
You’ve been here before. Too many times. You know the marks on the walls, the lamp in the corner that he always unplugs, the deep groove in the floorboards where Ben always drops his boots. You know the couch and how the cushions are sagging, how the leather feels nice against bare skin. You know exactly what always happens in this room—never in the bedroom—and you still came anyway.
The front door shuts behind you with a solid thunk.
Ben doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands there, looking at you like he already owns every breath in your lungs.
You hate how fast your pulse is racing.
“Don’t get all shy on me now,” he says, voice low, too calm. “We both know why you’re here.”
You swallow. Nod. Try to stay still.
But your body betrays you, just like it always does. Your weight shifts, your thighs clench, your lips part like you’re ready to beg for something awful.
He steps closer, slow. Deliberate. Then he touches your chin, just two fingers, light pressure tilting your face up to look at him.
“You never answered my question…. You kiss him goodnight?” he asks, same line, quieter this time. More intimate. Almost gentle. If he just leaned forward the tiniest bit, he could kiss you.
You blink, and your throat tightens.
“Yeah,” you whisper, “I did.”
His jaw ticks. But he doesn’t let go.
“Bet he held you after, didn’t he?” His voice is like smoke now, somehow heavy in a very soft kind of way. “Told you how he loved you.”
You nod again, “he always does. Every night.”
Ben laughs. Just once. Sharp and not at all kind. Then he leans in and kisses you like he wants to ruin you for good. It’s rough from the start, his hands greedy, mouth unforgiving. “But it doesn’t feel like this with that boy of yours,” he breaths the words across your lips before taking them again. You’re almost thankful for the distraction so you don’t have to think about how true his words are.
He doesn’t warm you up. Doesn’t coax. He just takes.
Clothes come off in pieces. Your top gets ripped up over your head. He unhooks your bra with one hand and tosses it to the floor.
Then he turns you around, nudges you toward the couch. “Get up there. On your knees.”
You climb up, hands gripping the back cushions, knees sinking into the lower ones. It’s filthy, everything about this is filthy, but you don’t even flinch.
You want the dirt. You want to drown in it.
Ben comes up behind you, big hands spreading your thighs like he’s parting pages in a book he’s already read a hundred times.
“You’re so wet for me,” he mutters, almost to himself. “But, fuck, you always are, aren’tcha sweetheart? Bet you’ve been dripping like a goddamn faucet since you texted me earlier.”
You bite your lip. Your cheek presses to the fabric. You’re shaking. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. You should leave, push him off. You should have months ago. This never ever should have happened… but it did. And you don’t. And you won’t.
In fact, you lean into it, into him.
You like this.
You look forward to this, every goddamn time.
Even if it makes you feel like the worst person on the planet after.
He doesn’t ease in. Just spits into his hand, strokes himself once. Of course, Ben can’t help himself from leaning over to spit on your pussy for good measure, even if it clearly doesn’t need the help given the way you’re quite literally dripping down your thighs. He just stares for a long moment, long enough to have your cheeks reddening, before he lines himself up, and pushes in.
“Ben,” you cry out. The stretch is sudden, brutal, almost too much—but you don’t stop him.
You never do.
Ben groans behind you, one hand gripping your waist so tight it makes your bones ache. “Goddamn,” he mutters. “Always so tight. So fuckin’ good.”
He sets a pace that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Every thrust sends you forward, gasping, clawing at the couch for something to hold onto.
You don’t say anything. Wouldn’t dare.
Because if you open your mouth right now, you’ll scream his name. And if you scream his name, you won’t be able to lie to yourself later.
Ben leans over you, chest to your back, hand slipping under your body to grip your throat.
“You gonna cum like this?” he rasps. “Thinkin’ about him asleep in your bed, all sweet and in love, while I fuck you into next week ?”
You choke on a sob. Nod.
He groans again, the sound deep and ragged, and fucks you harder.
Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave of heat and guilt and want. Your whole body seizes around him, and you can’t stop the broken sound that spills from your throat.
Ben follows, rough and messy. He doesn’t pull out.
He never pulls out.
You collapse forward, shaking. He stays there for a moment, breathing hard, his hand still curled around your throat—like a collar. Like a mark. Then he leans forward, pressing a long, drawn out kiss against your neck, just below your ear.
And then he lets go.
You can’t look at him. Can’t look at yourself.
Ben steps back, zips up his jeans. You can feel him leaking out of you, dripping down your inner thighs. But you don’t move.
He watches you for a long second. Then, with something that almost sounds like tenderness, he says, “You wanna shower?”
“It’s fine,” you shake your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat.
The one and only time you’d showered here, at the very beginning of… whatever this is between you, had ended with you crying so hard you could barely breath. So a shower, despite the desperate need for one, was off the table.
You don’t say anything when you finally stand.
You just pull your skirt back down over your hips, hands shaking a little. It’s twisted, rumpled, clinging in odd spots. You don’t fix it. Just smooth the fabric and pretend you’re fine.
Ben watches from the arm of the couch, legs spread, one elbow braced on his knee. His shirt’s still off, chest streaked with sweat.
He watches you grab your bra off the floor and try to untangle the straps. Your hands fumble once, twice. They’re shaking too bad.
“Here,” he says gruffly, standing, “let me do it.”
You almost flinch when he gets close.
He notices, but doesn’t comment. Just takes the bra from you and hooks it behind your back like he’s done it a dozen times—because he has.
Your eyes stay on the floor.
“There’s no fire, y’know. You don’t have to rush,” he says after a minute. His voice isn’t soft, exactly. But it’s not mean, either, which is more than most people get from him.
You pull you shirt closed. Some of the buttons are missing, no doubt having popped off when he’d hastily yanked your shirt off earlier. “Shit,” you sigh under your breath, closing your eyes for a long moment.
Ben walks over to the chair, grabs a flannel draped over it, and holds it out.
You give him what might be the most pathetically sad “thank you” smile the universe has ever seen.
The shirt swallows you whole—too big, sleeves past your wrists, the scent of smoke and sweat and him soaked into every fiber.
You look smaller now. Or maybe just younger. Far to young to be fucking around with him, that’s for sure.
“You alright?” he asks. It’s a genuine question, not just some formality, you both know it. And you want to hate him for being nice to you because, in a way, that makes this all so much worse.
You nod, your voice flat and totally devoid of any of the usually humor it carries, “just peachy.”
You won’t look at him. Can’t.
Not after he kissed your throat. Not after you came around his cock. Not after you said his name like a prayer and a curse in the same breath.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” he says quietly. “You know that right?”
That gets you. Your head snaps up. Mouth opens, like you’re going to ask what exactly is “this?” Because, frankly, you’re at a total loss.
But you don’t. You just swallow hard and lift your chin.
“You don’t want me to come back?” You ask, and your voice is sharp now, like you’re daring him to say it. This is what you always do. You lash out at him, because when he’s realistic and reasonable, it makes you feel even worse than you do. Even though you know he’s not trying to.
Ben exhales through his nose. Rubs the back of his neck. “No,” he says flatly, fixing you with an almost annoyed look. “That’s not what I said. Not what I meant either, and you know it.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then another. It’s heavy. Long enough to feel like a goodbye.
Ben clears his throat. “You want me to take you home?”
You nod again.
You don’t say anything. You don’t touch him. You just walk toward the door—bare legs cold in the air, Ben’s flannel swallowing your frame, smelling like him and everything you shouldn’t want.
He stares at you the whole way.
Not like he loves you. Not like he’s afraid to lose you.
Like you’re something he never meant to have in the first place.
Something he doesn’t know what to do with—how to hold, how to keep, how to let go of without burning his hands.
Something that only exists here, in the dark, when no one else is looking.
And maybe that’s all you are.
Maybe it’s just the thrill of it. The power. The secret.
you feeling guilty for cheating because youve never done anyhting like that and Joels comforting you by saying things like "S' alright, sweet girl. You just need some affection, huh? Just need me to do what he aint capable of? Yeah, I know, I'll make it better." while his fingers gently worked on undoing your jeans or whatever CUZ HES BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT AND DOESNT WANT YOU SLIPPING OUT OF HIS HANDS.....
SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUUUUUPPPPPP!!
I’M LITERALLY RIPPING HAIR OUT OK maybe reader’s husband is, like, super neglectful and never home and she’s literally devastated ab it because she thought being married would sort of ‘fix’ her problems in a way but life has only gotten WORSE since marrying him and she’s so distraught. And Joel is there. Maybe he’s the contractor on some big home renovation her and her husband have been saving up for or something (🤭🤭); he’s ALWAYS over at her house these days, and with her husband away at work or on business trips so often, it’s only natural she’d want to strike up a sort of camaraderie and get to know him. FAST-FORWARD TO ONE LONELY RAINY NIGHT LMAO—like you were saying, she’d feel SOOO guilty about it at first. She never, ever, ever thought she’d be the kind of woman to cheat on her husband (and so early into the marriage? she feels like a failure). But Joel’s here to assure her that she deserves better. She hasn’t fucked it all up simply wanting to be loved, and he shows her that 😩 Your dialogue is genuinely fucking SENDING MEEEE you know he’d be so gentle the whole time, like, “Does this feel good, baby? Y’like it when I do that?” and some, “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feelin’ so I know this is alright.” AND AAAAAAAJSKDKD him fucking her for the first time?? In the bed she shares with her husband??? 😭😭 SAYING HE’S IN LOVE WITH HER AND WOULD TREAT HER SO MUCH BETTER THAN HER HUSB- [GUNSHOTS]
𝜗𝜚 ➵ i don’t condone cheating but it’s for the plot yall 😊😊😊! n i found out that someone is posting my work on wp..
“ju i don’t know, he’s always bitching about nothing”. you and your on and off boyfriend had gotten in an argument for the third time this week, you were completely over it. “and he brings you up every argument”
your boyfriend had every right to, you guys were definitely fucking on the low, your boyfriend just couldn’t satisfy you the way juju does, he can’t even make you cum.
“leave him” juju shrugged, she couldn’t cared less about him. you couldn’t just leave him.. you didn’t want to break his heart. even though there were many arguments, he adored you.
she pulled you onto her lap, placing gently kisses on your neck. you gasped at the feeling, melting into her. “are you gonna leave him?” juju rasped.
“i can’t..” you whined, ju sucked at your neck leaving love marks all over. “why not, hm?” you ignored the question too busy focused on her fingers pulling at the elastic of your shorts.
her hand slid in your pants, past your panties. you were already soaked, your hips buck as juju glided her finger tips up and down your slit.
her free hand grabbed onto your throat, pulling you closer for a kiss. before you could even kiss back, she inserted her long finger into your drenched pussy.
you gasp against her lips as you try kiss her back, faint sound of your cunt sploshing. and it turns juju on even more.
"answer my question mama" a smirk plastered on her face. “i-i can’t.. fuckk- don’t wanna hi-his heart” you moan.
juju adds another finger slowly sliding in and out of you. it’s almost like torture, your whines become louder as you melt into her.
“yeah? lemme change your mind”
“faster.. ju p-please” you beg, you move your hips frantically trying to ride her fingers. she speeds up, ju curls up her fingers doing a come here motion. oh how good this felt.
you lean your head on her shoulder, your eyes shut tight. you lips between your teeth biting down hard. your breathing becomes staggered as your climax gets closer.
“oh my gosh- ju!” you squeal.
juju’s thumb draws eight figures on your throbbing clit, your eyes shoot wide open, bulging out of your head. you clench around her fingers. a light sheet of sweat covers your forehead.
“i bet he can’t even get you this wet..” her sly smile strong on her face, she knew what she was doing.
“holy fuck- i’m close!” your moans now high pitched, juju fingers hitting the spot that made you feel all gummy. your tummy twisting with butterflies.
“ju..pleasepleaseplease-” you babble, your toes curl at your release, your body tingles all over almost as if you’re burning.
juju pulls her hand out of your pants, instantly sucking your sweet juices off ending it with a “pop!” sound, you fall back in the bed catching your breath.
“well, did that change your mind?” she raises an eyebrow. you giggled a little searching for your phone.
you pick up your phone, your acrylic nails clacking against it as you press your boyfriend’s contact. your phone is pressed to your ear as it rung. he answered. well here we go!
The way I would be so toxic with Cheater Soap? Fuck another woman? Okay, I’m fucking your best friend. I don’t wanna make soap better, I’m going to make him worse by the time I’m done with him.
you. you're so fucking real bestie.
the only way to stop soap is being as bad or even worse than him. he flirts with a stranger? leave underwear soaked in cum that isn't his.
he makes out with some random guy at a bar? go and fuck ghost.
he fully fucks someone else? send him a video of you getting gangbanged by the rest of the 141.
always one up him or he gets what he wants. the only problem is that he's probably into it.
Okay okay but what if: The Cheater AU was REVERSED -Someone you may know
OwO hmm i wonder who this is AaaAAAa (im so sorry, i don’t recognize you ASNDKLAN) but wOW THIS IS SUCH A BIG BRAIN INTERESTING, GALAXY BRAIN IDEA !!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH ♡♡♡
wine colored kiss (Risotto Nero)
content warning: cheating
You love your husband, you really do. He loved you with every fiber of his being. Every day, your friends would joke about how jealous they were that you had someone as lovely as Bruno by your side. Bruno Buccellati was the perfect husband.
He was sweet, soft, gentle, and kind. Everything that Risotto Nero was not.
And yet, you still found yourself, drawn like a moth to a flame to the mysterious leader of the assassination squad. You catch each other’s eye the day Bruno takes you to one of the Don’s luxurious parties. You are draped on his arm, your wedding ring, the only piece of jewelry you had decided to wear.
When Risotto makes his way to you and Bruno, you coyly introduce yourself to him, blissfully pretending that you don’t notice how his eyes rake over your lovely form. When he takes your hand, to place a gentle kiss on the knuckle of your ring finger, you swear you can feel your heart patter loudly in your chest.
You swear that you can feel his gaze on you for the whole night. When Bruno excuses himself to take care of some more pressing concerns, you just smile and tell him to do what he must.
Because as soon as Bruno has left your side, Risotto is filling the lonely silence that pops up. There is an intensity to him that you have not experienced with Bruno in a long time. And you find yourself heading into an easy, palpable attraction with him. All too soon, the night is over, and though you head home with Bruno, you cannot rid your mind of that mysterious and devilishly handsome man.
But you know, and he knows, that this is not the last time you will meet again.
On a day that is neither windy nor sweltering, on what feels like the perfect day, Risotto Nero turns up on your front door with the same easy smirk on his lips.
“For an assassin, you’re not very inconspicuous,” you muse aloud as you invite him in.
A dark chuckle tears out of his lips as he tugs you flush against his hard chest, “please rest assured, that I’ll get the job done.”
“I know you will,” you say, closing your eyes and inclining your head to grant him easier access.
He ignores the cold press of your golden wedding band, in fact, you might have even said that this whole thing rather excited him.
When Risotto presses his hot lips against yours, lighting up a new burning passion deep in your heart, you don’t push him away. Rather, you dip your head so that he can kiss you deeper, harder. When he pushes you into your bedroom, you let him.
You’ve never known that drinking from his lips could have been so addictive.
there’s something really hot about reader cheating on her rich but distant finance husband who’s all about having pressed shirts and expensive dinners and often disapproves of how reader presents herself to his coworkers, never goes down on her and is generally very condescending, with blue collar joel miller who gets his hands dirty, smells like musk and motor oil and smoke, treats reader so gently despite being this rough and ready man who towers over her, and is an EATER through and through. like joel would not be able to stop himself from showing her what she’s missing by giving her head every time he walks through the door
NON, YOUR CHARACTERIZATION HERE??
INCREDIBLE. IMPECCABLE. I’M DRY-HEAVING.
That dichotomy is perfect. Like, husband in his crisp, tailored suits that probably cost as much as what Joel makes in a single paycheck, turning his nose up at the folks working on his home renovation. Probably wears Ferragamo loafers to work like a badge of honor lmfao. And bonus points if Reader was conditioned to believe that a man like him was what would make her happiest—maybe she wasn’t raised in the most well-off family, and it was always drilled into her head that a wealthy man was the best, safest option. She doesn’t know why she feels so empty meandering her Travis Heights McMansion day in and day out, biding her time until her husband comes home—and he’s always, always late. Maybe a baby will fix things. She’s started to lose hope that life will ever change until, one day, the contractor with the gruff and stony exterior pays her an off-handed compliment. It’s something small, but also on a part of her that her husband would never notice, like her nails.
LOVEEEEEE JOEL MILLER BEING A MUNCH TOO ❤️ Man would go to TOWN on her like no one has before, and maybe the first time he tries to clean up and wash his hands first, like, “‘M’sorry, darlin’, don’t wanna touch ya when I’m this filthy” and Reader’s like NO. I LOVE IT. KEEP GOING. lmao and then he dirties her upppppp with his big, strong, grease-stained hands and 😛😛😛
NOTES: read part 2 here. this was very much inspired by the concept of Ben swooping you right out from under hughie/sneak link!Ben.
TW: cheating and everyone involved knows except poor hughie , not at all sweet and romanticized ben
MASTERLIST
It’s after midnight when you slip out of bed, careful not to wake Hughie.
He looks so peaceful in his sleep. One hand curled under his cheek, the other draped across where your body had just been. His chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths. Like nothing in the world could ever touch him.
He loves you. It’s written all over him—how he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching, the way he holds your hand like he’s afraid to let go.
And you love him. You really do.
But—
Ben waits for you two blocks away, leaning against the side of his truck like some fucked-up version of James Dean, half-shadowed under the yellow wash of a streetlamp.
His eyes rake over you the second you appear, dragging slow and deliberate—like he’s already undressing you. Like he owns you.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” he says, flicking his cigarette to the sidewalk. It sparks out in an angry scatter.
You don’t answer.
You just open the door and climb into the passenger seat without looking at him, heart pounding like a siren in your chest.
Ben gets in after you, slamming the door shut. The engine growls to life like it resents being woken.
He doesn’t touch you right away. Just lets the silence settle heavy, lets the guilt seep in slow—like heat from the vents. Lets you sit there and think about Hughie, about the warmth you left behind, the love you keep hurting.
And then—
His hand lands on your thigh. Hot. Heavy. Possessive.
“I hope you at least kissed him goodbye,” he says, glancing over with a cocky grin. “Be a real shame if you didn’t.”
