#daddy!benson

“I'm back by midnight.” Benson tried to save things preemptively, his mind riding right along with your train of thought.

He could see it in the hardly even there twitch of your eyebrow and in the way the corner of your lip pointed downward for a split second.

You bit down on your bottom lip, letting the supple flesh slide from between your teeth right after.

“Come ‘ere.” The flat of his broad palm met his thigh in a brief tapping motion, making you take the invitation immediately whilst this ugly feeling on the inside grew.

Pathetically co-dependant. Separation anxiety eating you alive and laughing in your face whilst doing so. Always too demanding, too needy, too-

“Stop. Shh.” Benson exhaled into your hair after you'd crawled onto his lap, pressing yourself against him as if he was about to vanish into thin air.

“It'll be okay, babe. The first night is always the worst, I know.” He wrapped his arms around you, holding you flush to his front as he quietly listened to a wash of poorly choked-back sniffles trickling from your lightly quivering lips.

He knew that he could promise you the blue right down from the heavens and it wouldn't help. He'd learned to simply take it and give you the room to let it all out, to let the anxiety crash through you but at the very least so in a safe space.

“ ‘S gonna be alright. I'm here, sweets.” His fingers grazed along your hairline at the back of your neck, slow motions attempting to soothe you as the shaking spread from your mouth to the rest of your body, pulling at your shoulders and working its way down your spine with every hitching breath.

You'd tried everything and so had Benson, however, neither of you managed to find something to truly help with it, to make the looming dread any more bearable for there was this little, overly sensitive thing inside of you that started aching uncontrollably whenever Benson wasn't around.

Some days you caught yourself wondering how you'd even made it this far without him because you could hardly remember the days before you'd started dating; and endless grey in grey that didn't deserve remembering.

“You'll be good. I know you will be because you always are. My brave girl. I'll be back before you even know it.” Benson cradled you impossibly close, your oversized sleeping shirt brushing against his fuzzy, mustard-yellow sweater.

“You gon’ be my good girl, don't you?” You nodded, flushed cheek against his collarbone, your ears picking up in the distinct way his tone changed, dropped ever so slightly as his other palm stroked along your stomach.

Your whole body turned its attention to Benson's hand caressing the skin around your navel beneath your shirt, fingertips drawing slow circles before dipping down further.

A silent gasp rolled over your tongue as you felt slender fingers play and softly tug at the frilly waistband of your PJ shorts; the teasing gesture effectively pulling your thoughts from the inevitable.

“Would you like me to text you?” His fingers fumbled with the elastic strings of the waistband playfully, his question, though, very genuine because he knew that on some nights it helped and fired back horrifically on others.

Benson had shot the other two without his face even so much as flinching. Thick dollops of blood smeared down old and yellowed wallpapers, stained by decades of frying oil wafting through the air in this miserably confined space hailing capitalism and gluttony.

In a slow, liquid movement, the underpaid janitor put the rifle down, still entirely unfazed about the outburst of pure mayhem.

"Jesus H. Christ, somebody had to shut you up, huh?" Benson looked at the piles of carnage in front of him, dripping and oozing from the seats and tables.

It took him a bit to collect his thoughts enough to remember that he wasn’t alone, his stern gaze softening the very second it fell back onto you.

"Oh, sweets, baby, now I got you all dirty, 'm sorry." Benson discarded the firearm and rushed to you as you stood between the tables, your brown and beige uniform splattered with dark red.

"I'm so so sorry, princess. We get you all nice n' cleaned up again, yeah?" He cupped your face between his palms, thumbs gingerly caressing your cheeks as your eyes fell down to what used to be the ever annoying Jess.

"Ay, don’t look, baby." Benson tried to draw your attention back to him.

Daddy!Benson would 100% do handy crafts with his baby, and the supply is always filled. This man would simply melt whenever his pookie makes something for him, be it a drawing, a crochet doll or a hand-stitched little stuffed animal. Benson's baby making him a second giraffe, so his one isn't so lonely, omg 🥺

Daddy!Benson would pin every card and every drawing on the fridge with a magnet, his chest all warm and fuzzy and nearly exploding with pride 💗