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zepskies · 4 days ago

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The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

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🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn.

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly.

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now.

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock…

COMING 11/10! (New chapters every Sunday.)

Or read Part 2 on Patreon now!

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murdrdocs · 4 months ago

Text

blowjobs; sensitive benny; MDNI 18+ w/ BENNY WEIR

blowing benny for the first time and being unsure if it's just his first time getting head from you, or his first time getting head in general. because he's so receptive. he's alarmingly sensitive, just the feeling of your breath against the large bead of pre resting at the slit of his head has him shuddering. you can visibly see a shudder push through his body.

you glance at him, no singular emotion beyond curiosity sitting beneath your lashes. but benny must see something a little judgmental in your gaze because he shifts, crosses his arms over his bare chest, and attempts to appear unaffected. as if the matching flush on the tips of his ears and the tip of his cock doesn't speak for itself.

but you proceed. you wrap your hand around his base and bring your mouth to his dick, and you stick your tongue out and lay it flat along the bead of pre. you lick him clean, ignoring the taste and instead fitting the head into your mouth.

the sound benny makes gets trapped in his throat, but you hear it anyway. he sounds like a wounded animal, and you haven't really done anything. it's cute.

unsurprisingly, he doesn't last long.

you have him in your mouth for only a short amount of time, only long enough to start getting comfortable with the feeling of his length sliding down your throat and his girth opening your mouth, and then his hands dig into the cushion beneath him and his head lolls to the side.

he's swearing under his breath, grunts of "fuck" and whimpers of "oh fuck" and they crescendo, mixing together to create a beautiful symphony you would pay money to hear over and over again. and when he finally cums, hot spurts over your face as his dick twitches in your hand, he's silent, nothing but heady breaths as he tips his head back and completely misses the image below him.

it's not until you're cleaning your face up, wiping away cum from under your eyes and off of the corner of your mouth, that he dips his gaze down.

"have you made it this far in life without having your dick sucked?" you’re smiling when you ask him.

he seems a bit drained when you look up at him, but the accusation wakes him up.

like usual, he gets defensive. "it wasn't my first time! ... just my best time."

your ego inflates just a bit.

#benny weir x reader #benny weir x you #benny weir smut #celeste writes misc

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juneberrie · 1 year ago

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ೃ⁀➷ dating benny weir

let me just say this before anything else: HE IS WHIPPED FOR U

he thinks ur the greatest thing since video games

constantly looking at you

sometimes people call him out on it and then he's like "oh no!! not in a creepy way!! im her boyfriend!!" and then he gets all giddy because he's like "i'm her boyfriend!!!!"

he likes it when u sit on his lap <3 not in a dirty way ofc he just likes being able to wrap his arms around u & look up at u <3

ur camera roll is mostly him. like stupid pictures of him

he rarely uses instagram other than liking ur posts, commenting on ur posts, and posting you <3 he's only ever posted five pictures and theyre of you. and one of ethan looking really stupid asleep

has that kind of "only *I* can bully my partner"

yeahhhh he makes fun of you

but its all light hearted

if you get hurt by one of his comments please for the love of god tell him. he would hate to know that you've been hurt by one of his jokes and that your bottling it up

hes kind of a bad listener when you vent to him but he's really good at cuddles and hugs <3

calls you things like babe, angel, sweetheart, baby

half of the nicknames are said jokingly ("did you miss me, sweetheart?" kinda vibes) but theres always a touch of sincereness <3

uses his magic sparingly around you?? actually??

like he sometimes does little spells. like pulling a bouquet of flowers out of his pocket, filling you up a glass of water, simple things like that.

but never big things. and he never, EVER, tries new spells on you or around you because he doesnt ever wanna risk you getting hurt

he loooooves youuuuuuuuuuu :(

#magic man (liz's version)#liz’s writing ♡#benny weir x fem!reader #benny weir x reader #benny mbav #benny weir #mbav x reader #mbav #mbav fanfic #my babysitters a vampire x reader #my babysitter's a vampire

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angel-atelier · 5 months ago

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Lazari and Stripes: Two sides of the same coin

Lazari never knew exactly what was going on. She was always behind closed doors, locked away from the public eye. But then again, she felt she deserved to be hidden after all, she was a shameful display of wickedness in a pure world.

Of course, what didn't help this feeling was not knowing who she was. Her first memory was waking up in Silverwood National Park underneath a maple tree. The only thing she knew was her name, Lazari. As Lazari began to fully take in her location and begin to rise, she noticed she was being watched by a woman. She was dressed in a habit, rosary at her hip. She couldn't be more than 24, with firey hair and a massive scar running down her cheek and over her eye. Looking back, Lazari finds it strange for a few reasons.

She stood watching the young girl inquisitively. While the woman was surprised, she didn't seem too perturbed. “What are you doing out here?” Lazari looked down at her dirty feet. “Dunno…” “..Do you know where you live?” Lazari shook her head. The woman pondered and looked around, a bit displeased. No one within miles. It was going to be dark soon, too. “Fine. Then come with me. I'll get you cleaned up” The woman came closer and reached out her arm.

Lazari grabbed her hand and rose, dirt and moss falling off her like a blanket. The way she stood was awkward and off kilter, like a baby deer taking its first steps. She was dressed in filthy rags, but her body, minus her hands and feet, were relatively clean, all things considered.

“Your name?”

“Lazari”

“Robin”

As she dusted off her rags, Robin was already starting to walk ahead of her. Lazari gave one last look around, trying to recall any reason why she might have been out here. Surely someone must be missing her? She survived till this point even if she couldn't remember how. “Let's go” Robin stood waiting, her voice commanding but still pleasant.

Together the two made their way to a dirt path.

18 years before this, a baby, almost swaddled in English ivy and moss, was found underneath a Tibetan Cherry Tree. It wasn't uncommon for weird things to happen in cedar springs, but this was a new one. The couple who found her had always longed for a child. Had God answered their prayers? The only worldly possession the baby had was a dog-tag around her neck, overside and clunky for her small frame. It was engraved with one word “Stripes”

Stripes' whole world was her family, they all loved each other dearly. Their miracle baby was everything they could ever hope for. Intelligent, kind, brave, and most importantly happy.

As she grew, so did her temperament. Tantrums were normal for kids, but it escalated as the years went on. When she was 8, she had begun having sudden and explosive out bursts. This was strange as she had long outgrown toddler behavior. Maybe since she had been such a good kid thus far, she would have problems now? Her parents reasoned with themselves. She was their first and only child. Maybe it was just growing pains. She was still a wonderful child when she wasn't acting this way.

When she was around 11, she began biting fellow classmates and shrieking at the wee hours of the night. She always denied the screaming the next morning, but it wore down her parents. Sleepless night after sleepless night made them irritable instead of understanding towards her. Stripes had no idea what was happening herself. She felt as if she had lost control, a runaway train heading straight for a brick wall. She was angry, scared, and even more so she was so damn hungry. No matter how much she ate, it seemed she had a never-ending hunger. Nothing seemed to fill her up, which just frustrated her more. Maybe it was puberty? Growing bodies need more food, she knew that, but this seemed excessive. Her reputation at school naturally suffered as she did.

When she was 12 her parents took her to doctor after doctor, looking for something to help her. Misdiagnosis after misdiagnosis left her ragged. She’d try a pill, and then another, and another. Nothing seemed to help. What's worse was that her family seemed reluctant to give up any of their family's own medical history. After enough prying and pushing, she got the truth out of them. She wasn't theirs, never had been. She bore only slight physical resemblance to her father, but just figured she would grow to look more like them.

Everything came to a head. She already had issues, but this? A huge betrayal of her trust from some of the only people she still gave a damn about. The argument that followed was awful. Through hot tears, Stripes said every hurtful thing she could think of, and her parents just screamed back at her.

Locking herself into her room, she slid back against the door, curling into a ball and sobbing. When she was calm enough to see, she noticed something shocking. Her hands had become longer, grotesque flesh like claws replaced her normal fingers, and at the end it became pitch black. What the fuck? She ran into her bathroom, looked into the mirror and almost vomited. Her head had sprouted tiny twig like horns aswell. As she tried to ripped them out and washed her hands raw she thought What the hell am I? What's happening to me? on repeat until she couldn't bare to anymore.

Stripes had to get the hell out of this place and fast, figure out what was happening. She was so confused and hurt. No one could see her like this, especially not her parents. All she had ever known had been a lie.

In the dark of the night, she left behind all she ever knew and loved.

#creepypasta #crypasta #bennie writing #i dont think theres any cw for this but tell me if there should be!#creepypasta fandom #lazari swann #iepfb #lazari creepypasta #stripes creepypasta #stripes iepfb #robin atwood #creepypasta au #im kind of proud of this #creepypasta oc #creepypasta writing

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moonlight-prose · 3 months ago

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PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE

a/n: all i'm gonna say is this song is so benny coded i'm losing my shit over it. he's absolutely the man to leave you in tears by the end of the night. also someone stop me from writing heaps of angst for him, because i genuinely can't stop making wips in my drafts for him. this is entirely unedited because fuck it and i'm nervous he doesn't sound right, but oh well. the divider is made by the incredible @saradika-graphics.

summary: benny cross was trouble, he was a storm waiting to cause damage, he was everything you wanted. but men like him have a tendency to break hearts without even trying.

word count: 2.6k+

pairing: benny cross x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, crying, benny is a toxic man in this, emotionally constipated men, reader's favorite color is red. stupidity, violence, blood, fixing up wounds, makeup getting messed up, thigh riding, spitplay, he's filthy.

"He'll get you into trouble honey."

Five months ago you wouldn't have thought anything of the words Johnny said over a glass of whiskey, his eyes trained on the way you looked at Benny. The far off gaze that he'd seen cross his lady's face more often than he expected. At first it meant love—hope that you might finally meet the one you longed for—but reality always seemed to crash down around you quicker than you expected.

You laughed as if he told you a joke, a funny one liner that would be a distant memory on the day of your wedding to the man by the pool table. You thought nothing of his words and found yourself lost in the gaze of blue eyes and red knuckles.

You should have listened.

The door slammed shut with a resounding bang as you stormed through the small house—your jacket discarded over the leather chair Benny claimed belonged to him. Anger burned in your chest at the realization that one day...it wouldn't sit there. One day he'd leave and you would finally have the gall to throw that piece of shit outside. You glared at it as he followed you, shutting the door with a soft click, a distant sigh leaving his lips.

"Baby—"

In all the months you'd known him, Benny being scared was unthinkable. He was a man who made more trouble than he sought out, the same man who came home bruised, bloodied and begging for mercy. The man you promised to love forever. Yet when your gaze fixed him with a look that could have killed him if you weren't weaponless, you watched that small inkling of fear cross his eyes.

Benny was scared.

And not because he nearly got killed in a fight. Not because he leapt across the bar, a blade in his hand, and a smile on his lips. He felt terror at the thought that you—the person he found his little inkling of peace in—might finally be the one to turn him away.

Tonight very well could be your last straw in this relationship, the thing that finally cracked you in half, and Benny felt his heart drop to his stomach.

He swallowed thickly around words that would never leave his mouth, a cold sweat beginning to form along the back of his neck as you stayed silent. There was nothing either of you could say to fix what broke tonight. He threw the first punch and felt satisfaction at the crack that followed when his knuckles met bone and blood stained his skin.

"I'm s—"

You huffed, fingers curling into fists. "I swear if you so much as say a single word I will break your nose."

The grin that crossed his lips wasn't helping your anger—merely fanning the flames of something catastrophic—but he couldn't stop the thrill that nearly flipped his heart at your threat. His girl, so pretty and dolled up, ready to send a fist flying towards his face. Maybe he should talk to someone about why that made him smile. Why he wanted to kiss you senseless all of a sudden, until neither of you could breathe.

He should have realized it was fucked.

Instead he licked his lips and yearned for more.

Exhaling a deep breath, you closed your eyes to the image of him with blood still smeared across his knuckles and a bruise forming on his cheek. Johnny warned you. He told you Benny Cross was trouble. Yet even now, you found yourself unable to unravel the tangled thread that tied him to you. That set in stone your future with this man. You gave your heart over without thinking about the consequences. But wasn't that supposed to be what love is?

Weren't you meant to fall fast and quick and pick up the pieces later?

"Go sit down, I'll get the bandages," you muttered.

Thankfully, he didn't give you a fight on that front. He nodded silently, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, as he took a seat in his chair. You half expected him to let your jacket fall to the ground. Instead he folded it gently, placing it on the couch with enough care to break down a small bit of your anger.

He wouldn't speak. Not until you asked him to.

But he could show you he loved you in ways that went unnoticed by others, yet meant everything to you.

You returned silently, handing him the first aid kit as you poured alcohol on the once clean towel. A feeling he often fled from began to eat at his insides, clawing up his throat, as you bent down to evenly wipe at his open cut. He didn't flinch, barely even registered the sharp sting of pain. His mind was reeling, heart pounding, with the knowledge that he felt guilty.

"Johnny warned me," you sighed, seeing the beige towel begin to turn red.

Benny hummed, blue eyes meeting yours—that soft gleam of an apology shining through. You tried to avoid looking at him, knowing your resolve would break. Not even you could deny how irritating his gift for softening you up was. Yet somehow...you always let him get away with it.

"He said you were trouble."

"Johnny says that about everyone," he sighed. He wanted to touch you, to place his hand on the back of your thigh as you stood between his legs.

The harsh and final swipe at his cut sent pain down his face. Enough to have him reaching for you blindly, a soft grunt falling past his lips as you began to clean his bruise. You should have pushed him off, maintained your level of anger, but with Benny things became complicated. Anger bled into your love until you couldn't discern between the two.

Love and hate toed that invisible border between the two, but with him...the line simply disappeared.

"I asked you to stop fighting." He handed you the bandage softly, still trying to meet your gaze. "I don't like you coming home broken. Bloody. Do you think this is fun for me Benny? Stitching you up every time?"

His breath washed across your wrist, eyes falling shut as the guilt practically ate him alive. You could see the conflict on his face. A struggle he didn't know how to win. Fighting was all he knew, all he could count on most days, and whether you liked it or not, it helped him keep the control he desperately needed. The one thing in his life that remained unwavering.

"No," he murmured into the skin of your wrist.

"Then why?"

"I just gotta do it baby."

Bullshit always sounded prettier coming straight from his mouth. More often than not you took it without a second guess. You let him be the wild man they needed—the person who would fight without question. But tonight as you watched him pummel a man into the ground, you caught a glimpse of your future. Of the path that you willingly said yes to.

And it terrified you.

"I know the club needs you," you sighed, cupping his face and finally meeting his soft gaze. "I know Johnny needs you. But so do I."

The sting of tears wasn't unfamiliar when it came to Benny, but you wanted it to be different. You didn't want to cry over his mistakes anymore, you didn't want him to be the reason you were like this. He let out a breath, his hands reaching for hips with a gentleness that gave you whiplash. There was no resistance in your body left, no arguments to be had, because this was just how things were.

Benny Cross remained himself at the end of all of this.

Even as you broke in his hold.

Tucking your face into his neck, you allowed your worries to slip into the background. What more could you do? When you loved a man so reckless he barely remembered to breathe before jumping headfirst into danger. His hand ran down your back, lips finding your temple, as the night began to settle, and you found yourselves back in the same spot. In a position that felt familiar.

"You've got me," he murmured, feeling the collar of his shirt grow damp with your tears.

"The club comes first though."

"I don't know what you want me to say—"

You shook your head and pressed your face into his palm, his thumb running along the top of your cheekbones. "That's just it Benny...you can't say anything I haven't heard before."

A flicker of something foreign creeped along his face, peeking its head out before sneaking off again. A part of him that he'd never share with you. The trepidation, the grief, the worry that he barely let himself feel. How could he give that to you? How could he let you see it all without scaring the shit out of you?

Keeping that to himself was what kept him there. It stopped him from running at a moment's notice. And you knew that.

You figured it out the day you met him.

"C'mere," he mumbled, gripping your chin with the softness of a lover who yearned to apologize but didn't know how.

So you fell into his touch and let his lips slide along yours. You kissed him back with a worn out sigh of pleasure, your hands creeping along the neck of his jacket—until your skin pressed against his. Benny didn't kiss you with passion or fervor. He kissed as if he had all the time in the world to do nothing but. To tease out every manner of sounds that might be trapped in your chest.

His tongue dipped into your mouth, hand gripping at your hip as his breathy grunt was swallowed by your lips. By the moan you fed him—the need that echoed from your chest directly into his.

"You taste like me," he groaned, his hand finding the back of your neck at the same time he gripped your ass, pushing you a bit closer. Until no space remained but the clothes you wore.

You smiled, stealing a quick bite to his bottom lip he felt right down to his cock. "I taste like cigarettes."

"My cigarettes."

"You all smoke the same cigarettes baby."

He mumbled something you couldn't hear—not because you didn't try, you did—because he chose that moment to press his thigh between your legs, catching you in a kiss before the sound could escape. What you might have recognized as a soft warmth that spread through your stomach, suddenly burned you on sight. A whine spilled from your mouth, your fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck, and yet he merely smiled against your lips.

Whatever argument that might have continued long into the night, died in the back of your mind the second he guided your hips along his leg. The rough fabric of his jeans catching along the seam of yours. You wanted to focus on him, to see the slightest bit of crimson dust his cheeks, but the haze of bliss began to bleed into your vision. Blurring anything but him and his thigh and the open mouth kisses he tracked along your throat.

"B-Benny—"

The squeeze on your ass let you know he was listening, and perhaps you were too far gone to realize how your heart fluttered at the touch. Maybe he knew that this was too much for you to give up on. The unconditional pleasure he was willing to give you.

The ache he could fill with ease.

"That's it," he mumbled against the corner of your lips, gripping your chin in his large calloused palm. "Ride it. Take what you want."

Soft panting breaths was all you could get out with each stunted grind of your hips along his leg. With any other person you might have felt ridiculous. Like you were the show they were paying for. But with Benny...you existed beyond whatever this was; you were the person he'd ride to hell and back with. The person who gave him a reason to come home.

He watched you with awe in his eyes, his thumb rubbing along the eye makeup that you cried off. The mascara that you'd later have to remove with his help.

"How do you feel?" he finally said, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

If he wanted coherent sentences, he wasn't getting them. And some part of him knew. He could see the effort it took to even keep your eyes open as blinding pleasure began to course through your body. Ripping at what anger might have remained and replacing it with want.

His name was a soft sigh on your lips, eyes glazed and begging for that final push. When it came to you, he willingly gave in, gave you the need that he could feel in his own body.

"What do you need?"

He knew what would push you over the edge; could practically see the plea in your eyes. And his lips curled at the sight. Your hips dragged along his thigh in short stunted thrusts, working yourself past the point of feeling that blistering ache in your legs. Pulling your face closer, he pinched your cheeks slightly, silently waiting for you to follow his move. He wasn't a patient man, but when it came to you...he'd endure centuries if it meant getting to have you like this.

"I know," he murmured, sliding his nose along your cheek. "Lemme give it to you."

With a soft moan, your lips parted open, fingers grabbing onto the front of his vest in the hopes that it would stabilize you. He dipped down licking into your mouth with a groan, before the all too familiar sensation of his spit landing on your tongue sent heat flaring towards your stomach.

"That's a good girl." Your eyes fluttered, body trembling. "Swallow."

Few things existed that made him feel that flutter in his chest. The sight of your eyes rolling back as the release you'd been aching for finally spilled over and down your spine, was at the top of his list. He'd watch it on repeat without ever tiring of what he could bring you to. A feeling that if taken away from him, would bring a sane man to madness.

"Benny," you sighed, feeling his forehead press to yours, his chest heaving with deep breaths as he tried to settle his body. You needed a moment to gather yourself before he dragged you back to that comfortable bed you made him find the first week you began dating him.

"I'm sorry."

The words weren't a promise, nor a confirmation that a future spent with him would change. Or even be easy. But you took what little he could give. The pieces of his heart he let you have, even as he fought everything screaming at him to leave.

"I know," you whispered, giving into his hug, and soaking in the affection he offered.

You came to the conclusion that this is where you differed. You loved with everything, all that you could give of yourself. And Benny loved like the wind. There for moments of the day, but gone by the time the moon began its ascent into the sky. You never knew when you'd finally catch him for good—perhaps you never would.

His hold tightened, lips finding yours, and it was then you finally settled on the answer you'd been searching for. You didn't want to find out the future, because this right here...this was enough.

#i'm not sure i like this but it is what it is #also i was screaming at reader to break up with him #benny cross is a walking red flag but my favorite color is red so-#benny cross x f!reader #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n #benny cross smut #benny cross #the bikeriders #my writing

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semperamans · 4 months ago

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benny is back home n'he's missed you so much he may just have to fuck you over it!!!

warnings!!!!

benny is toxic! unprotected sex! benny is toxic! i didn't proof read it!!!! so there are probably so many mistakes!!!! n' this is LONG, so read at your own risk <3

despite its stillness, there is something deafening about the july air. there's nothing more to hear than night bird song as it falls over the slumbering city. gone are the rumbling engines on i-90 n'the chatter of women parading down the sidewalks. there are no babies gigglin', no ice cream trucks wailing, no sirens squwakin'. there's nothin' stirrin' in this humid night besides the rapid beat of your heart because, well, you shouldn't be here. you know that jus' as well as i do. you should be at home, sprawled beneath the ceiling fan, eyes closed, blissfully disconnected from the world, n'you're a good girl, so i'm sure that's what you would be doing had the shrill urgency of benny's call not woken you.

"hi baby," is what he breathed over the line, and despite the distance you could smell the jack daniels on his breath. "m'home." he had been home for a few days now. johnny had called you n'made you aware the second benny's wheels crossed the county line. and then you waited. and waited. and waited. and were your feelings hurt when benny didn't call? absolutely. by day three you were going insane. like mosquito-bitten legs, it was painfully hard to ignore the absence of his voice through the receiver. every purring engine had your head whipping 'round. every blonde head had your heart hammering, but it was never the right engine. never the right head. never benny. johnny'd tried to get you to come down to the clubhouse, but you didn't wanna look desperate (even though you were). it was just so hard to think about. all you could see in your mind's eye was benny splayed across a bar stool, lap empty, hand wrapped around a whiskey glass when it should've been around your throat.

"m'missin' you so much." you wouldn't have assumed he missed you much at all with how radio silent he'd been since leavin' over a month ago. your girls told you that if benny really cared he would make more of an effort - wouldn't run off whenever things other than his dick got hard - an' yeah, you knew this was likely true, but he was enigmatic and enticing and everything.

"wan' you to come see me."

you should've hung up the phone right then, but you didn't. and you definitely shouldn't've pulled a sleep shirt over your nightgown n'sneakers on your bare feet, but you did. now here you stand - peerin' up at benny's front door - tryin' to tell yourself it's all right. nothin' to be nervous over. but you were nervous, so you counted the steppin' stones - 14 - and then there he was.

he looked good, there was simply no denying it. when it was particularly hot, benny wore nothing beneath his colors n'tonight you could see his bare chest glistening with sweat from the glow of the porch light. moths and june bugs spun themselves dizzy 'round him, but he didn't flinch. his sights were set, smile wan and excited and focused on you.

"c'mere." benny's voice had a medicinal quality about it - you figured that out some time ago. his voice was a salve on sunburned skin. it was a cool mid-day rainstorm. it was enough to have your eyes flicking upward, your body moving forward, your mouth forming the shape of his name. "look at you," he practically purred. he seemed more coherent, which was great. you didn't like fuckin' benny when he was drunk - always fearin' it never meant the same as when he pressed himself into you sober. he held you at arms length, eyes traipsing the familiar paths his fingers and tongue had mapped repeatedly. "y'know, i could travel from here to fuckin' the ends of the universe n'never find a girl s'pretty as you."

"s'that what you're lookin' for when you leave?" the words escape your mouth before your brain can register the impact they will have, but benny doesn't seem all that deterred. he just shakes his head; half-hearted guilt tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lets ya go n'invites you inside. benny would never apologize for leavin'. that just wasn't his forte, but he'd make up for it. he always did.

the interior of benny's place is nicer than you'd expect n'it's all because johnny outright fuckin' refused to step foot in the place when benny'd first moved in. it was terrible, but now the trailer actually looks decent. s'not much: a small livin' space with a couch, a tiny kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and a bedroom big enough for a few pieces of furniture, but it smells like benny: like motor oil and sandalwood and smoke and body wash and you wish they sold the scent in department stores because you'd buy up every bottle. it's the aroma you miss terribly when he runs. it's the scent you wish lasted just a bit longer on your bedsheets. it's now overwhelming as benny plods over, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. hands unoccupied, he has nothing better to do with them than wrap 'em 'round your waist, tuggin' you into his slick embrace. his chin fits so nicely atop your head n'he's always told you that you were meant to be. "fuck soulmates. i think god s'got a big ass puzzle n'he just, tears it up. throws the pieces here n'there. but me'n'you, baby? we're always gonna fit together. m'always gonna find you." he wouldn't need to find you if he didn't run but when you're pressed so snugly together like you are now - well - he could say anything and you'd agree.

"look at me, darlin'. wanna see those eyes again. missed 'em so much." n'when you do look at him, you wish you hadn't. he looks better (somehow) than the last time you saw him: skin so clear, eyes so bright, smile taken from a fuckin' toothpaste commercial. it's unfair how good god made such a bad boy look. "there's my girl." and damn if his voice doesn't sound even better.

a half-hearted hum rolls from the back of your throat. you want nothing more than to be his girl, but he'd never really allow that. never really allow you to get close enough and the hurt must register on your face because benny's takin' your cheeks between his palms, eyebrows furrowing.

"what's goin' on, baby?"

baby. the word sounds so good rolling off his tongue. you wanna be his baby more than anything, but you say "nothin'" cuz that's all this will ever be.

"doesn't seem like nothin'. tell me." you think about it. could you, rather, should you tell him? the words are there, right there. right on the tip of your tongue; i miss you. i've missed you. i so badly wanted to see you. i want to be more than the girl you call when you want to fuck. the words are so hot you want to spit them out, but you can't say those things n'likely will never be able to. the words are toxic. poison. those words would assassinate this arrangement n'as much as it hurts, you know deep down you'd rather have pieces of benny than none at all so instead of speaking you rise on your tip toes and press your lips against his.

kissing benny is something you could never tire of. it's the delicate bite of his perfect teeth on your pillowy lip that has you opening your mouth - inviting him in - begging him to take. it's the taste of mint and cigarettes and liquor that lingers on your tongue that makes you long for more. but benny pulls away first - always does - n'that's when you notice the wrinkle in his brow is gone because he is no longer concerned about what's racketing around your brain. no. he's had a sample, and now he wants the whole thing.

"c'mere." it's an impossible command. you're already so close - any closer and you would - benny dips slightly, circling your thighs with his arms, pushin' you atop the high-backed couch where you wobble and clutch onto him which makes him smile but then everything changes because "want another kiss. missed that mouth so much." and you collide in a spit-soaked show of affection sure to bruise the flesh now scraping so deliciously against his beard.

this is familiar to benny. he knows where to touch you. knows how to caress your skin as he peels the shirt from your flushed torso and pushes the thin straps of your nightgown down. you're soft. he's always loved that about you. your voice. your hair. your skin. so supple. and there are times benny's gotta stop himself. he's gotta repress that primal urge to take, to claim, to mark but it's hard so hard because you are so soft. his agile fingers float down your neck, relishing in the plume of perfume that billows out as your body contorts closer and closer and closer. you're so responsive: gasping in the right places, arching into his hands so perfectly. your dainty inhales fuel him. he wants to do more. wants to hear more.

"you're gonna let me fuck you right here, aren't ya?" benny asks, pulling back to gauge your reaction. "missed me so much you're gonna let me fuck you on this couch, eh?"

"you're the one who called me." you say, smile wide and knowing as you feel benny's cock twitch. his eyes turn molten lapis. he had called you. he had missed you. but he wouldn't say it. couldn't.

"awfully mouthy," he clucks, pressing his mouth into yours for another taste. "why don't y'use it for somethin' else?"

before you, benny'd never been a fan of oral sex. i mean, he'd come around to enjoyin' it thanks to johnny but, it wasn't high on his list 'til you started suckin' him off any and every chance you got. for a mouth belonging to such a precious gal, he never would have expected the sinful things you could make him feel. n'now, knelt before him, he can barely fight the urge to shove his dick in your mouth.

"s'pretty. always so pretty." you hum. you got him out of his jeans in record time and thank god because it's probably a million degrees in the goddamn trailer. now he's free; cock out, dripping precum and he can see the pride puffin' up your chest. no other girl could get 'em like this - could rile him up 'til his cock was thick and heavy and veiny and hot to the touch - no one but you n'at the first whisper of your fingers, his head rolls back. his precum is good lubrication, but you need more. could always use more, so up you come, crossing your cute little feet under your bum, and then - fuck - you lean forward and spit on his heated skin. yeah, benny thinks he may cum from that alone.

"touch me, doll. c'mon."

"shh," your fingers form a loose circle 'round the base of his cock. "i've got you."

"jesus christ," its the feel of your lips on his thighs and your fingers on his dick that makes him squeeze his eyes shut. he's got one fist balled at his side, the other tucks its way into your hair because he's gotta do something. anything.

"y've still got your christmas tree up, so, y'know, could be insensitive what with the holidays n'all. chirstimas in july." and despite the fact that you've got his pulsing length so wet and hard in your hand - benny fucking laughs.

"you're so -" but whatever adjective he had planned to use flies from his mind the moment your mouth covers him. all he can think about now is not cumming. you don't need to know that he hasn't fucked another woman since the last time he was balls deep in you. you don't need to know that he hasn't jerked off in god knows how long in preparation for this night. the only thing that you need to know is that he fuckin' loves this. he just lets you work. just relishes in the feeling of having you there. of having your mouth on him. it's so heavenly. cavernous yet tight. wet and warm and "fuck - oh fuck - stop."

and you do with no hesitation. you pull away so quickly that strands of saliva trickle down onto your tits. okay. maybe not jerking off wasn't the best idea, benny determines.

"did i do something wrong?" your voice is husky, eyes wide and slightly frightened and benny thinks he may love you.

"no." he shakes his head, grabs your arms, pulls you up. "no. fuck - i wanna fuck you." he brushes his palm across your cheek, wiping the spit and precum away. "want to fuck you right here. on the couch. c'mon," he maneuvers you around, makin' it to where his bare ass is on the couch and you're hoverin' above him, smiling so cutely at him he's sure he's gonna explode. you're so fucking cute that it nearly suffocates him.

"gimmie another kiss." he breathes, cupping your cheek once more. your lips meet in a cacophony of sighs. relief slackens your shoulders and now anticipation builds because you know what's coming.

"benny,"

"mm?"

"unless you have rubbers tucked in the cushions," you have to fight through his kisses. "you can't fuck me here."

the words marinate. the ceiling fan bats them around like a cat does to yarn and then benny finally responds.

"let me fuck you raw."

there are a hundred good reasons why it's a horrible idea, but you can't conjure a single fucking one as your head bobs in agreement.

"yeah?" perhaps christmas miracles are still valid in july because holy shit. "yeah?"

"please."

"come 'ere then."

you're obedient. benny loves that about you. seconds later you're spreading your legs, shimmering with sweat as you fight to maintain your balance n'you look so hungry - so eager to please - so pretty n'he can feel your wetness seeping onto his bare thigh as you pepper tender kisses along his chest. you want this. you want it just as badly as he does. he can tell. those preening noises comin' from the back of your throat and the bite of your nails into his shoulder are the only things grounding him to this moment. he feels so light - like he could fuckin' float if you weren't sat atop him - but there is work to do. a certain set of things that need to be done before he can spear you on his cock.

"gonna stretch you open first," he tells you, pushing your hip back but you don't budge. your head shakes, lower lip juts out. no.

"i wanna feel it." you say, voice almost a whine. you're tired of waiting. tired of playing this game so you propel yourself onto your feet, nearly toppling as the cushion gives under your weight, but you've got this. you sweet capable being. "wanna feel you now." your right hand circles his cock. "just want you to be in me benny. jus' you." it's a confession spoken like gospel. n'with your help, his gushing head probes your wetness and benny's thoughts spiral recklessly. "ready?"

it's cute. the way you ask him. the way your pretty little head cocks to the side. it's even cuter the way your pussy so greedily takes his cock once benny gives you an answer. yes. a singular nod. then everything is hot. he's too close to the sun, but the burn is delicious.

every bump. every vein. every groove on his cock awakens something within you. your eyes are closed so tightly - you may rupture a vessel - but you don't care. you're full. so full n'he's only halfway in. it's never felt like this before. you're in uncharted territory so the first roll of your hips is exploratory. the second is more confident. the third is a plunge and benny is drowning.

"god. fuck." words to form coherent sentences have long since vanished from benny's vocabulary. and you? usually so deft with language, you're somewhat embarrassed at the foolishness of your grunts, but benny loves it. he watches you move from squinted eyes. you're fascinating; body shifting with ease up and down up and down up and down. the muscles in your stomach tighten and wan as his cock disappears deep in your cunt only to reappear seconds later dripping and glistening with remnants of your wet. it's hypnotic n'benny thinks you're magic and sweet and good but dirty - oh so dirty. his balls and heart squeeze simultaneously n'it only gets worse when you toss your arms around his neck. benny can feel your cool breath on his throat - it adheres to the damp indications you lips left behind - and your tits, god your tits press against the material of his colors and rub and rub and rub. it's intimate. it's too much. too long like this and benny knows he'll be spillin' his secrets and his seed and that's not how he wants this to go, not yet anyway.

the change in position catches you by surprise, he can see it on your face. those puffy lips part in confusion, but he silences your questions with a shattering kiss. your teeth gnash and spit slips down your chin as he bites your inhibitions away. he's got you beneath him now. missionary. his favorite because he just likes lookin' at you. likes being close, so close. he's in his element; forehead pressed against yours, mouth open, grunting obscenities as he pushes harder and harder and harder into your sobbing pussy. you're slowly disintegrating. the way your ankles lock around his spine perfectly aligns your clit with his pelvic bone and my god nothing has ever felt quite so good.

"benny," your voice is a dark whisper that grows brighter brighter brighter as he thrusts into oblivion. you want more. want it harder. and benny is happy to oblige. the sound of his nuts slapping against your soaked center reminds him of a fuckin' metronome. your pitiful little moans could put pornstars to shame.

"you're so fuckin' tight." and it's true. he's said it to other girls before out of courtesy, but he means it with you. "when i cum you're gonna take every drop, mm?" benny's ability to say such delivish things so close to your face drives you insane. it's as though he's tellin' you what the weather is gonna be tomorrow, or sayin' his favorite color. "s'my favorite pussy to fuck. no one feels like you." he should stop, but he can't. it's too good. you're so good. "only girl i wanna fill. only girl i wanna give my cum to."

if pride were a flower you'd be a fuckin' garden. confidence flourishes like ivy as he keeps. going. it's in this moment you know it's worth it. the hours waiting for him. the lonely nights. it's all worth it. benny is worth it.

"are y'gonna cum in me?" at the sound of your voice, benny's forehead crashes down on yours. his eyelashes are so long they kiss the tops of his round cheeks.

"fuck - yeah."

"yeah?" you angle your pelvis, gasping at the new sensation. n'benny knows what to do. knows how to send you over. snaking a hand down, his index finger rubs circles around your clit, dipping down, pullin' your shared juices up. you're not gonna last much longer n'as much as he wishes he could keep you here forever his fucking nuts are so tight. he's so close.

"fuck - baby. shit."

"do it deep. wanna have you leakin' out of me for days. want somethin' to remember you by." you've never spoken like this before - his sweet darling - where did this mouth come from? one hand squeezes your jaw. something to remember him by? he'll give you something. he pushes your head to the side, latching his teeth into the side of your neck. the rough yet delicate suck and soothing stroke of his tongue add another element to the amalgamation of pleasure, and now you feel like you're drowning.

"m'gonna cum." benny’s choked voice rasps in your ear.

"cum in me."

"fuck im gonna cum in you."

he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to. there's no willpower strong enough to allow him to extract his cock from your pussy. he's sure of it.

"need you to cum with me." his index finger circles around and around and around. "gotta cum when i tell you. yeah? gonna be a good girl n'listen to daddy?" your toes fuckin' curl, digging into the cushion. "use your words." he doesn't know - doesn't care - that your words have magically turned into alphabet soup; there are letters and sounds but no coherence, but it's no excuse. benny, devilishly, begins to slow. "use. your. words." each syllable is punctuated with a sharp thrust n'the head of his cock is wedging so deliciously against your spongy center that you nearly cum, but you don't. you're good. so good.

"m'gonna listen." you wail. "gonna be good." your reward is a kiss and the continuation of benny's deliriously fast pace.

"knew you would." it becomes hard to speak with you squeezing round him like that. his pleasure is melting into an unidentifiable mass. he knows nothing of isolation. his body no longer belongs to him. he can't tell where you start and he ends but he knows where you will finish. "gonna need you to cum, pretty baby." he's unable to do much more than whisper. "ready?" you nod. "ready?"

"please."

"now."

you couldn't hold back even if you tried. the first spurt of benny's cum is so warm you make a surprised little gasp. he's so deep, pumping his load so deep that the lower part of your abdomen has stretched in accommodation. your bodies flounder together; fingers pressing, lips melting, legs tangling. benny thrusts once, twice, three times more before he's spent. his body begins to still - his weight slowly pressing upon you before collapsing. your thundering heart could lull him to sleep if he'd allow it, but he can't allow it because unlike with other women; the lustful haze refuses to dissipate. post-nut clarity doesn't exist when the woman you fucked looks and feels the way you do and it scares benny so much that he collects you in his arms n'moves you off of him.

"i'll bring you somethin' to wipe off with." he doesn't look at you as he rises. instead he chooses to focus on how his legs don't feel like his legs. how the hot water won't warm up n'he can't give you a cold rag. his disappointment grows when he returns to find you already shrugging back into your nightgown. the pair of you tend to yourselves. you wipe benny's cum off your thighs and toss the rag into the dirty clothes pile on the floor. you try not to linger. you know it only makes things harder, but benny's gazin' at you with those eyes. he's fixin' your necklace and opening the door for you.

"gimmie a hug?" his bravado is gone. his voice is quiet, his arms are welcoming. you fool yourself into thinking he's gonna miss you too. you've got his cum dripping down your leg and he's got your heart in his hands but nothing has changed. things would never change. n'you wanna stay here - wanna stay with him for eternity - but if history repeats itself you will only have another minute in his embrace. he who holds your pieces together is the one responsible for their fractured state n'maybe you're a masochist. maybe you're in love with the wrong person. maybe none of it is supposed to make sense anyway.

when you part, you want to cry. benny kisses you. it's soft, a delicate kiss you wanna bottle and keep forever next to his scent. you worry that one day you will unknowingly have a last kiss with benny, but for now you allow yourself this moment. he won't promise to call n'you won't say goodbye. you'll just slip out into the night - probably call johnny usin' the payphone down the street and spend the rest of the night sobbin' into his neck.

but it's worth it. somehow even after it all, benny cross is still worth it.

#clo really doesn’t know how to write smut #i really ran with this #it's so long and it feels so bad because i have been staring at it all day #but enjoy!#nsfw!#benny cross smut #austin butler #benny cross #the bikeriders #austin butler x reader #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders x reader #the bikeriders smut #austin butler smut #benny boy :')#✍🏼#toxic!benny

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groovyangelkisses · 4 months ago

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johnny loves a girl who asks for a "kissy!!!" like if johnny is sitting doing the bills for the bar, and you stroll in with your big 60s hair and long pretty nails and cute dress & heeled mary janes and stare at him and ask "kissy?" he's dropping everything and motioning to you with his hand "c'mon gimme one baby" and once you do lean down to give him a sweet, loving smooch, he's cooing "love you, love my pretty girl, gimme some sugar, give johnny some sugar" until you kiss him again, and again and again & he has to send you off with a light lil tap to your butt and a "g'head peach, g' sit with benny while i work. but hey, i'm watchin' you pretty girl, ya hear me? no "kissy" for anybody but your old man, you understand?" because he knowssss how much you love lookin' at benny & his pretty lips, a request for a quick kiss always on the tip of your tongue. but if johnny's being honest..... he'd be okay with it.... maybe even stop his work & take a quick peek......

#johnny the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader #the bikeriders #tom hardy x reader #benny cross x reader #benny cross #austin butler x reader #sliiiight benny because i can't help it i need my lovebug featured in everything i write🥹

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frnchgirls · 4 months ago

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okay hear me out because regency!artrick is absolutely bonkers.

you meet art for the first time after your mother notices you spend far too much of your day with your cheek pressed against the glass of your bedroom window, watching the donaldsons play croquet and enjoy afternoon tea as a family in their yard. she tells you it’s rude to spy on your neighbors and that you should be practicing pianoforte or latin instead, but then you’re pouting and expressing your loneliness and she arranges for you to go over the next day.

the moment he introduces himself you are in awe, not only because he’s even more handsome up close but because he’s so kind and he reminds you of the princes you’ve read about in the fairytales you’re forced to study. funny enough, art’s never been fond of the frilly dresses worn by the girls of the ton, but he thinks you look like a princess in yours. soon you’re chasing each other around the lawn and he’s teaching you how to catch bugs with your bare hands and he becomes the friend you’ve always wanted.

things get complicated when art comes tumbling out the back door in his fencing gear. he’s accompanied by a stranger with broad shoulders and dark hair, and you could have sworn the blonde told you he was an only child so who is this? you learn his name is patrick and he’s been art’s best friend for years and speaking of fairytales, pat always looks at you like he’s the big bad wolf and he’s starved. you’re not sure why it makes you squeeze your thighs together under your skirt, but it does, and art doesn’t like it one bit.

when the three of you are on the swings in your garden and you tell them you’re debuting at lady debret’s ball next week, patrick is quick to ask if he can take the first spot on your dance card. you laugh and jokingly oblige, because art had pulled you to the side a few days prior and told you not to take him too seriously, but then when the ball comes around patrick is the first to lock eyes with you and meet you on the floor, and suddenly art’s feeling dizzy. you were his first and so was patrick and is he really losing you both at the same time right now?

he blinks back tears and grips his champagne flute so hard it might shatter in his hand as he watches you two fuckin' grin at each other and it makes him physically ill. patrick's gotten everything he's ever wanted, and he wants to kick himself because things might be different if he had enough balls to just tell you how he felt. art frantically searches the room for a distraction, but little does he know pat's watching him over your shoulder while you dance, wondering when he's gonna catch onto the fact that he's doin' all this just cause he'll never get to marry him.

#EMOTIONAL DAMAGE #i actually may have gone too far #bridgerton inspired #can you tell im a sucker for period pieces #might write this au for benny or danny next who knows #challengers #challengers x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #✏️#🎾

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katiscrying · 4 months ago

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Sweet as a peach ୨ৎ‧₊˚ ⋆˙

Benny Cross x f!Reader

18+ MDI

cw: PWP (?), f!reviving oral, smoking, fingering, cum eating, not proofread

You hadn’t even thought of showing yourself up in a biker bar until Kathy insisted on you coming with her. Never once did you assume you’d be getting fucked by a random biker boy let alone falling in love with him.

╭──────────.♡..─╮

𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍

╰─..♡.──────────╯

•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*:･ੈ‧.'•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*:･ੈ‧.'•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*:･ੈ‧.'•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*

The night started settle over the sky and the neon lit sign of the bar that the Vandals claimed lit barely anything but under where it hung and your caught eye. Kathy looks over at you as she pulls into the parking lot, noticing your leg bouncing. She let out a scoff of laughter as she looked over at you. “Nervous?” You nodded before quietly speaking; “a lil’ bit.”

“What for? It’s just like any other bar, ya’ overthinking it.” You knew she was right, you’re overthinking what could go down in such a place, nothing good in your mind. You both got out and she handed you a cigarette and you just tucked it in the pocket of your jeans while she lit hers after offering to light it. You both walked in but you trailed behind, taking in the sudden sight of all different builds of men who were either shitface drunk or getting close to the goal.

Kathy lead you back over to where Johnny usually sat with Brucie and where she did as well with another friend as they usually drank or smoked through conversations about anything. After feeling countless hands smacking your ass, you finally sit next to Kathy and once more, continue to take in the surrounding. Quite a few were staring at you but your eyes wandered off to the pool table where it was like an erotic movie scene; the tan and toned arms of an unknown man supported his body as he lifted his head up.

You couldn’t help but just stare, it was almost natural in the way you did so. Your eyes traveling his arms, taking in the sight of his tattoos and then up to his face where you could practically feel the heat rising to your face and southbound of your body.

You lean closer to Kathy and with your eyes still fixated on him as you nudge her. “who’s that guy over at the pool table?” She almost couldn’t hear you over the noise surrounding all around but she caught what you were asking. “Him? Tha’s Benny. P’robly the youngest since Danny.” You nod, but Kathy could see the unsure expression on your features.

“Here,,” She starts, propping her elbow up on the table and point over at a black haired guy guy with sideburns and three guys next to him. “That’s Cockroach, left is Cal, and right is Corky.” Your brows contort as she says this but she turns to her left pointing once more. “That’s Johnny, he’s the leader and next to im’ is Brucie.”

“..okay” you nod slowly, just taking it all of the rapid fire names in. Kathy turns her attention back to her previous conversation with her other friend. You knew you could smoke in the bar but, you always had the habit of walking out to. So you did. You went under a dimly lit orange light on the side of the bar’s wall. You picked the cigarette out of your jeans, praying it wasn’t snapped in half.

“Son of a bitch-“ you cursed yourself as you pulled the snapped filter from your pocket, huffing as you dig around for the other half. The door to the bar opens and closes swiftly but you assumed it was some drunk fucker on his way to potentially kill himself on the road. Oh how wrong you were.

“Ya’ need a cigarette, Peach?” a low yet gravelly voice spoke, causing you to jump. You look up from the two halves of once one whole cigarette to see his face. “You— you?” You question, noticing the cigarette tucked between his vermillion lips. He nods, taking the cigarette between his long pointer and middle finger. “Is that yes?” His rough voice spoke again. But you couldn’t react. Not a head shake or sound escaping you.

He takes a step closer to you, now invading any personal space you had. His other hand taking your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze as his thumb pulled at your chin; pulling your bottom lip down. You still couldn’t react. You were starstruck by this man and his astonishing looks. He took the cigarette and tucked it between your lips, gently letting your chin go.

“There.” He says with a sense of pride that you didn’t fight him. You pulled the cigarette from your lips to flick the ashes. “Thank you—?” You say back, returning the politeness.. if that’s how he showed it. “Here alone?” He asked. The sudden question almost made you cough on smoke but you silently composed yourself. “Nah,, I’m here with a friend.”

“Kathy?” He questioned as you nodded, exhaling the smoke, handing it back to him. He followed with the same manner as he inhaled and exhaled two times before offering it back but you declined. “Y’know her?” you gave him a look, was Kathy setting you up with this guy? No way. “Barely.” He stubs the cigarette out on the wall, letting the bud drop onto the gravels.

You had never had a conversation so awkward with another guy but here you were, nodding in silence, basically showing your submission to him even if you had just met him.

“Yer a quiet thing ain’t ya’ peach?” He observed your behavior very closely but it oddly wasn’t making you uncomfortable. Might as well not lie so you just squeak out a “yeah” with a softer tone. “You’ll be broken out of it after we’re married.” Wait. What? Marriage?

“Marriage..? I’m sorry, I don’t know you at all..?” You could feel that you weren’t recovering quickly from that whiplash. “Ain’t got to. We got time after.” God. He’s persistent. “I don’t even know your name! Why the hell would I wanna marry you!?” You protest. “Benny cross. You?”

… “y/n. And I’m not marrying you Benny.” You firmly said but you could clearly see it in his eyes how he wasn’t budging. “Mhm. I’m sure you’re not, Peach.” You give him a look, one he found adorable while in your mind it was intimidating.

It went quiet. But the look on his face was still, he clearly want backing down from his claim of marriage over you but he’ll play into the whole “no I won’t” response.

“I can change yer mind, peach.” He was persistent but that only made you curious in what he’d do to “convince” you otherwise. “I don’t believe you can Benny.” You are also persistent and you weren’t letting up so easily.

You’re quickly caught off guard by benny taking your soft hand in his and guiding you to his bike. He looks at you and without saying anything, the gaze from his eyes spoke up You wanna come with me? And you just nod on response as if he actually asked. Just like that, he slings his leg over and kicks the stand down before kickstarting the bike, beckoning his finger. Like gravity never existed you found yourself floating towards him and hesitating to sit but that inner curiosity of him “convincing you” took over, basically screaming at you to get on. And so you did.

It’s new to you but it’s like a second nature that your arms snaked his waist and held tightly onto him. As you felt the rumble of the engine between your thighs it only made you grip him tighter.

You are nervous, you’ve never been on a bike before as you’d explained to him but with his eyes giving gentle commands, you just couldn’t say no. You hadn’t even thought of leaving without a word to anyone or any eyes witnessing but that doesn’t matter at this point. You’re far too curious and far too willing to follow him like an obedient puppy.

As he pulls away from the bar and onto the road that lead to the expressway you can feel the wind comb through your hair despite the criminal amount of hairspray you used to keep it down. You’re trying everything to not rest your head on his back, that’d prove him right, that he’d get his way. But he’s so warm. A contrast from the cool night wind.

He’s like a magnet just making you gravitate closer and closer to him before your chin rests comfortably on his back as your arms remain around him. Every turn he makes he notices how you hold him tighter like he’d let you fall but in reality he’d never do anything like that. Not to you.

It was one last turn until you finally looked up and he had brought you to what seems like the middle of absolutely no where. The engine slowly dies down and then eventually off as he puts his feet to the ground to stop any movement entirely. “Ya’lright back there?” He says as he stabilizes the bike. You take a moment to observe your surroundings to realize it was far from the small town and looks like no one would be out here for miles.

“Yeah, I’m fine” you say as your arms unwrap from his waist. He slowly stands up from the seat and then slides his leg off from the other side to kick down the kickstand as his rougher hand met your much softer hand to help you off. You’re quick to steady your balance with a “thank you” out of impulse and just general habit.

Your eyes wander around the secluded area and you admittedly do feel weary but he doesn’t seem like he’d hurt you. “Where are we..?” Your eyes lock onto his but he doesn’t say anything, but instead he steps closer to you, invading any personal space you had previously as two fingers of his come up to lift your chin. “I told ya’, peach. I’ll convince you.” His words send shivers down your spine; the thought of what he’d do to you is almost exciting with the lingering thought of the dangers that could be potential.

“do y’trust me, peach?” you just met him.. how the hell is he asking this so soon..? But you nod in agreement. “I— I trust you” your voice is damn near weak but you’re genuine. Your arms wrap carefully around his neck as his plump lips meet yours, pulling you into a sudden, deep, passionate kiss. Your mouth opening up to him as his tongue doesn’t hesitate to slide in and map out every bit of your mouth.

You can’t help the little breathless and choked out whimpers and whines that escape you. This only causes him to wanna continue, to go further with you. And that’s what he’ll do.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but you see the look in his eye that clearly shows no signs of being done with you. Not now. His arms carefully warp around your waist and carefully guide you onto your back directly on the leather seat of his bike, sliding himself on the seat as well to steady the bike. Your eyes lock onto his icy blue ones, your lips parted yet no words are formed.

His calloused hands trail down to the waistline of your jeans, his ringed fingers hooking onto them. “Can I take em’ off?” his gaze is still locked onto yours, his eyes clearly hungry for more of you. “Mhm” you hum, but that’s not good enough for him. He needs you to say it. His hand gently grabs your chin, bringing you closer to his face “ah ah, I need an answer, peach. Can I take em’ off?” He repeats;

“Yes, yes, you can.” You give him a real response this time, your voice dripping with need and underlying desperation for him. “atta girl,” he praises you as he unbuttons your jeans, the zipper coming down with no effort to it at all. He skillfully tugs your jeans off of your frame, slowly sliding them down, drinking in every inch of your pale, smooth skin.

The cool breeze hitting your lower half causes little goosebumps to form all across your thighs, shivers running down your spine and blood flowing to your face from the embarrassment of being pretty much half nude in front of a man you hardly know. All thoughts in your head calm as his warm palms run over your thighs, carefully approaching your inner thighs with much caution. He can see you’re all embarrassed over him, and he is reveling in it.

His touch is warm and tender and you’re practically melting under him. “Benny-“ you say softly but he quickly cuts you off; “shh - peach. Patience.” His voice was sultry yet tender. His fingers trace your panties, feeling how damp you’re he’s making them. His fingers carefully map out what makes you squirm, what makes you whimper, anything that’ll give him a reaction. His fingers graze over your clit just to keep you on edge.

“Already so needy f’me, hm?” He’s toying with you. You enjoying the way you react as his fingers toying with your clothed slit. His pants growing uncomfortably tight just watching you react to what he’s doing to you. Tonight isn’t the night to fully claim you, though he’s already claimed you as his wife.. though you won’t wouldn’t let him.

He gets you on edge, close to making you cum yet he’s holding out. Listening to how pretty you sound when all he’s doing is barely teasing you, dragging his fingers up and down your slit. You can only sound better. He brings his finger that is covered in your slick up to his mouth and sucks it clean off, all with intense eye contact. His hands then grab your panties and gently tug them down your thighs and around your ankles, then off completely.

Despite the still setting sun casting shadows and darkness around, the slick pooling your cunt is very obvious; as if it already weren’t. He lowered himself down, eye level with your glistening cunt. His calloused hand wraps around your thigh, almost holding you up dangerously close to his face. You manage to prop yourself up to fully gaze down at him and observe what he’s doing to you.

His tongue slowly guides out as he carefully lick up your slit, your sweet slick collects on his tongue doesn’t make it easy for him to be gentle but, nonetheless, he manages. His skillful focus on your clit makes your eyes roll back in pure ecstasy, your moans are desperate and needy even when he’s giving you what you didn’t know you wanted.

A sharp gasp escapes your parted lips as two ringed fingers slide down to penetrate you, carefully pumping in and out of your heated flesh as he continues to swirl his tongue around your sensitive bud. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach, your orgasm slowly building. “Benny — I —“ you stutter, earning a rumble of laughter against your cunt, sending vibrations through you which only enhanced your pleasure “y’taste so sweet..”.

Through desperate moans and hushed curses fill the now dusk filled sky all around. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging and pulling at it, as if you’re trying to pull him off but he’s restless. His fingers continue at a now relentless pace, his tongue still lapping at your swollen bud. You know you can cum at any minute and he can tell from your walls clenching around his fingers. Your moans turning into choked cries and squeals.

“Benny m’ gonna cum — !” You cry out, he takes this as a cue to continue but at his relentless pace. “Go ahead, cum f’me, sweet peach” you were already holding back but now that you’ve got the green light you just let it spill.

Your head throws back as you let out what can only be described as relief and hellish ecstasy. He slows the pumping down from his fingers before they come to a grinding halt, letting you ride out the pleasure. After you’ve stopped shaking as much, he carefully removes his cum coated fingers and grabs your chin with the hand that was previously clasped around your thigh, your eyes open as he smirks, guiding his pointer finger in between your lips, making you taste yourself. As your tongue swirls his finger and you suck your own secretion off of his finger. He follows in suit by sucking his middle finger clean, crashing his lips against yours. Forcing you into a heated kiss.

As he pulls away from the kiss, observing your spent and weak body underneath him he asks,

“Did that convince you, peach?”

•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*:･ੈ‧.'•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*:･ੈ‧.'•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*:･ੈ‧.'•₊˚୨ৎ°⋆࿔*

#benny cross #benny the bikeriders #smut #the bikeriders #i write sometimes #austin butler #not safe fw #benny boy #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you

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