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xxanaduwrites · 6 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

teachin’ a lesson

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which benny teaches the newbies a lesson ‘bout messin’ with his honey….😤 + a super cute ending ofc 💋

warnings: an absolute smack fest, the whole shabang: bar fight, dudes being creeps, talks of violence, blood, & injury. hyperventilating & shaking. unwanted advances :(

author’s note: another angst piece. couldn’t help myself…but this will be ending with a certain request i keep receiving ;) this is from the goin’ steady segment which can be found on da main hive, so they are fully dating here for time line & context purposes…or are they? 👀

word count: 4.2k

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

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You were at the club when it happened. It being something you could only daydream about. Something you never actually expected to come tumbling out of Benny’s pretty pillowy lips.

It was a regular day — as regular as one could ever be at the club. The boys were havin’ a meeting and of course Benny dragged you along. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go. Hey — you’d been to plenty of meetings. Yet, your two cents only became required when the other guys' old ladies were involved, and today wasn’t one of those days. Being the only lady currently on the premises, you dropped your backpack on the bar, the sound of your keychains reverberating around the space with a chorus of clanks. A chorus you hadn’t noticed caught the eye of some other bikers mulling around. In your defense, you were far too focused on your man, his baby blue eyes drooping down at you with a precious pout to match.

“M’sorry, honey,” he said suddenly, eyes trained on you as y’sat your sweet butt on one of the nearby bar stools.

His apology took you by surprise, and your fingers which were now fiddling about on the zippers of your backpack paused momentarily. “For wha?” You asked, tilting your head to observe him.

“Takin’ y’here. Not bringin’ y’straight home,” he admitted, in the midst of flagging over the bartender with a flick of his finger. “Shouldn’t take too long though.”

You sighed. “S’fine, Benny. S’not like I can’t make myself busy,” you reasoned, motioning to your backpack in front of you that held all your work supplies. “Stap it with t’pologizing.”

It wasn’t Benny’s fault that he had a meeting to be at fresh after school hours. It was more your fault for not knowing how to drive. But you knew he didn’t care so much about that. He cared more about making sure you were safe and spending as much time with you as possible. And those rides well — they assured all of that. He didn’t have to worry about you waitin’ to take a random bus full of creeps. Didn’t have to wonder about the next time he’d be seeing you because surely it would be every day on your morning and afternoon drives, right?

So be it. Here you were, and you wouldn’t complain — no. You wanted to be with Benny just as much. And besides, the more time you spent at home, the more your parents were concerning you with their honey business, keeping you away from the lesson planning you really needed to do. Benny — bless his heart — was such a good sport with that. Giving you the space you needed — well while simultaneously taking it all up. You couldn’t deny how much you adored being perched next to him, tucked in a booth at Rosie’s diner, his arm slung around your shoulder. His pretty blue eyes would stare at you so intently, watching every little move you made and god was it so hard to concentrate sometimes. Yet, he made you feel so comfortable. Too comfortable, uncoiling the ball of stress that’d become you anytime you found yourself swapping or changing plans. He was so good. So attentive. Oh the thought alone was making your cheeks dust pink.

A brow raised in intrigue as he popped a fresh cig in his mouth, his smile curving around the cylinder too perfectly. “Wha?” He asked, catching the not-so-subtle shift in your features, now doused in burnin’ love.

“S’nothin’.” You shrugged and bit down on your lip, the taste of your vanilla honey lip gloss hitting your taste buds.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, eyeing you up and down for a second. A second that proved he knew it wasn’t nothing. Knew it was very much something. But, he wasn’t gonna find out. No, not with the bartender finally sauntering over and putting your conversation to a halt.

“Hay, you two,” the man greeted. Marty to be exact. He swiped a dishrag over his shoulder and dropped his hands on the counter in front of him before asking. “What’ll it be? The usual whiskey and shirley?” He asked, knowing both of your orders by heart.

“Nah, a beer’s fine,” he replied, his answer taking you by a hint of surprise, but you figured it was because he was taking you home right after. Home to your mother and father. But you didn’t want to assume. You knew Benny was well — Benny. That he didn’t care what anybody thought about him. Could give two shits about it. Yet, when it came to you — oh he couldn’t stand anyone that thought less of you. Sure, he’d still be drinking, but he hadn’t picked the harder option of the two, and hey — you understood. I mean it wasn’t like you’d be here for the night, hanging out, shooting the shit, and playing pool like a normal weekend. Hell — it was the middle of the week. An absolute bummer to say the least. “Honey?” He summoned you, swiping you right out of your thoughts.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Shook your head even, making your dangling earrings shimmy about. “Hm, yeah?”

“Y’alright?” Benny asked, his leather clad arm snaking around your back, calloused fingers hugging your side.

“M’fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to miss what y’said,'' you replied sheepishly, mind wandering all over the place. “What y’say anyways, hm?”

Benny bit down a smile then, enjoying the way your litftle nose scrunched up in pure thought. “‘Tender askin’ for your order,” he reminded.

“Oh, right! Ya, I’ll just have a plain ale, Marty.” You told him, motioning your hand about. Delicate fingers traced the air, pink ballet slipper polish doing its usual dance on your nails.

“Y’sure your alright?” Benny asked again, clearly unconvinced as Marty left you two with a solid nod, already working on your order. Benny was really good at reading you. Too good. The more he spent time with you, the easier it was for him to understand you. Knowing that you were a quite talkative and bubbly person, always so attentive to what everybody was saying, it was unusual for you to be so out of touch.

“M’sure, baby. Just thinkin’ ‘bout my plans, y’know?” You assured him, opening up your daily planner simultaneously. A vibrant array of colorful sticky pads and gelly pens jumped off the pages as you flipped through to your desired date.

“I see, I see,” Benny’s lips turned up soundly, the sight of your school books always getting a kick out of him. You were just too cute with your pretty pens and neat cursive, pencils always sticking out of your sunny updo. The passion you put in your work always felt so reminiscent of the way he felt ridin’. It was hard not to love you the most when you were in your element. “Meetin’ starting soon, so I’ll leave ya to it, Honey. But M’gonna take a piss quick. Be back for my drink.” He told you, but then asked, “Y’watch?”

“Course,” you smiled up at him, as his fingers trailed across your back, leaving your hold. And then he was off and across the room, saying something to Johnny before excusing himself completely. And you — you had your nose in your books, skimming the pages with precision, tuning out the rest of the world around you. So much so that you hadn’t noticed the drinks in front of you nor the ogglings newbies eating up your form until you did.

“Wha’s a lil’thing like you doin’, ere’?” One asked, perched to your left, an elbow knocking over your pencil case.

Before you could reply another took purchase on your right, caging you in. The stranger picked up one of your colorful pens and chuckled. “Y’know this ain’t the library, right sweet’eart?” He mused, a warm breath reeking of alcohol hitting your neck and tickling your nose.

“I —“ you began, but got cut off immediately by the original guy. The one on the left of this supposed sandwich you were entrapped in.

“S’no use Hank. Whad’a she know besides this frilly shit, aye,” he laughed, degradindly. “Y’wanna know somethin’ rough, somethin’ real, sweet’eart? Gotta itch y’need to scratch?”

You felt small. So small against these men, that you usually — oddly enough felt tall around. But no, these men weren’t your boys. Just men. Some trickling back from war. Most spawned from new chapters, doped up on things you’d never seen before. Doped up on an image and level that you didn’t know. A level you’d never match. And they didn’t like that, no — not one bit. You in your sweet savory appearance was no match against these rowdy men that didn’t know better. Didn’t know the club the way you did. The way Johnny did. The way Brucie did. The way Benny, Cal, Corky, Wahoo, Cockroach, and Zipco did. Even Funny Sonny!

“I — M’good. No thank ya,” you managed out, still startled by this whole display.

“Ahh, c’mom…know y’need it. S’just a lil’scrtach,” one of them kept going. Which one you weren’t sure, but whoever it was wasn’t taking no for an answer. Suddenly a rough hand was grabbing you and before you could react the stool went spinning around. Your vision blurred in an instant, a yelp escaping you at the contact. The bar became a fizzy of light and color, deep mahogany wood meshing into the cottony blend of your clouded eyes…

Pop!

If it weren’t for a bar of bikers being present, you would’ve thought a balloon had popped in front of your eyes, maybe even a bag of popcorn. But no — it was the man, the man who had just grabbed you, and now as your hand braced the bar behind you, your stool settled down, your vision evening out, you could see him. As clear as day, he was smack on the ground. Flat on his back. Face being knocked about. Back and forth. Up and down. Fists to skin against bone. Fists — upon your further inspection and descent across the man’s form — to be Benny. Your Benny. Pinning the man down and going at him in full force.

“Oh — Benny!” You hollered in distress when the man got a swing at him suddenly, your feet planting down on the ground in an instant without a second thought.

Of course, to your dismay, you didn’t get far. An arm materialized around your waist in an instant and pulled you back to them. And if it wasn’t for the familiar fringes of a certain jacket swinging against your sides — sparkly jewels of your own design shining in your peripheral vision — you would have fought. “S’not safe for ya, Cuz. Let ‘em at it,” Funny Sonny mumbled in your ear, the sound of his voice relaxing you as much as it could. Grateful to be in the arms of someone you knew instead of that of a strange man had you slipping without a second thought.

Eyes darting all around, your gaze lost Benny in the shuffle of it all. To the looks of it, all the newbies darted after Benny after the first swing and well — the oldies were not having that. Not one bit. What you’d come to learn later was that Benny had already been trudging across the way with a look to kill, his fist connecting with the man’s face not even a second after the man grabbed you. Another second that could’ve been too late upon anyone else’s action. Punch after punch, blow after blow, you could see them. All of them. Johnny in a wrestle with one guy, Brucie trying to block Marty and bar from any advances, Cal holding another up against a nearby wall by the collar, Zipco swiping a rando out with one hit and then sipping his beer ever-so casually, Corky and Wahoo slamming around with these other two guys near the pool table — a ball of two cracking in the process, and Cockroach being Cockroach.

With too much to process, you tried to remain steady against Sonny, but your tremblin’ became obvious. Too obvious to him under his dirt driven finger tips. “Sh, S’all good. They’ll cool down,” he assured. Of course he was right.

Breathless and exhausted, one by one the men broke apart. Panting with their hands on their knees. And then there was Benny, the last of the bunch — still pulling throws at the man under him, face soaked in a deep crimson, what features could be present?

“Benny — aye, Benny…’nough,” Johnny was calling him, pulling him up by his feet like a rag doll. “Y’lesson learned.” He mumbled in Benny’s ears hoping it would do the trick.

Benny only wrenched forward just a bit, Johnny’s hand flattening against his chest to keep him in place. Instead of keeping the physical assault going, he opted to be vocal. “Y’stay ‘way from my wife, y’here?” He spit out ever-so suddenly. Too suddenly that if Sonny wasn’t holding you back you would have fallen to the floor in complete and utter shock. Wife? Wife! Had he really just said what you thought he said? “If I see ya ever lift a finger, even look in ‘er direction again, i’ll kill ya.” He gritted out, sending a stillness across the club.

“I —“ the man choked on the ground, trying to get his words out, but failing with a breathless huff. “I did—didn’t —“

“We uh — we didn’t know she was y’wife, man. Sorry,” the other dude that had been flanked at your side earlier spoke up, who you assumed to be Hank confirming that your ears had in fact been working. That you hadn’t been imagining things after all. He had said what you thought he said, and now well — now you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“Now y’do,” he grumbled, and with one last look down at the crimson smeared man below him, he made his statement known with a solid spit.

The show was over as soon as it came, Benny turning out of Johnny’s hold. Johnny patted him on the back before he walked away. Away towards you. Only you. Johnny was saying something. Making an announcement of sorts about you when Sonny’s grip on you was released. Without a word you fumbled into Benny’s side, your makeup coded face smudging into his vest jacket as his arm curled around you. So warm. So protective. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes snapped closed as you made your way outdoors, the sound of the bar door swinging confirming your relocation. His boots stopped scruffing against the pavement and your ballet flats planted as soon as he did.

You turned in his hold, pawing, gripping at him. An unusual display of yourself before him, detached from the strong independent bubble you’d built around yourself. But he took you in. Into his hold as you snuggled deeply into his chest, practically crawling inside his colors with the two sides draped over your shoulders. His strong arms wrapped around your back without a second thought, pulling you in further, deeper, closer. Yet, you never felt close enough. Not like this that is….

“M’right ‘ere, baby. Right ‘ere.” He mumbled into the honeydew mop of curls at the top of your head.

“Aye were — he was s’close to…to…” you stammered into his chest. “an — and my p—pens..”

“I kno — I,” Benny grimaced, words catching in his throat by your addition. “Wha’ ‘bout your pens, baby?” Instead of replying you just nuzzled your face further into his chest. “Hm?” He pushed, worn fingers threading fallen strands of your hair out of your face so he could look at you. “Y’tell ya Benny, Honey?”

Looking up at him, your eyes glossed over, a light sniffle escaping you. You were too stunned to cry, but shaken enough to feel emotional all over. “One of ‘em p—pushed my pencil case o—over. Think some of ‘em f—fell behind the bar. Saw my fav—favorite pink one…” you hiccuped, words all over the place but coherent enough for Benny to understand what you were stammering about.

He found your worry over your school supplies to be real wholesome. Here you were coming off of the high of almost being attacked, and you were more worried about your work than yourself. Just went to show how much passion you put into your craft, and oh did he just love you for that.

He had to suppress a laugh, had to stop himself from smiling when you were clearly so upset. “M’sure Marty will find it, baby.” He bit down on his lip soundly and then added, “Not, I’ll buy ya a whole bunch a’new ones. Y’never realize ya lost one, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” you nodded, the smooth skin of your face moving against his warm palms.

He knew you wouldn’t have lost one to begin with. Not if he was there. Not if he hadn’t left ya for just a minute. Not if he would’ve been more claimin’ near the bar, holding you closer. Kissin’ ya before he walked away. His biggest fears had come to fusion. The thoughts of you being creeped on were always on his mind, and yet here he was. At the club. A place he felt safe in. A place he thought you’d be safest in. Of course there weren’t any thoughts behind those baby blue eyes of his when it came to making them know you were his. He never had to after all. It was obvious in the way he looked at you. Everybody knew — well everyone before the newbies came along. And the newbies, who he’d hoped would be better than that towards the ladies, proved to be otherwise.

You tiny fingers reached up, splaying over his large hands in solace and breaking his thoughts tenfold. “How’s y’hands?” You asked, urging them lower so you could inspect them.

His knuckles were battered and bruised. Raw to the touch and he didn’t even flinch when your fingers ghosted over his burning skin. “M’fine,” he assured you, and he was fine. As fine as he could be. Barely a scratch on his face was present, just a small splash of blood dried up on the bridge of his nose. Blood of the other guy who’d been sputtering below him.

“Wha’ about you? Tha’ bastard didn’t grab ya too hard, did ‘e?” He gritted, his fingers meticulously trailing down your sides and pawing at the edges of your shirt.

“Nah, nah,” you shook your head in earnest. “S’quick, couldn’t even leave a dent.”

“Tha’ right?” he double checked, pleased to know he swooped in just in time.

“Mhm,” you hummed, your finger finding a lone string from one of his patches, clearly losing its stitch. You twirled the material ‘round your little finger, making a note to patch it up for him later on. “Y’gonna tell me wha’ that was all ‘bout anyways?” You began, not giving much context on the matter, but not thinking you had to. The elephant in the room — well now outside — was obvious. Far too obvious to ignore.

“‘Bout what?” He asked innocently, blue eyes sparkling so much that he had to look down and busy himself with his pocket. Paw out a new cigarette to stop himself from giving you a look that would reveal it all. “Had to teach ‘em a lesson. Learned from the best.” He mused, drawing a cheeky smile out of you with his obvious flirting.

But your thoughts gnawed at you, so much so that your lips tightened into a thin line. “Y’know….” you trailed off, a shyness taking over you. You kept your eyes on the string, finding it easier to talk about such a matter this way. “The whole bein’ married thang…M’not your wife, y’know?” You shrugged casually as if it wasn’t such a life changing notion.

“I know…” he mumbled just as nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly, you figured the entire conversation was canned. Never to be open again, but no — to your surprise he kept it open. “Not yet at least…” he mused and your heart lurched in your chest. Catapulted even. No one ever saw Benny as the marryin’ type. One to settle down and start a life. But here he was, pitchin’ just that in a beat. A beat that had you questionin’ for a second or two if he was messing with ya.

“Benny…” you warned, a twinkle dotting your eye as a smirk managed to scoot through your lips. “Y’Wouldn't dare pull my leg, would ya?” You asked, nibble fingers pulling out his lighter and hitting the end of his cig for him.

“Nah…Nah. M’serious,” he exhaled, a cloud of smoke swirling around you two, making y’dizzy. Looked like you were gonna need a smoke now too. Was perfect timing truly, catching him trying to rip off one his rings from his swollen fingers, the cigarette dangly dangerous from his lips. Swallowing the lump that was forming in your throat from eyeing his action, your mind buzzing about with assumption, you didn’t hesitate to shakily draw the cylinder from his lips, taking your own drag of the thing. “Fuckin’ hell…” he groaned, almost losing his patience until his pinky ring slid off with one last nudge. “‘Ere,” he motioned then to your vacant finger. A finger you hadn't realized was itching for a ring longer than anticipated. Longer than your childhood daydreams could ever imagine. “Y’wanna get hitched, baby?”

Too stunned to speak, your cheeks dusted the same shade of bright pink, mirroring your pretty pen tossed behind the bar somewhere. Holding out your hand to him, you nodded in confirmation. Making it known to him that you wanted this. Wanted him.

“S’not pretty…” he huffed, slipping the bulky thing on your little finger. “but, it’ll do f’now. Until I get ya a betta one.”

“Oh Benny, no!” You chirped, cheeks hurting from smiling so hard at the comically large ring. “S’perfect. So perfect!” You assured him, popping the cig back in his mouth before wrapping your arms around his neck in pure excitement. You couldn’t care less about one of those big rocks. A flashy piece your fellow teachers would come in with just to flaunt. Money didn’t matter to you like that, not as much as love. And you loved the fact you’d be wearing a piece of Benny’s jewelry on your finger. A symbol of himself practically adorned to you. It was beautiful. So beautiful.

His eyes widened in shock, a laugh escaping against an unusually big grin, reverberating against your chest like the sweetest song. “Now who’s the one pulling legs?” He joked, dropping the cigarette you’d been sharing to the ground and putting it out with his boot.

“Oh shut it,” you mused, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt for a kiss which he obliged. His lips molded against yours like honey — thick, sweet, and oh-so smooth. And he was all over you, buzzing you up from head to toe, stinging your neck with peppering kisses as his hands grabbed your behind like he was kneading the dough of a honey bun. In his defense you were his honey bun, and now you’d always be by law. By marriage. By love. And god did you two just love eachother so. Kept whispering it into the smokey air like a decree.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out there, but you figured it was a while. Enough time for Johnny to have a stern talking to the other guys about you. About the rest of their girls and wives and whatever other woman stepped into the club. There’d be no going after any gal like that, no matter who they were. End of story as far as Johnny was concerned. And now Johnny was sauntering outside for a cigarette, figuring you two were long gone. But no — you were leaning against Benny as he mused sweet nothings into your ear, a broad smile stretching across your sweet face making Johnny certain that you were alright.

“Aye Johnny,” Benny called the man only a few feet over, a burning orange dowsing his features in a glow as he lit up his own cylinder.

“Yeah, kid?” He raised a brow, giving Benny his attention as he took a fresh drag.

“Think y’can get that Father down ‘ere for Honey n’ me?” He asked earnestly.

Johnny squinted in the afternoon sun, blinking once, twice to digest Benny’s seriousness. “Hitchin’ a ride?” Johnny reviewed subtly, not trying to stir the obvious to the newbies inside that thought otherwise.

“Somethin’ like that,” Benny hinted, you confirming the notion just as fast. For a second time that afternoon, your pink ballet slipper nails danced in the air, but this time with a funky new addition to the mix.

And Johnny couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, delighted at such a sight. Knowing as sure as shit that he’d do everything in his power to make sure the two of you were happy. Cause Benny was family, and now you’d be too. Calling Father? ‘Course he would. He’d be crazy not to as far as his daughters were concerned. Couldn’t wait to tell them that their favorite teacher would be their brand new auntie. They’d be jumping up and down for sure.

“I’ll give ‘im a ring,” Johnny confirmed like a big ol’ fairy godfather.

And there, outside the bar after a crazy afternoon of swinging fists, it was settled.

Sure as shit — you’d be the future Mrs. Cross after all. And hey — maybe that bastard biker was right about one thing. You had an itch to scratch for sure. One that required filling your notepads and planners with your sweet swirly cursive, your new name etched into the thin sheets with your favorite pink pen….

Mrs. Cross. Mrs. Cross.

Mrs. Cross. <3

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author’s note: these bees are engaged !! 🐝💍🐝

big ty to @zablife for being such a doll & inspiring the iconic mrs. cross cursive. x 💋🫶

my requests are open for ONLY miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝

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