Benny Watts X Reader - Blog Posts

April Showers (Benny Watts x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: All dolled up and ready to confess, you await a certain chess champion’s visit as a thunderstorm rages outside. But the longer your phone call stretches on, the closer you realize he may be to feeling the same about you.

A/N: long time no see y’all. So as it turns out, life is a disaster. funny how that works. anyways, here’s some benny watts bc he’s hot. hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2075

Outside, the rain poured enough to drown the city life. People fled indoors, hair and clothing drenched, umbrellas shivering with droplets. Few taxis were roaming the streets, save for those catching the poor, wandering souls whose homes were nowhere near the concrete jungle in which they trudged.

You curled your finger tighter around the cord of your telephone. A small grin began to tease at your lips, pestering at the corners and daring to smudge upon your front teeth the pale pink lipstick you wore. 

Had you gone anywhere today? You couldn’t quite remember. And yet, there you were, sitting in your third-floor apartment, draped in your nicest day dress, a little black number that flashed your décolleté, and nothing more. 

You hated the dress—despised it, in fact. The broadcloth fabric tickled at every seam, the skirt, even on a day with a light breeze, always wanted to leave little to the imagination, and you didn’t own a single pair of flats that complemented well, despite its impartial color. 

But he liked it. 

You’d been wearing it when you both first met.

Your eyes gleam as you murmur into the telephone, still watching the road in front of your apartment. Your window has grown fogged, streaks of raindrops smearing here and there, and you lean further against the sill. The bruised clouds show no signs of stopping.

Like it was yesterday, you remembered every second of it; the scent of musk, of leather and aftershave and—was that cinnamon?—flooding your senses after colliding with a solid figure. Two hands had grasped your shoulders in effort to steady you, and—God—how you couldn’t forget the feeling of his fingertips against your bare skin.

Soft. That’s what you admired most about him. Despite his rough exterior and deliberate personality, he was unpredictably, endearingly soft. You curled your head closer to the phone, cupping it against your face as though his words were a caress upon your cheek. A breathless laugh escaped you. “Is that right?”

‘Are you all right?’ That day, he’d dipped his head to meet your gaze after you stumbled from the impact, and shaded eyes scanned yours beneath the wide brim of a cowboy hat. Your breath hitched.

Brown, but not one of those plain browns that was easily forgettable; these were one of those browns that would haunt you for days, the ones you could imagine wandering all over you, making you feel that jittery, hot anxiousness that simultaneously makes you want to tighten your clothes around yourself or strip them off altogether. You had let yourself get lost in them for longer than what was socially acceptable, especially with a stranger. 

But for that time, all you could imagine was diving into them a little longer, getting a little closer to see if they were really that dark, deep umber they seemed to be, or if it was just the shadow of his hat. 

‘I’m fine,’ you’d reassured with a tight smile, though it was the growing flush to your cheeks that made you so tense rather than frustration with the collision. It was warm, too warm, and, even worse, it was embarrassing to become so flustered so easily. 

A corner of his mouth had lifted, and his hands retreated from your shoulders. ‘Sorry about that. I should’ve paid more attention.’

The more you pored over the interaction, and every interaction following that, the more you noticed it at every fleck of his words—the hint of a Southern accent. During the day, it slipped past the ears without notice, but when it came to later hours and earlier mornings, it was thick and heavy off his tongue. Often, his voice would lower an octave. A dangerous gruffness would hang on his every word, and a tightness in his jaw kept his words drawled. 

‘Ah, uh, me too.’ You’d shrugged casually, hoping that in some way it might disguise the terrible tremble of your hands. ‘Just been looking for the mirror.’ You gestured down at the black dress your friend had forced you to try on, silently cursing at the way it wrinkled in all the wrong places and hung loose in others. Of course, you remembered thinking to yourself that day, of all the times you were to run into an attractive boy—no, attractive man, it had to be this moment, donned in the most uncomfortable frock imaginable. 

Slowly, his gaze followed the gesture. A careful, brown scan trailed from the bare skin at your collar bone, following the buttoned path down to the fabric pinched at your waist, and finished at the rippling skirt at your knees. His lips twitched, and for one unbearable moment, he was utterly silent. 

All you could think about was how stupid it had been for you to draw more attention to yourself, as if he couldn’t already see the sweating beading at your forehead, or the heartbeat in your throat. This man was sucking the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and fidgety and nervous and hyper and taut all at the same time. A terrible mixture. And the one thing you had left to do was damn every haphazard, insubstantial interaction you’d ever had with handsome males that had left you so inadequate for this situation. 

Then his gaze flicked up to you, somewhat darker as he tipped his hat towards you and smirked, a gentle curl of his lips, before clearing his throat. ‘I like it. It looks beautiful on you, Miss…?’

His question had hung in the air, marinating until you could bring yourself back down to reality with a harsh bite on your tongue. ‘YN. YLN,’ you mumbled. ‘A-and you are?’

‘Benny. Watts.’

“Benny Watts, don’t you dare tell me that you’re only in this city for a chess tournament.” You shook your head, an unabashed grin overwhelming your face when he chuckled from the other end. “I did my research, you know.”

“Oh yeah, princess? What’d you find?” There was shuffling from his end, and you heard what must have been jangling coins, but dismissed it.

“The only tournament here is for the state title.”

“Yeah?”

“So you’re telling me that the US Champion wants to play chess against forty-year-olds with nothing better to do, and university students?”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m strapped for cash.”

You curled further into the sofa, hugging the telephone base closer to your chest and fiddling with the rotary dial. “Bullshit.”

He’d told you he was a chess player that day, and a good one at that. Said he’d travel all over the country to play, sometimes the world. You almost didn’t believe it, until he’d led you over to the magazine rack and pulled the latest edition of Chess Review. 

‘Here,’ he probed the front pocket of his trench coat, revealing a wallet. ‘You should keep it.’ Wordlessly, he passed a few bills to the cashier near the door. ‘And the dress.’

‘No, you shouldn’t just-’

He flashed you a smile and tipped his hat, already halfway out the door. ‘I already did, princess.’ Then he winked. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll meet again.’

“Well, princess, I do so love to be the best in your eyes, but I have to say there are some strong up-and-comers nowadays.”

“Same excuse you used last time.”

“Damn,” he whistled, letting out a sigh. “Can’t slip anything past you, can I?”

But he had, once. Just once.

‘Well,’ your friend had appeared beside you after he slipped out of the department store, causing you to flinch. ‘Now we know the dress works.’

You’d huffed, trying to summon the effort to throw her a glare, but the rapid thumping of your heart had been making any and all anger difficult. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

‘Well damn,’ she smiled slyly and shook her head with disbelief, ‘you should look for me a lot more often.’

And as the pair of you watched him walk away, you’d spotted a small tuft of blond hair peeking out between the brim of his hat and the collar of his leather trench coat, and cursed at how well it all took your breath away. You had to agree with her. 

“Not anymore. You know I love to hear about your wins, Benny, but not like this.”

“Aw, you flatter me.” You could imagine the way he was fiddling with his hat at this point, dragging a finger across the brim or perhaps readjusting it altogether. “Here I thought you were getting tired of my chess talk.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed on the call if I was. Plus, you get all cute after you’ve won a game.”

On the other end of the line, Benny scoffed incredulously. “Cute? Did you just say cute?”

You leaned your head back, biting your lip. “Yeah, you know, it’s adorable the way you get all excited when they give up.”

“Adorable? Excited?”

“Yep.”

“...You’ve never seen me play a single game, have you?”

Finally, he was back in town. He’d called and told you ahead of time that he was headed over from New York; that he’d signed up for a tournament and had arranged to stay at a local hotel, and that he was wondering if you could meet up somewhere. 

Somewhere.

Meet up.

Hotel.

As if he hadn’t been planning on staying in your apartment anyway. As if the plan was to share a couple drinks and a couple laughs, the way you’d done it so many times before. As if the second before last phone call you’d had with him hadn’t ended with him almost telling you he loved you—just before he broke himself off with a stutter and mumbled something about having to hang up. 

And now he was coming here. 

The conversation had fallen into a natural lull, and it was then you took note of how painfully hot your cheeks were despite the cold weather exuding from your window. Your fingertips were frozen, you realized, as you gnawed on your thumbnail. 

“Benny, I…” You dug your nails into your arm, eyes clenched shut. “I really miss you.”

His breath hitched.

The silence grew suffocating. 

Your heart thumped painfully, and the dress began to itch. 

Then he exhaled. “I miss you too.” He shuffled on the other end. “So fucking much, princess. Look out your window.”

“What?”

Your gaze darted outside. The sun was just setting, and the sky had grown more black during your call. The lone street lamp shining into the phone booth was the only reason you could see him. 

He was supposed to be waiting for a cab at the university—that’s what he’d told you, at least. 

Instead, in the foggy glass box, he raised his hand, fingers flashing in a short wave. 

“Benny.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

When your form disappeared from the window, he hung up. When you raced down the stairs of your apartment complex, he abandoned the phone booth. 

And when you burst through the front doors, he opened his arms, grunting as you collided with his chest, chuckling as the motion flung the damp hat from his head. 

“Now who’s excited?” he mumbled into your hair.

He was completely soaked from what must have been a two-hour walk through a thunderstorm. The damp sleeves of his leather coat began seeping through the dress fabric at your waist. Droplets from his hair dripped onto your cheek. 

Then he pulled away, tilted up your head with a lone hand on your jaw, and crashed his frozen lips against yours, as though trying to absorb whatever warmth you would give him. God, even his ring chilled you to the bone.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. Not as you drew him up the stairs, back into your apartment. Not as you both shed layers upon layers, peeling back whatever separated the two of you, until it was solely skin on skin and nothing more. 

And when the steam of the shower obscured your view of him, he sought you out on his own, searching for you and curling himself around you, planting his lips against your throat as his fingers secured the softness of your hips. 

“Princess?” he mumbled into your skin, sweet honey dripping off his accent and soaking into your skin. 

“Hmm?” Your fingers danced along his scalp as you dragged them through the blond tufts, suds floating down the drain. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Hey i rally love your writing! I was wondering, if your requests are open, and of yes you could do something with benny watts from the Queens gambit. With the hat rule( you Wear the hat, you ride the cowboy). Like maybe they are friends and she steals his hat and He asks her if she knows the rule. And shes like yes i do. If you dont want to ist totaly ok. Once again i love you writing thank youu

Hey so like… I know it’s been uh, years since you requested this. But; here it is haha! I stared this blog than immediately ditched it because life got in the way. But I’m here to let out some of this creative steam that’s blocking up my brain.

Side note, this is totally not proof read.

Also- she gets a little spicy

How’s that saying go?

Benny Wats, how would you begin to describe the man? Intelligent, Skilled, Quick witted, and undeniability jaw dropping, stupidity pretty. At least, that’s how you described him. Right now. Cackling meanisily as the words flow from your mouth. Delivered in a slurred, almost unrecognisable pattern thanks to the liquid courage flowing through your veins. Two beers, four shots and three of the “speciality cocktails” deep. The ‘speciality’ in question is tequila. In burns hot in your veins warming your body, causing it to flush with a glowing pink rays. The bounce off your, directing straight at Benny.

He had to admit when he suggested going to a bar to drink his sorrows away after a recent defeat. One that came so unexpectedly and hit him hard, cutting deep in his ego. He hadn’t expected for you to tags along. And he especially didn’t expect for you to get absolutely shit faced.

You sit across from him, grin wide on your flushed features, eyes twinkling with a fuzzy haze as the barley even on lights flicker in the dingy dive bar. It wasn’t the nicest place to be. But right now Beeny is looks at what he considered to be the most incredible view of his life.

Your shoulders are released against the worn leather of the booth, the (also barley even on) tank top sits crooked across your body. Your breasts essentially spilling out of your bra. The jacked you wore on the once fridged autum night now lays abondoned. Slung poorly across the back of your chair.

He had to call it. Benny was a gentleman after all, and he fears if you keep looking at him like that, sitting so prettily across from him- he shuffles slightly in his seat, suddenly growing uncomfortable in his once lazed position.

“Okay, pretty thing.” He practically coos at you as he stands. His skim frame hovering over you. You shrink at little at this, feeling the weight of his stare and the tickly of his words in your chest.

“Time to go.” He extends a hand out to you. Allowing you to slowly stand, head reeling slightly tipping back as if the weight of your own extremely had not been known to you.

He steadies you quickly. Arms reaching to your waste, allowing you to wobble slightly in place. Providing a barrier so you don’t eat shit, essentially. One you are stead he’s quick to move. Gathering up his coat and yours in his arm. Reaching for his hat, you are quick to act. The movement surprising the man. You snatch his hat from the table, clutching it close in your arm.

“I got ya hat.” You smile a wicked grin at him, wiggling the before mentioned item in your hand. Allowing it to dangle enticingly at Beeny. Your eyes shining, glinting with mischief.

“And if you want if back-“ you begin, taking slow cautious steps backwards, finding your footing. The man tilts his head at you, a stern look is his bright eyes, but a small smile rested upon his face. His shifts the jackets to one arm, silently preparing for some kind of antict.

“Your gonna have to catch me!” You yell the last part of your sentence as you bolt through the front door of the bar. Benny swears under his breath. Fumbling with his wallet he throws a stack of whatever amount on the table before running after you. A boyish laugh rumbling in his chest.

As he jogs up to his car, been stops in his tracks. You are leaned against the passenger side door, arms crossed with a shit eating smile etched across your face. His hat, lay triumphantly atop your head.

Benny can’t help the heat that consumes him. His mind going foggy and his head spinning as he sees you, in his hat. He didn’t know it was an image that could illicit such a reaction. But yet hear the man stands, battling with his emotions like some kid if teenager. He doesn’t know what consumes him.

He needs to be close to you.

Beeny practically stalked up to you, eyes narrow and pointed starting at you like a wild animal. You don’t know what to do, like a dear in headlights you stand frozen in place. He’s on you now. So close you can feel his breath on your lips. Hot bursts as he pants, practically drools over you.

One arm come up next to your head, softly resting on the cool metal of the car. The change in temperature is welcomed to Beeny. His other arm comes across you, not touching. He lays his palm on the metal of the door.

“Now darling.” It comes at low and raspy. Pulled from the back of his throat.

“You can’t just go around wearing a man’s hat like that-“ he lowers his voice into a husky whisper. He’s towering over you, making you almost feel small. Hands shaking as adrenaline kicks in. Your teeth pulling your lips into a light hold. Sucking harsh at the plump skin.

“There are rules about these things you know.” He says it like a secret, his thumb coming up to release you lip from the tortuous hold of your lips. Staring intently at the swelling skin.

You push back against the car slightly, head tilting to meet his gaze. Your eyes burn fierce into his. Causing another hit wave to push through his body, stomach tightening and his eyebrows shit up is surprise.

You blink once, then twice. Slow and calculated. Once you know his attention is fully on you, you swing both your arms around his neck. Pulling him flush with your body. Benny can’t help the groan that seeps through as you meet his gave once more.

“How’s that saying go again.” You query, rotating you palms up and moving to place them on top of his hat, sitting so pretty on your head. Pulling Beeny closer, forcing his to crouch slightly, tilting his back back to keep in sight.

“Save a horse. Ride a cowboy?”

You take the hat and place it harshly on top of Bennys head. Causing his to lose his footing and stumble back slightly.

A giggly erupting loudly from you as he places his hand onto top of his hat, on his head. And suddenly, it doesn’t feel right. His misses the way you glow, his hat sitting like a crown on top of your head. His misses that view already.