imonlyhereforthexreaders

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

I need more parts of Goldrush or I may die. I love it

Your wish is my command, lovely ❤️‍🔥

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Gold Rush (part 6)

Benny watts x reader

Warnings: cliche tropes, the water class glass exchange was inspired by another author but I can’t find the exact quote so just know I’m not that creative

A/n: howdy darlings, I’m not too happy with this piece but I think I’m starting to find my footing again in this story so if this is well received I will make more parts so please lmk if that’s something you all are interested in. As usual be gentle with yourselves my lovelies ❤️‍🔥

-

The rest of the cocktail hour went by without any hiccups, with Benny’s arm around the back of your chair you noticed substantially less backhanded remarks, which, while sexist, was still appreciated. Dinner is brought out in carts with silver dishes overflowing and ready to be distributed.

“You got drinks, I’ll grab us both food” you offered, already on your feet. Benny made some effort to deter you, arguing he had no problem getting the food but you only brushed him off.

“I know the drill, you don’t like raw tomatoes,capers or olives” you assured, already heading towards the growing line, he followed you anyways.

“How’d you know that?” He inquired, and you almost laughed at the question.

“We’ve been to countless of these events together, I’ve just noticed overtime” he smirked teasingly,

“You’ve been watching me, huh?” You give him a gentle jab to the ribs,

“Yeah, with judgment at your childlike pickiness” he rolls his eyes but resigns himself to your shared table

Benny POV

I sat and watched her as the line creeped along, nursing a new bottle. Usually I’d drink at these events but seeing as I’m driving (y/n)s car, which was very close to her heart, I decided to stick with non alcoholic radlers.

“Are you Benny Watts?” The voice to my right catches me by surprise, the owner of the voice even more so. A woman, tall and thin, about (y/n)s age but maybe a little older, stands before me. She has short red hair and large eyes, and is wearing a black and white shift dress. I cleared my throat awkwardly, I was used to being around (y/n) but the idea of another chess girl did make me a little uneasy.

“That’s me, who’s asking?” I lean back into my chair, opening my legs and making eye contact, looking her up and down for any sign of familiarity.

“Beth Harmon” her arms are crossed over her chest, not moving to extend a hand, so I chose not to either. “You hold the US title, correct?” I nodded my head and for a while neither of us spoke, we just sized each other up. Deciding to test my luck I lean across the table, propping my chin up with one arm.

“Come to ask anything or just look at me? I’ve been told I’m quite easy on the eyes” She doesn’t smile or blush or send back a witty remark like (y/n) would, she just narrows her eyes,

“I’m just trying to meet my competition” I raise my eyebrow and am about to ask her what makes her, unheard of by me, my competition. Before a much more familiar voice behind me speaks up.

“I got us food Ben, it was wild in there, nearly had to shank someone in the eye in order to get the last of the garlic rolls- Oh hi! I saw you earlier and meant to introduce myself. I’m (y/n) (l/n), you’re Beth, correct?” Her voice is chipper as she sets out plates down on the table, extending her arm enthusiastically to the woman next to me, who just gives her a look before nodding her head and reluctantly meeting her handshake.

“That’s correct” (y/n) smiles widely,

“You should join us for dinner, we’ve got this table to ourselves and I’d love to know more about you-“

“I’m just leaving” Beth explains quickly “I think I’m going to take my dinner up to my room, thank you though” I watch (y/n)s grin falter before quickly producing another, more artificial smile.

“Of course, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow in competition” Beth nods and responds with a noncommittal “maybe” before removing herself from the situation. (Y/n) takes the seat across from me. She had grabbed two plates full of penne with vodka sauce, complete with the garlic rolls as she had described. I give a quick thank you before diving wholeheartedly into the food, not having eaten anything since breakfast. (Y/n) follows suit but in a much less enthusiastic way and I can see the cogs turning in her head.

“She’s supposed to be really good, new to the competitive world but very serious in the sport” her eyes raise to mine “Beth” she clarifies, as if there were an abundance of women competing in the event. I nodded in thought,

“Seems like a piece of work, feisty for sure” she nods in a distracted manner and continues pushing her food around. After about 20 minutes of deliberation I finally clear my throat,

“I’m going to take my plate back” I state, standing and gathering my used silverware “Do you want anything?” I ask. She had only eaten about half of her plate but quickly pushed it towards me.

“You can take mine back as well, if you don't mind.” she answered.

“You sure?” I question, glancing between her and the half full plate “You didn’t eat much”

“Yeah, I’m sure” she confirms “I just have a bit of a headache so I don’t really feel like eating much more” I nod in response,

“Alright, how about I drop these plates and we pull an Irish exit?” I offer, immediately feeling better when her face brightens into a smile.

“Sounds like a plan to me” she agrees, finishing off her glass. I made quick work of dropping the dishes off on a cart by the door before heading back to the table where (y/n) was standing, gathering her belongings. I pull her coat off the back of her chair, helping her into it. She offers me a shy smile over her shoulder and I mindlessly rub her biceps before gathering my own coat.

The night was still young and the room was even more crowded than before, I protectively wrapped my arm around (y/n)’s back, guiding her towards the staircase, feeling a swell of pride as she subconsciously leaned into my embrace. Her hand finds the bend of my arm as we make our way down the stairs and she doesn’t make any move to release it until we’ve let out into the cold evening air. She buries her face into my sleeve, muttering something I couldn’t quite make out.

“What was that, love?” I inquire, she pulls her face off of my arm scowling into the wind.

"Said it’s cold as shit” she repeats, before curling back into my side. I chuckle, reaching a hand up to stroke her hair reassuringly.

“We’ll turn the heat all the way up in the car,” I promise “you’ll be cooked medium rare by the time we get back to base” I hear her muffled giggle and smile to myself. Give me all the national titles and championship rings in the world, none of it stroked my ego like making her laugh. I’d spent the last 8 years of my life, at least, pushing myself to be competitive in chess in large part just to have a reason to be around her. We both lived for the chase, we both reveled in the intellectual challenge that the other presented, and at the end of the day we were both hard to satisfy. I couldn’t recall either of us maintaining a relationship beyond a few months in the past couple years at least. Arriving at the car I pull open her door for her which she rolls her eyes at but offers a ‘thank you’ regardless. I slid into the driver's side and turned the key in the ignition, allowing it to idle as I cranked the heat up and leaned over the bench seat to rummage through a box left on the back seat.

“What are you doing?” she asked, having kicked off her boots and pulled her feet up on the bench, hugging her knees for warmth. I unceremoniously dumped a wool blanket over her, just as I had done a few weeks ago that rainy night of the qualifier.

“Oh, Benny…” she said, probably meaning for it to be scolding even though it came out more like a coo.

“I know you well, doll” I smirked, finally shifting the car into first gear and pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road. She scooted next to me, eliminating any space between us and I felt my breath catch in my throat. The proximity wasn’t new to us but her intentionally closing the distance made me want to hold my breath. She was much more shy in her advances and I knew any poorly placed joke could send her running, so I bit my tongue and kept my eyes on the road as if nothing had changed. She draped the blanket across both of our laps and I released my held breath. Of course there was a reason, there always is. (y/n) is a chess player, nothing if not calculated and I couldn’t allow myself to so easily forget that. But she leaned her head against my shoulder and shut her eyes.

“Thank you, Benny,” she hummed and I could feel her breath fan across my neck with each word. My skin burned where we connected, my entire right side from shoulder to thigh feeling so hot it may as well have been emitting light. I cleared my throat, keenly aware of the hot blood rising to my face.

“Don’t mention it,” I choke out. The closeness was one thing when we were both half awake and my body simply functioned to warm hers, but there was no reason to write this off as, no simple justification for her mouth to be so close to my jugular, for her legs to be pressed against mine. The car was warm, and getting warmer by the second, there were no misogynists to scare away from our table. It was just us in this vacuum and I drive forever if that’s what kept us here. The drive didn’t last forever, unfortunately and soon enough I was pulling into that long gravel driveway. The rattling of the car pulled (y/n) from her nap which she groaned in annoyance at, sitting up and stretching her arms behind her head. The movement relieved me of her contact, and although between her touch and the thick wool blanket covering us both I had been practically cooking alive, I felt cold without her almost instantly, as if she had taken all of our shared warmth with her. I shifted the car into neutral, pulling up the hand brake and turning off the ignition before turning to her. She looked warm, her cheeks slightly flushed, soft hair tangled around her face like sunbeams. She was like the sun and I was lucky enough to be basking in her light. She catches my gaze, quirking an eyebrow in question but I just look away and clear my throat. During the course of the drive back from town the sun had completely set, so after we both exited the car I linked our hands together as we squinted through the darkness towards the shadow-hidden cabin doing our best not to trip on rocks and fallen branches. After making it successfully up the porch steps I shoulder open the door and feel along the walls until I find the light switch which, when flipped, illuminates the dull yellow overhead lamp. I pull off my jacket and hang it along with the keys to the car by the door. (y/n) strides past me with a determined gait towards the bedroom and I hear a muffled “umph” accompanied by the whine of the old box spring letting me know she had found her destination. I lock the door behind me before heading towards the bedroom as well.

The room was still dark, only the faint yellow glow of the living room casting any light into the cold room. I begin searching through the drawers where I had unpacked my clothes the previous day in search of something warm but comfortable to sleep in.

“Benny?” comes a muffled voice from behind me. I see (y/n) cocooned in blankets with only her eyes and above visible peering through the darkness at me.

“Yes?” I answer, pulling two sets of fleece lined flannels and baggy sweats from the dresser.

“Could you grab me a glass of water?” She squeaks out.

“Yeah, here’s a set of warmer clothes if you want” I offer, dropping them beside her on the bed before heading to the kitchen. The water sputtered in the tap before finally evening out. I made quick work of washing two of the glasses in the cabinet just to be safe before filling them both and heading back towards our shared room. Upon pushing the door open I found (y/n) in a similar position as before, curled up on her side of the bed, but she was now wearing the sweater I had left her. She offered me a tired smile as I sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, handing her the glass. She took only a small sip before placing it nearly untouched on her nightstand, turning her attention back to me. Her eyelids were heavy as she looked up at me through her lashes. Reaching out she ran her hand over one of mine, grasping it in my lap.

“Do you remember asking your mum or dad for a water before bed?” She asked, shutting her eyes now.

“I do,” I confirmed, reaching my spare hand up to mindlessly brush the loose hair from her face.

“Do you remember how you hardly even wanted the water,” she nearly whispered, my hand stilled across her forehead “You just wanted the hand attached to the water, and the arm and the body”. Her eyes were squinted tightly shut as if she could convince herself she was saying it to no one if she didn’t have to look at me. As if her grip around my hand hadn’t tightened as if afraid I would pull away. I wouldn’t.

“I do,” I said simply, resuming the brushing of my hand across her hair. This time cupping her cheek and brushing my thumb over her eyelashes. She takes the invitation to open her eyes, and she smiles.

“Thank you, Benny” it's so quiet I almost miss it when she says it. I smile in return, pulling my hand from her slightly liquor flushed cheek.

“Anything for you, dollface” I return. Grabbing my own set of clothes and heading to the bathroom to change. When I return she’s already asleep beneath the mound of blankets and quilts. I slip into bed on her opposite side, managing to dislodge one blanket that would just have to be enough to get me through the night. The house had warmed noticeably from running the heater throughout the day but it still didn’t do much to keep the night cold from creeping in. I lay on my back, closing my eyes and feeling sleep start to take over only for it to be chased away by a weight covering me. I opened my eyes to find (y/n) had slung her body over mine, hand finding a fistful of my shirt as she curled her face into the crook of my neck. Her breathing hadn’t changed, her body had sought mine out in her sleep. I smiled and pulled the mound of blankets over us, creating an envelope of warmth. The wind whistled violently outside but we may as well have been camping on the sun.

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

by four and a half lengths (part 3)

summary: Thomas Shelby continues his attempts at convincing the reader to take his offer, leading to a test drive, unanticipated tension and perhaps even a deal being reached.

length: 6,032 words/ 9 pages single spaced (way longer than previous parts)

a/n: alright guys, strap yourselves in bc this part is like 3x the length of the previous two parts. You will either fortunately or unfortunately notice that I love a good slow burn so hold your breath because in this part we get to experience that ‘pride and prejudice 2004 hand touching’ type physical contact. Promise we’re getting somewhere though. I also apologize if any of the language in this is confusing, I have spent my whole life around horses, but I also know that’s not a universal experience. I’ve loved seeing you all enjoying this series so hopefully I’ve made you proud with this addition, I’ll also be adding a much-requested additional chapter to ‘Gold Rush’. As always, send me your thoughts on this chapter and be gentle with yourselves, lovelies <3

The sun had barely begun to peak over the soft hills of the Oxford countryside when you arrived at the stables the following morning. You had rolled the bottoms of your baggy slacks up to keep them from getting drenched in the dewy grass on your walk from the nearby lodging. Most of those involved in the races had packed up the previous night and shipped their horses back to their respective home tracks. Since your horse wasn’t boarded at a major track you didn’t have to partake in the bulk shipping and opted to give Damascus another night to recover from the event before moving him back home. At least that’s what you told yourself; you had been relentlessly mulling over Thomas’ offer which left the future of your business hanging in the wings. You made a quick stop by the feed room, grabbing a bucket of grain you had portioned the night before as well as a heavy armful of hay. You managed to gracelessly shove open the door to Damascus’ stall who greeted you with an excited nicker.

  “You’re only ever happy to see me when I’ve got food in my hand you little mooch” you taunted with a smile, dumping the grain into his feed pan before attempting to toss the hay up into the hanging manger; ‘attempting’ being the most important word. Much of the hay fell back into your face, gathering in your hair and clinging to your clothes. Swearing under your breath you collected the loose hay before aggressively stuffing it into the feeder. Damascus only offered you an unimpressed glance of sympathy before diving back into his breakfast. You exited the stall, swatting the hay off your pants. Realizing the same efforts would be fruitless with the amount of hay clinging to the cotton of your button down, you unbutton the shirt and pull it off, leaving you in a thin tank top undershirt, and make work shaking the hay off the overshirt. A loud shuffling to your right draws your attention to Damascus’ neighboring stall which had been empty the night before. Peeking through the bars of the stall door you see a bedding-covered Saint Clement who you seemingly woke with your ruckus. You smile as he makes his way over to you curiously, still blinking slowly from his rude awakening.

  “Sorry for waking you, big boy” you apologize, brushing some of the shavings off of his face. His ears perk up, looking past you. You turn to see Thomas making his way down the barn aisle. He's dressed in the most casual attire you've seen him in which includes a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He’s also without his signature peaked cap allowing you to fully take in his facial features for the first time. “Thought I’d give you a taste of what your stables would look like,” he explains, gesturing between your respective horses stalled side by side with the end of his cigarette, Monaghan Boy also there, stalled on the other side of Saint Clement, quietly muched hay from his manger. You feel Thomas’ eyes work up and down your body with a raise of the eyebrow. Suddenly keenly aware of your clothing situation you rush to pull your overshirt back on, busying your eyes and hands with the buttons down your front.

  “Didn’t think you'd do your own barn chores in the morning,” you offer, trying to get yourself decent before bothering to tackle the larger question which hung in the air between you two. “I don’t,” he admitted, “I have barnhands to do that but I figured you probably didn’t so I thought I might catch you” “I have never felt the need to hire barnhands, I like to be involved in the care of my horses and manage just fine” you explain, tucking your shirt into your pants. “I’m not quite sure I believe in how well you manage when you’re wearing half a bale of hay” he points out, lips twitching into a smirk around the end of his cigarette. You can’t hide the flush that builds in your face at his words as you attempt to brush some of the hay out of your hair. “You’d have access to both of my barnhands in Birmingham, they are both good men who take great care of the animals,” Every word that comes out of his mouth is calculated, selling you on a future that appears more and more vividly in your mind with every word spoken. “I don’t have any interest in achieving a hands-off business model” you explain, “I don’t mind getting dirty and I prefer to be thoroughly involved in how my barn runs.” “Then run it,” he shrugs nonchalantly “I’m giving you the reins on this operation because your reputation precedes you and I haven’t my own working model in place anyways.” “You did your homework on me?” You question, taking a step closer to him. “Then you know I don’t play well with others. I run a one man show, I don’t even let my jockeys ride my horses until I’ve put a foundation on them. I maintain a very particular barn environment and schedule. I quit my last employed training position because I couldn’t agree with the owner, so I want to know, Mr. Shelby, why would you want to bring that into your business?” You were nearly toe to toe at this point, so close you could practically taste the smoke Thomas exhaled. “Because I believe you and I are cut of the same cloth” he admitted, tilting his head down to hold your gaze, “This is your area of expertise and I don’t plan to get involved in how you run it. I’m only concerned with your track record and your treatment of your animals, both of which I’ve found to be favorable.” He pauses to take a drag of his cigarette. “Besides,” he breathed, “your independence is what makes you ideal for the position. Why hire a barn full of staff when I can hire one woman who’s got something to prove to the world?” You felt the heat rush to your face, not only was this the first time someone was truly impressed by your experience in the industry, but it was the first time you felt someone could see right through you. “Seems as though we both have something we want to prove to the world,” you utter, voice barely above a whisper. It didn’t matter that the barn was empty, that there was so much empty space for either of you to take up. You stood with the toes of your shoes touching, speaking with the hushed secrecy of nearly found out criminals. Perhaps you were. Two modern Icarus each plagued by ambition who couldn’t quite figure out if this uncharted territory before you both was your ascent or the beginning of your fall. In either case it felt like flight, and who were either of you to question that? “I’d need to get a ride in before I decide anything,” you finally relented, stepping back from Thomas in order to let some air into your lungs. You turned to Saint Clement, who was much more awake by now and pawing in anticipation of his morning grain. Monaghan Boy had also joined him with his head hung over the stall guard weaving from side to side in impatience. “Get these poor boys fed and I’ll be back in half an hour or so to see what I’d be working with”

You fastened a halter onto Damascus, who had finished his grain, leading him from his stall towards the grazing paddocks. While many trainers believed that keeping their racehorses cooped up in stalls made them run faster, you found that although they may be more high spirited if put on stall rest before a race, they also burned out faster on the track and had a harder time maintaining a decent pace. Horses were also significantly happier when given the opportunity to roam and graze. You turned Damascus loose in a shaded paddock, smiling as you watched him trot the fenceline throwing in a couple playful bucks along the way. He was a striking horse, his steely grey coat shined in the early morning light with his dapples appearing even more prominently. Despite his flashy appearance he had been overlooked by many trainers for his height, he was just over 15 hands making him the runt of most fields. Despite this you had found his uphill confirmation and receptive personality made him fiercely competitive when handled correctly. He finally settled in and began grazing on the lush grass below the oak trees. You wondered if the Thomas’ stables in Birmingham had fields this nice. It was much more known for being an industrial city which made you weary, none of your horses had been so far into the city and would have to grow accustomed to the loudness, you would as well.

You had spent most of your life at the tracks, your first positions as a groom and exercise rider had been at one of the smaller tracks in London. It never turned out any great racers but its stands were full every weekend with everyday people laying down one or two pound bets. You could still feel the thickness of the city air in your lungs when you thought back to your time there. It hadn’t been glamorous in the least but it had always been honest, the races weren’t valuable enough for anyone to spend the money to fix. The trainers were respectable, the jockeys were honest, even the grooms and barnhands had pride in the work they did. When they started disappearing off to war you found yourself in positions of more and more power over the horses there until you were handling the majority of the training at the track. Since no one could have predicted the war no one had planned to stop the breeding and training of racehorses and since mares were pregnant for a full year before foaling, foals with exceptional bloodlines came onto the market much cheaper with the industry being at a near standstill. That was how you were able to start your career. You purchased well bred weanlings, broke, trained and started competing them before being able to resell them back to the big names of the industry when the war ended and racing picked up again. With the sales money, as well as the return on small royalties you had built into the sales contacts themselves, you had been able to fund your own career and from your experience starting all sorts of racehorses you had been able to finetune your eye to find pick out diamonds in the rough which is what you had done with Damascus and then again with Saint Clement.

Despite you pulling more than your weight to boost the industry both during and after the war, once men started returning to their comfortable positions of power you found yourself once again fighting for a seat at the table. Your horses were always favored worse than their true odds and many jockeys considered working for you as reputation suicide. Despite your success on paper you felt you were fighting a losing battle and Thomas’ offer seemed like the break that could change your luck. However, there was just so much darkness and mystery surrounding him and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to see what the light would reveal.

Finally determining that Damascus had settled down enough to graze unsupervised you abandoned your position at the fence to head back towards the stables. Upon entering the barn you see Saint Clement already out in the barn aisle standing quietly on crossties. He had already been tacked with the tiny leather racing stadle fastened to his back. Thomas had also taken the liberty to wrap his legs in exercise bandages, a practice you yourself always maintained during training. You found yourself wondering if it was his preference as well or if he had done more research on you than you thought in order to be so persuasive. With seemingly infinite resources at his disposal you wouldn’t put it past him to do the latter. You gave the tall colt an affectionate pat before continuing past him to the tack room where you could hear light commotion stirring within.

Entering through the doorway you found Thomas pulling a separate set of tack off one of the racks. You recognized the burgundy and white striped saddle pad in his hand as the one Monaghan Boy had sported during the race.

  “Do you need to borrow any equipment?” Thomas asked, pulling your attention back to him “I used a catch-ride jockey, so I have extra silks and a helmet” you pulled open the truck under Damascus’ saddle rack, rummaging through it, “I brought my hard hat just in case, but if you have a spare silk I’d rather not muddy up the last clean shirt I brought with me,” you answer, tugging your tall leather boots up your calf. Luckily they were loose enough you could tuck your baggy pant legs into the boots to at least somewhat look the part. You accept the thin silk from Thomas’ outstretched hand, it was fully white other than one large burgundy stripe which ran diagonally across the torso, matching Monaghan Boy’s saddle pad. You begin to unbutton your shirt for the second time that day, noticing how Thomas deliberately averts his gaze, shifting the saddle from one arm to the other. “It’s nothing you haven't already seen today,” you joke, trying to lighten the mood. You truly could not get a read on this man. On one hand he was a calculated man who seemed to have any information he desired right at his fingertip and carried himself with enough cockiness that you’d believe that he could have you disappear if he wanted to, on the other hand you could tell he cared deeply for his horses and offered you more respect than most people in the industry had, even going as far to avert his gaze from you when you so much are bared a shoulder. “Pardon me for treating you like a lady” he replied, trying to bite back any semblance of a smile however you still caught the subtle twitch of his lips. You didn’t try to hide your own smile as you finished buttoning the silk. “It’s alright, just don’t do it again” you teased, turning to exit the tack room but not before catching the chuckle Thomas tried to hide by ducking his head. Any bit of emotion you could pull out of him left you feeling like you had just won a race. You flexed each of Saint Clement’s legs while Thomas finished tacking up Monaghan Boy. “You want to start on that one, I take it?” Thomas asked, handing you the large colt’s bridle. “If it’s all the same to you,” you replied, adjusting the headstall so it fit comfortably on the large horse. One major difference between Saint Clement and Damascus was his height; while Demascus was noticeably short for his breed, Saint Clement was exceptionally tall standing over 17 hands at the withers. You did a quick sweep of the barn aisle for anything resembling a mounting block but came up empty handed. “Do you need a leg up?” Thomas inquired, having emerged from Monaghan Boys stall seemingly sensing your internal conflict. You felt your flash flush at the proposition, all jockeys got leg ups before races, it made sense that there wouldn’t be a mounting block around, but you were no jockey and for as much as Thomas was trying to sell you on taking the position he offered, you also wanted to prove to him that you would be the perfect person for the job. The perfect, self sufficient and wildly independent trainer didn’t need someone to hoist her up onto a horse. That being said, the self sufficient and wildly independent trainer also didn’t make a fool of herself trying to balance on top of overturned wheelbarrows only to fall face first into the mud, and this horse wasn’t yet trained to stand for mounting either. “I’m afraid so,” you finally relented, “I can usually climb up on Damascus without a block but he’s over 2 hands shorter” you explained. You took your spot at Saint Clement’s shoulder, grasping a handful of his mane in one hand and the seat of the saddle in the other. You bent your left leg as Thomas placed one hand over the bend of your knee and the other under your ankle. He was so close behind you that you could feel his breath on the back of your neck, making your heart pound. You counted him up to three before jumping up, Thomas lifting your knee and allowing you to twist your body and settle your opposite leg onto the colt’s flank. You smiled to yourself, grateful you hadn’t made an absolute fool of yourself by jumping over to the other side (a mistake you had made in the past). You looked down to Thomas to find one hand still held to your thigh, just above your knee. Whatever smart remark you were going to give him died in your mouth as your eyes met his. Maybe it was because he was always looking down at you from under the shade of his cap but you hadn’t noticed the vibrant color of his irises before. They were as bright as a clear summer sky, something you rarely got to see in England. He finally released his grip on your leg to grab the other horse and you couldn’t help but soothe your hand over where his had been, your skin hot like a live wire beneath the fabric of your trousers. You had been so distracted that you hadn’t even noticed that Thomas had mounted Monaghan Boy, between his own height advantage and Monaghan Boy’s much more average height, Thomas must not have shared your struggles. He shifted somewhat uncomfortably, opting to allow his legs to hang loose against his horse’s sides. “I’m too old to be trying to get my knees to bend in a way so I can get my feet in these stirrups” you laughed at his remark as you began walking side by side out of the barn and towards the training track. “I didn’t realize you rode,” you admitted, nodding towards Monaghan Boy, “I don’t race obviously but I do enjoy riding,” he offered, reaching down to pat his steed’s neck affectionately “the world is full of bastards and cheats but a good horse will never do you wrong” You couldn’t help but smile at his admission. You couldn’t be any different from each other in every other respect but your shared appreciation of the honorability of horses revealed a deeper truth; both of you were desperately looking for an even playing field in life. You didn’t know what in his life had forced him to become as cunning and callous as he was, but you did want to find out. “I agree,” you admitted, “that’s why it makes me so sad to see those bastards and cheats in the racing world. They take an animal that is kind enough to allow you to sit on their backs and then run them into the ground for profit” you turned to meet his eye “we’re wicked creatures, you and I, but I like to think we’re merciful where it counts” “I’m not sure you know me well enough to be drawing those conclusions” he warned. “Perhaps not,” you nodded, “but I don’t think you should be concerned with trying to convince me otherwise either. I’d rather be wrong in assuming you’re a good man than be wrong in assuming you’re a bad one” “That’s a naive perspective, don’t you think?” He challenged, you only shrugged. “I’d rather be naive than cynical in these matters, and believe me, I’ve been both” “What matters are these” He questioned, you pulled your horse to a halt to better focus on him, “Matters of character rather than matters of business” “So we’re not doing business?” “Not entirely,” you clarified “you’re asking me to change every aspect of my life for what may end up ruining the reputation that I’ve fought tooth and nail to maintain so yes, Mr. Shelby, I am heavily considering your character as a factor in my decision” he was silent for a moment as you continued walking the horses, finding yourselves arrived at the track entrance. “Tommy” he said, staring straight ahead, “Pardon?” you ask, he turns towards you. “You can call me Tommy,” he clarified “if this is a matter of character for you than I won’t try and convince you that I’m a good or bad man, but I am one who doesn’t believe in such formalities with someone I consider an equal” An equal. You weren’t sure that even the most doting man had ever gone so far as to call you that out loud. You’d been called impressive, surprising, and a multitude of other things but they all related back to your sex; those compliments had always been followed up in one way or another with ‘... for a girl”. Thomas had declared you separate from this, and that was something you could build trust off of. “Tommy,” you tested, lips curling into a smile, “yes, I think Tommy is a good man” you decided before legging Saint Clement into a trot through the track gates. You stood up in your stirrups, gauging his natural rhythm as you paced along the fenceline. You could make out Tommy in the edge of your vision allowing Monaghan Boy to casually walk the perimeter of the infield, his reins held loosely in one hand allowing the horse to stretch and take in his surroundings. Tommy’s gaze remained fixed on you and you had to remember that despite all the flattery, this was still a job interview. You still had something to prove, just as he had pointed out. Once you deemed Saint Clement was well warmed up at the trot you bridged your reins and allowed him to move up into the canter before opening him up into a hand gallop down the long side of the track. You briefly allowed yourself to just bask in the splendor of the moment, the horse beneath you was large and powerful, each of his strides eating up the ground in front of him, his ears were pinned back from the wind he was breaking, and you were lucky enough to be seated upon him. In that moment you felt the 17 hands between you and the ground was also 17 hands that put you closer to heaven, and that was what made you love the sport. That’s why you put up with everything else involved in it.

  You brought the colt back down to a walk, patting him on neck and allowing him to stretch his neck forward. Although he had run the other day and you didn’t want to work him too hard you wanted to see how he would respond to your style of riding so you allowed him a few minutes to catch his breath before bringing him back up to a working canter. Most racehorses were trained to pull against the bit and gain speed and energy by extending the reach in their front legs and neck. You preferred to train your horses to push more heavily from the hind end, allowing them to rock back on their haunches and get more suspended air time with each stride. This method was more commonly seen in jumping and dressage disciplines and although it didn’t do much to change the overall top speed achieved by the horse, it meant that in the first half of the race when jockeys are attempting to hold their horses to a slower speed so as not to run out of energy, the horses you trained were saving energy by maintaining spring like energy in the hind end while other horses wasted energy by pulling their necks and front legs forward against the jockey. Anyone who’s ridden horses knows that you will never be able to out-muscle a horse, especially on the track when nerves are high. You simply attempted to change how your horses maintained energy during their races. This style, however, went against pretty much everything that the racehorses had been trained to do prior to coming to you, so there was always an adjustment period and Saint Clement was no exception. When you attempted to lift his head to carry his front end in a lighter way, he simply tugged his neck back down in annoyance. When you attempted to leg his hind end up underneath him he only sped up. It was a slow process that you had to be very forgiving about because you knew it was incredibly frustrating to the horse. Once you had repeated the cycle of lifting his head and quickening his hind legs a few times, Saint Clement finally put two and two together. It only lasted for a few strides before he got frustrated again and returned to his original style of running but in those moments you felt a lightness in his stride that made you confident you had picked a horse that would sweep races. You lightened the reins and sat up allowing him to slow to a walk as you praised him with lots of cooing and pets. You spotted Tommy halted by the fence line and made your way over with a smile.

  “What do you think?” He asked, nodding towards Saint Clement who’s coat now shone under a light sheen of sweat. “I told you, I pick em good” you boasted, patting the colt affectionately on the neck “he’s going to be a real force to be reckoned with” Tommy nodded approvingly at your statement before reaching down to pat his own mount. “Care to take this one for a spin next?” he inquired. It had been the plan all along, you couldn’t imagine he would have voluntarily ridden around in that uncomfortable racing saddle if you weren’t going to run Monaghan Boy as well. “Sounds good,” you agreed, navigating Saint Clement to the other side of the fence standing him parallel to Monaghan Boy. “Did you grow up around horses, Tommy?” you inquired, dropping your stirrups and shifting both of your legs to one side of the horse so you were fully facing him. He eyed you curiously, “Not as closely as you, I imagine” he responded. “Did you ever do a fire drill switch?” He furrowed his brow. “What’s a fire drill switch?” you reached your leg across the distance between your horses, linking your foot into the stirrup and hoisting yourself across the gap. He reaches out instinctually, one hand finding your waist and the other gripping your bicep. You steady yourself, grabbing his arm as you seat yourself in front of him on the pommel of the saddle. “Guess not,” you laugh, “you’re supposed to switch horses as quickly as possible. It's usually paid among kids but it’s also a drill used to train new jockeys to do running vaults if done on the ground. He didn’t respond for a beat and you became keenly aware of your proximity. The hand which had been holding your waist was still wrapped around you with his gloved hand holding the reins against your front, pinning your back against him. Your head was lodged into the nook between his shoulder and neck and you swore you could feel his breathing shallow. “Not something I was familiar with,” he breathed slowly and you swear you felt his grip on you tighten momentarily before releasing altogether. He kicked his leg behind himself, dismounting and gathering Saint Clements reins from your outstretched hand “I’m afraid I’m a bit too far beyond my prime to be pulling tricks like that though” he admitted with a ghost of a smile. You couldn’t help but smirk, as much as you wanted to maintain professionality, the moments where you were able to even slightly crack his cool and collected facade definitely stroked your ego. “It’s alright,” you shrug “I wasn’t going to hire you to jockey anyways” and with those words he almost laughed, ducking his head quickly to hide it. But you had seen it anyway. He used the infield fence to easily mount Saint Clement, gathering his reins and giving him a rub on the shoulder. You hike your legs up, groaning at the uncomfortably short length of the stirrups. “It's been a while since I’ve been a proper jockey,” you admit, standing up to lessen the narrow angle in your knee. “I didn’t realize you had ever been a jockey” Tommy responded, allowing Saint Clement to walk around in a lazy circle to cool out. “It was one of my first jobs when I started working at the tracks,” you explained, “had to do it a few times since then when I couldn’t find jockey who wanted to work for me” “Is it that hard to find jockeys?” he asked, the skepticism in his voice prevalent. “For me it is, I pay well and treat my team well but many jockeys consider it reputation suicide to work for a woman” you shrug “I’ve got a good one now though, so hopefully if I take your offer he’d be willing to relocate. For now though I’ve just got to brush off the dust on my own abilities” you smile, patting Monaghan Boy on the shoulder before aiming him out onto the track, “Wish me luck!” you called over your shoulder, legging the colt into a trot. “For what I’m willing to pay you, you better not need luck” he called back, and when you turned to look at him you could see his smile. It wasn’t much but it was a sight to behold nonetheless. The age seemed to melt off his face, leaving you to wonder how different and boyish he must have been when he smiled more, and what had hardened him so. You pushed the thoughts from your mind. They say curiosity killed the cat and you had to remind yourself that with all the mystery surrounding him it was probably safest to not get nosey.  You allow Monaghan Boy to stretch into the canter not yet messing with his natural way of movement, rather just noticing how he felt beneath you. He was much narrower than Saint Clement, and although taller than Damascus he was built very spindly with long thin legs and a narrow ribcage. This made him incredibly light on his feet which, as you pushed him into a gallop, you found made him easier to rock back on his haunches. For this reason he was a perfect example of an English racehorse. The only issue with this is that English race horses were bred to be higher in the croup than the withers, making them naturally built downhill. So although it was easy to lift his front end up it was harder for him to naturally maintain, which is why you preferred French bloodlines as they were traditionally bred more uphill and once they were trained to move from their back legs the horses usually preferred it, with English racers that wasn’t necessarily the case. Nonetheless, you had made successful racers out of plenty of English horses and this one would definitely not be the most difficult horse you’d worked with. You rounded a bend on the track and did your best to raise his front end up but when Monaghan Boy finally pinned his ears in frustration you respected his limits and allowed him to return to his normal way of moving before gradually slowing to a trot. You gave it a few more attempts at the trot to make the goal less daunting as you could sense the colt growing restless beneath you and when you felt his weight shift back in the slightest you immediately released all pressure and gushed over him, showering him in pats and praise.

  One thing you knew you would come to enjoy was Monaghan Boy’s seemingly endless energy. Even as you gave him the reins and allowed him to stretch out and cool down as slowly as he pleased he continued a quick march with his head swiveling in every direction to take in his surroundings. You decided that even if he wasn’t exactly built for your style of training that his attitude would be the difference maker for him. This was a horse that didn’t want to lose. You veered him back towards the infield where Saint Clement was enthusiastically grazing away at the long grass of the infield with Tommy seated on his back holding the reins loosely in one hand as he watched you approach. You recognized that Saint Clement was essentially the opposite of Monaghan Boy, he was large and heavy set with a much more unflappable attitude and a lapdog personality; while he was perfectly built for what you wanted to do with him you would have to get a bit more creative with motivating him.

  “Seen all you needed to see?” Tommy inquired, steering Saint Clement alongside you as you made your way back towards the stables. “Yes,” you confirmed. “I think I have.” The walk back was mostly silent as you struggled to make peace with the conflict battling inside you. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity for you, you would finally get to run your business the way you had dreamed of and Tommy seemed to have no interest in challenging how you did things. The big catch at the end of the day was Tommy, you knew his reputation and so would everyone you raced against. You had fought your entire career to maintain the integrity of the sport and although Tommy appeared to want to run clean races, no one other than you would believe that. But maybe you were thinking too hard, you were so used to things in your life being difficult to achieve so when something like this came easy to you it was hard to trust it. You were quite literally looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I can get them washed if you wouldn’t mind putting their tack back” you offered, after you both had dismounted and made your way back into the barn. Tommy agreed and you busied yourself first with Monaghan Boy who had cooled down on the walk back. You hosed him down before applying liniment to his legs. You then repeated the same process with Saint Clement. You returned both horses to their stalls before fetching Demascus from the paddock, much to his displeasure, and returning him to the stables as well. After much deliberation you finally approach the tack room where, just as you expected, Tommy was waiting for you. He was leaned up against a wall, smoking a cigarette. “Sorry I muddied up your silk,” you say, unbuttoning the material and pulling your original shirt back on. “What’s it going to be Ms. (l/n)?” he asked, ignoring your previous statement. He knew you were just stalling. You took a deep breath before closing the distance between you. For the second time that day you found yourself toe to toe, but things were different now, things were clearer. “(y/n)” you say, “you said earlier that we were equal, so you can call me (y/n)”  He takes a drag before pulling the cigarette from between his lips and twisting it between his fingers. “(y/n)” he repeats and you try not to focus too religiously at how his mouth curves in the shape of your name. You grab the cigarette out of his hand, putting it out against the wall beside him, smiling at the confused raise of his eyebrow. “There will be no smoking in my barn, Tommy”

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taglist: @shelbyteller @hallowsden

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

AHHHH GOLD RUSH IS SO GOOD! it’s seriou got me hooked 🫶🏻

Thank you so much😭😭 I seriously don’t know how this series suddenly got so much attention because I haven’t touched it in over a year but ig since I started posting again it’s gained some traction. I’m so glad you like it and will be posting another part once I finished this next part of ‘4 and a half lengths” which should be out tomorrow. Thank you for the feedback, and have a lovely day ❤️‍🔥

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Hey, will there be another part to Gold rush i rally love it

Hi! I’m glad to hear you love that series! I’ve honestly been thinking about it recently because it’s randomly been getting love in these past few weeks. I went back into my documents and saw that I have another part mostly written so I’ll probably post that and maybe go from there. Lots of love from me to you anon ❤️‍🔥

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

by four and a half lengths (part 2)

Thomas Shelby x reader

length: 2075 words/ 3.5 pages single space

summary: after an initially favorable interaction with the infamous thomas shelby, the reader is blindsided by a seemingly malicious decision only to find out that it may not have been exactly what it seemed.

a/n: hello darlings and dears, here’s part 2 of a series that i’m really enjoying at the moment. as usual dont be afraid to send your love and criticism my way i thrive with the attention. also lmk if you want to be tagged for future parts! as always, be gentle with yourselves.

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Following the conclusion of the final races owners and trainers alike gathered for an informal cocktail hour to celebrate placings. With the Catalpa Downs races being regarded so highly within the racing community it was an achievement to have even had a horse running, so even the biggest losers of the last couple days showed their faces proudly for having qualified and competed. The gathering was held in the large outdoor pavilion just beyond the stabling area in the late afternoon. After giving Damascus his evening feed and double checking he had fresh water you made your way over to the already bustling party. With all races having been won cleanly and without major upsets, spirits were understandably high. You accepted a flute of champagne before spotting just the man you were hoping to see.

  Richard Boyd was an old timer in the racing industry who, although not much of a trainer, was responsible for the importing or breeding of the majority of the most successful race horses in Great Britain. So while the horse of his that you were interested in, Saint Clement, may have placed fourth, he had run three other horses in the same race who had placed first, second and sixth so he was understandably in good spirits as he gestured wildly to another man in the midst of telling a story. When he finally turned from his conversation to spot you he smiled widely and motioned for you to join him.

“How good to see you, Miss (l/N)!” He greeted, with an enthusiastic handshake. Richard was someone who didn’t concern himself with the politics of racing so the issue of your sex didn’t concern him in the least. You had a solid racing record and were known for treating both your horses and your staff with the utmost respect which in turn made Richard a big fan of yours and a big supporter of your career. “I saw Damascus yesterday, he just looks better and better with every race” You smiled proudly at the compliment. Although Damascus had not come from Richard, his breeder was one which Richard frequently worked with. “He’s got a great mentality,” you agreed, “he runs great on the grass as well. His shoulders are so upright that he sinks a bit on sand turf but these grounds have been perfect for him” Richard laughs heartily and gives you an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got a great eye (y/n)” he compliments, running a hand through his greying hair “have you added any new blood to your barn that I should keep an eye out for?” “Actually, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about” you admitted, “I saw Saint Clement had a sales ribbon in his tail today and was looking to see if I could take him off your hands.” “I actually did have you in mind when this one started training, he’s got the French bloodlines on his dam’s side that I know you like” you nodded in agreement having already researched his pedigree beforehand, “Unfortunately I was approached earlier today and already sold him to another gentleman” You tried and failed to hide your surprise. It wasn’t unusual for offers to be put in at social events such as these on horses that didn’t win, however it was strange that Richard would accept the first offer without waiting to hear from others. This told you whoever had bought the horse had paid a pretty substantial sum. “Can I ask who the buyer was?” you inquired in a hushed tone, knowing that early sales like this are usually kept quiet. Richard in turn leaned in, eyeing around the room suspiciously. “Thomas Shelby” he nearly whispered “I knew he was involved in racing, he ran a horse against yours yesterday, but I wasn’t aware he was trying to expand it” you nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I didn’t really want to sell to him, I don’t want my name associated with whatever shit he gets up to in Birmingham but he made an offer I couldn’t refuse without offending him and that’s something I wanted even less” Richard revealed, taking a step back with a deep breath. “Well if he’s running horses here that at least means he’s running clean races these days” you offered weakly, knowing that while he may be able to fix races in Birmingham, Catalpa Down was a whole different animal. Richard nodded in agreement, mouth pulled into a straight line in thought. “That’s true, sorry I couldn’t make this one work out for you, lass. If I see another one that looks like your type I’ll give you a call. I plan on heading to the states at the end of August to find some to import so I’ll keep an eye out.” 

You thanked him before he got pulled into another conversation with another trainer. Finishing your champagne you make your way to the small bar area, plopping down on a stool. You tried several times to flag down the bartender only to have any man who approached the bar get priority over you. After having already been moderately pissed about losing the opportunity to buy Saint Clement after you had opted to stay an extra day at the races just to watch him run, this was just the icing on the cake.

“What are you trying to order?” asked a familiarly gravelly voice beside you. You turned to find Thomas leaned against the bar beside you. You didn’t even bother hiding your scowl, he was the last person you wanted to be seeing right now. “You bought the horse out from under me” you accused, not caring that you were bitching at someone who in theory could have you disappear off the face of the earth. You opened your mouth to say more but were interrupted, “Can I get you anything sir?” the bartender asked Thomas. If you were angry before you were now fuming. “What would you like, love?” Thomas implored with a smug smirk seeming unbothered by your noticeable rage. You clenched your teeth so hard you could feel the blood pumping in your temples. “Two old-fashioneds” you finally manage with a tight lipped smile. The bartender, sensing the tension, offers a curt nod and runs off to prepare the drinks. “Kind of you to order for me” Thomas quips, leaning further against the bar to see over your cold shoulder. “They’re both for me Mr. Shelby, you can go kick rocks” You snarl, sneaking a glance at him to find even at your rude remark that he only smirked further and raised a curious eyebrow. His indifference was pissing you off but then again so was everything about him so you decided to air your grievances. “I know this is not your wheelhouse Mr. Shelby, I’m fully aware that racehorses are not your largest concern in life but what you did was unprofessional and also quite honestly a stupid move.” He nodded along to your explanation, “And why was it a stupid move?” He inquired, tilting his head with that signature stony expression. You turned to face him fully, “You bought a horse that runs middle of the pack in his current training program. I know you can easily afford any trainer in England and they can probably get that colt to finish consistently in the top three. However, they will not try to train him the way that I will. I know what to do with this horse to make him sweep the competition but you don't, and neither will whatever trainer you hire. Saint Clement could be great but you haven’t got the faintest idea on how to get him there.” You explained, albeit a bit pridefully. The bartender returned with your drinks, placing one in front of both you and Tommy and you made a point of pulling them both in front of you, raising the first to your lips, gauging Thomas’ reaction over the rim of the glass. “That’s why I intend to hire you to train him” Thomas stated matter of factly, expression not changing as you choked a bit on your drink. “Excuse me?” you wheeze out, still coughing the old fashioned out of your lungs. “I own all of the horses that I train, what makes you think I’d suddenly change my business model to work for you” You ask in confusion. All of Thomas’ previous smugness had vanished from his face, he was 100% serious in what he was saying. Although you suppose most people wouldn’t buy a whole horse for a business venture that they were not serious about. “You’d be paid handsomely,” he begins “I own stables in Birmingham so you could bring all of your personal horses to maintain their training while also heading the training of both Saint Clement and Monaghan Boy” You couldn’t hide your surprise at his proposition, you had only met him hours ago and he likely knew nothing of your record other than your horse had beat his. “I don’t race in Birmingham” you stated, which was an honest truth “The races are historically fixed so it’s not well respected within the community. It would reflect poorly on me” You explain tentatively, knowing he was likely involved in the fixing of the races in Birmingham. “That’s no longer the case. Races have not been fixed since I came into management of that issue and also came to the conclusion that the Birmingham races didn’t even begin to tap into the money that there is to be made in this sport. I found that running larger races had a much better payout and those can’t be fixed without losing support of the industry which would cause the profits to plummet” He could see in your face that you didn’t like his reasoning “That being said,” he continued, “I understand that Birmingham now has that reputation so I would support you racing the horses anywhere you think they would be most successful. They would only be trained in Birmingham, and it would be at a private training facility of which you would have influence over management.” “I’d still have to live in Birmingham,” you pointed out “I hope I don’t offend you by saying it’s not exactly a safe of pleasant place to live” “There’s a cottage on the property where you could reside, it has enough room for yourself, your husband and any kids to-” “No husband,” you interrupted quickly, he offered only a raise of the eyebrow “no kid either” you mentally slapped yourself for blurting that out so quickly as it definitely was not the point of the conversation. “Right,” Thomas said slowly “regardless, if you were not a fan of the cottage we could also work out a stipend for renting elsewhere, there are places in the city that are safer and cleaner than others. I could also have security implemented if it was a concern of yours.” You had nearly forgotten who you were talking to. This wasn’t just any wealthy businessman trying to tap into a new market. This was a gangster who controlled organized crime and bribed policemen on the regular. “I’m worried about the reputation of your... business will impact my reputation as a professional who has made it this far in her career by only running clean races” you admitted “I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be respected in this industry, I’m not prepared to sacrifice that by getting involved in whatever you and your folks are up to in Birmingham” Something that looks like sympathy flashed across his face briefly, you imagined it wasn’t often he dangled a good opportunity in front of someone only to have them hesitate on the principle of honor. “I understand your concern, however I fully intend to only run races cleanly and any involvement in this industry has been a personal venture which is not associated with my family business” you nodded, trying your best to take comfort in his reassurance. Knocking back your old fashioned you stood up from your barstool, “I’ll consider it” you stated, pushing the second old-fashioned towards Thomas. “I thought you said I could kick rocks?” He said with a hint of a smile. “You’re still welcome to do so, but you’re turning out to not be as bad as I thought” you admit with an honest smile before heading in the direction of your lodging. You had much to think about and not much time to do so.

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taglist: @shelbyteller

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

by four and a half lengths

Thomas Shelby x reader

length: 1455 words/ 2.5 pages single spaced

summary: In this first part of a (hopefully) multipart series, the reader, who has made a name for herself as a successful racehorse trainer, meets an intriguing stranger with a fearsome reputation and decides to stand toe to toe with him.

a/n: As per usual with this blog there is no real timeline. I write when I have time and when it brings me joy. I also don’t feel like working hard to integrate this into the timeline of the show correctly so it’s all vibe-based rather than canon-based. Feel free to drop love, criticism or ideas that you think would be cool to see in future parts. Be gentle with yourselves <3

It was only when the sun finally broke through the seemingly permanent dome of clouds when you could finally take in the track in all of its splendor. Catalpa Downs, located just outside Oxford, held some of the most prestigious and well watched races in England and was built with its blue blooded spectators in mind. The track itself was pillowy and lush due to much maintenance and the spectator stands, which lined the outside rail, seemed to stretch halfway up to heaven with overarching awnings to keep weather from hindering the experience of the onlookers who undoubtedly paid top dollar for perfect sight lines. Between each level of stands sat private boxes usually occupied by the members of syndicates, politicians or extremely wealthy families. Those who made up the real backbone of the races however, were piled into the infield where the runoff from the track left trainers, riders and everyday betters alike struggling to avoid sinkholes of mud. You yourself had gotten pretty talented at spotting where the grass hid bogs from all your time observing the races. While the only horse you had brought to run had already finished and won its race the day prior, you were also scouting out the less prestigious races of this morning for young, promising horses to hopefully train to achieve greatness. Although you spent practically all of your time bouncing between racetracks, you were still always a little starstruck at the magnificence of it all. The posting call still made your stomach do flips and the thunder of hooves shaking the ground still made your heart race. You made your way to the fence lining the final bend of the track as the familiar horn alerted you that the race was about to begin. As people filled in around you, you made sure to hold your place tightly at the fence. While you had spent the majority of your life working on the track you had only been able to get your foot in the door of the training world after the war broke out and your position as a female trainer was still not widely respected despite a very successful record. The gunshot sounded and the gates flew open as a dozen horses took off across the turf. Cheers immediately erupted around you as onlookers called out to their favored horses. The ground began to rumble as they rounded the final bend towards where you stood. You took in the majesty of each of the animals as they stretched their limbs in front of them, eating up the ground.  It wasn’t long before they crossed the finish line and were met with the cheers and groans of viewers around you who quickly began to disperse to gather bets for the next race. You however, remained at the fence line watching the horses breeze past on a cool down lap. One horse which you had been interested in since hearing out its pedigree continued in a strong uphill canter despite its competitors having slowed to the trot. He was a large bodied horse with a coat that shined like a copper penny in the early afternoon sun and a yellow ribbon tied into his tail let you know you just might have found what you were looking for. As the colt continued by you noticed a well dressed man standing on the opposite side of the track. His gaze which you found fixed upon yourself shifted to the horse you had been admiring before returning to you. While well dressed men were not uncommon at racetracks as prestigious as Catalpa Downs it was a bit unusual to see them down by the fence line rather than up in the expensive stands, there was also something familiar about his angular face and newscap that you couldn’t quite place but felt that you had definitely seen before. Noticing the chestnut colt had been taken back to the stabling area you abandoned your thoughts of the mysterious stranger in order to get back to business. Making your way through the barn aisles you were met with the familiar smell of horses, hay and leather. While many trainers left the dirty work to the grooms and jockeys you had always maintained that in order to train your horses well you had to be involved in their care and maintenance as it offered you insight into their behavior and how they could best be motivated and worked. You made a quick stop by the stall of your own horse Damascus to check he had hay and water before making your way to where the horses of the previous race were stabled. The horses had been returned to their stalls and the bustle of trainers, jockeys and grooms seemed to move on to the next barn over where the next racers were stabled allowing you to admire the animals in peace. You quickly found the stall of the large colt who was lazily chewing on a flake of hay held up in a manger. The name on the stall “Saint Clement” confirmed your suspicions of his breeding, which although not eye catching to most trainers, led you to believe he had quite a bit of untapped potential. “A fine horse, isn’t it?” Inquired a voice behind you making you jump slightly. You turned to find the stranger from across the track leaned against a stall partition half shielded by shadow, probably why you hadn’t seen him. His icy gaze found yours, nodding towards the colt which had brought its head over the stall guard nudging you curiously. You smiled, brushing your hand affectingly across its muscular shoulder as you fished for a spare sugar cube in the pocket of your overcoat. “Indeed it is,” you agreed, offering the colt a sugar cube which he happily accepted. You turned your attention back to the stranger across from you who had moved closer, gently petting the horse’s head. Curious for more treats, Saint Clement enthusiastically nudged at the man's pockets earning a twitch of a smile from the straight faced stranger. “Do you run horses here?” you inquire, “I own one that ran yesterday, Monaghan Boy” his gaze moved from the horse to you as he spoke, his icy gaze seeming to cut right through you. “I recall” you smirked, “you lost to my Damascus by 4 and a half lengths” his eyebrows quirked revealing the slightest bit of surprise. “You own Damascus?” He questioned, you smile proudly, “Own and train actually,” you turned away from the nosy colt to stand square to the man across from you. “(Y/n) (l/n)” you introduced, extending your hand. “Thomas Shelby” he replied, meeting your gesture. You finally realized how you recognized him, not only had you seen him at races before but his family was infamous in Birmingham and had far reaching influence beyond as well. Despite his reputation you decided not to let him intimidate you. The racetrack was your stomping ground and your horse had beat his fairly. Whoever he may be outside of the stables had no impact on you at this moment. “Do you have other horses running?” He asked. You shook your head, “Not today, I only brought the one.” you answered, turning your attention back to the large colt beside you looking over his legs for any imperfections. You knelt beside the stall guard, running your hands down each front leg. “But you're interested in this one” Thomas observed, watching you as you traced the tendons and ligaments along the horse’s leg with your brow furrowed. “It didn’t run well, came in 4th I believe” you nodded in confirmation. “That’s correct but that’s what makes our positions different” you point out, standing back up and meeting his eyes. “You buy horses that win, I make horses that win” you smiled challengingly, noticing a slight smirk pulling at his features in response. “How would you make this horse win?” He inquires, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head down at you. In such close proximity you could make out the finer features of his face including the pale freckles which littered his skin as well as the sharp angle of his jaw. He was undeniably attractive but if you could ignore the fact he was essentially an angel of death in Birmingham you could also refuse to let his attractive features distract you. “I’m afraid they pay me the big bucks for that information, Mr. Shelby” you smirked, giving the colt one final pat before turning back to where you had come “perhaps I’ll see you at other races though, I'll keep an eye out for horses that finish 4 and a half lengths behind mine”

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Gold Rush (part 5)

(Benny Watts x reader)

Warnings: sexism, not proofread

Summary: Benny and the reader enter into their first day amongst competitors for the eastern championship. A cocktail hour and an unwelcome guest bring new questions out.

The hotel was impressive, built in an Victorian style which just reeked of old money. It stood proudly on the shore, settled onto a private boardwalk just a short walk from the usually bustling main boardwalk. The hotel was connected to a long dock, flanked on both sides by large rocks as it extended out into the sea, a few off-shoots implied that boats could be docked there, but at the time none were.

Parking was extremely open despite the size of the convention, as many participants had likely flown in and taken lodging at the hotel. For being the eastern championship, it’s location was central to very few people. As Benny turned off the car and hoisted the parking brake, you felt the familiar bubble of anxiety growing in your stomach. You weren’t worried about the competition. chess you knew well, and chess you were good at. The networking, well that wasn’t your best trick.

“I can’t believe they’re doing cocktail hour at 3 in the afternoon” you remarked, pulling yourself and your coat unenthusiastically from the car.

“Our competition is probably all old men who need to be in bed by 8” he replied only half joking, there were plenty of chess veterans at these events who refuse to retire from the sport.

“No complaints from me though, I’ll be needing a drink or two just to not bash my head on the nearest surface” you complained, doing a final check of yourself in the window of the car before straightening out and joining Benny. You walked together towards the large double doors of the hotel.

“It’s going to be okay” he assured, his voice gentle and encouraging. You just smiled at him weakly in return, walking through the door he held for you.

The inside of the hotel was just as grand as the outside had suggested. Marble covered the expansive foyer, which was furnished with mahogany desks, couches and coffee tables. In the center of the room, the mable floor extended upward in the form of a marble staircase with matching railing, opening into the upper floor which overlooked the foyer. From where you stood, you could make out a large bar as well as seating, tables, and far too many people.

“Maam?” You jumped at the voice to your left, noticing you’d been blocking the entrance as you gawked around your surroundings. The woman addressing you was well dressed in a pencil skirt, stockings, a white blouse and a navy and burgundy necktie.

“Are you checking into a room, ma’am?” You opened your mouth to respond but another voice did this for you.

“No, actually, we’re both competing in the tournament this weekend” Benny explained from behind you, a tight lipped smile on his face and a reassuring hand spread across the small of your back. Benny seemed much more offended by the assumption than you (you’d been asked many times if you were in the wrong room at competitions).

“Right, of course, my apologies” you smiled at the woman, as a sign of forgiveness as she quickly made her way behind the counter, producing a clipboard.

“What are the names?”

“(Y/n) (l/n) and Benny Watts” you replied, taking the opportunity to speak for the both of you as Benny had just a moment before.

“Alright, you’re all checked in! Matches and times are posted upstairs, enjoy your stay” you bid the woman farewell as you approached the grand staircase you had been previously fixated on, Benny only a are behind you.

“You okay?” He inquired, again in that gentle tone. It was so rare to hear him speak in a way that was so different from the sarcastic and pompous attitude he had nearly perfected over the years. You smiled and nodded your head, making your way up the stairs. While you were on time, many people were already crowded into conversations, likely those who lodged there. You quickly spotted a semi secluded table near the railing which overlooked the foyer. You met Benny’s eye and he nodded at the table as well. It was dark mahogany, like all the rest of the furniture and set with 4 tall matching chairs. You took the seat with your back to the wall, Benny taking the seat opposite you. You shrugged off your wool jacket and secured your clutch to the inside pocket. Your eyes scanned the room, taking the many faces, making notes of those who you recognized and more so of those who you didn’t.

“What do you want to drink?” Benny inquired, nodding towards the bar. It was expansive, bottles upon bottles of every alcohol imaginable lined up on dark wooden shelves. As much as you would have liked to ask for a shot to calm yourself, you recognized it was still 3:30 and probably wouldn’t reflect well on you.

“A glass of bubbly would be great” he quirked an eyebrow

“Got the expensive taste for champagne now, have we?” You snorted,

“As if, I mean the bottom shelf carbonated sweet wine” he released a chuckle

“Of course you do, you know we’ll have enough to pay for a glass of champagne on our tan once we win” you smiled and nodded

“Yeah but I like what I like” you smirked before adding “you should be grateful I’m such a cheap date, Watts” he blushes a bit at your words

“Maybe you’ve just never been treated to an expensive date. I bet you’d like it, getting all dolled up to go to a restaurant where you have 5 different forks and 6 different spoons” you looked up at him to smile but his gaze was serious “some pretty little university boy who wears cufflinks and studies accounting, buying you a glass of every red wine on the menu” his eyes never leave yours as he speaks. He’s moved closer, now leaning over you, even on the tall chair you still have to look up at him.

“Is that what you want?” Your face is close from the proximity, the question seems weighted beyond any of the teasing you two had shared before.

“I hate red wine” it came out quiet, wavering a bit from your nerves. You clear your throat in an attempt to regain your composure, “I hate red wine, and one fork and spoon is plenty for me” he doesn’t say anything so you continue “I don’t care about resumes when it comes to matters of the heart, and cufflink boys were never my type”. He seems to accept this answer, stepping back and smirking.

“What is your type then?”

“Buy me my drink first” he laughs,

“Maybe you’re not as cheap of a date as I thought, I have to buy you drinks for a conversation” you poked him in the side playfully

“Not conversations, just questions like that. I’ll talk to you about chess openers completely sober if you’d prefer that” he grimaced, the majority of the drive after… well, the incident… had been spent discussing openers and you could tell he was as sick of it as you were.

“Bubbly it is” you smile as you watch him walk off towards the bar. Looking across the crowd you spot a flash of red hair. It’s a girl, if you hadn’t seen her name on the rooster you would have been completely shocked. It must be a new record to have two women competing in chess Eastern championship. She was attractive, hair cut into a bob, large doe eyes and tall, slim body. She carried herself with a subtle confidence that you could admire, a stark opposition to Benny’s flair for dramatic bravado.

“Are you here with someone, miss?” The voice to your right made her jump. A man with dark hair slicked back stood beside you, he had a pale face and eyes, and wore a well tailored pair of brown slacks, matching his vest and most likely his jacket though he must have left it at another table. Due to the lack of jacket you can see his starched white dress and on his wrists: cufflinks.

He wasn’t unattractive by any means, he looked well groomed and preppy, but as you had previously discussed, cufflink boys just weren’t your type. Despite this you give him a tight smile.

“My friend, he’s grabbing us drinks” you explain, hoping it would deter the man. It does not, he pulls out the chair beside you uninvited.

“It’s nice you came out to see your friend compete, my name’s Theodore McDonugh” you manage to smile, through your annoyance.

“Pleasure to meet you, and my friend and I are actually both competing” his eyes widen though he tries to hide it, opening his mouth before closing it again. You internally cringe at the whole situation “Do you go by anything short of Theodore? Ted? Teddy?” You don’t particularly care, but you’re trying to give him something else to say to save yourself from the backhanded remarks that we’re sure to come (“I wouldn’t have thought someone like you would play”, “it’s nice to have a face like yours in the sport”, “the league must really be trying to being in some diversity”) he scoffs in remark,

“Maybe when I was 5, now it’s just Theodore. I never got your name by the way?” God this guy takes himself way too seriously.

“(Y/n) (l/n)” you offer shortly, trying to think of a way out of the situation “I ought to go, I told my friend I wanted a glass of wine but I think I’d rather have a beer” he twists his face.

“Beer isn’t the most feminine beverage” he notes, man you really hate this guy, you open your mouth to finally let him have it-

“Hitting on another guy’s girl while he’s getting drinks isn’t the most masculine move either” the voice comes from behind you, setting two glasses onto the table and placing his arm around the back of your chair, “anything I’m misunderstanding?” Theodore’s pale face got impossibly paler,

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, I’ll be on my way” he’s quickly shuffling out of his seat.

“Bye Ted” you smile wickedly, as he sends you a look of disgust and anger before catching Benny’s hard gaze and remembering to be on his way. Once he’s left you release a sigh,

“God, I hate these events” you grab your large bubbly glass, taking a long sip “and that’s why I hate cufflink guys, they’re so condescending” Benny nods, taking a swig from his bottle of what you assumed to be beer.

“When you said things like that happened, I didn’t realize you meant immediately upon setting foot inside” you give a weak smile and shrug,

“It’s whatever, it’s good you came over though I was about to say some things to make him cry. It’s easy to make Cufflink boys cry” he chuckled,

“I take it you’ve done it before?” You nod through a smile,

“Oh yeah, when a guy with a name like Theodore refuses to shorten it, I just know all I have to do is talk him into the ground over chess standings and they’ll usually come off the roster by the next morning” he throws his head back laughing, and the discomfort of the prior situation is forgotten.

“Good thing I go by Benny then” he smiled, taking another swig of his drink, “I can’t afford to scratch and lose the money I paid in entry fees” you laugh in return

“Cufflink boys usually can, that’s why they’re not my type. I don’t dislike them for having money, I dislike them because they think it can buy the game”

“Ah so we’re talking about types now” he teases, tracing the rim of his bottle with his silver adorned fingers.

“I’m a girl of my word, you brought me my bubbly and I entertain your question” you reply leaning back into your seat, allowing the drink to warm your body and soothe your mind.

“So now that we’ve covered what isn’t your type, what is?” He inquired, leaning curiously across the table, studying how your body uncurled into a state of relaxation having been tight as a wire just moments ago.

“Physically I don’t have a very specific type, tall is always good, a pleasant smile is nice, I have a soft spot for dark eyes” Benny nodded along with genuine interest. “But I’m more for personality, I like someone caring, someone who respects me but doesn’t take me too seriously, someone who doesn’t take themselves too seriously either” you smile lightly at the last bit, as your mind taking all the necessary precautions to not make statements too specific to the man in front of you. “Someone who I could sit and do nothing with and still love every moment”

“And definitely no cufflinks?” Benny questions, you laugh

“No cufflinks, no excessive silverware, and no red wine” you confirmed, finishing off your glass pointily. As a waiter walks by you manage to flag him down to refill your glass.

“Anyways, what about you?” you question, leaning back into your seat. He cocks his head slightly in confusion, “your type” you clarify, he chuckles.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m not too picky physically either?” You snorted at the possibility

“Not for a second” he sighs in defeat, you’ve known Benny’s popularity with women for his swagger and attitude, although you many times tried to ignore it.

“Okay, okay, so I’m a bit of a player, but I really don’t have that specific of a type. I mean physically, I like a nice smile, good legs, a sense of style… obviously” he mentioned, gesturing to his very individual getup complete with cowboy hat and dagger. “But if we’re talking about a real relationship, I’d say I like a girl who’s witty, isn’t easily intimidated; I mean I can be a lot” he admitted with a chuckle, and you nod in confirmation to this. “Someone I could sit and do nothing with and still love every moment” he finished. You could feel the heat rising to your face,

“Sounds like a tall order” he laughs.

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Gold Rush (part 4)

(Benny Watts x reader)

Warnings: none that I can think of, an abundance of dialogue

Summary: The awkwardness of the morning after is faced, and an upcoming challenge awaits

It wasn’t the lack of warmth that initially woke you, although the bed was much colder now that you found yourself alone. It was the smell, or perhaps the sound. You could hear grease spitting and popping in a pan, accompanied by the sound of something cooking, or more accurately, burning.

You pull yourself somewhat reluctantly from under the covers, the room had warmed up substantially just from the sunlight pouring in through the window next to the bed. You wander out of the bedroom toward the burning which had become even more potent.

“Shit” you turned the corner to find Benny, swearing as he dumped the blackened contents of a pan into a tin trash can.

“I always preferred my bacon crispy anyways” he jumped at the sound of your voice, offering a defeated smile as he gestured to the scene before you.

“Well you can tell that to the waitress when we go get breakfast at the diner in town, I’d foot that bill than pay for burning this place down” you laugh walking past him to the counter he was cooking at. It looked as though he’d only been at it a little while, a pack of bacon was open but not much was missing, a carton of eggs sat beside it untouched.

“How do you survive on your own Benny?” You ask incredulously, taking out a fresh pan and adjusting the heat on the burner lower than Benny had set it. “No wonder you’re so skinny”

“I’m just not used to this kitchen is all” he weakly defended, slumping into one of the lawn chairs that made up the dining set.

“Oh don’t look so glum, you’re good for other things” you smiled tenderly, abandoning your post to place a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Just not cooking or chess”

He shrugged off your hand as you laughed, releasing his own amused cackle.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how this championship plays out and then see what the truth of this is” You smiled lightly, scrambling eggs and frying bacon in the same pan as you only had one burner to work with.

“Not planning on trying to redeem your cooking skills?” You tease, readying a pot for coffee as you cook.

“Takeout sounds pretty good to me” you release something between a laugh and a sigh,

“You’re such a bachelor” he laughed heartily at your accusation, gathering plates and silverware for you as you removed the food from the heat. “Scrambled is good I hope?”

“Scrambled is perfect” you settle yourselves down in the makeshift dining room, digging into the food. Besides a compliment on your cooking given through a full mouth, the two of you ate mostly in silence. The only noise being the clanging of silverware and the building hum of the kettle now on the burner. You clear your throat awkwardly, setting your fork down.

“Thank you for last night” it comes out soft and insecure, you don’t really want to mention it but you feel you owe him that much. He seems just as uncomfortable with the topic as you, having stopped mid bite to process your words.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, I uh have some warmer clothes you could borrow if you need something. I mean it’s nothing nice, I just brought them for layering or sleeping but I brought a few and I don’t mind-“

“Thanks” you cut off his rambling, taking notice of the growing flush in his face. It’s not often you saw Benny Watts flustered. “I appreciate it” he pulls a tight lipped smile, avoiding your gaze,

“I’ll go check on that coffee then, I’d like to limit the things burned this morning to one” he stood quickly, taking to the kettle which he moved off the heat. You excused yourself to get dressed, noticing the time on the clock was nearing 10 and you had things to achieve today. You pull on a pair of fleece lined tights, a black and white checkered wool skirt and a white turtleneck top. Simple, classic, unsuspecting, just as you liked to appear at these types of events. You set yourself up on the couch with the itinerary as you waited for Benny to get dressed as well. A few minutes later he joined you, dressed in his usual fashion, dark clothes complete with cowboy hat and dagger on his belt.

“Howdy” you teased, poking the brim of his hat as he sat beside you. He only gave a dramatic sigh in response.

“What’s the plan for the day?” You scanned the itinerary,

“We’ve got a meet and greet dinner and cocktail hour with everyone at the hotel that’s hosting this afternoon, good chance to check out the competition” lifting your eyes from the paper you saw him nod in agreement.

“Guess we ought to leave pretty soon then, we’ve got an hour drive into town.” You nodded solemnly,

“I hate these events” you groan, sinking seeing into the couch.

“Why? There’s free food and usually an open bar, what’s not to like?” You chuckled weakly.

“The people, the ogling, you and I are both big names doesn’t all that attention bother you?”

“I actually quite like it” he replied with a smirk, you laughed weakly.

“I hate all those hot shot new guys who think I’m just a face for the sport, they interrogate me like I didn’t qualify to be there just like them” he sighed, standing up,

“We’ll I can’t relate to you there but I’ll stick by you to make sure you’re at least not sober for it” he smiles, outstretching a hand, you laugh at his remark and accept his hand pulling you out of the depths of the couch.

“You go get the car started, I’ve got to grab my bag” he nods, heading out the door as instructed. You rummage through the closet pulling out a thick wool jacket, and a small clutch, concealing within it was your fathers chess championship ring that you had taken to every competition you’d ever attended. Pulling on a pair of tall black boots you scurry out the door after Benny.

The drive into town had made you wish you’d been awake for more of the drive up the coast. The forest which concealed the cabin gave way to rolling farmland, fields only broken up by kopjes of stone jutting from the earth. The fields were littered with cattle and horses, both of which you pointed out whenever passing. The sky was a wintery grey but the sun still managed to break through and warm the pavement. You rolled down the window, allowing yourself to rest your head on the edge, embracing the way the wind messied your hair and the now more potent smell of salt in the air.

The hotel where the championships would take place sat proudly on the boardwalk, overlooking the rocky coast. From the images in the brochures, the boardwalk appeared to be a bustling center for families to gather on vacation, yet you imagined in the winter months that wasn’t necessarily the case. This relieved you a bit, being around so many people at the tournaments was tiring enough, yet on the other hand, you recalled going to your fathers tournaments in similar settings where he could take you to all the local attractions such as the carnival and carousels and you got to feel like a normal family for once. The memories left an ache in your chest.

“Hey (y/n)” Benny calls from the drivers seat. You pull yourself back in from the window.

“Hmm?”

“Smile for me?” You look at him confused but his face remains serious,

“Why?” You eye the road nervously, but as it has been the last 20 minutes, there are no cars in sight.

“Just do it” you raise an eyebrow suspiciously and hesitantly pull your lips upward “with teeth, a real smile” he clarified. You focused on his eyes, dark and carefree, his hair, slightly windswept and ruffled, it’s a shame he so often hid it under his hat. With these thoughts, you smile.

“Yeah, there it is” he slows and pulls off the road, allowing the car to idle. His face pulls into a goofy grin of its own, he leans forward across the center console, examining your face with intent.

“What are you doing” you couldn’t hide the slight nervousness in your voice, his close proximity to your face causing a blush to climb up your neck. He cups your cheek gently, now grinning unapologetically.

“Just counting the bugs in your teeth” you shove him in annoyance, his laughter shifting the whole car.

“You better start driving or you’ll have a few less teeth yourself” you warn, although you can’t hide the smile pulling at your face either. He continues to chuckle as he pulls back on to the road resuming your journey.

You try to be subtle as you pull the compact mirror out of your purse, adjusting your hair and checking the makeup on your face. Although you’re sure you hadn’t actually gotten any bugs in your teeth when sticking your head out the window, it did make you wonder if it had made you look ridiculous in any other way.

“Hey, hey, I was just joking” Benny quickly defended, glancing over to see you trying to hide the compact in your lap, “you don’t have any bugs in your teeth I swear, your smile looks lovely”

“Oh I know I haven’t any bugs but I didn’t actual take my appearance into consideration when I stuck my head out the window so it’s probably a good thing you brought it up” you explain, trying desperately to find the part in your hair and smooth out the flyaways.

“You look beautiful, doll face. And I’m not messing with you this time” he pressed the compact in your hand closed, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before gripping the wheel once again in both hands. There was a tight silence as you slip the mirror back into your purse.

“Benny?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you..” your voice was soft, he almost didn’t catch it, but he did. He loved when your voice got soft when you were saying something you really meant. He smiled,

“Anytime doll face”

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Gold Rush (part 3)

(Benny Watts x reader)

Warnings: the overused “only one bed trope” and the “huddle for warmth trope”

Summary: Sharing a bed with your biggest rival is hard enough, in a freezing room it’s even harder

“Hope you brought thick socks”

The question seemed to catch Benny by surprise as he paused in the process of rubbing his hair dry with a towel to raise a questioning eyebrow.

“I went to turn on the heat, you know, because it’s January and we’re on Canada’s doorstep. But there’s only a space heater in the main bedroom and even though it’s fighting for its life, it’s not achieving much” you clarified, nodding toward the heating unit which was rumbling like a locomotive.

He chuckled lightly, “so you’re telling me I get to choose between a warm floor or a cold couch?”

“I’m telling you that although those two options are available to you, a third option stands” he cocks his head,

“I’m interested”

“You could be in a warm bed with the downside being sharing with me” his eyes widen ever so slightly at the offer “I wouldn’t want to ruin your decency though” you add with a teasing tone, hoping to lighten the tension you could feel building. Despite practically growing up beside Benny, you had never spent this much time together in this private of a setting, and you didn’t want to push it into uncomfortable territory. Luckily he laughed at your remark,

“Oh forget my decency, I was thinking you were going to offer to sacrifice your comfort for mine and take the floor. Seeing as I’m the reason you have a place to stay and all.” His voice dripped with a playful sarcasm which you returned readily with a scoff.

“As if, you’re the gentleman here, I’m cutting your expenses in half, and I need my beauty sleep; I don’t think any amount of rest will fix that damage” you tease, nodding towards him. He feigned hurt, pressing a hand dramatically over his chest.

“I guess we’ll both take the bed and wake up beautiful and indecent tomorrow” you smile and agree to the compromise, already grabbing extra quilts from the laundry room, which you had taken the precaution to wash after seeing the state of the rest of the amenities provided. They were warm and welcoming coming out of the dryer and you took full advantage of the fact, wrapping your body in a cocoon of wool and shuffling back towards your now decidedly shared bedroom.

“Any of those for me?” He asked in amusement, looking back at you from the closet where he was unloading the contents of his duffel bag.

“My magic 8 ball says that it’s unlikely” you reply through a content sigh as you curl up in the center of the bed. He now stands at the foot of the bed, gazing over your form with a mix of amusement and adoration.

“I bet your magic 8 ball didn’t take the possibility of force being used into consideration” he replies wickedly, collapsing over you and wrestling one of the blankets off your body. You squeal in defense, rolling wildly out of his grasp, tugging all your blankets even closer to your body. However, with his leverage from above he’s able to pry your arms open, allowing himself access into your tight cocoon which you immediately weaponize. Wrapping the blankets tightly around the both of you.

“The blankets and I are a package deal I’m afraid” you laugh into his chest which your face is uncomfortably pressed against from below, bodies flush against each other and legs entangled. There’s something familiar in the scent rising from his skin under the dark tee shirt he wore. Had he used your soap? Maybe he just forgot to bring his own.

“I suppose I can live with that, that heater really isn’t doing much anyways” He was right, the air was getting colder by the minute now that the sun had set, and despite the labored growl of the heating unit proving its power, it’s effects couldn’t be felt.

“Yeah, I think I’ll go get ready for bed and move the heater closer for what that’s worth” with that thought you somewhat hesitantly untangle yourself from Benny to head to the bathroom. You grab your pajamas from the opposite closet where Benny had unpacked as well as any toiletries needed. You tried to go through your routine as quickly as possible, the satin button up shirt and pant set not doing much to warm you on the cold tiled floor.

Once finished you practically jumped back into bed, clenching your teeth to mask the incessant chattering of your teeth. Benny moving from beside you to complete his own routine, likely with the same sentiment as he returned just as quickly although between his thicker sweatpants and shirt he looked substantially more comfortable with the temperature of the room.

“Let me in (y/n) we had a deal” you hesitantly raise the blankets, allowing both Benny and the cold air to join you in bed.

“Goodnight” you whispered, trying to disguise the shake in your voice as you turned your back to him curling into the fetal position in an attempt to retain warmth. It must have worked as he returned the goodnight, switching off the bedside light and laid down onto the pillow. You tried to control the shivering of your body until you finally heard his breathing even out to the point you were sure he was asleep. At that point you allowed your body to shake as you pulled the mountain of blankets tighter into your body as an attempt to warm yourself, it seemed to work a little but not enough to be comfortable. You tried to subtly rub your hands and feet together as well to create some heat in your blanket cocoon.

“You alright over there?” The question was quiet and groggy, coming from behind you. You froze and focused once again on steadying your voice.

“Yeah, sorry, just trying to get comfortable” he mumbled some form of understanding, reaching out to pat your shoulder as an acceptance of your reasoning. “Jesus..” he mumbled, you thought this was in annoyance at having been awoken from his sleep, but you felt the bed shift in addition to the statement. His chest pressed up against your back, tucking his legs into the bend of yours and slinging an arm over yours, gently running his hands over the goosebump ridden skin of your arm.

“Benny?” His name falls from your mouth in a confused manner, freezing under his touch.

“Shh, just relax and go to sleep. This is warmer” his voice was creaky and relaxed, you wondered if during his whole ordeal he had even bothered to open his eyes or his body simply worked to pacify the issue keeping him from sleep which happened to be you. Whatever the reason, you were grateful, his body was warm and fit against yours comfortably. Taking his advice you relaxed into his touch and allowed yourself to drift into a much easier sleep.

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Gold Rush (part 2)

(Benny Watts x reader)

A/n: once again I don’t own any characters from the queens gambit or the song Gold Rush which this fic is based off of

Warning: mention of parent death

Summary: The reader and Benny set off on their way to the cabin they’ll be occupying for their stay in Maine for eastern championships

Benny picked you up early the morning you had decided on leaving. The sun had barely peaked over the horizon when his beetle came kicking down the road towards your house. It sputtered gracelessly to a stop in your driveway where you sat on the porch expectantly with a packed bag beside you. You cringed at the dark smoke being spat from the exhaust but your attention was quickly pulled away by Benny pulling himself out of the drivers side and waving enthusiastically.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day” you looked over his beetle, unconvinced of its reliability for the trip.

“Can that thing even make it to the state line?” You questioned, he had made his way up to you by now, pulling your bag from next to you.

“Well I haven’t got anything else to drive and we’re both too poor to take a train all the way up there” you bit the inside of your cheek in thought, not noticing the way a smile pulled at his face when he saw that expression on you. You always wore that face when backed into a tight spot in chess and he adored it.

“We can take the Bel Air..” you offered hesitantly. He was as taken aback by the suggestion as you were.

“It’ll be okay babydoll, this thing is more resilient than it looks” he reassured, nodding towards the sad looking beetle. You smiled weakly.

“I’m sure it is, but my dad didn’t get all that work done on a car as beautiful as his just to have it sit in the garage” He smiled gently, grabbing your hand and giving it a soft squeeze.

“Only if you’re sure,” you returned the squeeze to his hand.

“I am, besides, you’ll still be the one driving 7 hours, and it’ll be more like 8 if we keep standing here being sappy” you teased, swinging your interjoined hands pointedly. He rolled his eyes dramatically, pulling his hand back and raising them in mock offense.

“Sorry princess, I thought we were having a moment”

He defended, you laughed and grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the garage. The garage door groaned from months of abandonment as you tugged it up. The Bel Air was hidden beneath a tarp to keep on from collecting dust. (L/n) was scribbled on the tarp in your fathers handwriting.

“You ought to do the honors, I’m dressed up too nice to get all dirty,” Benny teased, gesturing to his usual outfit of tight jeans and a dark shirt with a large belt buckle, his jacket and hat undoubtedly still in his beetle, he wouldn’t go to the store, let alone out of state without them. You rolled your eyes at his comment but tugged the tarp off, coughing involuntarily as dust took to the air.

The Bel Aid stood proudly uncovered, its teal paint job glittering in the golden light of dawn. It looked like not even a day had passed since your father had taken it on his last long daily drive, he always claimed that even beautiful cars were meant to be driven and deserved to see asphalt every day, not just on Sundays. You climbed into the white leather drivers seat and turned the key that your father always left in the ignition. He knew he’d lose it anywhere else. The car purred pleasantly to life and you shifted it into neutral, allowing it to slowly roll out of the garage and into the driveway. Benny stood smiling at you, thumbs in his belt loops. You blushed under his gaze,

“Better go collect your crap, we haven’t got all day” You teased, reusing his words from earlier. He let out a soft chuckle and obediently retreated to get his bag. You hopped out and shoved your own luggage into the trunk before he added his and slammed it shut.

“Key’s in the ignition” you said, trailing your finger over the bumped detailing. He lifted your chin gently,

“Hey, you know it’s not a big deal to take a train, one of us is going to win down there anyways we can make up for the losses and still break even.” You smiled at his kindness, meeting his dark eyes that rarely he’d such genuine care.

“I know, but this car deserves to be driven and I can’t be the one to do it right now” you admitted, leaning your face lightly into his hand that had moved from your chin to cup your cheek. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile

“Okay babydoll” and with that the car was loaded and you began your journey down the road leaving your home with Benny’s car still parked out front in the rear view.

The drive was relatively uneventful. Your early start had allowed you to skip out on most of the morning rush. Soon enough you found yourself with nothing but open road in front of and behind you, stretching into each respective horizon. Benny didn’t change the radio station from the one your father always listened to, which you appreciated. The familiar blues station lulled you to sleep, just as it had when you were younger and your father had driven you countless miles to chess tournaments. In the same way you always curled up on that bench seat next to your father, you did so next to Benny.

Not that he would ever tell you, but your body curled against his, groggily reaching for the lapels on his jacket made his heart all but stop beating. You arrived later than planned because he had taken special care to avoid the potholes and drive slowly so as not to wake you. When you finally did pull into that gravel driveway the bumpiness woke you, with the windows open you immediately noticed the change in the air. Dry New York air had been replaced with the crisp smell of the pine that surrounded the cabin and the distant sea salt taste of the ocean.

“It’s 3.30, we got stuck in traffic for a bit but you were out like a light” you mumbled some form of acknowledgment as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, taking in your surroundings. The car had pulled to a stop in front of a simple cabin, nothing luxurious by far. When you heard “cabin” you had expected a log cabin or a homey little cottage, this was more of a shack, but a charming shack. Probably a converted hunting cabin.

“I know, it’s no Graceland but it’s free” he defended, seeing you take in the shelter before you. You smiled,

“Its perfect, Benny” it took a hard shove of Benny’s shoulder to get the door to open. Beyond the door lay a room covered almost floor to ceiling in wood, the hardwood floors were attractive but lost their charm when they continued up the wall as paneling. They met the ceiling where the old popcorn ceiling was starting to turn yellow, presumably from water damage, you couldn’t imagine that roof had gotten any love in the past 15 years at least. On one side of the room was a fireplace that looked as though it hadn’t been touched in the last century and above it the bust of a buck sat proudly over the mantle. There was a single leather couch facing towards it which someone had taken care to cover with a clear plastic sheet to keep the dust off. On the other side of the room sat a kitchen of sorts. Two linoleum counters with a single burner stove over an oven and an icebox layered in dust decorated the room. There sat a small table with two lawn chairs as a makeshift dining set between the two perpendicular counters. You tossed your suitcase unceremoniously onto the table before making your way over to a door you spotted near the fireplace. It revealed a small broom closet with the necessities you had hoped to discover.

“Do you want to wipe down the furniture or mop? I’ll give you first pick” you questioned, turning to Benny with a rag in one hand and a mop in the other.

“Is neither an option?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck. You rolled your eyes.

“Only because you drove the whole way you’ll get out of the cleaning, but you’re on first food run, I’m starving” he chuckled,

“Alright, I’ll drive all the way into town since you drive such a hard bargain” he sighed, grabbing the keys off a nail by the door where he had only moments ago retired them.

“The mop is here if you’d rather clean with me and then eat whatever mummified carcass is in that icebox” you only half joked, nodding towards the dusty cooler with a teasing smile.

“Point taken, I’ll be back in an hour or so, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,”

“How could I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” he smiled and with that left. You were alone with the house now and had quite the work cut out for you.

So you got to work, you dusted and wiped and swept and mopped until every stupid wooden plank gleamed and every joint in your body ached. All the dust and grime had been transferred from the house to you. In your cleaning process you had stumbled across what you assumed would be Benny’s room and a connected bathroom that wasn’t nearly as gross as you expected it to be.

Thanks to the years of odd jobs cleaning houses in the summer for your neighbors (and the cabin itself being the size of a shoebox) the cleaning was complete in just under an hour. You decided to celebrate your small victory with a well deserved shower, feeling as disgusting as the main room had looked upon entry.

Benny pov

I pull gently back in front of the house, careful not to spin the tires on the gravel. I get out and tug the large paper grocery bag from the passenger seat with me. The overly greasy smell of cheap Chinese food engulfs my senses and I push roughly through the door. It gives in a lot easier than the first time.

The smell of bleach is the first thing I notice, then the gleaming floors and clean surfaces about the room. She really could work wonders in an hour. I set the bag of food on the table, pulling out different containers.

“Honey, I’m home” I call jokingly towards the main bedroom where I assumed she must be, probably sleeping. When there was no response I called again,

“(Y/n)?” Silence. I finish unpacking the food and make my way toward the bedroom, the door is slightly ajar. I push in and noticed she had cleaned that room as well, different sheets now adorned the bed. However, my attention was pulled from the bed towards the opposite door where the sound of a shower running mixed with her voice softly singing along to a melody I vaguely recognized. I sat gingerly at the end of the bed and just listed fo her for a moment before I heard the water stop. I jumped up nervously as the door swung open. She stood in the doorway in a dark blue towel with her wet hair cascading down her shoulders.

“When did you get back?” She asks, clearly taken aback by my presence.

“Just a minute ago, I called you to say that food was here and I didn’t get an answer” I replied, she nodded awkwardly not meeting my eyes. Sensing her discomfort I excuse myself, telling her that food is ready whenever she is. I step out of the bedroom cursing myself for acting so weird in front of her. I decided to busy myself finding plates and silverware in the kitchen while she got dressed.

I see me padding across your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

“I had to borrow a shirt from you, all mine were too nice to bother wearing around the house” her voice from behind me caught me by surprise. I turned around and sure enough she was there dressed in one of my v neck shirts and a loose pair of jeans, barefoot on the cold floor, probably why I didn’t hear her coming up to me. I smile,

“Looks good on you, dollface” She blushes like she always does when I call her that. I loved seeing this girl who prides herself on being collected become a flustered schoolgirl before my eyes from a simple pet name. However, something about seeing her there, in this shared space, wearing my clothes with her keys on the hook and her old shirt hanging from the bedroom door made me feel like a flustered schoolgirl too. There was something so foreign and domestic about it.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got it all” I mentioned, gesturing to the numerous containers spread on the table behind me. She smiled,

“Don’t tempt me like this in the future, I’ll eat all your food” she laughed, taking her seat across from me. I only smiled in response, passing her one of the plates I had found in the cabinets. We both began greedily shoveling food onto our plates and down our throats, hardly stopping to breathe let alone talk. It hadn’t really occurred to me how hungry I was until now but we had driven through the day without stopping for lunch. I watched her as she swallowed a large mouthful of lo mein, eyes shut in pure bliss and I couldn’t help but smile. She opened her eyes and gave me that lopsided grin when she saw me staring,

“What are you lookin at?” She snapped jokingly. I chuckled,

“The sweet and sour sauce mustache you’ve got going for you” I replied, biting into my egg roll. She grabbed a napkin wiping over her face but missed a rogue spot on her cheek. I reached over wordlessly and grabbed her chin, wiping the spot away with my thumb. The action was thoughtless but only when I was standing there, leaned over the table with my hand on her face, those big “deer in headlights” eyes looking at me did I realize our position. I felt neither of us breathing for that moment. I quickly pulled back and cleared my throat.

“I can get the dishes taken care of” I offered, standing up and collecting the empty containers in the original paper bag.

“No, no” she argued, standing up, “I can get it, you go take a shower, you haven’t gotten a moment to relax since this morning” she pulled the plates and silverware from my hand making her way to the sink. I considered debating with her that the majority of my day had been spent sitting but I knew how stubborn she could be when she had decided on something, so I just thanked her and excused myself. Hoping a shower would clear my head a bit.

Turns out it would do just the opposite. I made a mental note to thank her later for locating the hot water tap after searching in the towel closest only to find the mirror already fogged with the quickly heating cascade of the shower I’d turned on a moment earlier. Stripping and stepping under the water I was met with the engulfing scent of her. Her honey shampoo, which I had only vaguely noted when in close proximity to her, now wrapped me like a blanket. God, I just can’t get away from her and it was surely going to be the death of me.

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Gold Rush (part 1)

(Benny Watts x Reader)

——————————

A/n: this is my first fic in a long ass time, so enjoy if you’re into it. Disclosure: I don’t own the queens gambit or the song Gold Rush by Taylor Swift which this song is based off of.

Warnings: mention of parent death, minor injury mentioned

Summary: You grew up alongside Benny Watts, both child prodigies in the world of chess. With the prospect of eastern championships approaching, you’re both pushed into a new situation together.

Gleaming

Twinkling

Eyes like sinking ships

On waters so inviting

I almost jump in

You watched him play for the first time when you were 8. You had no interest in the game but something about watching your father go up against a boy closer to your age than his was intriguing. He had a fire in his eyes, even when backed into a corner he pridefully went down with his ship, and that fire remained.

You wouldn’t admit it was because of him but your father didn’t even get a chance to retire his jacket to the coat closet before you had set the chess board up on the table and we’re begging him to teach him beyond the basics you had picked up watching him.

You didn’t see him for a few years, even when you first saw him you didn’t think he was that fantastic of a player, but you had definitely not forgotten about him by the time you spotted his picture on the cover of chess review. He still had those eyes, dark and burning, that never even looked your way but still ignited something in you to pursue a passion that you had found nothing but boring 5 minutes earlier.

Your name alone attracted attention at tournaments, your father being pretty well known in the sport. However when you had begun to rise up the ranks he stepped out of the light to give you space to grow as your own player, supporting you from the background.

You were 11 when you saw him next. You were both undefeated by the time you reached each other in the brackets. You fiddled with your fathers old chess ring under the table while you awaited him. He told you it was good luck to keep it in your pocket. The sudden screech of the chair opposite you being pulled out made you jump, sending the ring to the floor. Cursing under your breath you reached down to grab it only to find another hand doing the same.

“I have to say, when I saw (l/n) on the board I was hoping for someone a little different” he mused, rolling the ring between his fingers “the owner of this ring, perhaps” he handed it back to you, the comment and brushing of hands turning your ears red.

“It’s my fathers” you glanced nervously at the growing crowd of spectators no doubt preparing to watch the most interesting match of the day, you were both big names for your age and chess review had a new reporter covering the match. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t let your nerves get the best of you but Benny Watts was sitting in front of you and everyone was watching and you’d never been in this hot of a seat.

I don't like a gold rush, gold rush

I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush

You glanced around, finally finding the familiar eyes of your father, hiding behind anxious spectators so not to attract attention. He smiled and mouthed the word “breathe”. That’s all it took. Your gaze met your opponent’s and the fire between you burned the rest of the world away. The match was long, about three hours, but he beat you. You accepted it gracefully as your father had taught you.

“You’re good, kid” the cameras flashed as you reached across the table to meet his outstretched hand “You almost had me” you blushed slightly,

“I’ll have you next time” It wasn't an empty statement either, for the next 6 years you’d be constantly pinned against each other, you winning one and him winning the next. It was a well documented rivalry between two child prodigies who could never seem to escape each other.

“I’m counting on it”

I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch

Everybody wants you

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

As you progressed into your teenage years you started to recognize the attention he got compared to you. Given, you got plenty of attention from your name, being a girl and your age, but his attention was different. He was admired for his abilities, his swagger and cool, uncaring nature. While girls in chess were few and far between they always could be found watching him, mirroring his moves in their minds and swooning over so much as a sideways glance. It disgusted you.

He was a fantastic chess player and the admiration you had for him was nothing more than his playing of the game. Other than that, you despised him and his long leather jacket and stupid cowboy hat. The way he’d wink at you just to make your blush and scowl. How the competitive tension was so noticeable between you two was like static in the air. But deep down, you didn't despise him, you despised how you didn’t despise him.

Walk past, quick brush

I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush

It was just days after your 18th birthday and you had landed another win over Benny, though you had both qualified for eastern championships so a bruised pride was the only real casualty. You flashed a smile for the camera as you always did, win or not, hip to hip with Benny behind the board, small trophy in hand. He pulls his arm around your waist and whispers,

“Your father would be so proud” your smile falters, the camera clicks. As soon as the photos were done you quickly shove your belongings into your bag and head for the exit, glancing briefly over your shoulder you see Benny with his usual crowd of girls but he catches your eyes and gives a weak wave. You don’t return it. Stepping through the door the cold wind hits you like a truck, gusts of rain slamming the door shut behind you. Wrapping your jacket around you tightly you huddle against the building awaiting the bus. You couldn’t go back in there even if it went waiting in a rainstorm in the middle of January. You couldn’t see giving you that pitiful look surrounded by his entourage.

I don't like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don't like a gold rush

The rain soaked you to the bone within minutes and not even your shivering helped you retain any body heat, the clap of thunder almost as if even god was laughing at you. Headlights cut through the downpour and for a brief moment you let yourself believe the bus was running early but as soon as it pulled up next to you you knew it was quite the opposite blessing.

“What in the hell are you doing out here?” Benny yelled over the downpour out the window of his beetle.

“Taking a shower,” you sneered but he didn't look very amused. “I’m waiting for the bus, what do you think?” wordlessly he leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.

“Get in, I’ll give you a ride” You were about to object but his eyes begged you and god knows those eyes would be the death of you. You stepped in and tossed your bag to the floor of the backseat, mumbling a thank you.

What must it be like

To grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

You glanced over at him. He had undoubtedly gotten caught in the rain on his way out to his car. His dirty blonde locks damp and pushed back out of his face, though the few signature strands fell forward as usual. You hadn't noticed before but he was starting to grow in some light peach fuzz on his lip and chin. His wet shirt clung to his thin frame, accentuating the curve of his torso and shoulders. He really was beautiful without even meaning to be, he was just naturally breathtaking.

“Why wait for the bus?” he asked, you blushed at your thoughts.

“We’ll I didn’t rightly feel like walking” You replied sarcastically. He gave an amused sign,

“I’d imagine not but we both know your old man left you that Bel Air, no way he’d part with that thing” You smiled weakly, that car really had been your father’s pride and joy. It was something for him to pour himself into once he stepped out of competitive chess for you.

“It’s still in the garage, I haven't really had a chance to get it out,” It was a lie. You both knew it. You both knew it hurt too much for you to take the last thing your father had to himself from him even if he was gone. He nodded,

“Hold the wheel for a second,” before you could respond he had let go to turn around in his seat to grab something. You snatched for the wheel causing a wild swerve, luckily no one else was stupid enough to be driving in this weather. “Jesus, you’re going to flip us over” he called from the backseat.

“A little warning would have been nice, now get back up here!” you snapped, he chuckled and crawled back into the driver's seat. “What in God’s name was so important back there?” He doesn’t respond; he just tosses a thick wool blanket into your lap.

“You’re shaking the whole car with how much you’re shivering” he explained,not looking over at you. Your face burned red in embarrassment as you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders.

“Thank you, Benny,” you mumbled, he only nods in response. A few moments go by in silence, the weather forcing Benny to drive slow as he could only see 10 feet in front of him and hardly even that. “So eastern championships,” you said turning to him, “Maine this year?”

“Yup, I’m sure you’ll be my biggest competition there anyways so I don’t know why I’d drive 7 and a half hours anyways but I suppose that’s what's happening” He smirks, you blush involuntarily at his words.

“I don’t think I’ll be attending so you’ll have it in the bag then” You couldn’t restrain a yelp as the car screeched to a halt, digging the lap belt into you stomach, “what the fuck-“

“Why wouldn’t you go?” He halfway yelled, you were too caught off guard to answer, “I don’t want a win “in the bag”, I want to get better and I won’t if I’m not competing with you. And I can guarantee going through the books in that big empty house won’t make you better either.”

“That “big empty house” is why I can’t go, Benny! My dad didn’t expect to die so I still have the mortgage to pay on the house, I have the payments to make for the car, and I’m sure you know chess doesn’t exactly pay well.” You snapped, turning in the seat to face him. His eyes bore into yours as he contemplated his next move. He wore the same face during a match when deciding where to move which piece. He grabbed your hands, placing them between his.

“I’m driving up three days before, I have a buddy who owns a cabin about an hour away from where the tournament is. It’ll be empty, I won’t have to pay for anything but food. Come with me, we’ll drive up together, split food and gas down the middle, just… please come” he had something in his eyes beyond pleading that you couldn’t say no to. You nodded,

“Okay” his face broke into a wide smile and excitedly kissed your joined hands. The rain had lightened and the majority of the drive home was spent speaking excitedly about plans, the tournament would give you 2 to weeks to prepare. Arriving back at your house he helps you with your bag and you exchange chess books the other hadn’t read. The clap of thunder announced another heavy surge in the storm and with it the electricity in your house went out. You let out a quick yelp in surprise.

“Benny?” You asked aimlessly into the darkness. A couple clicks in response came before he reappeared.

“Over here babydoll,” he teased, holding his lighter in front of his face illuminating his features.

“I’ll grab some candles, sit tight,” you started to feel along the walls from the living room towards the bathroom where the candles were housed under the sink before accidentally kicking a side table, knocking a mug off and sending it shattering to the floor. “Shit,” you mumbled, feeling around carefully for the shards on the floor. Not carefully enough however, you hisses as a shard sliced part of your palm.

“You okay,” you jumped at the voice behind you, you haven't heard Benny coming up behind you. You stood up awkwardly to share his light.

“Yeah, just broke a cup on accident,” you blushed, clenching your hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He noticed immediately and grabbed your wrist, holding the lighter up to it to see it better. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches but it stretched the majority of your palm.

“Come on, let's get you cleaned up,” lead you towards the bathroom, holding gingerly onto your wrist. Once in the master bathroom you reached with your uninjured hand under the double vanity grabbing the candelabra you kept in case of power outages placing it on the far side of the counter. Benny wordlessly lit the candles before turning his attention back to you. You pushed yourself up so you were sitting on the counter. You couldn't resist admiring how beautiful he looked in the candlelight. An orange glow highlighting his features and flickering in his dark eyes.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” his words snapped you from your thoughts.

“Oh, um, under the counter where I got the candelabra,” you sifted to hop off the counter to get it but he placed a firm hand on your thigh urging you to stay put. The touch alone sent shocks through your body. He knelt under you pulling the tin case from under the sink and placing it next to you. He holds your hand between his and you marveled at how small his hands made yours appear. He pads the blood with a wet washcloth before dipping a cotton ball in some rubbing alcohol and tentatively dabbing at your palm. You scrunch your face up as the alcohol burns your skin.

“It’s almost over, babydoll” he soothes, your face burns at the pet name, he had only ever called you that in a mocking way. Before you even noticed he had your hand wrapped up in gauze.

“Thank you, Benny” you nearly whispered, looking at your wrapped hand that still entangled his fingers.

“Of course,” he whispered softly, meeting his eyes cautiously you almost forgot how to breathe with him that close, his eyes wild with something you couldn't name glancing over your body. He suddenly stepped back, releasing your hand. “You should go get changed, your clothes are soaked and your house isn’t heating with the power out” he instructs, refusing to look at you. You nod awkwardly hopping down from the counter. You grab a set of tea lights from under the counter in addition and follow Benny holding the candelabra back to the living room. You place the tealights on the table and light them with one of the candlesticks before making your way up to your room, leaving Benny staring into space on the couch below.

Had you not been so flushed you would have noticed how cold you had gotten from your wet clothes. You strip out of them hanging them over the shower to dry. You ruffled your wet hair with a towel since your blow dryer obviously wouldn’t be working. You tug on a pair of slim but comfortable pants and a turtleneck sweater before heading downstairs.

He was sitting on the couch, leaned over with his chin in his hands, gazing at the unfinished game you had left out on the coffee table, his brow was knit in thought. You stood there and watched him for a moment admiring how his eyes jumped from piece to piece considering different outcomes.

“Rook to f5” You voiced from behind him. He smiled without turning his gaze to you, he always seemed to know where you were.

“You and your pawn collection” he chuckled, but followed your instruction anyways. You took a seat across from him on the carpeted floor, chin in hands. “I should go,” he admitted suddenly, and with a twinge of hesitancy.

“You can spend the night!” you internally cringed at your quick offer, “I’ve got a spare room and it’s still raining cats and dogs out there”

“It’s not a long drive from here,” he assured, standing up and pulling his big leather jacket over his dark jumper. He walked over to your phonestand, jotting something down in the margin of the yellowbook. “Ring me when you want to be picked up for Maine” You nodde, hugging yourself through your sweater as Benny opened the door allowing a cold gust of wind and rain in. Meeting him in the doorframe you bid him goodbye. He leant down and quickly kissed your cheek making your face burn.

“Be safe, Benny” you say, grasping his hand in goodbye.

“You too, Doll” He kisses the back of your uninjured hand which grasped his. “Ring if you need anything” You smiled and nodded. He made a dash through the rain to his Beetle, giving you a sweet wave before driving off. You could hardly bring yourself to blow out the candles as you made your way to your room, exhaustion of the day’s events suddenly overtaking you. You didn’t even remove any clothes before falling into bed and sleeping

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

Hello, I haven’t been on this platform in YEARS but I’ve been writing for myself and decided to post them. If you know me personally, no you do not❤️ anyways, I’m a simp for Benny Watts from the Queens Gambit so that will be up shortly if anyone’s interested