40+ | she/her | mostly Tom Hardy + Peaky Blinders | dreaming of an Alfie Solomons, Tommy Conlon, Bane sandwich (with me in the middle) — is that too much to ask?
Johnny thinks it might have begun the night you were slow dancing in his living room, feeling pleasantly fuzzy from the booze and the soft static in the summer air. Wrists draped lazily around his neck, nose pressed against his jugular and your hips so close to his, rotating slowly. With his leg wedged between yours he could feel the gentle pulse throbbing at your apex. Meeting your gaze to find your eyes electrified with desire, he knew then, you would be insatiable.
He soon learns that the most innocent touches always lead to something more. The gentle rake of your nails across his jeans signal a growing need to stroke him under the table. Hand holding in front of the television set is derailed the moment you guide his thumb to your mouth to suck softly, eventually sliding into his lap for a slow fuck. Johnny never protests, giving his baby anything at all.
However, he didn't realize how much of him you truly craved until the night he was thrusting into you, breath hitching as he realized he needed to withdraw.
Legs already wrapped around his torso, you tightened your hold in protest. Nails clawing against his shoulders and heels digging into his lower back, you forced his attention back to you with a desperate whine. "Give me a baby, Johnny," you moaned into his ear.
He studied your pouty lips and dimpled forehead for a moment, the pleading look tugging at his heart.
"Make me yours," you urged, breasts heaving against him.
Brain fogged with pleasure and overcome with the thought of claiming you, he seated himself deeper inside you as you moaned in contentment.
Resuming a more tender pace, his forehead dropped to yours and his eyes slipped closed, allowing himself to imagine his sweet angel swollen with his child.
Already drunk on the feeling of him nudging that sweet spot that made you see stars behind your eyelids, your head lolled to the side, but Johnny brought your face back to his with a firm hand. His voice broke slightly as he asked, "Gonna make me a daddy, hmm?"
"Course" you nodded with tears welling your eyes. "Want everyone to know I'm yours."
That's all it took for him to loose himself, burying his nose into the crook of your neck, he shuddered with his release. Arms wrapping you in a bear hug, he mumbled words of adoration and praise against your skin.
A contented smile graced your lips as he held you in the comforting security of his warmth, unable to recall a time you'd felt so complete.
Summary: Johnny knows you're trouble the moment you show up with Benny, but he can't help himself.
A/N: I've been writing so much for Benny recently, I haven't properly indulged in my Johnny fantasies. This is for @potter-solomons who shares my obsession 😍
Warnings: 18+ MDNI
"You're gonna be the death of me," that's what Johnny always said about you from the moment Benny started bringing you around. Those cute sundresses paired with an innocent smile indicated you were just a girl who didn't know the effect she had on men. However, the way you pursed your lips before blowing on the tip of your pool stick and that naughty wink cast in his direction said otherwise.
The first time you met, you leaned across the table in your low cut dress, twisting a lock of hair idly as you thanked him for inviting you to see his garage. He scratched the back of his neck wondering when he'd agreed to that, but you were too busy explaining how well you knew your way around tools. He had to laugh at your double entendre, refusing to believe anyone was that naive or that you actually knew anything about mechanics.
The next day he was pleasantly surprised when you proved him wrong, somehow reading his mind before he could call out which socket wrench he needed. "Would you look at that?" he chuckled at your cleverness.
"Don't underestimate me," you warned him with an alluring look. He knew better than that, especially when your delicate hand brushed his grease stained fingers to offer a cold beer. And especially later as you hummed along to the radio, the syrupy sweetness in your voice dripping into his ear while he worked.
The quiet afternoon had only been one side of the coin, however, as you quickly proved yourself to be wild and impetuous, demanding a thrill a minute. He realized then, you were Benny in female form.
If Johnny gave you a ride, you'd dig your red nails into the legs of his worn denim shouting, "Is that all you got?" His heart thundered at the challenge, taking turns so quickly you shrieked with delight. He was addicted to the feeling of your hands against his abdomen, igniting the fire in his belly that had been there for you from the beginning.
You were impossible to deny, any request you made satisfied whenever possible and your honor defended at the slightest infraction. The thought of losing your favor, making Johnny's jaw clench hard enough to break a back tooth. As a result, his own recklessness only increased when you were by his side, the racing and fights spurred on by your enthusiastic cheers.
It wasn't only the blood stains on his colors and the renewed swagger in his walk that told the tale. Everyone saw what was happening between you as you exchanged heated glances across the bar on Saturday nights.
When Benny finally disappeared the way he always said he would one day, you and Johnny were already in bed together. Exhausted from a long haul out on the road, you urged him to lie back and enjoy himself as you rode him. One arm behind his head, he looked up at your bouncing tits with a blissed out look on his face.
As he came with a satisfied grunt, your hands pressed to his chest with a look of devilment in your eye. Resuming the slow grind of your hips, you smirked when his large, calloused hands flew to your waist. Moans of overstimulation left his plump lips as you dropped your head to place a kiss. "Feel good?" you taunted.
As he managed a shuddered breath, he admitted, "You're gonna be the death of me."
“You were impossible to deny, any request you made satisfied whenever possible and your honor defended at the slightest infraction. The thought of losing your favor, making Johnny's jaw clench hard enough to break a back tooth. “
Ugh… the dream ❤️ So, so good @zablife (as always xx)
Summary: Newcomers have arrived to party with the Vandals, bringing a young mysterious girl with them. Johnny begins to wonder who she is and what ties her to the man she rides with.
Warnings: language, drinking, sexual innuendo, mention of drug abuse
A/N: No worries, there are no spoilers if you haven't seen the film! Should this become a series? I’m still trying to decide. For now I’m having fun writing it. Let me know if you enjoy reading by leaving a comment!
Divider credit @firefly-graphics
"What's your name?" Johnny asked, attempting to keep his voice soft and neutral so as not to scare the lanky, young girl in the corner.
"What's it to you, pops?" the redhead asked with a roll of her eyes, returning her attention to choosing a song on the jukebox.
Johnny watched the neon pink change to orange and then red, illuminating her full cheeks as she hovered over it. Although she carried herself like a woman, her bratty attitude was that of a spoiled child and the thick layer of makeup she wore to conceal her features only confirmed it.
"Look, I'm tryin' to be polite here, but we got rules in this club. We don't let kids hang around," he stated firmly.
"Then it's a good thing I'm eighteen," she noted, eyes never leaving the buttons where her manicured finger hovered, waiting to make a selection.
"Okay," Johnny said, sucking his teeth. "So you're legal, but I still don't know what to call ya."
The girl turned on her heel, an annoyed look in her eye as she looked up and down Johnny's imposing frame without any sign of fear. "You aren't gonna drop this are you?"
"Can't we be friends?" he asked diplomatically.
"I don't have friends," she professed.
She furrowed her brow as she glanced at the pool tables, studying one tall ex military type a moment too long. He caught her staring and stopped all movement, a darkness flashing in his otherwise vacant blue eyes. She shrunk suddenly and gave a weak smile, making Johnny feel uncomfortable with the sudden change in her demeanor. "Who's that?" he asked, wondering how they knew each other.
Like the shifting wind outside, she sighed in exasperation. ”Who is that? Who are you? What are you a fucking owl?" she asked, storming off to a table to be alone.
Johnny could take a lot, but not disrespect. Boots stomping across the sticky floor of the bar toward her, he stopped with a look of determination brewing. "I think it's time for you to leave before you get yourself into trouble. Anyway, I've had about enough of your mouth.”
"You've never even tried it," the red head countered with a sly wink, looking up at him smugly from her seat.
Johnny sank into a chair beside her, utterly confounded by her behavior.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time to tell me your name…" he began, but that was as far as he got. No sooner had he started his question than the man from the pool table was upon them, a long shadow cast over Cherry’s back as the large man dwarfed her.
When Johnny searched his face, however, he noticed he couldn’t have been much older than the redhead herself, perhaps three or four years at most.
He seemed to be well acquainted with the girl, grasping her shoulder possessively. "You good here, Cherry?” he asked, eyeing Johnny suspiciously.
She sighed, disappointed that her little game had come to an abrupt end. Then she looked up and gave a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," she demurred, batting her lashes.
He stroked her cheek and Johnny swore he saw her flinch before eventually leaning into his touch. It made him even more curious about her and why she might be with the rough looking men who rode in yesterday.
As the man shuffled back to the pool table, Johnny hummed, "Cherry, huh? What kinda name is that?"
"Only one I've got. Take it or leave it," she answered, the acidic bite returning to her tone instantly.
"Seems like I already asked you to leave," Johnny grumbled to himself, grabbing a beer and pushing away from the table in resignation.
A spine tingling screech like the cry of a feral animal stretched out into the air over the low rumble of the approaching motorcycle engines.
“What the heck is that?” Kathy asked, turning away from the picnic table to wipe her hands on her jeans.
“I think it’s the new guys from the bar last week,” Gail explained, glancing over at her husband and Johnny who stood waiting to greet them. “Johnny invited ‘em to keep things civil.”
Kathy grimaced as the newcomers came closer, the noise intensifying to a rallying cry of whoops and whistles. The muscular man with the redhead at his back was the loudest by far, emitting a scream practically deafening her where she stood.
Gail huddled close to Brucie, as did most of the wives who wondered why Johnny had brought more outsiders to their quiet little club. "Who's he?" she pointed.
“That one’s Banshee,” Brucie said with a jerk of his head.
“Yeah I see why,” Kathy exclaimed. “And I’m guessing the girl is the one they call Cherry?” she ventured.
“Cherry, right,” Brucie agreed, looking her up and down.
The wives all noticed how Cherry was hardly dressed for the autumn weather in her halter top and tiny leather mini skirt. It was drawing plenty of attention which was possibly her only ambition.
“Didn’t anybody tell her the women here don’t go by stupid names? It’s only the fellas who buy into that stuff,” Kathy said shaking her head in disapproval.
Gail just shrugged, “Who cares as long as she keeps these guys entertained and out of trouble, right?”
“Sure,” Kathy agreed, taking up a place at the table.
It wasn’t until the sun was setting a few hours later that she began to rethink her opinion of the sultry looking redhead who refused to join the other women in conversation, preferring her own company instead. Circling the bonfire with her bottle, Cherry kept her distance. Occasionally she would dance to the music with the others, raising her arms to the sky without a care, but mostly she seemed to be watching Banshee out of the corner of her eye.
When he beckoned to her, she went to him and perched on his lap like a cat. Running a hand down his broad chest, she nestled into him as he wrapped a muscular arm around her waist, an expectant look on her face.
Holding her there in a strong grip, he proclaimed to the group, “This is my sweet little Cherry pie.”
“Cherry pie, I like that,” Corky exclaimed with amusement.
“Believe me, you’d love a slice of this,” Banshee bragged loudly, digging his fingers into Cherry’s thigh when she tried to close her legs. She clutched his shirt front, but he kept speaking, looking down at her with a leer.
“I can vouch for it, popped her cherry myself,” he boasted, taking hold of her chin for a sloppy kiss.
Although she accepted the sliver of affection, her body remained rigid and alert, listening to a far off voice mumble in surprise, “That’s why you call her Cherry?”
Banshee tilted his head back and roared with laughter. “People are all the time askin’ her how she got her name, but it ain’t nothin’ special,” he said dismissively, tapping Cherry’s arm to pass him another beer.
As he wiped the lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand, she seemed to freeze momentarily. Her fingers uncurled from his shirt front slowly and dropped to her lap, light fading from her eyes.
"I thought it was cause of her hair," Cal piped up with a grin.
"Carpet matches the drapes though, don't they, baby?" Banshee joked, running a hand up her back to tangle in her hair.
She jerked away when he began to tug at the ends roughly, his hand swatting her ass to get her moving. As she stumbled off his lap he added, "If you're lucky you might get a peek, this tiny skirt she's got on don't cover much." As the invitation hung in the air, a long haired biker with rotten teeth leaned forward to cock his head at her with decided interest.
Cherry quickly turned away to reach into the cooler, glad her face was shielded from the men assembled in the circle. She didn't realize she was biting down hard on the inside of her cheek until she tasted a metallic bitterness on her tongue.
Across the field a few men from the Vandals took notice of the revelry, Johnny squinting in the dim light to see who was making all the noise. As he studied Banshee’s movements, he overheard Brucie and Zipco talking to one of his gang.
“How long’s he been back?” Brucie asked.
“A year, give or take," the man answered, the flicker of his lighter illuminating his face in the darkness.
“I tried to enlist, you know. Bastards wouldn’t take me,” Zipco spat, crushing a cigarette under his boot with more force than he intended.
“Banshee would say you dodged a bullet, man,” he replied slowly, considering the joint he held between his fingers.
Zipco narrowed his eyes, “And why’s that?”
There was slow inhale, then a few metered words as he considered his answer, “Fucks with your head." He tapped his temple lightly. "You seen the way he is?” It wasn't actually a question, but a thinly veiled warning to those around him. Keep your distance.
“No, I meant, he seems to manage just fine,” Brucie pointed out, tilting his head to watch Banshee talking animatedly to his companions. "Got a bike and a girl. What else you need?"
"Looks that way don't it?," the cryptic reply came with another click of his lighter. Brucie and Zipco stared at each other as they waited for him to turn his attention back to them.
He never really did, mumbling in a barely coherent register as though he were still trying to make sense of it himself. "Nights he don’t spend with Cherry, he’s holed up somewhere with china girl. And sometimes when he can’t get what he wants, he swaps 'em around, see?” The man lingered a second, staring into nothingness as smoke billowed from his mouth in a great cloud which obscured his face.
The look of trepidation in Zipco’s eyes was lost to the haze as he muttered, “No, I…”
Banshee whooped from across the field and the man went stumbling forth, ending the conversation with a halt.
Johnny couldn’t help but notice Cherry was no longer with him. He turned his head in time to see her disappear over the hill with the long haired biker from California, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.
@zablife oooh this is so good! You know I have a weakness for cheeky redheads. And I’ve haven’t even seen Bikeriders yet, but just from the trailers, the way you wrote Johnny is spot on 👌🏻 Would love to read a series! x
My favorite thing Alfie does is creatively wedging "fucking" in between prefixes and root words
Non-fucking-negotiable
Un-fucking-justified
Etc.
The way he uses, abuses, and ornaments the English language is un-fucking-parallelled. He is a law unto himself, and that includes laws of grammar and common usage
